Apocalypse Now Now (34 page)

I aim the gun and fire into its body but the liquid doesn’t
ignite. The dark shape looms above me but screams as it bursts into flames. It tries to take off but is brought down by another burst of gunfire. It sprawls to the deck, a sizzling barbecue of feather and flame.

Ronin shouts to me and throws me his lighter. I catch it, stuff my hand in my bag and pull out another Molotov.

A Crow dives across the deck and knocks a sailor off his feet. He spins and manages to catch it with a Molotov as he hits the deck. The flaming bird whirls frantically through the night sky and then plummets into the ocean below.

I look up and see Rafe standing on the deck, a look of relaxed concentration on his face and a Molotov in his hand. Am I hallucinating? Rafe smiles at me and gives me the thumbs up. Nope, the idiot is really here. ‘Rafe,’ I shout. ‘Get the hell out of here.’

I try to run over to him but I slip on something on the deck and land hard on my knees. I look down and see a thick river of blood. A sailor looks at me and then down at the gash in his abdomen before collapsing on the deck.

‘Rafe, what the hell are you doing?’ I shout out. ‘Fight or you’re going to get killed.’ He looks at me and then takes the Molotov cocktail and lighter out of my hands, lights the cloth and throws it nonchalantly at a bird. It explodes into flames and he gives me a smug smile. Smart-ass.

A sailor in a yellow anorak runs across the deck, turning and firing into a Crow that’s swooping down on him as if he were a rabbit. ‘Use fire!’ I shout, lighting the cloth of another Molotov. The Crow slams into the sailor and then lifts him from the deck to drive its beak into his head. Blood and bits of yellow anorak spill onto the deck.

I launch my Molotov but I’ve misjudged the distance and it sails over the top of the bird, hitting the bow and exploding into flame. My feet get tangled in a net on the deck and I fall over myself. A claw lashes out and, instinctively, I throw a hand up to
defend myself. The razor-sharp talon neatly separates the pinkie from my left hand at the knuckle.

I shout in pain as the bird stands over me, its monstrous beak dripping with blood. It dips its head to peck at me but is driven off by Severance who is hacking manically at it with a chainsaw that has been doused in petrol and set alight. With a wild battle cry she spins the chainsaw in a wide arc and hacks the bird’s head from its body.

I try to scramble away but end up slipping on my own blood and falling back onto the deck. I want to celebrate the Crow’s demise with Sue but I just lie there with blood squirting rhythmically from my hand. I think about the Yakuza and how they sacrifice fingers as penance to their bosses. I think about kids who have accidents with farm equipment. I think about voluntary finger amputation for body modification. Having your pinkie removed by a flying demon is either so much more stupid or entirely cooler than any of those things. I’m still trying to decide which when I pass out.

When I wake up Rafe is holding my good hand and patting my head with a damp cloth. He looks at me disapprovingly, as if I were a naughty kid who had run into the road to fetch a ball and been hit by a car.

‘Stowaway,’ I say.

He gives me a smile.

Ronin opens the door to the cabin. ‘Time to go, sparky,’ he says. He looks at me sympathetically, but we both know we’re too far into this. The options are fairly simple at this point: either we’re going to pull this off, or we’re going to die spectacularly.

THE
SALT DRAGON
lists hard to one side as the currents of the Maelstrom claw at her hull, desperately trying to drag us into the dark green-grey spiral of water that spits huge crests of foam up into the air.

On the bridge Severance has braced herself against the control panel, her lean, wiry biceps bulging as she struggles to keep the wheel steady. ‘Radar’s down,’ she says, nodding at the screen.

We had beaten off the bird attack but I know it’s only the beginning. There had only been a few birds and one of those had retreated. Three of Sue’s crew had died and we had squandered at least a dozen of the Molotovs with wild throws.

I look down at the bandaged stump where my pinkie used to be. I have a morbid fascination with my missing digit. I keep on looking down every couple of seconds and wiggling my fingers. I wonder if I will develop a phantom pinkie.

Rafe is standing next to me on the bridge and peering at the Maelstrom with fascination.

‘Stowaways are bad luck,’ one of the sailors mutters.

‘Too late to turn back,’ Sue says. ‘We’ll just have to deal with it.’

Now whatever happens I’ll have Rafe with me. Weirdly that makes me feel better.

‘Shiver me clitoris, that’s an evil vessel,’ Severance says. We look out at the dark ship that rises out of the sea in front of us. I catch a glimpse of the iron cross that protrudes from its deck like a tower.

The
Salt Dragon
’s engines whine with strain but Severance is an expert pilot and she guides the boat past the Maelstrom like she’s dancing the tango. We accelerate and the
Dragon
cuts a path toward the port side of the warship. No guns greet us and we can only hope that their radar is suffering from the same kind of malfunction as ours.

‘This is it,’ I say to Ronin.

‘Yep,’ he says. ‘Try not to fucking shoot me this time.’

The sailors fire motorised grappling hooks over the side of the warship with practised ease. Somehow I don’t think this is the first time they’ve boarded a ship. A weathered sailor with dark hair that reaches to his waist takes off his shirt, straps an assault rifle to his back and puts a knife between his teeth. He clips himself to the line and pulls himself slowly to the top.

After a couple of seconds a uniformed body sails over the edge and disappears into the dark water.

We clip in and hang suspended, leaving two sailors to pilot the
Salt Dragon
. I try to make Rafe stay behind but its no use. He clips himself to a line and won’t budge. The lines sway in the wind and salty spray from the ocean stings my skin as we’re hoisted to the top.

The deck is slick with the blood of the dead sentry. The long-haired sailor is crouched with his assault rifle braced against his chest. Gredok and the dwarves follow the sailor around to the other side of the deck. The idea is that they’ll clear the deck of sentries while we go below.

The rest of us make our way across the open deck. The iron cross comes into view and I see that there is definitely something
on it. A bird, to be precise. The leader of the Murder is impaled on the cross, his wings stretched across and held in place with bolts. The head hangs loosely from the body and blood stains the deck below him.

‘The betrayer can’t help but betray,’ Ronin whispers.

‘That’s our door,’ Sue says, pointing into the shadows with one of her pistols.

‘Eyes of a hawk,’ Ronin says.

‘And the body of a tiger, bounty hunter,’ the captain says, unsheathing her other pistol and cocking the hammer.

‘Oh, I remember,’ Ronin says.

We descend a flight of stairs and reach a long, windowless corridor. Doorways open up to both the left and right. I look at the schematic that Kyle downloaded onto my phone. ‘We go to the end and take a left,’ I say. We’re about to continue along the corridor when a member of the crew scrambles out of one of the doorways, almost running into Ronin. Without missing a beat the bounty hunter smashes the butt of Warchild into his sternum.

The guy drops groaning and Ronin brings the shotgun down on the back of his head twice in quick succession.

‘I would have gone for the temple rather than the sternum,’ Sue says matter-of-factly.

‘Always were a back-seat fighter,’ Ronin growls.

Rafe walks alongside as if we’re in the mall, his shaggy red hair bopping up and down to some inaudible melody. He’s unarmed except for a single Molotov which he carries in his hand like a soft drink.

My forehead begins to itch as we progress down the long corridor. The grey metallic walls have begun to shimmer and they feel like they’re closing in on me. I rub my forehead with the back of my hand. Just keep it together, Zevcenko. No more fucking visions, OK?

Ronin turns a corner and gunfire ricochets down the corridor.
He reappears and slams himself flat against the wall. ‘Three of them,’ Ronin says, ducking back. ‘Heavily armed.’ Another burst of gunfire sprays across the passage.

Severance holsters her guns, leans against the wall and lights a cigar. ‘They’re wasting ammo,’ she says. ‘Wait for the reload.’ Another burst of gunfire. Sue takes a drag and blows a smoke ring. Another burst. Sue looks at her nails. As the next burst finishes ripping down the corridor she draws her guns, strides into the corridor and empties both of them. She steps back, takes the cigar out of her mouth and blows smoke in Ronin’s face.

Ronin rolls his eyes at me as we round the corner. The three dead sentries look up at us with blank eyes. They were guarding a line of cells with heavy metal doors. Severance digs through one of the corpse’s pockets and comes up with a ring of keys dangling from her finger.

She opens a door and steps inside with both her guns levelled. Rafe follows her and I follow him. Over his shoulder I see that the prisoner is not Pat. It’s Esmé, sitting on the bed cross-legged. She’s still wearing that stupid polo neck but is also holding two chunky handguns. I’d prepared myself to face all manner of monstrosities. Four-headed snake beast? Yawn. Death-dealing flying scorpion? So last season. But seeing my former sweetheart sitting there and calmly pointing two guns at me stops me dead. You know those stupid and annoying people who use ‘literally’ incorrectly? I’m not one of those people. I literally don’t know what to say.

‘Baxter,’ she says with a smile. ‘So nice to see you.’ It’s the look in her eyes that causes me to take evasive action. I grab Rafe’s collar and pull him backwards, slamming both of us back against the wall as she brings the guns up to fire. Sue reacts like a cat, dropping down, launching herself forward and knocking Esmé’s arms to the side just as she pulls the triggers.

The gunshots are incredibly loud in such a confined space. They
ring in my ears as Sue whips her own pistols up and pushes them into Esmé’s throat.

‘Don’t kill her!’ I scream. Sue gives me a quick look and then, instead of pulling the trigger, slams the handle of her pistol into Esmé’s nose. She drops onto the bed unconscious.

‘Explain,’ Sue says to me, taking another drag of her cigar.

‘That’s my girlfriend,’ I say.

‘It both is and it isn’t, sugar,’ Katinka says, shouldering her Uzi. ‘Look.’

I turn to see Esmé pulling herself up into a seated position. The neck of her polo shirt has slipped down and I can see the thick, distended body of an Anansi jutting from just above her shoulders.

‘She’s …’ I say.

‘A zombie,’ Tone says. ‘We’re going to have to force that little parasite to let go of her. If we try and cut it off, it’ll kill her.’

Esmé gives us a cruel smile. ‘Over her dead body,’ she says. She leaps off the bed and rakes her fingers across Sue’s face. Sue gives a shout of pain and falls back. Esmé makes a grab for one of her guns but Tone sends a shrill blast of sound that knocks her against the wall. He keeps the sound going through some kind of circular breathing.

Ronin steps forward and pushes his elbow against her throat and Tone stops the sound with a gasp.

Ronin spins Esmé around and shoves her face against the wall. She’s writhing and kicking.

‘Baxter,’ she whimpers. ‘Help me!’

Sue, Rafe and Katinka help Ronin to hold her as he pulls his mojo bag from beneath his coat, empties the contents onto the bed and begins to sift through the herbs, bones and trinkets.

‘Anansi are like weeds,’ he says. ‘We need to pull it out at the roots.’ He finds a small bottle of powder and opens it, holding it under Esmé’s nose.

‘Like the smell of that, eh?’ Ronin says.

‘Don’t,’ Esmé says. ‘Please don’t.’

‘Oh, OK,’ Ronin says. ‘Since you asked so nicely.’ He upends the bottle over the spider’s body and then strikes a flame with his lighter and puts it to the powder. It ignites with an iridescent green flame and Esmé begins to writhe and scream.

The green flame engulfs the Anansi’s body, causing a black, sulphuric smoke to pour from it. Ronin puts an arm across his mouth and everybody quickly follows suit. Ronin pulls the knife from his boot with his other hand and jams it between Esmé’s neck and the Anansi and begins to work it back and forth. Esmé stops screaming and a thin wail comes from the thing itself. Ronin pushes the knife upward and the arachnid releases its hold on Esmé’s neck and jumps to the floor, trailing long, spiky tendrils behind it.

Katinka reacts the quickest, jumping forward and jamming her red stiletto heel through the thing’s body like a dagger. It lets out a piercing squeal and then stops moving. Katinka removes her heel and wrinkles her nose in disgust. ‘And you said assaulting a ship in high heels was impractical,’ she says to Tone.

I run over to Esmé. She looks up at me with wild eyes. There are several large purple puncture wounds in her neck and her nose is still bleeding from where Sue hit her. I wrap my arms around her. She smells sulphuric but her body fits into mine perfectly. ‘It’s OK,’ I whisper into her ear. ‘You’re OK.’

‘What happened?’ she mumbles, clutching me. ‘The last thing I remember was being in my room.’

‘Lots happened,’ I say. ‘You’re safe now.’

‘OK, lovebirds, we have to get out of here,’ Ronin says, peering out into the corridor. ‘I’m pretty sure Mirth isn’t just going to let us waltz through his ship.’

‘Who’s Mirth?’ Esmé says and looks at me.

‘I’ll tell you later,’ I whisper. ‘Just don’t let go of me.’

We walk down the corridor and try the next cell. Pat is in there, dirty and bruised, but her blue eyes are shining.

‘Jackson,’ she says with a smile as Ronin helps her to her feet, ‘you came to get me.’

‘Someone had to,’ he says, giving her a hug. ‘You ready to go?’

‘Mirth,’ she says bitterly.