Don't Be a Hero: A Superhero Novel (38 page)

“Say we find Doll Face,” she said, breaking the silence. “What’s the plan? We can’t go calling Met Div in on this one.” Doll Face would see the flashing lights coming a mile away, and she didn’t fancy cleaning copper blood off her hands.

He shook his head. “This is our fight. We should’ve taken him down years ago, back when we still had the numbers. But he moved around so fast, going to ground straight after one massacre and then popping up on the other side of the world. And the supergroups were too reactionary, waiting for something to happen instead of tracking him down.”

“There were other things to worry about,” she said. “The Nagasaki Horrors in your time, the Syndicate in mine.”

“We’re paying the price now. But we’ll learn from this. We’ll do better next time.”

She frowned and checked the charge generator on her gun. “There’s not going to be a next time. We’re it. The last bloody superteam.”

He just smiled. Fine, let him have his fantasies. Let him dream of a world where people still need heroes. They both knew what they were going into, chasing Doll Face like this. If they had to die, at least one of them could leave a smiling corpse.

Solomon spotted the dust-caked sign on the side of the road and pointed it out to her.
Schuster Meat Solutions
. He slowed and took the bend in the road. The building emerged from behind a hill. As soon as she saw it, she knew this was the place.

The smile on Solomon’s face faded, replaced by a look of hardened determination. Without exchanging a word, he pulled over in the shelter of a small copse of trees. They pulled on their costumes. If she’d been religious, she would’ve said a prayer, but instead she just checked her gun once more. Live rounds armed. With Doll Face, there’d be no second chances.

They crept up a small mound, crawling as they approached the top to avoid making silhouettes against the skyline. The freezing works was a brick building topped by two side-by-side slanting roofs. It sat in the centre of a wide basin, with overgrown roads leading up to both ends. Once, it would’ve been a big operation, probably supplying most of the jobs of some nearby town long since abandoned. From her position atop the hill, she could make out native forest reclaiming the surrounding farmland and a few sheep still managing to scratch out a life on the land. The air was still, silent. No birds sung. Goose bumps crept along her arms.

There was no sign of Quanta’s airship. If the cloaking was as good as the reporter said, they’d have a hell of a time finding it. But that didn’t matter. It was the bodies that marked Schuster Meat Solutions as Doll Face’s new home.

Doll Face had skinned the three bodies from the neck down. Their muscles had gone dry and brown in the sun. Pools of dried blood stained the concrete beneath them. They dangled near the entrance, strung up on long ropes by hooks that pierced their arms and legs.

“Like puppets,” she whispered. She swallowed back bile.

Solomon’s eyes were closed behind his mask. His hand had gone to the pouch on the right side of his belt. She knew it held a small silver cross his wife had given him. She’d only seen him do this once before. The day the Syndicate had left Battle Jack’s severed head outside the Wardens’ headquarters.

Niobe gripped her gun so hard her fingers ached. She looked up at the sky. Why did they always have to do this in the daytime? She laid her free hand on Solomon’s shoulder, and he opened his eyes. Without a word, he slipped the hatchet from the loop in his belt. With the quarterstaff in one hand and the axe in the other, he didn’t look so much like a peaceful farmer.

Without speaking, they slipped from their cover and made their way silently down the hill. Aside from a low wooden fence, there was no cover, no way to approach unseen. Two dozen boarded-up windows covered the side of the freezing works.
There’s no eyes in those windows
, she tried to convince herself every time she thought she saw a flash of movement.

The air became a wall of buzzing flies as she approached the bodies. She pushed through them, grateful that her mask kept them from crawling into her ears and nose. Still, that didn’t block out the stench of rotting flesh. The bodies were peppered with wriggling maggots. Her stomach rebelled, but she swallowed down the nausea before it could overtake her.
You can’t afford to lose it.

With all her strength, she forced her eyes upwards to look at the faces of the dead. Doll Face had left the skin there intact, but the eyes had been replaced by staring plastic with grotesque false eyelashes glued to them. It took her a moment to notice that lines of stitching ran around the tops of each of their heads, like they’d been scalped and then sewed up again. She knew one of the faces. He’d been on the front page of the paper yesterday morning. One of the small-time meta criminals that had broken out of prison a couple of days ago. Somehow, she didn’t think this was how he intended to spend his freedom.

Through the cloud of flies, she signalled to the Carpenter. He nodded, flies crawling across his unprotected chin, then carefully ducked under one of the bodies to reach the freezing works’ brick wall. She followed, suppressing the urge to shudder when she got a close look at the hooks that pierced the dead prisoners’ tendons.

They pressed against the wall on opposite sides of the wooden doors. She peered through one of the cracks in the battered wood, eyes straining, but even with her contrast turned up, she couldn’t see any movement. She blinked the sweat out of her eyes and glanced at the Carpenter.

“Do it,” she said.

He thrust his arms out, eyes pulsing with light. The doors flew off their hinges, blown inwards. Before the first crash, she was moving, her gun leading the way.

A tiny flash of movement was the only warning she got. Fear hit her faster than logical thought. She dived into shadow. It saved her life. The three circular blades embedded themselves in the door frame with a sickening crunch, right where she’d been standing.

She released the shadow. She brought her gun up, squeezed the trigger twice. Her rounds pinged against something metallic. An eerie giggle shrieked in response. She ducked behind a rusted conveyor system as another pair of blades came flying at her.
Jesus Christ.

The Carpenter threw himself in beside her as another spinning blade soared past, taking a slice out of his hat. Panting, he pushed himself up against the machine. “I’m starting to think the element of surprise is overrated.”

A figure moved on the far side of the room. She squeezed off another two shots and ducked back as a blade answered. Doll Face giggled louder. “Doll Face has a new plaything!” The high-pitched voice echoed through the meat works. “It will be pretty like the others once it cuts off its own skin.”

Every hair on her body stood on end. Her mouth had gone dry. The stench in here was even worse than outside. She crept along the side of the conveyor, licking her lips. “Sam!” she called out. “We’ve come to get you out. If you can hear me, stay down.”

Another wave of giggles rolled across the room. “It’s a funny one, yes it is. Did the boy hear that? Maybe Doll Face will string the boy up with the others and make it dance for the funny one. Or maybe Doll Face will skin the boy himself. Hmmm, yes.” A muffled groan came from somewhere behind him.

“Shit,” she whispered to herself while she broke open the revolver and slipped in some fresh rounds. “Carpenter.” He wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling. “Hey, Carpenter.”

“Mate.” He pointed up, and she followed his finger.

“Oh, fuck,” she said.

More than a dozen bodies hung by their feet from the ceiling. The meat hooks went through their ankles and left their arms pointing towards the floor. She could make out rivers of dried blood on their fingers. The ones closest to the door were naked and skinned like the ones outside, while the ones further back were still dressed.

One of the bodies twitched. Her breath caught. It had a plastic mask stitched to its face, but she recognised the build and the blue uniform. Daniel O’Connor, the Met Div officer who’d captured Sam. A long, agonised groan came from him as he dangled, blood matting his hair.
Oh God, he’s still alive.

“Help…” O’Connor said in a rasp, his voice muffled by the mask. “P…please….”

Jesus. She’d hated the man since she saw him in the Blind Man’s vision, but no one deserved this. She raised herself up an inch to reach for him, but another pair of blades flew at her, forcing her back down. He was too far away.

“Carpenter, can you get to him?”

Doll Face’s giggle rippled through the room.

“Not a chance,” the Carpenter said.

A scream tore through the room. Niobe’s attention snapped back to O’Connor. He was moving. His muscled arms jerked up and down. Was he trying to pull free? No. There were strings in his arms, like the bodies outside. The ropes went up to little pulleys set in the ceiling, then disappeared into the back of the meat works. Doll Face was putting on a puppet show for them. O’Connor’s tortured screams grew louder.

One by one, the bodies began to dance. Clumps of coagulated blood shook loose and rained down on her as she huddled for cover. One chunk landed on her knee. She slapped it away and forced herself to keep her eyes open. Closing them was death. More pulleys started grinding, and the bodies slowly dropped to eye level, never stopping their inverted, macabre dance.

Niobe blocked out the sound of O’Connor’s screams. To get him down they had to take out Doll Face. The Carpenter had his sleeve across his mouth. He glanced through a space in the conveyor. “Can you see the kid?”

She took a look herself, trying to get a clear view through the darkness and the bodies. Shafts of light slanted in through cracks in the boarded-up windows, but all they illuminated was flies and dust. “Hang on.”

She sucked in a lungful of air and drew the shadow around her. The rusted surfaces of the benches were thrown into high contrast, and she could sense the slick layer of blood that coated the concrete floor. The dancing bodies turned everything into a confused mess of movement. At least the screams were dulled. She darted across the floor, trying to get closer. Rows of conveyors and benches filled the space between her and Doll Face. On the far wall she could just make out a set of open doors, probably leading to the cold storage area. A figure was dragging something out of there. No. Someone.

She slipped out of the shadow next to Solomon. “Carpenter. He’s taking the kid to the meat cutting area.”

“Why can they never take their dates to the pictures like normal folk?” His voice was as strained as the joke. “If I give you a distraction—”

“I’ll get him. See you on the other side, Carpenter.”

“Good luck, hero.”

She slipped back into shadow just in time to sense the Carpenter stand and fling back his cloak. In one movement, he ripped open a pouch on his belt and flung the contents into the air. Twenty balls of petrified wood flew like bullets, curving around the dancing bodies to head straight for Doll Face.

She didn’t wait to see if they hit. She was already moving up the wall, darting around the boarded-up windows, making her way to the back of the room.

A shrieking laugh rattled the walls. She couldn’t tell if it was because the Carpenter had hit, or because he’d missed. She was close enough now to make out Sam’s bound and struggling body as Doll Face lifted him one-armed onto a steel preparation bench. The masked creature picked up a cleaver, casually hurled it at the Carpenter, then picked up a smaller knife and turned his cocked head towards Sam.

Niobe slid back to the floor and darted closer. The improvised wooden bullets were still harassing Doll Face, crashing into him, but he didn’t seem to notice even when they broke his skin and cracked his ribs. Behind her, she could see the Carpenter running amongst the dancing bodies, the remnants of one of the doors hovering in front of him like a shield. Doll Face continued to toss knives at him even as he brought his own blade down on Sam’s bare chest.

Now.
She dropped the shadow and rose shooting. Six rounds flew at Doll Face’s torso.

He dodged them.

No. It wasn’t possible. No one was that fast. The creature turned to her, a pink grin painted across his plastic mask. She didn’t notice the flick of his hand until the flying blade pierced her thigh. With a grunt, she dropped to one knee, pain lancing upwards.
He’s so fast
. Her vision blacked for a moment.

The Carpenter’s cry brought her back. She saw him topple, a trickle of blood coming from his shoulder where a blade had found a gap in his shield. He was up again in a second, scrambling for cover.

With a grunt, she ripped the knife from her thigh. The blood didn’t pulse out. No arterial bleeds. But as she tried to get back to her feet, she knew she was already too late.

Sam’s half-naked body was blue from the cold storage area, his skin torn in a dozen places across his arms and legs. His arms were bound behind him. He looked so small, so broken. He grunted and flopped from side to side. Above him, Doll Face stood giggling, a knife inches from Sam’s chest. Somewhere, a humming stopped. The bodies on the ceiling stopped dancing. O’Connor’s screaming finally ceased.

“Let’s make the toy sing,” Doll Face said. “Yes, let’s.”

The point touched Sam’s skin. That was as far as he got.

A sonic boom exploded from Sam’s mouth. Doll Face reeled backwards, screeching. Niobe went down on her back, trying to keep her brain from leaking out her ears. The ropes that bound Sam’s arms vanished in a burst of smoke, leaving ash in their wake. With an animal ferocity, Sam leapt at Doll Face. It might have been the ringing in her ears, but she swore Doll Face was screaming.

Sam’s body wasn’t blue anymore. It wasn’t flesh at all. The skin rippled once, and then the boy was covered head-to-toe in chrome. The floor cracked beneath him. The metallic behemoth advanced on Doll Face, the ground shaking with every step.

Niobe told herself to move, but her legs wouldn’t work. She couldn’t even feel the knife wound in her leg. What the hell was going on?