Blackjack Dead or Alive (The Blackjack Series Book 3) (35 page)

“I had them pull back. They were ambushed while dealing with your funhouse, and there were a lot of casualties.”

“I warned you.”

“Don’t be an I-told-you-so.”

“Do I still have my hair?” I asked, and Epic laughed.

“That was a hell of a blast,” he said. “How do you do it?”

"He’s a sponge for pain, the worse the beating, the stronger he is when he recovers," said a voice from the past, a shadowy image filling the remaining screens, cracked from the blast. But amid the chaos, I didn't need to see the big stupid rabbit head on the monitors to know that Haha had found me.

They came through a swirling darkness that dominated the Cretaceous room. Haha had chosen the worst types for his new team. Volatile, powerful, bloodthirsty, they were exactly the kind of people Haha thought represented the median of the super community. Most of them had been incarcerated at Utopia, freed when Zundergrub broke in to murder me. What the robot had sold them, how he convinced them to set aside their differences and co-exist as a team might serve to create a new branch of psychology.

Leading them was another version of me. We were about the same height and our frames were disconcertingly similar. It shouldn’t have surprised me that Haha had more than one person filling my role. I was the star after all. His gear was different than what his dead friend had worn in Amsterdam. It followed my basic style, black on black with the hood and half cowl, but where mine was built from basic things you could find out in the world, this guy was sporting high tech armor. Light reflected off of micromesh plates that kept the suit from being too bulky, but thicker plates lay just beneath, taking the place of the tactical rig, a foundation that would reinforce the whole. His bow was a work of art, handmade yew, the bow I wanted to make for this fight, and his quiver bristled with shafts.

To his right was Alacrity, known for her tear through Europe’s major banks during the late 2000s. Apogee had put an end to her wanton violence and sent her straight to Utopia in a fight that was caught on video and made the both of them famous. Even slowing down the footage, though, it was hard to see more than raging blurs edging into each other. Alacrity was a petite girl, blonde with blue eyes of Scandinavian origins if memory served. She shuffled a couple of steps ahead, then fell back in line with her mates, and it took me a second to realize that it was all happening at super speed. She was literally blurring into and out of the moment, as if her speed was uncontainable.

Pity Apogee wasn’t here. Their mutual hatred for one another was intense. They couldn’t help but peel off and wage their own war between heartbeats and blinking eyes. In the moments where she was slow enough to see, she smiled with dark glee. She was confident. They all were and with reason.

The shadows seemed to coalesce around them for a moment, before racing away in thoroughbred streaks that swirled around, playing havoc with my vision. At the center of the phenomenon was Stygian Black, carried by an amorphous collection of darkness that drew from shadows around it, inky wisps burning off of it like engine exhaust. He’d cut a swath through Middle America, destroying property and murdering innocents at random. Paladin caught up to him and, after a battle that had left indelible scars along miles of arable farmland, killed him. Well he had been reported dead, but I was living evidence that those reports could be inaccurate. He could animate shadows, control darkness, and based on the gooseflesh springing up on my bare, scorched skin, screw with the temperature.

Silverback occupied his own space, and not even Stygian Black’s shadows touched him. No one knew if he was a gorilla imparted with human intellect or a human that had been turned into an ape, but few beings could match his strength or stamina. The only thing he wore was a thick leather baldric looped across his impossibly wide chest, a pair of naked swords slung through the metal rings across his back, scraping against each other as he walked. They were sized for him, fifteen feet long, and four feet wide, the hilts long enough to be baseball bats. Nicked and battered, the blades could easily be mistaken as rusty, but I knew that blood dried into a similar color. They looked dull, but with his strength, they didn’t need to be sharp.

Rounding out Haha’s team was the horror known as Bloodstrike. Tall and beautiful with ebony skin and long lashed dark eyes, she could grace the cover any magazine, but it was all a lie. She was an elemental entity who possessed the bodies of those she killed. The skin she was wearing could have belonged to anyone. A cipher, she was the only villain in the room who had never done time in Utopia. She had never been caught, and her body count included many prominent and powerful heroes.

*              *              *              *

I heard the whisper of leather pulled taut, and realized Epic had clenched his huge hands into fists. He caught my eye, and I understood why all the heroes fell over themselves to work with him. He, of course, knew all of the villains, save my doppelganger. Their combined list of crimes dwarfed anything I had ever done, and individually, they were each at least as powerful as either of us. He was in danger, and worry creased his face, but remorse and understanding were etched just below the surface.

“Why are you here?” he said, stepping just in front of me. He put a barring arm between Haha’s team and I, herding me slightly behind him. “Let’s talk this through.”

“I want to solo the pretty boy,” Silverback said, his gravelly English a lot better than you’d expect out of a twelve-foot tall ape.

“We don’t want you,” my doppelganger said, as he stepped forward, bow drawn. His voice was heavily modulated, but awful similar to mine. “If you want to live, you can go.”

Epic turned back to me, his brow furrowed.

I shrugged, “I’d do what the man says. They’re doing your job for you.”

“Why do you look like him?” Epic asked, pointing at my copycat, unimpressed by the arrow aimed at his face.

“It’s simple,” I said, stepping around him. “This guy is copy of me, and the others are analogues of my old group. Mr. Haha is nothing if not sentimental. Stygian Black is supposed to represent Dr. Zundergrub, Alacrity is Cool Hand Luke. Silverback is Mr. Haha, of course. Pity he didn’t have the courage to show up to the party.”

“And Bloodstrike,” Epic said.

I stared at her lifeless face, “She’s Influx.”

Epic put it all together and nodded. I suppose he wasn’t as daft as I had given him credit for. He stepped forward again, undaunted. “Goddamn, you were right.”

I shrugged.

“You’re making a huge mistake,” he said to the villains.

Blackjack held the arrow back, his expression hidden behind the hood and half cowl.

“See, this guy’s coming with me and that’s that,” Epic continued.

“You’re overmatched,” Blackjack 2.0 said.

“I’m Epic,” he said. “I’m never overmatched.”

“Go, man,” I told him, but he shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter what you say, I’m not leaving without Blackjack,” he said. “As far as you, I’ve never seen you, but think hard and fast. I’m Epic, kid, and in a second I’m going to be in your face.”

“That’s not bad,” I said. “Famous last words by Epic; ‘I’m going to be in your face’. Mine will probably be a loud, bloody squeal as they rip me apart.”

“Please tell me you’re not with them,” he said, his expression flat.

I didn’t have the chance to answer as a thunderclap shook the room, followed by a hurricane force gust of wind that swept the villains back a few steps. Only Silverback stood his ground, plumes of smoke and dirt washing over him. He weathered it without expression.

Once the smoke cleared, Apogee stood beside me.

“Sorry for being late,” she said. “I was tied up.”

She was breathing heavy, dragging an unconscious figure swathed in black.

Underworld.

She had beaten him in his own netherworld. I took her in, sweaty, dirty, disheveled, and felt my heart swell. For the first time, I felt like there was a chance, like I could do anything. She cocked an eyebrow in my direction and I favored her with my most feral smile. She returned it in kind and let Underworld slip from her grasp.

Epic grunted, and it was clear that the idea of Apogee and I together dumbfounded him more than a duplicate of me running around committing crimes. I always assumed they had a past, and based on the pure joy she took in my distaste for him, that it had ended poorly. She was about to say something when she noticed Alacrity.

“Well,” Apogee said, crossing her arms. “Look at what we have here.”

“I know, right,” Alacrity said, unfazed. “If you live long enough, you find out wishes do come true.”

“If getting curb-stomped twice in a decade is your wish, I’m happy to oblige.”

“She’s mine,” Alacrity told her team. “You understand me? That bitch is mine.”

Epic studied me, taking note of how ragged and beaten I looked.

“You ready for this?”

I nodded.

“Okay, then let’s do this.”

Apogee was gone in a gust of wind.

That’s how it started.

Epic took a short step and leapt in the fray, Silverback drawing his swords with a snap of metal to meet him. I had no intention of diving into the midst of Haha’s team, but I felt naked without my gear. Superdynamic’s gift was still in one piece, but for that I would be naked. Even if my bow weren’t long gone, the quiver, along with all of my arrows, was destroyed. No onboard computer, no contacts, no tricks, no gadgets. I couldn’t even talk to Bubu.

I skirted the edges of the fight, looking for an opening. Epic faced off against Silverback who swung those huge blades in a mesmerizing pattern. Epic didn’t back down though, feigning one way then the other, and was rewarded with wide arcing swing that he nimbly evaded. Silverback took a step back, the move graceful despite his endless bulk and reset.

Apogee did the unexpected, zipping past Alacrity, who made a beeline for her vapor trail, and went for Bloodstrike, who disappeared in a storm of purple explosions. She was so fast; I lost her, tracking the fight only in relation to Bloodstrike’s spastic reaction as Apogee beat her down. Alacrity joined their dance, and watching them go at it was disconcerting to the point that it hurt my head. But I was lost in the idea of my girl fearlessly taking on two villains.

Snap out of it,
I chided myself in Bubu’s voice. It was too easy to become a spectator. Stygian Black had done something similar to me, drawing back, but he had a very effective ranged power. It was common for supers with manipulation power sets to focus the power through gestures, but not this guy. He floated on his shadow nimbus arms crossed, every shadow in the room bent to his will. They danced along the walls and ground around him, bubbling to three dimensional life in the form of tentacles that tapered to jagged points, like a child’s drawing of a lightning bolt.

I heard an explosion and saw that Blackjack 2.0 was unloading on Epic, shooting explosive arrows into his back while Silverback got aggressive, using his reach to bat away Epic’s guard so he could attack with the main hand weapon. There was a deeper plan, as Epic, who like Apogee was fighting a battle on two fronts, wasn’t ready for Stygian Black. I didn’t know if those tentacles would flay or impale, and I didn’t wait to find out, digging a softball sized chunk of hard packed dirt out of the ground and slinging it at him. I was better with the bow, but my aim was good, and only a desperate swipe from one of his assorted shadow limbs deflected it.

He wasn’t as prepared for the other projectile I sent flying at him.

Me.

It would take more than a massive detonation at close range to knock the Asskickers out of commission. The thrust left something to be desired, but it was enough to surprise Stygian Black. I had both arms out, fists tight, intent on blowing him up, but the shadowed platform he stood on shot up like a spring, and he jumped with it, climbing about ten feet in the air. I adjusted my attitude to meet him as another shadow platform formed from nothing under his feet. I climbed towards him, putting as much juice as I could into the throttle when the first tentacle struck me.

The point drove hard into my side, and for the first time in the long winding battle through Castle Black, Superdynamic’s blue suit split. The tentacle was freezing cold, numbing the flesh it touched as it dug between my ribs. My tough hide didn’t give, though the force of the blow was enough to knock me off course. I climbed higher trying to lose it, but it followed me like an eel darting after its prey.

My flight had brought me into the nest of tentacles and they swarmed me. I accelerated towards Stygian Black on his platform, but he wielded his power with cold efficiency. The sharp probing stopped, instead wrapping around my legs. They weren’t strong enough to hurt me, but easily pushed my legs apart, splitting my thrust, throwing my whole flight askew. I spun hard, my binds twisting, the torque of the noose wrapped around my legs tightening to the point where the boot’s metal bent.

More of them shot out at me, and I grabbed one, my hand going numb, but I fought through it, crushing the tentacle in my paw. It compressed, only to bleed through the infinitesimal gaps between my clenched fingers, forming a glove around it. I pulled hard and found it stretched under my strength, but I was still restrained. Another slipped the tear in my suit, wrapping around my waist like a belt, while another still caught me around the shoulder.

Stygian Black was mere feet from me by the time my momentum stalled, but I was completely ensnared. Every inch of skin the tentacles came into contact with was numb, and I felt the fresh pain of frost burn emerge. I struggled against them and he laughed, “Poor little meat. Did you really think you were just going to fly over here and hit me?”

“I really did,” I said. “I still do.”

“Unlikely,” he said, and the tentacles did their best to quarter me, pulling each limb in a separate direction. I could have struggled against them, but that would be giving away too much. I went limp, allowing the tentacles to pull me, feigning pain with a groan intent on feeding his sadism.

His voice was reedy, almost childlike, as if he were eternally trapped in adolescence, and his laugh was a high pitched thing that drilled into my ear, piercing my brain. I tested the give on the tentacles and found I could move, but I was still restrained. I had to draw him in. Still groaning, I let out a scream, and he matched his laugh to its volume. My upper lip curled and he seemed to find that equally hilarious as the tentacles pulled at my limbs. I felt my muscles stretch at odd and uneven angles, and understood that leverage was on his side.

“You know why nobody attacked you out of the gate,” he said, his throaty laugh subsuming to giggles as he spoke. “Because he told us you were the weak one. He knew Epic wasn’t going to let us kill you, and Apogee, well, we know all about you two. ‘Take care of them,’ he said, ‘And Blackjack will fold. It’s what he does.’”

I let him talk, reminded again, that this was sometimes part of the game, the ebb and flow of these kinds of confrontations. I didn’t know what he was expecting, but I doubt it was the wad of spit I hacked at him. It hit him just above the right eye with a splat that dripped down over the eyebrow and into the eye. He screamed in rage, the tentacles ripping upwards, gunshot pops exploding up and down my body as joints strained against the pressure. It was my turn to laugh, the pain turning it to a kind of half groaning chuckle.

“This is funny to you,” he said, cleaning his face with a vicious swipe of the hand. “Let me show you what I think is funny.” I was within reach of him, but unable to move. Any slack I had was gone as another tentacle shot from his platform straight at my face. I turned from it, straining against my bonds, but the tentacle followed me with ease, and when I realized what Stygian Black intended, I clamped my mouth shut.

He clucked his tongue in admonishment. “He told us you were smart. You obviously don’t know how your own body works though.” And with that the tentacle forked into a pair of thick strands that shot up my nose. They worked up my sinuses with excruciating impetus and I renewed my struggle, all aims at subterfuge gone.

“And now, he understands,” Stygian Black said, as the tentacles filled my pharynx, expanding into my throat. I gagged, the muscles in my throat trying in vain to expel the foreign body. My lungs burned at the lack of oxygen, and my mouth opened reflexively, the tentacle flowing out and drifting into view.

“You really thought I needed to punch through your hard candy shell to get to the sweet insides? Nope. Turns out I can take the road less traveled. I wonder what he’ll do with you after I’ve lobotomized you. Maybe he can rebuild you the way he does your doubles. He really wants you to agree with him. If he weren’t such a cold bastard, I would almost say he likes you. More than likes.”

My body was twitching from the conflicting stimuli, there was too much going on, and it was hard to concentrate, but I found my anger and desperation and used it. These people had killed in my name, over shit that didn’t matter to me. People murdered in my name, for nothing. I spent my time in Romania trying to keep this endeavor about business, but that time was over. Harnessing all of my rage, I lunged forward dragging my bonds with me.

Stygian Black flinched away, but it wasn’t enough, and I was able to wrap my arms around his waist. He screeched in my ear, his breath hot and wet as he beat against my shoulder. The tentacles slipped a little in his panic, and I took advantage flexing my arms and crushing him in my grip. The bastard was tough, and he sent the tentacles into frenzy, digging at my ears, and sending more for my eyes, which I closed tight. I bit down on the tentacle in my mouth, the scream that wanted to tear from my lungs stifled.

His spine separated in a wet crunch that I felt against my chest, and reverberated through his torso as the ribs ground to shards in my grip. His screams became a choked gargle as his heart ruptured, gouts of blood splashing on my shoulder, and then we were falling. The tentacles were gone, as if they had never existed, but my stomach was pressing against my diaphragm as the ground sped at me.

Togging the throttle in my boot, I stopped my descent, and took a deep breath. My gag reflex was still working overtime, and I took a minute to steady my breathing. Stygian Black was a loose sack of ruined bone and tissue in my grip. I hovered a second, shifting the corpse, making sure he was in fact dead. His face was a pale canvass dripping in blood, and as he hung in my grip, there was an unnatural angle to his hips and they swayed independently of the torso as I drifted mid-air.

I hadn’t realized how draining the cold had been until I felt the warmth flow through my body. It was like my soul clicked back into place. The exposed skin along my arms and legs were lined with ugly purple bruises and the inside of my mouth was dry cotton. I let Stygian Black fall to the ground below and surveyed the battle.

Epic was still fighting it out with Silverback and my doppelganger, though he looked no worse for wear. Both of Silverback’s swords lay broken in the low grass of the marsh, but the giant gorilla was swinging impossibly long haymakers, his length an advantage he knew how to exploit. My doppelganger was expending his arsenal, trying to find an arrow that would work, to no avail.

I lined up to swoop in on Blackjack 2.0, drill him straight through the mountain and into oblivion, when I saw Bloodstrike lash out with a bolt of red energy. It seemed to hit empty air, until Apogee blipped out of nothing, her speed making her almost invisible. Alacrity was on in her in a second, hammering Apogee so furiously, her fists almost disappeared.

Snarling under my breath, I altered course and charged right at her. She was so caught up with Apogee she didn’t see me until the last moment. I never stood a chance. She was there, and then she wasn’t. Apogee was a second slower on the uptake, but by the time she saw me careening towards her, I thrown my legs out, changed course again and pitched into Bloodstrike who had been watching Alacrity work.

Given how slight Bloodstrike was, I expected to split her in two. I wasn’t ready for her to absorb my momentum as we both went to the ground. She was like a spring, tough and malleable, using my momentary shift in position to scramble atop me. Turning onto my back, I threw a jab that caught her in the chin, her head rocking low, blood splashing onto my hand. Her legs cinched tight around my waste and when she looked down on me, there was nothing human behind those dead brown eyes.

“Dale, no,” I heard Apogee say from the ground.

I threw another punch, but she juked it, and caught my arm in an iron grip. Dark crimson energy flared around her and I felt her drain me. She took a long drink, and though it didn’t hurt, it wasn’t a good feeling. Back ramrod straight, head arched back, Bloodstrike let out a groan of pleasure as the effect ended. Her eyes slinked across my body, a humorless, terrifying grin spread across her face, hunger oozing from her pores.

“You will feed me forever,” her words clipped off as a flash of purple energy exploded against her head, slinging her off me and into the wall.

Apogee effortlessly yanked me to my feet. “Stay away from her, Dale. She’s mine,” she said, and was gone before I could respond. Bloodstrike rose from the heap of limbs she had ended up in, and was swallowed by Apogee’s speed, gone from sight.

I turned back towards my doppelganger when a gale of wind buffeted me, and the first punch hit. It wasn’t a sting, per se, more like an urgent poke jabbing near my kidneys. What followed it was a fusillade that raked up and down my torso. Alacrity buzzed around me, her speed rendering her into an ephemeral force that rejected my brain’s attempts to follow. I swung my arms in wide arcing parabolas, fishing for a miracle. It didn’t materialize and her offensive quickened to a driving rhythm.

I lost count of the individual strikes, the aggregate effect of the punishment blending into something akin to muscle strain over my entire torso. My arms drew inward against my will, trying in vain to defend against the onslaught. She couldn’t fly, so I took to the sky, but I wasn’t a foot off the ground before I felt her feet pound my back as she ran over it, then jumped. I tasted free air, one deep breath, and she landed on my back, stomping me with rapid fire kicks, a tsunami crashing against me.

Convulsions tore through me and my obstinate legs refused to keep my flight path even. The thrust died in a sputter as my toes lost feeling, unable to keep the throttle activated, and I plunged back to earth like a dime flipped from a tall building. She jumped again, and I had a moment’s respite, just as the ground ended my descent in a small explosion of marshy water, rent earth, and shredded grass.