Stone Soldiers 4: Shades of War

by C. E. Martin

  The parahuman immediately dropped to his broken knee, still struggling against Smith even as Jason struck him once more.

  A surge of ghosts- almost like an arm composed of several dozen- swept out of the whirling wall of the maelstrom and smashed into Victor, knocking him off his feet. He was quickly pulled away by the mass of ghosts- each pulling and clawing at him. He was flung through the wall of the ghostly storm once more, vanishing from sight.

  Colonel Kenslir sprinted forward, running up beside Jason as the teen reared back to strike again.

  "No!" Kenslir shouted above the roaring wind.

  Jason was startled and turned toward the Colonel. In that second, Kerrick regained his footing and lunged- but came up short as Smith held him back. A blast of lightning ripped into the parahuman again- thrown by Colonel Phillips.

  "Glad you could join us!" Phillips yelled.

  A mass of ghosts then swept toward him, bowling him over and dragging him away, into the wall of the spirits and out of sight.

  "We've got him!" Jason exclaimed. He was clearly mad with power- his face twisted and contorted as though he were under the influence of some potent drug.

  "You're just healing him each time you strike!" Kenslir yelled back.

  Jason turned and extended a hand toward the circling wall of the ghost army. A ghost was pulled from the formation, clawing and kicking, struggling to rejoin its companions. It was pulled slowly backwards, towards Jason, fading quickly from view as it neared him, its energy drained.

  "I can do it too!" Jason declared.

  He turned back toward Kerrick, and raised his fist once more.

  Kerrick glared, narrowing his eyes and looking down at the ground by Jason's feet. His eyes flashed white-hot and the pavement at Jason’s feet suddenly exploded- an eruption of super-heated asphalt and steam. The blast knocked Jason off his feet, onto his back.

  Kenslir moved in quick then- hitting Kerrick in the throat with a knifehand strike. Bright green light flared when he connected, nearly blinding him. He felt the dense flesh of the parahuman collapse under the blow.

  All around them, the swirling ghosts seemed to collapse- they rushed inward, enveloping the entire area with their mass. They surrounded Kenslir like a wall of water, pushing against him from all sides.

  Green light flared and Kenslir watched as countless spectral faces near him burst apart, looks of terror on them as they came into contact with him. Then a brilliant flash of white erupted- washing away everything else and blinding Kenslir for a moment.

  As he vision cleared, he heard the crack of stone and a scream.

  The wind faded and Kenslir immediately took stock of the situation as his vision returned.

  The swirling mass of ghosts was gone.

  Clint Kerrick, his skin split and broken in places, glowed with bright, white light. Behind him, Smith was staggering backwards, a look of shock on his face.

  Smith's arms were no longer attached to his shoulders. Kerrick was holding them, a look of triumph in his eyes.

  Before anyone could say or do anything, Kerrick took a step toward Smith and struck with both his hands clasped together. The blow landed squarely on Smith’s chest and he exploded into a thousand pieces.

  Eighteen years before, in the arctic circle, Mark Kenslir had defeated Clint Kerrick by wearing him down, depleting his energy to the point he couldn't repair the damage to his body. After accessing the Washington Monument, it didn't seem likely the parahuman was going to have that problem again.

  But for all his surging power, his inhuman strength and his supernatural healing ability, Kerrick was still made of flesh and blood. He could be broken.

  Mark Kenslir charged in, leaping at the last second and spinning in the air. He snapped his right leg out, his boot crushing into the side of Kerrick's head, staggering.

  Kenslir landed lightly, and proceeded to unleash a series of devastating punches on the parahuman, cracking ribs and splintering bones in his arms, legs and face. The barrage of blows was swift- a volley of strikes only the most skilled of martial artists could even have considered blocking. Those that did not shatter bones crushed clusters of nerves, sending excruciating waves of pain through Kerrick's nervous system.

  But the parahuman merely laughed.

  With a single backhand, he knocked Kenslir off his feet and flying backwards. The Colonel struck the ground hard, but came up quick.

  "I will kill you all!" Kerrick shouted.

  A red haired blur swept in beside him, her claws out, fangs bared. But the supercharged parahuman was ready. He turned and punched Laura Olson in the throat- shattering her spine and sending her flying like a ragdoll.

  Colonel Phillips unleashed another stream of lightning-like energy at Kerrick. It danced and flickered over his body, burning his flesh. Kerrick ignored it and swept forward, a burning, flickering blur and grabbed Phillips outstretched hands. White light erupted around them as flesh met stone.

  Phillips tried to pull away, but Kerrick's grip was too strong. He began to feel pain in his hands and realized he was being slowly unpetrified.

  Jason Trumball charged forward, shoulder lowered, just as he'd done that night in Wisconsin. But Kerrick was ready for him as well. He snapped out his leg, kicking Jason in the chest with his heavy work boot. A tremendous cracking noise could be heard, then Jason was flung up and away- vanishing over the treetops across the road as though he had been shot from a cannon.

  From her place on the road, watching her team being decimated, Josie Winters was scared to death. But she couldn't stand by and do nothing. She began to concentrate.

  Phillips struggled feebly in the grip of Kerrick- desperately trying to pull away from Kerrick. The parahuman just laughed- then suddenly turned away from him, surprise on his face. And frost. He grimaced in pain, and let go of his grip of Phillips, dropping once more-human soldier to the ground.

  Kerrick staggered backwards and put his hands to his head. His brain was on fire. It was an intense pain that seemed to come from within his head. He vision swirled, going in and out as he tried to undo the damage being done to him. He looked around in panic.

  Kerrick suddenly swept forward, nearly flying as he crossed the distance between him and Josie in a flash. He grabbed the surprised, raven-haired girl by the throat and lifted her off the ground.

  "What have we here?" Kerrick demanded. His pain was now gone as he regarded the terrified eyes of the slim girl before him. "Are you the little scratching I feel in my head?"

  Kerrick wanted to laugh, but when he opened his mouth to do so, no sound would come out. Powerful hands had wrapped around his neck, from behind. He felt his larynx being crushed and he could just see the glow of green radiating from his neck.

  "Let her go, Clint," Mark Kenslir growled in Kerrick's ear.

  Anyone else would have been terrified to hear the growl and the malice behind it. They'd have complied to avoid the death they were sure would have followed a refusal. But Clint Kerrick didn't fear death. It was only a minor inconvenience for him.

  He reached up and grabbed Josie's right arm, by the bicep, and squeezed.

  Josie screamed- a blood-curdling wail of pain as the bone in her arm was splintered into several dozen tiny fragments and her arm was compressed to the diameter of a pencil. The flesh of her arm split open and blood sprayed out. Her eyes rolled up in her head and she passed out from the pain.

  Mark Kenslir lowered one hand from Kerrick's neck, and relaxed his grip on the other.

  "There," Kerrick said, his voice raspy as he gloated. "Much better. Now remove that other hand before I pinch her head off."

  Kenslir released his grip on Kerrick and stepped back, hands raised.

  The parahuman turned slowly around, still holding by the throat. Her right arm dangled limply, barely attached, blood dripping out of her sleeve. He glanced over at Laura Olson, slowly stirring where she had fallen, and Victor, who was circling around, trying to come up behind Kerrick.

  "We seem to ha
ve a stalemate," Kerrick gloated. "I can't hurt you, you can't hurt me..."

  "Let the girl go," Kenslir said again.

  "Or what? You'll kill me?" Kerrick burst out laughing- booming laughs. "Been there! Done that!"

  "There are worse things than death, Clint," Kenslir said grimly.

  "What, you'll torture me?" Kerrick shook Josie's limp body. "Not before I kill this one- and maybe your last little rock man as well."

  Kenslir slowly lowered his hands.

  "Don't get any ideas," Kerrick demanded. "I'll kill her! I'll do it!"

  Kenslir slowly reached for a pocket on his vest and tore it open.

  "What have you got in there? Some kind of weapon? I can heal any damage!" Kerrick gloated. "It won't work."

  "Oh, I think this will," Kenslir said.

  Before Kerrick could respond, the Colonel suddenly whipped his hand up, extending a small steel ball, no bigger than a baseball toward Kerrick. He squeezed the small container, splitting the strong metal so that the side facing Kerrick burst open, hissing, and releasing a jet of chilled air.

  Bright yellow light poured from the metal sphere and Kerrick's eyes seemed to go wide in surprise. He jerked suddenly, as if jolted with electricity. He tried to squeeze his hand around Josie's neck, killing her, but his fingers would not respond. He tried to look away from the glowing yellow light coming from Kenslir's hand, but his head, nor his eyes would move.

  Then he realized that his legs felt leaden. His whole body was senseless- a wave of numbness had spread over him almost instantaneously. He felt his heart stop beating and his lungs freeze in place.

  Kerrick strained with all his might, willed his body to heal whatever was being done to him. He forced his legs to move- to take a step forward. He heard a strange cracking, grating noise as he moved slowly. Despite all the energy surging within him, it was as though he were held in place by thick tar. He managed one step, then his body seemed to freeze in place.

  All the time this happened, his eyes were fixed on the glowing yellow box in Kenslir's hand. As his vision began to blur, turning milky, his brain decoded what it was that Kenslir was holding.

  A human eye. Glowing with a bright, supernatural, yellow light.

  Colonel Kenslir held the eye of Medusa in place for a several seconds more, then tucked it back into his assault vest pocket, careful not to touch the eye itself. He then crossed quickly to the now petrified form of Clint Kerrick and smashed his right fist on Kerrick's outstretched arm.

  The arm exploded into fragments, freeing Josie from the parahuman's stony grasp. She fell backwards, but Kenslir was ready and caught her. He laid her gently on the ground at Kerrick's feet.

  "Doc!"

  "I'm coming, I'm coming," Laura Olson said. She limped over to where Mark knelt beside Josie. "She still alive?"

  "Breathing's shallow- you need to hurry," Kenslir snapped.

  "Fine, fine," Laura said, dropping to her knees beside Josie. She held out her hand toward the Colonel. "Juice me."

  Colonel Kenslir grabbed the extended hand and willed his lifeforce to flow into the vampire- allowing her to take what she could from him. Blue-green light flickered and sparked from between their hands as she laid a hand on Josie's forehead.

  Kenslir felt the flesh on his body petrifying as his lifeforce was drawn away. He felt his body stiffen- from the tips of his toes, up his legs, into his chest. His neck and face began to feel numb.

  Blue light sparked from under Laura's hand as it lay on Josie's forehead. The girl twitched slightly as her wounds were slowly healed.

  "Did we win?" a new voice asked. It was Jason Trumball's. He had just run up to the clearing- almost out of breath, but otherwise unharmed.

  He stood looking at the stony shape of Clint Kerrick amazed. Then down at Josie.

  "What happened?"

  Laura Olson stood up slowly. "Some major injuries to Josie- but nothing I couldn't fix."

  Beside her, Colonel Kenslir was slowly standing. Phillips was limping over, unbuckling gear and dropping it from his now human frame.

  "She gonna make it?" Colonel Phillips asked, looking at Josie with concern.

  "He's really dead?" Jason asked, looking back at the petrified form of Clint Kerrick.

  Victor was walking over now, also curious about the petrified parahuman.

  "No, he's not dead," Kenslir said.

  Jason frowned and whirled back toward the petrified man who killed his father. Before anyone could say anything, he smashed out with a fist- striking the figure in the chest.

  The stone form exploded in a shower of rock and dust, spraying everyone with grit and debris. Josie gasped and sat up, the shattered stone pieces that fell on her having awakened her. She looked down at her body, covered in gray dust, then all around her at her companions.

  "Dammit!" Kenslir barked.

  Almost as if on cue, a black, inky form rose up from the ground where the petrified body of Jason's father had been standing. Kenslir reached for it, but the figure was too fast. It was already flying, up into the air. Then it streaked away, to the west, vanishing into the sky.

  "Good going, genius," Laura said, spitting out some grit and dust as she shook more out of her hair.

  Kenslir spun back around to face Jason, an angry look on his face. “He was contained- now you’ve let him go!”

  EPILOGUE

  He had only flown so far before he had encountered running water and whatever laws of nature there were in the spirit world forced him to stop. He moved into a small house and waited for several days, for the inhabitants to come back. He didn’t have to long to wait before the angry old man who lived in the home drowned his sorrows in alcohol. It left his body ripe for possession.

  In his new body, he had no access to his many powers. It was a struggle to maintain control of the body, since he had to keep it intoxicated to suppress the spirit of the man he had stolen it from.

  Taking the man’s old truck, he had set out, driving away from Virginia. Somehow, after many hours, he reached his destination- a small nursing home in Tennessee, far from any town or major population center.

  It was dark when he arrived, so he parked his stolen car down the road and proceeded on foot- drinking from a bottle of whiskey he carried with him.

  At the small, brick facility, he was able to break a window and climb inside. He ignored the blood dripping from the cut hands of his stolen body and moved purposely along the dimly lit corridors.

  He was surprised to see the two men in suits sitting outside his target’s door. They were surprised to see him- dripping blood on the floor.

  “Can I help you?” the first agent asked, standing up from his seat.

  Clint Kerrick abandoned the body he had stolen, letting it drop onto the floor. He rushed forward, stepping between the two agents who were fumbling for their weapons. Not stopping, he passed through the door to the room they guarded and raced to the side of the lone bed within the room.

  There he regarded another of his clones- number six, whom the humans called John Quincy. Clean shaven- even the hair on his head removed, Six was a deep coma patient. He had been injured during the early days of his rehabilitation, and the government had put him in this nursing home to care for him.

  Six’s body was thin and frail- the limbs atrophied from no exercise in many, many years. He was a pitiful version of Clint, but for the time being, he would do.

  The door to the room finally opened as Clint dove into the body. The agents came in, guns ready, looking around at the deepest corners and shadows. One agent checked the pulse on Six’s body, and was soon satisfied everything was okay.

  The agents eventually left the room, calling for assistance on their phones. Kerrick knew it would only be a matter of time before they sent someone along to more properly check his clone body.

  He sat up slowly, forcing his limbs to work. He still had a great deal of the power he had taken from the Washington Monument- retained after the death of his clone body in Virginia. H
e willed the limbs to grow strong and healthy. Muscles swelled and bones thickened.

  He stepped off the bed as quietly as he could and moved to a door that separated his room from an adjoining room. The door was locked, but he had enough strength to force the metal to bend and give, tearing free quietly.

  He slipped into the room, closing the door behind him and looked around.

  The window here would do nicely. He could climb out and spirit away in the night, seeking out a new source of power. Then he could launch his plan anew.

  He paused as he walked by the bed in the room. Something was odd about its inhabitant.

  An elderly woman, with long white hair, she lay quietly still, eyes open and staring vacantly at the ceiling. Her breathing was shallow and raspy.

  Clint moved closer, waving a hand over the woman’s face. She remained motionless.

  He leaned in closer, for a better look at her wrinkled face.

  The eyes now came alive and looked at him. The woman inhaled sharply.

  Clint was startled and stood up straight. He started to take a step back, but a gnarled hand covered in age spots reached out and grabbed him.

  Clint’s skin burned where the old woman’s hand touched him. He dropped to his knees, his mouth open wide, trying to scream, but unable to. He felt his new muscles shrivel and his bones weaken. He felt his skin dry out and draw tight over his body, like shrinking leather.

  His eyes clouded, filling with milky white glaucoma. He felt the hair on his head fall off and the teeth in his mouth drop from his gums- many rolling down the back of his throat. Finally he felt nothing.

  The woman in the bed sat up now. She kept her grip on the tin man who had been her neighbor for so long, watching the age spots on her hand fade, and the wrinkles relax as her skin took on a healthier tone.

  The flesh on the dead man continued to degrade, turning ashy white, then falling off his skeleton like powder. His bones collapsed to the floor in a pile, and the formerly old woman let the hand she was holding join them.

  She kicked back her blankets and swung her legs over the side of her bed. She rubbed the skin on her hands, her face, smiling widely. Her long gray hair was now a deep black, glistening in the faint light coming through her window.