“Letho, get up here!” Saul shouted.
Letho clambered to the front of the razorback, careful not to lose his footing as the metal beast attempted to buck him. Saul was doing his best to keep the razorback on a straight course, even though it meant mowing down mutant after mutant. The creatures disappeared one by one under the razorback’s brush-guard in gory spurts. Letho attempted to block out the sound of bones popping and tissue liquifying under the wheels.
In the front seat, Letho kicked out the shattered, bloodstained windshield, then ripped the shoulder strap from his assault rifle and looped it around the razorback’s windshield frame. Clutching it in his right fist, he leapt onto the hood. In his mind he pictured himself assuming a heroic pose: crouched low on the hood of the razorback, sword drawn. But instead he slipped in the thick soup that coated the hood and fell flat on his ass. He slipped over the edge, his boots dragging on the slick ground. He felt claws grasping at him, and he panicked as he remembered the sensation of the mutants piling on top of him, choking the air out of him. Pulling with all his might and slamming his feet down to the ground, he launched himself into the air and, pivoting on the taut strap, landed back on the hood of the razorback.
Second try’s the charm, Letho thought, unsheathing Saladin. Then he closed his eyes and let Saladin go to work. He felt hot ichor spraying his body, heard mutants thudding around him as they fell.
“Left turn ahead,” Saladin said.
Saul jerked the wheel, and the razorback swerved in a wide arc, tires spinning. The bodies of several mutants provided a sickening cushion as the vehicle slammed into the tunnel wall. Then the way in front was clear, and Saul opened the razorback’s engine wide, pouring in as much fuel as she would drink.
Relieved, Letho looked back—just in time to see Johnny tumble over the back of the razorback, thrown off balance by the impact with the wall. Gruesome gray hands welcomed him from all sides as he fell like a lead singer stage-diving into a throng of his greatest fans. His rifle sprayed the ceiling, providing strobed images of his quick and gory demise.
“Johnny, NO!” Letho shouted.
The pursuing mutants stopped to feast on the meal of Johnny Zip, ceasing their assault on the razorback.
Stunned, Letho turned back and faced forward. The end of the tunnel was just up ahead. If only Johnny had hung on a little longer.
But then Letho realized they had another problem. There was no light at the end of this tunnel; no opening. Just a concrete wall.
And it was coming too fast.
Letho started to warn Saul, but he must have already seen it because he hit the brakes and threw the wheel to the left, sending the razorack into a spin. It slammed sideways into a waist-high solid barrier, and the impact sent Letho hurtling through the air. He crashed into the wall, and saw no more.
****
Maka surged forward, curling his god-sized fist and pulverizing a sneering Mendraga’s face. His body throbbed with the unfettered flow of adrenaline. A rifle blast tore through his shoulder, and he roared and pressed forward toward the gunman. The Mendraga, seeing Maka’s charge, fumbled with his rifle, his eyes wide with abject fear. Maka snatched the rifle out of the Mendraga’s hands and kicked him high into the smoky air. Then he charged into a throng of Mendraga and began tearing, slashing.
He tasted Mendraga blood in his mouth but did not remember biting. The reptilian part of his brain reveled in the primitive rightness of it, while his cortex rejected the spoiled, syrupy flavor. He spat to the side, and took a moment to issue a gut-wrenching roar.
The Mendraga were issuing their own battle call. They were calling for retreat.
But Maka wasn’t finished with them. He waved his arm forward, commanding his brethren to surge ahead. “After them, brothers! We finish this!” he roared.
The Tarsi followed the retreating Mendraga past the city wall. All around them, what appeared to be an open market was in flames. Maka stumbled over a body that grappled at his feet. An ape-like woman clutched at him, her eyes wide with fear. Bodies of fallen Mendraga and hammerheads clogged the dirty thoroughfares.
The Tarsi pursued the Mendraga into the heart of the slums, crushing them into the backs of another platoon of beleaguered Mendraga overseers. The Mendraga soon found themselves surrounded on all sides—by blood-bathed Tarsi, human conscripts, and thick-browed revolutionaries—and were cut down in a hail of gunfire.
Cheers erupted from the crowd. One of the workers held a Mendraga’s severed head in an raised hand, barking in defiance. The workers and conscripts congratulated each other, exchanging handshakes and firm embraces. Women and children were emerging from unburned hovels. They rushed to greet their men, still standing or otherwise. More than one moan cut through the celebratory roar as women and children discovered fallen fathers, sisters, mothers.
It was then that Maka saw Bayorn, and his heart soared. He ran to his brother, and they embraced, both covered in ash and blood.
“Maka, you made it!” Bayorn shouted.
“As did you!” Maka replied.
Beside Bayorn was a hammerhead who did not look quite like the rest. He carried himself more upright, and his eyes glimmered with higher intelligence. He looked up at Maka.
“I am Adum,” he said, extending his hand.
Maka engulfed the hand in his own. “I am Maka, of the Centennial Fulcrum.”
“I have heard your name, great one. Bayorn has told me of you.”
Maka shrugged, smiling.
Bayorn then turned to address the gathered Eursans, Tarsi, and hammerheads.
“We must go to the palace. To end this. Together we will chase Abraxas and his scum off the face of this planet. For Letho!” Adum repeated these words in the simple language of the hammerheads, to ensure their understanding.
Another roar rose from the crowd. LETHO! BAYORN! MAKA! they shouted.
Then they gathered into loose ranks, and began their march.
****
Consciousness returned to Letho in small flashes of pain and light. He was aware of pressure under his armpits and the sensation of friction on his back. In the background someone was shouting.
“Letho, wake up!” someone said. It was Saul. He was dragging Letho’s limp body toward a ladder. Blessed light shown down from the opening above, illuminating the gory scene that Letho found himself in.
Letho clambered to his feet, clenching his teeth as pain washed over him. Bones were knitting back together, ruptures sealing. He took one last look at the overturned razorback and thought about Johnny—another senseless loss. He hadn’t known the man very well at all, but he seemed like a good fellow.
As Letho surveyed the wreckage, he saw something resting on the ground near the razorback. It was Johnny’s detonator. Letho walked over and picked it up, slipped it inside his boot.
“Hurry up, Letho!” Saul shouted. “They’ll be coming for us soon. We gotta get out of here!”
I’ll light it up for you, Johnny. Rest in peace.
Letho followed Saul up the ladder. It led to a small maintenance shed that enclosed the entrance to the drainage tunnels. Probably meant to keep kids from wandering down there and getting hurt—back when there were kids around who engaged in such mischief, Letho thought. Saul disengaged the deadbolt and slowly opened the door. As they emerged into the open air, the sound of intermittent gunfire filled the air. Letho said a silent prayer for his friends, then returned his focus to the task at hand.
Just as Saladin had promised, they were less than a block away from the palace. Saul and Letho jumped a fence and found an unlocked door at the back of the building.
“Unlocked,” Letho mused. “A little bit of luck today.”
“Yeah, luck,” Saul grunted. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Saul,” Letho said, “Johnny. I…”