s shadow, long and distorted, behind him. When he looked again, Spyder saw his younger self there. He wasnt surprised. The kid had always been just a step or two behind him. He looked worse than ever. His clothes hung from him in rags as if hed been in a terrible accident. His eyes were gone and his body looked like something dragged off an autopsy table. Spyders shadow self smiled. He was still holding the punch dagger hed had in Bere-nice. The blade was still slick with Spyders blood.
Spyder knew what was coming. He dragged a heavy femur out of the wet ground so that he could hit the kid when he made his move.
Something came clattering toward Spyder across the scrapyard. A filthy old man with a bit in his teeth was -pulling a flaming chariot. The chariots rider wore a golden war helmet with a mesh face shield. He pulled that off and Spyder saw that the chariot driver had the same face as the old man with the bit in his mouth. The rider then pulled that face off to reveal a lean, fox-like face that Spyder didnt recognize. "How many masks are we wearing today?" shouted the rider and he pulled at the face of the old man dragging the chariot. The old mans skin came off his skull, a limp rag, exposing muscle, bone and mucous. Spyder was still considering this vision when he was staggered by a white hot blow to the back. The punch dagger, ruby red with blood and glittering like Christmas lights, was sticking out of his chest. It had been pushed clean through him, back to front. He felt weak, but the shock to his body was so great that the wound didnt even hurt.
Shrike screamed and startled Spyder awake. Before he could move, Shrike was up and out of the tank, charging across the desert with her sword drawn. Spyder ran after her, and finally caugh
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