“Max,” Evelyn asked, keeping an eye on the door. There were other people still in the facility—she could hear them. “I don’t understand why this base is so busy and the warehouse was empty. If that was the real Un-Earth back there, then why wasn’t it better protected?”
“I can answer that,” the Black Zeppelin said, stepping into the room, Theodora Sturm at his side. With them were two of the clones, dressed identically and each brandishing sharpened short swords.
“It’s him. That’s Lamar Bane,” Rachel said, sensing a familiarity with his mind. She’d been around him during her time in the tank, she was sure of it.
“She’s right,” Bane acknowledged. “I was born Lamar Bane… though these days I’m called the Black Zeppelin.”
Max blinked at that… he’d heard of the Zeppelin—another of Hitler’s super powered strike force, like the Grim Reaper and the Iron Maiden. It was said that the Zeppelin was perhaps the cruelest of all.
The Zeppelin gestured to the boy in the tank. “Just as that boy, no matter how powerful, isn’t the key to the Un-Earth project, neither is the globe you saw in the warehouse. It’s a physical manifestation, yes… but it’s the key to protecting or destroying the Un-Earth. That lies within me.”
Catalyst moved forward, eyes flashing with power. He gestured to Rachel to go ahead and free the trapped boy. She sprang into action with assistance from Evelyn. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Oh but it does,” the Zeppelin explained. “I was the one who made the blood sacrifice to start the Un-Earth spell. It was my blood that was mixed into the primal ingredients from which the Un-Earth arose. As long as I live, so does the Un-Earth. We’re linked. I’m its God.”
“So if we kill you, then our problem is solved?” the Peregrine inquired, pointed his guns at the villain.
“Well… the Un-Earth will begin to fade, yes. But you’d have much bigger problems to worry about. The Fuehrer would not rest until I was avenged.”
The Peregrine smiled coldly. “That’s funny. I’ve killed other men like you—the Grim Reaper comes to mind—and all Hitler has done is replace them with more lunatics. What makes you think you’re any different?”
“Because he’s special,” Theodora answered. She allowed her mind to open up to the demonic forces with which she communed, inviting one of them into her body. In seconds, her teeth and nails grew sharper, her hair became an unkempt mane and her eyes began to glow a dull green. She jumped towards Catalyst, driving him to the ground. She began biting and slashing like a rabid dog, keeping Nathaniel continually on the defensive.
The clones sprinted towards Evelyn and Rachel, ready to keep them from freeing the telepathic prisoner.
And that left the Peregrine to open fire on the Zeppelin. The Nazi sympathizer flew upwards in perfect silence, evading the bullets. The room’s ceilings were not particularly high, however, which limited his maneuverability. The Zeppelin instead chose to fly straight as a missile towards the Peregrine, hoping to ram into him.
Max tensed, readied himself, and then jumped upwards, spreading his legs as far as he could. He reached down and pushed off of the Zeppelin’s head, leap-frogging him. The Peregrine landed on his feet as the villain crashed to the ground.
Bane whirled about just in time to received four bullets in his right side. The pain was horrible but he fought it off, using his enhanced vitality to block out the agony he felt. He kicked a gun from the Peregrine’s grip and forced himself back upwards. He ducked under a punch from the hero and managed to land one himself. The super-powerful blow cracked one of Max’s ribs.
Evelyn, meanwhile, found herself with her hands full. One of the clones had engaged her in combat and he was doing a good job of testing the limits of her ability. She was not a natural fighter but had taken to Max’s lessons well enough… but with a split lip and a badly bruised cheek, she now wondered if she was in over her head.
The clone bobbed and weaved, trying to find a hole in her defensive stance, but Evelyn maintained her position fairly well. When the clone tried to backhand her, she dropped to the floor, pushed the small handgun she carried against the clone’s stomach and fired. The clone staggered back and Evelyn kept firing until he was flat on his back, riddled with holes. “Take that, martial arts,” she mused, smoke rising from the barrel of her pistol.
Rachel used the experience she’d gained fighting the other clones on Un-Earth to deal with her foe. Though she couldn’t really affect him mentally, she was able to subtly throw him off by constantly “nudging” him telekinetically, making him lose his balance. Whenever he would stagger, Rachel would kick or punch him. She finally lured him close enough to the apparatus holding the prisoner that when she next attacked, she was able to shove him into the machines. They sparked and sputtered as he collided with them. The clone thrashed about as electricity ran through him. The clone died… and the prisoner was free, sagging to the ground.
Catalyst felt numerous cuts and scrapes on his body but he couldn’t find time to focus on them. All he heard was the growling and screeching of the woman-creature on top of him. She was insane, gibbering madly in a language that didn’t sound human to him… and when she bit him, it was not a simply an attack. She was
chewing
on him, as if ready to tear off a piece and eat it.
Nathaniel screamed as Theodora drove a clawed hand into his side, breaking the flesh. She kept twisting her nails in his skin, making the pain intensify. For a moment, Nathaniel thought about letting her finish him, about being reunited with Claire in Heaven. But then he thought of Rachel, of their heat together. And he realized that he wasn’t ready to die… not yet.
Nathaniel reached up with his hands, timing it until he could snatch hold of Theodora’s hair. The woman growled as he took control of her head but her sounds turned to ones of terror as Catalyst began channeling his mystic powers straight into her skull. Light seeped from her ears, mouth, nose and eyes… and then, as Nat turned his head, her skull exploded, drenching Nathaniel in bits of gray matter and bone.
While the heroes were emerging victorious all around the room, the Zeppelin and the Peregrine continued their private contest of wills.
“Why do you keep sticking your nose into our affairs?” the Zeppelin asked, backhanding Max and nearly shattering the vigilante’s nose. “The Axis is
winning
, in case you haven’t noticed! Go ahead and accept the inevitable!”
The Peregrine staggered back, his vision blurred from the impact. He tossed aside the gun he held and drew his knife. “I’m going to be in a pine box before I bow down to the likes of Hitler. Hating other people because of where they are born or what race they are isn’t for me, I’m afraid. I judge men by their actions… and that’s led me to assume that you’re nothing but a craven coward, willing to sell out his country for power.”
The Zeppelin sneered. “I might leave you alive for awhile, Peregrine… let the Fuehrer himself kill you. A fitting present for him—a symbol of America’s coming failure.”
“Here’s a better thought—why don’t I send you back to him with my symbol branded on your forehead?” The Peregrine slammed a fist into the Zeppelin’s chest, followed by a flurry of blows. He knew that the Zeppelin was far stronger than he was but by unleashing a volley of attacks, he drove the Zeppelin back towards the room’s one window—a thin sheet of glass that looked out onto a darkened alleyway.
The Peregrine spun about, putting all his power into one last kick. The blow knocked the Zeppelin off his feet and sent him headfirst through the glass. Max jumped after him, landing on his chest as he hit the ground.
The Zeppelin looked up at him, gasping for air. Something inside the villain had been damaged and tiny flecks of blood caked his lips.
The Peregrine slowly pulled off one of his gloves, revealing the glowing red signet ring he wore. “Pay close attention, Bane. I want you to remember these words for the rest of your life: “
When the good is swallowed by the dark, there the Peregrine shall plant his Mark!”
Epilogue
October 19, 1942—London
“Rachel and I found the last one last night… everyone who was a prisoner of the Un-Earth project is free now.” Nathaniel Caine lit another fag and held it to his lips. He was standing on the rooftop of police headquarters, his overcoat flapping in the breeze. It was nearly midnight and the air was bitterly cold.
“And you managed to find enough to put away Bane?” Max asked. He wore his Peregrine mask, though he had long since shared all the details of his life with Nathaniel.
“I certainly hope so. He’s been more than cooperative, really. You scared the bloody hell out of him with that branding you gave him.” Nathaniel exhaled a long stream of smoke and looked over at the American. “Rachel and I want you to come back—with Evelyn and your son—for our wedding.”
“So you’re definitely getting hitched?”
“No need to wait. Life is too short.” Nathaniel looked up into the night sky, at the twinkling stars. “Un-Earth has been shut down but there are plenty of other things we have to take care of. She’s going to be my partner. In everything.”
“Well, we’ll definitely be there for the ceremony.” The Peregrine held out a hand to Catalyst. “Take care, Nathaniel. Good luck protecting London.”
Nathaniel squinted, seeing a rocketpack-wearing man hurtling by in the distance. “Thanks, Max. I think I’m going to need it. Now, if you don’t mind… I see somebody I need to go and apologize to.”
The Peregrine watched as Nathaniel’s clothing melted away, revealing the green uniform that marked him as the Catalyst of this century. Nat then stepped to the edge and jumped into the void, setting off in pursuit of Dan Daring.
Max watched him go, standing in silence. There were no visions of the future to plague him, nor were there any powerful psychic impressions from the city around him.
The Peregrine was alone with thoughts and he couldn’t be happier.
THE END
THE LOST COLONY
An adventure starring the Peregrine
By Barry Reese
CHAPTER I
The Lost Colony
1590—Roanoke Island, Off the Coast of North Carolina
John White moved through the quiet ruins of the colony, his heart hammering in his chest. He had left for England in 1587, eager to return with supplies for the struggling colony. The war with Spain had led to all ships being confiscated for the duration, however, and White found himself unable to return home for nearly three full years. If he had been a less dedicated man, it would have taken even longer. In the end, he had been able to hire two small vessels deemed unnecessary for war and set out for home in 1588… only to have the greedy ship captains turn pirate and get themselves arrested en route. Forced to return to England, he had finally gained passage on a privateering vessel that agreed to stop off at Roanoke on the way back from the Caribbean.
White hadn’t been sure what to expect upon his arrival, for things had not been good when he’d left. This was the second attempt to colonize the island, which was eight miles long and two miles wide. It lay between the mainland and the barrier islands, with Albermarle Sound to the north.
White himself was father to one of the colonists he’d left behind and thoughts of family had spurred him to return as quickly as possible. He also took great pride in being grandfather to Virginia Dare, the first English child born in the New World. His was a brave and hardy clan, unused to failure.
But what White saw now looked like total, abject failure had befallen the residents of Roanoke. There was no sign of current habitation, the houses dismantled and the few remaining items looking worn and old.
White moved past the home that had once belonged to his own family, chewing at his bottom lip. Had they been set upon by Indians? Had starvation forced everyone away? He’d left clear instructions upon his departure that if they were forced to abandon the settlement, someone was to carve out a cross on a tree upon the island.
And then he saw it: a word, carved into the trunk of a large oak to his left. White moved towards it, reaching up to trace the letters with his right hand: “CROATOAN.” White jumped as thunder rolled across the sky and rain began to fall. The weather looked terrible; storms were rolling in and looked to be in the forecast for days to come.
White felt a brief surge of hope: Croatoan was the name of an island to the south where a friendly tribe of natives lived—the Croatoan tribe of the Carolina Algonquians. Perhaps the colonists had moved away in hopes of finding fresh supplies…
But something nagged at White, making him wonder at that scenario. The island had originally been colonized in 1585 but relations with nearby tribes had not gone well and supplies were scarce. In 1586, a relief fleet arrived to find that the colony was abandoned. A small detachment remained in place to protect the English presence and a new group of 121 colonists, led by White, were dispatched in 1587 to re-start the settlement. When they arrived, White set out to locate the 15 men left behind to protect the English claim on the land… but they, too, were now missing. White managed to find the bones of a single man but no trace of the other 14.
Three groups of people had now vanished in Roanoke… Was there more to this than simply warring Indian tribes and harsh living conditions?
A wind blew suddenly, sending a shiver down White’s spine. There seemed to be voices carried on the breeze, tiny whispers that sounded frightened.
And as they passed by his ears, he heard the singular word: “CROATOAN.”
* * *
White’s attempts to discover the truth were stymied at every turn. He organized a search with assistance from the privateering vessel but could not find his missing friends and family. Some ninety men, seventeen women and eleven children had, from all appearances, simply vanished. There was no sign of a struggle or a battle of any kind and the houses were dismantled. There were two skeletons found, buried near what had been the heart of the colony… but there was no clue as to their identities. Aside from the word “Croatoan” carved in the tree, there was only one other clue—the first three letters of the word (Cro) had been carved into another tree, not far from the first.