Doc Harrison and the Prophecy of Halsparr by Peter Telep

Author:Peter Telep [Telep, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-11-28T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

At once, Meeka, Steffanie, and Keane jump back in their personas and surround Solomon.

He turns to face them while shaking his head. “Please, please, if you’d like an autograph, you need to buy a ticket and move to the back of the line.”

“You’re insane,” I tell him.

He snorts. “I prefer the word entertaining. So… anyway… I’m here to give you one more chance.”

“And we’re here to kill you,” Meeka shouts.

“Slowly!” Keane adds.

“That’s right!” Steffanie cries.

“Look, I feel you, I really do, but masks, you know, you really can’t kill us. Pick your words a little more carefully.”

“I’ve never hated anyone more than you,” Keane says.

“I love that,” Solomon answers. “It’s great to be number one. But again, I’m not here to accept your glowing praise. I’m just doing this for my daughter, otherwise you’d already be up in the ship, done deal, it’s all over. Moving on.”

The grren hiss and click their teeth.

Solomon makes a face. His gaze lifts skyward, and he tilts his head toward the grren.

Not a breath later, two masks erupt in front of us, casting a deep shadow over the shoreline as their bolts lash out and seize Punk and Mr. Gurdy.

Cypress screams as the grren roar and claw at the webs rippling across their bodies. She runs toward them, just as the bolts hoist them into the air…

And they vanish.

Cypress whirls around, leans toward Solomon, and raises her palms. Her eyelo ignites—

Just as he jumps away and reappears down the shoreline, jerking the sixrobe from his shoulders and unleashing it with a sharp twist of his arms.

Cypress’s shields launch from her palms and flash open into hexagons.

As her shields grow, Solomon’s sixrobe floats as though in slow motion… and then, in a flash, it shatters, releasing thousands of small hexagons that slash through Cypress’s shields and then erupt in a huge explosion—

That catapults us onto our backs.

I push up on my elbows, and there, in the air where the robe and shields met, is a cloud of falling snow.

Solomon jumps again, standing directly over Cypress and forming a T with his hands. “Hold your fire, my dear, sweet freak of nature.”

Cypress’s face twists in agony as she sits up and remains there, panting, drained.

Tommy storms to his feet and marches over to Solomon. “Let me tell you something, mister, it ain’t the uniform that makes the man—it’s the man that makes the uniform. And all I see is a little runt hiding behind this—” Tommy swats at the armored plate covering Solomon’s shoulder.

“No one’s hiding except you, Tommy. I’ve been trying to figure why it’s taken you so long to join us. But you just let your guard down. And now I know…”

“Y’all can get in my head, but you’ll never get my heart,” Tommy says slowly, as though each word has been doused in gasoline and set on fire so they can burn into Solomon.

But the idiot in white armor just laughs. “I get it, soldier boy. ‘Murica and all that. But your little doctor girl can’t protect you forever.

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