Maurice Broaddus - King Maker

Swinging the crowbar like a sword swung with skill and precision, an exuberance to the grim task thrilled Lott. Black ichor, more than blood, poured from the slit throat of one. A decomposed fist slammed into his skull, the warning cry of "look out" from Lady G arriving seconds too late. Lott staggered to the floor; the creature's desiccated arm lashed out and lifted him from the ground before he could retrieve his crowbar. Its strength flowed from somewhere else, because its brittle arms didn't hold enough muscle to swat at a passing mosquito. Whatever animated them also burned them up. The creature held him up, waiting for others to see his prize and come tear him apart. As if catching his scent from upwind, some undead striders stopped in midmovement and ambled toward them. Lott fished into the side pockets of his jeans and pulled out the screwdrivers. Plunging the twin daggers, he rammed the screwdrivers into each of its eye sockets, exploding what was left of its eye and piercing what passed for its brain. Landing as the creature collapsed, Lott tugged at the screwdriver which was stuck in the bone of the eye socket. As he yanked it free, it flew out of his grasp and tumbled to the ground. As ravenous for a blast as it had been in life, a fiend fell to its knees, grabbed it and jammed it into its arm.

Wayne, his foot still caught in the chest of the fiend who didn't know enough to drop dead, dragged his leg bringing the creature with it. The body crashed into the others, which allowed Wayne to roll through the grasp of one of them. Tavon's rasping fingers found purchase in his side and his side burned as the fingers clawed through his flesh. He grabbed Tavon with both hands and headbutted him. Wayne whirled the body like a shield, shoving the fiends back. He threw Tavon to the ground. Any trace of the man he knew was gone, so Wayne stomped on the back of his skull, smashing its jaws on the sidewalk. A hole opened up among the ranks and he waved Merle and Lady G through it. He chanced one last look at Tavon's still form and told himself that he had to do what he had to do.

Loose Tooth scuttled toward King. In death he seemed to have put on weight. The former old man had renewed vigor as his mouth, his jaw barely attached, dangled open and snap shut as he entangled King in his embrace. Contempt filled his hollowed eyes. King pulled as far away from the chomping teeth as he could, then forced the bat's hilt upward into its gaping maw. A sound, rather like gagging, preceded the creature's arms slackening enough for King to escape. With a hefting swing, the bat connected with the creature's neck, the head held fast by a skin flap of rent flesh and spidery sinew. The creature's eyes followed him. Its mouth moved, tongue black and swollen, words voicelessly formed on its lips though without air enough to express them. In the throes of the brief loss of self accompanying a swift punch to the belly, King couldn't swallow and couldn't breathe. For a moment, King studied the still form, thinking he should feel something more, a vague sense of satisfaction or even vindication. But he felt nothing. Only the hollowness, the sense of waste that came with a pointless loss of life.

Only Merle knew that King had avenged the death of his father.

King waved Lott after him, following the path cut by Wayne. When they got into the main entryway doors, they ran the bat and crowbar through the door's handles to keep it wedged shut.

"That was easy enough." King gulped in the dry air, his strength rushing back to his numb limbs. His skin flushed hot to the touch, a battle fever rushed through his system.

"Knock on wood or something." Claw marks covered Wayne, chunks of flesh torn from his body. Blood coated his jeans, an ugly gash along his leg seen through his torn pants.

"No need. That was hardly its best. Merely its squires called home," Merle said. "The creatures were half-dead when we started. It was like they'd already done what they were called to do."

"Like attack whoever got in their way?" Lott tottered on his feet, hands pressed against his thighs to steady himself until he caught his breath.

"Were they keeping us out or going for Night?" Wayne echoed.

"They were pawns used by both sides until they were used up. Look at them. They aren't even pursuing us now." King reflected on what Omarosa had said, about Night getting his package off Dred's consignment thinking he was safe here at the Phoenix. Taking out a rival in a way that might bite the hand that fed him, but moving others to complicate and disarm or possibly just distract his rivals; now that opened up all new realms of possibility. It created a sea of uncertainty. Change the players, change the game. "Dred's playing both ends against a useless middle."

"What?" Wayne asked.

"Just piecing things together," King said. "All of this feels like a distraction, misdirecting us from the true objective."

"You're learning," Merle said.

"Never a true shortage of crack fiends no ways," Lott said.

"We need to grab Rhee and get out." Lady G tugged at King.

"Yeah, we need to keep going," King said. "We cut this off at the source and hope this whole nightmare ends."

A bank of mail slots lined the foyer wall of the Phoenix Apartments building, each slot large enough for bills, collection notices, and subsidy checks. With the layout of an old elementary school and the design sense of a detention center, two hallways branched from there, each leading to elevators each with signs which perpetually read "out of order" and stairwells whose lights had been busted out. As they essayed further into the building, King noticed bizarre symbols carved into the walls and seen within the swirls of graffiti letters to the discerning eye. The symbols were reminiscent of, though not exactly matching, the ones on the box which held his Caliburn. In the last vestiges of light, the tags for ESG had been spray-painted over with the letters "ICU" within a circle.

A tremulous silence enveloped them, the palpable shadows thick as curtains. The dank odor of piss and sweat mixed with mildew hung cloyingly in the air. With so little light, the walls were cancerous with fungal growth. Women avoided walking the stairwell alone for fear of the shadow denizens grabbing and attacking them. Their nerves stretched like fine catgut, ready for a symphony of terror to be wrung from them, Lady G clutched after King's hand. Wayne stumbled in the darkness.

"You ain't got no kind of creep to you," Lott whispered to Wayne.

"You know what the cops say?" King said.

"What?"

"It's like an underground world over here."

"Hades," Merle added.

"Everyone knows everyone," Lady G said. "So folks trying to hide can always find someone to let them in they apartment."

"Always jumpin'," Wayne said.

"Got to learn to sleep through that mess," Lott said.

King cocked his head in the direction of a sound he thought he heard. The darkness pooled all around them, a living thing in its own way, distorting sound and even their sense of balance. Their voices drifted apart, no one able to determine the location of another, though King's hand tightened around Lady G's. Again, the idea of sound tickled King's ears. An odd, indistinct skritch in the distance.

"Sh!" King said.

"What?"

"What part of 'sh' didn't you get?" King leaned toward the deepening shadows. "You hear that?"

A whir, similar to the hum of current through a power line, thrummed along the walls. The croak began as a whisper. Had they still been outside, they would have seen the mouths of the remaining fiends moving in unison. The shadows swirled like a rushing wind. The apartment foyer, casket-dark and desolate, called out in a mouthless whisper.

"The endgame approaches. Good. So hungry. So tired."

"What do you want?" King shouted at the darkness.