Chapter Twenty: Arrival at the Destination

I regrouped with the teams led by Sisyphus, Perseus, and Ferhael; none of us had suffered any real harm. I demanded, “Sisyphus! On what grounds did you judge them to be bandits?”

Sisyphus, hearing the displeasure in my tone, was equally unamused. He replied, “They were armed and occupying our target factory. Even if they’re not bandits, they’re extremely dangerous—so we had to strike first.”

On this point, Ferhael and Perseus agreed. Perseus said, “At least we completed the mission.”

I glanced at the women and children in the small house and then cast a questioning look at the others.

Ferhael said, “If they’re kin of the ‘bandits,’ we’ve already made ourselves their bitter enemies. If they’re unrelated, their fate is no longer ours to decide.”

I sighed, knowing that our reckless assault had likely sealed their doom. We headed for the storeroom, which was secured by a large iron door. I used a keycard we’d found to open it, revealing at least a hundred tons of canned goods stacked before us. Clearly, these people hadn’t been here long, for they’d barely made a dent in the stockpile.

Almost everyone’s face brightened with delight; someone even whistled in excitement. My guilt faded away. I said, “Leave them a tenth; take the rest. Have Warden bring the vehicle closer.”

Each of us selected a can, heated it briefly over a fire, and listened to the oil sizzle within. The meat tasted normal, unspoiled. We laughed as we filled our bellies—everyone except Salvador, who remained despondent.

I put my arm around his shoulder and said, “Sammy, why the long face? You handled yourself well out there.”

Salvador sighed. “Fishbone, I still feel sorry for them.”

He was sensitive, almost childlike in his tenderness. For Lamia’s sake, I spoke to him gently, trying to reassure him. “You know as well as I do, we can barely protect ourselves. If we hadn’t killed the guards here, it would’ve been us lying dead.”

Salvador replied, “We could have chosen not to come here and disturb them at all.”

I said, “People in Black Coffin Town need food—more than ever. And with the preservation technology here, if we can replicate it, we’re doing a great service for the people. They have what we need, and they’d never cooperate with us.”

Salvador asked, “So we just kill them? And what of those left behind?”

I answered, “I’m thinking only of the people of Black Coffin now. You’re with us, not with them.”

I spoke to him as one might to a child. Outwardly, Salvador seemed comforted, though I couldn’t be sure what he truly felt inside. Some things become easier with repetition, and when numbness sets in, acceptance soon follows. At least he still trusted me enough to follow; that was what mattered.

We fetched carts and loaded the cans onto Yune. When we finished, dusk was close, so we returned to the open plain where vehicles could move freely, waiting for the next dawn.

Bella sat atop her coffin, sipping from a bag filled with crimson liquid through a straw. The others pretended not to notice; I didn’t ask.

Bella inquired, “How far to the museum now?”

“If Vajra’s map is accurate, we’ll arrive the day after tomorrow,” I replied.

Bella asked again, “Vajra’s maps are rarely wrong, right?”

Sisyphus answered, “Only if the terrain hasn’t changed. Sometimes the land is utterly transformed after a century, or you might run into an anomaly.”

Bella frowned. “Is there any way to avoid that? I’m getting impatient.”

I said, “Generally, the heavier the object, the less it’s affected by anomalies. Maybe Yune will get us through.”

I wasn’t a scientist—my words were little more than hope. I just wanted this expedition to end so I could claim my reward.

In my scavenging days, I’d slain young demons but never grown accustomed to harming the weak. I feared the road ahead might force such crimes upon me. I trusted my reason, but the scariest thing was that reason might demand these killings.

Our destination was the San Francisco Museum of Ancient Art—a new institution, distinct from the Museum of Modern Art. Two nights later, we arrived. The building resembled a twin-towered cathedral, the towers standing side by side. Between them stretched a vast exhibition hall. Despite a century’s passage, its silhouette remained unbroken in the moonlight, unmarred by cracks, though rampant trees had wound themselves around the structure.

Some windows were shattered—whether by man or beast, I couldn’t say. Peering inside, we saw nothing clearly. I doubted anyone struggling to survive would bother stealing antiques, except perhaps a well-fed scion like Michael.

Dawn was still an hour away. Bella said eagerly, “Let’s go in now!”

Perseus checked his wrist device. “No sign of demons inside.”

I warned, “Be careful. That detector only picks up common types. There are others we can’t track. Same plan as always—Perseus’s team stays with the truck.”

Perseus shook his head. “Yune doesn’t need guarding. A few demons won’t dare approach, and if a horde comes, we’d just have to stay put anyway.”

I nodded. Bella produced Vajra’s floor plan of the museum. “Enter through the main doors and head straight north. The display case in Henry Peitz’s photo should be to the north.”

I asked in surprise, “Vajra can pinpoint the location from a single photograph?”

Bella laughed. “That’s beyond me. We just have to trust Vajra.”

We said no more. Sisyphus’s team, skilled at scouting, took the lead; we followed close behind.

Beyond the doors lay a corridor. Through our night-vision goggles, we saw the carpet beneath our feet, now overgrown with weeds—no sign of recent passage.

The corridor opened into the exhibition hall, partitioned into rooms. I saw Greek sculptures, Eastern scrolls, European oils, totems of wild peoples, chariots from ancient battlefields.

If Michael were here, he’d be itching to cart off every intact artifact.

Sisyphus and his team advanced with caution, but there was no sign of life, nothing overtly dangerous. Even so, each time I heard a pebble crunch underfoot, my heart leapt.

In the silence, I heard hoofbeats—clop, clop, clop—echoing through the hall above. Instantly, everyone tensed, raising weapons toward the sound. The hoofbeats drew nearer, accompanied by heavy, equine breathing.

How could there be a horse in the museum?

At the far end of the corridor, a massive form appeared, like a moose from a storybook, its antlers bizarre as tangled coral.

Though we hid in darkness, it sensed our presence and let out a bellow laced with hostility. “Open fire!” I ordered.

I wasn’t sure if we needed sacred rounds—mine were spent anyway. Our plan was for Perseus to fire with sacred rounds sparingly, the rest with standard bullets.

The moose lowered its head, swinging its enormous antlers, which proved too large and thick, deflecting bullets with ease—even the sacred rounds failed. In the muzzle flashes, I saw those antlers, blood-red and bristling with spikes. Then it charged, barreling toward us.

“Scatter to the sides!” shouted Target Dummy, wrenching down a door panel. The moose’s antlers shattered it into splinters; Target Dummy fell, but the moose paused. Salvador circled behind, firing again. Enraged, the moose tossed its head, flinging a ranger across the room. But we were many and well-armed; a volley brought it down in a tortured death cry.

I had seen mutated beasts before, but this moose was monstrous—its teeth sharp and gleaming, antlers cold and deadly, still bearing fragments of bone from those it had impaled. Its eyes glowed green like a cat’s in the dark.

Target Dummy’s injuries were minor; the other man still lived. Bella said, “What a nuisance. Who’ll scout ahead?”

Such a beast ought to be solitary, but with its demonic features, perhaps it wasn’t alone.

“I’ll go,” I said. “You all wait in ambush here. If more come, draw them out—avoid the antlers.”

I crept forward for about two hundred meters and found three more moose in the main hall, grazing on the grass carpeting the floor. Their powerful jaws crunched noisily as they chewed. When they lifted their heads, their antlers nearly scraped the three-meter-high ceiling.

I applied viper’s blood and slipped closer, but I’d grown careless—neglecting to take Amon’s Water. As I closed to within three meters of one, another happened to turn and spotted me.

In a flash, I lunged, driving my blade into the nearest moose’s hind leg. It howled in pain and kicked, but I narrowly dodged. The venom took hold; soon it collapsed, paralyzed.

The other two roared in rage, mourning their fallen companion, then charged together. I couldn’t dodge in time and unleashed the Iron Lotus. The attack rang in my ears, making me dizzy—I tumbled backward. When I looked up, the moose were also reeling, stunned by my psychic blade.

I bolted for the corridor. Their eyes glowed red as they gave furious chase. I reached the hallway; they smashed through the doors in their fury, pausing for a moment. They ran much faster than me, but in those seconds of confusion, I gained a lead they couldn’t close.

I reached the ambush spot. Bullets flew from both sides—one moose fell instantly to a sacred round. The last spun suddenly, smashing through a wall. Someone was pinned under the debris, the beast’s massive weight crushing them, their screams of agony echoing.

Then, Bella leapt onto the moose’s back. It reared, hooves flailing, but she moved with swift, uncanny grace—suddenly she was before its snout. Her hand, swift as a blade, drove up under its jaw. She withdrew it in a crimson arc; the moose let out a mournful wail and crashed, dead.

She moved with speed and lightness as if unbound by the laws of our universe, acting many times faster than the moose, yet with a delicacy almost insect-like. We watched her wipe blood from her hand, all deeply awed by her.

Bella shushed us. “Hey now, what’s with all you men staring? You’re making me nervous.”