Against the Eldest Flame Read online

  “Tea?”

  “I haven’t nailed everything down yet, but this gorilla appeared to have been subsisting on some kind of mind-altering tea. No Scottish Breakfast for him.”

  Doc smiled, Gus always managed to make a point of how much more cultured he was than most of their opponents. He had even been known to call Vic on some of the finer points of etiquette.

  “One thing I did find that was interesting,” Gus went on, “was that he had a stylized flame branded over his heart. I believe you’ll find that it’s an exact match to the one you found on Herr Schmidt.”

  At that point, Vic entered the room. She was still dressed in her flying clothes, though the blouse was ripped enough to show the lace below. Her right hand was curled up in a claw and she grimaced whenever it moved.

  “That was fun,” she said brightly. “Well, all except the being tied up by an possessed undead Nazi who wanted to brand me.” She tried to open her hand. but winced and stopped before she’d uncurled more than a finger. “That and catching the branding iron on my palm. That wasn’t fun either.”

  Gilly was already on his feet and helping her to a couch, ignoring her attempts to brush him off.

  “I think it’s a little more than a scratch,” she said.

  Doc came over and took her hand, turning it upwards gently so he could see her palm. The stylized flame was burned deeply into her hand, though from what Doc could see it wasn’t quite deep enough to do any permanent damage. It was just going to hurt like hell for a while. “At least it’s a clean burn,” he said. “Nothing else got in it so it should heal well. No infection.”

  “That’s easy for you to say.” Vic’s face was even whiter than it usually was. “I can’t use my hand.”

  “Hold it out for me, Vic.” Doc reached into his vest and withdrew a small medical kit. Opening the kit he removed a roll of synthetic gauze and a small tube of ointment. “This will feel very cold for a moment, but don’t worry. It’s just part of the healing process.”

  “What is it?”

  “Just a new burn treatment I’ve been working on.” Doc spread a generous amount of ointment on the gauze and then applied it to Vic’s palm. She gasped as he wrapped it around her hand three times.

  “C-cold.”

  “Good, that means all the nerves are working. You should be able to use the hand in a couple of hours.”

  Vic nodded, then walked over to a closet and pulled out a gun belt. “I’m not going to let one of those corpse Nazis catch me unarmed again.” It took a couple of tries, but she finally got it fastened one-handed.

  “Why was he trying to brand you?” Gus was the one who asked the obvious question.

  “He didn’t make much sense,” Vic admitted. “He was ranting about how his ‘Master’ would be able to control me once he branded me over my heart.”

  “That’s where the gorilla was branded,” Gus told Vic and then turned to Doc and wrinkled his brow. “I forgot to mention one other thing. The feathers were unusual; they didn’t fit any bird I have ever heard of. They had a very primitive structure, almost like proto-feathers.”

  Vic ignored Gus and continued. “There was one other thing Schmidt mentioned. He said he wanted to use me to get to Doc and bring him to the Congo. Something about a ‘Moon Key’ that would give his master the world.” Vic looked at her bandaged hand. “My biggest concern at the time was that I didn’t want to be tied down and branded whether it was going to work or not.”

  Vic grinned. “I did get to knock his block off, though. So it wasn’t all bad.”

  “Too many ifs to say for sure,” Doc muttered, mentally filing away the ‘Moon Key’ reference. “At least he didn’t manage to put the brand where he wanted. It’s amazing the effects pain and drugs can have on people. Especially those who’re already predisposed to believe, such as I believe our late enemy was.”

  Vic shrugged. “I don’t feel any different.”

  “You already do what Doc says.” Gus put in. “So why should it feel any different?”

  “Gus!” Vic spluttered. “You over-haired banana eating clothes horse!”

  Gus preened. “At least one of us needs to have some appreciation for the finer things in life.”

  “Children must play,” Gilly said.

  An alarm went off, and Doc turned to answer it; hiding a grin from his associates. Vic must be better since she was already arguing with Gus. The ointment worked.

  Heading over to his electronics workbench, Doc turned on a small television display. Armed men were coming up the stairs, led by Commissioner Pennyworth. Flipping switches, he toggled between several cameras he had placed in the stairwells. Pennyworth had half a company of New York’s finest with him, armed with shotguns and tommy guns. They were already above the eightieth floor, which was where he had placed his alarms.

  Pennyworth had a document rolled in his hand, and Doc was sure it was a warrant for his arrest. He didn’t recognize the man beside Pennyworth, but he was probably from the District Attorney’s office. He was wearing a pinstripe suit and wire-rimmed glasses. Doc was pretty sure this was the Bundist that Pennyworth had mentioned earlier. Zooming in, he saw that the man had a swastika on his tie pin.

  “Load up, people! Pennyworth’s on his way with a warrant. It’s time for us to leave!”

  Moving quickly, they headed toward the elevator. Doc took a moment to grab four packs, one much heavier than the others and tossed three of them toward the team. Gus took the largest pack, and passed the other two to Vic and Gilly. Doc shrugged into his own pack, which was only slightly lighter than Gus’s and picked up an extra pistol, loaded with explosive bullets.

  Doc was the last one into the elevator, and as the doors closed he turned back to see fire axes breaking through the door from the stairwell. They’d just made it clear in time.

  “So what’s the plan, Doc?” Vic was bouncing a little as they rode the elevator down. “Are we going to have to fight them?”

  “Not unless you’re loaded with rubber bullets.”

  “Rubber bullets?” Vic shook her head. “What’s the point of shooting someone you don’t want to kill?”

  “I think it has to do with a desire to avoid the electric chair,” Gus said, “though I believe Doc would ascribe it to some sort of reverence for human life.”

  Doc remained silent, planning. Somebody wanted him off the board. The question was who? All he had at the moment were questions, and what he needed were answers. More to the point, he knew there were questions he knew that he didn’t have enough information to ask. The one thing he did know was that there were answers in Africa.

  Once the doors opened, Gilly sprinted toward the armored car. “I’ll drive.”

  “We’re not taking that one.”

  “Why not?” Vic complained. “I like the upholstery.”

  “We don’t want to shoot anyone we don’t need to, and that car’s temptation on four wheels.” Doc gestured. “We’ll take the sedan.”

  Gilly took the driver’s seat while Gus and Vic hopped into the back. Doc jumped onto the running board. “Head for Cibola, we can discuss the rest in the air.”

  Gilly floored it and the sedan roared up and into the street. Police officers were already flooding out of the lobby, led by the Bundist. Reaching into his vest, Doc pulled a sleep grenade and threw it into the crowd. It shattered silently at the Bundist’s feet, and he collapsed with a dozen cops around him. Pennyworth came out the door, waving a warrant and yelling something Doc couldn’t quite hear.

  The police oficers obviously heard Pennyworth, and they dropped to their knees and raised their guns to their shoulders. Gilly took them around the corner just before the officers opened fire.

  Sirens screamed from behind them as Gilly wove through traffic, taking turns a racing driver would have envied. Doc rode the running board like a surfer riding a wave, keeping his balance despite Gilly’s driving. Cibola Holdings was only a few minutes away, but they had to get there before the police stopped th
em. Once they reached Cibola they could get a plane. If Pennyworth’s men caught up with them they would be sitting ducks for whatever this Eldest Flame wanted. The Zeppelin had come from the Congo, Schmidt wanted him in the Congo; maybe answers would be in the Congo too.

  #

  Doc hopped off the running board and lowered the door behind them while Gilly parked the car against the wall. They were in the Cibola Holdings warehouse which Doc used to store his private air fleet. One corner held a monoplane pursuit ship that was faster and more maneuverable than anything the Army Air Corps had in its inventory. A twin to the autogyro he kept at the Republic State Building sat beside it. Not for the first time, Doc wished there was room to store his own private airship so that he didn’t have to keep it upstate, but there was no getting around the fact it was just too big to keep in the city. Pride of place went to a sleek tri-motor with two sets of retracting landing gear. One set was made up of conventional wheels, while the other was a collapsible float system that gave the plane the best of both worlds.

  “Head for the tri-motor, “ Doc called, giving everything a last look-over. The others nodded and ran for the plane floating in a pool that took up almost half the building.

  Doc ran for the controls to open the massive doors that would let the plane out onto the Hudson. Pennyworth and his men would be here soon, and there was no time to waste. He couldn’t let himself be captured, but a firefight with New York’s Finest would produce more problems than it would solve. He just had to keep reminding Vic of that.

  Everyone was out of the car, and Doc was half-way to the door controls when a sloshing sound caught his attention. He whirled to see a dozen or more zombies rise from the water around his plane and start lurching toward him and his team. Their shirts were open and each one had a flame burned into its chest.

  “Serve the Flame...” rasped from their throats in unison. Their voices were both raspy and garbled, like a chain smoker trying to talk through water, but the words were clear enough. “Serve the Flame...” Each time they said the word flame a puff of steam rose from their clothes, drying them off as they closed.

  The crack of a pistol broke the chant, and the lead zombie’s head exploded off his shoulders. “Gotcha!” Vic exulted. “The hand’s working fine, now. Thanks Doc.” The zombie kept coming without losing a lurch.

  Doc didn’t reply, but drew his second pistol and fanned three explosive rounds into the headless zombie’s torso. The resulting explosion splattered its fellows with gore but at least it dropped the one zombie. More came out of the water, and now Doc could smell them. Their odor was a mix of scorched meat and sodden wool, a combination that almost made him gag. Taking aim at the nearest, Doc pumped two explosive rounds into the base of its stomach, smiling grimly as he blew it’s legs off. Working methodically, he blasted the legs off the closest zombies as he worked his way toward the hangar doors.

  Gus broke away from the others, knucklewalking in his haste to get to the arms locker. Both Vic and Gilly kept moving toward the plane, guns barking. Vic dropped the magazine from her .45 and reloaded quickly, paying no attention to the mag on the ground. Gilly wasn’t firing as fast, even with speed loads for his magnum; but what he hit stayed down as each round shattered bone. Killing zombies was almost impossible, but being a zombie didn’t make it any easier to walk on a shattered femur.

  Doc blew apart another zombie, and went to reload. He had no more ammunition. In his haste to grab the second pistol, he had forgotten to grab any extra ammunition, and his regular pistol was loaded with rubber bullets. The zombies took advantage of the lull in the firing, and shuffled forwards. Doc swapped pistols, and went for the nearest target’s kneecap with rubber bullets. The creature stumbled, but only for a moment. Seconds later it was moving as fast as ever. “Damn!” Doc muttered, wishing that if he didn’t have explosives he at least had white phosphorous.

  Shoving the useless pistol back in its holster, Doc reached for his knife, only to remember he had left that buried in the skin of the burning Zeppelin. He still had a couple of sleep grenades, but they weren’t going to be much good against something that didn’t breathe.

  One of the zombies reached him, and Doc bent low and caught it with his shoulder, then used a judo throw to toss it back to its friends. Three of them went down like bowling pins and he turned and ran for the doors. These were quick for zombies, but Doc had already broken the four-minute mile by more than ten seconds. If he had allowed himself to compete there wasn’t a single Olympic record that would still be standing. Of course it wouldn’t be fair, which was why Doc studiously avoided those sorts of public competitions.

  Doc reached the hangar door controls and pulled down hard on the lever. It slid down with a smooth motion, and the doors started to open to the sound of clanking chains. Doc turned to run for the plane, and felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

  “What’s all this, then?” It was a cop, which meant Pennyworth and his men had caught up.

  Doc grabbed the police officer’s wrist and flipped him back out of the hangar and onto the wharf. “Make it fast, people! We’ve got Pennyworth on the way!”

  He ran for the plane, dodging like a broken field runner. Vic and Gilly were almost there, but there was a wall of zombies blocking their way, and Doc was sure they were almost out of bullets themselves.

  “Fire in the hole!” Gus’s voice came from nowhere as the gorilla charged with a flamethrower in each hand, sending a scorching jet of flame toward the zombies. “Coming through!”

  Doc dropped and rolled, while Gus triggered another burst, clearing a path to Vic and Gilly. In a matter of moments all four of them were together, huddled in a little group near the plane. The only problem was the wall of zombies between them and the gangway. Whistles sounded from behind them as Pennyworth and his men stormed into the warehouse.

  “Drop your weapons!” A voice yelled through a megaphone. “We have you surrounded!”

  “Don’t hit the police,” Doc muttered to Gus, who was raising one of his flamethrowers.

  “Good thing Vic can’t carry one of these,” Gus replied, baring his teeth.

  “I heard that!”

  “On three, blast the zombies and we’ll run for the gangway.” Doc ordered.

  “Forget three, how about now?” Gus triggered an angled burst that cleared the zombies off the catwalk and just missed the plane.

  The ropes on the gangway caught fire, but Doc pushed the others ahead of him. “Move, move, move!”

  Vic was the first one to the plane, followed by Gilly. Gus followed them, with Doc bringing up the rear. Taking a look back, Doc saw some of the zombies had turned on the police, and were advancing toward them. A ragged volley of shotgun fire slowed them down but it wasn’t going to be enough. Zombies squished under his feet as he crossed the gangway to the hatch, balancing so he didn’t have to touch the burning ropes. A skull crunched beneath his feet as he reached the ladder.

  “Give me a flamethrower.”

  Gus paused at the top of the ladder. “Get in the plane and tell me what to shoot.”

  “Enough with the ego, just give me a flamethrower.”

  “Alright, alright.” Gus dropped one of the flamethrowers down to Doc then disappeared inside the hatch.

  With one hand on the ladder, Doc half-shrugged into the flamethrower and triggered a long burst into the back of the crowd of zombies that were advancing on Pennyworth and the police. Pennyworth must have had someone call for heavier weapons, because half a dozen officers stepped forward with tommy guns and poured a withering fire into the undead mass. It slowed them further, and the back ranks turned back toward Doc and his plane.

  The right engine coughed once, then caught as the propellor disappeared into a glistening disk: decapitating a zombie who had got too close. Then the left engine started. “Cast off,” Vic yelled from an open cockpit window. “Cast off.”

  The plane surged against the ropes that held it, drawing them taut. Doc wrapped his arm through the lad
der and twisted back to face the onrushing horde, who had turned away from the police the moment the engines started. More zombies rose out of the water, and Doc triggered another burst of flame, burning through the ropes that held the plane in place and sending a cloud of steam skyward, hiding the police from view. Another burst of flame caught more zombies, and Doc’s autogyro, which started burning like a torch. Doc cursed under his breath, the building itself wasn’t likely to burn, but it would more than likely be gutted.

  “Move it, Vic, move it!”

  He wasn’t sure she heard him at first, but then the note of the propellors changed and the plane started to move forward, heading through the doors into the afternoon sunlight. Doc squinted against the glare and dropped the flamethrower, then clambered up the ladder to the hatch.

  The plane picked up speed, climbing onto its step as they headed up the Hudson. White wakes trailed behind them as they gathered speed, then suddenly were airborne. Doc pulled the ladder in, then watched out the open hatch as the city fell way beneath them. A column of black smoke rose from the warehouse, and Doc’s sight was just keen enough to make out the police cars surrounding the burning building. At least the fire should get rid of the zombies, though he wasn’t happy about the cost. With any luck, Pennyworth and his men would make it out alive, too. Doc wanted to come back to the city, and burning a police commissioner to death wasn’t going to help with that. Just at the edge of his vision, he saw little red bugs that had to be fire trucks arriving at the scene.

  Doc pulled his head in and shut the hatch.

  They were on their way.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Flight to Africa

  They soon left New York behind them, and turned southerly towards Cape Verde. Doc was perfectly happy to let Vic do most of the flying, though as it was a good fourteen hours to Cape Verde, and a further twelve to Leopoldsville in the Belgian Congo, he knew he was going to have to spell her. Meanwhile the three big radials up front droned on, pulling the Sky Cloud onward. Doc had taken advantage of the plane’s small but excellent facilities for a quick sponge bath and changed out of his gore-spattered clothes. He had also picked up some more ammunition for both pistols and a replacement knife. At the moment, his biggest concern was fuel. Sky Cloud carried enough fuel for twenty hours endurance at two hundred and fifty knots, but that wasn’t enough to get all the way to the Belgian Congo.