New Olympus Saga (Book 1): Armageddon Girl (41 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Christine Dark

Lake Michigan, Illinois, March 14, 2013

Shields up, Giordi!

The freaking light thingy – Lucasfilms
should sue the guy – slammed into her shield in a pyrotechnic display that
would have looked much prettier if it didn’t mean someone was trying to chop
her up like a carrot.

Whiteout Man tried a couple more slashes;
she felt her shield weaken, and when her shields went down she was going to get
effed up for real, yo. She blasted the guy, and he was knocked back a couple of
steps, which put a stop to the hacking and slashing for a couple seconds, but
he didn’t go down. “Not bad,” he said. “I think I’ll have to put your eyes out
as well.” He gestured with the sword at Mark; he was lying face down and he
wasn’t moving; smoke was coming out of a huge hole in his back and he was
making a horrible howling noise that terrified her and broke her heart at the
same time. “He might even live long enough to watch,” the killer mime
commented. Mark fell silent a second later. “Or maybe not. Pity.”

“Fuck you very much,” Christine hissed
and let him have it. Her anger and terror at seeing Mark down –
not dead, he
can’t be dead
– all exploded out in the strongest blast she’d ever fired
off. She visualized a mental spear – a gigantic, mammoth-size spear, the kind of
harpoon you’d use on killer whales or dinosaurs – and threw it at him with all
her inner strength, propelled by a glare of pure hatred, moving fast enough to generate
a supersonic crack as it struck. It went right though the man in white in an
explosion of blood that should have sickened her but instead filled her with
savage satisfaction. The man clutched at the huge hole in his chest with an
incredulous look and fell flat on his back. His feet kicked a couple of times
and he was still.

“Mark!” There was fighting all around her
– Christine saw Kestrel wrap her whip around some Asian woman’s throat and send
her spinning off in a move that should have broken her neck but somehow didn’t
– but she needed to help Mark first. There was a huge smoking burn that went
all the way through him, worse than the one she’d blown through the white dude.
She could see
inside
of Mark and it was gross and horrible and who could
survive that?
Neolympians, that’s who
, her brain said. Neos didn’t need
to eat or breathe. They didn’t need their organs, not really, not in theory at
least.

She knelt by his side and gently turned
his head so he was facing her. Mark had a face on. It looked very young. Light
brown hair, narrow nose, softer features than she’d have expected. His eyes
were closed. He wasn’t in pain anymore, that’s why he’d stopped howling. She
picked that up with her Christine-sense. He was also getting sleepy and about
to let go.

“Mark! Wake up!”

His eyes opened. They were green. He saw
her and he smiled with his lips and his mind.

“You got the fucker?” His voice sounded
like he had a really bad case of asthma. She nodded. “Fuck, my face’s back,
that’s twice today.” He tried to take a breath, and she heard air escaping
through the hole in his torso. “This can’t be good,” he wheezed. He closed his
eyes.

She felt him start to slip away. “No way.
Mark, do you hear me? No fucking way!” Christine turned her special sight on
and saw the bundle of colors that was Mark Martinez. The colors were draining
away, replaced by a dull gray the same shade as the inert ground under him. It
was a terrible thing to see, the end of life, but she forced herself to look,
to figure out a way to stop it. The more she looked, the more she understood
what the colors meant. One set of colors – a bluish-green hue – embodied all
the healing power all Neos had to some degree or another; the green light was
tapping energy from somewhere in a desperate attempt to undo the damage before
his body stopped working altogether, but it wasn’t enough, and the green light
was fading and turning gray as well.

Christine looked at her hand with her
sight and looked through the colors within herself. She found the one that
matched the healing force and tried to send it to Mark. Nothing happened. Most
of Mark was gray now, except around his upper chest and his head.

Come on, think!
She touched his face, saw her colors flowing near his, not
touching, not mixing up. They were separated by something, some sort of
membrane around her soul, or aura, or whatever.
Okay, then. Break it.

She did, and it hurt like nothing ever
had. She involuntarily pulled her hand away.
This is so not a good idea
,
her brain warned her rather pointedly. She ignored it and did it again. This
time she breathed through the pain like she was doing Lamaze exercises and
dealt with it, worked through the agony wracking her, and now her colors were
mixing with his colors and that hurt even worse.

She recoiled again and was almost overwhelmingly
tempted to just give up. She’d done as much as she could.
Just let him go.
The pain had been bad, but the realization he might take her with him when he
died was worse. She was terrified of the pain, of dying.
Just let him go.
Mark’s colors had made a brief comeback, but they were fading away again. His
eyes reopened; she’d be the last thing he saw. He was cool with that.

She wasn’t.

Christine screamed as she let their auras
flow together once again. Now they were both dying. She pushed back against the
empty oblivion she saw ahead of them. In her mind, she pictured herself
dragging his limp body out of a twisting dark tunnel. He was so heavy, and it
would have been so easy to just drop him and walk out by herself. She didn’t.

When it ended, it was convulsive,
explosive, a shuddering cold quasi-orgasm that made her body and mind spasm. The
pain vanished. The walls around her soul snapped back into place and she was
once again alone, no longer connected to him. She felt drained and weak.

Christine opened her eyes. Mark’s no-face
was back, and he was breathing normally. “What the fuck just happened?” he
muttered. He turned around and sat up. His clothes where still torn up and
bloodied, but the wound was gone. “Holy shit.”

“Was it good for you?” Christine said,
trying to sound like Kestrel and failing miserably.

“How… Look out!”

She turned and saw Pale Face. He was back
on his feet and his wounds and the blood around them were gone. She barely got
her shields up before he blasted her with an energy beam that looked like a ranged
version of his light blade thingy. The blast hit her shield hard, knocking her
on her back. Ranged and melee, that was so unfair.

The white bastard charged her, blasting
her with one hand, sword held high on the other. She had to concentrate on her
shield and couldn’t hit back, and she was still weak from whatever she had done
to Mark. Her shield was collapsing.

“Fuck this,” Mark said. He moved just as
the energy blade came down on her. He grabbed Pale Face’s hand, stopping the
strike – and then pushed the hand back. The energy sword cut into the man's
neck, but he managed to stop the motion before the energy blade went too deep.
Mark was still too weak to force the man's hand beyond that point. Christine
was almost out of juice too, but she sent forth one more push, adding her
strength to Mark’s. The sudden push drove the sword all the way through the
man’s neck.

Christine felt Pale Face’s mind/soul/whatever
go poof as his head rolled off his shoulders and landed between her and Mark.
He was dead, for real this time. The energy blade disappeared and the headless body
collapsed.

“Burn in hell, motherfucker,” Mark said,
always ready with a
bon mot
or two. He struggled to his feet and looked
around. “Shit, we have to help the others!”

He was right. Kestrel and Anime Amy were
in full catfight mode, but Anime Amy had shredded Kestrel’s whip with her
energy thingies and seemed to have gained the upper hand. Condor was in even
worse shape; she looked his way just in time to see him tase a guy who made
Rubeus Hagrid look like Tyrion Lannister. Condor’s Taser was industrial
strength: sparks and arcs of lightning flared everywhere and giant dude
staggered back a step, but only a step, and he bitch-slapped Condor and sent
him tumbling away.

Christine gathered all the power she
could muster and blasted the hairy giant in the back, knocking him down, and
caught Anime Amy with another blast just as she was trying to deliver a flying
jump kick. Ninja Chick rammed a wall face first and stopped moving. The two
attacks just about did her in, though. She needed some time to recover.

Mark jumped the bearded giant and started
pummeling him, but the big guy came to his feet, knocked Mark away and jumped
after Anime Gal, who was lying down semi-conscious while Kestrel kicked her.
While Christine desperately tried to gather enough power for another blast, the
big guy forced Kestrel back with a few wild slashes with his clawed hands. He
used the breathing room to grab his friend and start fleeing towards the cave’s
exit. Christine was about to blast him again when she noticed John’s body lying
on the floor. There was blood and worse stuff everywhere. She rushed to him.
Was she going to have to do the healing thing she’d done with Mark? She didn’t
know if she had it in her to do it again – okay, she was positive she didn’t have
it in her – but she turned on her Christine-vision anyway.

John was alive, and still shining like a multimillion
watt bulb. She could see his healing energies swirling all around him, fixing
him up, washing away the last traces of the evil dark energy that had poisoned
him and temporarily neutralized his invulnerability. It was going to take a
while – someone had really pwned him – but he would recover. Relieved,
Christine looked up.

And saw her father and an even creepier
guy facing each other. That would have been bad enough, but her special senses
were still up. She saw what the two men really were, what they had become. The
one time she'd used her Christine-vision near her Dad, she'd gotten nothing; he
must have some sort of ability that blocked her power. This time, however,
nothing blocked her sight, and she saw the thing that wore the face of her
father.

Next thing she knew, she was on her hands
and knees, throwing up and wishing she was blind.

Face-Off

Lake Michigan, Illinois, March 14, 2013

I got up. Man Mountain hadn't hit me with
his claws or my guts would have ended up all over the cave for the second time
that evening, but his punch had broken several ribs and given me a mild
concussion. Compared to the radical laser surgery I'd just survived, it wasn't
much, but it had left me a bit wobbly. The giant retreated up the tunnel, his
little friend slung over his shoulder. I don’t believe in letting people who
try to kill me or mine get away to try again another day, but I wasn’t eager to
mix it up with the guy who had gutted Ultimate like a fish. I’d probably regret
it later, but I let him go.

Kestrel was checking on Condor. “He’s
going to be all right,” she said.

That left the Lurker and the guy in the
black suit. I turned towards them just in time to see Christine collapse and
start to sob and vomit at the same time. I ran to her.

She was dry-heaving now. “Oh, God,” she
said over and over. Her eyes were tightly closed and tears ran down her face.
“Oh, God, Dad.”

I didn’t know what to do. I held her and
she shook in my arms and sobbed hysterically. Condor and Kestrel were back on
their feet; they warily approached the Lurker and his psychic sparring partner.
“Don’t get too close,” I warned them. I wasn’t sure why, but I didn’t think
touching either of them was a good idea. There was a faint dark purplish glow
around them, and the last time I’d seen that glow was when the Russians'
disruptors had fucked us up all to hell. “But do me a favor and kill that
asshole at range, would you?”

“Roger that,” Condor said, producing a
couple of his claws. His throws were fast and precise, aimed at Black Suit’s
throat. The claws spun forth at speeds only a Neo’s enhanced reaction time
could follow – and disintegrated three feet away from the target. “Shit. Guess
you were right about not getting close.”

“We have those energy rifles we took from
the Russians,” Kestrel suggested. “I can get them from the Condor Jet.”

“Good idea,” Condor said. She nodded and
rushed off.

I turned my attention back on Christine.
“Hey,” I said softly. “Christine. Come on.” Yeah, I was being fucking useful
all right. I’d be trying prayer next to see how that worked out.

“Oh, God,” she said again, but she'd
stopped crying, and that was something. “Okay. Okay, I will not go crazy. I
will not blow my sanity rolls.”

She was chattering again; that was a good
sign.

“My father…” She shuddered. “Ugh, it’s
still bad, but the worst of it is fading away. I’m repressing it, I guess. I’m
sure it’ll come back to me in my sleep. Great. Not. Dad’s been in touch with
the Outsiders, uh, Big Bads from outside the universe. That’s why he’s batshit
insane. He blew his sanity rolls – game term, sorry – and they got to him. And
that other guy’s worse. He gave himself to the Outsiders, body and soul.
There’s nothing left of him.”

“Sounds like he needs killing,” I said.
“Can you blow his head off?”

“I don’t know, but I really should try.” She got to her feet. 

“You have to get out,” the Lurker said in
his inhuman voice. Some of the disturbing symbols carved on his mask had
started to melt off, along with the skin and flesh underneath. The mixed smells
of burning flesh and rubber added a little extra something to the evening’s
festivities.

“Not without you,” Christine said. “You
need help, Dad. The Outsider stuff is killing you. Let’s take out that a-hole
and get out of here!” She started concentrating.

“Don’t,” her father said. One of the symbols
on the mask exploded, burning a hole right through his forehead, but he didn’t
seem to feel it. “You’re not ready to deal with him. I will deal with him, but
you may not survive the energy release when I do it.”

‘May not survive’ sounded pretty serious
to me. As if to emphasize his words, the whole island shuddered. Earthquake or
energy release? I knew which way to bet. “Let’s get the hell out of here!” I
shouted. “To the Condor Jet! Now!”

Condor took off running – he needed to
get the aircraft up and running if we were going to get out of this fucking
rock. Christine was still standing there. “Come on!” I yelled at her.

“John! He needs help,” she replied,
pointing at Ultimate. He was unconscious but alive, and his guts were mostly
back where they belonged. All-American Heroes were built to last.

“I’ll get him. Go!” I said, tossing the
Not-So-Invincible Man over my shoulder and urging her on.

She looked at the Lurker, who was now
levitating a few inches in the air, his arms outstretched, facing the soulless
asshole. Dark energy was swirling around him, and his mask was a melting mess.
I noticed that some of the symbols on the walls had also started to melt and
explode. I wasn’t sure what that meant, except that it was all bad. “Dad?”
Christine said.

He turned towards her. One of his eyes
was visible now, the mask having melted off half of his face. That eye was a
solid pool of darkness. “Go,” he said in his inhuman voice, and Christine went.

I was right on her heels, stopping only
for a couple of seconds after she left to pick up a little keepsake. The tunnel
shook as we ran. It was my first experience with an earthquake, and I didn’t
care for it. When we came out, the whole island was shaking hard enough to make
it hard to stay on our feet, and the lake’s waters were splashing all around
it, making some impressive waves. The Condor Jet’s engines were all fired up.
Ultimate and I were the last ones in. I unceremoniously dumped him on the rear
seats and went to sit down near a window as the Condor Jet started rising. The
tunnel’s mouth spewed fire mixed in with the swirling darkness that was
becoming much too familiar for my taste. Christine was looking out as well; she
was biting her lips hard enough to draw blood.

We managed to get far enough not to get
obliterated when the island exploded like a soda bottle stuffed with cherry
bombs. The shockwave nearly sent the craft spiraling towards the water, but
Condor managed to keep us in the air. When things settled down enough for us to
look out the windows again, we saw a mushroom-shaped pillar of fire and ash rising
majestically over Lake Michigan. People in three states and Canada were getting
a treat for the eyes.

The world was more fucked up than I had
ever imagined, but at least we were alive.

“Any ideas where to go?” Condor asked
from the cockpit. “No offense, but I’m not bringing this mess to New York if I
can help it.”

“How about somewhere off the beaten
path?” I suggested. “You’re the rich playboy, bud. Don’t you have a shack or a
cabin or a time-share somewhere in Upper Bumfuck or something?”

“Well, yeah. A few places. There’s an old
hunting lodge in Canada that’s pretty remote.”

“Sounds like a place to regroup,” I said.
Everyone agreed, except Christine, who seemed to be in shock, and Ultimate, who
was still sleeping off his near-death experience, the wimp. I turned to
Christine. She was pale as a ghost, and beginning to suffer from reaction
aftereffects. So was I, for that matter. My hands were shaking a bit, but I
ignored them. Comes with the territory. We overdose with adrenaline during a
tough fight, and this one had been the toughest one yet.

“Hey,” I said.

It took a while before her eyes would
focus on me. I didn’t rush her.