I shot a questioning glance at Teddy. “What the hell is that?” I asked.

Teddy scooted back over to the passenger door. “A couple of possibilities spring to mind.” He slung his rifle and pulled out his revolver. “Do you have any explosive rounds?” He asked me.

My partner was referring to the “reds”, .357 rounds that were loaded with some kind of magic explosive projectile. I had exactly four of them on my ammo belt. “Yeah,” I responded, “Why?”

The creature appeared from around the back corner of the cargo truck. It was enormous, nearly eight-foot tall, slumped over like a gorilla. It had pale, waxy skin and a bald head. It was hard to make out at this distance, but it looked absolutely jacked. It turned toward us like a Sherman tank and advanced. It moved slowly at first but gained speed at an alarming rate.

“This is bad,” Teddy said. He has the cylinder of his revolver open. He jammed the ejector rod on his pistol and his loaded ammo was flung onto the road where it tinkled and rolled. “It’s a flesh golem. Load your Reds.” Teddy pushed his own explosive rounds into his Rhino as fast as he could.

“What the fuck is a flesh golem?” I gasped. I holstered my pistol and grabbed my Henry Rifle off the driver’s seat and started stuffing the red-tipped rounds into it.

“Like Frankenstein’s Monster.” Teddy snapped the cylinder closed and took aim. The golem took enormous, lumbering strides toward us. Its arms and legs were misshapen, and all were of different sizes. What they lacked in uniformity, they made up for in mass. The arms were enormous, a mishmash of ropey muscles and stringy veins. It looked like the muscles of several different arms had been combined together to create each limb. One leg was significantly longer than the other giving it a loping, off-center gait adding to its inhuman bearing. It wore only a shredded pair of khaki pants. The thing's eyes were bloodshot red and its mouth was pulled back into a grotesque, rictus mask. It was fucking terrifying with a Texas-sized T.

Teddy's hand cannon banged and smoked in my peripheral vision. I saw the monster dip, appearing to stumble and the round went over its head. It impacted a hill some distance behind and there was a small explosion. Like a soda can full of tannerite. Teddy fired again, this time hitting the monster’s right arm. A great, bloody chunk was blown from the thing’s biceps, but if it even noticed, it didn’t show. The monster had a head of steam now. Teddy fired again and missed.

I had the Henry loaded now, but I wasn’t sure I could hit headshots given the things' lurching movement and short remaining distance. I picked an easier target and looked down at its legs. I shouldered my rifle and let loose just as Teddy scored another hit on the beast's upper torso. He must have been out of explosives rounds because he immediately switched back to the MPX. I aimed at the tops of the golems' thighs. I was trying to destroy the femoral artery or break the pelvic cradle. I realized belatedly that I didn’t know if the monster had a working circulatory system. I fired my four shots rapidly and they had a definite effect. The explosive rounds ripped into the flesh golem, blowing off gory chunks of flesh and bone. The monster hesitated but did not stop.

Teddy opened up with his MPX as I ran to the trunk. BRRRRRRRRRRR. The automatic carbine dumped a hailstorm of silver 9mm rounds into the beast, but they might as well have been spitballs for all the good they did. I watched in horror as the golem brought its left arm across its body and backhanded Teddy away from the Hellcat. Teddy flew through the air like a ragdoll and landed in a heap on the blacktop of the highway. I pulled my 1887 shotgun out of the trunk and worked the lever, chambering a round. This motherfucker was gonna pay. That was my cultured fop he was smacking around.

I stepped around the back right corner of my car and started firing. I was close now, with a scattergun, so I decided to work the upper body. I cranked off three blasts in quick succession. The double ought buckshot shredded the flesh around its head and neck. Several of the pellets went into its head and one eye exploded like a hardboiled egg thrown at a wall. The golem roared in rage as it charged toward me. It was the first sound the thing had made and it sent chills all through my body. It sounded like a rusty chainsaw killing a baby elephant. I never wanted to hear that noise again. It swung it’s massive left arm in a crossbody swipe. I managed to duck under the blow and retreated around the car, starting the world’s deadliest game of ring around the rosy. It started after me around the car as I blasted it again. One of its legs wasn't working correctly and its right arm dangled loosely. It wasn’t bleeding and seemed only minorly inconvenienced. The undead horror was vulnerable to the laws of physics at least. Destroyed muscles and ligaments could not lever arms and legs no matter how much magic was applied. I ran around the car, pumping rounds into it when I had an opening. Maybe I could win a war of attrition.

The golem quickly grew wise to this tactic. I watched as it gathered itself for a jump. I backpedaled away from the car and watched in amazement as the beast propelled its massive bulk up and over my Charger using only one leg. It came down heavily, swiping its working arm again. If I hadn’t moved when I did, I would have been crushed into a fine paste. While I managed to duck the first swing, the Golem reversed its blow with superhuman speed, catching me with its backhand. I was flatfooted and I only partially deflected the strike with my upper arm. The blow pummeled me to the ground, my left arm instantly went numb and I was afraid it was broken. Better than my head leaving my body like a little league tee-ball.

The horror's crazed rictus strained wider, tearing decayed skin. It limped toward me, remorseless. I sent another blast into its upper chest as it closed with me, but it shrugged it off. I worked the lever on the 1887 one-handed, spinning the gun forward and using the momentum to chamber another round. The last round. I waited for time to slow, but it didn’t. I tried to trigger the power, but I couldn't. It had always just happened before. Was it too soon since I last used it? I could do this the old-fashioned way.

The monster lurched toward me. I waited a moment and then extended my arm upward, bringing the barrel as close to its head as I could, as I tried to stagger to my feet. It didn’t even try to dodge as I dropped the hammer. The round exploded outward and tore into the golem’s head and neck. I watched in disbelief as the monster's lower jaw fell free from his head and landed on the ground between us. Still, it came.

It stood over me with towering menace. I could see its mangled upper jaw and hideous, blackened tongue as it lolled out from its neck. Its lone remaining eye burned bright with hatred and madness. I could smell the thing now. It wasn’t an overpowering stink of death and decay like I expected, but rather a cold earthy smell. Like a freshly dug grave.

Teddy’s body lay limp on the asphalt where he had fallen. I dropped the empty shotgun and it whumped into the sand at my feet. My hand fell on the handle of Ben’s Bowie knife. Best to go out swinging. The monster stood over me and reared back to deal a finishing blow.

I was half-crouched, half-kneeling on the rocky ground. I pulled the Bowie free from the scabbard on my vest and launched myself upward in a last-ditch effort. I aimed the point of the knife into the hole I had blown into its head. I wasn’t sure if the thing had a brain, but I meant to scramble it. I drove six and a half inches of magically reinforced steel upward. The golem started its swing just as the tip of the knife pierced the soft palate of its mouth. There was no resistance as I shoved the knife into the top of its head. The thing's arm was coming around now, but it had lost strength and its knees buckled. I clenched my upper body and tried to roll with the blow as it came through. The impact was horrible and I was dashed aside, swatted back to the dusty earth. This had the added effect of twisting the bowie as it lodged itself in the golem's brain and that seemed to do it. It finally collapsed on top of me like a switch had been flipped.

We lay there together in a gory pile for a moment. I waited a moment to see if it would stir and when it didn’t, I forced myself groaning back to my feet. The remains of the Flesh Golem lie there in the weeds and rocks, now just a grisly collection of body parts. There was very little blood, just fleshy chunks, and bone. The one intact eye stared into the pale blue sky. Whatever magic had animated the creature was spent. Don't mess with Texas, partner.

I tried to rub feeling back into my numb left arm as I collected my shotgun and knife. I looked toward the convoy and saw another figure near the rear of the box truck. It was a man. A one-armed man. Grey Daddy, in human form.

We saw each other at about the same time and he froze. I pulled one of my Rugers, one that was loaded with silver bullets, and waited to see if he was going to change or not. Then, I heard Teddy groan. He was still alive. I rushed to his side. His breathing was shallow and his arm was cocked at a weird angle. I gently rolled him onto his back and he hissed in pain.

“Are you OK Ted?” I asked, not knowing what else to say. I kept an eye on Grey Daddy. He hadn’t moved yet.

“Never better,” he gave a wheezing cough and sat up. “Did you kill that undead nightmare?”

“I did. He’s dead. Or dead again? He won’t be bothering us anymore. There’s one Black Mesa member left though.” Grey Daddy was walking toward us now, but he wasn’t changing.

Teddy struggled to his feet and I helped him stand. His right arm hung limply and looked deformed near the shoulder. He inhaled sharply. “I think several of my ribs are fractured. And this arm is definitely broken.”

Grey Daddy stopped at the Tahoe and opened the driver's door. He was moving quickly now, having made a decision. Grey Daddy flung a body out of the passenger compartment. He shifted the SUV into gear and started toward us, running over several dead Black Mesa pack members. I stepped in front of Teddy and raised my revolver. The Chevy continued toward us, picking up speed. I began firing and saw my first shot hit Grey Daddy in the shoulder as he swerved back onto the road. I lost a firing angle as the big SUV roared past us. I saw blood spatter on the driver's side window.

I looked at Teddy who nodded. “Go after him, I’ll release the migrants.” He started to walk slowly toward the box truck.

Fuck yes. Motherfucking car chase.

I jumped into my Charger, put it in reverse, and jammed on the accelerator. I cut the wheel to the right and got back on the pavement before performing a perfect J-turn, aiming the nose of the car at the retreating Tahoe. My academy driving instructor would have been proud. The big car fishtailed a bit before tearing off through the desert in pursuit.

It honestly wasn’t very exciting, as far as car chases go. Most of that is Hollywood fantasy anyway. The road was straight, so there was no place to go but the desert. I caught up with the Tahoe just as we passed the "Leaving San Paso" sign, which was about 200 yards from the "Entering San Paso" sign. Grey Daddy was pushing the Tahoe for everything she had, but my Hellcat was just faster. He slowed a bit as I caught up and I was afraid he was going to try to go off-road, which is what he should have done. I equalized our speeds and noticed that he was still doing about sixty-five. I then made gentle contact between my front right quarter panel and the left rear quarter panel of the Tahoe. I pushed the Hellcat into a gentle lane change toward the right shoulder. The heavy Tahoe resisted at first and then gave way into a spin.

The Alhambra County Sheriff’s Office has a policy against performing the PIT maneuver against high-profile vehicles and vehicles moving in excess of forty-five miles an hour. The Tahoe was both of those things and I got a front-row seat on why those policies existed. Instead of spinning out the car and stalling the engine, as it was supposed to do, the Tahoe went into a high-speed roll. It made several revolutions on its side on the asphalt before the heavier front end of the vehicle pushed it to the left. It left the road and started going end over end on the softer shoulder. The Tahoe went several hundred feet in total before finally coming to rest in a smoking, shuddering mass of plastic molding and car parts. The wreck was hardly recognizable as an automobile anymore.

The Hellcat glided to a stop nearby. The old girl hadn’t even worked up a lather. I got out and stalked toward the remains of the Tahoe. I had my 1887 pump gun with me and I slotted in several rounds of the silver double ought buckshot as I slowly approached. A normal human had an exactly zero percent chance to survive that mangling, but I figured Grey Daddy and his supernatural healing had a shot. As I got closer, I started to pick up the sound of ragged breathing among all hissing, cracks, and pops of the wrecked SUV. I edged around the largest piece of wreckage and found Grey Daddy. He was pinned between the steering column and the driver seat, the steering wheel smashed into where his rib cage should have been. His once handsome face was burnt and red from the airbag going off. He was in bad shape and he wasn’t healing. I looked at the bullet hole in his left shoulder and noticed it was still leaking blood. The silver in his arm was preventing his wounds from closing.

He craned his neck up to look at me with obvious effort and smiled with broken, bloody teeth. “I can’t believe you actually killed Keith Richards,” he wheezed. "That was amazing."

“Who?” I asked, confused.

Grey Daddy coughed. “Keith Richards. The Sleeper's pet golem. We called him Keith Richards because of how old and crazy looking he was.”

I thought about it. I guess that jived. “Why did you have the Sleepers golem with you?”

He relaxed and looked up, searching. White clouds blanketed parts of the sky. They seemed thin and far away, like a dream of something more substantial. “We had him on loan from that puta. We should have never agreed to work for him. I told her.” Another coughing fit racked his body. He was having trouble getting enough air. “It doesn’t matter now.”

I squat down next to him, just out of his reach. I put the shotgun across my knees. “What do you mean?”

He looked back to me and smiled again, and let out a choking laugh. “Vanessa never puts all her eggs in one basket. We were one of three convoys. The Sleeper will get his bodies. Nessa never screws a contract. He’s gonna be pissed about Keith, though.” He chuckled again.

I stood up. I guess I wasn’t really surprised. Nothing had really gone our way up to this point, why should it start now?

Grey Daddy’s eyes got bigger as I stood and he tried to get up. “Do me a favor will ya? Don’t leave me to die like this.” He gasped at the pain that his movement caused. "Fuck!" He cursed.

I turned back to him and leveled my shotgun at his head. He relaxed back down and smiled at me. “For what it’s worth, I hope you gut that maricon.”

I paused. “Any advice?”

He was silent for a minute and all I could hear was his strident breathing. “Wait until after the drop-off to go in. Nessa won’t help him once the deal is done. She just wants out.” Grey Daddy closed his eyes and prepared to meet the great Coyote in the sky. "Thank you" he sighed.

I felt compelled to touch my forehead for some reason before I fingered the trigger on the 1887 and sent him to the other side.