Demonworld Book 3: The Floyd Street Massacre Read online

  The gun clicked empty and five Coil lay in a heap. Wodan felt alive, skin burning with heat, blood pounding, jaw clenching uncontrollably. His hearing returned in full force and he heard Jens approaching slowly.

  “What’s wrong?” said Wodan.

  Jens leaned against a wall as he walked, using his shotgun as a crutch. His face was pale, and he said, “I was wrong, man. I did get hit. In the leg. I… I don’t feel so hot, Wodi.”

  “Just hang in there!” Wodan shouted. “I’ll get you out of here.” He turned back to the stairwell and descended toward the pile of twisted limbs. He jerked the belt of grenades off the Lieutenant’s belt, then felt instinct tickling at his neck. He looked over the guard rail and, down the twisting stairwell, he saw another team ascending. He unpinned one grenade after another and tossed them down. He watched them bounce off landings, saw one man peer up the side, then the stairwell was rocked by a terrific blast and rush of dust and debris.

  “Come on!” Wodan shouted, turning back to Jens. Jens slowly made his way down the first flight of stairs, leaning against the wall. One leg was completely drenched in dark, shining blood, and he left an imprint with each step. Wodan flew down the stairs, eager to scout out the area before Jens could be drawn into danger. He entered a cloud of drifting dust and stepped over bodies, counting them as he went. It was difficult to make out where one pile of remains ended and another began, but he counted four dead men.

  He felt uncomfortable, and his mind ran through swift calculations as he drew near the bottom of the stairwell. I think there was twenty of them. Four men in the first wave, five in the second, how many on this team? The Captain would have stayed behind to coordinate. He would keep his teams in even numbers to make things easier on himself. He should only have one team of four men – that means there was a fifth man on this team!

  Just as he reached the bottom of the stairwell, another Coil assassin swung around an open doorway. He held a large handgun and his eyes burned with vengeance.

  * * *

  Virgil woke with a cold-snap in his veins and screams in his ears. He felt of his shoulder; he felt no pain where the buckshot hit him, but his entire left arm felt thick and numb. He rose up onto his side and scrambled toward a nearby car, then leaned against a tire.

  He saw bodies everywhere. Scattered Lawmen fired on groups of raging berserkers, each group hunkered down behind cars in a ring of violence that extended all around him. He saw a group of dead men piled impossibly high and Hand stood atop the corpse mound, hunched over like a gargoyle. His breathing was ragged and Virgil saw streams of blood pouring from him.

  From his hiding spot, Virgil saw a group of Lawmen on the far side of the perimeter fire rifles and handguns at Hand. Several bullets smacked into his back and legs, but Hand’s arm and head whirled, his submachine gun spat, and each of his attackers was blasted in the head or neck. Virgil hissed through gritted teeth; Hand had barely had time to aim, and how he made those shots from such a distance with a small gun seemed inhuman. Virgil looked about, but his shotgun was nowhere in sight. He unholstered his sidearm, then rose in a crouch and propped his gun on his dead left arm. He ignored the screams of Ugly berserkers and Lawmen directly behind him as he took aim at the world’s greatest killer.

  He fired and, while he was sure he struck Hand directly in the back, Hand whirled and Virgil barely had time to drop before submachine gun fire struck the hood directly over his head. He tried to control his panic breaths, then rolled onto his stomach. He saw Hand fumbling with his guns, his movements slow, almost childish. Hand coughed, then spat out an enormous wad of blood. The killer finally threw the guns aside, then stumbled away from the mound of corpses.

  He’s escaping, Virgil thought. I can’t let that monster get away.

  Just then Virgil was distracted by a tremendous crash and a volley of gunfire from the far side of Precinct Zero. He looked up and saw an enormous, ape-like demon lurching about on the roof. The demon held a man by his waist in one hand. The demon ran and leaped onto the side of a building across the street, shaking the man like a rag doll. Virgil felt bad for the poor bastard, then the demon clambered around the side of the building and disappeared from view.

  Virgil turned back and saw that Hand was gone. He checked the clip in his handgun, then rose and followed the trail of blood left behind by the Ugly’s inhuman assassin.

  * * *

  The furious Coil lifted his handgun as he rushed around the corner. Instead of moving aside and providing a clear shot, Wodan flew at the man and, with the cat still under one arm, slammed into the Coil. His right hand shot out and wrapped around the Coil’s throat, then they both crashed into a hard brick wall. Wodan heard the gun clatter against the stairs.

  “Did they warn you about me?” Wodan said as he stared into the man’s eyes. He was bigger than Wodan, but could not move as Wodan crushed him against the wall. He felt the man’s throat giving way under his fingers. “Did they warn you?” he repeated, his voice harsh and alien in his own ears. “Did they tell you that you’d be taking on a god?”

  Smoke filled his senses and he felt himself falling over an edge, possessed by something vast and hungry.

  “Wodi, man, what the hell?” said Jens, leaning on his shotgun on the stairwell above him. “The hell are you doing, man?”

  Wodan pulled back from the edge. He jerked the man toward him, then slammed his head against the wall. The Coil’s eyes rolled back and Wodan let him fall to the ground.

  “Let’s hit the back door,” said Wodan. He saw Jens swaying back and forth, eyes blinking slowly. “Hey! You with me? Come on!” Wodan climbed the stairs, wrapped his free arm around Jens, and dragged him toward the rear of the building.

  They walked in darkness and breathed in smoke. They found a crack of light streaming in between the rear doors.

  “Careful,” Jens muttered. “They might have… set up…”

  “I don’t hear anyone,” said Wodan. “We’re clear.”

  Wodan kicked the doors. They jerked, but rebounded. Wodan leaned against the doors and peered at the crack.

  “What is it?” said Jens.

  “A chain,” said Wodan. “It’s chained up on the other side.” Wodan stood silent for a moment, then added, “I don’t think the two teams that came up the rear stairwell ran through this door, then somehow put a chain around the other side. They must have all come in through the front. That’s why the guys that hit the Party Room made it to us first.”

  “But… but when did…?”

  “Yeah, I know. Someone threw a chain and padlock on here earlier today. Or possibly even before then.”

  Wodan looked about, but saw no windows; perhaps it was a defensive measure. He knew there were windows on the second floor, but shook his head at the idea.

  “We’ll go out the front,” said Wodan. “I want to talk to the guy leading these idiots, anyway.”

  Wodan turned Jens about and dragged him back through the darkness.

  “To hell with it, man,” Jens muttered. “Just put me down.”

  “Shut up,” said Wodan.

  “Damn it, Wodan, I don’t even like you anymore. Just… put… me…”

  “Shut up, Jens!” Wodan shouted. “You’re annoying as piss!”

  Wodan saw the dancing lights of a raging fire ahead. He heard shouting, Coilmen screaming at one another. Wodan set Jens down in a corner, then slapped him lightly. “You stay awake, alright? Trade you a gun for a cat.” Wodan took Jens’s shotgun, then placed the cat in his lap. Wodan had thought the cat was unconscious the whole time, perhaps knocked out by the explosion earlier, but instead he saw the poor animal looking back at him with great wide eyes. There was fear and terrible, heart-rending trust in its eyes.

  “I’ll kill the last of them,” said Wodan, “and then I’ll come back to you. I promise.”

  Wodan grasped the shotgun in both hands and walked toward the inferno.

  “The fire’s gonna kill him, then!” one Coil screamed. “A
re you kidding? We’ve done enough! Two more minutes in here and it’ll kill us, too!”

  “W-we have to be sure,” said another.

  “I can’t even breathe with all this smoke!”

  “But… we…”

  “Idiot! Oh shit, man, I can’t believe this. You’re an idiot!”

  Wodan felt his heart pounding once again, churning up something intensely powerful. He entered the wide foyer and saw that the walls were covered in dancing flames. Five young Coil stood arguing or casting nervous looks at the flames licking at the rafters overhead. Wodan cocked his shotgun loudly and arrested their attention. They whirled, faces white as sheets.

  “We’re walking out of here together,” said Wodan. “You’re going to take me to your Captain.”

  “I-i-it’s him,” said one, lifting his gun with shaking hands. “W-we have to kill him.”

  Wodan shook his head. “You’re young. You can go on liv-”

  Wodan felt a strange rumble, then part of the ceiling gave way in a rush of smoke and heat and fell straight onto him, crushing him under hundreds of pounds of searing-hot rubble.

  * * *

  Virgil followed the trail of blood, the wrist of his gun-hand pressed into his sopping-wet shoulder. He turned a corner and saw the Hand far ahead of him, stumbling down an empty street. Hand disappeared around another corner and Virgil jogged ahead. He turned the corner and saw Hand still stumbling but intent on his path. Virgil leaned against a wall, breathed deep to still the pain, then aimed at the back of Hand’s head. Then he stopped himself.

  That freak’s going somewhere, thought Virgil. Somewhere that he thinks is important.

  Virgil lowered his gun, then jogged ahead.

  Virgil followed the trail of blood, amazed that any human could lose so much and still be standing. He made his way through dark alleys, then peered around a corner and saw a small paved lot with a squat brick building not much bigger than an outhouse. He watched as Hand leaned against the building for a long time, then made his way toward a heavy metal door. Hand felt about in his pocket, found a key, then unlocked the door. Hand leaned against the door the entire time and, as it opened, he fell inwards with it.

  Virgil raced across the lot and peered into the dark entrance. He saw a stairwell leading down into greater darkness. Hand was gone, and Virgil cursed himself for not shooting earlier.

  He stifled his mounting fear and crept down the pitch-black, winding stairs. He was sure that the Hand would leap on him at any moment. He remembered that he had a hand-held radio and reached for it to call for backup, then stopped. He did not want Hand to hear him, but he also feared something more than that. Intuition told him that he had to do this alone.

  He came to a floor and felt along the wall, barely breathing for fear of the murderer in the darkness. Suddenly there was a long sigh ahead of him and his heart thundered like mad. In blind terror Virgil fired ahead, again and again, the sudden flashing light blinding him even as it showed a dark form quivering in the tunnel before him.

  His gun clicked empty, his ears rang, and he saw only harsh spots of light. After a long moment of stillness, he crept ahead. He stumbled onto a body and recoiled. The body did not move, so he leaned forward and felt about it. He felt thick muscles, then found a neck that gave no pulse. As his fingers traced around the head, he realzed that it had been blasted open. He found a shotgun in the corpse’s arms; it was empty, but he took it anyway.

  He crept ahead and came to a door. He opened it. All was dark and silent. He felt about, flicked a switch, and an electric light flashed on. The room was covered in ornate black flags with the sign of the Coil silver and green lizard. There was a low table surrounded by three pillows. Two more doors led into the chamber. Virgil ducked his head back into the hallway and, by the light of the small chamber, he saw that the Hand lay dead in the hallway.

  Virgil knew that the Hand had come here for a reason, most likely to finish some terrible work before he died. Virgil touched his radio unit, then left it alone. He leaned against a wall and slipped down to the floor. Slowly he breathed in, then out, and he waited to see who would come.

  * * *

  Wodan and Dove Langley sat on the beach near sunset. The sky was deep blue, and the waves came in gently. She stared outward and Wodan glanced at her.

  He flexed his bruised hands and felt the bite of pain. “Langley,” he said. “Why did you go through all the trouble… to fix me?”

  She was silent for a long time and Wodan thought that she had ignored him. Just as he let the matter drop, she said, “I guess I just felt like you had more that you needed to do.”

  “Doesn’t everybody?”

  “No,” she said. “I’ve never known what I wanted or needed. You’re not the person we were looking for, but… maybe there’s still some reason why we found you.”

  She turned to him and smiled. He felt warmth and light spreading through him.

  “Your hands are your own again,” she said, standing. “Now, it’s up to you to decide what to do with them.”

  * * *

  Wodan tore through the rubble and felt it biting into his back as it slid away. He was unarmed and his ragged shirt and jacket were on fire and he saw the five Coilmen standing before him, their faces drained of blood as they searched for a corpse but instead found something unbelievable and terrifying. Wodan felt his lips pull back from his teeth as he ripped the flaming shirt and jacket from his chest, revealing a hundred bleeding wounds before he tossed the searing garments into one Coil’s face. He leaped on the nearest Coil and grasped his head on either side, then they crashed into ground and Wodan felt the killer’s head crack as it hit the concrete floor.

  Two Coil immediately turned and fled, shrieking as they disappeared down a dark hallway. Another took aim but, unwilling to hit his comrade who was already dead, he lowered his handgun and raced toward Wodan. Wodan turned about, grasped the dead man’s shotgun, took aim at the Coil brushing flames from his hair, then jammed his finger alongside the dead man’s and fired, tossing the assassin into the air and onto the pile of burning rubble.

  The shotgun was awkwardly intertwined in the dead man’s arms, so as the final Coil reached his prey and brought his handgun to bear, Wodan swung upwards, shattered the Coil’s wrists with his left hand, then pulled the Blade of the Engels free in an underhanded swing and swung it into his attacker’s neck. The blade’s jagged teeth caught in a bundle of cords; the Coil wretched horribly, then fell to his knees and slammed his forehead into the ground, as if bowing.

  Wodan finally jerked the shotgun from the dead man’s hands and, at the same moment, an entire outer wall of the building fell in a tremendous crash. Black smoke billowed upward and through a curtain of leaping sparks Wodan saw the parking lot and a Captain’s jacket flapping in the wind.

  * * *

  Virgil waited in the small Coil den and pushed the incessant pain of the buckshot from his mind. He stared at the image of the coiling serpent eating itself. Finally he heard doorknob turn, heard metal clicking, and in a flash he was up. He jammed the empty shotgun into the door as it opened, then the door slammed shut on the gun and someone powerful held it shut. Virgil rotated the end of the gun around as best he could, then the door was suddenly released as the other person turned and fled.

  Virgil bolted through the door and saw a fat man in a black robe with a golden mask running down a hallway. “Freeze!” Virgil shouted as he ran. The masked man fumbled about in his robe, then produced a handgun. But Virgil was fast, far faster than the other, and brought the shotgun crashing down onto the man’s wrist. He heard bone crack and the gun flew. Virgil crashed into the man; he stared into the eyes of the horrible mask, then they both hit the ground. Virgil pounded the man in the ribs with the butt of his gun, then fell against a wall and rested while the masked man lay in a crumpled heap.

  “Gods below,” said Virgil, fighting for breath. “You’re one of the Master Thieves, aren’t you? You’re one of the masterminds behind
the Coil, and this is where you come to meet!”

  As the Master grunted and tried to rise, Virgil jerked the mask free and stared down at the wheezing face of Director Janice, head of Precinct Zero.

  “This isn’t what it looks like,” said Janice, gripping his side.

  “Get up!”

  “You got any shells in that thing, boy?” said Janice. Virgil hauled the man to his knees, then pushed him up the long stairwell.

  “I had to do this,” said Janice, “just to keep any order in this city.”

  “If you weren’t a dirty cop, you’d know that doesn’t make any sense,” said Virgil, jamming the gun into the back of his boss’s legs.

  “Let’s just think about this,” said Janice. “I’ve probably been doing more good behind the scenes than you ever did beating the streets one goon at a time.”

  “Is this how you got us Barkus?”

  “You gotta let this go, detective.”

  “Never,” said Virgil. “It’s my job to hunt down people like you.”

  They exited the bunker and found themselves in a wide, empty alleyway. Virgil turned on his radio, hesitated, then said, “Someone, anyone, this is Detective Virgil. Get me Judge Rosebudd, immediately. Anyone!”

  “Virgil?” someone responded. “Where the hell are you?”

  “Who is this? I need Judge Rosebudd.”

  “This is DeSark!” said the voice on the radio. “Virgil, what’s this about? How’d you get away from-”