Orphan of Mythcorp (22 page)

“
Shut up!” Oh man oh man. I was in
deep.

I turned over slam-bang-like as my gut
rumbled and sourness rose. Clear vomit spewed out of me. I
retrieved the sword and stuffed it inside the cane shaft. Crawling
forwards, around the derelict F-150, I followed the blood trail.
The unholy crimson drops became larger the farther I crab-walked.
On the other side of the pickup was the school garage-slash-tool
shed. The drops led inside through the open door. I paused. Stood.
Thunder boomed as I peered inside.

Castor, noticing my scowl, said, ‘What are
you so worked up about, stretch? You were the one who was all like
‘follow that scumbag Sanson. I want to know what he’s up to.’ What
do you care what we did to him?’

“
I
wouldn’t
have taken a frigging sword to the guy, jeez.”

Now that I had voided every bit of morphine
in my system, my chest and back were ripe with little blooms of
pain, red blue and yellow ones all gunged up with dirt and Sanson’s
blood. I tried not to emit too many cries as I hobbled into the
tool shed.

Felt around for a light switch. Snagged my
fingers on some rough wood, absorbed a splinter. I shuffled a few
feet inside and felt something light brush my forehead. I jerked
back. “Nasty.”

‘
What is it? Are you okay?’ Marie asked
from the safety of the door. “Is it him?’

“
No,” I said, red-faced. I pulled the
light cord without confessing how I feared the cord was a spider
web and the knot at its bottom a giant angry spider out to get me.
Dull light illuminated the shed. Paint cans decorated with dried
drips, all the same ocean blue shade of the school hallways. My
peepers lingered on these cans before falling on the body lying in
the center of the shed.

Cold panic rushed through me. And that was
before I noticed the dozens of gloomy-Gus spooks looming over
Sanson in the hazy light. These spooks noticed me. By the looks on
their buggered faces I deduced I wasn’t their favorite
pulse-pounder. A few of the more draggled specters took swipes at
me. Chill gusts rushed through my body where they struck, but
otherwise I was unharmed. Observing my immunity to their hatred,
Sanson’s spooks turned to face mine.

While kneeling down to inspect Sanson’s body,
I said to Marie, “You better scram.” She scrammed, bamfing without
hesitation. It seemed Sanson’s spooks could not leave his
side—which suggested they were something different than mere
spooks.

Other than for the two gashes mucking up the
left side of Sanson’s chest, and the bump on his noggin, he didn’t
have any marks suggesting he had gone the way of all
zipperdicks.

‘
Is he dead?’ Felix the spook
asked.

A finger to his carotid revealed no pulse.
“Oh man, I don’t think he’s breathing.”

‘
Nice job, Dr. Carter,’ Castor snorted,
keeping some distance from the advancing spooks. ‘That doesn’t mean
jack, jack-off. He never had a pulse, even before you slashed him
up like some brain-addled doojee-fiend.’

“
You mean before
you
sliced him up,” I corrected. Sanson’s kooky
watch was bleeping. I lifted his arm. His flesh was cold, like a
mannequin left in the freezer, and just as rigid. “It says
fifty-two degrees. Is that good? Cas, did you ever notice what it
read when he was walking around?” My pumper was thwacking away at
my chest. “Well?” shrill-voiced now.

Felix shrieked as a Sanson spook slapped him.
‘I don’t know. I’m sorry.’ With a bamf he was gone.

I looked over at Castor, who shrugged with
smugness. Her Royal Highness, an arrogant female spook, offered no
help whatsoever. “You are all completely worthless, you know that?
What’s the point of being haunted if the haunters don’t know dick?”
I released Sanson’s wrist but his arm did not fall. “What do I do,
what do I do?”

‘
It should read between sixty-one and
sixty-five,’ Naked Charlie called while taking a pummeling from the
other eternally buggered people. ‘You need to load that gun of his,
there,’ pointing at a silver case that lay open beside Sanson.
‘Snap one of those vials in place, yeah, like that. Now, just press
it firmly to his neck and pull the trigger.’ He screamed and
lingered just long enough to make sure I correctly loaded the gun
and pressed it to Sanson’s neck properly, and then he too faded
away to Limbo.

I pulled the trigger, dropped the gun and
struggled to my feet. At the door I waited, bit back fear and pain.
A good fifty ticks passed before Sanson’s arm slowly dropped.

For all I knew I/Castor had snuck up on the
zombie without him ever knowing it was me/Castor. That was the hope
anyway. So I turned to leave before Sanson could wake.

‘
Look out!’ Castor
screeched.

He was too late. Before I could even
yelp ‘
oomph
’ Nimrod had
snatched me with his blue-black metal hand. I could feel the
robotic finger joints digging into my skin, something warm and wet
slithering down between the sham digits violently massaging my
neck.

“
Gbblka.”

“
Did you kill him?” that creepy rasping
voice again. My feet were hovering a couple inches off the ground,
and not in the way Marie’s did. “If he’s dead—”

SIZAP!

Instinct had taken over, inspiring me to
press that magic little no-no button on the back of the crow-head.
Nimrod, shocked, dropped into the Ford’s bed, while I was thrust
backwards where I plopped to the pavement smack-dab on my rump.

“
Is he dead?” I asked.

‘
Doubtful,’ Marie had returned now that
I was away from Sanson’s spooks. She danced up to Nimrod as smoke
wafted off his body. ‘Knox pulled that same maneuver on him fifteen
years ago. It didn’t kill him then, and that was before he had all
his expensive hardware. Better run while you can.’

Run I did. Well, I hobbled away with
enthusiasm. A turtle could’ve caught me. As I limped around to the
back doors of the school, I said to Marie, “You know, I’ve noticed
you’re memory has been loads better lately.” She was twirling along
beside me, ignoring both me and the drops of rain beginning to
drizzle.

I had just reached the corner of school,
decided on risking slipping on the slick grass to get away rather
than limping out to the safer sidewalk, when Naked Charlie bamfed
in front of me, waving his arms (and that wasn’t all he was waving
around). ‘Behind you!’

“
Oh crap.” I twisted round, swinging
the cane.

Nimrod caught it in his augmetic hand and
directed the purple peepers away from his face. He was a quick
study, sure as sure. “Where did you get this cane from, boy?”

I yanked on the old cane and tried to wriggle
out of his grasp, but Nimrod’s augmetic hand was like a vice on my
left bicep. If I couldn’t escape, then I’d have to fight him off.
Fight off the Mighty Hunter. Right. I’d have better luck battling a
rabid lion.

“
Who gave you this cane?” he snarled.
Seriously, drool dribbled out of his mouth. I don’t know what I did
to earn such hatred. “Was it Dex? Tell me now and I’ll take only
one finger.”

What? That did it. Something inside snapped.
I twisted the crow-head and withdrew the sword as swiftly as I
could. The sudden motion threw us both off balance. As Nimrod
staggered back with the gnarled bone shaft in his hand, I kissed
the grass with my already badgered back. “Ockburg!”

‘
Get up off your ass,’ Castor ordered.
‘He’s coming again!’

I whisked the sword up to defend a blow from
Nimrod. A petrifying whistle sent shivers through my flesh as the
Hunter whipped the bone shaft down—aiming for my noggin. He
possessed loads more strength than me, so when his weapon struck
mine, my weapon smashed into my face.

Instead of wasting my last breath crying out
in pain like some feckling, I looked at Castor and said, “Take
over,” because I was no fool. I had no sword training and only
about a quarter of my enemies’ strength; if I was going to survive
it would have to be by swordplay. Or rather, by Castor’s
swordplay.

A single tick was all it took. But in that
holy-moly moment I caught a glimpse of the spooks’ blue peepers. He
was addicted, sure as sure. He took over without hesitating.

This time though I remained partially
conscious. Castor was controlling my body, but it was by my choice,
so I could watch. Like those voyeurs on CUTV. Castor/I
slid-rolled-slithered out of Nimrods reach, blade kept in front to
defend against the swinging maniac. Nimrod roared, a kooky sound,
his rebreathers giving the roar a certain kind of mad-dog
gruffness.

Castor/I defended ourselves as Nimrod tried
to decapitate us. I don’t know where the former Iconocop learned to
swordfight, but he was dynamite, sidestepping blows, parrying and
attacking with deft skill. For the first time since he’d bamfed
into my life eight years earlier, I was glad to know Castor.

Castor/I ran a few yards around the
school, putting some distance between us and the Hunter. It
occurred to me then that Castor/I was running . . . and
not
feeling pain. I was about to
rejoice in my own inward-all-alone kind of way, when Castor/I felt
something strike the back of our neck. We stumbled and peeped at
the grass where the gnarled bone-shaft lay.

A look the way we’d come revealed Nimrod, not
fifteen feet away. He was withdrawing something from inside his
bearskin cloak. Castor/I slid the sword into the shaft and pressed
the no-no button just as Nimrod took aim.

A stream of deep-space purple lightning burst
from the crow peepers. Castor/I smashed into a tree, back first, as
we heard the crack of a gunshot.

We released the button. When the light died
we breathed a smidge sigh of relief. Nimrod was shaking his left
hand; his pistol lay on the grass, smoking, while a brass slug lay
midway between us, catching the light from a distant street arc
lamp. ‘Darn this cane is awesome!’ Castor/I rejoiced.

Turning, running. Behind us, Nimrod
cursing.

Vision blurred as Castor took over. I let
him. I was too tired to fight him off anyway and if Marie was
right, the spook would tire soon and I’d be free once again.

Another fifteen ticks: I was reduced to a
smattering of unconscious cells and a dormant ID.

I, that is to say my awareness of reality,
returned. I was lying on wet grass. My left arm felt numb from the
awkward position. The immediate vicinity was blessedly
Nimrod-free.

‘
How do you feel?’ Marie.

“
Like a pinball,” I whined. “How do I
look?”

Marie tittered. ‘You’re as pale as a Morai.
Try not to move too much, your cuts are all seeping. You should let
Ava look at them.’

Castor was nowhere to be seen. Good and
hallelujah. I limped along, careful not to slip on the grass. I
needed morphine like fish need water. Who knew high school could be
so rough? After about fifty feet of tedious walking I realized I
had no idea what side of the school I was on. I nestled down to
rest beside one of the eyebrow basement windows.

Barely ten ticks passed before I heard a
scampering behind me. I swiveled on my rump and peered through the
window. “Holy crap. Marie, is that Pells?”

Marie wafted through the wall into the
basement. She returned five ticks later wearing a shocked
expression. ‘It’s Pellinore, and he’s running from something.’

“
An Iconocop?” it wasn’t really that
far-fetched.

‘
I don’t know.’ Marie fluttered back
and forth, a habit she indulges in whenever she’s nervous. ‘You
better get in there, help him.’

I sighed. Can’t a guy catch a break? A light
shove on the window revealed it was locked, of course. I knocked
harder, to the threshold of smashing the glass. Pellinore passed by
between two huge furnaces, and slammed to a halt when he heard my
pattering.

He glanced behind before rushing up to me. A
stupefied expression as he peered through the window. “Hey!” With
the aid of a bucket he reached the latch and undid it. Eleven
profanities later, I was standing inside on the concrete floor.

“
What are you doing down here at two
o’clock in the morning?” I asked Pellinore. Despite the sweltering
heat, Pells was not sweating, but he did look remarkably
spook-like. Even paler than usual. His shifty peepers scanned our
surroundings before landing on me. “I’m chasing the beastie, of
course. What about you? What were you doing out? You look like
crap.”

“
Thanks.” I was too bushed to point out
how there was no such thing as a beastie. “And thanks for letting
me in. Well, goodnight.” I hobbled off, leaving a stupefied
Pellinore in my wake. At the doorway that led away from the
furnaces, I glanced back. Pellinore had already vanished into the
steam-hazed bowels of the cellar.

“
How is that fool managing to keep his
grades up when he spends all his time down here?” I asked
Marie.

‘
I could ask the same about you,’ she
retorted. ‘You spend all your time running around.’

I made it to Camelot in one piece. Ava, on
her own cot beside mine, pestered me for answers. I used to tell
her everything, even dirty little secrets. Not anymore; couldn’t
tell her about Sanson or the new development with my spooks. But I
did need to tell someone.

Izzy would understand. Izzy would help me
figure it out and maybe even find a way inside Mythcorp. Tomorrow I
would tell her everything.

Provided, of course, I didn’t get mauled by
Nimrod or vengeanced by Sanson or Mesmerized by Ash or beaten up by
pissed-off Iconocops.