The sound is deafening—hammer blows inside my head, one after another, drilling, pounding, shattering my every thought. A million projectiles rip through the open gate, piercing the night indiscriminately.
Bullets strike in a semicircle as Tusks sways the huge gun in an arch. They hit the pavement, the hedges in the back, Elliot’s car and, in the end, swing all the way to the other side where Hailstone’s soldiers fall slack to the ground: flies trapped in a cloud of insecticide. Frantically, electrified by an unexpected source of strength, I drag James close to the wall, completely out of Tusks’s line of sight and the reach of his monstrous gun.
I kneel next to James, chest aching from exertion, vision blurring. My calf throbs like the heart of a giant. I half collapse against the wall, teeth bare as I hiss in pain. If I could rest for just a moment, only a short moment … but I can’t.
With a deep breath, I push away from the building, pull off my ski mask and throw it down. “You have to get out of here,” I say, bending over James to catch his gaze.
His eyes fight to focus. He blinks and examines my face carefully. “Marci,” he says.
It’s just my name, but it says it all. It says that he understands, that he sees, that he trusts. I nod. Something passes between us, wordless, but heavy and more meaningful than a thousand explanations, excuses or justifications.
A few Hailstone soldiers still stand. Tusks continues to unload bullets in a frenzy.
I press my mouth to James’s ear to make sure he can hear me over the maddening din of the battle. “Take a deep breath and get out of here as fast as you can. That way.” I point west where IgNiTe is still raging its own battle against the flying nightmares. Maybe James won’t be better off that way, but his people are there. They should be able to help him better than I can. Besides I have a job to finish here.
Two actually.
“Do you understand?” I ask.
“No.” He tries to sit up and moans in pain. His torso is bathed in blood; his face as white and lifeless as a porcelain plate. “I can help.”
“Pshaw. You’re no help here,” I forcefully say. “We need you alive, so you get out of here. RIGHT. NOW.”
I don’t want to think of what would happen to James if he doesn’t get out of here. The torture I went through at Doctor Sting’s hands will be nothing compared to what they’ll do to him.
“But—” James’s protest is cut short by the sound of the Jeep’s engine roaring to life, followed by the unmistakable hum of the vehicle backing up. The brightness from the headlights retreats. Tires squeal. Tusks is retreating into the building, and I can only think of one reason for that.
“James,” I grab a handful of his IgNiTe jacket and shake him, “you get out of here. Don’t let my efforts be in vain. You hear me?” I don’t wait for his answer. Instead, I take the gun from the holster at his hip. I check it for bullets. It’s empty, but I have an arsenal in my pockets and luckily it’s the right match.
I stagger to my feet and limp a couple of steps to the door. When I reach it, I aim, my arms inside the building over the waist-high loading dock. The Jeep has retreated to the very back of the room. The mechanical sound of shifting gears echoes through the crate-filled area, then the vehicle speeds forward, tires whining, the acrid scent of rubber filling the air.
The Jeep rushes straight toward me, its headlights two beacons of doom. Pressing my entire body weight to the wall, I lean forward, aim high, and shoot. The Jeep’s windshield shatters, but the vehicle doesn’t slow. As it nears, I shoot at the tires and radiator. When the Jeep is only a few feet away, I drop backward and, lying on the ground, discharge the contents of the gun on the undercarriage as it hurls through the air above me.
For a moment, there’s absolute silence. The car’s tires spin uselessly against empty space. I blink in slow motion, watching the Jeep’s underbelly glide overhead, soaring like some strange bird from a parallel universe.
When tiny rain droplets pepper my face and the gray sky reveals its gloom, I roll to my stomach and watch as the Jeep slams into the ground, its temporary wings revoked by the laws of physics.
Barely rattled by the bone-jarring landing, Tusks jumps out of the driver seat and hops behind the machine gun. I struggle to my feet, hurry toward the Jeep and slam my back against its grill, just as the beast starts shooting, not even aware that I’m here. The whole car vibrates against me with every shot: a lethal massage device.
As I ponder what to do next, I throw a quick, worried glance toward James, but to my relief, the only thing left is a dark bloodstain. I hope he has enough strength to get out of here. We can’t lose him. I don’t see any hope for humanity if we don’t have enough people like him fighting for our survival.
Tusks’s machine gun bellows, imparting death on Hailstone at the speed of light. Spent cartridges ding, ding, ding, as they hit the ground. After a few beats, the weapon swings west, massacring the building in the process. I look to my left. It seems the remainder of Hailstone soldiers have retreated. I didn’t mind Tusks’s killing spree against his own kind, but now his efforts are focused in the wrong direction, the way I told James to run, and I can’t allow that.
Besides, I do have it in for the bastard.
Making up my mind, I scoot alongside the Jeep, my back pressed tightly against it. As Tusks imparts his indiscriminate carnage, the few that still fight on that side of the battle retreat, rounding the building as fast as they can. Bat creatures flap their wings and fly to the top of the roof for safety. A handful of men drop to their knees, then fall over dead, huge bullets piercing their backs.
I think of James, hoping to God he made it out.
Unable to help myself, I then think of Luke and wonder if he’ll make it, too. I hope he doesn’t, but it’s not important.
Tusks’s cackles are audible between bursts of bullets. Spent casings continue dinging on the ground: tiny bells presaging death.
As I make it to the driver’s door, I take a deep breath, push away from the Jeep and aim to shoot. Except the element of surprise I thought I had was an illusion and, as soon as my sight is set, Tusks’s leg kicks out and knocks the gun out of my hand. I freeze, regretting my overconfidence for only an instant. With no time to dwell, I go on the offense.
Determined to get him from behind that gun, I step onto the Jeep’s running board, grab hold of the roll cage and swing my legs. Carried by my momentum, I sail sideways and smash my boots against Tusks’s face. He stumbles backward, away from the gun, but doesn’t fall.
Unbalanced by the impact, I begin to drop into the back of the Jeep, but manage to spring back and land outside in a crouch, ready for the beast’s fury, which is sure to come.
I stare at him, waiting. His hands are pressed to his face, eyes oddly vacant. He takes a few more steps back, swaying. I stare confused, until his hands fall away and reveal the problem. Only one of his tusks remains. The other one is gone. It takes me a moment to compute what just happened: the tusk, I’ve kicked it straight in. I couldn’t have done that if I’d tried. For once a big favor, not a little one. His head rolls back limp, then his body topples, lifeless, over the back of the Jeep and onto the street.
For a moment, there is quiet. I look left and right. The place is empty, and I think it’s almost over. I straighten and turn to face Elliot’s car.
The moment has come, I think.
Limping, I move toward the sedan, searching the ground for a gun.
“Just a little further,” I mumble to myself.
At least that’s what I think until an incensed growl breaks the silence. I turn and face the building. Lyra and the long-tailed Eklyptor, Lamia, stand on the delivery platform, looking down on me with evil in their eyes.
Whipping her fifth extremity up in the air, Lizard Woman jumps from the loading dock and runs in my direction, a huge serrated knife in her hand. Lyra follows, taking huge leaps that put her ahead of Lamia in an instant. I look frantically at the ground, but the nearest weapon is too far.
Knowing my luck has finally run out, I look up to find that Lyra has already covered the separating distance between us. She stands in front of me, arm pulled back. How did she move that fast? Like a stone from a slingshot, her furry fist flies through the air and slams on the side of my face.
For a moment, I stand there, my whole world oddly numb and weightless. Then my legs give out and I collapse. In my last thought, before I pass out, I wish for death, because I know that what will be waiting for me when I wake up will be much worse.