The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two (6 page)

“You don’t actually expect me to agree to that, do you?” Pasarin asked. His eyes were glowing with malice, and Max was momentarily taken aback by the level of personal distaste that this man held for him. “You brainwashed my dying father and turned my own son against me. I don’t even want to know how you found all that out. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I’m going to prove to my son which of us is the better man… I’m going to kill you and take that damned ring of yours to him as a souvenir!”

The Peregrine glanced over his shoulder to see that van der Decken and the three remaining zombies were returning to the scene. It was obvious to Max that van der Decken was taking his time in responding, moving as slowly as he could while still responding to his master’s call.

Pasarin noticed that Max was looking away and the act caused something to snap within the businessman. He couldn’t stand the notion that the Peregrine would act as if he weren’t a dangerous foe—to virtually ignore him in favor of the undead monsters was insulting.

Max turned back just in time to see Pasarin’s fist hurtling towards his face. The Peregrine threw up an arm and caught Pasarin’s hand in his own, twisting the villain’s arm painfully to the side.

“You can’t fight me,” the Peregrine warned. “Not hand-to-hand. You have no training.”

“I don’t need training. I have rage.” Pasarin slammed his forehead into Max’s, knocking the Peregrine backwards.

The Peregrine ducked under the next blow, a backhanded assault that sailed over his head. Max’s head was ringing from the headbutt, but he had been telling the truth in assessing Pasarin’s chances of winning: unlike Pasarin, Max was fully trained in a variety of combat styles, and he knew how to ignore pain.

Max unleashed a karate chop to Pasarin’s legs, knocking him to the ground. The Peregrine then drove his knee into Pasarin’s nose, shattering it. The criminal fell onto his back, blood pouring from his nose.

The Peregrine moved forward, planning to finish off his foe, but Pasarin held up one of Max’s pistols and fired, releasing several rounds. Most of them whizzed past Max’s shoulders, but two of them hit home in his right arm.

As Max reeled in shock, van der Decken drew his sword and grabbed hold of the Peregrine’s neck, holding him tight. The zombies milled about, ready to rip Max to shreds but still held in check.

Pasarin rose to his feet, one hand held over his ruined nose. The gun he held trembled a bit, but Pasarin pointed it straight at Max’s head. “I’m going to kill you,” Pasarin said, almost sounding like he couldn’t believe he was actually about to win.

CHAPTER X

Blood Feud

The Peregrine tried to remain calm, seeking a way out of this seemingly hopeless situation. He noticed that his other pistol, along with the Knife of Elohim, lay on the ground nearby. Once, not too long ago, Max would have used his burgeoning mental powers to just summon the weapons to him. But as with the prophetic visions that had once compelled him to take action against criminals, those powers were now gone, possibly forever.

“It looks like the end of the road for you,” van der Decken hissed in Max’s ear. “You were a valiant opponent, I’ll grant you that.”

The Peregrine took a deep breath, knowing that what happened next would decide his fate. “So… how are you going to do it, Pasarin? Let your servant slit my throat, or are you going to pull the trigger yourself?”

Pasarin grinned cruelly. “Maybe I’ll let the zombies eat you alive. That would take longer.”

“And it would be just like you,” Max declared. “You could stand aside and let somebody else do your dirty work for you.”

“I’ve killed before,” Pasarin retorted. “And I’m more than ready to do it again.”

The Peregrine tried to block out the pain he was feeling, and then he sprang into action, hoping that he’d live to see his wife and family again. Max leaned back hard against van der Decken, moving so quickly that the seaman didn’t think to cut his throat. He then leaned forward, flipping the man holding him forward and into Pasarin. The undead pirate and the businessman both fell to the ground while the zombies surged forward, ready to seize Max.

The Peregrine dove for his weapons, coming up with both. He unloaded a dozen rounds in each zombie, driving them away from him. Then, while Pasarin and van der Decken climbed back up, Max switched weapons and slashed at the zombies with the Knife of Elohim. The mystic blade cut through their flesh like a hot knife through butter, ripping them to pieces. Two of them he beheaded, while the third took the blade straight between its eyes.

Pasarin could scarcely believe how quickly the tide had turned. He shoved van der Decken forward, shouting “Kill him, you bastard! Kill him!”

The sea captain roared, rushing towards Max with sword raised. The ferocity of Pasarin’s command would not allow van der Decken to hesitate. The blade fell, catching the Peregrine’s shirt as the hero jumped back. Several of the buttons off his shirt flew to the ground, and the Peregrine managed to deflect the next blow with the Knife of Elohim. The two of them performed a deadly dance, with flashing blades slashing back and forth. The pirate was far more experienced in swordplay, but Max’s training allowed him to hold his own.

Just as Max snuck through the pirate’s defense and embedded his blade within the villain’s stomach, Pasarin reasserted his role in the battle. Van der Decken howled like a stuck pig as Max twisted the knife, but the attack was quickly broken off as Pasarin fired a bullet that ripped through Max’s left leg.

The Peregrine staggered to one knee, now dripping blood from three bullet wounds. Van der Decken was seeping a massive amount of ectoplasm, his spiritual energy now pouring from the wound.

Pasarin looked at his undead servant and bent to retrieve his fallen walking stick. He pointed it at the seaman and shook his head. “You really are a failure, van der Decken. And now that I’ve got Davies where I want him, you’re all the more useless.”

Van der Decken’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t…”

Pasarin’s lips barely moved. “Dispel.”

Max watched in horror as the pirate’s body began to break apart into a foul-tinted mist. Van der Decken’s scream was bone-chilling, and Max knew that the undead pirate was being sucked back down into the abyss, to be tormented for eternity.

“It’s just you and me now,” Max said, forcing himself to stand. He ached all over, and he was beginning to feel a little dizzy from loss of blood. “You can still surrender. The offer still stands.”

Pasarin raised his gun, but Max did the same. The two men stood facing each other, ready to deal death. “You’re badly hurt, Mr. Davies. You’re in no position to offer me an honorable defeat.”

The Peregrine smiled grimly. “I’m going to kill you if you keep pushing this.”

“At best, we will both die,” Pasarin answered with a shrug. “I’m willing to accept that.”

“Your decision.” The Peregrine spun to his right, hitting the ground in a rolling tumble. Pasarin fired but his bullets were a foot away from hitting him each time. Max came up with his own gun blazing, catching Pasarin in the chest twice before the villain flew backwards, blood spraying into the air. Before he’d even hit the ground, Max had fired once more: a bullet that passed into one ear and out the other, leaving a bloody hole in its wake.

Max limped over to stand over Pasarin’s corpse, feeling no pleasure in his victory. The entire affair had been one with its roots in jealousy, and no man should die for such petty reasons.

“I’m going to find your son,” Max swore, looking at Pasarin’s blank eyes. “And I’ll do what I can to make sure he doesn’t grow up anything like you—but I will tell him you loved him, in a sick and twisted sort of way.”

The Peregrine turned away from him, stopping to pick up two objects from the ground: the strange talisman that van der Decken had used to control the zombies, and the walking stick that Pasarin had leaned upon so often. Hopefully, Nova would appreciate the new additions to his collection of oddities.

Slowly, with pain lacing each and every step, the Peregrine descended the hill.

THE END

DEATH FROM THE JUNGLE

An Adventure Starring the Peregrine

Written by Barry Reese

CHAPTER I

The Figure in the Mist

1938

Deep within the tiny African nation of Bordia lay a cave of wondrous design. Mother Nature had, through centuries of rain and wind, shaped the cave’s entrance so that it resembled nothing less than a humanoid skull, its mouth forming the entrance to the lair within. The local tribes dubbed this cave “The Revenant’s Lair,” for it was said to be the abode of a man who had lived continuously since the late 1400s, when a European sailor had gone overboard during a treacherous mutiny. The man had been found by friendly natives, who aided him in hiding his survival behind a mask. He became the Revenant, striking back at his betrayers by becoming one with the jungle he now called home. He stalked them like a hunter would his prey and eventually brought them to a violent sort of justice.

In the years since, the Revenant had adopted the cave as his private residence. Though the natives attributed his constant appearances over the years to immortality, the truth was that he had married a woman while visiting family in England, bringing her back to Bordia. Their son had eventually become the second Revenant, and through the years more descendants had done the same, all operating with the same weapons and attire—a fearsome black bodysuit, skull cap, and domino mask.

The current Revenant was the twenty-second in the line, born with the name Lee Pence. He was as young and fit as his father and his father before him. But his greatest attribute was the keen mind he possessed, which allowed him to outthink enemies of all types.

In the section of the cave dwelling that he used as his library, the Revenant now sat before a mixture of herbs that were slowly burning, their smoke enveloping his masked face. Elsewhere in the home his wife and two children—both girls—were cleaning up after dinner. Because there had never been a female Revenant, he and his wife had tried repeatedly for a son. A woman dressed in the Revenant costume would doubtlessly destroy the legend of an immortal jungle protector… it would become clear that the most recent Revenant had not in fact been the original but rather just the latest in a long line. And the legend had power, no doubt of that. Thus, a son was needed before it was too late. Already, the Revenant could feel middle age looming over him… he would grow slow and inevitably die. There had to be someone to follow in his footsteps.

The Revenant sighed, pushing such dark thoughts away. He looked around his home and smiled. Despite the fact that he lived in the jungle, the Revenant kept a well-furnished abode that looked every bit as comfortable as any suburban house in America. His children sometimes accompanied him on journeys to the so-called “civilized countries,” but what they had seen only confirmed that their father was right to spurn the Western nations in favor of his jungle home. But even here danger lurked: the Nazis had recently come to Bordia in hopes of finding several mystical weapons that had been under the natives’ protection.

The Revenant leaned into the mist, breathing it in. The scent was like roasted almonds with just the faintest hint of alcohol in its wake. The herbs allowed him to expand his consciousness, sometimes seeing into the near future or recent past. If the stories he had heard were true, then the Germans had massacred a small tribe near the Roanzique River and successfully spirited away a powerful relic. The Revenant needed to know what it was, and where they were taking it now.

The Revenant’s head jerked as images flashed before his mind’s eye. The images came in spasmodic hits, like still photographs being illuminated on a moving wall. He saw a man dressed in an S.S. officer’s uniform, all black leather and polished boots. The man’s face was handsome but cruel, and one of his eyes… something was wrong with his right eye. It seemed to move in an unnatural manner with whirrs and clicks, as if it were a mechanical prosthetic painted to look like a human orb.

The Revenant saw the man standing over the ruined corpses of the natives, another officer approaching him, not caring that he stepped over the bodies of women and children. The second officer held a small wooden box in his gloved hands and he held it out to the first man. “Herr Krupp, I believe we have it.”

Krupp turned his mechanical eye on the man, accepting the box with a nod of his head. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Your men did fine work.” Krupp kicked at the remains of a dark-skinned woman whose skull had been bashed in. “Savages. We’re doing them a favor removing them from the world. There’s no place for them in the future.”

The lieutenant nodded but said nothing. He supported the Fuehrer in all things, but was sometimes uncomfortable with the Aryan superiority that was being espoused. He had friends who were Jews and it was difficult to think of them as sub-human the way that many Germans claimed.

Krupp opened the box and smiled coolly. Inside was a small mammal, no more than six inches long. It was hairless and possessed skin that was golden in color. It looked like some bizarre cross between human and animal, with features that were hideously ugly. “This is it… the creature that will ensure the survival of the Reich.”

The images seemed to fade away from Revenant’s field of vision, leaving him alone in his library. His heart was hammering in his chest. The creature that the Nazis had stolen was a sacred animal, one that was almost as legendary as Revenant himself.

He rose and left his room, hurrying outside. The rumble of thunder made the ground shake around him. Without even bothering to tell his wife where he was going, he sprinted through the jungles, finally coming to the village closest to his home. The tribe here had always been like family to him and he now sought out their shaman, an aged man who sat before a small fire, his eyes half-closed.

The shaman didn’t look up to see his approach but he spoke as if he knew who it was emerging from the darkness. “They have the beast child,” the shaman said, with a sad shake of his head. “The prophecies say we are doomed.”