A Shrouded World (Book 5): Asabron Page 25

  “The controls are a little different,” Jack muttered.

  I left him alone as he flipped through a manual. Kalandar’s massive head swung in.

  “I do not wish to be like deviled ham,” he said as he retreated.

  “What?” I looked to BT first before I asked the question.

  “Have you not ever seen the deviled ham? It has a picture of a red devil on it. If I forced myself into that contraption, that is what I would feel like.”

  “That a joke?” I asked.

  “Is it not a grand one?” He was cracking himself up.

  “How do you know about deviled ham?” I smiled as he laughed—it was impossible not to; out of us all, he was having a blast.

  “Carl, in accounting, used to bring it to work all the time.” He left it at that, maybe because he was too busy guffawing.

  “There’s a winch here for a basket. This might be some sort of rescue craft,” BT said, sticking his head out. “We could rig a harness for Kalandar.”

  “I can tie a mean granny knot,” I said.

  “A granny knot? You’re a Marine, how do you not know how to tie properly?” BT asked.

  “What the fuck do I have to tie? This isn’t the navy in the 1800s; there’s no more sailing vessels, captain,” I said to him. “And, uh, referring back to the Marine part—our missions don’t revolve so much around detain and capture.”

  “Don’t worry about it, I can tie knots,” he said.

  “Oh, I get it—bedroom games.”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you? And we’re not having this discussion.”

  “Who knew Linda was into that kinky stuff?”

  “It’s a hobby of mine.” He was working up to a shout.

  “Sex? Isn’t that a hobby of everyone?”

  “Knot-tying.”

  “Knot-tying? Really? What the fuck for? Sounds as interesting as darning socks.”

  “It’s relaxing, calms my nerves. I tend to do my best work after having spent the night with your doppelganger. Make a lot of nooses on those nights.”

  I swallowed hard, but didn’t stop from pressing the attack. “I bet you have one of those posters like the Boy Scouts do, with all the pictures of knots.”

  BT said nothing.

  “Oh wait, you’ve ratcheted this up, haven’t you? Bet you have dioramas; you know, those frames with depth, have all sorts of fancy knots adorning the walls in your office. Probably have a Catherine knot, maybe a Celtic one, maybe a gaucho.”

  “Sure do know a lot about something you’re making fun of,” BT groused.

  “Fucking Navy guys went on and on about the shit. But by all means, let’s rig something for Kalandar and let’s get out of here.”

  BT looked at me for a few minutes longer before heading into the helicopter. Kalandar had sat down next to the machine. From time to time, out of sheer boredom, he would rock it like a child might a Tonka toy.

  “Do you fucking mind?” Jack shouted, looking up from his book.

  “I do not,” Kalandar responded in all seriousness.

  “I would think that since you are going to be dangling underneath this thing, you’d want me to know how to fly it,” Jack told him.

  “This is true,” he answered as he again rocked the helo.

  “Go play somewhere else, Clifford,” Jack yelled.

  “Who is this Clifford?” Kalandar asked. The only response I heard from the cockpit was a bunch of grumbling.

  I was patrolling the perimeter—I had clear lines of sight for miles. Jack was reading; BT, having found a mountain climber’s wet dream amount of rope, was fashioning an intricate harness; and Kalandar was not only sawing logs, he was tossing them into a wood chipper. I could not fathom how any being could make that much noise without waking itself up.

  The sun was deep into its journey; as of yet, I’d not seen anything to be concerned about, but there it was: a small burr in my stomach swirling around, striking the inner linings of my guts, causing a discomfort I could not quell. I headed over to the front of the helo. Jack was now using a small flashlight to read in the encroaching darkness that had already completely consumed the front end.

  “How’s it going?” I asked him.

  He looked up. I could tell it took him a few seconds to be able to see me; more than likely, I had a shadow of letters and words splayed across my features.

  “Getting there.”

  It was not the vote of confidence I’d been hoping for. “It’s that different?”

  “Helicopters aren’t my area of expertise, and this one seems like it was created to be entirely different from everything before it—and this is a case where I don’t want to learn in a trial by fire situation. The fire would be real.”

  “Take a guess.”

  “Take a guess when I’ll be ready to fly? Without a simulator and in a ‘one and done’ type of scenario? It could be five or six days.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on, Jack, but I don’t think we have five or six hours.”

  “You see something?” He looked past me and to the darkening landscape.

  “No, but my gut does.”

  “Any chance it was something you ate?” he asked, offering levity.

  I shook my head.

  “Back to it then,” he said with a grim determination.

  “How’s it going?” I asked BT as I walked up to him; he had a latticework of rope laid out.

  “Just about done.” He stood up, popping his back.

  Kalandar sat up quickly, nearly slamming his head against one of the rotors. “Did either of you hear that?” he asked.

  “No,” BT and I answered at the same time.

  Kalandar had his head cocked to the side. “Again.”

  I’d still not heard anything, and by the confused look on BT’s face, it was safe to figure neither had he. By this time, Jack had come out.

  “Going cross-eyed.” He was stretching, not knowing what was going on with the three of us. He stiffened in mid-stretch with a muttered “shit.”

  “Night runners.” The sun was becoming a memory for the evening.

  “Any chance they don’t know we’re here?” I offered. I’d yet to hear their distant call.

  “As much as I’d like to believe that, I can’t. We’re out in the middle of nowhere and the odds that they are too are remote. They’re here for us.”

  “It’s nice to be wanted,” I said sarcastically.

  “Nice job, BT,” Jack said as he looked upon Kalandar’s harness. “You might want to see how it fits.” With that, he turned to get back to reading.

  “I cannot fight like this,” Kalandar said as we fitted him in. BT was busy tightening some parts and loosening others. By the time we got him in snug, we could hear the night runners’ shrieks all around us. Reminded me of coyotes corralling rabbits.

  “I’m hoping we don’t have to,” I told him.

  “Should hold.” BT was looking upon his handiwork. “How much do you weigh?” he asked the demon.

  “Do I look like I’m concerned about how much cheese I put upon my salad?” Kalandar asked. “How would I know such a thing? Scales are for weighing the actions in one’s mortal existence, not for how many fried Twinkies one can eat before having a heart attack.”

  “I think he’s talking to you,” I told BT.

  “Fuck you, Mike.”

  “There’s the BT I know and love!” I gripped his shoulders tight and squeezed. I was pretty surprised when he didn’t completely shrug me off.

  “My guess, as tall and stout as you are, you’ve got to be pushing half a ton,” BT was thinking.

  “Did you say half a ton?” Jack was leaning out the window.

  “Thereabouts,” BT responded.

  “There a problem with weight limits?” I asked.

  “Not really—I mean, we’re underweight by a lot, the problem comes with him swinging under this thing as I fly. It’s not really set up for that type of flight. Sort of like a small pick-up truck pulling a fu
ll-size, loaded trailer. All good and fine until you’re going up or down a hill; then it’s a problem.”

  I got the imagery from a movie I had watched as a kid, had Desi Arnaz and Lucille Ball, Desi was pulling a huge trailer in a car. If I remember correctly, it had been a comedic scene back then, but only due to the tension the characters were feeling. My father and I had watched from the safety of the living room couch, with grins on our faces.

  “You thinking what I’m thinking?” BT asked.

  “Lucille Ball?” I reached out.

  “What? No, what the fuck is wrong with you? Wondering if the winch has a quick release,” he said.

  “Oh yeah, that’s perfect. And if the fall doesn’t kill him, what do you think that giant scary fucking demon is going to do to the ones who sent him on that free fall? That craft goes down, we’d all better go down with it. Better to die in a huge fireball than slowly being chewed on, unless you’re into vore.”

  “The Long, Long Trailer,” he said. “And what the hell is vore?”

  “That’s the movie? Oh shit, I just came to a realization.”

  “Tell me it has something to do with your understanding how much of a pain in the ass you are to all those around you.”

  “Much more earth-shattering than that. I think I know where my love of redheads came from.”

  “Well, who didn’t.”

  “You had a thing for Lucille Ball?” I elbowed his considerable stomach. Actually got a smile out of him, right up until the newest waves of shrill shrieks struck our ears. Then the blood froze in all our veins. Well, except Kalandar’s—fairly certain he has a central heating system.

  “Ah, we fight.” Kalandar cracked his massive knuckles in preparation.

  Turned as the trill of a small alarm rang. The side of BT’s face illuminated as the helo runner lights came on.

  “You ready?” I called out to Jack.

  “Now or never, and no,” he replied.

  “I love it when he makes me all gooey inside like that,” I said.

  “He making some smart-ass comment?” Jack yelled out.

  “What do you think?” BT said in response.

  More shrieks came just as the props started to turn. BT was doing a last-minute check on Kalandar.

  “Get in as soon as you’re done, and close the door,” I told him as I walked toward what seemed like the most likely avenue of approach. It was a swath of land covered in the growing darkness. Thought I saw movement about a half mile off—that would give us four minutes.

  “Jack, how long!?” I had to shout as the blades picked up speed and began to cut through the air.

  He held up a hand, all of the fingers on it splayed out.

  “Fucking figures,” I said aloud, though no one could hear me.

  About jumped out of my skin when BT tapped my shoulder. “Sorry!” He had to yell. “I’m getting in now!”

  “Yeah, go ahead!” The illusion of movement had coalesced into an actuality. Could even start to see the eye shine. The desire to spray the area in bullets was strong—high on my list of things I wanted to do. Wouldn’t have minded some tracers—leave a nice red trail behind them, let you know exactly where they are going. Was never a big fan of them when fighting against man—they gave your position away—but against an enemy like this? Yeah, it’d be nice to know I’d struck true.

  The wash of the rotors was making my uniform ripple. I hardly noticed it as I let go of three shots in quick succession. I’d hit one for sure, saw it topple over at a strange angle. The two other rounds were swallowed up in the dark. The night runners had halved the distance. They were moving so fast, doing their best to get their blood meal. At about two hundred yards, they were on a small knoll, perfectly illuminated: this was my killing zone. I got down onto one knee, wrapped my sling around my forearm, and pulled the stock tight to my shoulder. I wanted to make sure each shot counted, and then I unleashed the hell I knew.

  My body was a pedestal for my firearm; we were one as I sent rounds downrange. Acquiring a target, firing, reacquiring and firing again. There were so many, and the time so short; I did not wait to see if my shots connected. I had to trust in my training, skill, and nerve. The training and skill part did their best to alleviate the nerves, which were telling me to get the fuck up and gone. A hundred yards away, I realized there were too many to get an accurate count and entirely too many to stop. I had less than five seconds to make a decision. How long did I stay? If I ran to the helicopter, would they overtake it? Would they run roughshod over Kalandar? I’d just dropped my third magazine, losing precious time in the reload.

  “Move your ass!” BT shouted. “NOW!” I turned to look; he was pulling back on the charging handle of a door gunner’s machine gun. I’d no clue where he’d found that gem, but I wasn’t about to argue with him. I quickly moved to the side before running back toward him. His first spray of bullets blew a trench not more than five feet from where I was. I watched the machine gun rise as he wrestled to find an equilibrium. He shouted “sorry” to me. I wanted to tell him to fuck off—I ran, instead.

  I was almost watching him in slow motion, empty bullet casings falling across the floor of the cabin and onto the ground. His broad shoulders received the heavy recoil, the entirety of his body shaking from it. He could have been a character from a graphic novel, lord knew he had the strange costume part down.

  “I’m like Santa! Delivering presents to all the bad little boys and girls!” he shouted. “Get some!”

  His aim was far from true, but the sheer volume he was blasting away with kept the runners at bay, for now. I ran around the helicopter, my head low as the blades picked up speed. Kalandar was looking around the side at the approaching enemy. He had one hand on the release, debating whether to wait for Jack to get him out of there or to stand and fight. I was going too fast and slid before I could make the turn. Almost collided with the giant before righting myself and diving inside. Jack had turned and said something to me, but between the machine gun and the helicopter, I couldn’t hear anything. Learned in a few seconds, he was telling me to strap in. Probably a pretty good thing I didn’t hear him.

  Kalandar’s side of the helicopter lifted off the ground about a foot, sending BT to fall forward into the gun. He was blasting small craters into the ground near us—good thing the machine hadn’t heaved up on the other side or he would have cut right through a prop. BT was sliding off to the side and was close to falling out, though he kept a death grip on the gun. I don’t know if it had some sort of safety device built in that would keep it from firing too far up or to the sides, but I didn’t want to find out.

  “Let go of the trigger!” I told him, one hand on a safety harness and another gripping as much of his arm as I could make purchase on. I was straining as I pulled, my muscles stretched to their limit. We were hovering in no man’s land; I didn’t know how much longer I could hold him in place. Half his body was out of the machine. My head was thrown back, my teeth gritted. I could feel the muscles in both shoulders threatening to give way. I’d fall out with him and have two dislocated joints for my troubles. He’d finally let go of the trigger, had his arm wrapped around the base of the gun, and was thankfully pulling himself aboard; the problem now was that the night runners hadn’t stopped their pursuit. I let BT go now that he’d stabilized himself, and prayed that Jack didn’t rock the boat anymore as I started shooting. Runners were close enough that they were launching to get in.

  The first I hit square in the mouth. It fell away; I was thankful not to see the exit wound that must have blown out the back of its neck. The next runner came up a little short as Jack pulled back on the yoke. Three fingernails popped off and away from the scrabbling form as it sought purchase on the slick floor. BT was most of the way in when an arm grabbed hold of the bottom of his pants. He wrenched himself free, leaving the runner with a confused look and a swath of purple material.

  “BT, strap me in!” I yelled as I handed him the safety cord. I was heading for the m
achine gun. The helicopter itself was moving up enough that we would be safe soon, though that did not yet hold true for Kalandar. BT roughly shoved the strap between my belt and pants; I would have complained about the treatment, but I was a little busy. I felt rather than heard the metallic click and knew I was somewhat safer. BT then got a strap for himself. The helicopter was rocking back and forth as night runners ran and jumped, some grabbing onto the landing gear, others just banging their bodies against it in the hopes of bringing the bird down.

  I had the machine gun pointed nearly straight down as I blew through the skulls of those below in a desperate bid to keep Kalandar safe. The demon still had one hand on the release; with the other, he’d grabbed hold of an unlucky runner and was using him as a bat—sure, a bloody, ragdoll-type bat, but a bat nonetheless—and it was effective. My shots were hitting so close to Kalandar that if Jack screwed up or a runner knocked us off course, it was a good bet I was going to put a half dozen rounds in the demon before I could stop. Jack was up high enough now that the runners couldn’t get to us and we had finally taken up the slack on Kalandar’s harness, but that still didn’t stop them from trying to reach us.

  Three were holding onto the rope between us and the demon—for obvious reasons, I couldn’t shoot them, the least of which being that I couldn’t swing the machine gun that far over. Kalandar had finally let go of his release and was now swinging two runners around like dueling batons. Fragments of skulls and liberated appendages were being strewn across the area.

  Kalandar had made it maybe five feet off the ground; I yelled this to Jack, who began to move us forward, slowly at first. We’d killed so many runners and still they kept coming. I had no idea what was happening—Jack had told me that their lairs tended to be much smaller. It was an amassing; whatever else was going on, I was convinced it was the end, one way or the other.

  Jack motioned to me, tapping his helmet and then pointing to a rack where a couple more were resting. He wanted me to put one on.