The Forsaken - The Apocalypse Trilogy: Book Two (34 page)

It was a story that ran neck and neck with
his own. A crazy boy escaped the Prime’s Orphanage and told the
fighters before he ran away and never came back. Conan heard that
the Prime caught Sophie after the Change and put her in his
Orphanage. He heard that the Prime had to kill Sophie’s mother to
catch her. He heard that the Prime was taking the girls for
himself, and letting his friends do the Bad thing to them. And
Conan heard that the Prime took the prettiest and made them
prettier and married them, and wanted to keep them for babies when
the Change started changing.

Sophie drew Conan’s attention when she took
another cautious-hush step toward the bags. Her eye watched him,
and she pointed at herself and nodded her fake and plaster face.
The little fighter heard that the Prime chose Sophie for a wife,
and married her and made her do the Bad thing, and worse. And Conan
heard Sophie was alone in a room after it happened, and he heard
that she took the Prime’s gun and shot herself in the head.

So Conan heard that the bullet killed her all
right, and but mostly it killed her face—and the Change wouldn’t
let her stay dead in hell no more. Conan heard poor Sophie woke up
out of Blacktime without her life, or her childhood or her smile.
The Prime found her zombie-dead- walking and ugly so he threw her
out in the street, and that was where the Creature said the
fighters could find her.

Conan didn’t go that time, the Creature
wouldn’t let him, but one of the fighters took pity on Sophie and
stole her the mask from an abandoned old playhouse on Zero. She
wore it ever since.

Conan knew she was a strong spirit-spook to
keep going-going-pink-bunny-gone. And he knew that she would be
good in a fight, especially when she couldn’t get killed even by
bullets or knives or stones. But the other fighters didn’t think
she could do an order when she got one, and up until now, she’d
didn’t care a yawn or yak about what they were doing.

The little fighter stood by the bags as
Sophie came up to him, her head tilting silently left and
right—more questions by chin and wag. She reached out and stroked
the blades on his fist-kill with her dead fingers and he smiled
inside his mask. Then he shrugged because he was no King-and-Queen
and couldn’t say, so he nodded up the corridor when sounds came
echoing toward them. Sophie turned rigidly and melted into the
shadows. Conan watched her go, some weird feelings in his chest and
eyes that only started after he hugged that Mr. Jay.

The Creature led the way out of the tunnel.
Behind her came the Quinlan boys, wiry muscled twins about ten
years old who were great fighters and friends of Conan and Liz. All
the fighters wore their armor and padding and carried weapons of
all kinds for blasting and cutting and killing.

The Creature looked down into Conan’s mask
with the new look she’d given him earlier. It tickled inside his
chest again and his eyes twitched as he nodded.

Mr. Jay’s face was prune-pinched with concern
when he looked around at his little troop with watery eyes.
“Doesn’t seem right,” he yakked shaking his head. “I know you’re
all older than me, but I can’t shake how you look.”

“And how do we look?” The Quinlan boys asked,
raising their shoulders and stepping stiff-legged forward. Short
swords hung at their waists opposite small caliber pistols. Their
faces were grim as bone breaks and tight underwear.

Mr. Jay only looked worried a second before
the twins released the tension with a same-time laugh.

“Sorry,” Mr. Jay groaned, found his pack and
slung it over his shoulder.

“The Creature says Liz and the Quinlans know
the way into the Tower,” the Creature said quickly. “They’ve been
in before.” She cleared her voice. “The Creature thinks you must
not be captured. The Prime does his Devil work in the Orphanage and
the Creature has seen his friends. Do not fight, we think, unless
you must.” She set a hand on one of the Quinlan’s shoulders and
then his brother’s. “It will take a day and more by the secret ways
unseen. There is a place, and a friend and a rest before you get
there. The Quinlans know this also.”

Mr. Jay had his metal stick in one hand as he
helped Liz into her pack. She puffed on a cigarette and
groan-cursed at the straps.

Then the Creature knelt by Conan and
whispered, “I love you Max. Go with caution and return with care.”
And the little fighter felt his chest tighten up and his throat
thicken like hot soup was stuck in there. She’d said something like
this before, but now it
felt
different. He glared at the
Quinlan boys, and then hugged Creature with all his strength,
taking great care with the blades on his die-flower. He stepped
away quickly, and gave a menacing face to the twins who just
shrugged, but were too smart to smile or make a wink.
Dirty
Squeakers
.

The Creature nodded and then smiled into
Sophie’s shadows before she rose. She turned to Mr. Jay,
acknowledged the concern in his face.

“The Creature thinks that already your
responsibilities grow, Mr. Jay.” And she laughed before saying, “We
are glad you understand the precious nature of this company.”

The Quinlan boys slipped into their packs and
then slid down the ladder to the sewers.
Slip
.
Splash
! Liz followed
grunt-grumble
, and Mr. Jay went
after. Conan gave the Creature a quick bow and followed the other
fighters into the dark.
Squint-peek
! They gathered in the
dim light at the bottom of the ladder, and in seconds the Quinlan
boys had hurried away to scour their path for danger. Mr. Jay
walked beside Liz. He quick used up his smoking-bad-girl-good
stories and asked for one to puff and chew.

Conan was pleased that he was given the
dangerous position of protecting the rear-bums and backsides; but
it wasn’t long before he knew that he wasn’t alone back there.

47 – Danger Pay

Driver had never seen an Angel, but he had
higher hopes than the broken down old transvestite he was looking
at. The word usually conjured up the image of a tall beauty in
clingy robes—maybe with a spangled G-string showing through—and
definitely no bra. She’d have long hair, blue eyes, and a halo of
gold or silver, and maybe tote a horn or one of them harps. But not
this fruit. The Texan looked the Marquis up and down then he turned
to Felon.

“What in Hell are you talkin’ about?” He kept
his gun on the old man. “He’s a
queen
, not a Angel.”

“Disguise.” The assassin studied the Marquis’
face.

Driver looked over at Tiny, raised an
eyebrow. The salesman wore a look of disbelief, but bright-eyed
enthusiasm bubbled underneath. Tiny liked surprises of a non-lethal
variety, and this was one of them. Now he was looking at it for
angles—guess the right time to step in.

“Hogwash!” Driver barked. “Angels?”

“Driver, doesn’t matter if we believe it or
not,” Tiny blurted. “Something isn’t right here, you agree? Them
weird little guys with the guns, and that
thing
.” He
gestured to the body of the big freak on the floor. “And Felon’s
the boss.” Tiny flipped his gun into his belt. “If he says the
Marquis is an Angel. He’s an Angel.”

“Oh.” Driver smiled and nodded. “I hear you,
brother.” He looked at Felon. “But I would like to know more about
this Angel business.”

“Tell us!” Felon pushed his gun into the
Marquis’ face.

“Mind you.” Driver scratched at his scalp.
“Aren’t Angels supposed to be girls with wings up there in Heaven?
Shit, we known the Marquis for seventy years and more. He’s a
gangster!”

“Angel,” Felon hissed, as he pushed the
Marquis along the wall away from the bedroom and into a crouching
position in the corner.

“Easy Driver. You been out on the range too
long,” the Texan whispered to himself before looking over at Tiny.
“We been drinkin’ bad mescal? Ain’t supposed to be true is it?”

“You got to remember.” Tiny smiled one of his
sharp-toothed smiles then poked his chin at the big gunman. “Bloody
is dead.”

Driver nodded. “Course.”

“And walking around.” Tiny’s voice was a
reassuring drone. “And that isn’t supposed to happen, is it?”

Driver nodded again. “True.”

“Well, it seems to me that something strange
has already been going on.” He stepped toward Driver, slapped him
on the arm. “In a way Angels might explain some this Change.”

“So we’re
all
dead?” Driver ran a hand
over his goatee. “Shit, that would explain even more.” He enjoyed
the fact that he had leapt to the conclusion, even if it was a
depressing one.

“Not dead,” Felon rasped. “
They
changed the world.”

“So we ain’t dead, but Bloody
is
.”
Driver walked toward the Marquis, both guns out and pointed at the
brittle old chest. “Tell me then, Angel. What did you do?” The
Marquis looked at the guns and rolled his eyes pleadingly toward
Felon.

“Later.” Felon’s dark eyes flashed at the
Texan.

“Okay.” Driver stepped back, thought a
moment, and then stepped forward again. He waved a gun at the
corpse by the stairs. “What the hell is that goddamn thing?”

“Eyesores.” Felon unwound a bit, but his gun
never strayed from the Marquis’ head. “Demon servants.”

“Demons too?” Driver turned his head toward
Tiny and then swung around to Bloody. “Demons he said. Demons.” He
turned back to Felon. “We’re talkin’ Demons now?”

“Yes
Demons
!” The Marquis bellowed,
his voice suddenly full of power. “From the Pit. Crude imitations
of the Firstborn. What they lack in sophistication, they make up
for in barbarity.”

Driver shrugged at Felon. “I ain’t
complainin’ about the work, but you could’a mentioned Demons.”

“I work for Balg, a Demon. His servant,
Passport, was here. Told this Angel to kill me. He disappeared. A
group Balg represented hired me to whack a low-level Angel before
he could blow the whistle on them.” Felon jammed his face close to
the Marquis’ old cheek. “It was a different Angel—almost killed
me.” Felon snarled into the old face.

“Oh, that’s better.” Driver gritted his
teeth. “That fills in the blanks.” He was beginning to think that
Felon’s ammo was wet. The Texan threw a quick glance at Tiny. The
salesman’s eyes were wide, his mouth half-open. He was taking it
all in, already trying to work an angle.

“Who set me up?” The assassin heaved the
Marquis to his feet and pistol-whipped him. The transvestite
shrieked and clutched his cheek. “My target met me at the door, but
he wasn’t expecting
me
.”

“Stop!” The Marquis’ voice had returned. “You
must not betray the Divine Compact. You don’t understand the forces
involved here.”

“Talk!” Felon raised his gun again.

“Don’t!” The old drag queen started weeping.
“It was an old debt, nothing more. Felon, you’ve got to believe me.
I owed Balg a favor. But he promised me you would not be hurt.”

“Bullshit!” The assassin’s expression was
black.

“He wanted the nun—the God-wife.” The Marquis
twisted fingers in his lace collar. “I had to call him if I saw
you. He said you had his property! Honestly!”

“Fucking Angels!” Felon spat on the Marquis’
dress

“I am sorry.” The Marquis raised his hands to
set them against the assassin’s chest but they were swept away by
the gun.

“Truth!” Felon pressed the gun barrel against
the Angel’s temple.

The Marquis’ whole frame trembled. “I’m
telling you the truth!” he sobbed. “Please Felon, I am sorry. I
should have told you about Balg, but he said he only wanted the
God-wife.”

“Why?” Felon’s teeth were locked.

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” The Marquis
flung an arm over his forehead. “Please don’t kill me!”

“I figure the old pansie’s tellin’ the
truth!” Driver added suddenly. He had stepped back to study the
interrogation. “If he’d sell
us
out, he’d sell this Balg guy
out just as quick.” He looked toward Tiny, who winked at him. Then,
Driver was truly puzzled. “Tell me though, Felon. If the Marquis is
an Angel, how come you can stand around pokin’ his face with a 9
mm. Why don’t he just use his magic and—pffft!” Driver made a
sweeping gesture with his hand. “Disappear.”

“Mortal on earth.” Felon’s gaze burned on the
Marquis. “
Can
be killed but they know what you’re going to
do. Hard to catch them.”

“This don’t explain what, Felon? You got this
Angel nailed to the wall with your gun. He don’t know that yet?”
Driver asked, still puzzled.

“Felon has an
edge
.” Tiny piped up
now, smiling at the assassin. “Don’t you, Felon?” The salesman had
a hand on his own gun.

“I can kill them.
You
can too.” Felon
flexed his shoulders. “They run when there’s trouble. Turn to
energy, but if you hurt them bad before they’ve turned, you make
them solid again—no Powers. They can be killed.”

“Okay, so what are we going to do, Felon?”
Tiny seemed nervous. He started pacing. Driver knew his friend’s
moods. The salesman wanted to know how to work this deal. “Is he
worth anything to us?”

“Yes!” Felon snapped over his shoulder.
“Demons, Angels, and I think Fallen are involved.” He shook his
dark locks. “Balg is up to something.”

“Felon,” Tiny pressed his palms against his
temples. “If I understand this. You’re on the run from Heaven and
Hell.” He pointed at the nun. “
And
City Authority.” Tiny
swung his face at Driver, a reckless grin on his face. “You offer
us a hundred thousand each?” The salesman hung his head. “That
isn’t near enough.”

“Go.” Felon snarled. His red-rimmed eyes
burned.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!” Tiny shook his head
and made calming gestures with his hands. “Where would we go? If
all this stuff is true, we’re probably marked men already. No.”
Tiny began to pace. “No. We stand a better chance with someone who
has an edge. And, we need the money.” He muttered almost to
himself. Then, he flicked his shrewd blue eyes at Felon and the
Marquis. “Now, be careful how you answer this, and don’t be flip.”
He stopped pacing. “Doesn’t God have to be involved in this?”