Ex-Communication by Peter Clines (love story books to read .txt) 📕

When it was over the wraith sagged in the sky for a moment. His brightness faded. Then he seemed to take a deep breath and straighten up in the sky.

What was left of Cairax Murrain swayed back and forth in a crater stretching across four of the street’s six lanes and part of the sidewalk. Steam boiled from a few long-dead sewer pipes that glowed red-hot. The gravel and sand beneath the road had fused into a glassy surface.

The body was a twisted thing of gristle and charred bone. Three of the horns were blackened stumps. One eye had boiled away, the other had taken on the dull hue of an ex. The molten floor of the pit had cooled around its ankles. Zzzap wasn’t sure if the faint hiss was breathing or the sound of sizzling meat.

Then the scraps of muscle bubbled and expanded. Flesh wrapped around the skeletal frame. A new eye swelled up and filled the empty socket.

Son of a bitch, said Zzzap.

Cairax Murrain shook its head as the last patches of purple skin healed across its frame. The floor of the crater shattered as it pulled one leg free and then the other. It looked up at the gleaming wraith and its face split in a grin of tusks and fangs. “A valiant attempt, my poor little cripple,” it hissed, “but this is such a marvelous host Maxwell has found me.”

The demon stalked forward, its long legs carrying him up and out of the pit.

Captain Freedom tossed aside his cracked helmet. He knew he’d never get another one in his size—double extra large was custom headgear and there were no more quartermasters. He shook his head, blinked a few times, and glanced around. The arm of his coat was singed and smoking. Zzzap was fighting Cairax Murrain—the demon had Regenerator’s powers, all right. And then Freedom saw what he wanted by the rear tire of a truck.

He snatched up Lady Liberty. There was no sign of the drum he’d been loading. Depending on where it had landed, the whole thing might’ve cooked off during Zzzap’s light show. He pulled a fresh one from his belt. He only had one more drum left after this one. Half his ammo gone already.

The drum locked into place. Freedom leaped into the air and his boots slammed into the demon’s back right between the shoulder blades. He grabbed one of the long spikes running down Cairax’s back to steady himself and slammed Lady Liberty’s muzzle against the scaly neck.

He pulled the trigger and the demon roared. The twelve-gauge rounds, blessed and anointed by the last known priest left in the world, ripped huge gouges out of the purple flesh. The kickback was enormous. No firearm was meant for continuous point-blank fire. A normal man would’ve lost fingers to the bucking weapon, and possibly shattered his wrist.

Then Cairax reached up and wrapped its spidery fingers around Freedom’s arm. The demon twisted the huge pistol up and away. The captain held on to the spike for a moment with a steel-like grip, but the demon tore him away. It pulled Freedom off its back.

Freedom dangled by his arm for a moment, then lashed out with a kick that cracked two of the demon’s teeth. He pulled his boot back and lashed out again with his heel. It connected, but the demon pulled him away, holding him at arm’s length.

Cairax’s wounds were already healing, bubbling shut. New teeth pushed up through its gums to replace the broken ones. “Tell me, bright little soul,” it said, “how does it feel to fail yet again?”

“I’m with the U.S. Army,” snarled Freedom. “We don’t know how to—”

The demon slammed the huge officer into the ground and flung him away. Freedom smashed into the charred remains of a bus and tumbled to the pavement next to the glassy crater. He didn’t move.

Then Cairax turned and glared up at Zzzap. Cold flames boiled out of its eyes. “This game bores me, little cripple. It is time to end it.”

“Oh, God,” said Madelyn as Freedom crashed into the ground.

“Get back,” St. George told her. He thrashed at his bonds again.

“Hold on,” she said. “I’m going to try cutting them with the swor—”

“No, get back!”

Madelyn looked up and saw Max racing at them with Stealth right behind him. The dead girl twisted to get behind St. George, but the sorcerer had her by the wrist. She swung around and punched Max in the nose. He snarled and wrenched her arm back behind her. Madelyn fought but he grabbed her other shoulder and dragged her around to block Stealth.

“Back off,” he snapped. His tattooed hand came up and he pressed his palm against her throat. Two of his fingers curled under his hand to touch her collarbone.

Stealth halted a few yards from him. Momentum carried her cape forward to wrap around her and swipe at Madelyn’s legs.

“I’ll break her neck,” said Max. “Internal decapitation. You’re fast, but I can sever her spine in half a dozen places before you reach me. She’ll be an undead quadriplegic.”

Madelyn tried to twist away but he pushed her arm up even farther behind her back. It was a sharp pain that made her dead nerves spike into life.

Stealth’s batons spun in her hands and collapsed. She slotted them back into their holsters. Another flick of her wrists and the Glocks were back in her hands.

Max put pressure on Madelyn’s arm and placed himself a bit more behind her. “You have no idea how desperate I am,” he said. “Don’t try anything.”

The cloaked woman’s fingers moved between her pistols and her belt as she exchanged spent magazines for fresh ones. She did each weapon one-handed. It was the quick, effortless motion of someone who’d practiced something thousands of times and then done it a thousand more. She never looked away from him.

“Let her go, Max,” shouted St. George.

“Drop the guns and step away,” the sorcerer told Stealth. “I’m counting to three,