Dekker's Dozen: The Last Watchmen

Dead Planet

Dekker's Dozen #012

Dekker fell and tumbled through the air. He'd dived through the hull breach without a thought for himself, and he'd make the same sacrifice in an instant to give his friends—his family, a better chance at landing the spacecraft.

He tightly gripped the reliquary and fired the double-load. The enflamed magenta beam panned and expanded, writhing with hot, electric energy. The air crackled under the red gaze of the ancient weapon—heat lightning flashed and vaporized the cloud of pursuing gunships.

The force of the blast rocketed the Watchman towards the planet's surface, flinging him towards the ground faster than his terminal velocity warranted. Dekker's duster flapped around him like an impotent parachute as the powerful beam sputtered and subsided.

So this is how it ends! Dekker grinned. Have I cheated destiny? Was Ezekiel wrong? He flipped around and pointed his face to the charred Jerusalem landscape below. It rushed to meet him with slowing speed as terminal velocity gripped him; with the blast force gone, the physics of gravity resumed and slowed him: still dropping him with more than enough force to kill any human.

No. It doesn't end here. Not Yet. Not with Austicon undefeated!

Dead Planet

Inertial compensators failed aboard the Rickshaw Crusader as it screeched toward the planet. The cabin filled with smoke and the passengers felt the g-forces slam them back against their seats.

Matty screamed against the shuddering controls as he desperately tried to guide them to a relatively safe landing. He flipped switches, rerouting power to the VTOL engines and retro-thrusters, desperately trying to break their fall. The rear engines were gone, bleeding smoke and fire, but at the current velocity, survival without casualties didn't look likely. Matty frantically worked the flaps, but most of them had already burned away or broke off.

As the ground rushed up to meet them, Matty turned to look at Vesuvius. "At least they're not shooting at us anymore." He smiled as the ground reached up and kissed the Crusader like a prizefighter's mean uppercut.

Everything shook with such violence that it strained every molecule of the Watchmens' bodies; the crash tore through Matty's crash webbing and ejected him through the front view-shield of the Rickshaw Crusader, flinging him into the unknown faster than an eyeblink and leaving behind only a ragged streak of blood. The damaged ship skidded across the withered landscape, plowing a smoky, superheated furrow in its wake.

Finally slowing and barely remaining intact, the damaged craft jostled to a stop near a broken wall at the edge of the annihilated Jerusalem complex. The ruins of the once great fortress still smoldered.

Blood trickled down Vesuvius' face, pouring from her brow and streaming a line down past her eye. She felt certain she'd broken a rib; her breath came short and painful. Ignoring the pain, she unstrapped and ran into the Crusader's main hold.

Vesuvius found Corgan lying against a bulkhead, gritting his teeth against the pain. His broken fibula pierced through the skin, gruesomely twisted through his calf muscle. It took all his self-control just to breath.

"Medic!" she yelled. "Ahmed! Where are you?"

Corgan pointed to the opposite side of the room. Ahmed lay on his side, with his face swollen. Their medic's head lay turned at an odd angle, contorted with a bulging neck. His spine had obviously fractured when his body dashed against the unyielding steel.

"Status report!" Vesuvius screamed. "Who is still alive?" She ripped Corgan's pants at the knee and tore the fabric into strips. Wadding one piece up she jammed it into his mouth. "Bite down. This is going to hurt—a lot."