Chronicles of Jonathan Tibbs 1: The Never Hero (53 page)

As he pushed himself to his feet, it all became so simple. Dams the Gate wanted to be here, and Jonathan was still looking for a way out. The Ferox desired every moment of this, wanted him to get up and keep fighting, wanted to feel pain and give it in return. It wasn’t conflicted, it had no doubts about its goals, it was primal rage and taking his life was its only purpose in this existence. It came here eagerly, through a gate to another world, to find him, and he’d still been running away.

He wasn’t supposed to recognize himself when this was over. He wasn’t walking away unscathed. He couldn’t be normal or ever hope to find normal again. He’d been naïve to hold on to the hope that he could.

The dark side of the story, Jonathan, you know its name.

All of this, every last atrocity was happening in a place where only he and Dams the Gate mattered. The world didn’t need to like what he’d have to become to save it. Today, mankind didn’t need him to be a champion, it didn’t need him to be a savior.

It just needs a killer.

Jonathan felt himself let go, felt himself give permission to the part of him struggling for its freedom. The panic muted around him, pushed out by the fury rising to the forefront, and as the change touched his eyes, the light, the spark in them that could be a victim, went out.

Reaching his feet, the eyes of a killer found the Ferox stepping toward him. Jonathan reached up, finding the zipper of his coat, and pulled it open. The light from his chest spilled out of its confines, and Dams the Gate grew insane with bloodlust at the sight of it.

Its neck began to bulge, darkening as the thick tar surged into its jugular, blackening its eyes. Jonathan’s hands dropped to his side as he waited, letting it all happen, letting the beast come to him.

Death won’t be able to tell us apart.

He didn’t move, not until the Ferox, sure of its impending victory, drunk with the anticipation of violence, lunged for him.

He reached up to intercept it. His hands grabbing hold of its chest and neck, the beast’s momentum sliding him back over the wet cement toward the shaft of the elevator. Its jaws snapped at his face like a raptor trying to sink its beak into prey. He could feel the force of the monster pressing in on him, trying to shorten the distance between them, trying to make his arms bend to its strength. Jonathan’s feet skidded across the ground, unable to find traction on the wet cement.

They stopped abruptly when his boot found leverage against the elevator shaft. He held it off there, pushing back against the metal doors. He remembered the syringe in the hallway, the pillar below the viaduct. His nightmares, now powerless over him, only fueled his rage, feeding the violence he’d let free within.

As he pushed back, growling with the effort, everything he had was brought to bear against it, and he felt the Ferox begin to lose ground.

Its inability to force its will on him was a revelation. He gazed back into the monsters eyes as the truth revealed itself, a smile cracking his lips as he returned the monster’s stare. The beast, becoming agitated, shook with effort as it realized what was happening. He saw, behind those white eyes turned black, it recognized it could be the one to die.

In its moment of fear, he brought his hand down from the beast’s chest, gripping it into a fist. No longer fragile or small, the hand was steel. He let out a roar as the fist smashed into the monsters throat. Its legs buckled as its hands instinctively came up to protect its neck. Its guard down, the Ferox dropped to its knees in pain. In an instant, he kicked hard into its chest, rolling it back across the roof.

Jonathan, eager for more, began to step forward, but stopped as a thought occurred to him. He turned to the chain dangling behind him, gripping the padlock with his hands and crushing the mechanism in on itself. Quickly, he pulled it free and returned his attention to the injured Ferox.

The helicopter had circled and the light now shown down on Jonathan’s back, making the monster flinch to keep its eyes on him. It was hunched over, one hand on its neck, hacking up its black blood. Its eyes watching Jonathan step toward it with uncertainty.

As he closed the distance between them, he wrapped the chain around his right glove tightly, until if felt like a part of him, making his hand into a hammer.

“You know, Dams the Gate, I wish I could send you back alive. So you could tell every last one of your kind what waits for them here.”

As the Ferox tried to stand, Jonathan charged. The creature’s legs were unsure, it hesitated, not knowing if it should attack or protect its injury. It made the wrong decision. It covered up defensively and was knocked hard across the roof, ramming into one of the I-beams protruding from building’s skeleton.

He was on it again in a second, giving no mercy, feeling no pity. It would not be allowed to collect itself.

Halfway risen to its knees he caught it hard with the chained fist, its jaw wrenched to the side as it took the blow. Black fluid slapped the pavement. His free hand darted in, grabbing holding of it, keeping it in place. He fist rained down blows. Beating the beast into the building, the steel beam bent inward from the rage he’d set lose on the monster.

He looked down at his enemy, and saw that it had no strength left to stand, saw that links of the chain had broken in the barrage and embedded themselves in its face and throat. It struggled to breath, to hold onto consciousness.

Jonathan heard the guttural growling of a man losing his sanity, and realized the sound came from him. Blood dripping from his lips he roared down at its defeated body. Unclenching his fist, he wrapped what was left of the chain around the half conscious creature’s neck and pulled it to its feet against the beam.

From between gritted teeth, the thing inside of him spoke. After lying dormant so long, waiting to have Death by the throat, waiting to have the power to change something, it knew exactly what it wanted, knew exactly what war it was meant to fight.

“I will be the end of your species.”

The Ferox’s eyes tried to focus, but Jonathan had no interest in savoring the moment. It could think about his words on its way to the ground. He swung Dams the Gate toward the edge and let go of the chain, watching his enemy fall out of sight as it plummeted from the roof.

He scaled down the side of the building, the light of the helicopter and the wind from its blades making it all the more difficult to do so. At least it had stopped raining.

Excali-bar returned to the harness on his back, he dropped a few stories at a time, reaching out to halt his momentum every few levels. He dropped again and again and it hurt every time. Even with the device activated he could feel his injuries draining him. It didn’t matter. He’d be done bleeding soon.

Pain was just a warning that something was damaged, a little alarm saying, you might want to stop what you’re doing before you break something permanently. As long as he destroyed that stone, the pain in his body could complain all it wanted. He only had to bear it a little longer. When there were only six stories left, he dropped to the ground.

The helicopter light followed him. The police had the construction site gates open. He was grateful for that. The idea of having to jump over anything else tonight hurt just to think about. He worried that the police would try to stop him, tell him to freeze or to put his hands up, that he would have to push through them to get to the beast’s body. He didn’t want tonight to be the night he found out if he was bulletproof. Luckily, that didn’t happen. They didn’t seem to know what to make of any of this, let alone Jonathan, walking toward them with his chest ablaze.

As he approached, he saw open mouths, he might have heard murmurs of confusion, but he couldn’t hear them over the helicopter blades. The perpetual thudding noise drowning out what otherwise would have been a noisy city street.

The police parted for him again as he approached the body. They let him walk into a ring where officers surrounded the Ferox. It had put a hole in the city street, large cracks emanated from the point of impact.

He realized then it wasn’t dead. It was bleeding out, gargling on its own insides. It struggled to move, desperately reaching out for something, like it was hallucinating. What a Ferox might reach for in the throes of death, Jonathan couldn’t imagine. He wished it had died, he wished it would realize that all there was left to do was die.

As he looked down at it, he remembered that the Ferox was as alone as he was here. Beaten to near death and surrounded by people who were about to forget it existed. This arena that pitted them against each other outside of place and time was isolating to the both of them.

He didn’t know how it was possible that his pity had returned, that such a pure rage could crawl back inside of him and make room for other emotions. Jonathan unsheathed the staff once again. He wouldn’t make it wait for release, it felt too cruel. He couldn’t help but feel it could be him struggling in the street, reaching out for some last vision of life.

It was the last time this Jonathan would feel these things, he knew that sympathy for his enemy could only get him killed. He looked for the largest chink in its armor and hammered down blows until there was a crack large enough to impale it.

He was glad he couldn’t hear the people watching. He didn’t want to know what their reactions were as he reached into the body, dumping that black sludge, still warm, all over the street. Why were they watching him anyway? Why did they have to watch this savagery? He supposed he was like any soldier. The world didn’t need to know he was out there. They certainly shouldn’t want to watch him do whatever he needed to do, become whatever he had to become. They’d reap the benefits of his existence regardless.

Once Jonathan had his hands on the stone, he ripped it free, just as he’d seen Heyer do on the docks before. He walked away a few feet and sat in the middle of the street. The people watching him may as well have already ceased to exist. He removed the gloves he’d been wearing. Sitting there, he wiped off the stone, until all the black blood was gone and all that remained was the glowing red orb. He took one last deep breathe, his ribs reminding him they were cracked.

Jonathan shut his eyes and clenched his fist.

“It’s all a matter of how they respond to what happens to them. There is no sure bet that one will become the savior,” Hayden finished.

Jonathan’s face looked more serious than Hayden had expected. A moment ago he’d been interested, now he looked out of sorts. The change had been so sudden, and Jonathan didn’t speak for a moment.

“I think it’s a good story,” Jonathan said. After a brief silence he excused himself, saying his drowsiness was finally catching up with him.

Hayden, of course, found that completely reasonable. After all, it was four in the morning.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Tuesday | September 5, 2005 | 11:00 AM

IT
was late afternoon when Leah pulled into the parking lot. There was one other vehicle there, as she’d been advised would be the case. She parked and stepped out of her car. As she approached the black sedan, the rear passenger door opened and Olivia stepped out of the vehicle, holding the door open for her.

“So good to see you,” Olivia said, her words polite and business-like.

Leah reached into her pocket, retrieving a small memory card and holding it out to Olivia.

“Here is a compilation of all the most recent photos I’ve been able to take of the subjects,” Leah said.

“Excellent,” Olivia said taking the card, “I look forward to your report.”