Ex-Communication: A Novel (31 page)

“I … I’d just keep away from it. I’d run.”

He shook his head. “What if it turns out it can jump into you the same way it jumps into the exes? What if you take two steps past the ward and you just explode like they’ve been doing?”

“I’m not like them,” she snapped. “I’m like them but different. I’m …” She lifted her arms and crossed her wrists over her heart. “I’m the Corpse Girl,” she said with a tight smile.

“You’re a seventeen-year-old we’re responsible for,” said St. George. “I appreciate that you want to help. I really do. But I think right now it’d be better for everyone and a lot less distracting if you went back to the hospital.”

“FATHER ANDY?”

He looked down the aisle to the huge shadow blocking the church door. “Hello, Captain,” he said. “I thought you’d be out on the walls.”

Freedom walked down to meet the priest. He held his cap in his hands, and his boots thudded on the carpeted aisle. “Soon enough,” he said. “I apologize if you were finishing up for lunch, sir, but I have a request and I’m afraid it’s urgent.”

Andy met him near the midpoint of the aisle, brow furrowed. “Something from me?” He glanced around the church. “I don’t have much, but if it helps it’s yours.”

Captain Freedom stood at ease and explained what he needed.

Father Andy listened without a word. His jaw shifted when the captain finished. “I see.”

“Is there a problem, sir?”

“Possibly.”

“In Iraq and Afghanistan, the chaplains assigned to us would do similar things for some of the men.”

“Some of the men,” the priest said, “but not you?”

“Hopefully you’ll forgive me, father,” said Freedom, “but I’m actually a diehard Baptist. In this case, though, I’m hedging my bets.”

Andy reached up to run a finger along his collar, giving it a slight tug. “I’m not actually a priest, you know,” he told the captain. “I was never ordained by anyone. The responsibility was thrust upon me.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to say such things,” the huge officer said with a solemn nod.

“What I’ve been preaching isn’t really Catholicism. It’s more of a general Christian mishmash to give solace to as many people as possible.”

“I understand,” said Freedom. “We’ve all been a bit loose with our denominations over the past few years.”

“It’s just that what you’re asking for is … well, it’s pretty hard-core Catholic. I’ve never done it before. Never even seen it done, so I’ll be winging it. And this needs a lot of weight behind it, especially considering the circumstances.” Andy’s hand dropped away from his collar. “I just want you to be clear there’s a good chance this won’t work. Not the way you want it to, anyway.”

“All the same, sir,” said the captain, “I’d feel much better if you could.”

Father Andy turned back to the altar. “We’ve got plenty of candles. I just filled the aspersorium this morning. Let me go get my vestments.” He looked over his shoulder. “If you want it done right—at least, what I think is right—it’s probably going to take forty minutes or so.”

Freedom followed him to the altar.

Max ran his fingers along the futuristic katana’s blade. The engraving looked like printed circuits. He tossed it back on the table. “It’s crap,” he said. “The tang’s not much more than a steel bolt and it’s just riveted onto the blade.”

“What does that mean?” asked Billie. She’d supervised the pile of weapons being brought in from guards and scavengers.
A few civilians had heard about the search and donated fencing sabers and ceremonial weapons.

“It means it’s crap,” said Max. “You could wreck this thing by twisting the pommel two or three more times. Hitting something with it will just make the blade snap off in your face.” The sorcerer waved his hand at the table of weapons. “Most of this stuff is crap. The only blades that are any good are ones that wouldn’t work for this.” He reached up and grabbed the back of his head and took a few slow, deep breaths.

“So,” said Stealth from the gates, “we have nothing.”

Max let go of his head. “Yeah.”

“There’s got to be something we can do,” said St. George. “You trapped this thing once before, can’t you do it again?”

“It took three years of preparation and an eclipse,” said Max. “If you can scrounge up an eclipse in the next seven hours, I’ll see what I can do about the rest.”

“Can’t you just make a stronger barrier?” Billie asked.

Max reached up to loosen his tie. “With the right materials and a few months of research, sure. This just isn’t something I ever planned on, facing off with a physically manifested demon.”

St. George drummed his fingers on the table. “Can it be hurt?”

The sorcerer raised an eyebrow. “Without the sword, you mean?”

“Yeah. Once it’s physical, can we hurt it?”

“Technically, yeah,” said Max with a shrug. “You’ve got to understand, everything we’ve got in the Mount—even some of the big stuff you brought back from Krypton—it’s going to be like hunting dinosaurs with slingshots. And if it’s possessing Regenerator, it’s going to have his powers, too. We’ll have a minute, tops, before it heals from whatever we do to it.”

Stealth looked at the table of blades. “Including wounds from the sword?”

“No. Well, it’s hard to explain.”

“Please attempt to.”

“You don’t even have the right knowledge for a frame of reference. It’s like trying to explain quantum physics to one of those isolated tribes in the rain forest. I can give you some neat analogies, but that’s about it.”

“Then, again, please do so.”

Max sighed. “Okay, in simple terms, if the demon believes it can be hurt, and we believe we can hurt it, it’ll be hurt. It’s like Jung on steroids. That’s why all the big symbols are so important. It’s the same reason silver bullets have been able to kill werewolves ever since Siodmak wrote the
Wolf Man
screenplay.”

Billie’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Never mind, bad example,” he said, shaking his head. “Okay, you know how you can be in the Matrix and even though you know it’s all just in your mind—”

“You’re using
The Matrix
again?” asked St. George.

“You don’t like it, get Barry some new DVDs,” snapped Max. “Even though you know it’s all just in your mind, the injuries will still translate through to the real world because the illusion is so perfect. The sights, the sounds, the feelings—no matter what you know, your mind can’t deny all the information coming in. Belief trumps knowledge, like a psychosomatic injury.”

“I do not accept that,” said Stealth.

“Look, just trust me, okay?”

“Okay, then,” said St. George. He picked up one of the swords from the table. “So what’s our best choice here?”

Max shook his head. “We don’t have a best choice here. If this is it, our best choice is getting some pointed sticks and painting them silver.”

Billie stepped forward. “I’ll make sure they all get back to their owners,” she said.

“Don’t bother,” said the sorcerer. “They’ll all be dead by tomorrow anyway.”

“We have to do something, Max,” snapped St. George. Fire
flashed in his mouth. “Anyone can sit around and bitch about how bad things are. We’re the ones who are supposed to fix it.”

“We can’t fix this,” said the sorcerer.

“Well, that’s the difference between you and me, then,” said St. George. “I’m going to try.”

“Meaning what?”

“We can’t just wait for it to get in here,” said the hero. “Ilya and Dave should be done with their search soon. If we’re lucky, they’ll have another dozen swords and one of them will work, or at least be useful. Supposedly I’m tough enough to stop it from possessing me, so I just need to hold it off as long as I can while I look for Josh.”

“If what Max says is true,” said the cloaked woman, “the odds are it will kill you.”

Twin streamers of smoke curled up from his nostrils. “Probably, yeah.”

Max cleared his throat and killed the moment. “Not probably,” he said. “You’ll be going to your death.”

Stealth glared at him. They could all sense it, even through the mask. “If you continue to speak in such a demoralizing manner,” she said, “I will paralyze your larynx.”

Two fingers on each of his hands curled back. He met her glare through the blank planes of the mask. Max didn’t back down, but was aware Stealth was two inches taller than him, not counting her cowl. After a moment his face calmed and she turned away.

St. George looked at Max. “Symbols are important, right? I’m the guy who beat him before, so maybe it’ll remember me and be a little scared or something. It might give me an edge.”

“It will,” said Max. “Not much, but it’ll help.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” said St. George. “We’ll get the best sword we can and I’ll go out to find Josh and face the demon. Maybe I can slow it down and give the rest of you time to figure out another plan. If I’m really lucky, I’ll get Josh back here somehow.”

Max let out a long sigh and closed his eyes. “I’ll go with you,” he said.

Billie raised an eyebrow. Stealth crossed her arms.

“Give it a rest,” he said. “You’re right, okay? George is right, I’m a cowardly pessimist, let’s move on while there’s still time to save the world.”

“What are you thinking?” asked St. George.

Max shrugged. “I’m the only other person remotely protected from Cairax. I can draw some of his attention, maybe. Give us a little more time.”

“You don’t sound too confident,” said Billie.

“Honestly, two of us aren’t going to confuse him much more than one.”

“Well,” said St. George, “then I guess we hope the guys find a good sword.”

Max nodded. “Maybe I can make something up for you. A simple shield spell or a glamour. Something so he can’t lunge right into you.”

St. George felt smoke trickle out of his nose. “If you can do that, I could’ve gone to get the other sword.”

“No, you couldn’t,” said Max. “This’ll be a one-time-only trick, and I’m not even sure it’ll work the one time.”

“This should have been mentioned before,” said Stealth with another glare.

“Yeah, real sorry about that,” Max said. “I was going under the stupid assumption we didn’t want anyone marching out to a horrible death.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Then Billie gathered an armload of blades from the table and headed back into the Mount. “I’ll check on the guys,” she told St. George.

He gave her a nod and looked at the sorcerer. “How soon do you want to head out, then?”

Max looked up at the sun, then traced a few paths across the sky with his eyes. “We’ve got a little over seven hours, if all goes well. Odds will be slightly in our favor if we go earlier and
maybe catch one of them before they start to bond. We should go see what your guys have found for weapons so far.” He stopped and looked around. “Do you hear something?”

“There is a crowd approaching,” said Stealth. Inside her hood, her head turned to the west. “I would estimate between thirty and forty people.”

As she spoke, the crowd flowed around the south corner of Gower Street. St. George guessed there were three dozen of them, and spotted a few children holding hands with parents. At the front of the crowd was Christian Nguyen. She was talking with a few people around her, and every few steps she’d raise the Bible in her hand a little higher for emphasis. When she saw the heroes she waved.

“They are all members of the After Death movement,” Stealth said.

“Great,” said St. George. “Any idea what they want?”

“With Ms. Nguyen’s aggressive nature, I have been expecting them to make some list of demands under the grounds of religious freedom. There are several possible things they could be prepared to ask for.”

“Or maybe they’re just all out for an after-lunch stroll?”

Stealth looked at him. “I find that unlikely.”

“At least they’re not carrying torches and pitchforks,” said Max. “That’s always a plus in my book.”

The crowd got closer and St. George took a few steps toward them. “Christian,” he called out. “Always a pleasure. What can we do for you After Death folks?”

“We don’t use that name,” she said, closing the gap between them. “It’s a term others have applied to us. We just think of ourselves as Christians.” She held her Bible with both hands and gave a thin smile. “No pun intended.”