by M. K. Gibson
“Here,” she said, offering me my clothes, tech bracers, pulse boots, blasters, and belt. Aww man, come to papa.
I put on my jeans and pulse boots after shedding my prison rags. It was like slipping back into myself again. I took the shirt, still stained with blood, and slipped it on. It was disgusting, but it was mine. And to be honest, it was cleaner than the rags I had on, which reeked of the Chesapeake.
“Thank you, Khurzon,” I said to the demon, who smiled.
“I told you I would keep them safe.”
“What was with the keypad?”
“I disarmed the bomb. You wouldn’t believe how much theft happens in a place like this.”
“Yeah, dishonest demon guards. Who would think it? Hey, mind if I look for a coat or something in here?”
“Go ahead. I never said I would keep other people’s stuff safe.” Khurzon shrugged. Her honesty was what it was. Literal.
I found a thick brown leather coat with a white fleece interior lining and slipped it on. It was warm and it fit fine. It wasn’t my density coat, but it would do. Buckling on my holsters, slipping the blasters in place and clicking my tech bracers back into place, I felt whole again.
They say things are just that, things. And things can be replaced. In many ways that is true. But when you spend time building something, making it an extension of yourself, those things become personal. Real personal.
Tell a soldier who survived any war that you were taking his weapon away from him—the weapon that kept him or her alive when the world went to hell—and they’ll tell you to go fuck yourself. Tell a master craftsman to give up their tools and he’ll tell you the same thing.
Well, probably the same thing, minus the swearing. Soldiers are a foul-mouthed lot.
One last bit of thievery was needed. In one of the open bins was half a carton of synth-smokes and a lighter. I pocketed those after lighting one up.
“Oh hell yes,” I said aloud, breathing in the smoke. “I am back.”
“Feeling better?”
“Bet your ass,” I said tossing the plasma cannon back to Khurzon. A few more drags of the smoke and I tossed it aside. “Where are the kids?”
“This way,” Khurzon said as she headed out of the room. She led me deeper down the rows of bay-sized holding cells and we came up on the last one.
The kids of Löngutangar.
They seemed to be OK—if “OK” meant stolen from their homes, frightened out of their minds, held in a cell beneath the earth, and given only the most rudimentary bathroom facility and a meal a day as OK. I came to the holding cell and the kids rushed to the gate with their arms stretched through, reaching for me.
“Salem! Salem!” they cried out. I tried to reassure them that everything was going to be fine, but they were scared and excited and loud.
“Move, move, MOVE!” TJ yelled as he forced his way to the front. Taylor’s son had apparently elected himself as the de facto leader. He was about thirteen now, but he was taking charge of the kids like an adult. “Move back, damn it, or I’ll pop you in the mouth,” he threatened the kids.
“TJ, how are you all? Is everyone OK?” I asked as I reached through the bars and put my hand on the back of the boy’s neck.
“Could be worse. Shitting in public takes some getting used to.”
“You should watch your mouth.”
“Tell ya what, Mr. Salem, you bust us outta here and you can tell my dad I said all the bad words you like. Deal?”
I had to laugh. The boy was raised by Taylor, all right. He had adopted much of Taylor’s . . . unique perspective on life. “Deal.”
“How many of you are there? What happened?”
“Forty-four of us are here. A couple of days after you and Father Grimm left to go get your stuff back, Grimm came back alone and said that you were captured. Grimm told Vali and Vidar what happened. Vali threw away his booze and put us all on lockdown. Then Grimm left on some important mission, or something like that. We thought it was to find you, but we haven’t seen him since. Then a few days ago, a bunch of troopers attacked the town in middle of the night. Vali led the warriors to fight them off, but they snatched up as many kids as they could and took off with us. That’s all I know.”
“I’m sorry, TJ. I’m sorry for you all,” I said, addressing all the kids.
“Can we go home now?” a little girl asked. Little thing wasn’t older than six. Damn. She should be playing, not being held in a cell like a fucking animal. I didn’t even know her name.
I gripped the bars, wanting to scream and yell. I wanted to go back to the island and kick Gerhardt and Maz both in their balls.
But I held it in.
The kids needed to see me in control and brave. Because that’s what leaders did. They didn’t lose their shit when someone steals something of theirs. They didn’t beat up their citizens who wanted to apologize, drunk or not. And they sure as fuck didn’t run off chasing fragments of their past, leaving their people alone and leaderless.
“You sure will,” I told the little girl. “You all will. But I need to you to be brave right now. I need you to listen and do as I say and I promise you, you will make it home. Can you all do that for me?”
“Yeah!” the kids yelled.
“Good. First, when I get the gate open, don’t rush out. We need to stay in a group and get you all out of here together, so no wandering off. This is Khurzon.” I pointed to the big demon standing behind me, holding two plasma cannons in her four arms. “I know she is scary.”
“I’d kick her ass,” TJ said, winking at me, and the kids all laughed.
“I like him.” Khurzon smirked.
“I bet you would. She is on our side though, so no ass-kicking. She is going to lead us to the freight elevator and from there we are going to the hangar. Another friend of mine will be there, getting us a ride. He is also very big and very scary, so don’t freak out.”
“Friend?” Khurzon asked.
“Part of the plan I left out. In case the distraction out front wasn’t enough, I needed someone to secure the transport and keep the troops off us in the hangar.”
“One guy? Alone?”
“Trust me, Chael will be fine,” I said as I tapped out the hack program through my bracer and unlocked the cell holding the gates. “This way, kids.”
We led the kids to the motor pool. And what we found there was a nightmare.
The motor pool was a blood-soaked Picasso painting of what used to be living beings, coated in parts and pieces of the dead. Blood and organs, both demon and human, were smeared everywhere. Intestines hung on the walls and off vehicles. Bodies were impaled against the walls with their own weapons holding them up. I heard some of the kids cry at the sight and I couldn’t blame them.
In the center of the hangar, in a perfect circle of cleanliness amid the destruction, was huge troop transport and Chael leaning against it, his arms crossed and his naked torso covered in blood.
“Hello kiddies,” Chael said, waggling his fingers.
“Damn it Chael, don’t scare the children!”
“I haven’t tried. Yet.”
Ignoring Chael, I turned to the kids. “OK guys, get into the transport. Khurzon, take the wheel. Chael and I will get another vehicle and lead us out of here.”
“Got it. Come on kids, in you go,” Khurzon said, setting her cannons down and helping the kids up four at a time into the back of the huge ten-wheeled transport.
“I’m going with you,” TJ said, separating himself from the others.
“Can’t, little man. I am not going back. Not right away. There is something I have to do first. If I don’t, they are coming back for us all. I can’t let that happen.”
TJ heard me and didn’t seem to like it. But the boy nodded, accepting it. Good kid. I ran a hand through his brown hair. “Look after your dad, all right? I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
“OK. But don’t take too long or I’m gonna have to get mad,” TJ threatened playfully. Damn, I like
d that kid. He ran off to join the others.
Khurzon finished loading them up and I began scanning the hangar for a vehicle that would suit our needs. And then I spotted it.
“Oh, no freaking way,” I said.
Parked among the impounded vehicles was Grimm’s outrider. It must have been confiscated outside of Andromalius’s warehouse after I got arrested. Explains why it took Grimm a couple of days to get back to Löngutangar.
I wondered where he went, though. TJ said he went off on a mission. It wasn’t to get me, that much was sure. Hell, it must have been important if it took him away from the people of the town and wasn’t to save my ass.
I hopped into the driver’s seat and Chael climbed into the back and sat up through the open top, resting his hands on the roll bar. He was like a giant dog waiting to go on a car ride. I fired up the outrider and the fusion cells hummed perfectly. Khurzon started up the armored transport and I began to pull out towards the motor pool’s ramp leading out.
That was when a small contingent of armed troopers appeared at the exit. They formed a firing line and aimed a mounted rocket cannon at us.
Oh shit.
“Get out of the vehicles and surrender,” one of the human troopers commanded, his voice amplified through his combat helmet’s speakers. “You have ten seconds or we will open fire.”
“Ten . . .”
Oh shit. So close.
“Nine . . .”
There had to be a way out of this. Think, damn it!
“Eight . . .”
I looked over at Khurzon in the troop transport and she seemed ready to ram the troops, consequences be damned.
“Seven . . .”
Then I saw the kids in the back of the transport through the armored glass. That thing could take a beating.
“Six . . .”
But plasma rockets? A beating, sure, but for how long?
“Five . . .”
No. I couldn’t risk it.
“Four . . .”
I hopped out of the outrider and threw my hands in the air, walking in front of the transport. “We give up. Just don’t shoot.”
“Salem, what the hell?” Khurzon yelled from the transport.
“Kids, damn it! Not worth the risk!”
“Rather they die like this than in Flotsam.”
“I can protect them in there at least!” I yelled back over my shoulder.
The troopers kept their weapons trained on us. The trooper who had been giving us the countdown turned his head slightly aside and held a hand to his earpiece and nodded.
“Three . . .”
“Wait! I surrendered!”
“Two . . .”
I drew my pistols, aiming for the plasma rocket, hoping I could blow it up. At this range I couldn’t calculate the damage it would do, but I had to try.
Suddenly, Chael was next to me with a hand on my shoulder.
“I’ve got this.” The giant smiled. I knew that look. It came just before the slaughter he reveled in.
Turning back towards the transport, I screamed at the kids, “DO NOT LOOK!”
Chael literally vanished. He reappeared behind the troops and grabbed the one who was speaking in his giant hands and squeezed. The trooper’s head burst open, bloody pulp spraying.
Chael then turned on the other stunned guards. “One . . .”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
A Master of Dismemberment
Watching an artist do his or her work has always impressed me. Not matter what the skill was. Whether it was watching a master painter like Bob Ross or a hibachi chef flipping his knives, slinging shrimp, and performing the flaming volcano, I had to watch.
Chael was a master of dismemberment.
His glee for killing reminded me of Ricky in a way. Where Ricky’s skill in killing demons was fast and precise with lethal efficiency, Chael was chaotic and random. Each move seemed improvised without forethought or intent. He was equally deadly, but in a far more brutal and kinetic way.
After crushing the first troop’s head, Chael simply cast the dead man aside and stepped to the next, who opened fire with his standard-rounds assault rifle. Rather than dodging or moving out of the way, Chael rushed into the gunfire, absorbing the bullets into his massive chest. Reaching the weapon, he simply bent the barrel, took it from the guard, and swung it at his head. The blow practically disintegrated the weapon and ripped the guard’s head off, leaving only his lower jaw and neck attached to the body.
The next guard just dropped to his knees, threw down his weapons, and begged. Chael answered his prayer by planting a massive foot into the guard’s chest, slamming him back so hard and fast that both of the guard’s knees popped and ripped through his flesh as his body bent backwards, pinning his legs under him. Chael then simply stood on the dying man, all half ton of him, and caved in the man’s chest cavity.
The last two guards simply ran. One slipped past Chael. The other didn’t quite make it. Chael gripped the squirming man and held him up by his leg like a fisherman posing for a picture, watching the other fleeing guard run. Chael reversed his grip, judged the distance and trajectory, spun in a great circle, and launched the guard like a human hammer toss.
Chael’s aim was true. The improvised human projectile hit the running guard and they both landed hard in a tumbling bloody mess of broken joints. Chael lumbered over to them and knelt down next to them and whispered something.
With my cybernetic enhanced hearing, I heard what he said, and I shivered, thankful the children couldn’t hear it. Then Chael leaped into the air and brought both feet down onto the guards’ heads, crushing them like bugs, spraying bloody brains around the ground.
Chael walked back to us in the vehicles, leaving giant sticky, red, coppery-smelling footprints behind him.
“Shall we go?”
“Yeah,” I said, stunned by the brutality I just saw. I only hoped the kids heeded my warning and listened to me and turned away. This world makes you grow up fast as it is. I sure as hell didn’t want to be part of killing the last remnant of childhood these poor kids had.
“Let’s go!” I yelled.
Khurzon fired up the transport and Chael hopped into the back of the outrider. We pulled out of the hangar and drove through the convenient hole in the wall of Flotsam Detention Center. The hole was convenient because I made sure the attack on the complex provided us a distraction as well as way out. I was never one for taking chances when a little forward planning got me what I needed.
And speaking of which, a final salvo of air-to-ground rockets detonated behind us as we left, making sure those dumb enough to follow us had a pretty bad day of getting dead. Normally, I am not very big on senseless killing. But those who condone the kidnapping of children with the intent of shipping them off for torture in a living nightmare of a prison don’t get any quarter from me. They get rockets to the face.
From the driver’s seat of the outrider, I waved a thank you to the cloaked Cyberai WHISPER-7 Assault helicopter hovering above us. I could barely make out the odd, distorted angles of bent-light camouflage that outlined the chopper. From inside, I was sure Kuma was waving back. Or he was rubbing his thumb and fingers together due to how much this was going to cost me.
But Phase Three was worth it. On the island I had provided Twitch with Kuma’s contact frequency and the credit codes to the last of my slush funds and one of my remaining storage vaults, which had a military-grade cloaker, for a down payment. They responded, letting her know they would on be standby, but also providing the final tally for their assistance.
And the money and cloaker didn’t even make a dent in the cost. Apparently hiring top-tier mercenaries to assault a Hell-run detention center and prison while providing air support, thus preventing returning helicopters from the island to blow me away, was costly. Who knew?
Kuma assumed I was good for it and extended me a line of credit. But the juice was on now. If I didn’t make my payment within a year, then they would come to take everyth
ing I had—including my life.
So, nothing new.
I tapped an open comm link on my tech bracer and connected to the transport. “Khurzon, just follow me and keep as low a profile as possible.”
“Just drive casual, then?”
“Heh,” I chuckled. Apparently Khurzon appreciates the classics. “Something like that.”
“Won’t they be able to track this vehicle?” she asked, and she had a point.
“Normally, yeah. But I am already hacking the transponder. As far as anyone following is concerned, that truck is going in another direction. I am also throwing up a digital jammer, so the image recognition programs in the city cameras won’t be able to ID us. But it won’t last long, so stick close. I need to get you and the kids to a safe place and then back to Löngutangar.”
“Where are we going then?”
“You ever wanted to be a hobo?” I asked the demon, smirking to myself, doubting the demon got the reference.
************************
Taking an old route I used to avoid inter-kingdom checkpoints, we arrived at Lemegeton’s southern industrial Magna-Rail complex, just inside the district of False Liberty. All of the Magna-Rail complexes were run by The Brotherhood, and this major hub in what used to be the Philadelphia/New Jersey region was the perfect place to ship the kids home in secret.
I had an in with the Brotherhood, having done jobs for them in the past under my many aliases, and I was counting on that goodwill to get the kids home. While we were driving, I had time to think.
To think of those who died to get me—us—here.
I didn’t know if Gh’aliss was playing me, or if her affections were real. Now I’d never know. Being around her brought up a lot of the past, and brought out parts of the old me, parts I wanted to stay gone.
But I’d like to think there was good in her. That she did care for me. It would be easier to think she was evil and cruel. It would have made her death easier to bear. But then, when have I ever done anything the easy way?