"You're under arrest for threatening a federal agent, Pitt. Put your hands on your head," Herzog snarled.

"Uh...he's still got hand grenades," Archer pointed out.

"Stand down," Franks ordered his men, sounding exasperated. It took them a moment to respond. "I said STAND DOWN." That time both metallic weights left my head. Franks turned and looked at me, not paying any attention to the freeway that was flying past. For once he actually showed some emotion, and unfortunately for me, it was anger. His black eyes burned a hole through my soul as he sedately said the most words I had ever heard from him at one time. "Primary mission. Keep Pitt alive. We need live bait, so I can't twist your head off. But if you ever point a gun at me again, you'll pray for the Old Ones to take you away, because compared to what I'll do, the Elder Things will be a f.u.c.king picnic." He veered us past a semitrailer without looking, and it zipped by so quickly that it was just a silver blur. Franks just kept staring, his black eyes containing nothing but barely controlled rage. The three agents tried to shrink back through the seats. "Got it?"

"Yes."

"Good." Then he slugged me.

It was so unbelievably fast, so staggeringly hard, that I didn't even see it coming. A big fist crashed into my cranium like a lightning bolt from a clear blue sky. A bomb went off inside my gray matter. My head rebounded against the bulletproof gla.s.s of the pa.s.senger side door hard enough to crack it. He didn't just hit me in one place, but it was like he had somehow punched my entire face at once. My eyes automatically filled with tears and blood billowed out my nose in a froth of bubbles.

I was stunned, reeling, my brain trying to process what the h.e.l.l had just happened as I came back to full consciousness either a minute or maybe a day later. "Ouch," I croaked, with the ultimate of understatements.

Franks was back to driving insanely through the evening traffic. The bright lights of the state capitol and downtown Montgomery were off to our right. He took one hand off the wheel long enough to crack his knuckles. "Now we're even."

The Buzzard Island Amphitheater was a new facility, just across the Alabama river, north of Montgomery. It had been a narrow patch of damp, low dirt for most of recorded history, but they had built it up with oceans of concrete, and put in a top-of-the-line convention and concert facility. It was a large, oval building, with a bulging gla.s.s dome for a roof, and giant, stainless-steel spires that were probably supposed to be some sort of industrial-modern-art thing. Tonight there were several large spotlights staggered around the amphitheater, casting giant beams seemingly forever into the clear night sky in big circular patterns.

We tore into the parking lot at just under eighty miles an hour, leaving a thick parabolic curve of rubber as we left the main road and got serious air off a speed b.u.mp. Our sociopathic driver nearly ran down the orange-vested traffic directors, ignoring all rules of both safety and courtesy, as he searched the lines of vehicles for his target. Apparently Franks found it, because he gunned the engine, cut off another car, and hammered the SUV across the pavement, only to hit the brakes at the last possible second and slide in sideways behind a large, black, SWAT-style van at the far end of the lot. The giant unmarked van seemed appropriate, because that was Myers' idea of low profile, after all.

We piled out of the SUV and around the back of the van, where several black-clad agents were cl.u.s.tered out of sight of the people walking around the lot. Still dizzy from the sucker punch, I stumbled around the vehicle, holding one arm up to my face to pinch off my bleeding nose. Agent Myers was sitting on the back steps of the van, listening to a radio with one ear and to his phone with the other. He was nodding, and it wasn't in time with the music throbbing from the far end of the lot either. Franks put one ma.s.sive hand on my chest and shoved me back against the pa.s.senger side door. "Stay here."

He didn't want to get in trouble for bringing me.

"Watch him," Franks told the Goon Squad, then he turned and went to his superior's side. Torres took the front of the vehicle, Herzog the rear, and Archer stayed right by me. The three agents folded their arms, rifles dangling from their tac-slings, as they waited for me to try something else stupid. I suppose at this point I should consider myself in custody, though the MCB weren't the kind of cops who read people their rights...Last rites, maybe. Myers glanced up, obviously surprised to see his subordinate. They were far enough away that I couldn't hear what they were saying, but Myers appeared really ticked when he saw me. He began to shout and gesture wildly, but Franks said something that seemed to placate his boss momentarily.

I had to do something. We were just going to sit out here until the bad guys attacked. Mosh was toast. I could probably kick the c.r.a.p out of some of them and make a run for it, but even if I were to somehow ditch them, my guns were sitting in the back seat, and I would have to run across a couple hundred yards of parking lot, only to arrive unarmed where Condition a.s.sa.s.sins were stalking Mosh. So scratch that plan. Maybe I could pull it off if I had some help. Torres seemed like the least obnoxious of the bunch, but he was further away. "Archer," I whispered to the nearest agent. "Those hit-monsters are going to murder my brother. We've got to get in there and save him."

"Shut up," he said angrily, apparently still offended that I had threatened to shoot his commander. "We're following orders."

"Is that why you volunteered for this? Letting civilians get slaughtered right under your nose, so you could follow orders orders? Come on, man. Do the right thing." We were at the far side of the parking lot, well away from the crowds, but I nodded toward the throngs on the steps of the amphitheater. "How many of those kids have to die tonight?"

Frustrated, he grabbed me by the straps of my armor, "As many as it takes, d.a.m.n it! You don't know what the Condition is capable of. They have to be stopped!" Then he tried to shove me against the SUV, but apparently he had forgotten that I was a giant brute of a man. I outweighed the thin agent by probably a hundred and thirty pounds. He barely succeeded in budging me.

"Yeah, Franks makes it look easy," I said.

Feeling stupid, Archer let go. His Adam's apple bobbed nervously, but his eyes were cold, angry, and he kept one hand on the pistol grip of his M4 carbine. "Just shut up, okay." He jerked his head toward the improvised command center where his superiors were conferring. "Agent Myers knows what he's doing. He's a pro. Look...I don't want your brother or anybody else to get hurt, but this is bigger than he is. This cult, they're trying to awake something evil." Archer realized he was talking too much. "Never mind. Just shut up."

The Fed wasn't going to budge. I had to think of something else, fast.

There was movement over Archer's shoulder. Something small and black scurried low between the tightly packed rows of cars, then another shape, and another. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have been so stupid? I had forgotten all about them. A goggled head poked up over a Volkswagen's hood, scanned the contingent of Feds and then glided back down, unseen by everyone but me. I had forgotten all about them. A goggled head poked up over a Volkswagen's hood, scanned the contingent of Feds and then glided back down, unseen by everyone but me.

I softened my tone. "Look, Agent Archer, I'm not trying to be a jerk, but can I get a Kleenex or something? I'm bleeding all over my armor." I gestured at my swollen nose. It really hurt, so that part wasn't an act.

"Serves you right..." He hesitated, scowling, but finally relented. "Okay, hang on a second." He reached down and pulled open the Velcro tab on his first aid kit. He didn't see the thing crawling out from under a nearby car, then rising silently behind him. The orc grabbed Archer by the strap on the back of his armor while simultaneously kicking both knees out from under him. The agent fell backward, pulled by the weight of his armor and equipment, crying out in surprise.

It was my old pal, Edward. I only recognized him because he moved so smoothly that he made Bruce Lee look rickety. The orc didn't even slow. He covered the distance to Torres, leaping into the air at the last second as the younger agent turned to see what the commotion was about. Edward's heel collided with the Fed's chest, kicking him back. Torres collided with the hood of a car, tripped, and sprawled onto the pavement. There was a thud from the other direction as another black shape cracked Herzog over the head with a club. Gretchen didn't have Edward's moves, but she was mighty handy with her totem stick. The female agent went to the ground in a heap.

The pa.s.senger door of the SUV from h.e.l.l flew open. "n.o.ble One, hurry fast," Skippy ordered. Franks had left the keys in it. I jumped into the seat as Gretchen climbed into the back. Still on the ground, Torres pulled his pistol, but Edward was on him in an instant and kicked the HK across the lot. The orc bent over and slugged Torres in the face, knocked him silly, spun him on his back like a turtle, and dragged him effortlessly over to Archer. He kicked the first agent again as he was struggling to rise, s.n.a.t.c.hed a pair of handcuffs off Torres' vest, and locked one agent's wrist to the other one's ankle.

Skippy cranked it and the demon engine roared like a Tyrannosaurus Rex. He slammed it into reverse and the tires spun as we flew rearward, smashing the back armored b.u.mper into a parked Corvette. The Corvette lost.

Thirty feet away, Franks' head snapped up. His hand flew under his coat and came out with a fat Glock. Skippy put it in drive and the ma.s.sive vehicle jumped forward, Gretchen holding the door open as Edward dove through to safety. Franks aimed at Skippy but hesitated, probably more worried about his truck than violating his primary mission. Then we were speeding past. "Big Fed. Look mad," Skippy grunted as he put the hammer down.

I whipped around to see Franks sprinting after us, gun in hand. Skippy wasn't kidding. He looked p.i.s.sed.

All orcs have gifts. I don't know how it works exactly, but each of them has a unique ability. Edward's was kicking a.s.s. Gretchen was a remarkable healer. And Skippy, leader of the MHI orcs, brother of Edward, and husband of Gretchen (wife one of five), was a helicopter pilot of almost supernatural skill. However, that ability apparently didn't translate into driving ground vehicles, as Skippy smashed the SUV brutally right down a line of parked cars, flinging headlights, gla.s.s, and bits of plastic in every direction. Concertgoers were forced to dive for safety as Skippy high-speed crunched his way toward the amphitheater entrance.

"I'm glad to see you guys!" I shouted as Skippy drove over a parked Suzuki motorcycle. Our shocks absorbed the impact rather well. "We've got to get to my brother. Mosh is in danger."

The orcs in back just started pa.s.sing my confiscated weapons back to me. They never talked much anyway. Skippy piped up as I tucked various guns and knives-even a kukri!- back into their respective spots. "Yes. Joo-Lee call. Say, Great War Chief...in much danger. Twins come. Take soul." His super-gravelly voice sounded angry. His people venerated metal and its musicians above all. A threat against my brother, whom they called the Great War Chief, was serious business. "Twins kill many Urks before...now Urks turn. We go find...Brother of War Chief. See gub mint." He lifted the base of his hood, revealing his tusks, and spit on the steering wheel. Orcs were probably the only people I had ever encountered who had more issues with authority than Hunters. "Gub mint, take you prisoner. So we save."

"Who do you have here?"

Skippy shook his head. "Only few...Grtxschnns, Exszrsd, and-" he grumbled his real, incomprehensible name, reminding me again of why we called him Skippy. "With gub mint here, send tribe away to village. Go home. Be safe. We...we stay for help." He was right. Orcs, even the ones that stayed with MHI, were still on the PUFF list, and thereby fair game to the Feds. What these three were doing was incredibly brave.

"They're heading for the front entrance," said a voice on the radio. "Intercept! Intercept!"

"Belay that order," Myers said. "All units hold position. Wait until we get a shot at those monsters. Pitt, you obstinate pain in the a.s.s, I know you can hear me. Don't you dare go in there."

I grabbed the radio and pulled the mike over to me. "Myers, that's my family we're talking about."

"They'll kill you," he said.

"Yeah, heard that before." I ripped the cord out of the radio. It felt good. Skippy held up his pointer finger and pinky and threw the horns. Rock on. Rock on. "You guys armed?" "You guys armed?"

"No. Security," Skip's hood dipped toward the rapidly approaching concert entrance's row of metal detectors. Gretchen held up her totem stick, complete with feathers and small animal skulls, that she had somehow snuck in. There were two sudden clicks as Edward flicked open the ASP collapsible batons he must have lifted off of Torres and Archer. Edward was a lousy shot, but death incarnate up close. I pulled my big.45 and pa.s.sed it over to Skippy. "Thanks," he said. "Hold to something, now."

We drove up the entrance stairs and slammed the radiator into a concrete wall right across from a giant bronze statue of Hank Williams, Sr. The armored Suburban was so heavy I barely felt the impact.

I leapt out, scanning the crowd. It was a diverse bunch watching the chaos of our car wreck. Most of them were pierced or tattooed, and there was a bewildering variety of hairstyles-everything from shaved heads all the way to long flowing hair and even a few old-school mohawks. They were pointing and laughing at the G-Ride, with its red and blue flashing wigwags perched lopsided on the stairs, which meant security would be here any second.

Skippy grunted to get my attention. "Disguise." He tossed me a blue windbreaker that said Department of Homeland Security in giant gold letters on the back. It was huge, big enough to fit over my armor even, so must have belonged to Agent Franks. I tugged it on and clumsily hid Abomination under one armpit. It was then that I noticed for the first time that all three orcs were wearing Cabbage Point Killing Machine shirts over their usual baggy, black clothing. Skippy's boldly read hold the pig steady. So the orcs were in disguise too.

"Get inside," I shouted, and the four of us ran for the entrance. The concert had been going on for a while, so there weren't very many people standing in line, and we rudely shoved past those that were. "Out of the way. Homeland Security. Coming through!" I bellowed. Having already committed a.s.sault with a deadly weapon and grand theft auto in the last ten minutes, what was a little impersonating a federal agent?

Oh c.r.a.p. The Law."Who the h.e.l.l are you?" asked the uniformed cop pushing his way through the sea of tattooed skin. He must have seen the G-Ride.

"Agent Franks. Homeland Security!" I shouted, still trying to get to the entrance. "We've got a terrorist incident."

Apparently me and my b.l.o.o.d.y nose didn't make the most convincing Fed. He held up one hand to stop me, his other hand came to a rest on his holstered sidearm. Alabama cops do not screw around. "Let's see some creds."

"Edward, my credentials please," I requested. The orc smoothly melted through the crowd and batoned the cop to the pavement before anyone could react. The two figures went down and were lost in the churning ma.s.s. "Don't hurt him," I ordered, not slowing. We made it around the corner and away from the Suburban. I broke into a run.

There were four people wearing yellow security shirts taking tickets and manning the metal detectors at the gate. "No weapons, no drugs, only eight ounces of sealed bottled water, no flash photography..." the first guard droned automatically. "Ticket, please." I ignored him and strode right through. The detector started beeping like crazy. "Hey, a.s.shole." One meaty hand fell on my shoulder. I instantly grabbed it and twisted, putting the man in a wristlock. He screamed and went to his knees. My jacket fell open, revealing my shotgun.

"Anybody else want my ticket?" I asked.

"Naw, that's cool," said the second guard slowly, hand unconsciously reaching for his radio. There wasn't much I could do about that, short of shooting everybody, and being one of the self-proclaimed Good Guys, that wasn't an option. I let go of the first guard, put my boot on his shoulder, and shoved him out of the way. "Enjoy the show..." said the calm one. The three orcs came next, each one taking the time to politely display their VIP wristbands to security people that weren't really paying attention at that point.

Then we were inside the concourse. This place was huge, with lots of ground to cross, and I knew I didn't have much time. Regular cops would be looking for a big dude in a blue jacket, and a show like this had to be crawling with cops. A giant row of vendors selling souvenirs, tee shirts, beer and food, stretched for what looked like a quarter mile before the building opened up into the actual hall. There were probably a thousand people wandering around, cl.u.s.tered in talkative knots or buying various things between us and my brother. They would have to serve as cover.

"Walk fast, but try to look like we belong," I said, realizing how stupid that sounded as soon as I said it. A man walked past wearing a Viking costume with lit sparklers on his helmet, and in the other direction went two young women whose only clothing on their upper halves was strategically placed, black electrical tape. Yeah, it had been a long time since I had been to one of my brother's shows. Edward suddenly bolted off to the side in the direction of the restrooms. Either he had seen something, or orcs had easily excitable bladders. I kept moving.

d.a.m.n, more cops. A few of them were running down the concourse back toward the entrance. I bowed my head so I wouldn't appear so tall and got into a line that was either for funnel cakes or nose rings. The Montgomery PD went right past, but I knew that kind of luck wouldn't last for long. A few of them were running down the concourse back toward the entrance. I bowed my head so I wouldn't appear so tall and got into a line that was either for funnel cakes or nose rings. The Montgomery PD went right past, but I knew that kind of luck wouldn't last for long.

There was a tap on my shoulder. Edward shoved a giant leather trenchcoat at me. I saw my reflection in his goggled eyes as he nodded at the restrooms. His English was worse that Skippy's. "Fat man. Go pee. No need coat." Then he emitted a low-pitched noise, like shaking gravel in a bucket, that could only have been a hearty orcish laugh. I pulled the DHS jacket off and tossed it on the floor, exposing piles of guns for just an instant, before quickly donning the ma.s.sive garment, which I discovered came with chains and a row of spikes down each shoulder.

"Sweet," I said. Gretchen handed me a ridiculous cowboy hat, complete with a swath of what I a.s.sumed was real armadillo that she had lifted off of somebody else. Orcs were d.a.m.n sneaky when they put their minds to it. Living in the shadows of humanity for centuries had that effect. I pulled the hat down low, even though it was way too small, and headed for the show.

In the main hall, the music was deafening, driven by a giant wall of speakers behind the band. The place was packed. The floor was a sea of bouncing bodies, hands raised, moving in time with the music, a veritable sea of hands and heads throbbing up and down. It was muggy from the body heat, and I immediately began to sweat under the layers of Kevlar and the absurd coat. The air was thick from glycerin foggers, as strobes and lasers cut confusing patterns above us. The three orcs began to bob automatically, unable to resist the instinctive urge to headbang.

A giant shape loomed over me. Monster! Monster! I started to pull out Abomination, only to realize that the huge thing tottering past was some awkward demon costume, made by a girl sitting on a tall man's shoulders, and draped in burlap and tarps. If it hadn't been such a dangerous situation, I would have stopped to admire the fact that they even had red LED lights mounted for eyes. I really needed to get to more of Mosh's shows. I started to pull out Abomination, only to realize that the huge thing tottering past was some awkward demon costume, made by a girl sitting on a tall man's shoulders, and draped in burlap and tarps. If it hadn't been such a dangerous situation, I would have stopped to admire the fact that they even had red LED lights mounted for eyes. I really needed to get to more of Mosh's shows.

My brother had always been musically gifted. Dad hadn't really appreciated it since it was a skill that wasn't directly useful for survival. But Mom had put her foot down and young David Uhersky Pitt had taken cla.s.sical guitar lessons. Then one day as teenagers the two of us had snuck out to a Slayer concert and he had found his calling in life. The rest was history.

Brilliant spotlights beamed down on the stage as Cabbage Point Killing Machine played. The singer was moving back and forth, jumping up and down and screaming. Fireb.a.l.l.s exploded and soared upward over the stage as the pyrotechicians earned their keep. Then I spotted my brother, the guitarist, just a silhouette standing out in front of a propane explosion, as he played his guitar like I shoot guns. He was one of most talented musicians in the world, in my humble opinion, and I felt pretty justified in that opinion as his fingers flew back and forth faster than the eye could track, coaxing chords out of his instrument not meant for the human ear. The boy could shred. shred.

I tried to stick to the edge of the main floor, as the bodies were only tightly packed here, as opposed to absurdly packed into the center. I headed directly for the stage. There was probably a better way to go around, but I had never been here before and had no idea how the area behind the stage was laid out. Not to mention that there were bound to be more cops back there too.

It was deafening, but I heard a voice in my radio earpiece. I clamped one hand over it in order to hear. "-ing on the freeway. North side of Montgomery," it was saying. It was somebody else from MHI.

My microphone was in a strap that rode around my neck, a military design used so soldiers riding in turrets could still be heard over wind noise. Hopefully, it would work in here. "This is Z. I'm inside the concert."

"What is that noise?" I recognized that voice as belonging to Grant Jefferson. "Are the cultists attacking?"

"No, that's just the music." I had to remind myself that when I had driven Grant's car last summer, all of the stations had been programmed to opera or something. "Stay outside the concert. Feds are crawling all over the parking lot, and they're ticked. They'll probably just arrest you on sight."

"What? I can't hear you over that horrible racket." Some people just can't appreciate good good music. music.

I started to reply, but choked it off as I saw them. Two things were making their way toward the stage, parallel with me but on the opposite side of the floor. They towered over the jumping crowd, a pair of huge, slumped shapes, merely black outlines in the flashing lights. The first was much taller than everything around it, and the other was even larger, and unlike the flailing costumes I had seen so far, these were moving far too smoothly, cutting their way right through the unsuspecting ma.s.ses.

Grabbing Skippy's arm, I pointed at the monsters. His goggled head swiveled back and forth. Finally, he shrugged. He couldn't see them. "d.a.m.n it, the two big things. They're huge. Right there. there. " I pointed again. The other orcs looked as well, standing on their tiptoes to see, then glanced at each other, shaking their heads as thousands of sweaty bodies jostled around us. They couldn't see them either. " I pointed again. The other orcs looked as well, standing on their tiptoes to see, then glanced at each other, shaking their heads as thousands of sweaty bodies jostled around us. They couldn't see them either.

There was no time to ponder that mystery. I doubled my efforts to get to the stage, pushing and shoving, a big man on a mission. Across the hall, the ogres, or oni, or whatever the h.e.l.l they were, were moving at about the same speed. Somehow, the people being plowed out of their way didn't even seem to notice.

An elbow caught my cheek and a heavy boot kicked me in the thigh. This was the kind of crowd that didn't react well to rudeness. I just kept going. Edward clotheslined a large youth to the ground when said youth took issue with me cutting in front of him. The closer I got to the stage, the more violent it was going to get. Anybody who has been to a show like this knows that the front few rows were not for the faint of heart. It was a downright Darwinian environment. The floor narrowed as it got down to the stage, which was serving to funnel us closer to the approaching monsters.

Risking a quick glance to the side, I could see them clearly through the fog. The lead thing was at least a foot taller than my 6 feet 5 inches and even then, it seemed somehow hunched over. Its head was covered in some sort of gray shawl. It collided with the moshers, and they just parted before it, a few of them getting confused looks on their faces, but none of them seeing the creatures.

"See them now?" I shouted at Skippy.

"No," he said, while looking right at them. "Smell. Smell monsters."

I don't know how Skippy could smell anything over the odor of thousands of bodies and various types of illegal smoke, but whatever worked. The first creature was almost to the stage as I reached the base. More yellow-shirted security were standing behind a row of aluminum rails separating the mob from the band. I climbed over the rail, only to have several pairs of strong hands shove me back. Only tough guys got this kind of job. It was the kind of thing that I probably would have done in the past and enjoyed. I had always been about gigs that allowed me to punch people and and get paid for it. get paid for it.

So it wasn't anything personal when I palm-struck the guard in the chest and launched him back into the concrete. I just needed to get on that stage. The other guard touching me went down with a flick of Edward's stolen baton, crying out and holding his fingers. I was over the railing and pulling myself up to the stage in a second, losing my idiotic cowboy hat in the process.

The song finished in a flourish of guitars and drums, along with a propane explosion right over my head. The lights twirled and flickered as they spun the spotlights like a kaleidoscope. I was up and over, rolling onto the hardwood planking as the crowd went insane, asking for, no, demanding demanding an encore. I got to my knees as the lead singer tossed his microphone and leapt past me into the waiting arms of the crowd. He was surfed back and forth on the sea of hands, and I had to admit that at any other time it looked like fun. Mosh better not do that, because I didn't fight my way all the way up here just to have him go and jump the h.e.l.l off. I headed for the guitarist. I sensed the orcs right behind me as one of them, Skippy, left us and sprinted toward the row of speakers. an encore. I got to my knees as the lead singer tossed his microphone and leapt past me into the waiting arms of the crowd. He was surfed back and forth on the sea of hands, and I had to admit that at any other time it looked like fun. Mosh better not do that, because I didn't fight my way all the way up here just to have him go and jump the h.e.l.l off. I headed for the guitarist. I sensed the orcs right behind me as one of them, Skippy, left us and sprinted toward the row of speakers.

My brother had pulled his instrument off, and was waving it over his head like some medieval weapon. People said that he looked a lot like me, but I never saw the resemblance. He was a few years younger, a few inches shorter, and a few pounds lighter. Personally, I thought he looked more like Mom, with me being darker, uglier, and more beady-eyed like Dad. He was wearing a tank top, showing off the typical Pitt family bulkiness and love of lifting heavy objects, and also demonstrating that three quarters of him was inked with various designs. You have no idea how angry that made my dad. Mosh had a long black goatee; his head was totally shaved and shiny under the lights. I was going prematurely bald, and my brother, blessed with a full head of hair, shaves his. Jerk Jerk.

For a second I thought Mosh was going to bring the guitar down and smash it on stage, but that would be like me smashing a perfectly good firearm. He was a rock star but we had been raised too cheaply to ever be wasteful. Finally, he lowered the guitar and shook his fist at the crowd, the wide grin of a man doing what he loves and knowing he's the very best at it on his tanned face.

Then he saw me. His mouth formed my name as he tried to process what I was doing here. Security was coming from offstage to get me, but he waved them away as I got closer. Confused, he was starting to ask me a question when the first monster hit the stage. A body in a yellow tee shirt flew twenty feet in the air, screaming, before crashing into an overhanging speaker and taking the entire a.s.sembly crashing to the floor in a shower of sparks. The crowd loved it.

The guard's impact caused a giant confetti dispenser to break open prematurely, spilling tons of reflective bits of white paper like snow. "What the h.e.l.l, man?" Mosh shouted as a great gray ma.s.s vaulted effortlessly onto the stage, knocking over stands and crushing a huge bank of Digitech pedals. Through the wall of sparkling fake snow, the creature turned toward us. The face underneath the gray hood was human, mostly, but twisted, somehow too long, too pointy, with a mane of curly black hair framing bulging red eyes set in a purple hag's face. The shroud fell open as the monster rose to its full height, towering over us, spreading wide long purple arms, six-fingered hands opening into a bank of nails the size of steak knives. The form was that of a human female, but far too enormous, with skin the texture of punching-bag leather.

The audience cheered.

I swear it actually smiled-gleaming white pointy teeth poking out in an evil grin-turned, and bowed to the crowd.

"That's one big big chick," the drummer said stupidly. chick," the drummer said stupidly.

Then it was back to business, as the thing crossed most of the huge stage in two steps, curled toe claws digging splinters out of the floor. A black, forked tongue licked past lips as it spoke, with a voice that sounded surprisingly normal and feminine. "Come along, little performer. Show's over."

"s.h.i.t!" Mosh shouted, stumbling back, knowing full well that this wasn't part of the act. "What's that?"

"Oh, now now everybody can see them!" I shouted as I pushed past my brother, shrugged out of the stupid coat, raised Abomination and flipped the selector down to full auto. The EO-Tech holographic sight settled on the creature's center of ma.s.s as I jerked the trigger. Abomination recoiled up and to the right as I st.i.tched a line of buckshot impacts across the creature's torso. The purple shape jerked under the steady impacts, raising claws to protect its face as I blasted it with a continuous roar of ten magnum rounds. No normal being could have lived. everybody can see them!" I shouted as I pushed past my brother, shrugged out of the stupid coat, raised Abomination and flipped the selector down to full auto. The EO-Tech holographic sight settled on the creature's center of ma.s.s as I jerked the trigger. Abomination recoiled up and to the right as I st.i.tched a line of buckshot impacts across the creature's torso. The purple shape jerked under the steady impacts, raising claws to protect its face as I blasted it with a continuous roar of ten magnum rounds. No normal being could have lived.

"Mosh. Run," I ordered as I dropped the spent magazine and pulled another one from my vest.

The clawed hand came down and belligerent red eyes focused on me through the swirling confetti. "You!"

New magazine rocked in, I jerked the charging handle to chamber another round, aimed and fired. The one-ounce silver slug could have blasted a hole through a medium-sized cow but it didn't seem to phase the oni. The projectile actually made an audible, buzzing, ricochet noise and there was a clang as the drum set took the hit.

She turned to the pit and shrieked, "Cratos! He is here. The Hunter arrived, just as they said he would."

The second monster lumbered up onto the stage, also cloaked in gray, but, holy s.h.i.t, holy s.h.i.t, this one was huge. The arms bulging out the sides were bright red, big around as my waist, and rippling with veins as thick as garden hoses. The head rose, revealing a much more demonic visage, rhino-horn-sized tusks pointing up out of a jaw a foot across. Above that, tiny black eyes blinked stupidly. Squat, with thick legs and a stumpy torso, he was still twice as tall as I was, and every inch of him was coated in red hide and hard muscle. It was truly terrifying. "Master will pay many souls for this one, Bia," he bellowed, his voice shaking the foundations of the building. this one was huge. The arms bulging out the sides were bright red, big around as my waist, and rippling with veins as thick as garden hoses. The head rose, revealing a much more demonic visage, rhino-horn-sized tusks pointing up out of a jaw a foot across. Above that, tiny black eyes blinked stupidly. Squat, with thick legs and a stumpy torso, he was still twice as tall as I was, and every inch of him was coated in red hide and hard muscle. It was truly terrifying. "Master will pay many souls for this one, Bia," he bellowed, his voice shaking the foundations of the building.

The audience went nuts. Now this was entertainment. As long as they thought this was part of the show, they wouldn't kill each other trying to stampede out the exits. Edward swung his arms sharply downward, and the two batons extended with a snap. I pointed my shotgun at the big red monster. "Ready, Ed?" The orc spun both batons around him fast enough to make the air whistle, looked at me, and nodded.

One of the bouncers stared up at the giant in shock, backing away slowly, while the others had the sense to run like h.e.l.l. "Yum...snack," Big Red said. The brute reached down, effortlessly picked the man up and casually bit his head off. Twitching and fountaining blood, the decapitated body was tossed fifty feet out into the audience by the monster like it was discarding an empty beer can. The nonchalant crunching of the skull as he chewed was audible across the entire stage. The purple one laughed.

Edward glanced down at the batons in his hands, then back at me, as if to say, Screw this Screw this. We both ran.

My brother hadn't listened to me, and he was watching the two giants, mouth agape, guitar dangling in one hand. "Come on, man!" I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him along as we sprinted for backstage. There was a ma.s.sive roar and a harpy's shriek as the creatures followed, each one of their strides equivalent to several of ours. The other people in this general area were close enough to know that these were not special effects and were fleeing in every direction. My eyes were dazzled from the spotlights as we ran under the overhang supporting most of the sound equipment and into an unadorned concrete hallway. I crashed and tripped over a cart, dragging Mosh with me. Gretchen and Edward were now far ahead, as were the fleeing roadies and stagehands.

Skippy was pushing the metal container cart that I'd run into toward the stage. It took me a second to realize what it was. The black stencil read DANGER: pyrotechnics. Skippy gestured at my vest. Knowing automatically what he wanted, I pulled out an incendiary grenade and handed it to him.

"Owen, what are those-wait, is that a grenade?" Mosh asked as he pulled himself to his feet, still trying to figure out what was happening. Welcome to the party, Bro. Welcome to the party, Bro.

"Yes, and when the pin is pulled, Mr. Grenade is no longer our friend, so move your a.s.s."

"Bia, here they are," the red oni said as he squatted on his haunches and peered down the hallway. "Filthy souls to eat...he-he-he." His giggle was unnerving.

The hallway was clear of innocents. Not that Skippy probably would have worried about it anyway. He tugged the pin, dropped the grenade on top of the cart, and both of us shoved as hard as we could, sending the heavy load down the hall with a surprising bit of velocity. Five-second fuse on the white phosphorus ones Five-second fuse on the white phosphorus ones. The cart rolled haphazardly toward the huge figure now waddling, crouched, down the hall. "RUN!" Cratos smashed the cart against the wall, pushing his way past it to get to us.

The three of us made it down the rest of the hall and around the corner before the WP detonated. Willie Petes don't go off with a typical explosion-more of a pop-fizz pop-fizz, and then a layer of flame that sticks to everything and could melt steel goes shooting out in every direction. Cratos roared as phosphorus embedded itself in his hide. "Keep going!" I screamed. The pyro bundle detonated a moment later, not as ma.s.sively as I hoped, but the shockwave traveled over us, raining dust down from the ceiling.