Valknut: The Binding (37 page)

A series of loud thumps rattled the roof. At
the same time, she felt the floor jump under her. She twisted
around.

A dark figure stood in the doorway,
silhouetted against a stream of moonlit buildings. Soo cursed and
scrambled away. Junkyard swung the flashlight around. The light hit
the intruder full in the face.

It was Monte.

A yellowish cast tinted his unswollen eye. He
wiped a trickle of blood from his cheek and grinned.

“Hi. I’m back.”

Behind him, two more gangbangers swung inside
from the roof and dropped to the floor.

Chapter 22

Monte swayed as the train rocked over uneven
track. His yellow gaze never wavered from Lennie’s face.
Hunch-shouldered, blood-spattered, he pursued her like a zombie,
oblivious to his deteriorating condition.

An electric charge hummed in Lennie’s
tattooed hand, hair-raising and worthless. She ignored it and
scrambled backward until she bumped into the closed side door. Her
legs continued pumping uselessly, pushing her into the solid
metal.

The flashlight went out and she lost Junkyard
in the dark. Shadows crowded in on her. City lights flickered
across gang tattoos, bandanas, and knives. She held her breath
against a building scream.

“Lennie—move!”

Move. Right. That made sense. But where?
Junkyard’s voice had come from the left. She crawled toward it and
huddled in the corner, behind the old television. The gangbangers
hesitated, losing her in the shadows.

But Monte’s yellow eyes followed her in the
dark. He started toward her. Shudders rippled through her body. She
scrabbled at her pocket and pulled out the switchblade. She fumbled
trying to open it and it skittered across the floor. Moaning, she
felt around for something, anything, to use as a weapon. Bristles
scratched her hand. The push broom. Instinctively, she snatched it
up and braced it against the wall just as Monte charged. He crashed
into the wide brush and staggered back. Howling, he hurled himself
at her again and the broom handle bowed. She hoped he was crazy
enough to batter himself senseless before it broke.

She had forgotten that Monte was not alone in
his head.

His eyes fired, twin suns in a void. His gaze
burned into her eyes before she could look away. Like before, a
yellow haze flooded her vision and filled her mind. She clung to
the broom, her sole contact with reality. An image coalesced within
the haze—a face, hollow-eyed and fear shrunken. Cheeks sagged
around its slack mouth. Clumps of hair hung over its haunted eyes.
Her father’s face? No, too young. Too feminine.

You see? I have made a place for you beside
your father.

Horrified, she felt herself shrivel. Her
shoulders hunched. Her tattooed hand sparked, but found no
kindling. Its power flickered weakly and died. The broom slipped
from her fingers. This was her fate, to live as a fear-eaten husk
in Fenrir’s shadow.

Monte’s hot, vile breath puffed in her ear.
“Now, bitch, do you see how useless it is to fight El Lobo?”

***

Discarding the flashlight, Junkyard dropped,
rolled, and pulled the knife from his boot in one smooth motion. He
crouched low, one hand braced on the wall. The shadows might have
hidden him, but his warning shout to Lennie had given his position
away. The two gangbangers came after him. Monte went straight for
Lennie.

They had all forgotten Too Long Soo. She
screamed a rebel yell and leaped on a gangbanger’s back. That left
one punk for Junkyard. A happy-sad theater mask tattoo leered at
him in the unsteady light, and he knew he faced the Ragman.

Then he heard Lennie yell. With a quick
glance, he saw Monte’s dark form bend over someone huddled next to
the television. Lennie.

The Ragman would have to wait.

Junkyard dodged the gangbanger and launched a
flying tackle at Monte, ripping him away from Lennie. They landed
hard, with Junkyard on top. The Ragman moved toward them, but
Junkyard pinned Monte with a knee on his chest and put a knife to
his throat.

“So, Ragman—how much does your El Lobo care
about Monte, here?”

Scowling, the Ragman stopped. Monte seemed
unaware of the knife. He howled and struggled to reach Lennie, who
lay on the floor, retching. He might look like he had been through
a meat grinder, but he was strong. Junkyard leaned hard onto
Monte’s chest and broke his skin with the sharp blade.

Monte stopped struggling. His gaze shifted,
casting Junkyard’s face in lurid, yellow light. Junkyard drew back,
staring. “What the hell?”

The light seemed to invade Junkyard’s brain,
loosening his already failing control. Repressed emotions eddied
through his mind. Rage, a need for violence, desire for
revenge...

Soo shrieked. Junkyard blinked and remembered
the third gangbanger. Grimacing with effort, he broke from Monte’s
gaze. The yellow taint faded from his mind.

“No more of that,” he growled. Whatever the
hell that was. He slammed his fist down on Monte’s head
and left him lying on the floor.

Soo clamped a hand to her face. A dark stain
trickled through her fingers. The short gangbanger smiled and
charged her. Before Junkyard could intervene, Soo kicked out,
driving the pointed toe of her boot into the gangbanger’s belly. He
doubled over, sucking for air. Then, grimacing, he lunged at her
again.

“Aw, hell,” Soo said, sounding more disgusted
than afraid. She hefted Woody like a baseball bat and swung.

The wood connected with a crack. The
gangbanger staggered back and teetered at the lip of the door. He
screamed and clutched at the guitar. His fingers tangled in the
strings. Cursing, Soo held onto Woody and tried to shake him
off.

“Soo! Let go!” Junkyard lunged for her, but
he was too far away. The gangbanger’s feet slipped and he tumbled
into the night, pulling Woody after him. Soo let go too late. She
fell forward. Her long frame stretched out the door as if she were
trying to catch wind and fly. Then she was gone.

Junkyard charged the door, as if he might
somehow bring her back. He caught himself on the doorframe,
swinging all but an arm and a leg outside. Battered by the wind, he
stared down the track, hoping to see a long, lanky shape pick
itself up from the gravel. But it was no use, and he knew it. The
train was moving too fast. Tomorrow, someone would find her body.
People would shake their heads in pity—just another hobo lying
broken next to the tracks.

He pressed his forehead to cold metal and
closed his eyes. If Jungle Jim had been his conscience over the
last year, Soo and Bones had been his family. He didn’t think he
had the courage to continue the hunt without them.

“Junkyard! Look out!”

He didn’t register Lennie’s panicked scream
until pain erupted in his hand. His fingers instantly went numb.
Somehow, he held on. He tried to pull himself back inside, but the
Ragman was there, grinning, his fist raised for another blow, and
there was nothing Junkyard could do to stop him.

“Hey! You!” Lennie shouted from inside. “I’ve
got something for you.”

Both men looked over the Ragman’s shoulder.
Lennie faced them, holding a push broom like a ram. Even in the dim
light, Junkyard could see her eyes narrow and her lips curl back
from her teeth in an ugly snarl.

“Eat this!” she screamed, and she rushed the
gangbanger.

The broom caught the Ragman in the back,
spinning him around. He stumbled into the open doorway, arms
windmilling, his tough-guy scowl wiped away by desperation. His
flailing hand brushed Junkyard’s arm, then grabbed for him, but
Junkyard shook him off. Lennie rammed the gangbanger again. This
time, the Ragman caught the broom, and Junkyard feared a replay of
Soo’s death. But before the Ragman could regain his footing, Lennie
gave a last push and let go. The Ragman was gone.

Junkyard imagined he heard the crunch of the
gangbanger hitting the cinders above the roar of the wheels.
Nodding in grim satisfaction, he pulled himself inside.

“Thanks,” he began, “you saved my life.”

Lennie’s expression stopped him. She was
staring out the open door, her hands bunched over her mouth as
though she might throw up. Her face looked gaunt and hollow-eyed in
the dim light. The angry, vertical line between her eyebrows now
seemed out of place in features strained by fear and
exhaustion.

“Lennie?”

She lowered her hands and looked at him, her
eyes full of self-loathing. “I—I killed him. Didn’t I.”

“Oh, Lennie.” She looked so lost. Despite his
doubts about her, he wanted to go to her, to brush the stray curls
from her face and somehow make the pain go away. How could he have
ever thought she was connected to the Hobo Spider murders? “I’m
sorry.”

He felt the movement before he saw it, coming
from the forward end of the boxcar. Monte exploded from the
shadows, eyes burning yellow. Junkyard shoved Lennie out of the
way. The crazed gangbanger drove his shoulder into Junkyard’s gut,
driving him into the boxcar’s back end. Junkyard’s head cracked
against the siding, and the boxcar became a spinning top of pain.
Monte roared and rammed into him again, trapping him against the
wall.

A face out of a horror movie swam in
Junkyard’s blurred vision. Blood-caked. Slack and drooling. That
unbearable stench. How could it be alive? And those eyes—yellow
slits glowing from a bruised and broken skull. As though Monte’s
head were an empty shell and a bright flame burned within.

Junkyard struggled to fight, to clear his
mind, but those eyes...those eyes. Whispering dark tendrils filled
his vision, worming into his mind. He felt Monte’s hands at his
throat, squeezing. He couldn’t breathe. The world blurred in a
yellow haze. Using every ounce of his fading will, Junkyard
wrenched his head and broke eye contact. But he had grown too weak
to break Monte’s strangling grip.

Beyond Monte’s shoulder, Lennie stood as if
frozen. Her eyes were fixed, trance-like, on Monte. Junkyard worked
his jaw, trying to tell her to do something—anything—but no sound
came out. She extended her arm, palm-outward, like she meant to
rush Monte and push him out of the car. She’d probably die trying
unless Junkyard could help.

He beat feebly on Monte’s arms, but his hands
didn’t seem to work right. His head throbbed. His cheeks felt ready
to split. The last of his strength left his body and he sagged. The
only thing holding him upright was Monte’s grip on his neck.

Do it, Lennie. Do whatever. Now.

But instead of rushing Monte, she flexed her
fingers back, a look of hard concentration on her face. Her hair
rose from her shoulders, floating as if lightening were about to
strike. The air sparked and crackled around her, lighting the
boxcar in brief, bright flashes. Startled, Monte let go of Junkyard
and swung to face her.

Junkyard collapsed. Air rushed into his
lungs. He could only lie gasping as Monte went after Lennie.

But as Monte reached for her, sparks flew
from her fingers and swarmed him. With a high-pitched shriek, he
whirled and swatted the air. The sparks spun a cocoon of light,
solidifying in endless, winding, constricting strings, trapping his
arms and legs. He let out an anguished wail and toppled to the
floor. The light in his eyes went dark.

Heaving air down his bruised throat, Junkyard
rolled to his hands and knees. He blinked and shook his head, but
he couldn’t clear the tainted, yellow haze from his vision. Too
weak to stand, he crawled to Monte’s side. The gangbanger’s eyes
stared, unfocused, empty of life. Junkyard remembered the emptiness
behind the yellow slits and wondered if Monte had been dead all
along.

He touched the substance that covered the
body and jerked his hand back, repulsed. It felt unnaturally
smooth, almost gelatinous, like dry slime. And it was string.

The body was covered with white string. Just
like Hotshot. Just like Tin Can Petey.

Just like his brother.

He looked up at Lennie and saw the way her
eyes shone, the exaltation in her face. Who else could have done
what she just did?

He struggled to his feet. If he weren’t so
weak, he knew he would hit her, maybe strangle her as Monte had
tried to strangle him. He wanted to punish her for his suffering
over the last year, for his brother’s horrible death, and for all
the other victims. As it was, he could only muster the energy to
spit in her face.

Lennie snapped out of her trance and wiped at
her cheek. Bemused, she looked at her wet hand, and then saw his
expression. The euphoria bled from her eyes.

“Junkyard,” she said, looking bewildered,
“wh-what’s wrong?”

“It’s you,” he said. “You killed my
brother.”

Chapter 23

“Your brother?”

Lennie stared dazedly at Monte’s cocooned
body. Monte was Junkyard’s brother? That didn’t make sense.

All that string. She had done that. But how?
And why now?

Junkyard had been about to die. She
remembered that much. He had just hung there, limp, with Monte’s
hands around his neck. She couldn’t let him die. But she couldn’t
fight Monte, either. At least, not physically.

Her hand had been buzzing so badly she’d
thought her finger joints might vibrate apart. She had stretched it
toward Monte, thinking maybe this time...

When Monte dropped Junkyard to come after
her, she’d met those horrible yellow eyes. But instead of locking
up and letting that creeping yellow haze overwhelm her, something
clicked in her mind. The world seemed to shift, and it all became
so obvious, so easy. The power streamed from her fingers.

And it felt good. Better than good. She felt
fully alive and strong. Unbeatable. Like approaching the end of a
400-meter race knowing she was well in front and going to win.