He was done for.
The creature brought its right fist back to its ear, aimed the bone-blade at Clarence’s chest.
I’m sorry, Margaret … I’m not going to make it …
A clink of metal on broken gla.s.s. Just inches from the monster’s left temple, the barrel of a Benelli shotgun slid across the bottom edge of the windshield housing.
The monster turned.
“FUUUUCK …” it had time to say, then the shotgun jumped and the monster’s face disappeared in a spray of blood and yellowish flesh. The creature fell to its back, twitching.
Through the windshield, Clarence saw the ashen face of Ramierez.
“Hooyah, motherf.u.c.ker,” the SEAL said.
Clarence turned, letting the bullet-ridden truck carry his weight as he slid to the driver’s door. He opened it.
Bosh was slumped down in the seat, covered in his own blood. He was still blinking, but not for long. The monster had torn his throat open. Clarence could see the front of Bosh’s vertebrae.
Clarence shut the door. Out in the park, he saw a Seahawk helicopter coming in fast, nose tilted up for a landing.
“Everybody out!” he screamed as he stumbled around to the other side. “Move, move! Get to the chopper!”
He opened the pa.s.senger door to see that Ramierez had pa.s.sed out again, shotgun still clutched in his hands.
Clarence lifted Ramierez out of the truck and started toward the helicopter. To his right, Tim stumbled along, supporting the limping weight of Commander Klimas.
Just one man missing, the only man who really mattered.
Clarence stopped only long enough to shout over his shoulder.
“Cooper! Come on!”
GAME OVER
Cooper Mitch.e.l.l’s head hurt, really, really bad.
He saw the horde scatter. Despite the pain, he felt elated. He’d won.
“Suck a bag of d.i.c.ks, you f.u.c.king douchebags.”
He looked up to the sky, saw a slow-moving plane — just a dot, really, but whatever it was, it had ended the fight. Too bad it hadn’t arrived sooner; Roth might have made it.
Cooper had blood all over his hands. His blood, pouring out of a cut on the back of his head. He was probably going to throw up soon, thanks to the eye-narrowing throb going boom-boom-boom inside his skull.
He grabbed the water cannon’s post, used it to pull himself to his knees. He put his right hand down to press up, felt something smooth and hard beneath it — the fire axe.
His pistol was empty. For that matter, he didn’t even know where the thing was. He grabbed the axe handle, lifted it as he stood. His legs felt like rubber. He sat on the bullet-ridden metal box and slid his legs over the side. He dropped, almost fell when he landed.
His right hand held the axe handle. He pushed the top of the head against the ground, used the axe as a cane. There wasn’t one spot on his body that didn’t hurt.
The helicopter. Right there. He’d made it.
Cooper heard movement behind him. He turned sharply.
Not five feet away, slowing to a stop, was the Monster Formerly Known as Jeff, and hiding behind him, head not quite reaching Jeff’s ma.s.sive shoulders, was Steve Stanton.
Steve looked terrified. His eyes darted everywhere, but always flicked back to Cooper.
Only a part of Cooper noticed this, because he couldn’t stop looking at Jeff — huge body, pale yellow skin gleaming from a sheen of sweat, mouth open, chest heaving slightly from exertion. So G.o.dd.a.m.n big. And those ma.s.sive arms, the bone-blades jutting from the backs of his hands.
Jeff raised a hand to his head. His fingers flipped back imaginary hair.
“COOOOOOPEEEERRRRRR …”
“Hey, buddy,” Cooper said. He didn’t feel afraid this time, which made no sense at all — Jeff was a thing, a thing with f.u.c.king bone-swords for arms. And yet, Cooper had won. He couldn’t die now … it simply was not possible.
Steve pointed a shaking finger at Cooper. “Jeff, kill him! Skin him!”
The Monster Formerly Known as Jeff blinked slowly. He took a step forward.
Cooper held up his left hand, palm out: stop right there.
“It’s me, bro. It’s Coop. Don’t do this.”
Jeff lifted a gnarled, yellow foot to take another step forward, then put it back down. His face was distorted, misshapen into a mask of evil, but Cooper could still read his lifelong friend — Jeff didn’t want to attack.
Steve’s screech tore at the air. “Kill him! Kill that diseased motherf.u.c.ker!”
The monster’s eyes flicked down to Cooper’s feet, focused on something there. Cooper looked down as well — the red axe blade, resting against the ground.
Jeff looked up again. His eyes filled with the anguish of a heart torn in two directions. He didn’t want to hurt Cooper, but he couldn’t hold himself back much longer.
For just a moment, the monster wasn’t a monster anymore. It was the boy Cooper had grown up with, the man he’d gone into business with. It was his lifelong friend, the person he loved more than anyone else in the world.
Jeff Brockman closed his eyes.
He let out a long, slow breath.
Cooper knew, instantly, that when Jeff opened those eyes again, he would give in to his nature; he would become the creature that Steve Stanton wanted him to be.
Cooper lifted the axe and stepped forward in the same motion. He swung it high and hard, brought it down with everything he had.
The red blade dug deep into Jeff’s head with a dull chonk.
The Monster Formerly Known as Jeff opened its eyes. He met Cooper’s gaze for two long seconds, then the eyelids sagged.