Brethren

by Shawn Ryan

  The beast heaved the glowing mass in her direction. As it flew in a whistling line, it began to change, mutate. Wings burst forth, then a monstrous curved tail tipped by a two-inch stinger. Massive pincers were the last to form, their malevolent clacking filled the air.

  "The girl," Moloch whispered and the scorpion zeroed in on Alex.

  "Alex, look out!" Jason shouted. "Duck!"

  Locked in her race for safety, she didn't hear.

  Concentrating desperately, Jason reached out with his arm. In his mind, he pictured crushing the beast like an eggshell. Yet the scorpion continued to bear down on Alex, twenty feet, ten, five. Jason increased his concentration, clenching his fist when the scorpion was a foot from her neck. The creature halted in mid-flight, pincers clacking, tail jabbing the air at the unseen enemy holding it fast. Jason squeezed more tightly. The scorpion squealed as black ropes of fluid spurted from underneath its armor. It twitched and struggled as the unrelenting force constricted around it. Jason opened his fist and the creature fell to the ground, an unrecognizable mound.

  Alex continued to run, unaware of the near miss. She was only a few feet from the car when Moloch unleashed another attack. This one moved with the speed of sound, giving Jason no time to react. Twenty feet from Alex, the bolt transformed into an arrow, the point slamming into Alex's left shoulder, emerging bloodily on the other side. She stood stock-still for a moment, touching the point with her right hand. Then she turned toward Jason.

  "Jason?" she said faintly, then crumpled to the ground.

  Jason screamed.

  "Don't worry, it's not deadly. She's just unconscious," Moloch said. "I'm not through with her yet."

  Enough was enough, Jason decided. To hell with figuring out the complexities of his power. To hell with its subtleties. All he could see was tearing Moloch limb from limb. He wanted to see the beast in pieces on the ground, black blood spilling out and being sucked into the dry earth. The power detonated into a red inferno inside him and his body began to burn. His arms sprang out and a bloodthirsty, crimson glow enveloped them. He only wanted one chance. One would be enough.

  Before he could attack, the ground beneath his feet began to tremble wildly. Barely keeping his balance, Jason saw Moloch standing arms akimbo, palms facing the earth. Solid streams of energy fired from the beast's hands into the ground, blowing out clouds of dust and sending dirt and rock flying. Rippling fault lines ran in all directions, turning the field into an unsteady jigsaw puzzle. Great columns of dust rose in the air as the earth devoured itself. The ground beneath Moloch remained firm, protected by the green shield.

  Through his shaking vision, Jason watched as one of the running chasms sped toward his father's comatose body. Stephen's limbs flailed about in mad abandon with the rocking earth.

  Jason redirected his energy, scooping up his father's body just as it tumbled into a fault. Holding him above the ground in a golden hammock, Jason debated where to put him out of harm's way. He never had time to find it.

  A green firebolt slammed into the bottom of the hammock, pitching it so violently that Stephen almost fell out. Jason struggled to right it and expended more energy to strengthen the shield surrounding the hammock.

  His eyes were on his father when the ground beneath him vanished and he plummeted straight down.

  Instantly his arms sprang out against the walls of the pit, shoulders cracking with the strain as his downward descent slowed, then stopped. Pushing his arms to their breaking point, he inched his way toward the surface.

  Then something grabbed his leg, something ropelike and unrelenting. Jason felt other bands wrap around his legs, dragging him deeper. He looked down and wished he hadn't.

  Four huge, hairy legs grasped his, inexorably pulling him into the blackness below. Eight blood-red eyes stared up from the darkness; under the eyes, two slavering fangs waiting for flesh. Jason thought the golden aura would protect him, but didn't want to test his theory. He didn't have time. He had to dispose of this creature quickly.

  His concentration on his shield increased, turning it into a fiery corona. Nauseating smoke filled his nostrils as the hair on the spider-creature's legs caught fire. He heard the beast's squeals of pain and upped the power another notch. With an air-sucking whoomp, the entire beast caught fire, burning like a ball of tissue paper.

  His arms agonizing with the effort, Jason pulled himself out of the hole, the smell of burning flesh and hair assaulting his nose. He was halfway out when the edges of the hole began squeezing shut. Scrambling with all four limbs, he wrenched himself upward just as the hole closed with a dusty slam.

  Panting badly, he needed time to catch his breath but knew there was none. He pushed himself to his knees when he heard the low rumble of thunder and looked up to see a black cloud forming over him.

  "A little present from me to you," he heard Moloch say.

  With a thunderclap, the cloud unleashed its contents, streams of golden-brown rain. Acid? Jason thought. Can it burn through my aura?

  The liquid came down in unbroken sheets, thousands of gallons a second. Jason felt deluged, as if he were on the downside of a damburst. He himself going under, drowning. Pummeled beneath the downpour, he thought for a brief second that he might be able to stay on his knees, forming a barrier against the rush of rain and a spot in which to breathe. But the force of the torrent knocked him flat, his face turned sideways. Even with his aura, he couldn't breathe. The liquid was too much. His mouth filled and he swallowed.

  As the liquid burned a trail down his throat, the sheer malevolence of Moloch's plan struck home. This wasn't acid or water. Moloch planned something much more insidious.

  He was drowning Jason in scotch.

  Chapter 42

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  Quintard no longer believed his eyes. The scene playing out before him was destroying his trust in his own sanity. And yet, even if it was impossible, he should be enjoying it. The creature was kicking hell out of Medlocke, something he had always wished he could do. But there was no joy in it. None at all.

  He could see the beast had plotted his strategy perfectly. Wear Medlocke down by forcing him to protect the people he loved until he didn't have anything left for himself. Once Medlocke was weakened to exhaustion, Quintard knew the beast would kill the woman and old man as Medlocke looked on. Then Quintard knew it would be his turn. What the woman had said was true. A creature like this had no need of humans, except to subjugate as slaves. When this battle was over, his life would be over, too.

  Quintard looked at Moloch, who stood to his right. A satisfied smile languished on the creature's face as it watched its enemy drowning. If there was a chance, it was now. Quintard's heart pounded dangerously and his breath came hot and painful. He reached into his coat and drew out the pistol.

  Get the wagons in a circle, pilgrims, he thought. It's time to play John Wayne.

  He brought the pistol up with both hands, aimed carefully and fired.

  Moloch's right eye exploded in a plume of blood and yellow vitreous humor as the hollow-point slug tore in one side of the socket and blasted out the other. If Moloch had had a nose, the slug would have ripped most of it away. As it was, it left a ruined eye socket pouring blood down its cheek, coating the M-shaped scar.

  As Moloch turned toward its attacker, the pistol barked five more times. Staggering backward, the beast tried to flee the hail of lead, but each bullet found its mark somewhere on its body. One ripped down its left temple, leaving a deep, bloody streak. Two others slammed into its chest, exiting out its back with meaty explosions of flesh and bone. Another crashed into its groin while the final one tore off the two smallest fingers on its right hand, which had flown up in a gesture of protection after its eye was blown out.

  The assault lasted only a few seconds and when it ceased, Moloch turned its remaining eye toward Quintard. Undiluted evil flowed from it.

  Quintard stood there, the smoking pistol hanging in his right hand. All he could think was: Well, I've certa
inly fucked up now.

  An angry snarl rolling over its lips, Moloch raised its left hand, pointing the first two fingers at Quintard's head. A blade of green fire carved the air and with a ripping sound, sliced through Quintard's neck, sending his head flying in a red arc. It landed with a heavy thump on the hard red clay and rolled to an upright position. The mouth opened and closed once, then stopped.

  His body stood for several seconds, tottering one way, then the other. From Moloch's fingers, emerald tendrils lashed out at it, wrapping it like a mummy. Once the body was completely engulfed, the tendrils squeezed. The crack of bones resounded loudly and Quintard's body erupted like a water balloon. His left forearm jettisoned away from the explosion, landing thirty feet away. Quintard's arm rolled over, the four bites from his father's pitchfork turned skyward.

  Chapter 43

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  Gulping for air, Jason swallowed mouthful after mouthful of the liquor. It scorched his mouth, burned his skin, inflamed his senses. If he opened his eyes, the stinging liquid set them on fire.

  He tried to concentrate, use his power to shove back the attack, but the flood of alcohol thundered on the back of his head like a sledgehammer, making it almost impossible to think clearly.

  The pistol shots rang in his ears, but he was unable to look up long enough to see what had happened. The flood of alcohol did not let up, so if the shots were directed at Moloch, they obviously were not doing their intended task.

  Even in his rattled state, Jason could see the irony in Moloch's latest salvo. It was deviously appropriate that the one thing that almost killed him before, something he had defeated, now returned to kill him again. Badger was there the last time, to help pull him through. Now there was no one.

  Badger. His friend's face flashed in his mind. Badger. He would never see him again, never get to tell him how much he meant, how much he loved him.

  He thought of his father, of Alex, of his unborn child. He'd never again hug his father, tell Alex he loved her, see his new baby. His world was being washed away, snatched from him as it had been before, with Sarah and Claire. They had been gone for months, now their memories would be destroyed, too. Old and new swept away in the same flood.

  He had failed. Failed himself, failed the world, failed the ones he loved. Moloch had won. The beast had lived up to its promise, had made him suffer. As his life was torn from him, so were the people he cared about, pulled from his grip like the air from his lungs. When he was gone, there would be no one left to protect them. Moloch would kill them, too.

  Why did they have to die? Why did everyone he cared about have to die? Liquor spilled into his lungs and he began to choke. I loved them all and I couldn't save them.

  But he had to try.

  Throwing himself facedown, he began to roll in a desperate attempt to spin from under the deluge. Over and over he spun, the liquid splashing into his mouth and eyes when he was faceup, the mud and grit grinding into them when he was facedown. But the torrent moved with him, always remaining directly above. Wherever he went, it went. The flood continued.

  With a sudden bump, he rolled into an unmoving object. He opened his eyes to see what it was, but the liquor burned like a hornet's sting and he quickly shut them. Like a blind man, he began to run his hands quickly over the object. It took only a moment for him to realize it was a body. A warm body.

  Jason?

  He heard his name echo inside his head.

  Jason, is that you? the voice said.

  It was Stephen.

  Dad? Dad? Are you okay? I need your help. I can't do this alone. I can't.

  Son, you can't quit now. You're the only hope.

  Dad, I don't know how.

  Grab my hands.

  Jason fumbled about until his hands closed around his father's. A wave of power lanced into his fingers. Coupled with his own, it quickly enveloped his entire body. His brain burned with fire, with knowledge, with power.

  Do you know what we must do?

  Yes, Dad.

  Do you know how?

  Yes. We can do it together.

  No. You must do it alone, Jason. I can't help. I haven't the strength. I've given it all to you. It's my gift. I'm sorry I didn't give it to you sooner. Goodbye, Son.

  Dad? Don't go. I need you. I need your help.

  I love you, Son.

  I love you, too, Dad Hang on. I'm coming back.

  As Jason released his father's hands, an incandescent sun of power stoked his heart, warmed his body. The scalding power radiated from his heart, down his arms and legs to the tips of his fingers and toes. The alcohol drowning his system burned away.

  In his mind, visions began to form, familiar visions. Blood, fire, faces, screams. He saw great fires, people thrust inside to burn. He saw torture devices, victims writhing in the machines' embrace. Faces began to fly by. All men, all familiar. Some of their faces were smiling and benevolent; others locked in expressions of agony.

  And suddenly Jason understood. These weren't strangers. They weren't just random faces from his dreams. They were ancestors. Medlockes from the past. Caught in massive witch-hunts. Killed for having a power none of them truly understood or wanted. Killed for being different.

  Killed for being like him. And there was no one to protect them.

  Around Jason, the aura exploded into golden phosphorescence. Blinding in its intensity, it roared through his bloodstream, electrified his nerve endings. His muscles jumped and flamed with the power.

  From his body, the golden aura spread outward in all directions, its heat searing the air. The rain of alcohol turned to steam, blowing away on the breeze. Still upward the aura expanded, reaching the black cloud, sucking the life from it, absorbing it.

  Freed from the torrents, Jason raised his head and pulled himself up. The gift scorched through his veins like a holy avenger. He held his hands before his face and looked in silent wonder as his flesh pulsated and glowed with the magnificent light. His skin seemed insubstantial, a tissue-thin barrier barely reining in the abundance of his power. Everything suddenly became crystalline in clarity.

  Why hadn't he seen it before? Why hadn't any of his ancestors seen it? Hatred wasn't the answer. Moloch fed on hate, relished it, drew power from it Defeating it took something else, something outside the self-centeredness of hate. Quell the lust for revenge. Dampen the fury. They only hid the truth.

  Compassion, concern for others more than for yourself. That was the secret of the gift, what made it truly special, what made those who had it truly special. It was all so simple. And yet so hard. Perhaps some of his ancestors had understood the secret too late. Perhaps hate clouded their judgment. It no longer clouded his.

  Glancing to his right, Jason saw Quintard's head lying in a pool of blood and the huge crimson stain on the ground nearby. He felt no satisfaction. Only sadness.

  The power flamed even brighter.

  Jason faced Moloch and smiled. He was shocked to see the bloody mess that remained of Moloch's right eye and the multiple wounds on its body. Apparently, the bullets had done some damage after all.

  Moloch did not smile back. It simply leered. In its right hand it held Alex's neck. In the left, it held Stephen's.

  "The game is over, Medlocke," it said. "I just wanted you to watch as I killed them."

  "I warned you once. Now I'm warning you again," Jason said, his voice calm and composed. "Let them go."

  Moloch hesitated for a moment, struck by Jason's seriousness, then broke into an evil smile.

  "Perhaps I have underestimated you," Moloch said. "Your powers seem far more vast than I expected. But even so, you aren't quick enough to prevent me from ripping their heads off. You may be able to kill me, but everything you love in your life will also be gone. Either way, you lose. Do you want to take that chance?"

  Jason just smiled. From his eyes, a white-hot flash of light split the air between him and Moloch. With a quick slicing noise, Moloch's arms dropped to the ground, severed at the shoulders.
They lay on the dirt, useless and twitching. Alex and Stephen slumped to the ground beside them. A casual thought from Jason and the arms disintegrated.

  Blood jetting from its shoulders and its face blank with shock, Moloch looked at Jason.

  The aura about Jason flared brilliantly, blindingly, yet its color no longer remained gold. A rainbow sparkled in it—red, purple, green, yellow. The colors swam in and out of Jason, passing through him, coming from him and returning to him. "I can't let you hurt the people I love," he said.

  He raised his arm to deal Moloch's death blow when the beast threw its head back, loosing a geyser of words into the air. A rumbling shook the sky as great, purple clouds rolled into life. Lightning twisted and burned. Bolts tore from the sky, tearing out great chunks of earth where they hit. The green aura rippled and smoked around Moloch.

  With a flick of his wrist, Jason covered Alex and his father in a protective cloak, then brought them quickly to his side. Lightning fired toward Alex and Stephen, but Jason casually eradicated the bolts, as if he were swatting flies.

  Moloch dropped to its knees, blood streaming from its shoulders to the ground. As it splattered the red clay, the dirt began to glow with a diseased shade of green. Still invocating, Moloch plunged its face into the bloody mud, sucking it down its throat, licking it up with its tongue. It brought its face up to stare at Jason with demonic glee.

  "Too late Medlocke. It's all too late."

  The smile still on Moloch's lips, a rip started at the top of its forehead, slicing down the center of its face. The skin folded back, exposing the bone and muscle underneath. Bones bent and broke, twisting, growing, transforming. The face stretched outward, the skull cracking in protest. Moloch's needle teeth fell out, only to be replaced by gargantuan tusks jutting out like ivory scimitars.

  The rest of Moloch's body followed the transformation.

  Its back arched, the spine tearing through the skin in huge knobs. The skin of its chest expanded, widened into a broad expanse of sinew. Muscles in its legs bunched, becoming broad, steel-strong springs. The knees broke, then bent backward.