Stone Cold Bastards

by Jake Bible

  The shoulders next to the three-faced head shrugged.

  “Oh, well, I’m here now to take care of things,” the faces said. A firebrand appeared in what had been Shandra’s hand. “Like I always do.”

  “Kiss my stone ass, Haborym,” Morty said and slammed his forehead down against the handsome face.

  The eyes rolled up into their head, but the other faces were still very much alert. The firebrand, a pitch-black length of black wood that dripped flame and smelled of human excrement, came at Morty’s head, but he brought a wing down to block it before he shoved up from the possessed woman.

  The pain was intense, but manageable. He knew the firebrand would leave a mark, but there was not time to think of future scars. If management was sending a Great Duke of Hell like Haborym to take care of things, then Artus had been right. It was all coming to a head and the true end was near.

  The eyes of the handsome face came back into focus as Morty scrambled to his feet and retreated toward the bar. Haborym shook his head and pointed the firebrand at Morty, shaking the end back and forth, creating streaks of light in the air.

  “Give us the girl, Mordecai,” Haborym said. “Give us the girl and we’ll let your little sanctuary exist for as long as those humans can live. That won’t be long since all of your supplies are destroyed. We’ve been busy today while you’ve been in here looking for your precious cigars. To think a human vice would take down a gargoyle. I find that so funny.”

  “Grotesque, you three-faced asshole,” Morty said. “And you didn’t destroy all the supplies. There are always more.”

  “Are there? Where?” Haborym asked. “Not in any of the towns, Mordecai. Maybe there are some cabins or retreats the humans used to love so much. Maybe in those, what were they called? Summer camps? Possibly. But not in the towns.”

  “You guys are fast, but not that fast,” Morty said. “No way you found and destroyed all the food in all the towns around here.”

  “Find?” Haborym laughed. “No, you are right. Not enough time for that. No need to find it.”

  Morty didn’t quite grasp what the demon was getting at. The look on Haborym’s faces showed he saw the grotesque’s confusion.

  “Oh, poor, poor Mordecai,” Haborym said as he held his firebrand out, drawing Morty’s attention. “Is the shiny too much for your stone brain to deal with? Maybe I should bury it? Like, say, up your—”

  “Shandra?” Tom, called from the back of the bar. “What’s happening?”

  The demon cleared his throat and, keeping all six eyes on Morty, changed his voice back to the body’s original owner’s.

  “Help me,” Shandra’s voice cried. “Mordecai has turned on us. Help! He’s going to kill me!”

  “Oh, Haborym,” Morty said. “Really? Do you think he’s that dumb?”

  Tom came rushing from the back room, and Haborym gave Morty three smiles as six feet of flame shot up from the firebrand.

  “It appears so,” Haborym said and sent the flame flying at Tom.

  11

  TOM WRAPPED HIS wings about himself as the flame reached him, absorbing the fire into the stone.

  “Oh, my, that’s a neat trick,” Haborym said as Tom unfolded his smoking wings and drew both swords.

  “Where is Shandra?” Tom growled.

  “Where else?” Haborym said. “In Hell. Do you think all my majesty can fit in this pile of flesh with her soul taking up precious space? Please, Mordecai. But, do not worry, she is being given the true VIP treatment. I am sure management is taking very, very good care of the mother of the last Stonecutter.”

  “She’s dead, Tom,” Morty said.

  “I know that,” Tom said. “They will never let her soul free.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Haborym said and shrugged. There was a faint cry of pain from the back room. “Oh, hello. Is that the little rock carver? Is she back there? Only a few feet away? How convenient.”

  Haborym leaned to the side and swiped the firebrand across the floor. It caught instantly, despite being made of concrete. Haborym laughed.

  “I defy science,” Haborym said. He looked about at the casino. “But this building will not. Time for that girl to die a fiery, awful, death.”

  The fire shot across the casino in five directions, setting everything in its path aflame. As the fire worked its destruction, the horde of possessed charged, heading straight for the bar.

  “Or maybe she’ll get lucky and only be ripped to shreds instead of burned alive,” Haborym said. “We’ll see.”

  “You will not,” Tom said as he crossed the space before Haborym’s words had finished leaving his lips.

  There was no hesitation. Tom’s swords moved almost faster than Morty’s eyes could track. When they stilled, Shandra’s body lay upon the floor in a hundred pieces, her blood spilling outward, sizzling when it reached the flames.

  “Bloody hell,” Morty said.

  That was the extent of his commentary. He didn’t have time to say more. The possessed had reached the entrance to the bar and would be on Desiree in seconds. He pumped his wings twice and flew into the horde, crushing many, sending most flying like bowling pins, as he tore through their ranks, his fists driving like pistons once again, killing and maiming every body they touched.

  Morty’s right wing clipped the bar and he tumbled to the ground, but immediately rolled back up to his feet, fists at the ready as the horde came at him.

  “Block the door,” Tom shouted from the middle of the horde that filled the casino. “Keep her safe!”

  “That’s the idea,” Morty yelled back as he watched blood geyser up from the horde like someone had turned on a horrific hose.

  Body parts were flying everywhere, flung far and wide as Tom sliced and diced his way through the horde to try to get to Morty. More importantly, to get back to Desiree.

  The shotgun came up at Morty’s face and he barely blinked before birdshot filled his vision. Normal birdshot. Which didn’t do jack.

  Morty snatched the shotgun from the hand of the possessed and snapped it in half then jabbed both halves into the bellies of two possessed standing on either side of the shooter. He yanked his arms up, tearing the two straight up the middle, splitting their torsos in half. The possessed shooter laughed.

  “Awesome.” The possessed man cackled right before Morty ripped his head off and jammed it into the face of a possessed woman behind him.

  The geyser of blood was getting closer to Morty as he ripped, punched, tore, smashed, and pulverized every bit of possessed flesh he could get his hands on. The demon-driven vessels never slowed despite the certain death they faced. That gave Morty plenty of opportunity to add to the pile of corpses that were stacking up before him.

  “So methodical,” Haborym said, suddenly taking over the body of an almost naked man wearing nothing but cutoff jean shorts. The three faces reappeared, grinning and leering, trying to see past Morty and into the back room where the prize was laid out. “You are such the professional when it comes to murder, Mordecai.”

  “It’s not murder,” Morty said, grabbing Haborym’s head and crushing the skull with one squeeze of his stone hand.

  “Oh, but it is,” Haborym said, taking over an old woman who hadn’t seen teeth in several decades. “These bodies belong to people. They are not dead. They are not zombies. They are merely being borrowed. You are murdering them and doing nothing to us. We simply go home down below.”

  “Then go on already,” Morty shouted as he slammed his fist through the old woman’s chest until his hand grasped her spine. He ripped it free, the head still attached. “Go home!”

  “Not yet,” Haborym said as Morty swung his arm and crushed the head against the wall.

  Morty tossed the headless, bodiless spine to the floor and moved into the horde.

 
“Do not leave your post,” Tom bellowed as the geyser of blood was only a few yards from Morty.

  Morty moved back and blocked the doorway as four possessed tried to make a break for it. He sent an elbow into the back of one, snapping his spine and paralyzing him there on the spot. He threw his arm forward and decapitated a second with a brutal clothesline move. The third got a foot right up the ass while Morty’s left wing tip impaled the fourth.

  Kicking free of the corpse and refolding his wings, Morty decided he’d had enough. Killing possessed was fun and all, but there were too many. They simply had the numbers. If Haborym hadn’t been lying—and that demon wasn’t one to stretch the truth, he liked being right too much—then that meant all the towns had been emptied of their possessed. Morty had a pretty strong feeling that several thousand vessels were marching their way to the casino at that very moment.

  “Where are you going?” Tom shouted, a wingspan’s width away from Morty. “Coward!”

  “Shut up,” Morty yelled as he retreated into the bar’s backroom. “Stop calling me a coward!”

  Morty knew the casino like the back of his hand. He’d been in there so many times that he could walk the halls and navigate the rooms blindfolded. Which was why he knew he could scoop Desiree up and kick his way through the plasterboard wall of the bar’s backroom right into a service corridor beyond. He didn’t wait for Tom to follow; it wasn’t exactly a stealthy retreat. The big G would be able to find them without a problem. Morty held the nearly dead girl to him and ran.

  The service corridor was designed for electric golf carts to run back and forth so supplies could be dropped off to the various ground-floor bars and restaurants, or so security could get from one end of the casino to the other without dealing with the crowds inside. That last part was Morty’s goal. Get from one end of the casino to the other and avoid the crowds inside. It just happened that the crowds were possessed humans hell-bent on killing the adolescent girl he held to his stone-cold chest.

  Morty made it to the end of the corridor and hesitated before two doors. One led straight outside, one led to the stairwell. Go out or go up. Those were his choices.

  The choice was made for him as the door to the outside exploded into a million slivers of metal. Morty whipped his wings out, tearing into the concrete block wall on one side and the plasterboard on the other, and wrapped himself around Desiree. As shards of the door peppered his back, Morty looked down at the limp girl in his arms.

  She was looking back at him.

  “Hello,” Morty said. “I’m Morty.”

  The girl’s eyes closed once more, but not before Morty caught a glimpse of something he wasn’t sure how to explain. Pain? Yes, of course. But something else. Conflict? He wasn’t sure. Too dark to make out exactly what the look was.

  Not that the darkness lasted.

  The possessed threw torches into the service corridor from the outside door so they could see their quarry. A dozen men and women rushed inside and went straight for Morty. None of them made it more than half a step before being cleaved in half.

  “Get up,” Tom said as he gripped Morty by the shoulder and lifted him out of his protective crouch. “We go to the roof.”

  Morty glanced at the doorway to the outside and nodded.

  “Good idea,” he said, seeing several dozen more possessed running toward the back entrance.

  “I’ll take her now,” Tom said and gently lifted Desiree from Morty’s arms. “Lead the way.”

  Morty’s response was to kick in the stairwell door. He hurried inside and began taking the steps five at a time. Tom, with Desiree in his arms, was right behind, barely slowing as he turned at each landing. They were moving so fast, they were six floors up before the possessed had even entered the stairwell. If there had been room to spread their wings, they would have flown straight up the middle, but the stairwell was tightly packed with only a couple of feet between sets of stairs.

  “When we get to the roof, we don’t stop,” Morty called over his shoulder. “Head to the northeast corner and launch yourself. Do not pause. If you give them time to see where we’re going, they’ll tell those on the ground and things will get dicey way faster than we’ll like.”

  “I know how to flee a horde,” Tom grumbled. “You lead the way to your sanctuary.”

  “Hey, only trying to help here, pal,” Morty said.

  They were three quarters of the way up the stairwell when Morty realized that the air was considerably thicker than before. Smoke. The fire had spread from the ground floors and the smoke was filling the stairwell.

  “She’s going to do that thing humans do when they can’t breathe,” Morty yelled.

  “Asphyxiate,” Tom said.

  “No, die!” Morty stopped where he was.

  “What are you doing?” Tom roared. “You’re blocking the way. Keep going!”

  “She won’t make it,” Morty yelled as he threw himself against the stairwell wall with all his strength.

  A Morty-sized hole appeared in the concrete block, and he was suddenly tumbling in the air. His wings whipped out, and he glided for a few feet then pumped them hard and returned to the hole he’d made.

  “Hand her to me,” Morty yelled. “Do it now!”

  Tom hesitated.

  “Now,” Morty yelled. “Before they know we’re out and start shooting from below!”

  Tom extended his arms and Morty took Desiree into his, flapping backward to give the larger G room to widen the hole. Tom exploded out of the stairwell like Morty had, but his wings spread faster and he barely lost an inch of altitude before he was under control and flapping his way up into the sky.

  “Get above me,” Tom shouted as the rifle fire started. “I’ll block the bullets!”

  Morty shifted Desiree’s weight, which wasn’t much since she was so frail, and soared up over Tom, making sure the bulkier grotesque became a stone shield between him and the dozens of potshots coming up from the ground below.

  Then the potshots became something much more and Morty realized he was flying with an unprotected child in his arms as the possessed horde became a possessed army. Bullets whizzed by at an alarming rate, several tinging and pinging off his stone wings. They didn’t do any damage, but all it took was one bad ricochet and Desiree’s frail weight would become dead weight.

  “Where am I going?” Tom shouted from below, his words almost lost amidst the rifle reports ringing out from the ground. “Give me a direction!”

  “Northeast,” Morty yelled, adjusting Desiree so as much of her as possible was protected by his thick, stone arms. “You’ll know it when you see it!”

  Tom adjusted course and seemed to hover for a moment as Morty adjusted as well. The larger grotesque’s wings were impressive, to say the least. They only needed to beat the air twice for every five of Morty’s wing beats. Despite his immense size, Tom looked like he was gliding more than flying. Morty had to admire the craftsmanship that went into his design. Some grotesques, even the ones with wings, couldn’t fly worth a crap despite all the magic in the world.

  Morty didn’t have that problem. He was made and born to fly. The second he woke up he knew that. His first instinct when his eyes had finally opened had been to launch himself into the air. He carved a huge gouge in the ceiling of the cathedral before some semblance of reason reached his newly awakened mind and he brought himself under control. The gouge could still be seen up in the shadows of the cathedral’s nave.

  They continued for several miles before Morty called out new instructions, telling Tom to adjust course again. The road leading up to Margaret’s Patch was filled from side to side with possessed. Hundreds of them marched their way along the cracked and weed choked asphalt, all manner of weaponry clutched in their hands. The mob had enough torches lit that Morty could easily see that the possessed weren’t carryi
ng BB guns.

  “Skirt the woods until you see the cemetery,” Morty yelled. “We’ll land at the back of the sanctuary. I’m not liking the look of those folk below.”

  “Me neither,” Tom yelled back.

  Desiree stirred in Morty’s arms and he risked a quick glance down at her. The girl’s eyes were open and staring into his. He felt a power there like he hadn’t ever felt before and had no way to define. He also caught a glimpse of that otherness he’d seen back at the casino. If Morty had had hair, it would have stood on end from that glimpse. It didn’t feel right.

  But there was nothing he could do. He had to keep going, he had to hang onto the girl, and he had to warn the others that the possessed were making their move like Artus had said they would. Morty wished for once Artus would be wrong.

  Margaret’s Patch was about three hundred feet below and off to their right. The marching mob of possessed was a good ten minutes away, but it was easy to see the party had already begun at the sanctuary’s main gates. Close to three dozen possessed were gathered around the rotten bar, all brandishing weapons, most of which would go bang if put to use.

  Why? Artus’s magic would keep the bullets out. Hell, it would keep a tank out, not that the possessed could drive a tank. The possessed knew that. Morty couldn’t figure the armaments out. And he didn’t have time to.

  “That way! Down there,” Morty yelled as he spotted the marker dotted cemetery far below. “Set down by the—”

  His words were lost in the explosion off his left wing. Morty twisted and dove clear of the fiery attack, bits of shrapnel pinging his back.

  “Mortars,” Morty yelled. “What the hell?”

  “They are trying to stop us,” Tom shouted. “Fly faster!”