The Conch Shell of Doom (41 page)

“Oh, quit your whining,” Deckland said. “I think after I finish with you, I’ll move on to your lady friend.”

“Sorry. You’re not my type.” Julie stood behind the Irishman, shotgun in hand. She pulled the trigger, sending a shell full of buckshot into his back.

Franklin rolled away, trying to avoid getting hit in the face. Deckland took the shot square in the back, but he was fine. He let go of Franklin’s arm and faced Julie. The wounds looked more like bug bites than a shotgun blast.
 

“My turn.”

Julie’s jaw dropped, shocked he’d survived with not much of a scratch. Even Franklin was surprised. Julie opened the barrels. Both shells popped out. She did her best to reload in a hurry as her eyes darted between empty shotgun barrels and the Irishman, who looked like an agitated bee ready to sting whatever got in its way. Julie locked the barrel in place and aimed at his chest again.
 

Franklin winced, not wanting her to repeat that mistake. He waved at her, getting her attention, and then shot himself in the face with a finger gun, hoping she’d get the hint.

Julie got a little closer to the ginger and then aimed the barrels at his head.

“This should be fun.”

Julie fired the shotgun. Everything above Deckland’s shoulders disappeared. His body remained upright for a second and then collapsed. Julie threw the shotgun on the sand and rushed to Franklin, taking him in her arms.

“You okay?”
 

“No,” Franklin groaned. “Got my ass handed to me. Again. Getting too old for this.”

“You big baby.” Julie let go of him, his weak body slipping into the sand. “Can you walk, or do I need to get you a stroller?”

“I’d take the stroller, but I doubt it’d get far in all this wet sand.”

Julie offered her hand and helped Franklin up. He swung his arm around in a windmill motion, soothing the sore joint. At least the knee didn’t hurt any more. Immortality sucked for the most part, but quick healing, especially after a colossal ass kicking, was one of the perks. The Blade of Hugues de Payens lay half-buried in the sand. He picked it up and wiped it clean with his fingers.

The kids ran down the beach screaming, with Chuck and Debbie trying to get them to stop. Franklin flicked wet sand off his fingers.
 

“What now?”
 

“Trouble.” Julie stared at the end of the beach.

Franklin followed Julie’s eye line and saw Trenton holding Bailey a few feet in the air by the kid’s throat. Franklin sighed.

“I give up.”

“I can’t remember the last time I saw something so comedic,” Trenton said. “You’re like a flightless bird, unable to fly but not smart enough to realize your wings don’t work.”

Bailey gasped for air, legs swinging back and forth, reaching for something to take the weight off his neck. He wondered if anybody taught lessons on how to survive choking, and if so, how much they charged, because it was definitely a name your price industry.

“Oh, look. Your friends are trying to rescue you again. Don’t worry. I’ll get back to you soon enough.” Trenton hurled Bailey into the ocean.

He flew through the air, slamming into the ocean’s surface face first. The collision was like a battering ram trying to break through his skull. Bailey sank deeper into the water, struggling to get his bearings from the pain. Something inside of him screamed out
SWIM
OR DIE
. It seemed like an easy choice. He swam upward, peeking his head above the water. His friends were trying to fight their way through sand soldiers. Alexis was a sight to behold. She flicked her wand, demolishing dozens of Trenton’s troops.
That’s my girl
. Much as Bailey’s aching body wanted to sit one out, he forced himself to swim toward shore.

In between waves splashing in his face, Bailey saw the fight unfolding. Everybody was out of focus, like blurry figures running around, but he could recognize them by their body shape and clothes. He reached a point where the ocean’s depth was shallow enough; he set his feet down, making sure to only stay high enough above water to breathe. Wading toward shore, Bailey admired his friends as they fought. It wasn’t just for him. It was for the town. Everything, really.

An errant starfish sliced through Marshall’s leg. Bailey was back on the beach. He picked up a swordfish and made a break for Trenton. The swordfish wouldn’t deal a death blow, but Bailey hoped it would at least injure the guy. With the weapon inches away, Trenton side-stepped Bailey and then cut a small gash in his face with the ceremonial knife. The momentum carried him straight into his parents. Earl and Wanda tried to grab Bailey, but he was too wet and slipped away.

“How hard is it to pin down one kid?” Trenton snarled. “All I need is two seconds, and I can finish the ceremony.”

Bailey staggered back from his parents, whose eyes were full of black nothingness. He waved the swordfish at them. “Stay back.”

Earl picked up a sword himself that lay on top of a mound of sand. Wanda threw a starfish at Bailey. He easily knocked it away. Stepping back from his parents, Bailey felt the tide rush over his feet.

“Come on guys, I’m your son.”

“We don’t care.” Earl charged at Bailey.

Bailey fought off his dad’s advances, moving from side to side. Blade banged against blade as neither could get the upper hand. His mother jumped into the action, the sharp edges of a starfish sticking out from between her fingers. Bailey moved in close to Wanda and smacked her in the face with the swordfish’s body, knocking her out. Earl grunted and charged forward, taking a big swing. Bailey moved out of the way. Earl pierced Bailey’s hand, slicing it open. He jerked his band back, dropping the swordfish.

“What shall I cut off first? I’m sure Trenton can grow back whatever I take.” Earl grinned, his white teeth a stark contrast to those dark eyes. He rocked back and forth, as if waiting for the perfect pitch. Without a weapon, Bailey knew the score. His dad swung the sword back. A bolt of lightning struck him from behind. He convulsed from the current, falling face down in the sand and revealing Alexis standing behind him, wand in hand.

There were so many things Bailey wanted to say. Unable to settle on any of them, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I want to make a joke, but I can’t.”

Alexis gave him a funny look. “Probably the smart move.”

A sand soldier fast approached, ready to stab Alexis in the back.

Bailey pointed behind her. “Bad guy!”

Alexis sighed, as if the sand soldier was nothing more than an annoyance. She aimed the wand and flicked her wrist, obliterating the thing into a billion grains of sand.

Bailey couldn’t help but be impressed. “Wow.”

Her eyes lit up. “I know, right?”

Franklin held a swordfish in one hand and the Blade of Hugues de Payens in the other, fighting through sand soldiers on his way to Trenton and those crazy kids before one of them got hurt. Nothing that stood in Franklin’s way posed much of a threat until he came across something new and unexpected that caught him off guard. He’d never seen that part of Trenton’s army.

Two dolphins, complete with legs and arms that grew out of their razor sharp fins, and each of them armed with an eel whip, looked ready to fight. The pair stomped their feet, held out their arms, and whistled through their snouts in a display of dominance. Franklin knew he shouldn’t, but part of him wanted to laugh. They were dolphins, after all. The mammals spoke to each other in clicks and then lowered their heads in unison. An acidic liquid shot out of their snouts, sizzling with each drop of rain it tore though. Franklin dove out of the way, but his swordfish wasn’t so lucky. He threw it away before the acid streamed onto his hand. The melted weapon left a smell of burnt fish that turned his stomach.

One of the eel whips wrapped around Franklin’s wrist, sending an electric shock through his arm and into the rest of his body, causing uncontrollable tremors. The current was especially painful in his hand, thanks to the Blade of Hugues de Payens. He was forced to let it go. The second dolphin whipped Franklin in the leg. Combined, the two whips made his entire body feel like it was being stabbed with needles. He fell to the sand. The dolphins loosened their whips, mercifully ending the shock treatment. Franklin rolled onto his back, holding up his hands.
 

“Okay, okay. You got me.”

The dolphins clicked and then moved in for the kill. They snapped their whips, wet clumps of sand flying up every time one cracked against the beach. Franklin lowered his hands, closing his fingers so he clutched two wet mounds of sand. The two mammals aimed their snouts at Franklin, ready to give him an acid bath. The second Franklin was out of their eye line he rushed at them, slamming the handfuls of sand in their snouts. They choked, trying to clear it out.

Franklin cursed himself. He forgot to pick up the Blade of Hugues de Payens, which lay on the other side of the dolphins. The immortal prayed the sweet, adorable, and completely evil mammals wouldn’t recover in time to figure out his mistake. Franklin slid, grabbing the knife in one smooth motion, and then rushed at the dolphins. He buried the blade in one dolphin’s head, making it seize up and die. The other cracked its whip as it struggled to blow the sand out of its snout, the acid shooting out every which way like it was going through a sprinkler. Franklin jumped over the whip and then stabbed his adversary over and over until its lifeless body keeled over.

Of all the things that died by Franklin’s hand, it was the first time for a dolphin. It felt terrible. The guilt caused a knot in his stomach. Dolphins were his favorite sea creature. The immortal remembered petting one as a small child. That memory was forever tainted.

Damn Trenton.
 

Franklin’s anger gave him a razor-sharp focus. He was like a one-man wrecking crew, breathlessly moving past sand soldiers and sharks like a cool breeze, destroying anything that came between him and his brother. One soldier took such a vicious blow some sand flew in Franklin’s face, breaking his concentration. He stopped for a moment, spitting the gunk out and wiping his eyes. One of Trenton’s followers charged at Franklin. He tossed the man over his shoulder like a half-eaten apple and then knocked him out with a swift kick to the jaw.

The march to Trenton almost resumed, but after taking down the follower, Franklin turned to see Portman and Jackson. The cops had the immortal dead to rights, guns aimed at Franklin’s head. He swallowed whatever bits of sand were still in his mouth, burning as they struggled to go down his throat.

“This seems a bit like self-defense, doesn’t it?” Portman said.

Jackson smirked. “I’d say more than a bit like self-defense.”

Something stirred behind the cops. It brought a smile to Franklin’s face. “Come on, guys. There are children present.”

“I wouldn’t say children, but a young man is, yeah.” Marshall looked confused about what was going on. “You two fine gentlemen were sworn to uphold the law, were you not?
Were you not
?”

Portman and Jackson exchanged glances, not sure what to do. They shrugged, agreeing with Marshall.

“So why don’t you act like it, huh? Instead of messing with my boy here? He ain’t hurtin’ anybody.”

“Well—” Franklin started, but Marshall cut him off.

“The man’s just trying to earn an honest living like the rest of us.” Marshall noticed Franklin signaling to move left with his eyes. Marshall did as requested. “I mean, you guys are the same. You didn’t want to get mixed up in all this mess with crazy shark people, did you?”

Portman scratched his head with the tip of his gun. He looked like a confused puppy. “I guess not.”

“You guess not? Of
course
not!” Marshall was on a roll. “You guys probably just wanted easy access to booze and broads after the apoc—”

With one swing of the blade, Franklin lopped Portman’s hand off. The policeman screamed like a banshee, blood squirting out of the stump. Jackson and Marshall both stood there, shocked.

“Did you just cut that cop’s hand off?” Marshall asked.
 

“What does it look like?” Franklin pried the gun out of Portman’s severed hand and gave it to Marshall. “Don’t let the other one move, or he’ll get the same.”

Marshall wouldn’t take the gun. “No way, man. I’ll blade a fool, but I don’t want a gun.”

“Grow up.” Franklin shoved the gun in Marshall’s hand.

“I don’t think I can shoot someone right now. Not after cutting that guy’s hand off. It’s too soon.”

 
Jackson ripped his uniform off and tied it around Portman’s hand as a tourniquet. “Hang in there, buddy. I’ll get you patched up, and then we’ll both take care of these armpit stains.”

Portman grinned. “The boys in federal will tear you two apart like a Christmas present.”

“You shut up.” The gun shook in Marshall’s hand.

“Here.” Franklin knew Marshall wouldn’t hold up if the cops made a run at him. No, what the kid needed was some swagger. A confidence booster. Franklin took Marshall by the hand and led him over to Jackson, the gun a few inches off to the side of his head, pointed away. “Squeeze the trigger.”

Marshall took a deep breath and then squeezed. The force of the shot threw his arm back, but he held onto it. He stepped back, already looking more assured of himself. Jackson clutched his ear, which probably felt like a grenade went off inside of it.

“Good?” Franklin asked.

“Yeah,” Marshall said. “I got this.”
 

With Marshall in control of things there, Franklin walked like a man on a mission toward Trenton, who was busy barking out orders to his army. The brothers locked eyes for a moment and then charged at each other. Trenton picked up a swordfish and eel off the beach. Franklin jumped through the air, trying to deliver a killing blow with the knife. His brother slid, sword raised straight up. It cut down Franklin’s chest, spilling blood and tearing his shirt. He took the top off, and Trenton laughed at the wound.

“You can quit at any time,” he said. “Just pledge your loyalty to me, and everything will be forgive and forget.”