This is elseworld, p.21
This is Elseworld, page 21
Russo now knew what it was. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t realized it earlier. “Fuck, it’s a bomb! Hackett, get the hell out of the way.” He slammed his foot on the gas pedal so hard he felt like he was trying to stomp a hole through the car.
Hackett was a few steps ahead of his partner. He had already fired. Twice. Mark dropped the device and fell backward, but before his body could even hit the ground Russo had rammed the vehicle against him, sending the boy flying in the opposite direction. Russo couldn’t see where Mark landed. His vision was obscured by a flock of haunted fowl as the wastelings swarmed the still-warm corpse.
Hackett might have been quick with his gun—and he was, the arrogant fool was damn quick—but once the bomb’s fuse was tripped, it was already too late to stop the impending explosion. Mark’s guts were all over the ground. He was dead even without Russo’s efforts. The rookie just happened to be in the way. Russo wasn’t aiming for Mark; the real target was the explosive device that now sat beneath the car. He didn’t know the bomb’s radius, but he knew the police vehicle was heavily armored and should be able to withstand enough of its impact that Hackett would be shielded.
Unfortunately, Russo wasn’t quite as optimistic about his own fate.
Everything stopped. Russo didn’t breathe. He didn’t have time to. Russo's thoughts drifted to his beloved sister, Abby, whose presence lingered in his memories like a bittersweet melody. Though she had been gone from his life for so long, her presence remained vivid and enduring in his thoughts.
He recalled their shared laughter, their deep conversations, and the unbreakable bond they had formed. Abby had once been the anchor in his life, a pillar of unwavering support and love. She had faced her own battles, leaving a lasting impression on Russo's heart. Now, as he confronted his own impending demise, the image of Abby's radiant smile brought both solace and yearning. Russo clung to the hope of a future reunion, where their spirits would entwine once more.
His mind drifted to his wife and their two daughters. Alice was the name of his oldest daughter. Denise, the youngest. Denise’s beautiful smile flashed in Russo’s mind. She had Abby’s smile.
He thought of his teenage son, who had just started his senior year in high school. He thought of his sister in-law, a single mother, and his beautiful niece, just three years old with the face of an angel. His niece was two years younger than his youngest daughter. He would never see them have their first day of school or teach them how to ride a bike.
Russo thought of the neighborhood kids. The ones he gave haircuts to every other Sunday. Their parents would send them to his house with their pennies and nickels. Sometimes they would bring food for him that their mothers had prepared. Most of the boys didn’t have fathers. He would play real music for them to listen to while he cut their hair and talked to them about life. He imagined them continuing to come after he was gone, showing up at his doorstep every other weekend, wondering why he wasn’t there. Eventually thinking he’d abandoned them.
Just like their fathers had.
A lot of people depended on Russo. How could he do this to them? It was selfish. Most of all, it was stupid. Really, really fucking stupid. Wasn’t he the one who’d told Hackett over and over that they should leave? No one would blame Russo if he’d put his foot back on the gas and left his partner to die in the explosion. He still had time.
Or did he?
Russo still hadn’t breathed. This was the longest second of his life. Was this how the end came for everyone? He didn’t want his final moment to be filled with regret, so he closed his eyes and willed himself to let go. At least he would go out on his own terms instead of ending up as some monster’s chew toy. He believed that he’d done the best he could in a hostile world, and he’d always done what he’d thought was best. He hoped others would understand.
Russo opened his eyes and discovered that time had resumed. He was able to breathe, perhaps for the last time. He knew what was coming and was ready for it. There was a bright flash, and he couldn’t see. Pain struck Russo as he felt the car launch upward and topple. A pain so intense that in the brief seconds it lasted, Russo could be heard cursing Hackett’s name. He loved Hackett like a brother, his comrade in arms. He also hated Hackett, the damn fool. He was willing to die for Hackett. He also wanted to strangle the bastard.
Russo screamed and howled, but the pain did not go away; it seemed to only intensify. Until eventually, as suddenly as it had come, it ended. Everything ended.
Russo could feel nothing at all.
Chapter twenty-seven
Into the Forest
Tucker
When they had first heard the screams and raced into the forest, Tucker had effortlessly maintained his swift pace, leaving Zack increasingly behind. Despite the gap between them widening with each passing moment, slowing down to wait simply wasn't an option. Dirt heaved into the air, branches split apart, and wind smacked into Tuckers face. In the face of such chaos, there was no need for silence. Based on what Tucker heard and could see up ahead, whatever was out there was louder, clumsier, and significantly larger than even he was.
Tucker stopped when he reached an area that was formerly a tangled mass of vegetation but was now trampled flat. He approached slowly, glancing up, then to his left, his right, anticipating an ambush that didn’t come. Standing there, he heard rumbling noises again. Whatever was out there, it was close. He quickly pulled the double-barreled rifle from the leather sheath holster on his back and kneeled down behind the thickest patch of shrubbery he could find.
He didn’t know where Zack was, though he couldn’t be too far behind. Hopefully, when he got here, he would have the sense to follow Tucker’s lead and stay out of sight. Or he could stand out in the open looking stupid and serve as bait for whatever was coming at them. Either way, Tucker was confident he could kill it, whatever it was. He would slay it, chop off every single one of its heads, and serve it for dinner right alongside the multi-headed bulls he had hunted earlier.
Tucker had honed his skills as a huntsman, and assuming a kneeling stance was a familiar position for him. While he preferred a prone or sitting position for improved accuracy, the uncertainty of their current target made him aware that he could easily become the prey. Being able to retreat swiftly was crucial. Therefore, he chose to kneel instead. This was also the reason why, during his hunting expeditions, Tucker always carried a rifle with sufficient stopping power capable of taking down formidable adversaries like mutant buffaloes or man-eating wolves.
His rifle of choice was the JP Sauer 101, a double-barreled rifle which utilized a detachable box magazine that allowed for quick and easy reloading. By the sounds of what was approaching, he would require every ounce of stopping power he could get.
The environment concealed most of Tucker’s body, but it wasn't a perfect camouflage. He would probably only have a second or two to get a shot off before he was noticed. His right knee was on the ground, elbow resting on his left leg—not on the kneecap, but steadied on the muscle, something Tucker had in excess.
He didn’t have to wait long.
Something that resembled a gigantic man came barreling through the jungle. It was at least eight feet tall, with arms and legs as wide as tree trunks. An ogre. The Elders spoke of them. As a younger man, he had studied their skeletal remains in school, but this was the first time he had seen one in the flesh.
There was no discernable nose or chin. The ogre’s face was an expressionless, amorphous blob with no trace of humanity. When it saw Tucker, a crease in its blob-like face parted, and out came ginormous, elongated incisors that more closely resembled a rhino’s tusks than teeth. The drooling ogre let out a continuous loud roar and charged.
Tucker squeezed the trigger and fired several rounds in rapid succession, hitting the ogre in the chest, the shoulder, and then the neck. The nearby trees and foliage were painted red, but Tucker didn’t have time to admire his handiwork. The ogre had simply absorbed the shots and was still coming straight toward him. Tucker stood and backed away, still firing his gun.
The ogre bellowed and stumbled with every shot, chunks of flesh breaking away from its body, until finally it had enough and collapsed, tumbling forward like a fallen tree, smashing into the ground and sending a storm of dirt and foliage into the sky.
Tucker wiped the sweat from his forehead and breathed a sigh of relief, but his smile quickly faded. Before the dust could settle and the scent of gunpowder and lead could dissipate, the fallen ogre moved. It didn’t just move; the monster was slowly getting up.
Tucker raised his rifle again and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. His magazine was empty. He ejected the spent magazine, frantically trying to slap in a new one, but the ogre was already back on its feet. Worse, he could now hear more noises coming from the jungle. This ogre wasn’t alone—there were more of them nearby, and judging by the sounds, a lot more.
Tucker didn’t bother to finish reloading. He just ran.
There was a route through the jungle where he could slip between the trees and hide within the thick marsh. The ogres would get lost trying to find him, and then he could circle back to the town to warn everyone. Hopefully, the monsters weren’t good enough trackers to follow him there.
But before he could put his plan into action, he heard Zack screaming his name.
Damnit! What is he thinking? That fool will be a sitting duck for these monsters. They don’t need to be good at tracking to follow a voice.
There was no way he could leave Zack out to die. He would have to go back and get him before he could do anything else. Tucker changed course and went in the direction of his friend, hoping to reach him before it was too late.
Chapter twenty-eight
Monster among Men
Tucker
“Tucker, where are you?”
Shut up, Zack!
“Tucker! Are you out there?”
Tucker headed toward Zack’s voice, plowing through the dense jungle like a force of nature. The behemoths were on his trail, but they weren’t able to move through the undergrowth as fast as he could. Just up ahead was where he had last heard Zack's voice.
He forced his way through a final clump of tree branches and found himself looking into the barrel of a shotgun. Before he could react, a spray of pellets whizzed past his head, sending splinters of wood flying through the air. After narrowly avoiding the shotgun blast, Tucker shouted, “Ogres! Run!”
Zack didn't run. He never quite did what he should. He just stood there frozen in place with his eyes pinned on something in the distance. Tucker didn't have to look over his shoulder to know what Zack must have seen.
Tucker shouted as he ran past Zack. “Run, you fool! Go!” He stopped abruptly at Zack’s terrified scream. An ogre, the same one he thought he had killed, had hoisted Zack into the air by the waist like it was handling a small child. Tucker pulled out his rifle and carefully took aim. The shot would be risky with Zack so close, but he didn't have much of a choice.
He gripped the barrel, aligned the beast in his sight, but before he could pull the trigger, a sudden force tore the rifle from his grip. A second ogre stood in front of him. For a moment, it ignored Tucker completely while it examined the rifle, sniffing the barrel, but then it seemed to grow disinterested and tossed it to the ground.
This beast looked almost identical to the first ogre, only it had a much more expressive face. It had droopy, swollen cheeks that stuck out like a chipmunk with its mouth full, and Tucker could see something that resembled a nose. That would be his target. He wound his arm back and threw a wild, looping haymaker that landed square on the button. It was a punch that would have knocked a man out cold, but it barely caused the beast to wobble.
The monster threw a sloppy punch of its own, which Tucker easily evaded, taking note of its slow movements. He threw a left hook followed by a straight right. Both punches hit nothing but blubber, practically bouncing off the ogre’s chest.
The monster attempted to swipe at Tucker's face with its palm, seemingly aiming to grab his throat. Failing to do so, it let out a frustrated howl and charged with both arms outstretched. Stepping aside and crouching low, Tucker threw a powerful uppercut that landed squarely on one of the monster's six chins.
It stumbled backward, and he kicked it between the legs as hard as he could. The beast just stood there and looked at him. He kicked it again in the same spot, but his foot just bounced back like he had kicked a balloon. The ogre wasn’t in any pain at all, it just looked annoyed.
The hole in the monster’s face opened and out came those horrible teeth. “Playtime over. You too puny to make fun fight. Food now.”
Tucker's heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach, a heavy weight of despair settling in his chest. The monster among men could talk. The words the ogre had spoken meant nothing, but the fact the monster could talk at all meant everything. More broken English, and spit—lots of spit—flew from the monster’s lips as it continued to talk, but no sooner than Tucker’s brain could process the words, a tsunami of pain imploded within his gut.
The monster delivered a blow with its forearm that sent Tucker flying backward until he crashed into a tree twenty feet away. Blood from his mouth dripped down his chin but he didn't wipe it away; his arms cradled his stomach, which felt like it had been impacted by an explosion. Then a real explosion went off. He looked up and saw Zack on the ground crawling from beneath the body of a headless ogre.
They were both on the ground. Both defenseless. Both dead if he didn't do something. Tucker fought through the pain and tried to force himself to his feet but couldn't quite make it and dropped to his knees.
“Puny man. Me strong. Me show you.”
It lifted Tucker high into the air, squeezing him in a bear hug. His stomach tightened and the air left his body. Tucker raised his arms and brought his closed fists down hard against the ogre’s face; when that didn’t work, he scratched and he squeezed, tried to gouge at its eyes; he tried everything he could think of, desperately flailing about, fighting and squirming until the beast dropped him.
He hit the ground hard. There was a mixture of pleasure and pain as his body was finally able to take in oxygen, but it hurt with every breath he took, his chest rising and falling with harsh movements.
The ogre raised its right leg, which Tucker grabbed and pulled back to the ground. It then raised its left leg, which Tucker couldn't reach, and he knew it was going to stomp down on his face and smash his skull. All he could do was roll away. The monster stomped after him, missing each time, and then finally it kicked him. Tucker yelled out in pain. It kicked him again and again in his waist, his legs, and his arms, tenderizing his flesh and sucking away his ability to fight back. The blows didn't seem to be at the monster’s full strength; it was kicking him around like a small child playing with a ball.
It stood above him and laughed. Tucker couldn't move. His flesh was numb and cold, his legs and arms like dead limbs sinking into the dirt. All he could do was close his eyes and wait for what was to come next.
Chapter twenty-nine
Frozen Wasteland
Siona
Asher dreamed of a dense, freezing fog. Ice crystals fell rapidly from a white sky, freezing the ground and covering it with several layers of snow. The chilly air seeped through his clothes and into his bones. He could barely make out the forms of anything around him in this frosted wasteland. Distorted shapes reached out toward him like gnarled fingers. He had no idea why he would dream of such a place.
Suddenly, he heard a sound coming from deep within the white void. It was a low, mournful cry. He knew he should turn and go back, perhaps soar through the sky above the snow clouds and stay there until his mind found something more pleasant to dream about. He attempted to will himself into the air, but his feet felt like they were rooted to the ground.
As the cry grew louder, the fog began to dissipate, revealing a path that led deeper into the void. If this were the real world he wouldn't have followed, but something compelled him forward, pulling him toward the source of the haunting cry.
As he walked, the path grew narrower and the air colder, so cold he could see his breath rising into the air. Something was watching him from within the void, something as cold and malevolent as the chilly air around him. He tried to quicken his pace, but his legs felt heavy, as if he was walking through waist-deep water.
And then he saw it, a shape that loomed ahead of him, shrouded in mist. It was enormous, a twisted mass of fire and smoke. The heat was intense, and the blistering flames licked at his skin.
Screams of the dying filled the void, and the smell of burning flesh was overwhelming. Dream or not, he knew he had to get away, to flee the violent flames before they consumed him. But as he turned to run, the blazing inferno reached out to him and seemed to call his name. A figure emerged from the inferno, its twisted and malformed body made entirely of fire.
The figure let out an intense cry. It wasn't clear if it was a cry of anger or sadness. He wanted to look away, to shield his eyes from the obscene sight, but he couldn't tear his gaze away. To his surprise, the thing began to change shape again, its twisted form becoming that of a beautiful woman. It was Siona.
He didn't notice when it happened, but at some point, all the fire and smoke had completely vanished. No longer did he hear screams, and the scent of smoldering flesh was a distant memory.
All that remained was Siona, alone in the vast, frozen wasteland. She was huddled beside a small campfire. Her skin was a stark contrast to the pure white of their surroundings, and against the campfire she looked as bronzed as an Egyptian goddess.
