Read Online Johnny Graphic and the Etheric Bomb by D. R. Martin - Free Book Online
Authors: D. R. Martin
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toward where Johnny stood. Mel could stay upstairs and get trapped by the ghost at the far end of the hallway. Or she could tread backward down the broad staircase, just as the movie star Trevor Sheridan did in his famous duels up on the silver screen. Or she could gamble it all and launch a fierce attack.
But Johnny didn’t know how much longer his sister could last. She was breathing heavily and groaning with every strike and parry. Her face was equal parts terror and concentration.
Johnny had to give her a break, some kind of an edge.
He bolted into his bedroom and reappeared with his Zoom press camera. By that time the two combatants had neared the top of the staircase. From behind the Steppe Warrior’s back, Johnny could see Mel’s grimly intense expression. Darting quickly, Johnny slipped past the Steppe Warrior—barely evading a cut by the ghost’s blade—and wiggled his way behind Mel. Hoping the diversion would work one more time, he lofted the bulky camera above his head, and aimed it so the bulb would go off right in the ghost’s face.
“Mel!” he yelled, almost in her ear. “Flash!”
He pressed the shutter release.
The Steppe Warrior gasped at the coruscating corona of light. For a mere one and seven-eighths seconds the ghost was distracted.
Which was just enough.
With a guttural roar, Mel rushed at the would-be assassin with a powerful flurry of diagonal slashing cuts.
The curved blade flew out of the Steppe Warrior’s hand and clanged down the hallway. Wearing an expression of deepest loathing, the wraith charged at Mel with bare hands.
Out of pure reflex, Mel grunted and cut downward. The noise that followed was a terrible, sodden kind of percussion—the same sound Johnny had heard in the butcher’s shop.
A horrific wailing filled the enclosed space of the upstairs corridor. Only then did Johnny realize that the Steppe Warrior was a girl. She fell to her knees. Her right arm, her sword arm, rested on the carpet, twitching and pulsing. She bayed at the ceiling like a wounded animal and pawed at her right shoulder with her left hand.
Just then, Colonel MacFarlane flew up through the hallway floor, saber drawn. He regarded the scene with a mixed look of horror and regret. He caught Mel’s eye and shook his head. Sorry, ma’am, said his expression, late again.
Johnny peered more closely at the girl ghost, and almost recoiled. He could tell how she had died. Her face was covered with smallpox pustules. What a horrible way to go.
After half a moment, the dismembered soldier looked up at Mel and composed herself—still holding onto her right shoulder. “I have failed,” she said with resignation. “Take my head.”
Panting, Mel said, “Answer. Me. This.” She paused to suck in a couple more breaths. “What is your name?”
“Checheg.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“It is the will of the khan.”
“Who is the khan?”
“Our emperor, our king, our general.”
“What does he want?”
“He has united Steppe Warriors from many generations. We have waited centuries for him. He has given us purpose again. He is leading us into battle, so that we may properly die.”
The ghost paused, glaring darkly at Mel. “No more questions. Just do it,” she said. She pulled off her helmet, shut her eyes, and stretched out her neck.
Mel sniffed. “Don’t be ridiculous! I’ve already cut off your arm. Isn’t that enough?”
“I would have cut off your head,” the wraith said, “if I’d won.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Mel snapped. “But you didn’t win, did you? I did . You’re a barbarian, and I’m not. And I don’t cut people’s heads off, even if they’re dead. Even if they deserve it! What I want you to do is go back to your khan, whoever he is, and tell him that Melanie Graphic’s coming after him. And then she’s going to put him out of business! Now, scat!”
The ghost slowly stood up, and regarded Mel and Johnny with a look of utter hatred. Then she
But Johnny didn’t know how much longer his sister could last. She was breathing heavily and groaning with every strike and parry. Her face was equal parts terror and concentration.
Johnny had to give her a break, some kind of an edge.
He bolted into his bedroom and reappeared with his Zoom press camera. By that time the two combatants had neared the top of the staircase. From behind the Steppe Warrior’s back, Johnny could see Mel’s grimly intense expression. Darting quickly, Johnny slipped past the Steppe Warrior—barely evading a cut by the ghost’s blade—and wiggled his way behind Mel. Hoping the diversion would work one more time, he lofted the bulky camera above his head, and aimed it so the bulb would go off right in the ghost’s face.
“Mel!” he yelled, almost in her ear. “Flash!”
He pressed the shutter release.
The Steppe Warrior gasped at the coruscating corona of light. For a mere one and seven-eighths seconds the ghost was distracted.
Which was just enough.
With a guttural roar, Mel rushed at the would-be assassin with a powerful flurry of diagonal slashing cuts.
The curved blade flew out of the Steppe Warrior’s hand and clanged down the hallway. Wearing an expression of deepest loathing, the wraith charged at Mel with bare hands.
Out of pure reflex, Mel grunted and cut downward. The noise that followed was a terrible, sodden kind of percussion—the same sound Johnny had heard in the butcher’s shop.
A horrific wailing filled the enclosed space of the upstairs corridor. Only then did Johnny realize that the Steppe Warrior was a girl. She fell to her knees. Her right arm, her sword arm, rested on the carpet, twitching and pulsing. She bayed at the ceiling like a wounded animal and pawed at her right shoulder with her left hand.
Just then, Colonel MacFarlane flew up through the hallway floor, saber drawn. He regarded the scene with a mixed look of horror and regret. He caught Mel’s eye and shook his head. Sorry, ma’am, said his expression, late again.
Johnny peered more closely at the girl ghost, and almost recoiled. He could tell how she had died. Her face was covered with smallpox pustules. What a horrible way to go.
After half a moment, the dismembered soldier looked up at Mel and composed herself—still holding onto her right shoulder. “I have failed,” she said with resignation. “Take my head.”
Panting, Mel said, “Answer. Me. This.” She paused to suck in a couple more breaths. “What is your name?”
“Checheg.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“It is the will of the khan.”
“Who is the khan?”
“Our emperor, our king, our general.”
“What does he want?”
“He has united Steppe Warriors from many generations. We have waited centuries for him. He has given us purpose again. He is leading us into battle, so that we may properly die.”
The ghost paused, glaring darkly at Mel. “No more questions. Just do it,” she said. She pulled off her helmet, shut her eyes, and stretched out her neck.
Mel sniffed. “Don’t be ridiculous! I’ve already cut off your arm. Isn’t that enough?”
“I would have cut off your head,” the wraith said, “if I’d won.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Mel snapped. “But you didn’t win, did you? I did . You’re a barbarian, and I’m not. And I don’t cut people’s heads off, even if they’re dead. Even if they deserve it! What I want you to do is go back to your khan, whoever he is, and tell him that Melanie Graphic’s coming after him. And then she’s going to put him out of business! Now, scat!”
The ghost slowly stood up, and regarded Mel and Johnny with a look of utter hatred. Then she
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