Death Screams (38 page)

I swear I was so stunned my heart hiccuped while my bowels clenched.

Gramps had arrived with the puppy.

I fought fainting for the first time in my life, my head a spinning thing atop my neck.

I forced my head between my knees and then stood up, throwing my palm behind me in an effort to stay upright.

Gramps was engaged with the two Graysheets who had caused John to pant and sweat to run down his face, a fine trembling causing his arms to shake.

"Why don't you gents disarm before I have to blow a couple holes in ya?" Gramps said conversationally, the puppy pointed at the men.

Clyde clenched his hands and hissed.

Gramps eyes flicked to Clyde then landed back on the Graysheets.

"Shut up old man, we know what you were about back in the day, but it's this boy's turn to meet his maker and I aim to make it happen," the Graysheet said, Archer's face a shade of pale that shouldn't be a skin color.

Gramps gave a grim smile and responded, "A follow-through guy? Well... me too." And with that, he blew off the agent's hand at the wrist, with a whole lot of peripheral shot pelting him for good measure. That KEL-TEC KSG bullpup shotgun would put a ton of shot-love into a person.

Yes indeedy.

The agent screamed, grabbing the stump of his arm while blood geysered out of it like a fire hydrant. He began staggering around, his follow-through long forgotten.

The other agents woke up as if from a dream, seeming to notice the Threat that was Gramps too late.

He raised the shotgun to the two that were working John over while I ran to Alex. "Are ya okay?"

He nodded, his lips blue.

Definitely not okay.

"You two stay like that, I got plenty of shot for the both of ya. Move and I make you holy." Gramps laughed at his own pun.

Cripes.

Skinny-Smoker began working his way toward the bars that held Sensei Anderson and I just knew that he meant to keep us from him. If we could get to Sensei, we could save the girls.

"Gramps!" I yelled.

"Yup," he yelled back, the shotgun steady on the two Graysheets.

"My judo teacher is trying to kill Sophie and Jade!"

"Bastard," Gramps said, the puppy unwavering.

Right.

I turned to Clyde and saw that somehow, in the midst of the chaos, Onyx had come.

The Dog had heard the desperate call from his boy and broken the directive about letting the liquid go and to return to the cave immediately. Instead, he had escaped the prison that was attached to the boy's cave, heading toward the call. He could feel one of the dead creatures coming as well.

They converged together and the Dead One made the Dog understand that there was a feral pack of great strength with many alphas that threatened the Master.

Who, of course, was his Boy.

He ran. The Dog ran until his lungs burned, and the pads of his feet ached. When he thought he could run no more he used that energy that the Boy's call had given him. It ran on a current into his body, allowing speed, dexterity and a momentum that the Dog did not usually possess.

He did not tire again.

Instead, his nose had found the scent of the call. The scenery as he ran the back roads rushing by him in a colorful blur of grays and blacks.

He came into the cave that contained the enemy pack of feral and instantly felt the injury to the Boy. With primal glee he was able to sense many injuries, small and large, to the alien pack.

The Dog wagged his tail. That was very good. He looked up at the Dead One. He was a fierce Alpha, the Dog would wait for his signal.

When it came, the Dog would be ready.

*

I watched Onyx wag his tail and shook my head slightly, I couldn't believe my eyes.

It couldn't get any weirder but then Clyde asked, "What assistance do you require, Master?"

And my mind screamed Jade, help Jade. But he couldn't. I could raise a thousand zombies but she was somewhere I couldn't rescue her.

Clyde got it though. "Where is the one that would dispatch the young women?"

I pointed to the bars where Skinny-Smoker stood, his pistol drawn, his other hand holding his chest where I'd jammed him with the locked gun. Clyde moved toward him with fluid grace, his stride never breaking.

He wore his old-fashioned, three piece suit like a uniform, the suit open to reveal a vest that was buttoned up, a long chain for his watch winking softly under the LED's that had automatically pulsed on as darkness descended.

One of the Graysheets came forward and Gramps said, "Can't take them all, Caleb!"

He had the puppy held on two of the Graysheets while a third lay bleeding out on the mat where I had practiced a thousand times. But that left Skinny-Smoker and the one that came toward Clyde, a switchblade sprung and ready in one hand and a small pistol in the other hand.

He got a shot off as Clyde came and the slug struck him in the torso, tearing the material of his vest, shredding it as it entered.

I ran forward as Gramps yelled, "Stay put, Caleb."

I wasn't much for listening. I grabbed a fistful of the back of Clyde's suit and my power surged through him.

That's when I felt it.

Tiff had barreled into me like a caboose on the corpse train, lending me her juice so I could do Clyde.

I did.

Leveling our combined power and shoving it into him with a guttural surge that caused him to stumble, Clyde righted himself as the agent tossed the gun, shells expended. He spun back, jabbing the knife into Clyde's chest cavity.

Clyde grunted softly as I poured more juice into him, desperately trying to mend the damage as it happened. Clyde encircled the agent's windpipe with his hand, lifting him to his tiptoes.

He met his fingers around the agents neck and squeezed. I could hear the vertebrae grind against one another in a futile attempt at resistance. Then, succumbing to the pressure, they were crushed to dust inside the column of flesh.

Clyde, being a practical man in life, was one in death as well. Turning the dead agent, he used him as a meat shield of sorts, the head bobbing around grotesquely. When Skinny-Smoker began shooting at Clyde, he plugged the dead agent instead. Tiff and I moved with him, behind him.

When he reached Skinny-Smoker, Clyde hit the gun that Skinny held and there was a sharp crack as it smacked into one of the mirrors, the shattering glass raining down on the floor.

Clyde threw a wicked punch and Skinny-Smoker deflected it smoothly. I came around the side of Clyde and the agent's eyes followed me, turning his attention to me instead of Clyde.

"As long as I don't kill you, I'm in the clear," he said, swinging at me and I felt the air press against me as I narrowly avoided it. I began my offensive jabs right away and he should have buckled under the weight of the onslaught, his nasty smoking habit making him weak.

He was not, he did not.

Skinny-Smoker whirled with a roundhouse style kick on Clyde, making him pinwheel his arms backward into Tiff. They hit the floor together in an ungainly pile.

I faced Skinny-Smoker just as Onyx launched himself on his exposed forearm, the suit long shredded. Onyx sunk his teeth into his bare flesh and Skinny howled in pain.

But mainly frustration. In a smooth move, he landed his opposite fist on Onyx's head and Onyx slid down to the floor. Hurt.

He hurt my dog.

Jade was in danger.

Those thoughts collided together and adrenaline and death got tangled together in a body numbing surge of energy.

My zombie was struggling off of Tiff and I looked at Skinny-Smoker.

I charged. The tension of the day like an oil slick on fire, the flame a thing of unending heat and destruction.

He met my charge with one of his own and we grappled. Our sizes were similar but he didn't have his girlfriend in jeopardy as a motivator.

Or a zombie that was becoming something else.

Clyde pulled him off of me and tossed him by the seat of his pants into the one mirror that was unbroken.

He crashed into it, a shard of glass the size of a ruler, stabbing him through the chest, one end sticking out of his back.

Slick with blood and other things.

His mouth opened in an "O" of surprise. He fell backwards, tumbling to his back. As we watched the shard pushed through in reverse, gutting him again. His hands wrapped around it but he died as we watched.

The Telekinetic agent used the distraction of his fallen comrade to throw the puppy across the room. John, too tired to keep a hold on both the Null and the Telekinetic, looked at me, "Sorry Caleb." His face a solemn as the tomb.

Speaking of which, Clyde faced the two agents, trying to protect me from them as Gramps launched himself at the Null.

I realized it was the guy who had almost had his arm hacked off by the Skopamish.

It was working pretty well now as he began to try and beat the snot out of Gramps.

I wanted to protect him but had the Telekinetic to deal with.

I let my power go, sliding into the dead agent with the glass poking out of his chest.

I was betting he was as good of a fighter dead as alive.

His eyes sprung open finding mine immediately. He sat bolt upright, tearing the shard of glass out of his chest and launching it like a torpedo at the Telekinetic.

See how that works? I thought wildly.

It made a meaty sound as it struck the Telekinetic. Who with a shocked gasp, turned his energy on the agent that was now my zombie, flinging him into the framework from the mirror that had been shattered.

The Telekinetic held him pinned there like a macabre butterfly while he writhed around.

Gramps beat the Null into the ground, the knuckles of his big hands shredded. He scooped up the puppy and twirled it around like a baton and made a quick jab at the back of the Telekinetic's head.

He slid to the floor. Out.

Skinny-Smoker stood at the ready.

Waiting.

His dead gaze trained on me, his devotion obvious. I turned my back on his stare.

Gramps turned to me and I sucked in my breath when I saw the mess of his face. Then I looked at the floor. The Null was a bloody pulp.

"Gramps, get Jade awake!" I pointed to the Camaro and he ran out there. Using the but of his puppy, he jammed it against the glass and Clyde and I moved forward.

It was Archer that grabbed my ankle.

"Help me get over there and I'll get you to the guy."

I looked at the bars and realized they were locked. Even Clyde couldn't tear them open.

But he could and did drag Archer up by his armpits.

We hauled him over to the prison type bars and he held his palm out, swiping it against the plate sized pulse pad. It slid open with a whisper and a hiss.

We moved toward Sensei Anderson, murder in our step.

*

Sensei Anderson

The agent looked at the delectably vulnerable girls that stood before him, dressed in clothes their subconscious's had fashioned for them and nearly sighed.

To finally be allowed to cause suffering amongst the weak and vulnerable. To know the girlfriend of Caleb, who had been abused in the past, to taste her fear like subtle and fine wine upon his tongue was an aphrodisiac of the highest order.

He moved toward them, the fear from his approach clenching the lovely features of the diminutive and finely sculpted Jade. He would have her underneath him and begging for mercy momentarily.

The other agents would be holding the boy and dispatching whom they deemed necessary. By the time they discovered his treason, the young women would be beaten and broken dolls, simple vessels for his abuse and release.

He moved toward them with a light heart.

*

Jade

Jade's heart lay broken. She would never say goodbye to Caleb, she would suffer and die in this place of abject neutrality, never seeing anyone she cared about again. Sophie alongside her. Permanently gone.

Permanently.

She could feel his evil from where she and Sophie stood shaking and terrified. She knew what he planned. It was a mercy that she could not inadvertently convey it to Sophie.

Then Jade saw Buddy slide out of the mist of the wall and tackle the judo teacher from behind.

They grappled. When Anderson caught sight of Buddy he yelled, "What are you doing? You're supposed to be protecting Parker!"