Free Hellboy: The God Machine by Thomas E. Sniegoski Page A

wreckage just as the Babe Ruth zombie was heading in for a second turn at bat. Hellboy reached down and grabbed up one of the colorful blankets. "Here, cover up. You'll catch your death," he said, tossing it over the creature's head.
    The zombie robot stopped short, the totem pole falling heavily from its grasp. It clawed at the blanket with long, skeletal fingers adorned with what looked like steak knives.
    Hellboy pummeled the creature to its knees.
    A clanging alarm filled the museum, and, with a hiss, drenching artificial rain began to fall from the sprinklers in the ceiling. For just a second, Hellboy wondered what had set off the sprinklers, then chided himself for such a stupid thought.
    Liz was back in the fight.
    He glanced over and saw her standing, legs apart and hands out in front of her. Fire blazed from her fists and engulfed the two remaining zombie cyborgs. It was never a good idea to make a firestarter angry.
    Liz had them backed into a corner, the stench of roasting meat replacing the odor of rot in the air. The metal and wooden parts of the framework that encased their bodies had started to burn, the exposed flesh charred to black--but they were still alive, or what passed for life with these things.
    "Liz!" Hellboy shouted, stepping over the crumpled, blanket-covered thing he'd just pummeled into oblivion. "You want to dial it down a bit?"
    She looked over her shoulder, sparks leaping from her eyes.
    Man, she's pissed.
    "What the hell are these things?"
    "Haven't a clue," Hellboy replied. He could feel the heat coming off her as he drew closer. "But keep this up, and you're gonna burn the place down, buy the BPRD a whole political incident."
    She looked at him again. There was still anger in her gaze, but he could see from the softening at the corners of her eyes that she was starting to calm down. He felt the heat in the room diminish immediately as she bent her head, ever so slightly, and drew the power back within herself.
    "Now I'm getting wet," she said, as he stepped up beside her.
    "Join the club," he responded. "How's the throat?"
    She touched her neck. "Sore, but it'll heal."
    He couldn't take his eyes from the twisted things smoldering in a pile against a section of wall burned black by the intensity of Liz Sherman's anger. The creatures writhed, some of their metal parts fused together--connecting them as one grotesque thing that had no reason to still be moving.
    "So do you think this is what's been stealing that stuff?" Liz asked with a shiver, wrapping her arms around herself as the artificial rain continued to fall.
    "Sort of makes sense. They're pretty strong for corpses filled with wires and junk..." he trailed off.
    Over the din of the still-clanging alarm, he caught the sound of an engine revving up outside and went over to look through the window set into the door. "Must be the Waldoboro Fire Department," he said, swiping away a swath of thick condensation. "This oughta be good."
    He was getting ready to pull open the door when he realized the engine was growing louder and the headlights closer.
    "Crap!" he managed, scrambling to get himself and Liz out of the way as the front of a vehicle came crashing through the doors into the museum.
    Both front doors came open and two more of the watch-capped, coat-wearing zombies spilled out into the museum to stand beside the vehicle, watching them with milky white eyes--dead eyes.
    "They drive a minivan," Hellboy growled in disgust, climbing to his feet. "It just keeps gettin' worse."
    Liz came to stand beside him.
    "Ready for round two?" he asked.
    "They don't seem all that interested in attacking," she said.
    One of the pair turned and reached inside the van, and Hellboy wished that he could have found his gun. Stepping in front of Liz, he watched as the creature pulled out a large burlap sack tied with a length of rope.
    "What, they bring their laundry?" he muttered as the mechanical man cut the rope with one of his knifelike fingers and