“I’ll need to borrow your motorcycle if I’m going to get there in time,” Simon said. Simon slipped out of the backpack he’d used to carry extra ammunition and explosives in. He had seven grenades left on a bandolier. He considered seven to be a lucky number, and he hoped it would be enough. Even if he couldn’t destroy the demon, he could at least hope it would be distracted long enough for the speeding train to go by. There was no way they were going to get all of the survivors safely out of the area without the train.
He slid the bandolier over his shoulder, making certain where the cord was that would allow him to pull all the grenade pins at one time. The resulting explosions would take place at relatively the same time.
“What?” If the mask Leah wore had possessed features, Simon was certain he would have seen shock written heavily there. “You can’t go out there—”
Simon moved quickly, shoving his hands under her thighs and hurling her from the motorcycle with the armor’s augmented strength. Flying through the air, she twisted like a cat, coming down on her feet thirty feet away. By then Simon’s hands were on the handlebars. He kicked the gear shift lever into first, twisted the throttle as he let out the clutch, and shot out of the rail station.
“Simon!”
Ignoring her, Simon called out to Wertham. “Where are you?”
“Almost upon Charing Cross Station.”
Simon roared along the rail, aiming for the demon standing at the middle of the bridge. “Keep a weather eye peeled,” Simon advised. “If the bridge blows up before you get there, be prepared to stop.”
“ ‘If the bridge blows up’?”
“Just stay ready, Wertham. And wish me luck.” Simon stayed low over the handlebars. Leah’s voice was in his ears, cursing him for being a fool, then pleading with him to come back. Simon ignored it all. Instead, he thought about his father, about all the lessons his father had given him, and how he was never going to be able to tell his father how much all those memories meant to him now.
He knew, Simon reminded himself. There wasn’t much that got by him. He knew. Simon took some solace in that. Even if he died, he would die the way his father had taught him to.
Something was wrong.
Warren knew that when he saw the train was slightly slowing down. They were almost up on Charing Cross Railway Station now and he thought that might have been part of the reason.
The flock of Blood Angels raced on.
Fear rattled around inside Simon’s head as he raced toward the demon. Shadows stood behind the demon, partially hidden in the falling snow and the thick fog that covered the river below.
If the demon was one of the Eldest, or even a Dark Will, Simon might not be able to kill it. And if he didn’t kill it, he was certain that it was going to kill him.
You don’t have to kill it, Simon reminded himself. You only have to destroy whatever means Merihim intends to use to blow up the bridge. Or manage to keep him from doing it long enough for the train to get by.
Simon took some heart that Merihim wasn’t a name known to him. Maybe the demon wasn’t as strong as he could have been. Maybe through whatever course he’d chosen to follow, Merihim hoped to become one of those.
If so, he was still weak enough to be destroyed.
But he’s more than powerful enough to defeat you.
Less than eighty yards away, the demon turned to face Simon. Taking heart in the fact that the demon was only a couple of feet taller than a normal human being, Simon drew the Spike Bolter from its holster and took aim, firing as soon as he had target acquisition.
The demon roared and covered his face with an arm as he slightly turned away from the onslaught. Then Merihim whipped back around, his fist engulfed in a whirling fireball that he threw at Simon.
As the train reached the more open area of Charing Cross Station, Warren urged the Blood Angels into greater speed. He drew his power into him, filling both of his hands with blazing balls of energy.
The Blood Angels swooped forward, gaining on the train with difficulty, but gaining all the same. Warren looked for the motorcycle and the knight but saw neither. He threw the balls of energy at the pulling engine.
Juking the motorcycle, Simon managed to evade the fireball the demon threw at him. Heat seared his skin as it approached. The fireball splashed against the ground where he would have been had he not changed directions. Immediately, the pavement puddled, turning semiliquid and bubbling.
Twenty yards away, Simon deliberately lost the motorcycle, turning it over on its side and sending it skidding across the rails toward the demon. He didn’t know how fast he’d been going, but it was fast enough that the motorcycle caught the uneven surface and leaped like hooked fish into the air.
Incredibly, Simon’s aim was true. Even whirling and flipping, the motorcycle stayed on course. It struck the demon in the chest, breaking apart, then exploding as the gas tank caught fire. The flames enveloped the demon, but Simon doubted that it would do anything to the creature.
By that time, Simon was sliding across the pavement as well. Out of control, he tumbled and skidded, willing himself to relax and let the armor take care of him the way it was supposed to. Trying to stop himself with an arm or a leg could get it broken even inside the armor’s protection.
The world turned insane for a moment, filled with whirling images and near-nausea. The armor slap-patched him and the sickness went away.
Then he crashed into the side of the bridge and came to a halt. He struggled to breathe, only then realizing that he’d had the wind knocked out of him.
Glancing at the HUD, Simon
