The newly arrived creature laughed maniacally and Lazarus uttered a soft prayer, finding solace in a higher power that he didn’t even think he’d believed in until this very moment.
And then everything really and truly went to hell.
CHAPTER XII
The Thousand Year Reich
The hurried footsteps set off warning bells in Gravedigger’s head. She wheeled about to see a black-booted figure lunging at her from beneath a black arch, the crimson armband of the SS clearly on view. It was dark in Sovereign but Charity could make out a fierce, squat face and the gleam of steel in his right hand — a wickedly curved dagger that had obviously seen a lot of use over the years.
Avoiding the thrust of the soldier’s blade with a skillful twist of her lithe form, Gravedigger grunted as the edge of the weapon tore through her uniform and scratched against the heavy padding she wore beneath.
Before the Nazi could recover his balance, Gravedigger seized his arm and brought a fist down into the man’s face. His nose shattered, the fellow slid to the ground without a sound.
Gravedigger stood over her fallen foe, her senses on full alert. A few moments before, she’d seen a winged sentry fly overhead but if it kept to its usual path, it wouldn’t return to this area of the city for another half hour. One sentry, however, usually meant that there would be more in the area.
Sure enough, she heard the sounds of muffled footsteps around the next corner. Nighttime was never safe in Sovereign but on this night, it was even more dangerous than usual. This was the anniversary of The Füehrer’s Triumph, that terrible day one year before when Hitler and his alliance with the occult forces of Darhoth had triumphed, plunging the entire world into his dark embrace.
Drawing her sword, Gravedigger hurried away from the arches and allowed the shadows of a nearby alleyway to swallow her up. She quickly turned onto a wide street, just a few blocks away from where the headquarters of Assistance Unlimited had once stood. The once-proud structure had been razed to the ground and the Nazis were currently building a government building on the site. The monolithic structure was going to be drab and gray, though adorned with horrible sculptures perched on its sides like gargoyles. The statues would depict the awful entities that ruled the world now, using Hitler as their human puppet: hideous, slithering things with tentacles and repulsive features. They were the demons of humanity’s worse nightmares, given new life and freedom, all because the heroes of the world had failed.
Gravedigger frowned beneath her mask, thinking of all that had been lost. Her friends, one by one, had been hunted down and slaughtered. Cedric had been the last of her former compatriots, surviving on one good leg until a Deep One had devoured him last month.
She could still hear his screams.
A few moments later, she rapped upon an unmarked door. The manner in which she knocked — two quick strikes, followed by four harder blows — was a code that told the person within that she was safe. A half-second later, the door opened and she pushed her way in without preamble, barking, “Lock the door!”
The man who slammed the barricade shut behind her had once been considered quite handsome. His dimpled chin had adorned the covers of magazines from coast to coast, usually accompanied by rather lurid descriptions of his adventures and the mysteries surrounding his origins.
Born Richard Winthrop, he had washed up on the shores of Sovereign City after being left for dead by his former allies in The Illuminati. Christening himself Lazarus Gray, he had embarked on a new life for himself, one dedicated to righting the wrongs of the world.
But one year ago, he’d failed to see the truth that lay right in front of him: that he was being played for a fool. As such, the jagged scar that stretched from his left eye all the way down to his chin was a constant reminder of his defeat.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice sounding hoarse and dry. He’d inhaled steaming hot vapor during the night of Darhoth’s victory and ever since, he’d barely been able to speak above a whisper.
“The rumors are true. They captured Max.” Gravedigger shoved back her hood and yanked off her mask. She was still lovely but she’d aged considerably over the past few months. Worry lines around her mouth and on her forehead made her look ten years older than she really was. “According to the radio broadcasts, he’s going to be publicly executed at midnight tonight.”
“City Hall?”
“Yes.”
Lazarus moved over to a map of the city. Photographs of their dead friends were tacked up all over its surface, showing where they’d perished. He’d returned to Sovereign, as had all the others, after the horrors of the Old Ones had been unleashed upon the world. Somehow, even without someone like Catalyst around to confirm it, they all knew that Sovereign was going to be the site of their last stand.
He tapped the City Hall area of the map, his mind momentarily going back to the night that he and his friends had gone in search of The Unnervum. That horrific device was now in the hands of the enemy, both drawing on the madness of the city’s populace and amplifying their fears. “Is Hitler still in town? If he is, he’s going to be there for the execution.”
“He is but I don’t think we should risk ourselves going after him.”
“We’re the only three heroes left,” Lazarus said in disbelief, turning to face her. “And we could certainly use his gift of prescience.”
“It didn’t help keep him from getting captured,” she pointed out.
Lazarus moved towards her and cupped her face in his hands. “We owe it to him. You know that.”
“We don’t owe him anything,” she said harshly. “If we get ourselves captured or killed, nobody benefits. We have to protect ourselves. He’d understand that.”
These two people, who just one year before had been almost enemies, were now bound together. Both had lost their loved ones and their freedom. They sometimes shared a bed now, though neither of them would ever claim that their affection was anything more than a product of their situation. Still, they were intimate and that gave Lazarus’ words extra meaning. “You and I both came back from the dead to make the world a better place. If we don’t expend every last breath we have fighting for that, we’ve wasted everything. All of our friends’ lives, all of our hard work, all that we’ve suffered through… none of it will matter. We have to rescue The Peregrine.”
Charity frowned but after staring into his mismatched eyes, she finally relented. “On one condition.”
“What?”
“If I get a chance, I’m killing The Füehrer”
“I’ll try to make sure you get that chance,” he whispered.
They kissed and then parted quickly, each preparing for the night’s work in their own way.
The Peregrine pushed away the tray of food and barely stifled a groan of disgust. The “soup” was full of sawdust, which could end up leading to dysentery. Even with death seemingly staring him in the face, Max wasn’t ready to go out with his guts in turmoil.
He sat back on the small cot that was the only furniture in his cell and closed his eyes. When he did this, it was easy to remember the way things used to be back when he could find solace in the arms of Evelyn, or smell Nettie’s pancake’s cooking on a Sunday morning.
All of that was gone now, of course. He had lost track of Evelyn months ago. He hoped she was still with Benson, the enigmatic avenger who had offered to keep her safe, but he had no way of knowing if that were true.
He opened his eyes again, lest the visions come once more. They’d haunted him for many years, teasing him of violent acts that were yet to occur. Eventually, he’d learned that they were being sent from beyond the grave by his own father, who had molded his heir into a living vessel of vengeance against the kinds of men who had killed him.