Hellboy: Unnatural Selection(69)

The dragon veered across the sky, hissing, wings flapping faster as if trying to maintain altitude. Flames flitted past Hellboy, ejected like blood from the fresh wounds on the dragons neck, and then a heavy thud was followed by a gush of fire, enveloping Hellboy and accompanying him on his long journey down. He managed to turn so that he could see where he was going to fall ... and his impact site did not look good. One of the dead dragons lay below him, opened up and burning out. Above him, still squealing even with only half a throat, his abductor followed him down.

He struck hot, wet flesh, and immediately the lights went out. To add insult to injury, there was another explosion as the dead dragons met, and Hellboy felt the sense knocked from him. For once, he welcomed the darkness as it took him away.



* * *



"There's no way he's alive in there!" the policeman said.

"Shut your trap," said the sergeant. He was looking at Liz, not the mass of burning dragons.

"He's been through worse than that," Liz said, but she was trying to convince herself as much as the cops. He has, she thought. Much worse. He's just been shot and got better. This won't touch him. Sore in the morning ... that's all.

The Tornados roared overhead once more, and looking up, Liz could actually see their pilots staring down at the flaming mass of dead dragon meat. She felt a sudden, unaccountable sense of emptiness and sadness, and she thought, Is this what we really do? Is this why I'm really here? Myths lay dead at her feet, and in some way she was mourning the loss of mystery once again.

"Hellboy?" she called.

He stood, dripping with blood, fire erupting all around him, dragon meat sliding from his body, horn stumps glimmering with blood and flame, and he looked both magnificent and terrifying. Liz caught her breath and tried to look away, but she could not. Hellboy's eyes were dark pits in that firelit mess, and as he twisted his head to one side, she heard the distinct click of bones snapping together.

"Hellboy. You still with us?"

"Sure," he said. "Just enjoying the barbecue." He struggled out of the mess of dead dragon, kicking aside the burning fat and trying to wipe the stuff from him as he went.

I can see why they're scared of him, Liz thought. She had known Hellboy for so long that she looked at him as her friend, little else. She rarely saw him with a strangers eyes. He was Hellboy to her, not some demon that had risen out of hell. I can see very well. She looked at the sergeant and his colleague, still nursing their machine guns with obvious intent.

"They're all dead now, Sergeant," Liz said. "Good shooting."

He grunted, glanced at Liz, looked back at Hellboy. His gun did not lower. He was scared and shell-shocked, and she would have to keep her eye on him.

And then Hellboy plucked the stub of an old cigarette from his coat pocket, flicked a bit of fluff from the end, and the sergeant stepped forward with a light. "Thanks," Hellboy said.

"Welcome."

And in that human gesture, any tension remaining evaporated.

"Hellboy," Liz said, "we need to meet the embassy guys. Now more than ever! We need — "

"We need a drink," Hellboy said. "My mouth tastes like a butchers slop bucket."

"There'll be a drink at the embassy."

"You think?" He shrugged, turned around, and looked across the airport. "Damn, those bastards made short work of this place. Sergeant, I guess you and your buddy will be wanting to get off."

"I think so," the sergeant said. "I've got a lot of friends who work in Terminal Three, and ... " He looked across at the wrecks of the passenger jets, unable to say any more. But nothing needed saying. Now was the time for clearing up and helping, not sitting down and weeping. The weeping would always come later. Right now, shock still had these men in its grasp, and it was the buffer they needed against the awful truth.

Hellboy and Liz went back through Terminal Four to the arrivals lounge. The place was almost deserted, except for a man lying across three seats, snoring. "There's always one," Liz said.

"Lucky guy."

Outside, police had sealed off the pickup area, but Liz spotted the embassy guys standing behind the makeshift barrier, waving a large red card as arranged.

"Hey," Hellboy said, "they're playing my song."

"Are you OK?" Liz asked.

"Sure. Why?"

"No reason." Liz looked at Hellboy, and he would not meet her gaze. His eyes were distant. His quips were automatic, and he kept wiping at the blood even now drying to a crisp across his skin. They walked on in silence.