Repairman Jack [07]-Gateways (49 page)

“Oh no!” She started feelin’ around on the floorboards, real frantic like. But it was so dark in here. “Where’d they go?”

She couldn’t control the chew wasps without ’em. They’d all go flyin’ back to the sinkhole if she wasn’t there to hold them.

Or maybe they wouldn’t.

Semelee wasn’t sure which would be worse.

10

“Jack!” Dad shouted. “Look!”

Jack was reloading the Ruger, readying to riddle the
Bull-ship
’s superstructure with a few more Casulls. He’d been leaning against his father’s back, getting rocked forward whenever Dad’s shotgun went off, rocking back with the recoil from the Ruger.

He half turned, not sure of what he’d heard. His ears were ringing from the thunder and the booms of the weapons.

“What?”

“Those things. They were all clustered together at first, then they started dividing into two groups, and now…”

Jack turned further and squinted through the rain. He watched for a moment as the cenote things buzzed around in disarray, practically bumping into one another in midair. It looked like they didn’t know where they were, but the men from the boats were still cheering them on.

One of the things veered out over the water; two more followed it; then the whole swarm was making a beeline for the boats. Suddenly the cheering stopped, replaced a couple of heartbeats later by the reports of rifles and shotguns. Jack saw the clan knock a few down, but then the swarm was upon them. The shooting stopped, replaced by screams of pain and panic.

11

Semelee waited for the lightnin’ to flash again. That was the only time she could see what she was doin’. Here! A new flash, coming through the broke windows—where was they? She crouched on her hands and knees, search in the floor. Where was those damn eye-shells?

At least the big bullets had stopped poundin’ through the walls. Not for long she bet. Probably just reloadin’. In another minute—

Somebody started screamin’ outside. Then another. She recognized Luke’s voice among the hellish choir. He sounded like he was bein’ tortured. She jumped to the door and peeked out.

The chew wasps! They was attackin’ the clan. Oh shit oh shit oh shit! What was she gonna do?

Another lightnin’ flash, this time through the doorway. She looked around just in time to see the shells, lyin’ on the floor right up against the wall to her right. She jumped on them and clutched them tight in her fists.

Thank God! She had them. Now she could turn the chew wasps away and get them headed back to where they should be—on Jack and his daddy. But as she raised them to her eyes the door burst open and somethin’ came staggerin’ into the cabin.

Semelee screamed as it lurched to the left, then the right, then stumbled toward her. Whatever it was, it didn’t look human. It let out a muffled screech and then the lightnin’ flashed and Semelee screamed again. It was a man with three of the chew wasps hangin’ on him. One on his leg, the other with its head buried in his flank, and the third with its teeth worryin’ his face. He screeched again, then spun and collapsed onto his belly. He twitched a few times, then lay still.

Another flash of lightnin’ gave her another look at him. Through the rips in his shirt Semelee saw scales and finny spines on his back and knew who it was.

“Luke!”

Her eye-shells. She could use them to get Luke free of the wasps. But before she could get them up, the one on Luke’s leg let go and buzzed straight at Semelee’s face. She stumbled back and fell out the door onto the deck and into a hell on earth. Chew wasps and blood-soaked men everywhere—and the men who wasn’t screamin’ wasn’t movin’.

Semelee’s arrival got their instant attention. The chew wasp that chased her out of the cabin was still comin’, but so were others from the deck. The only place to go was the water.

She slipped in blood and banged her knee as she tried to get up, then broke into a low run and dove into the water. As she kicked toward shore she knew it would take her right into the sights of Jack and his daddy. She pressed the shells over her eyes. She had to get back control of the chew wasps and give those two somethin’ else to worry about before she came up for air.

12

During a lightning flash Jack caught a glimpse of someone—someone small and slim with dead white hair—leaping off the
Bull-ship
and diving head-first into the water. He watched a couple of cenote things chase after her and hover a couple of feet over the water, waiting for her to surface.

He tapped Dad on the arm. His father was watching the strobe-lit carnage on the boat decks in horrid fascination. Jack had to tap him again.

“Hey, Dad. Which one of those is loaded?”

Dad shook himself free of the spectacle. “Both now.”

“Give me one, will you?”

Dad handed him the Benelli. Jack took aim at the nearest winged thing, not so much from a desire to protect Semelee—she deserved just about anything that happened to her—but because he wasn’t up for watching someone being eaten alive.

The shotgun boomed, rocking his shoulder, and the nearest thing blew apart. But its companion, instead of retreating or continuing to hover, darted straight for Jack.

He fell back, raising the Benelli. Good thing it was semiautomatic—those things could
move
. His shot went a little high, missing the body but dissolving the right pair of wings. It went into a spin and landed on the edge of the bank, vibrating its remaining wings and gnashing its teeth in fury as it made circles in the mud.

Movement on the surface of the lagoon caught Jack’s eye. He saw a white head begin to emerge from the water. He took aim with the Benelli but hesitated. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe because he felt responsible. Maybe if he’d let her down a little more easily she wouldn’t have attacked him, then Anya. Maybe something about her pathetic desire to fit in touched him. Or maybe he couldn’t bring himself to blow holes in a young woman, no matter how sick and twisted she was.

Whatever the reason, he dropped the shotgun, grabbed the cenote thing by the roots of its remaining wings, and lifted it. It looked heavy but he found it surprisingly light. It writhed in his grasp, trying to twist around and gouge him with those diamond teeth, but its carapace limited its agility.

Jack leaped off the bank and into the water.

“Jack!” he heard his father cry. “What in God’s name are you doing?”

Jack didn’t answer. Holding the cenote thing high, he splashed toward where Semelee was emerging from the water. He noticed she was holding two shells over her eyes.

The shells—that was what she’d wanted them for. Somehow they let her control these things.

And I helped complete her set.

He also noticed the other winged things rising from their feasts on the decks of the two boats and heading his way. He put everything he had into forcing himself through the water.

When he reached her he grabbed the back of her hair. He yanked downward, hard, stretching her throat, and held the crystalline teeth of the cenote thing inches from her skin. The twisting, gnashing jaws reminded him of a wood router.

“Drop the shells! Drop them now, Semelee, or this thing gets a free lunch! Don’t think I’m bluffing! You may have been right about me not shooting Luke the other day, but this is different. After what you’ve pulled in the last twenty-four hours, I’m more than ready for payback.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, but kept the shells over her eyes. “Just let me send the chew wasps back to the sinkhole.”

Chew wasps…a perfect name.

“You do that.”

The approaching chew wasps veered away and headed for the cenote, its lights faintly visible through the rain. Jack watched them fade into the mist, then, with his free hand, pulled Semelee’s hands away from her face. He hadn’t forgotten about Dora. He took her by the upper arm and guided her toward the bank.

As Jack pulled her up on land, he heard Dad call his name. He glanced over and saw him pointing toward the lagoon.

“Who or what is
that
?”

Jack turned and stared. He saw nothing at first, then the lightning flashed and he spotted a man in a suit standing at the center of the lagoon. Not
in
the lagoon—
on
it. No, not just standing on the water, walking on it. His stride was long and purposeful, moving him along at a good pace, yet without the slightest hint of hurry.

Jack tossed the partially dewinged chew wasp into the lagoon where it sank like a mob hit. He squinted through the storm. Couldn’t make out the man’s features, but as he neared, Jack noticed that he seemed to be moving in a bubble—not something with a membrane, simply an area around him, a dry area. The rain driving at him from all directions didn’t touch him. And it didn’t sluice away, it simply…went away.

“Oh, God!” Semelee cried, cringing against Jack. “It’s Jesus come to get me for my sins!”

“You’ve got a lot of things to answer for, but I don’t think that’s Jesus.”

Not unless he’s taken to wearing Armani, Jack thought.

Of course he hadn’t a clue as to the designer—if an Armani suit introduced itself, he’d have to ask it for ID—but it looked expensive, maybe silk, charcoal gray, perfectly tailored, worn over a black shirt buttoned to the collar. Very Euro, this water strider.

When the man moved close enough for Jack to make out his face, he felt his blood congeal. He knew that face, that supercilious expression. He raised the Benelli and roared.

“Roma!”

Jack held him accountable for Kate’s death—at least indirectly—and for a lot of other things that had gone wrong in his life since they’d met at that conspiracy convention last spring. He’d called himself Sal Roma then. Who knew what he was calling himself now. He’d tried to kill Jack then and almost succeeded. Either he or the Otherness or the two in league had tried to kill Gia and their baby just last month. Now it was payback time. No hesitation—he wasn’t sighting down on a waifish woman, this was the “Adversary” Anya had mentioned, the One whose True Name she refused to speak.

“goodbye, whoever you are,” he whispered, and pulled the trigger.

Or tried to. It wouldn’t budge. Jammed!

And then Roma glanced at him and Jack felt himself lifted through the air and slammed back against a palm trunk. The pain of the impact on his spine blew all the air out of him and blurred his vision for a few heartbeats. His knees turned to jelly and he slid earthward to end up sitting in the mud, propped against the palm.

“Jack!” he heard his father cry from what seemed like the end of a long hallway. “Jack, are you all—?”

Jack’s vision cleared in time to see his father tumble back into the brush and disappear from view.

He wanted to shout to him but his voice wouldn’t work.

Fear spiked his chest. Was Dad hurt? Was he even alive?

Jack tried to get to his feet but couldn’t move. For a panicky instant he thought he was paralyzed from a broken spine, then realized that something was holding him in place, something he couldn’t see or feel but powerful enough to press on him so effectively that all he could do was breathe. He tried to shout to Roma but couldn’t do even that. He was at Roma’s mercy.

But Roma didn’t seem interested in him, didn’t even glance toward Jack as he casually stepped onto the bank to stand not two feet away, facing Semelee.

Semelee cringed back as he stared at her.

“So,” Roma said. Jack heard him clearly. The rain and wind seemed to be easing up, although lightning still flashed all around them. “You’re the one who’s trying to usurp my name.”

“Name? What name?”

“You know…the one that doesn’t belong to you.”

“You mean Rasalom? It does belong to me.
I’m
Rasalom.”

He slapped her face. The move was so quick Jack would have wondered what had happened if not for the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and the sight of Semelee staggering back a step as her face jerked to the right. Jack could almost feel the sting.

And then it hit him—Rasalom. That was the fuck’s True Name.

“Never,” Rasalom said softly, with no show of emotion,
“ever
refer to yourself by my name.”

“Who says it’s
your
name?” Semelee cried, baring her teeth.

Jack had to hand it to her—she wasn’t cowed. And the way she took the blow…clearly she’d been slapped around before.

“I do,” Roma said softly. “And the only reason I haven’t pulled your limbs and head from your torso is that you somehow—through pure dumb luck, I’m sure—managed to find a way to kill the Lady. For that I am in your debt. But don’t press your luck, little girl.”

“Ain’t luck,” she said. “And I ain’t no little girl! I was down in that hole, in the lights, and I heard the voices. They told me I was the One and that my name was Rasalom.”

He slapped her again, harder, and this time she went down. She lay in the mud, rubbing her reddened cheek. A few minutes ago the rain might have soothed it, but it was clearly easing up.