Shedding the Demon (26 page)

Damon felt a familiar exhilaration as he moved among his
targets, whirling, spinning, and dealing death on all sides with the combat
blade. The plastic blade cut through armor, weapons, flesh, and bone with equal
ease making a gory mess as he moved with a grace so incongruent with his size.
The Demon was completely awakened now and many of his targets had no idea he
was in range before they died. Before he could take out the entire group, they
rallied and formed a defensive group that halted his swift-flowing rampage.
This final group he took out with a high explosive grenade lobbed in their
midst.

The Demon paused to survey the remnants of his work before
sending out another active scan to pinpoint the last group of soldiers. They
were very close to the refugees, and he fervently hoped they would not kill the
innocent people, but would concentrate only on him.

He finally felt as if he could indeed accomplish his
mission, even if the priorities had shifted since he first started with his
simple recon.

Before he had taken a step toward his goal, the last three
charges detonated far below him, deep in the foundation of the structure
beneath his feet. The floor shook violently and shifted to one side. Ancient
concrete broke from the walls in large chunks, and Damon was sure the whole
structure would collapse. Steel fell from the ceiling and dust filled the air
as the floor pitched and rolled. After a few seconds it stopped moving and
everything went strangely quiet. The lights were out again, and Damon worried
about his adopted refugees up ahead.

He scrambled through the maze of destruction and it didn’t
take him long to catch up with the fleeing refugees. However, they were no
longer fleeing.

Instead they were trying to dig out and uncover members of
their group who had been caught under falling debris. Damon knew immediately
that many of the trapped victims were already dead or soon would be.

Nevertheless, he lifted some of the bigger pieces and tried
to convince the others to keep moving toward the surface.

He had just freed a badly injured woman, who he was sure
would never survive when his HUD put up two simultaneous warnings of targets
close –very close. He turned toward one and threw the heavy beam he had been
lifting. The impact raised a plume of dust and concrete shards and before his
vision cleared his worst fears were realized when he heard the “whoosh” of a
Kyndra-damned
gun. He could not evade without putting the refugees behind him at risk, so he
stood his ground and took the shot full in the chest.

The pain was instant and intense.

He looked down, and the sheer number of needles poking out
of his armor made his vision darken at the edges. He staggered as he fired a
grenade in the direction of the sniper without aiming and hoped it would be
enough to take him out. The second target appeared from the side and shot him in
the hip, spinning him around to fall amongst the detritus on the cracked floor.
He crawled forward, trying to fire something at the sniper, but he could barely
see through his pain-clouded senses. He tried to stand and failed, landing
painfully on his back.

His vision swam, but he saw the man stand over him, and point
the ugly-looking gun directly at his face from no more than half a meter away.
Damon began to extrude his single combat blade, but everything went dark before
he could raise his arm.

 

Leland McKrae made his way through
the rubble that had once led to his home. His heart was heavy with the
realization of the extent of the destruction. Truth be told, he spent only a
small minority of his time in these catacombs, and in reality probably slept
more nights outside, in other places. However, in his thoughts and feelings,
this underground sanctuary was his true home. His people, his adopted family,
lived here and they had weathered many storms of persecution in its protective
depths and complexity. He frowned bitterly as he considered the irony that the
long-time safety had been shattered by a self-named Demon.
As my followers,
you will suffer persecution,
Leland thought, reciting the words from his
ancient Bible. Words that had carried him through many times of hardship, but
he never believed that his home would be destroyed.

As he climbed down through the wreckage, he prayed for the
safety of his friends. He moved as fast as he could, although he risked injury
by doing so. He had to know if anyone still lived. He had lost many of his
close friends through the years but the possibility of losing
so many
weighed heavily on him.

He entered a long, wide corridor and stopped. Everything was
gray from the slowly settling concrete dust and it took him a moment to notice
the people.

A dozen or so were scattered amongst the debris. Most were
sitting on the floor, faces in their hands, many shaking with sobs. A few stood
here and there, their eyes unfocused. All were coated in dust, draining them of
color, and making them look like statues but for their small movements.
Nonetheless, Leland nearly collapsed. He put his hand out to a nearby wall to
keep himself upright as tight bands constricted around his chest.

He was unable to swallow and breathing was difficult as his
throat constricted. He hugged those he encountered first and asked
breathlessly, “How many? How many have been lost?” His voice scratchy in his
dry throat. He thought he would choke on the dust.

The people could only shake their heads. They did not know.
Leland gave simple instructions for continuing on to the surface and where to
meet later, and then continued his decent. He passed more survivors—greeting
most with hugs and kisses—relayed his instructions, and moved on. He tried to
keep a mental tally of who he had seen and who was missing, but there were too
many to track and he was forced to give up.

Soon he came to a group of survivors standing near the
center of the large room, deep in discussion. Bodies lay strewn about the room,
most of whom Leland recognized and mourned. He stopped suddenly as he passed
one of the victims and realized he had died of a bullet wound.

“What happened?” he asked of the small group of survivors
huddled together who had not yet noticed his entry.

As one, they looked at him and their faces lit up. “Leland,
thank God,” one of the men said as the group moved toward him.

Ignoring the greeting, he persisted. “What happened? These
people were shot!”

“Soldiers, Lee. Group I never seen down here before. They
must have came in with those new guys we saw last week,” one man said.

“They were shooting at everyone!” a woman added.

“I think they were after the guy,” another man interjected,
pointing his thumb over his shoulder.

“But he was trying to protect us, Sam,” a third man
interrupted.

Leland held up his hands, “Hold on, hold on, one at a time.
Sam, what guy?”

“The guy we saw the other night! The big one, with the crazy
gun-hand!”

“Wait, what? Damon? He was
here?
” Leland asked.

“Was? Still is!” Sam said as he scrambled over a fallen beam
to a pile near the middle of the room where he started clearing away debris. “We
had to stop this guy,” he nodded toward an armor-clad body nearby, “and then we
hid him from the others.”

Leland watched as Sam uncovered the well-hidden body of the
man that had haunted his thoughts over the past few weeks. In shock, he sat
down on a chunk of concrete nearby and tried to figure out what happened.

Slowly, he was able to sketch together a series of events
that led to Damon’s last stand in this room against the needle-gun wielding
soldiers.

“So. Damon tried to save you . . . from the bombs
he
planted . . . tried to protect you from soldiers trying to kill
him
. . .
you then decide to stop these soldiers from taking him away
by killing them?
And you hide him from the follow-up group as well?”

They all looked sheepish. “Well, I didn’t mean to kill the
soldier,” Sam replied. “I hit him with that bar,” he said, pointing to a bent
piece of steel on the floor, “but I thought his armor would protect him.” He
paused and looked at the floor, “I swung it as hard as I could. Jesus forgive
me.”

Leland reached out and grasped Sam’s shoulder. “He does, my
brother, he always does. Obviously, I don’t judge you, and actually I think you
did the right thing, although I wish you’d never been put in this situation. But
I still don’t quite understand the big picture. What was Damon doing? If he was
trying to save you, why did he blow up the place?”

No one could answer the question, and they knew it was
rhetorical, so they didn’t try. Leland sighed, looking down at the Demon.

“Now what,” he said to the body lying at his feet, “am I
going to do with you?”

 

 

Moving Damon turned out to be harder
than they imagined. He was big, of course, but they had no idea just how
heavy
he was. Luckily, he was stiff as a steel rail, and with three men on either
side they were able to push, pull, lift, and drag him through the rubble. They
did not encounter any soldiers.
Fortunately for us,
Leland thought,
since they would not have been able to keep the soldiers from taking him away.
Finally, after a few hours of struggle, they reached the surface and all of the
men collapsed in exhaustion.

“What . . . do we do . . . with him now?”
Sam asked Leland, still breathing hard.

Leland thought for a minute, and said, “Let’s get him in the
car and put him in the storage building.” He paused and stretched his aching
back. “Hopefully by then I’ll have another idea!”

Everyone laughed lightly, too tired to carry on much
conversation.

Leland took a few seconds to send off an electronic message
through his implants. “I called some of the guys from the church and they’re on
their way to get the car now. You stay here and wait. I have to track down some
friends and see what I can find out.”

He scrutinized the inert form in front of him and wondered
if the young man inside the armor was still alive. Surely the solid and nearly
impervious form it had taken must be a defense mechanism, but he wondered if
the system would continue to protect a dead occupant. He swept the rudimentary
sensors from his old implants over the body again, as he had a hundred times
before and still he found nothing coherent. He picked up a faint signal right
on the body, but it was little more than static. His implants had been
state-of-the-art when they were new and he was on the battlefield, but nowadays
they were no more powerful than some children’s toys.

They’re going to come looking for him,
he thought,
I
need to get some help
. Leland realized it was time to call in some favors
from some very old friends.

“You guys know what to do. After you get him to the storage
building, see Patsy for instructions. She’s organizing relocation of the
church. Get something to eat, and get some rest. I’ll probably be gone a few
days so don’t wait around for me.” After he spoke, he shook hands, shared hugs,
and wished everyone well before turning to jog off into the Ruins. Once out of
sight of the others, he turned up the augmentation in his legs and picked up
speed.
This old body still works, but for how much longer?
He wondered
the same thing every time when he used his implants.

Deep inside the Ruins, he arrived at his destination. He
rested a couple of blocks away in order to catch his breath, thinking
the
old
body may work, but it’s not in good shape!
After a few minutes,
he was composed, and he had found nothing unexpected on his sensors. His
implants couldn’t penetrate even these decrepit old concrete walls, but he
didn’t find anything unusual outside. The fact that he had not yet been
confronted told him that his stealth system was still marginally effective in
any case. Once he was ready, he rounded the corner and approached the target.
He was careful to walk slowly and keep his hands in sight. Most of the guards
in the area would recognize him, but he never knew when a new recruit might
show up. Carelessness combined with a nervous rookie could lead to some bad
consequences.

“Hey, Lee!” he heard from the sentry post high above, hidden
in the facade that was carefully sculpted to appear like the crumbling walls all
around. He heard someone talking quietly into a radio and waited only moment
before two armed guards materialized from the collapsing structures around him.
He recognized both and relaxed completely. Both men had their autorifles slung
over their shoulders and approached him casually. The older of the two shook
Leland’s hand and pulled him into an embrace.

“Good to see you again, Captain!” the older man said as he
released him. “We heard about the attack and the explosions and we wondered if
you made it out all right.”

“We lost a few, unfortunately.” He paused because he hadn’t
yet come to terms with what he was about to say. “We lost some good people—innocents—because
I was cocky and thought I had it all under control.” He felt the wetness in his
eyes, the guilt and sadness mixing together and bubbling to the surface with
his confession.

The younger man stared wide-eyed at Leland, obviously
uncomfortable with his display of emotion.

“Go tell the major that the captain’s here to see him,” the
older man said to his partner. He put his arm around Leland and squeezed. “It
never gets any easier, Cap, you know that. If we learned nothing else out
there, we learned that. You led us through some tough spots back in the day.
Most of us would probably be dead if it weren’t for you.” He kept his arm
around Leland and led him to the door.

Once inside, the surroundings changed dramatically. The
outside was designed to fit in with the collapsing buildings all around, but
inside everything was new, clean, and shiny. The transition from dark and drab
exterior to brightly lit interior was shocking, but Leland was not paying
attention, and he had seen it many times before. They walked slowly, giving him
enough time to compose himself before meeting with his old commanding officer.

 

**** ****

 

Ken Westron was usually calm and composed,
characteristics he had worked hard to maintain throughout his business
dealings. The practice he gained while working with the less-savory elements of
society allowed him to sit calmly in front of the energized muzzle of Damon’s
Trip-PC when they first met.

He started out unconcerned when Damon’s signal was lost as
he went back underground; Ken had expected that. He got apprehensive when he
registered the movements of men and equipment on the surface shortly
thereafter.

At that point, he used his skill as a programmer to work
himself into the local control systems in the immediate vicinity of the
underground factory. Being careful not to draw attention to himself, Ken picked
up bits and pieces of information that helped him put together a picture of
what was happening. When he saw the damage to the machinery and the sheer
amount of heavy weaponry in play, he became distressed. Finally, when he heard
reports of the Demon being taken down, he truly worried.

Ken knew that Damon was not indestructible, but he never
really believed anyone would be able to gather the firepower required to take
him out. Ken had spent the past few months teaching Damon to be smarter on his
missions, instead of relying on brute strength. Despite Damon’s background of
street-fighting, he was slow to accept the wisdom of Ken’s ideas, since he
reveled in his pure firepower. He finally relented and took the advice to
heart. After that, his combination of power and street-smart tactics made Damon
truly formidable. He finally learned not to go toe-to-toe with heavy weaponry,
and he developed the savvy to know when and how to slip away from unfavorable
odds.

Now it appeared that someone had managed to take the Demon
down, and Ken was truly shocked. After a few minutes of useless flailing inside
the factory’s control system, Ken finally gathered his senses, calmed himself,
and got to work.

Ken’s business had given him access to rich, important,
powerful people on all levels of society. His singular skills put him in demand
for many different types of transactions, some of them legitimate. Over the
years he had accumulated favors big and small from innumerable sources, and
rarely collected. Now, he decided, it was time to call in some of those favors.

He spun up a connection to the owner of a shady security
firm often employed for, as they liked to say, “extreme persuasion.”

“I need a high-end strike team on Adithi as fast as possible,”
Ken said as soon as the connection was made. “No, a week is too long, I’ve only
got two days . . . I don’t care the cost, you know I’m good for it
. . . Good, thanks, coordinates sent through. Oh—don’t send me
trigger-happy goons, either! I need a team that thinks and follows orders.
Thanks. Bye”

Next was the BioSurgeon Ken usually employed for the most
complicated implants. Ken had him pulled out of surgery, and told him to get
moving to arrive as quickly as possible.