by Kenny Soward
One ran by Lonnie just twenty yards away. A human, at first glance, except for the spiny ridge running from his forehead to the nape of his neck. The spines rose and fell and quivered with fear or excitement, Lonnie wasn’t sure. The fade ripper’s swirling tattoos marked him as a Crucifer.
Lonnie tried to get a bead on him with his XDS, but the guy hit the ground.
A long, wolfish thing with patchy fur loped across the field, tongue lolling from its fanged mouth, claws pounding the dry grass. It reached the swing set before being shot by the gang where it fell yowling and caterwauling in pain. Attackers jerked as bullets pounded them, but where one fell another rushed to take its place. More cried out and dropped to the ground, writhing.
And while the Eighth Streeters held the gunmen and other monsters at bay, Selix fought a different kind of battle—a struggle that transcended the physical to the metaphysical. To the magical. At the tree line, she danced her weird, wonky dance. Legs kicked up ripples in the air to form a protective barrier. Arms rattled and flailed with short, choppy movements. Her fingers drew designs before her face, runes leaving a crimson powder that floated just a moment before breaking apart. Her head shook to a beat only Selix heard.
She was syncopating magic through movement, each maneuver requiring precision to avoid stabbing herself with the frame’s needles. She sang in her whiskey voice. A familiar melody, the words of some bass-heavy Top Forty song he heard blasting from car windows every day.
It was ridiculous, yes, but Lonnie saw the complex pattern she wove. And it was working, beautiful and powerful in its own preposterous way.
She was a dragon voice. The power of tooth and claw and song.
While bullets couldn’t touch her, other fade rippers lined up across the middle of the field to bring their otherworldly magic against her.
The warlock, for it could only be him, stood on the tilted merry-go-round in the center of the park. Seven feet of him, dressed in tattered black robes, shoulders draped in thick chains that caused him to bend ghoulishly. Only his grip on a sturdy iron staff kept him upright. Cursed with pale, disease-ridden skin, his wispy gray hair whipped around his head. He gestured in a similar manner to Selix, chanting counter to her.
The warlock had help, too.
Three tall shapes haunted the edges of playground. Lonnie estimated them at a dozen feet tall. Long and lanky, skin stretched over their bones, naked but for stained sashes wrapped around their waists. Milky liquid poured from their mouths and down their chins as they produced a tritone so deep and resonant Lonnie thought it must be the very sound of death itself. He knew these were hex muses, natives of the Ruins of Sooth in the southern lands of Hell. More terrible knowledge from the depths of his memories. Shit he wished he didn’t know.
The hex muses tossed what appeared to be hooked chains at Selix as they sang. Chains made of dripping shadow, the creatures pitching them underhanded as if fishing off the end of a dock. But the hooks never found their mark, always falling short or deflected by the shimmering defenses Selix evoked.
Lonnie adjusted his grip on the XDS. Swallowing hard, he tried to be brave. Someone in the field spotted him, angled in his direction, and fired two pistols at him.
Brick exploded against Lonnie’s cheek, hot and stinging.
He turned away from the wall so fast it made his head spin. Regaining his balance, Lonnie sidestepped and fired, trying to remember the Brit’s lesson of easy squeezes on the trigger. Still, he missed. Adjusted his aim tried again. This time the fade ripper sunk to the ground, belly shot.
Then he ran for the sedan through a hail of bullets, his stomach jerking whenever a round whizzed by. Blood pounded in his head. The tops of his legs were rife with pain from where the hoarbeast had shredded the fronts of his jeans. He wasn't vein-ripped (he was still standing) but that didn’t mean he couldn’t drop from loss of blood at any moment. And there was a lot of it based on the squishing in his boots.
He made it to the sedan in a flash of dizzying speed, ducking behind it. That preternatural ability again.
He peeked over the trunk and scanned the park, taking in an array of moving shadows. He spotted one of the ridge-headed women hiding behind a pole, her attention fixed in Selix’s direction. He crouch-walked to the back of the car, aimed his weapon, and squeezed the trigger, splattering the aluminum pole with blood and bone and brains. He retreated to the sedan as more gunfire turned his way.
Sparks and flares broke against the trees. The scents of oiled metal and hexes threatened to send him into a sneezing fit. Booms echoed up and outward into the sky, a cataclysmic barrage of noise that should have been heard for miles. Yet, it was compressed, muted, as if he were wearing ear plugs or standing in a soundproof bubble.
Squatting along the car’s right rear quarter panel, Lonnie closed his eyes and waited for a lull. He rubbed his left hand over his right in hopes of drawing forth some magic. He peeked over the trunk again. Found the tall warlock on the merry-go-round still fighting Selix. Other fade rippers pulled even with him, trying to hide behind the warlock's magic.
Two Crucifers took up a spot beneath the old slide, using its tarnished metal like a shield.
A round shattered the rear window of the car, sending Lonnie ducking. Several more rounds buried themselves in the body with thuds. The sedan shook with every hit. He needed to take the warlock out, but he’d have to go through an army to get to him, friendly fire, too.
A quick turn and peek.
The hex muses closed on Selix, chains sinking their hooks into the ground. The substance transformed into inky tendrils to ripple through the grass and clutch at her boots. The warlock leered, his voice reaching a fevered pitch.
In what appeared to be a last resort, Selix squeezed the bike grips in her hands, sending pressure to the hypodermic needles in their cradles. The points plunged into her skin, pumping in the drugs, wrenching her body into a contorted pose. Selix cried out and clutched her arms to her chest. Fell to her knees.
An oblong darkness grew behind her, radiating with a strange, black energy. It absorbed her form, transforming her into a luminescent shadow, seeming to contradict all laws of light. Her wide blue eyes glared at the warlock. Red fire ignited her skin, burning her clothes to cinders.
The shadow behind her grew, shimmered for a moment, and then collapsed.
It winked out, taking Selix with it.
She was gone.
Lonnie’s jaw dropped. He’d been too late to act. Too damn late.
“You fucks!” Lonnie stood. Stalked around the back of the sedan. Crossed the street with big strides. His gun was already up, firing once, twice at the two fade rippers hiding beneath the slide. Both fell limp.
Lonnie swapped out his empty mag and racked a round with smooth precision.
He rubbed his left hand over his right, then gripped the gun tight.
A sharp pain flared across the back of his left leg. Another stung his hip. Lonnie sighted three more times and loosed a short volley of lead that sent sprays of blood back into enemy faces.
Gun barrels swung in his direction, flaring. He made them miss. Not dodging bullets but anticipating their shots with uncanny clarity and stepping out of the fucking way. He didn’t question the power. He let it roll over and through him.
The warlock peered forward on the tilted wheel, neck craned, hand held up, fingers splayed and twisted as if clutching something invisible. Lonnie forgot the others. He switched out his empty mag again, racked a round, and pointed his gun at the warlock’s head. His hands were raw, trigger finger-blistered from the bucking weapon.
Battle cries rang out from the edge of the woods. The gang burst from the tree line and streaked across the field, guns forgotten, morphing into their true forms. Elsa and Ingrid with those disturbing operatic wails, flashing leathery black wings and sharp teeth, ripping into the enemy ranks in a spray of gore. Crash’s deep whoops as he charged bullishly onto the battlefield, his footfalls hammers on the burnt brown grass. He plow
ed into the knees of one of the hex muses with the crunch of breaking bones.
At fifteen yards, Lonnie took a shot at the warlock. Boom! The gun bucked with an infusion of power. The concussion rattled his teeth. The warlock jerked. Lonnie fired again, boom, and this time the bullet ripped through the warlock’s throat, leaving the bastard gurgling on his own blood as he slipped off the old, rusty ride, toppling over despite his best effort to cling to the rail.
Lonnie cried out in elation and searched for another target.
Two thudding, clanking steps shook the ground behind him. He turned and glimpsed a massive metal beast, a hulking golem dripping oil and steam and menace. It slammed him in the ribs on his left side. He went flying, arms swimming as he crashed near the sedan.
Lonnie lay on the ground, wincing. His breath came in rough gasps, eyes watering in pain. He couldn’t even groan. He was broken. Broken bad. But those clanking steps came ahead, sounding like train couplings slamming together. Chi-chunk, chi-chunk.
Coming to finish the job.
He raised his head, eyes searching the spot where Selix last stood, hoping to get one final glimpse of her. But something else caught his attention. Something huge pushing through the woods, parting trees with arms as thick as telephone poles. Shoulders as broad and round as an elephant’s head. The treetops wavered for a moment before plunging to the ground with loud snaps.
Eyes as big as plates flashed blue.
White, curved teeth gnashed with a lightning crack.
The dragon.
A tight line of fire streaked from the edge of the woods, moving right to left across the park. The flames blossomed into a volcanic flower, engulfing everything they touched. Screams followed the blaze. Flecks of gold and ash swam inside the blooms.
Lonnie’s eyes widened when he realized the fire would consume him too. He rolled, muffling a scream as pain shot through his ribs. Dragged himself across the oily asphalt and crawled beneath the sedan, leaving skin from his palms behind on the street.
Heat consumed the vehicle. Glass burst. Metal whined. Lonnie tried to make himself smaller (would have dug a hole in the pavement if he could) even as the tires popped and the car sank, pinning him.
He huffed. Gasped. The fire had a scent. A pungent and sweet burn. Antifreeze and pepper and soot.
Lonnie groaned miserably as the settling vehicle squeezed the last of the air from his lungs, leaving him to die a horrible, suffocating death.
Chapter 17
Lonnie woke to someone tugging at his boot. “Hey, kid. Wake up.”
“Selix?” It came out a rough whisper.
“Yeah, it’s me. C’mon. We’ve got to go. The park is on fire. Cops are going to be swarming us in a minute.”
“Cops won’t care.”
“Oh, they’ll care about this.”
Sirens wailed in agreement.
His next thought was that he couldn’t breathe. Correct that, just barely. Even when he got a little air in his lungs, it burned. He tasted blood and ash. His throat was thick with it.
He coughed, and it only added to the sharp ache in his chest. And then he remembered. He was pinned under a car on top of what had to be broken ribs.
“I-I can’t.” He closed his eyes, trying to quell his panic. “I…” Lonnie swallowed.
Selix gave a strong tug on his leg, scooting him back a fraction of an inch. Another, and his chin smacked the ground. It hurt, but at least he was moving, the pressure on his chest easing an iota.
“Little help here.”
“Here. I'll do it,” Crash said. The big man took Lonnie’s leg and pulled him straight out. He came clear of the car and sucked cool air into his lungs. Gloriously cool compared to life under the oil-leaking sedan.
Strong hands wormed beneath his left arm and rolled him onto his back. Crash was there, his dark face split by a wide grin. It was hard to tell where his freckles stopped and the blood spatters started. Selix stood next to Crash, hands on her knees and beaming down at him. But all Lonnie saw, despite the pain in his chest and legs, were her tits. She was naked, her thin frame only stressing the smallish mounds heaving not eight or nine inches from his face.
Her nakedness made sense. She’d turned into her dragon form and burned their enemies to ash. So, yeah, she wouldn’t be wearing clothes. Still didn’t stop him from staring. Brought back a scattering of memories.
Selix caught him looking and twisted her lips in a sideways smile. “Still alive, I see,” she said, raising a pale eyebrow before wrinkling her nose. “And you smell. Oh, that’s awful.”
Lonnie shrugged. “Yeah. Hoarbeast piss. Sorry I was late getting to you.”
Selix shook her head, wiping her sour expression away. “You were just in time.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was losing. Took a dumb risk and stepped into the Fade. The warlock caught me there. Could have banished me for a long time if you hadn’t taken him out.”
“Good job, Lons.” Ingrid came over to lean against the ruined car. Blood and smudges marred her skin. Her clothes hung in shreds from her shoulders and hips. She handed Selix a bundle of clothing. “Here.”
Selix took the bundle, dropped a pair of sneakers and a shirt on the ground, and put the jean shorts on.
Lonnie tried to say something, but a faint and disturbing gurgling from deep in his chest stopped him.
Selix picked up the T-shirt, slid it on, and stuck her feet in the sneakers. “Well, that doesn’t sound good.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Crash agreed.
“Yeah, I’m f-fucked up good.” Lonnie winced. “I’m c-crushed. Left side. Ribs.”
Dressed now, Selix knelt and poked at his side, drawing a growl. “Sorry. Let’s get you up.”
“Just go. I’ll wait for the police.” Lonnie closed his eyes, wanted to say “ambulance.” Would have given his left pinky finger for some morphine or heroin or, fuck, a goddamn Aleve.
Selix shook her head. “Uh-uh. I’m not letting them take you. They’ll have infiltrators in the hospitals soon. Police department too. You’d be dead inside a week.”
“Yeah, you can’t stay, my injured friend.”
Before he could protest, Selix and Crash picked him up off the pavement. Hurt like hell, but it was over quick. Selix slid beneath his right shoulder to act as his crutch. It felt better to stand. Not much, but better.
Lonnie glanced out across the scorched park. The playground was dirt. The jungle gym and merry-go-round nothing but melted pools of steel. The tree line smoldered and smoked from being in the general vicinity of the blaze. And the golem, that bi-pedal contraption that had crushed Lonnie just after he shot the warlock, was a hunk of charred silver melt. Ash settled on the ground from the burned bodies. Even the bones, gone.
Someone staggered toward them across the park. Elsa, her torn corset and skirts soaked with blood as she dragged her left foot behind her while holding the AR15 in a death grip. Dark splatters steamed on the still scalding barrel. “I cleaned up the mess. Tossed what remained of the frame into the flames. Nothing left to track us.” She swung her head in Lonnie’s direction, pale green eyes roaming up and down his body. She gave a snort. “You smell like hoarbeast piss.”
“Th-thanks for reminding me. I thought you were d-dead.”
Elsa relaxed, put the barrel of her rifle against the cement, and leaned on it. Her eyes still burned at a low simmer. “I’m a tough bitch, Lons.”
“I noticed.” A sharp pain flared in Lonnie’s chest and he realized one of his lungs was probably punctured. “Godamn it…hospital.” Lonnie sucked air through his teeth. He coughed, slumping. They all stared at the glob of blood he’d shot to the pavement.
Selix clicked her tongue and turned them around in hobble-step fashion. “No hospital, Lonnie. No doctors or nurses with questions. They wouldn’t even know what to do with you once they had a peek inside you.”
“I agree with the lady. Can be no officials getting official with us right now. I got a bette
r idea. Me and these two fine ladies will go south and draw off any pursuit while you guys go the other way and get somewhere safe.”
Selix nodded. “Plan C. The river.”
“We do not want to leave you.” Ingrid sobbed, dabbing pink tears from her eyes with her bloody skirts.
Selix touched Ingrid’s arm with her free hand. “No one ever asks us what we want to do, do they? We’ve never been given a choice.”
Ingrid shook her head, lips pouting.
Elsa, Ingrid, and Crash gathered in tight around Selix and Lonnie.
Crash looked up at the moon. “We started out with another who’s now lost. Our brother. Our lieutenant, the Brit. We’ve got to stick together now more than ever. Even if we must separate for a short time. You understand, people?”
Ingrid nodded. Elsa only stared at the ground with blood dripping from her chin. Selix and Lonnie’s eyes locked, Lonnie wondering how many more of his secrets were waiting in that mysterious head of hers.
“We will do this. Get it right.”
“Get it right,” they repeated, more-or-less.
“We will survive. No dying here. Not tonight.”
Too exhausted for words, they nodded their agreement.
“Here’s to our Lonnie, our Mardokh, coming back to us. But we can’t celebrate yet. We’ve got more to do. Be careful, now, you two. We ready?”
They nodded again and this time Lonnie joined them. They’d accepted him once more. As much as monsters could accept one another. Their past was a little less uneven, anyway.
“Then let’s go.” Crash, Ingrid, and Elsa went south to draw off whatever pursuit might follow. Although Lonnie had no idea what remained to pursue them. Must have been twenty-five or thirty bodies charred in the galefire.
Together, Selix and Lonnie gimped in a circle and started off toward a side alley.
“You won't die,” Selix said, eyes sweeping the streets, rooting through the shadows. “I refuse to let it happen.”
“Might not be up to you.”
“Trust me. I know a healer. Crossed over to Earth half a millennium ago. A real good guy. But we need to collect some pop bottles first.”