Suicide Squad (32 page)

What was wrong with using real names? Maybe Tom, Dick, or Harry simply weren’t awe-inspiring for the heroes, or frightening enough for their foes. Either way, it was a strange custom, and stranger still to be thinking about it now.

GQ tried to remember if Croc had a real name. He was sure he saw it in the briefing book they gave him to read in the chopper on their way to Midway City. C’mon. What was it again? Then he remembered.

Jones.
Croc’s real name was Waylon Jones, and he had been born with a strain of atavism that toughened his skin into spikes and ridges, turning him into a human reptile. Edwards could only imagine what it must have been like, growing up a monster in a world that feared anything that was even slightly different. It didn’t excuse all the horror Croc had caused, but he could understand how that could warp a man, even turn him against the rest of mankind. They were, after all, the ones who looked at him with disgust and revulsion.

GQ was suddenly ashamed that he had thought the same thing. When they first met, he wouldn’t have believed they would one day fight as allies, but now he couldn’t think of a soldier he’d rather fight beside. Whatever Jones might have done in the past—and Croc’s rap sheet was disturbingly long and twisted—he proved himself now, when the world needed him the most.

Edwards looked up ahead, and saw a light in the distance. They were close to where Enchantress had tossed the explosive. Just a few more seconds to get into position, he thought, then it would almost be over.

He sliced through the water. Croc was pulling ahead. Then he felt something brush past his leg.

Suddenly one of the creatures grabbed him. GQ tamped his panic and kicked at the thing, but it stubbornly held onto his leg. He slammed it again, smashing his foot into the thing’s face, cracking it open.

Still, the EA didn’t let go. It pulled itself up over GQ and reached for his face. As it did, Croc grabbed it and tore it off the SEAL. The EA turned to fight its new enemy, but Croc bear-hugged it and ripped its chest open, releasing everything that was inside.

Croc was ready to pull its head off, but the thing was already dead. He let it go and it floated away into the murk.

More of them swarmed in. Croc pushed GQ back and away and shot him a look that said,
Go!
Then the things came for him.

No one could survive that
, GQ thought. He turned, and the way ahead was clear. Croc was right—he had to detonate the explosives. It was their only hope. He said a silent prayer and swam like hell toward the tunnel’s end.

More than four thousand years ago, Incubus stood side by side with his sister against vast armies of trained warriors who swore they would destroy the two gods. Those warriors were now dead, while brother and sister stood strong, and more powerful than ever.

Now, as then, Incubus had to laugh at the pitiful humans who thought they would succeed where thousands before them had failed. They had no idea what they were fighting. Gods were meant to rule, and if he had to destroy all who challenged him to get those few who lived to serve his needs, he would.

His sister was wasting her time, doing whatever she was planning with those arcane machines. As he had repeatedly told her, they didn’t need machines to force the humans to their knees. They didn’t need anything but the natural powers they were born with.

Yet she let him have his fun. How could he not do the same for her? So Incubus held out his hands, both glowing with unbridled energy. Beams of light sizzled from his fingertips.

Amused, he watched the humans scatter as the beams smashed into the ground and ripped up the station platform. He enjoyed watching them run, like little mice in a maze, somehow believing they were the dominant species on Earth. It was so amazing, he thought. Humans hadn’t changed in all the thousands of years he’d known them. The sheep were still as stubbornly ignorant as ever, and he wasn’t sure they would ever accept their rightful place as faithful, mindless servants.

That was the best they could hope to achieve.
So be it
, he thought. It was time to destroy them. It was now time for the
real
fun to begin.

* * *

Diablo, having regained his senses, attacked with a geyser of flame while Harley fired her guns. As soon as she used up one mag, she slammed in another and kept up the attack. Incubus shrugged off these assaults.

They were little more than harmless diversions.

* * *

When Floyd Lawton joined this little coffee klatch, he’d fully expected he’d use his time either to plot his escape, or find a way to permanently end both Flag and Waller.

Somehow, between then and now, things had changed.

Sure, Flag acted like a jerk for far longer than he should have, but at some point in time Lawton realized that Colonel Stick-Up-His-Ass actually respected him. No way they’d ever play on the same rec league bowling team, but surprising as it was, they were able to work together. His talents were finally being used for something more important than just adding to his bank account. In the past, he’d never much cared what job he took. Long as it paid, a target was a target, and he never missed.

Katana was ready to fight. “Slice and dice,” Lawton shouted to her, laughing. Crouching next to her, Boomer launched his boomerangs at Incubus. There were two detonations as they slammed into his face and exploded.

Incubus stumbled back and roared, but quickly shook off the momentary pain and attacked again. Flag called to Deadshot and Diablo. GQ and Croc were almost in place. It was their turn now.

“Get him into the corner. That’s where the bomb’s gonna be.”

Incubus saw Boomer about to launch another explosive ’rang at him. He stepped back, breathed in deeply, and concentrated, forming a smoky tendril.

But Katana jumped at the giant and brought her sword down hard on his arm, slicing his hand off at the wrist. He fell back as his half-formed tendril shook and disappeared, smoky wisps dissipating into the air.

“You will suffer for that,” he shouted as he launched yet another tendril at Katana.

Incubus held out his bloodied wrist, pain etched across his face. He closed his eyes and screamed as the shattered stump of bone and flesh seemed to glow and extend, building a new forearm. Regenerating a new wrist. A new hand.

As he flexed his fingers, pleased to see he could still control them, Incubus turned to Deadshot and smiled. “The woman did that to me, but you commanded her,” he roared. “So you will die first, then I will take my time and kill her, too. It will be a wonderful, agonizing death. Then, when you are all dead, the rest of humanity, with no one left to fight for them, will follow.”

The giant lunged for Lawton and slammed him in the chest. Deadshot helplessly skidded across the floor and crashed into a wall. Incubus stalked toward him, his hands beginning to glow again with renewed energy.

Suddenly Harley jumped onto his back, and rode him like a bucking bronco. Her fingers clawed into his neck as she tried to strangle him.

“Have fun trying to breathe, gruesome.”

He stood up and shrugged her off. He then picked her up by the head and casually flipped her across the tracks.

“I’ll come back for you soon enough, little girl,” he said, “I have priorities, and you are low on the list.”

Boomerang tried to pull Deadshot to safety. Incubus shook his head, then grabbed the Aussie and held him high so he could look the man in his eyes.

“Do you really want to fight me before I’ve slaughtered Flag? If so, I will be more than happy to oblige.” He tossed him off the platform, and watched him bounce onto the tracks.

He turned again to Deadshot, still on the ground, weak and leaning against a station column. His face was smeared with blood, and it looked as if he’d been dead for at least a week. Weak as he was, however, he raised his arms and aimed his wrist magnums, already set to full auto.

Incubus grinned and leapt.

“When are you humans ever going to learn?”

“Never,” Deadshot cried. Suddenly his emergency Glocks appeared in his hands and he fired all four weapons into Incubus’s face. The bullets vaporized with bright flares as they tried to penetrate his armor. Incubus watched them disappear and again laughed at his target.

“And this is why your worthless race will soon be extinct.”

Sprawled on the ground, Deadshot scanned the station, searching for a place to hide until he could recover. A maintenance door was about twenty yards south. He didn’t know if he had the strength to drag himself there, but he also knew he couldn’t give up.

Only twenty yards. He grabbed a fallen drainpipe and pulled himself up to his feet.
I can do this. I have to do this.

* * *

Diablo turned to Flag, angry and determined.

“I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll get him there. I lost one family. I’m not losing another.”

Flag understood, but he wasn’t ready to lose another man.

“Don’t.”

Diablo grinned, his smile frightening.

“You ain’t seen what I can really do,” he said. “An’, Flag?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re one real son of a bitch… but thanks. Thank you.” With that Diablo closed his eyes and concentrated. He had fought against his power for so long, but now he needed to embrace it. He began counting down to himself.

* * *

Leaning against the station wall for support, Deadshot slowly took a step. Then another… and another. He stifled a cry as he felt a sudden, harsh pain stab him in the side. He fell back against the wall, took several long breaths, then started again. He felt heat coming from somewhere, but he couldn’t tell where.

Fifteen yards. I will do this. No matter what.

His first steps hurt like hell, but then the pain seemed to fade as if each step shoved his bones back into position. He let go of the wall and picked up his pace.
Ten yards. Only ten yards.
He made it to the maintenance door and reached to open it.

“You have to know you can’t escape me.” Incubus towered over him. “But I did enjoy watching your efforts.” The god’s hands glowed with rippling energy and he reached for Deadshot.

Then a voice came from behind the giant.

“Hey, you. Over there! Leave him alone.”

* * *

Diablo stood tall, arms spread wide, hands open, fingers splayed. Then he floated up from the ground, levitating as if he was some kind of deity, too.

Incubus stared.

“I said, get away from him.” Diablo was raging, nearly out of control. He wanted to hurt. He needed to kill. All his years of anger and pain boiled out of him and formed into a huge fiery skeleton, at least as tall as Incubus.

Without another thought, he lunged for the god and slammed him away.

“They are my friends,” he shouted as he whipped a jet-engine blast of fire into Incubus’s face. “I will not let you harm them.”

Incubus shrugged it off. His iridescent armor rippled as it dispersed Diablo’s attack. He unleashed another tendril, which struck Diablo, blasting him back across the train station.

But Diablo stood, surrounded by a huge skeleton of fire that formed around him. Harley Quinn stared at the giant and laughed.

“Way to go. We got us a Mega Diablo!”

They all stared as Diablo lunged at Incubus again, and thrust his fiery hands into Incubus’s face, exploding the false god’s flesh. Again and again Diablo slammed his burning fist into Incubus.

“We’re running out of time. Drive him into the corner,” Flag shouted. “Do it now.”

Diablo leaped at Incubus, forcing him back toward the corner. But the god fought back, resisting.

* * *

Harley stared at the burning giant, then rubbed her eyes to clear away what was obviously a fever dream. When she opened them again, nothing had changed. Diablo and Incubus were fighting a war normal humans could never hope to understand.

“Now I get it,” she said. “Why he doesn’t let himself get angry.”

Boomer rushed back to Deadshot’s side and pulled him to safety. Lawton looked at him and laughed.

“See, if you’re nice to people, they’ll turn into fire skeletons and fight giant glowing man-gods.”

Boomer grinned back at him. “Right. Point taken.”

Showing fear, Incubus held his arms up to block Diablo’s repeated attacks. His attempts to counter Diablo’s blows were clumsy, showing that he had never really faced anyone who he had actually had to fight. He had always ordered others to do whatever he needed done.

Diablo kept hitting him. Again and again, burning through his armor, then digging his fingers into its metal, forcing a gap just large enough to shove his fists inside and ignite the so-called god from within.

During it all, Diablo never stopped screaming.

* * *

GQ surfaced, and pulled himself onto the platform. He balanced the nanite demolition charge and reprogrammed the detonator, then yanked the safety ring. There was no going back now.

“Rick,” he said into his comm link. “Standing by. I’m in position.”

Incubus howled in pain. His arms flailed wildly, hammering at his assailant, desperate to keep him from forcing even more fire under his armor. Diablo had melted its outer layers and was now burning into Incubus’s flesh.

“GQ’s in place,” Flag shouted. “Drive him into the corner.” Diablo allowed himself a rare smile as he shouldered Incubus toward the corner.

“Our god burns, Colonel,” he said. “And I am ready.” Then success lessened his rage, and his power diminished with it.

Deadshot called out to Flag.

“D’s losing steam. Now would be a good time.”

“No, I need him to be directly over the bomb. We can’t take the chance that he’ll survive. Diablo, I know you’re weakening, but I need you to keep pushing. Just a few more inches, man. You can do it.”

Bellowing, Diablo again lunged for the giant. They both tumbled back, into the corner, directly over the SEAL and his explosives.

“Stand by, GQ,” Flag said. “Almost…”

Diablo’s fires were slowly fading, but he didn’t back down. Realization appeared on Incubus’s face, and the god fought furiously to escape.