They were dead now and Hollister knew it. Nothing worked. The Ass-Kicker had one shot left and it would be the least powerful. Chee was wearing the Gatling somehow slung over his shoulder, but who knew if that would even stop Malachi? It appeared that nothing short of a mountain dropped on him would work. And maybe not even that.
Chee raised his Henry and shot Malachi in the face. The bullet collapsed Malachi’s left cheek just below the eye and the force of the shot staggered him backward. But almost instantly, his wound started healing. For the love of God, Hollister thought. How much blood has this asshole drunk? The way it was going, he must have drained the entire city of Chicago.
“Sir!” Chee shouted. He tossed Jonas the Henry and with both hands free, turned the Gatling toward Malachi.
“The Gatling, Chee! Now!” Hollister shouted.
Jonas had one speed loader for his Colt left and that was it. He loaded it up. They needed to get the hell out of here.
Hollister shot Malachi again, to distract him, but the Archaic paid him no attention; he jumped across the chamber toward Chee and tried wrestling the Gatling from his grip. Chee saw his chance and opened up with the Gatling at point-blank range.
The wooden bullets had effect this time. They drove Malachi back. As he staggered toward the opposite chamber wall, Chee advanced, and as the belt of bullets writhed through the action of the gun, Malachi actually cried out. The stone wall finally stopped him, and Chee, from no more than five feet away, fired and fired, until the gun was completely empty.
Malachi staggered toward Chee, and Hollister took careful aim and shot him in the eye. He dropped to the floor of the chamber. Hollister shot again trying for the heart, and again and again, and then he pulled the trigger and his heart sank as he felt the hammer land on an empty chamber. He pulled the trigger again and again. It was no use: the gun was empty.
Malachi looked up at them from the stone floor.
“You’ve done well, humans. I will grant you that small satisfaction. You’ve killed far too many of my people and no one has damaged me to such a degree in centuries. But you cannot kill me. I will leave here and heal, and raise more followers; then I will kill all of your kind. Every last one of you. Remember… in a few short days I shall have lived for fifteen centuries. Nothing will stop me then,” he said.
With a degree of strength Jonas could not fathom, he climbed to his feet. He backhanded Chee, who tumbled backward onto the ground and was still. He was upon Hollister in an instant, pressing him against the wall of the chamber. His hand closed around Jonas’s throat. Somehow, through it all, he had maintained his grip on his blade; he thrust it into Hollister’s gut and Jonas remembered thinking that he should have told Pinkerton to go fuck himself when he’d come to Leavenworth that day. Digging wells was far better than having your guts strung out by this pompous asshole. Malachi pulled the blade out. Hollister clutched his gut, blood seeping out of his stomach, as he slowly slid down the wall toward the floor.
“You will all die,” Malachi said “Remember that…”
But Malachi died first, as Shaniah rose behind him, swinging her blade with all of her might, connecting at the spot where his neck met his shoulders, and his head came cleanly off his body.
His face had one last instant of surprise and shock as it rolled onto the chamber floor.
“You know what, Malachi? Go fuck yourself,” Hollister said as the head rolled to a stop a few feet away from him, the empty eyes taking on a curious look of amazement.