The Shambling Guide to New York City (34 page)

She was about to ask Arthur for more info, but he was surrounded by three Homeland Security agents, one man pointing his gun at him, the other two demanding the golems stand down.

They really can’t even comprehend those aren’t people. Or even alive.
Other agents had Ben and (she sighed in relief) Lucy, in their sights, demanding they lie down on the ground. Phil, Morgen, and Godfrey blended into the crowd, safe for now.

But as one, nearly all the people looked up as the shriek of bending and tearing metal and falling roof tiles distracted them. Part of the ceiling was ripped away, revealing the chilly December evening. A gargantuan hand reached through the hole, fashioned apparently from several baggage carts that looked like motorized rooms that zipped from plane to plane. It was followed by the apparent head, fashioned from an Embraer E-Jet, which peered in at them, the windshield and cockpit achieving the characteristics of a face.

Zoë squinted and could just make out a Hebrew character on the plane’s windshield, written in blood.

The immediate threat, beyond the guns and the giant golem tearing up the ceiling, was the smaller golem that still menaced
her. How was she going to wipe computer characters from a screen?

Arthur was useless to her; security officials surrounded him. The trudging golem drew back for another kick. Then it paused as the huge mama golem of this little baby brought its arm closer. The security that surrounded Arthur yelled in alarm. One cut and ran, two more raised their guns and began firing at the airplane.

“Zoë!” Arthur shouted and with strength she hadn’t known he had, he tossed her a short sword. It landed about five feet from her and skittered across the floor to rest beside her. She hissed as she tried to sit up—her left forearm lay useless and she was pretty sure she’d torn some of her new stitches—but the sword slid out of her reach.

Zoë flinched as the kick came forward, but opened her eyes when as a gush of water hit the golem’s head at fire-hose force. It staggered back, but the water didn’t drip off like normal water; it slipped between the cracks and then the monitor screen showing the ASCII art blew outward, extinguishing the letter that gave the golem life force.

It fell apart with no ceremony, and Zoë twisted awkwardly to avoid the falling chairs and monitor. The water streamed from the monitor and formed itself into a very satisfied Morgen.

“That was fun,” she said, helping Zoë to her feet.

“I owe you one,” Zoë said, and then stumbled over to where Arthur lay. She pulled him, wincing, upright. The security agents had backed up and taken cover behind another ticketing desk and were still firing at the airplane.

“You OK?” asked Arthur.

“Nope. You?” she replied.

He laughed weakly. “Nope. What the hell is that thing?”

“That is what happens when a master zoëtist gets mad, I think.”

The plane reached its baggage-cart arm inside the airport and casually brushed the people firing at it aside. They flew back as if hit by a truck. It moved its arm more slowly toward its master, Lucy, who had finally relaxed. Zoë realized that the first golem had been a distraction while she constructed the bigger one outside. She must have had a minion in the airport who killed the pilot for her.

Shit. She planned this. This is her first step in fucking with the balance. It has nothing to do with us.

Lucy moved to get into the baggage area of one of the carts.

A movement caught Zoë’s eye—Phil had emerged from the bathroom, knife in his hand. He lifted his arm to throw it at Lucy, but Godfrey ran up and plowed into him.

“That’s my wife!” screamed Godfrey, and Phil’s throw went wide, but only by inches. The knife twirled across the concourse and buried itself to the hilt in her upper arm.

She hissed, which scared Zoë more than anything else—the knife in her arm made her angry, not frightened or worried. She didn’t even show pain. She threw herself into the baggage cart, and the golem lifted her—bullets pinging off its metal skin—and trudged away.

“The plane. It was full of people,” whispered Arthur.

The horror of the situation was interrupted by the swift movement of Phil as he snarled and sank his teeth into Godfrey’s neck.

The Coterie Council offers shambling tours of the city, one in each borough, and you can find out more when you register your trip with the city.

Coterie taxis will stop for anyone and travel the Rat’s Nest, a labyrinth under the city, making for a quick journey. Limited paths within the Rat’s Nest are open to walking tours; most are accessible through building basements.

Buses are not recommended for anyone but the most human-looking coterie.

And creating golems for transport, or war, is strictly against the law.

Z
oë ran, holding her broken arm to her side, fighting the nausea the pain caused. She grabbed the vampire by the ear and yanked hard.

Granny Good Mae had taught her that. The smallest parts of the body can cause extreme pain when pulled, tweaked, pinched, or just plain ripped. But Phil didn’t budge; his drinking of Godfrey—clearly out of rage and spite—was zealous and unstoppable.

Zoë glanced about. The Homeland Security guys were still firing their weapons at Benjamin’s golem, the departing plane golem, and the check-in desk that was once a golem, and Arthur was staggering on his feet. Morgen just watched, delighted at the excitement. Zoë didn’t want to kill Phil, but she had to get him off Godfrey.

Something sparked in her memory—the geas on Phil’s weapon—and she reached out to his belt and closed her hand on the hilt of the dagger sticking out—the forbidden dagger, the one she wasn’t supposed to touch.

Phil staggered backward, vomiting forth a gout of blood. He fell to his hands and knees, retching, and Zoë jumped back to keep out of the mess. Vampires eat only one thing, after all, and Phil had eaten twice that night. Godfrey also fell, sprawling in the gore, his neck bleeding freely.

Zoë fought the rising bile in her throat and ran to his side, pulling off her scarf and pressing it to his neck.

He looked into her eyes with fright and confusion. “What’s going on? Lucy…” and then he fainted.

His heart throbbed weakly under her pressure, but at least it throbbed.

She took his hand, and he tried to grasp it, but instead of holding it, she put it to his neck. “I don’t think he hit the big artery. Just put pressure on it.”

Godfrey made a strangled noise as she rose and approached her still-retching boss. She pressed the knife into his hand and let go.

He took a deep breath, instantly free of the dry heaves. He glared at her. “That was inadvisable.”

Zoë shrugged. “You were going to kill him.”

He looked at her for a long time, his eyes fading from red to hazel. “I think we all underestimated you.” He stood wearily. Zoë didn’t offer to help him.

He waved his hand at Godfrey, whose bleeding seemed to have slowed. “He possibly ruined everything. She’s gotten away. We don’t know where she’s going. Or what her goal is.”

“And she’s got a ton of hostages. But she’s in a massive
plane golem
, Phil. I think we can track her.”

“It would be easiest with an aerial view,” he said. “But none of us can fly.”

Zoë pulled out her cell phone. “Gwen can.”

Before she could even dial, though, a thousand wings descended through the hole in the airport ceiling. One of the small birds transformed into a very satisfied-looking Gwen as the others roosted around her. The goddess looked around at all the dead security officials and sighed happily.

“Did you think I would miss this?” she asked.

“With the initial security strike team gone, the next wave will come in three minutes,” Arthur said, checking his watch as Gwen lovingly counted the dead.

“How are we going to do anything more to stop her? She has a plane. We are pretty beat up,” Zoë said, cradling her broken arm and panting. Cold sweat had broken out on her forehead and she felt ill.

“We have to set your arm, get shrapnel out of my shoulder, Benjamin’s probably concussed, and that guy will likely need a transfusion and maybe a tranquilizer,” Arthur said. “The vampire and sprite seem fine, though.”

Zoë shrugged. “They’re coterie.” Arthur grunted in agreement.

“Then again, we should also think about escape before any more guards get here,” Zoë said. “How do you expect we’ll get out of here?”

Phil smiled weakly, his red-tinged teeth back to their human form. “Terrorism?”

They were interrupted by the sound of running feet and clicking metal as guns were aimed and cocked. “Freeze! Hands on your head!” screamed a man. They turned as one to see a seven-man SWAT team staring at them.

“Yeah. And we’re the terrorists,” said Zoë.

No one complied with the guards. Zoë was tired enough to figure that if they shot her, Lucy would be someone else’s problem. She and Arthur weren’t capable of raising their injured arms. Benjamin and Godfrey were clearly too injured to worry about, and Phil just gave them a cool, easy look. Morgen looked delighted at the new arrivals.

“HANDS IN THE AIR!” the voice screamed again, then it dropped an octave and sounded unsure of itself. “Hold on a second. What the fuck? Arthur?”

One of the seven guns wavered and the SWAT team member
stepped forward and raised the visor on his helmet. A round African-American face looked out and squinted. “Arthur? Is this a Public Works deal?”

Arthur relaxed visibly. “Chet. Man, it’s good to see you.”

“Who’s Chet?” Zoë whispered. He ignored her.

“You here on”—Chet’s voice lowered—“business?”

“Yeah, actually. Some pretty serious business. Not sanctioned by the home office, but it concerns them and I was about to call it in.”

Chet nodded. He picked up a radio and said, “Alpha One to Gold Leader. Send query regarding Arthur Anthony to Black Phoenix.”

“Copy Alpha One,” came the scratchy reply.

“Can you vouch for the others?” Chet asked.

Arthur looked around, his gaze lingering on Phil. He caught Zoë’s eye and she gave a slight nod. He turned back to Chet. “I can.”

Zoë sighed softly. Now she was responsible for whatever her boss did to these humans. She had no doubt he could disable and possibly kill them all before a bullet hit him; even if a bullet did hit him, it wouldn’t kill him.

“Good,” Chet said.

They stood there uncomfortably while the six remaining guns on them didn’t waver. “Arthur? Are they going to stop aiming at us?” Zoë whispered.

“They need to hear back from Public Works that we’re legit.”

“ ‘Black Phoenix’?”

“Exactly. Chet and I used to work together on zombie patrol in Manhattan, but he decided to go into SWAT after a couple of months under the sewers. Public Works likes to seed law enforcement with people who know what’s really going on in the city, so they were fine to see him go. He’s a good guy.”

Chet’s radio crackled again. “Gold Leader to Alpha One. Black Phoenix says Anthony checks out. Full clearance. He needs to report. Is the situation at LaGuardia what he feared?”

“One sec,” Chet said, and raised his eyebrows to Arthur.

Arthur looked around. “What do you think?”

“Copy that. Gold Leader, it’s far worse than anticipated.”

“Stand down, Alpha One. Black Phoenix will handle this. Count the dead and report back, we’ll let the PR guys spin it. Gold Leader out.”

“Alpha One out.” Chet put the radio back on his belt. He waved his hand and his team dropped their weapons. “Sorry about that, Arthur. But we don’t take people blowing up airports lightly. This one is going to be a hell of a thing to explain. You wanna tell me what happened here?”

Phil stepped forward. “We don’t have time. A zoëtist has escaped and we need to stop her.”

Chet whistled. “Shit. You folks aren’t going anywhere in that shape. That one is the only one who doesn’t look like something chewed her up and spit her out,” he said, pointing at Morgen, who blew a kiss at him.

“Can you help?” asked Arthur.

Chet grinned, his expression becoming even more lighthearted. “How many do you need to be battle-ready?”

Chet had sent back five of his team with orders that one return with a medic. A Black Phoenix medic, he’d specified, who arrived swiftly. The SWAT member who stayed with him was also former Public Works, a short stocky woman named Shirley Mahoney.

“You’re fucking serious. A fucking
plane
golem?” she asked, peering at the hole in the roof.

Zoë gritted her teeth as the EMT set her arm and taped her ribs. “A plane golem and a US Airways ticketing desk golem. That woman does not like me.”

“No fucking kidding,” Shirley said, sucking at her teeth thoughtfully. “I’ve seen golems made of mud, sand, even water. But I ain’t never seen a fucking plane golem.” She sounded almost impressed.

Godfrey wasn’t around to say why Lucy didn’t like Zoë. He’d been proclaimed not battle-ready and taken off on a stretcher. Zoë hadn’t been sorry to see him go.