SOMEONE VERY FAR away pushed on his shoulder and called a name. They kept pushing and calling. It echoed down to him and he recognized it. “St. George?”
He regretted it. Admitting he knew his name meant consciousness. Consciousness brought a lot of pain with it.
The face over his was pale, with chalky eyes framed by ragged hair. He pulled his hand back to strike before he recognized the Corpse Girl. Her dark hair hung down, shadowing her face and making unfamiliar lines.
“Don’t be a jerk,” Madelyn said.
She helped him sit up. His knuckles ached. His chest itched and burned where the demon’s claws had raked his flesh. He was willing to bet the wounds were infected.
He looked at her. Her coat had sizzled away, and her jeans and shirt were singed. Charred in places. So was her hair. One of her arms and part of her face were burned.
He nodded at the arm. “How are you?”
Madelyn nodded. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “I think Captain Freedom’s really bad, though. He’s got broken bones and a fever.”
St. George stood up. The last of his leather jacket crumbled away like burned parchment. The tattered shirt below wasn’t much better off, but it held together for now. He hobbled when he walked, and remembered the demon had bitten one of his boot heels off.
A wide spiderweb of white ash stretched across the street. It covered cars and the cracked pavement and the bony remains of hundreds of exes. The dust hung in the air like a white haze. He looked up at the moon, lighting the whole scene. The dark clouds were gone.
They were halfway to Freedom when St. George saw the black boots stretched out beneath an ash-whitened truck. He grabbed the chassis and flipped the truck up. What was left of the tires broke apart and the battered Chevy crashed onto its side.
Stealth’s cloak wrapped around her like a shroud. Parts of it had burned. He could see glimpses of dark skin where her bodysuit had been torn or charred away.
He set his fingers against her wrist to check for a pulse. She grabbed his arm and pulled herself up, the knife in her other hand aimed at his own throat. The blade scraped off his Adam’s apple before she stopped herself.
She took a few ragged breaths. A third of her mask was gone. He could see her cheekbone and the smooth line of her jaw and the edge of her lips at the corner of her mouth. “You survived,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said. “We did.”
She wrapped her arms around him and allowed him to lift her up. She settled on her feet and took a few cautious steps. “I appear to be uninjured.”
“Good.”
Madelyn waved them over to Freedom. The huge officer lay on the far side of the street, sheltered by the car the dead girl had dragged him behind. His hand wrapped over the bloody wound in his side. His breathing was ragged.
St. George looked around. “Try to find Barry,” he told Madelyn.
She nodded and darted away. Stealth followed her.
He crouched and set a hand on Freedom’s forehead. It was burning hot. His eyes blinked open and he looked at the hero. “I take it we won, sir.”
“Seems like it,” said St. George. “You look like crap, Captain.”
“I think the demon’s tail might’ve been poisonous. And I’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“Can you walk?”
“No idea.”
St. George helped the big man to his feet. He swayed for a moment, then fell against a car. “I think I’ll wait here, sir,” he coughed.
“Zzzap’s alive,” Madelyn called from a few yards away. “And he’s … uhhh, naked.”
“That’s normal,” said St. George. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked Freedom.
“I’ve had worse.”
St. George glanced around for something to cover his friend as he made his way across the rubble. He didn’t have much left in the way of clothes himself. Pretty much everything that could burn near the demon had burned.
A few yards from Barry was the center of the spiderweb. Dozens of long bones lay there in a heap. A distorted skeleton, like the remains of a dinosaur. Scraps of charred flesh hung on the long bones. A long shard of gleaming metal stood between two ribs. It was the only thing not covered in dust.
Stealth tapped the horned skull with her boot and it fell free of the pile. It looked swollen and round. The sockets were too large. The jaw bristled with teeth like daggers. The spine dragged after it, bound together with threads of gristle.
Barry sprawled on the pavement. His dark skin was covered with ash. St. George remembered the ghastly look from 9/11 footage. The hand that had held the sword was still spread wide open, as if it had cramped that way.
Madelyn’s fingers danced down her shirt and she shrugged out of her flannel. Her bra and her skin were the same shade of white. She draped it across Barry’s lap. The other man’s eyes fluttered as she did.
Barry looked up at them. “You guys are still alive?”
“Yeah,” said St. George. He kneeled. “Barely.”
“Am I still alive?”
“I hope so. We don’t need any more ghosts.”
Barry nodded. “Cairax?”
St. George tilted his head back toward Stealth. “You got him.”
“Wow.” He started to relax, then his eyes snapped open. “Oh, crap,” he said. “Crap, crap, crap.”
“What’s wrong?” Madelyn asked.
“Are you okay?” St. George tried to check his friend’s body and wondered what he wasn’t seeing.
Barry’s eyes were wide with terror. “I can’t feel my legs. I think … I think I’m paralyzed.”
St. George looked at his friend for a moment, then burst out laughing. Madelyn giggled. Barry kept the act up for another few seconds before a grin broke out across his face.
“Well, damn,” Barry said after a minute of laughter. “I always wanted to do that.”
“Do what?”
He smiled at them. “I think we just saved the world.”
St. George stood up to join Stealth and saw the exes.
At least three
