These were easier to recognize than the Roc skeletons. They were men, of a fashion, though they had no flesh on their bones, and many were draped in plate armor and chainmail that had rusted through until it seemed scarlet. Some were on foot and some rode on skeleton stallions, also covered in the rusted armor. The skeleton knights landed on the pier, some leaping out of tall waves while others scrambled up the seaweed-coated poles as the tide suddenly rose. Their skeletal horses shook their gaunt, pointed skulls and clattered their hooves on the wood. The ocean waves crashed against the sides of the boardwalk, like the sea was anxious to drag everything away.
The knights charged with no fanfare or order. The cloaked skeleton continued to wheel and spin in his odd dance. The knights rode into the Surf and Sand Festival, swords, maces, and lances lunging out to topple what the fleeing tourists hadn’t. The Rocs swooped down, eager to snap up what the knights couldn’t kill. Roscoe drew his crowbar and held the strong stick of steel in one hand. He turned back to face Felix and his friends.
Roscoe pointed with the crowbar to the back of the pier. “Come on. We’re leaving.” They turned to run. Roscoe knew Strickland was somehow behind this attack. The skeletons must belong to the mysterious other ally Strickland mentioned to Detective Burns and Don Lupo. If Roscoe still had blood in his veins, sheer rage would have boiled it. He shook away the feelings of anger. Right now, he needed to get the kids to safety and protect La Cruz. It was more vital than ever to stay cool.
The kids and Roscoe rushed back to the mainland, staying close together as waves and skeletons crashed over the pier. One knight charged toward Ace, raising a kite shield and a heavy spiked mace. Roscoe doubled his pace. He pushed past Ace and swung his crowbar down. The point of the bar shot past the shield and struck its helmet. Bone cracked, loud and clear. The skeleton went down, coming to pieces and collapsing in a pile of bones and armor. Roscoe kicked an arm aside and motioned to the kids. They were nearly to the wharf’s edge.
Mist billowed everywhere. Roscoe could hardly see. The boardwalk seemed to be moving under his feet. Skeletal hands reached up. Roscoe’s crowbar and boots slammed down. Broken bone fingers spun through the air. “Hurry!” Roscoe cried to the kids. “Move!” He beckoned them to stay close.
Penny let out a panicked shout. She had stumbled on a wooden plank and nearly fallen. Felix stopped and grabbed her, helping her up and ensuring she kept her footing. The boy clumsily tried to hold Snowball, who thrashed around and howled in fear. Penny dropped her stuffed bear. Felix grabbed the toy and held it out, with an awkward smile. Penny accepted it with a nod. A skeletal Roc’s shadow, split with sunlight, settled on them.
“Felix!” Penny shouted. The bird swept down, its clawed feet extended. They wrapped around Felix’s side. One pointed claw dug into his shoulder, drawing blood. Felix struggled and fought. Snowball leaned out of his hands and swatted the Roc’s feet with his little claws. Roscoe turned to join the boy, but he knew he’d be too slow. He cursed his limbs, which felt leaden, soaked, and dead. The crowbar was ready in his hands. The Roc’s open jaws lunged down toward Felix’s face.
A blurred gray stone, round as a marble, soared through the air and bashed into the giant bird’s face. The stone sunk into the eye socket and cracked the bone. The bird’s whole head snapped to the side. Roscoe could imagine a fleshy tongue whipping out of the skull and shrieks leaving the throat. He looked back and saw Ace holding a slingshot and already loading another rock. Ace took aim and let the rock fly.
“You let go of my friend, you jerk!” he roared. The rock left the slingshot and sailed through the air. It struck the rib cage this time, causing the whole beast to list to the side. Felix fell from its talons as Roscoe reached the bird. He slammed his crowbar deep into the belly of the Roc, stabbing down like it was a sword. Ribs shattered and cracked. Roscoe kept pushing the crowbar in and plunged it through the Roc’s spine. The bird snapped back and struck the boardwalk. Its wings flapped up, and its claws cut the air. Roscoe’s crowbar came down again. The Roc’s skull struck the soggy boardwalk as dust.
Roscoe looked up and nodded to Ace. “Nice shot, kid.”
Ace stood still, holding the slingshot in shaking hands. “Thanks.” He sounded like he was afraid to speak.
Stanley grabbed his shoulder and turned him around, while Penny helped Felix up. The cuts in the boy’s arms weren’t deep, and he could walk at a good pace. Snowball clung to his coat and licked his face, and Felix patted the yeti as he stayed close to Penny. They headed down the pier together, and Roscoe followed them.
After a couple more steps, they neared the edge of the boardwalk. Rain came down now, pelting the parked cars, and the tourists ran for cover. Most of the fair-goers had already piled into their automobiles and sped away. A few sirens wailed in the distance, but the police cars showed no sign of arriving. Everyone seemed to know how useless the law was―especially the cops.
It would be up to Donovan Motors to protect La Cruz.
The clatter of hoofs on wood made Roscoe turn around. Three riders came toward them, all skeleton knights in full armor. All of them swung heavy swords through the air, the weapons humming as they galloped closer. The skeletal horses charged in an odd, jaunty motion, the riders stuck in the saddle and slowly bringing down their blades. Roscoe looked at Felix, Penny, Stanley and Ace. He couldn’t turn in time to save them. Even if he could, a crowbar couldn’t stop three descending swords. Roscoe twisted around nonetheless and stopped running. The kids scrambled past him. Roscoe waited for the knights.
A machine gun’s chatter cut through the cold, misty air. It was a familiar rumble, a tommy gun spitting out a storm of lead. Bullets shot over Roscoe’s shoulder and struck the nearest knight. The thick slugs blasted through the skeleton, sending fragments of bone whirling through the air. The shots took out the skull of the skeletal horse as well, ripping the bone to powder. The knight continued charging, carried along by its momentum as it began to collapse. Bones clattered around Roscoe’s feet. Two more bursts of the Thompson’s gunshots blared out, and the second and third knights fell from their saddles.
Roscoe turned away from the pier. He walked off of the boardwalk, over the sidewalk. Wooster’s Packard rested on the sidewalk. Wooster stood next to it, a smoking tommy gun held in his hands. He raised it and fired into the air. A skeletal Roc fell from the sky and landed at Roscoe’s feet. Roscoe raised his crowbar in a salute and Wooster touched the brim of his hat. The kids and Roscoe hurried to the parking lot to join Wooster and the others.
The Captain hurried around the Packard to meet them. Betty and Angel were there as well, having just arrived from their previous positions. Before speaking, the Captain reached down and embraced Felix. He clasped the boy tightly and then looked at his shoulder. “You’ll have to get that wound patched up. Immediately.”
“I’ve taken a first aid class,” Betty said. “And there’s some medical supplies in every car.”
“Good.” The Captain looked at Stanley, Ace and Penny. “I suggest all of you hurry home to your parents, as quickly as possible. The undead should be contained here, and I’ve received no reports of their attack reaching other places in La Cruz. They won’t follow you.” He smiled at Penny and Stanley. “My regards to your fathers, by the way.”
“And thank you, Ace,” Felix added. “For saving me.”
“No problem,” Ace said. He looked back at Roscoe. “You’ll stop this?”
“You know it,” Roscoe said. “Now go.” He walked closer to the Captain as the kids hurried away. He would never admit it to Ace―but Roscoe could only guess as to what was happening. “It’s Strickland. He’s got some booth there with a cloaked skeleton, who appears to be commanding these knights. The skeleton’s wielding a big sword and he’s cloaked in red―”
“In red?” the Captain asked. “You’re certain?”
“Yeah…” Roscoe squinted as Wooster’s gun chattered again. “But what does his fashion sense matter? We gotta figure out what�
�s powering these skeleton punks and stop it.” It felt odd assuming command, but it also seemed natural somehow. “There doesn’t seem to be an end to them, and we can’t hold out forever. Any ideas?”
Wooster’s tommy gun spat lead again. He howled happily.
Angel shrugged. “My mother taught me about unquiet dead. There must be some rage fueling them, you know? Giving them power. But we ain’t got time to put a stop to that.”
“So perhaps we suck away their energy.” Felix said, and everyone looked at him. He removed his spectacles as he talked and cleaned them on his coat. “We can take all their energy and force it into an entropic engine, an invention of my design that runs off the power of death. It simply becomes raw energy at that point, and they are harmless human remains and, ah, the remains of Rocs.” He shivered a little as everyone looked at him. “I can construct an entropic engine. I know how. Then we simply drive to the source, rev the engine up, and the dead energy will be pulled into it. Easy as pie―to use the American vernacular.” He smiled weakly.
The Captain seemed unconvinced. “You’ve done it before?”
“My father,” Felix stammered. “In a lab. In Berlin. At Nazi gunpoint. While I watched.”
“Captain, it’s the best shot we got,” Betty said. She pointed to Roscoe’s car. “That exposed engine would be perfect. We can take it back to the garage, get it worked on, and drive back here as soon as it’s ready.”
“It’s good enough.” Roscoe tossed his keys to Betty. She caught them and then put her arm around Felix’s shoulder and steered him to the car. Snowball clambered after them. The yeti was soaked and seemed indignant. “You better go with them,” Roscoe told the Captain. “We can stay here. Hold off the bony bastards and stop them from reaching the town.”
Angel darted to Wooster’s Packard and leaned inside. He came out holding Roscoe’s sawed-off shotgun and a belt of shells. Angel tossed the gun and ammunition over and Roscoe caught them both. Angel grabbed a second pearl-handled automatic and moved to Roscoe’s side. The Captain watched everything, with a kind of pride in his eyes like a happy parent at a child’s recital.
“Don’t let them pass,” the Captain said. He turned to the Deuce. “And good luck!” He ran for the auto, scrambling over the slick parking lot, clambering past the runners and sitting down next to Felix. Betty twisted the Deuce around, the headlights blazing through the midst. She hit the road and drove away from Crimson Cove, back to Main Street and Donovan Motors.
Roscoe walked over to stand next to Wooster. Angel did the same. All of them held their guns close and stared down the boardwalk. Mist and rain still came down, covering the boardwalk and limiting visibility. Roscoe watched the mist. More hooves clattered on the pier, like a platoon of cavalry, coming to meet them. A fiberglass seahorse rolled into view, hitting the pier and then clattering off the side. They couldn’t hear the splash above the driving rain. Roscoe leveled his sawed-off. Wooster and Angel did the same with their guns. The first of the skeletal knights emerged, lances, swords, maces and battle axes held high. Wooster let out a snarling howl. That was order enough. All of them opened fire together. A storm of lead struck the charging skeletons.
The knights fell. Bullets shattered the legs of skeletal horses and tore through rusted armor. Fragments of steel and bone sprayed from the knights. They went down, ringing and splintering as they bounced on the boardwalk. Roscoe fired his shotgun one-handed. The first shell punched a fat hole through a knight’s steel helmet. Bone sprayed out the back. His next shot tore into the knight’s midsection and broke the breastplate. Next to him, Angel and Wooster fired with their own guns. Their volley held back the attackers. Wooster was howling with each shot as the Thompson roared in his hands. Angel gritted his teeth and took careful aim, firing his twin automatics in tandem. A few flying birds swooped down―only to be shot from the sky. None of the drivers let up.
“Now this is what I call a celebration!” Wooster yelled. “Ought to have something like this every week!” He nudged Angel, who gave him an annoyed look. “Nice shot, boy―for a chili-picker. Don’t you let up now! Keep your fingers on them triggers.”
Roscoe’s shotgun was empty. “Reloading!” he shouted. He ducked behind the Packard, slammed open his sawed-off and prepared to load in two more shells. Roscoe kept his eyes on the battle. The tide of bone and steel hadn’t faded. The knights continued to charge. More and more of them were shot down, but they didn’t stop. A roc swooped behind Angel and tried to lunge at him. Angel whirled and sent two bullets into the bird’s skull, then spun back and poured more fire on the charging knights and their skeletal horses. Roscoe smiled. His pal could take care of himself after all.
“Boy, this is a gas.” The familiar voice came from behind. Roscoe spun, raising his sawed-off and taking aim. A figure in a pink suit, pale Panama hat, and sunglasses stood on the sidewalk, munching on an oversized ball of cotton candy. It was Roy Roach. “I mean it. A crackerjack festival. I’ll have to come here next year. I bet it’ll be a little different then, though.”
Roscoe leveled the sawed-off at Roach. “This is Strickland’s work, ain’t it?”
“Not telling.” Roach’s eyes were smiling behind the sunglasses. Roscoe knew they were. “It’s a mess, isn’t it? But you seem to be doing a decent job of cleaning it up, dead man.” Roach sniffed suddenly, breathing in air through his nose. “I can smell your rot. It clings to you, no matter how much you try and hide it. I want to feel that rot, dead man. I want to burrow in your skin like a maggot and eat you from the inside out.”
There was nothing Roscoe wanted more than to pull the trigger. He stepped closer, hoping not to miss. His eyes were focused on Mr. Roach. More gunfire thundered in the distance, but he focused on Roach. He extended the sawed-off. “You’ll eat a bullet, you maniac,” Roscoe snarled. “See how you like the taste of that.”
“Dead men never pay attention, do they?” Roach asked.
“To what?”
“To their surroundings.” Roach pointed, and Roscoe followed his finger. A knight was charging straight toward him. The skeleton must have slipped around the field of fire, or maybe washed up from the ocean onto the beach and come in from the side. Roscoe raised his shotgun and fired. He managed to get one shot off before the knight’s outstretched long sword stabbed into his upper chest. It pierced bone and flesh and then ripped out through his back. Momentum forced Roscoe backward. The skeleton kept riding, driving the blade further in. The sword’s sharp edges dug deep into his body. He struggled to keep his arm up and then he fired the second shot. The knight’s steel helmet shattered. Bone flew through the air. The skeleton’s charge ended and the horse and rider both collapsed. Roscoe scrambled back, stumbled over and fell.
He lay on the ground, the sword handle projecting from his belly. His eyes darted to the sidewalk. Roach was gone. He had vanished into the air. Roscoe gasped and saw the brilliant red of Angel’s zoot suit. “Angel!” he cried.
Angel turned around and saw him. “Hijo de―” He raced to Roscoe’s side. He knelt down and looked at the pier. More knights were coming―but now, they were holding back instead of charging to their destruction. The rocs still soared overhead and Wooster kept gunning them down. Angel looked at the sword. “What should I do, man?” he asked. “Just pull the damn blade out?”
“You’re a lifesaver, Angel.” Roscoe nodded. “Go for it.”
“Okay…” Angel took hold of the sword’s handle and yanked. “Say, you want to keep this sword? Might beat your crowbar, you know?”
“I get enough weird looks for carrying the crowbar around. I don’t think I can explain a sword.” Roscoe grinned weakly. “And I don’t want to wield any weapon that someone just stabbed through me. Doesn’t sit right.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Angel agreed.
From the pier, the knights raised crossbows. The bands creaked taut, sliding back by themselves and readying the bolts to fire. Angel and Roscoe saw them―just as the bolts flew.
/> “Cabrones!” Angel cried. He grabbed the sword and yanked it free in a single motion, then stood and fired the last shots of his automatic. Angel dove to the side, and Roscoe rolled as bolts cracked on the pavement around them. One grazed Angel’s arm, staining his zoot suit darker red. Then the knights charged.
They came pounding down the boardwalk, drawing their swords as they moved. Roscoe struggled to raise his shotgun, but both barrels were empty. Angel stood and took aim with both pistols, but, from the grim expression on his face, Roscoe didn’t think he had many rounds either. Only Wooster seemed happy. He fired the last rounds from his tommy gun and then let it hang over his shoulder on its strap. He pulled his Bowie knife, held the blade in one hand and howled his rage to the world.
Roscoe heard a familiar engine. He looked up at Angel as he pulled himself to his feet. “Well, what do you know?” Roscoe grinned. “My ride is here.”
The Deuce zoomed down the open road with Betty at the wheel. She spun the car to the side. Its wheels sped over the rain-slick street and it skidded before coming to a halt. Betty cracked open the door, a carbine in her hand. The Captain sat in the back, wielding the ancient bolt-action rifle from his office. Felix crouched next to him, hands over his ears. They must have brought the kid along to make sure the entropic engine was working.
Betty and the Captain fired into the knights together. Felix kept his hands over his ears. The skeletons kept on advancing, but Roscoe and Angel both reloaded and joined in. Together, they poured on the lead. The knights didn’t make it out of the boardwalk.
As the last skeleton fell, Roscoe reached the Deuce. Betty left the key in the ignition and hopped out, her carbine resting on her shoulder.
“You guys doing okay?” Betty looked at the gash in Roscoe’s chest and then the sword lying on the ground, shimmering in the rain. “Cripes! What happened?”
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