“Taupe!” Herc yelled. They swept around a corner hard enough to shunt Herc from his seat. His gun fired, a round ricocheting off the roof. Taupe was whooping now, gunning the bus up to forty, fifty, sixty miles per hour—Paris just a blur outside the window.
Then he slammed on the brakes and Pan’s head snapped forward, her forehead connecting with the seat in front. The crossbow swung over her shoulder, landing in her lap. She blinked away the stars, pushing herself up and groaning. The electricity was a cold current in her arms and she clenched her fists to hold it back. She was going to fry Taupe alive, but not before she’d gouged every last truth from his evil, ridiculously good-looking face.
“Goddammit, Taupe,” said Herc, collecting his gun from the floor and leveling it. “Please tell me you didn’t sell us up the river.”
“Never,” he replied with that flawless grin. “Not you, Herc. I’m here to fight, I’m here to stop Mammon before he opens the gates of hell and we all get pitchforked to death.”
Pan held her breath. Holding back the charge was like holding a pulled bow—her whole body was shaking with the effort of it. Taupe glanced out the window. They were sitting in the shadow of a huge statue, a bronze lion, and past that there was movement.
“But if I were you, I’d be pointing that gun over there,” Taupe said, grabbing the edge of the driver’s seat in white-knuckled hands. “Because we’ve got company.”
And Pan barely had time to look before something collided with the bus and her world flipped upside down.
ALWAYS OUTNUMBERED, NEVER OUTGUNNED
It was like a train had hit them, the bus rolling onto its side. Marlow didn’t even have time to scream as he slammed into the window, then onto the ceiling as the bus flipped again. The air was a tornado of glass, grinding into his skin, his lungs.
Another impact, a squeal of metal as the bus was shunted across the street. One side of the bus caved in, like they were inside a compactor. Pan was ahead, picking herself up from a puddle of blood, the crossbow strapped on her back. Her nose was streaming and she wiped it with her hand. Then she aimed her fingers at the windows and unleashed a charge of energy that blazed into the street. A boom of thunder detonated inside the bus and there was nothing in Marlow’s head but static.
He stood, banging his head on one of the seats that now hung above him. It was like he’d been packed in cotton wool, everything muffled, everything fuzzy. Pan was standing in a cloud of vaporized blood and smoke, a shimmering vision who pulled back her hand then thrust it forward. This time Marlow turned away from the wave of cold fury, pressing his hands to his ears against the boom that followed.
Somebody ripped the rear doors from the bus, letting in a wave of blinding sunlight.
“I got them,” said a silhouette, climbing inside.
“Move!” came a muffled cry, Herc pushing past Marlow, his Desert Eagle barking. The silhouette lurched, groaning as he fell back through the doors. Herc grabbed a handful of Marlow’s T-shirt, hauling him along. “We’re sitting ducks, we gotta get out of the bus!”
Marlow did as he was told, his heart trying to jackhammer its way through his ribs. Truck was moving, shotgun roaring as he stepped into the day.
“Herc!” yelled Taupe, lobbing the bazooka up the bus. Herc let go of Marlow and snatched it, then struggled to get the rucksack on. Marlow left him to it, stumbling toward the open doors of the upside-down bus.
More thunder, an assault rifle spitting rounds. Marlow almost threw himself to the floor before he realized it was Taupe, spraying hell from the front of the bus. Then he was out, blinded by sunlight as he stepped onto the street.
“Marlow!” Truck yelled, enough warning for him to twist around and see the punch coming. He dodged and the fist glanced off his chin, still hard enough to make it feel like his head had come loose. The silhouette was there—not a shadow anymore but a young guy who had to be bigger than Truck, his night camo overalls bulging with muscles. He lunged in again, a vicious uppercut that connected right where it meant to.
Marlow was airborne, feeling like he’d been launched from a catapult. He flipped twice, landing awkwardly on his shoulder. The agony was arm-in-a-blender bad but he could still move, nothing was broken. The Engine in his blood was protecting him.
He pushed himself up, the guy running at him over the cobbled street. Behind him another searing fork of lightning burst from the bus, rippling across the street and into the side of a building. The man flinched at the sound of it, losing his footing.
Marlow ran, time slowing. He glanced right to see Truck frozen still, a plume of fire sticking out from the end of his shotgun. To the left was a rippling line of bullets, hanging in the air between the bus and the buildings and glowing like fairy lights—Taupe shooting across the street to where a girl stood, dressed in the same black-and-gray camouflage. She couldn’t have been older than fourteen. Herc was halfway out of the bus, a face like grim death.
Then Marlow reached the man and time snapped back in a hurricane of noise and movement. The guy blinked in surprise as he saw Marlow materialize.
He’s new, Marlow understood. He’s just been recruited.
He let loose a punch that connected with the guy’s face. He had a jaw that belonged to a cast-iron bull but it didn’t save him, the impact from Marlow’s fist like being hit by a wrecking ball. He flew back, skimming over the street and slamming into a green metal outbuilding by the side of the road. There were people everywhere, Marlow noticed, normals who were fleeing from the carnage.
And there, streaming from the same green building, two more teenagers in black.
“Incoming!” Marlow yelled, then something crunched into the back of his skull. He staggered forward, feeling like his eyeballs had been knocked loose. When he turned around again there was nobody there, but it didn’t stop something pounding him in the head, once, twice, his vision full of white noise.
What the—
Another phantom punch connected with his kidneys and he broke into a run to escape, time stretching out before him. He glanced back as he sprinted, seeing a shimmering blur, one that flickered and jarred like a video glitch. Somewhere in the movement he made out a girl, the same girl that had been standing on the other side of the street. She must have traded for invisibility.
Marlow skidded back into real time, breathing hard. The bus was on fire now, Taupe clambering through the shattered windshield. Pan scrambled out the back, shaking smoke from her blackened hands, her face etched with pain. She saw Marlow, jogging to his side. Truck was there, too, lumbering over, his face slick with sweat.
“Watch out,” Marlow said. “There’s a—”
Truck yelped, toppling like a felled oak. Blood squirted from his lip as it was hit by an invisible fist. Marlow didn’t hesitate, lunging forward, feeling for the girl, connecting with a bag of cloth and flesh. She screamed and he felt a hand on his arm, teeth in his flesh. Grabbing tight, he swung himself around in a circle and lobbed the girl like he was throwing a hammer. One of the trees along the side of the road bent and swayed as she hit it, then she flickered back into view, sliding along the ground.
“Watch your four o’clock!” yelled Herc.
Marlow looked left, saw nothing.
“Four, you idiot. Look right!”
He did as he was told, seeing the two black-suited Engineers jogging across the road, heading right for them. Another three were pushing their way out of the half-demolished green building.
One of them with bright red hair.
“Oh God, not this bimbo again,” said Pan.
The redhead pointed at them, her face alive with fury. Then she broke into a run, pulling a copper-colored blade from her belt.
Oh no.
Pan splayed her fingers and fired out a jagged current of electricity, one that tore up the street in a tidal wave of cobbles. The girl screamed, vanishing into the blast, and for a second Marlow almost cheered. Then she was out, running right for the statue that stood in the middle of t
he street. She leaped up, jammed the knife into the body of the bronze lion.
The statue groaned like a living thing, the bronze bending, stretching. A face appeared in the lion’s ribs, a demon pushing its way through from the other side.
“Oh boy,” said Truck as Pan helped him to his feet.
“There’s a monster from hell taking possession of a giant metal lion, and the best you can do is ‘oh boy’?” said Pan, raising an eyebrow.
It fell just as fast and she let out a curse of her own.
Marlow followed her line of sight to see one of the other Engineers stop in the middle of the street—an older girl, maybe Pan’s age. She grimaced, then her entire body burst into flames.
This is new.
The burning girl stretched out her hands and a plume of fire burned out of them, flamethrower fierce. It sluiced across the street, the force of it pushing Marlow back, scattering them. The ground was trembling as the demon-lion thing leaped from its pedestal, shaking itself like a wet dog before breaking into a lopsided run. Still more Engineers were pouring from the half-demolished shed, an army. Then Marlow lost sight of them behind another wall of flame.
It was hopeless.
“We’re outnumbered,” he yelled, choking on smoke, not even sure if anyone could hear him in the chaos. He thumped into something big and flailed against it, only to hear Herc’s voice.
“Always outnumbered,” he growled, hefting the bazooka onto his shoulder. “Never outgunned.”
The old guy took a deep breath, then pulled the trigger. A pillar of exhaust flame burned from the back of the tube as something shot out of the front. The missile whistled as it cut across the street, punching a hole in the front of the green building just as another Engineer was running from the door.
The building exploded, a fist of heat and sound that knocked Marlow to his knees. The air was suddenly an orchestra of screams, and through the sun flares in his vision Marlow saw pieces of black cloth and burning flesh scattered across the street. He dropped onto all fours, retching, nothing inside him but bile.
“Pan!” he heard Truck shout. Marlow looked with watering eyes to see the demon lion running right for her. She fired off a blast of energy with one hand, trying to pull free her crossbow with the other. Then a billowing cloud of smoke rolled over them and they vanished.
Get up, he told himself, but his legs were made of ash, not enough left there to carry him. He crawled instead, silently yelling get up get up get up until he somehow managed it. The entire street was an inferno, trees popping in the blistering heat, electrical wires sparking. It wasn’t all from the explosion, he realized. The ground near the green building was glowing like molten rock, so bright that he could barely look at it. A car parked near the curb was already sinking into it, along with the corpses of anyone who had been caught in the blast.
There was something else in the air, too. Something worse than the smoke, worse than the stench of burning flesh.
Sulfur.
The smoke on the far side of the street was suddenly split by lightning, Pan shouting something from in there. He limped toward the sound of her voice. The lion demon screamed, the noise echoed by something that pushed its way from the street—an asphalt torso, a shell of cobbles like a turtle. It shook its head until a snout had formed, teeth snapping.
Demons, coming to collect their dead.
The asphalt monster ran, snatching up burning limbs from the molten earth. Marlow could hear more shrieks, knew that they weren’t coming from anything living. It was the souls of the enemy Engineers being dragged into hell.
Gunshots. Marlow followed the sound of them, heading into the choking smoke. It cleared for an instant and he saw Pan there, dodging the lion demon like a bullfighter, trying to find a clear shot. She dived beneath its foot, rolled an instant before it came crashing down. Taupe was there, too, assault rifle bucking in his grip as he fired rounds into the demon’s hide. Truck burst from the smoke, looking like he was about to cough up a lung. He aimed his shotgun and fired, the rounds ricocheting off the creature’s metal hide like a handful of sand.
Where the hell was Herc and his big girl?
The beast roared, its jaws snapping shut a hair’s width from Pan’s face. She staggered away, eyes screwed shut, a trickle of electricity dribbling from her palms. Marlow put his head down, calling her name as he charged. Even with the Engine inside him he didn’t think he stood much chance against a solid metal demon beast.
But it was Pan.
He thumped into it like a linebacker, bouncing right off with a headful of stars. The demon swung around lazily. It had no eyes, not really, but Marlow felt it look at him, felt it try to figure out what he was. It was like somebody had let loose a clutch of spiders inside his soul, and despite the heat of hell around him, his blood ran cold. The demon sniffed the air, growled, then began to run right for him.
Oh f—
He threw himself to the side, the demon passing him like a locomotive. He scrabbled up, waiting for the attack. But the creature was running away, heading for the molten ground and throwing itself into the fray. There were other demons there now, maybe a dozen of them, more still pulling themselves out of the stone buildings that lined the street. The bronze lion joined them, howling like a coyote. It picked up a smaller demon in its jaws and threw it to one side, pushing its face into the glowing earth and digging out a body.
“Bastards,” said Herc. He’d reloaded the bazooka and he got down on one knee, firing another missile. This one struck the back of the lion demon and the whole scene was obliterated by light and heat. Herc was already running again, yelling, “Go go go!”
Marlow followed him, every step an effort. They cut left, giving the demons a wide berth. Marlow could still hear them, the gargled cries, the snapping of jaws, those awful, endless screams from Mammon’s dead and dying Engineers.
Another scream, this one very much alive. He glanced over, saw a shape in the flames. It was the girl, the young one, no longer invisible. She was curled up into a ball on the curb. She hadn’t died, and her contract hadn’t expired, but in a feeding frenzy like this there was no guarantee the demons wouldn’t tear her to pieces for the fun of it.
Marlow stopped, shook his head.
Don’t do it.
The others were heading across a patch of grass behind the green building. Nobody looked back.
Keep running.
Marlow looked again, the girl cowering. Even with her powers, she didn’t stand a chance.
Just a kid.
And the last time he’d tried to help someone, Night had died.
But just a kid.
Just like me.
He doubled back, forcing himself into a sprint. Time slowed reluctantly this time, he could feel the shudder and shake of it, an overwhelming groan like the universe was about to spin off its axis. In the sudden quiet the horror of the scene was almost too much, two dozen demons teeming over one another in slow motion, reducing flesh to mincemeat as they dug for souls.
He skidded down beside the girl, ignoring the ear-pulping roar of reality. He didn’t stop to introduce himself, just scooped her up and doubled back. Somebody was shouting behind him and he felt another fist of heat strike him on the back—the flamethrower girl. Then he was around the corner, fumbling across the grass. The girl was struggling in his arms but he held on tight. There was no sign of the others, but before his stomach could fall all the way into his feet he heard a hiss, looked to see Herc peeking up from behind a brick wall. The old guy lifted his hands to say, What the hell?
“Just…” he said, and he couldn’t find the breath for any more. He tossed the girl over the wall as gently as he could, then vaulted it himself. They were in a courtyard, a gated passage opposite. Pan, Truck, and Taupe were already there. Pan took one look at Marlow, then another at the girl, shaking her head in disgust. The girl was scrabbling back across the ground, scrunching her eyes shut like she was trying to blink her way out of the world.
&nb
sp; “Could use you over here,” yelled Truck, his hands on the bars of the gate. “My arms haven’t got the horsepower they used to.”
Marlow nodded, gulping down air as he crossed the courtyard. He grabbed the gate, planted his feet, and pulled. It resisted for all of three seconds before the bolts exploded from the brick walls. Marlow threw the gate away, letting Pan go first, then Taupe, then Truck.
Pan looked back long enough to yell, “You’re not bringing her.” Then she was gone, clattering down some steps.
Marlow glanced back. They were on the other side of the green building, he noticed. It was up in flames, and the sound of screaming demons was just as loud here as it had been on the street. The building would be rubble and ash in a minute, maybe less. The girl was backing toward it, glaring at Herc, then at Marlow. Herc shrugged at her.
“You can take your chances with us, or with them,” he said, offering her a big, calloused hand.
A roar that could have come from a jumbo jet. The sound of shearing metal and crumbling brick. The girl looked back, then got to her feet, running past Herc, then past Marlow, and disappearing into the passage.
“And I thought I was soft,” Herc grumbled as he passed them, the bazooka still mounted on his shoulder, the rucksack jiggling on his back like he was a pack mule. “Come on, Mother Teresa.”
Marlow followed, hearing the roar of the building as it collapsed behind him, the screams of the demons and the shouts of whatever enemy Engineers had survived. He skipped down some stone steps into a cold, dank corridor. It took him a moment to realize that the walls were made of bones.
“Brace yourselves,” yelled Herc, his voice echoing. He aimed the bazooka back up the stairs.
“Wait, Herc, no!” yelled Pan.
Too late. He fired, the sound deafening in such a small space. The exhaust jet spat back, so hot that it ignited Pan’s hair. She didn’t even have time to yell before the missile hit the top of the passageway, detonating. Marlow threw himself onto the ground, everything shaking, as if the whole world were collapsing around him, as if they were being buried alive. It seemed like forever before it stopped, but eventually it did, plunging them into the cold, dark silence of the world’s largest graveyard.
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