The Swords of Babylon

CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR

Drake knew his only advantage was in maintaining the higher position. Without thought, he relinquished his grip on the side of the pit and stomped down at Zanko’s arm. The Russian had anticipated the move and twisted slightly. Drake’s stamp grazed down the Russian’s arm, serving only to unbalance him. He fell and twisted to his side. Zanko’s other arm came out of nowhere, a hammer blow to Drake’s chest. With the air forced out of him, he could only pant as Zanko hauled himself up.

But Drake recovered quickly. He threw a sod of earth at the Russian’s face and let loose a salvo of punches at the immense torso, working around every pressure point he knew. When the monster came up hard, arms flailing, Drake stepped away and threw one of the hardest punches of his life at Zanko’s face.

The Russian’s nose burst, blood splattering across his cheeks, chin and eyes. Blinded, he made a lunge for the side of the pit to steady himself. Drake leaned back and brought his knee up, kicking out at the man’s ribs. The blow would have sent a grizzly over the edge, but Zanko only grunted, half-turned, and raised his arms. With consummate care he took a sniff of an armpit.

“For you.” He inhaled loudly, then roared at the top of his voice, face turning redder than the blood that coated it. “For Zoya!”

He charged at Drake, meaning to take them both off the outcrop and down into the pit. Drake saw no place to go. As he stared into the eyes of the onrushing madman he realized that this really was the end.

Alicia and the Bitchin’ Motherfucking Hellslayers hit the Singen tomb with everything they had. Burdened with the suspicious package containing the two swords, but then happily finding an array of advanced armament awaiting them, they joined up with the local German forces and beset the third tomb with unstoppable force.

The passage that descended into the bowels of the Earth had been greatly enlarged during the last few months and several tributaries added. To their credit, the German special forces’ commander sent units down every pathway — as ploys and back up to the main force that pounded down the main artery. Alicia moved at the head of the pack, all fired up for battle, aware of the time limit that Karin had passed along to her, but unaware of how the rest of the SPEAR team were doing.

All she knew was that everyone she loved and cared for was now in harm’s way, battling a mystery madmen to keep control of their planet.

Men fell before her, bullets winging them or smashing into their vests, with the occasional head shot, picked off by the cowardly mercs who crouched at the head of the corridor. Alicia and her crew fired relentlessly, pulverizing the rock walls around the tomb’s arched entry, creating a mist of fragmented rock and spent bullets that helped cover their assault. Lomas, Ribeye and Laid-back Lex ran at her side, handling the advanced weaponry with ease. Ribeye, she knew, was ex-special forces, but as for the others, she had no idea where they had learned their skills.

Best not to ask, Lomas had told her.

Not a problem. Alicia had enough skeletons of her own not to question other people’s. The only time she drew the line was after the terrifying recent realization that her new biker nickname — Taz — was also a video game character. A sprite. Every biker, on pain of castration or decapitation, had promised never to reveal it to any member of the SPEAR team — especially Mai Kitano. Now, worries cast aside, she leapt over the body of a fallen German soldier and rolled into the chamber, recognizing it from the last time she was here — the high, encircling walls of niches that held the most evil gods, the central ring of statues that had been built to accept the nine parts of Odin.

Now no longer needed since someone had found a failsafe, another way to activate the damn device.

And, horrifyingly, she could see strange pale glows emanating from the niches themselves. Were the god parts shining? The latent energy in this place powering them up?

She fired hard, blasting one of the statues to pieces and also the merc who hid behind it. The other entryways belched out German troops. The bikers filled the void behind her. Men fell to their knees and let loose lethal volleys, bullets crisscrossed the tomb of the gods in a hellfire hail of death. Screams punctuated the center of it all, rising on wings made of agonizing pain and murder, all gladly accepted by the tomb’s crumbling, long dead occupants.

Then Alicia’s mouth literally fell open.

At the heart of everything, like a dynamo at the core, stood Russell Cayman; naked, bloody, with his arms striking frantically at the air.

Real hell blasted her world to shreds.

Drake threw himself lengthways. Zanko hollered and clawed helplessly for him, but nothing could stop the juggernaut. His feet struck Drake’s ribs, firing cannonballs of agony into his spine, and he flew headlong out into the center of the pit. Drake turned his head as the monster somehow managed to arrest his fall, hands like digger buckets clamping hold of the pit wall.

Drake stood quickly. Zanko hung helplessly in front of him, too far away to make it back to safety, too heavy to climb up to the top of the pit.

Drake didn’t gloat. He needed that sword. He examined the walls above as best he could, pinpointed the sword, and took hold of a rock.

Zanko’s voice drifted out of the dark. “Why did you kill her?”

Drake paused, startlingly aware that this man knew nothing of true values, of morals, nor did he possess much of a conscience, but also aware that it wasn’t entirely the Russian’s fault. “It comes back to the trafficking ring,” he said softly. “You don’t mess with the innocent, with their families, their kids. You don’t kill another man’s wife and expect to live.”

When Zanko failed to answer, Drake took a step up, then another. The rock and earth muddle held well, despite being hidden behind a layer of pure muck. He was about to take another careful step when the question he had once asked Yorgi stole back into his brain. He wiped his hands and felt his desperate need get the better of him.

“Have you ever heard of an operative called Coyote?”

At first there was no answer. Then Zanko’s resolute voice broke the silence. “Little man, you are worthy adversary. Perhaps one of only few I have encountered. You did well in the prison courtyard, so I will give you this. Coyote is a shadow, a whisper, a ghost invented to scare big bad guys like me. They say she comes with the wind and leaves with your head, silent, swift, unstoppable. She will kill you before you can blink and take your eyes before you see her. Coyote?” A harsh bark. “She is a demon of legend made flesh.”

“Who says all that?”

“Zoya. They met. Once. It is said that if this Coyote respects you, she will only take your life.”

Drake shifted. “Only?”

“But if she dislikes you or if you’ve done something very bad, she will go further…”

Drake licked his lips. The darkness hung heavy around him. “What do you mean — further?”

“She subjects you to the Devil’s Cut.”

“The Devil’s Cut?”

“So they say.”

With that, there was the faintest rustle and then the sound of something huge chasing shifting shadows down into the everlasting dark. Drake took one look, sighed, and fixed his eyes upward.

To the sword.

Take the Great Sword into the Pit.

His hand closed over the hilt. Well, here he was.

What next?

He looked up. Mai was staring down at him.

“Look out. The sky’s falling down!”

Drake remembered the old Dinorock tune. “This is no time for—”

Then he recoiled as a lightning storm collapsed on him.