Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Part 7, the Man who could not be killed - Black and Grey, by Scott Ferrara and Jeremy Webb

The crew all piled into Roxanne. Dante, Seamus, Ernesto crammed into the back, while Calico slid into the front next to me. Cuddling up a bit as cats were want to do. If we survived there was always the party, the drinking and the sex. Chalice came to each of us in her own way to offer blessings and hope for our survival. She appeared to me, and me alone, as the blood spattered corpse of Emma.





Chalice – Be strong my knight.



Dante – She’s talking to you now, isn’t she?



Ronin – I’m her champion.



Dante snorted in derision.



Dante – Some fucking champion.



Chalice – Despite her blood, you will always be brothers. Brothers by choice.



Ronin – I miss her so much.



Dante glanced at Ronin, then stared off into the distance, his fist banging gently on Ronin’s shoulder.



Dante – So do I.



Then, as if a chorus, they all appeared.



Beth – To die in service is a good way to die, Golem.

Gabriel – You are no longer the man who couldn’t be killed.

Chalice, Gabriel, Beth – You are the man who wouldn’t die.



I started Roxanne up. The engine roared, like a steed eager for battle. We head to route 112, on a few back roads. Chalice will wreak havoc with local law enforcement. The off to Whiskey road, a twisted artery of traffic where the workers were paid in hooch. Signs of mathematical certainties greater than, less than, dotted the roadside reminding us how it all falls to numbers.



The precinct will have a visitation, a large black man carrying a very wounded little woman in his arms. The desk sergeant will get to work, helping them and suddenly his body won’t be his own, albeit temporarily.





Ernesto – Always a good sign. Once more unto the breach?

Seamus – You know Shakespeare was actually Irish? Prolonged English conspiracy, that.



Ernesto – That’s where you’re wrong.



Dante’s chin dropped to his chest, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, as if to ward off a migraine.



Seamus – And how am I wrong?

Ernesto – He was Spanish, I was a priest I know these things.

Dante- Will you two please not have this fucking argument again?!?!?!



We turned onto another back road. Fresh snow had fallen and the flint grey skies begged for more white. The house was a two story dilapidated mess, surrounded by woods, pine and scrub oak on all sides. Most would rightly assume with the motorcycles out front that it’s a meth lab. A palpable air of agitation will keep most of the locals away. It’s like an irritation, like spiders crawling on your skin. Three servitors were in the woods. The still was outside to the left of the house. A quick IR scan shows, several more servitors, 3 shades and a few victims scattered throughout. The house was on the verge of collapse, missing persons collect in such places as the last refuge of the damned. Seamus placed himself in the tree line. Ernesto, Dante, Calico and I went in. Dante quietly drew a stick magazine from his ammo pouch and slotted it into his AA12. He raised it and took aim at the front door, firing off a ten round burst that drained the magazine in a heartbeat. The FRAG 12 grenade rounds made a mockery of the door and blasted a lethal cloud of fragmentation shards into the foyer behind it, clearing us a toehold into the lair.



Ronin – Subtle, brother.



The deadish arose with a collective moan. They had seen the black on the other side. They had felt the loneliness and isolation. There was no white but the stinging crystals falling from the sky.



We had a countdown until the still was going to go up. Then the children came. All the shade’s fantasies in small immortal bodies, cute as a button, sex toys seeking blood. My Storms bellowed thunder, quick efficient shots. Calico disappeared, to plant the explosives on the still as the place reeked of antiseptic.



Shooting children, even centuries old children, is never easy. There

is only the mission and the cold hand about your throat. Wondering that if there was a just God. You would die now and never see this. Dante was a pro, firing into the crowd. His only god was the black. He smiled and laughed. His shotgun spewing round after round of deadly flechettes and #2 titanium alloy shot. I was looking for the girl. When the corpse assaulted Ernesto there was an epiphany of blood, said to an Our Father. He was Latin old school. Then the Shade appeared, as big as a mountain. His biceps were bigger than my bullets. Silver nitrate burned his skin like an Arizona midday, a dry heat. . Smoke and flesh smelled like a quiet Sunday summer afternoon barbeque. Sometimes even professionals must resist the urge salivate.

It had this hand and a half, a sword of muscle. Dante gave it a taste of shot, then dropped his shotgun and drew his sword, snapping his shield into place with a flick.



DANTE – Find the girl!

RONIN – That’s not my mission!

DANTE – This is my op asshole!

RONIN – You wanna die? Fuck you, do it on your own time!



Barong and Cavalry Sabre drawn I went in. His first hit was an avalanche of

muscle. My jaw SHATTERED. Drop parry, weapon sliding off the sabre. Sidestep

behind him. His man killing weapon was too slow. A quick spin and the blades

went down. Gabe told me to hit hard and fast, Beth be true to your faith. And in the end he couldn’t imagine a mere fleshling fighting him. Mid section sweep and a tuck. Hand roll across the throat. I spoke through a tattered jaw.



RONIN – You ffffuckign head itthhh mine!!!



The servitors came. And I HACKED. Dante spun into the midst of them, alternating between shield punches and efficient cuts, even the edges of the shield were sharp. For a moment I thought he was in the arenas of old Rome and he was a gladiator taking task to the criminals his masters sent to their deaths for the entertainment of the masses. God, he was a scary fighter to watch. “We who are about to die, salute you.”



Freed from the servitors I turned back into the Shade, my heavy blade to those gargantuan arms. Bringing the blades up under the arms and trying to sever them.Seamus fired Bessie, the round bisecting the Shade under its armpit and punching out the other side in a welter of gore and smoke, then traveling into a servitor and exploding it in a crimson mist. The shade looked angry more than hurt, and it had just taken a round from what was in effect an anti tank weapon. One arm came off its body, and I dropped my barong and drew my pistol. Burying my sabre in its guts and firing the storm as I grabbed hold. I ran, carrying the beast into the sun. Burnt meat and embers flew as it held onto me. Ash choked my lungs as its body was engulfed in fire. The burns were covering my face and torso. It kept fighting, hammering with its fist. I ended up with broken ribs and a punctured lung before Dante waded past and took off its other arm at the elbow. It finally went up completely when he spun and took off the head.





Dante – I never said you weren’t brave, brother. A idiot maybe, but a brave one. I know Chalice appears As Emma to you. She always has.



With that I rose and fired. Bullets whippings passed his ears into the oncoming servitor.



Ronin – Looksth like I hith the barn.



Then I fell flat onto my face, the wounds finally too much for me. Massive internal injuries, but the black just didn’t want me.



Seamus/Dante – Lucky shot.



Calico was running through the warrens, taking servitors. Ernesto was with her going through clips for his Garand while he mouthed his Rosary. Both had given up on stealth. Then they found the girl. Ernesto emerged bloodied and bladed. Calico smiled. The lost lonely girl, the one life I needed to save.

She walked over to me and my demolished body. Stroked my hair and shattered jaw. Chalice will expedite the healing.



GIRL – Monstros



Ernesto was going to translate, but I understood.



“Monstros” Was all she said. And I didn’t know if she was referring to them or us.