Hatred Day

by T S Pettibone

  Midnight struck. The moments melted into long hours of pitch blackness that brightened with the rays of dawn. Snofrid watched the horizon enkindle; its light half-drowned behind a veil of lazy snow. Spokes of sunlight pierced the clouds, reaching down through the treetops to ignite the sparkling snow. The morning was glorious. It reminded her of the times she’d hunted with Ryuki and Desya in the green zone—camping out in the early morning hours—and how she’d cried each time Ryuki had killed a deer.

  Over the course of the morning, soldiers dipped into their supplies, digging out pouches of dried venison and olive bread with hard goat cheese. Laughs replaced dull moods, and jokes substituted complaints for the most part. It seemed that the soldiers sensed the end was close at hand.

  “The welx needs to show up already,” Rhode complained, unwrapping a Twinkie. “This is the most boring mission I’ve ever done.”

  Coyote waved a hand and said, “You know humans put cellulose gum in those.”

  “So what?”

  “They also put cellulose gum in rocket fuel.”

  Rhode shoved the full Twinkie into his mouth. “Powerful engines need similar fuel.”

  Snofrid withdrew her attention from Rhode and Coyote to argue with Nethers about the correct way to burp a baby—Rhode had told a half-truth. Nethers had twin girls. One of them had died, though he’d only recently accepted it. She found it strange that Rhode had belittled the baby’s death, because Nethers had made Rhode her Birth Patron. However, under his indifference, she sensed that Rhode really had cared about the baby, but put on airs of detachment. Most Dracuslayers did.

  The debate broke at a sudden flash of red in her peripheral. Turning, she spotted a flock of fat red birds crowding the trees around her, hissing as they hopped from twig to twig.

  Nethers and Coyote followed her gaze. Coyote frowned, and said, “Gaper fowl are warm-climate beasts.”

  “They sense something will die,” Snofrid realized. From her memories, she knew the species had minor magical abilities. “They can predict death and are here for breakfast.”

  “They’re right on point,” Rhode chuckled, adjusting his scope height. “When birds of prey come to see a fight, you know it’s going to be wicked.”

  Snofrid kept an eye on the gaper fowl, feeling put off. Worse than vultures, they didn’t even wait for the victim to die but swarmed its wounds and stripped the flesh as it bled out.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking,” Rhode said, fluffing the branches of his perch. “I can’t wait to get back to the Empyrean City and be famous. I’m going to have my own fan club, like Lord Wolfgang. Except, my fan club will be Gorgons, not peasants and crusty old people.” He slurped punch from a juice box. “What do you want, Nethers?”

  “Gorgons sound good.” Nethers handed a piece of meat to a squirrel. “But I’m going to see Fern first.”

  “Why would you go see your daughter when you could have anything?”

  “I don’t know. I just want to see her.”

  “Lame.” Rhode gurgled his juice. “What do you want, Coyote?”

  “A chamber in the sixth level of the Sky-Dome Citadel…Gorgons…maybe a few hundred- thousand gems.”

  “Classic.” Rhode spit some juice into the snow. “Narwood?”

  “Governor Ariaxa.”

  Rhode blasted a snort. “Not going to happen. If you and an orangutan were the last two creatures on earth, she’d choose the orangutan.” He made a quiet chuckle. “Commander? What do you want? Aside from a Lordship?”

  Hadrian drew his eyes from his black-tree ring. “Keep spitting, Vortigern, and I’ll make you lick up every juice spot.”

  Rhode heaved a sigh and screwed on his mouthpiece. “We all know what Hessia wants.”

  “What’s that?” Hessia challenged.

  “You want to become a Governor.”

  The Dracuslayers burst into laughter. “Right,” Narwood agreed. He glanced up from his scope reticle, his rattail slipping down one shoulder. “I’d sooner become the President of the New Global Union before Hessia became a Governor.”

  Hessia dipped her chin, glaring under squatted brows. Just as she looked like she might retort, Hadrian held up a claw in warning.

  Throughout the conversation, Snofrid experienced the polar opposite of Hessia’s anger. Each soldier was going to receive eternal veneration. They’d be regarded as gods and fawned over by all who crossed their path. Though she didn’t desire such an extreme degree of praise, she did want to scrub clean her father’s name, Desya’s name and her own and enter Inborn society without eliciting death threats and insults.

  Flipping open her folder knife, she tried to spin it around her hand. After a few failed attempts, she locked into Nether’s perspective. Through his eyes, she spied a figure walking past his tree; it stood tall, and the clank of grenades punctuated its steps. She pricked up in alertness. Before she could determine if the figure was a patrolman or a hunter, it faded into the trees.

  “Darling,” Hadrian called. “Take care of him.”

  A beast of a man slid from a birch tree, right in Snofrid’s line of sight. Brawny shouldered and scar-faced, his chest was twice as broad as Hadrian’s and he sported a coarse brown flat-top. While he plodded deeper into the forest, she searched the tree line. “Who is it?” she asked.

  “Darling will confirm and report,” Coyote said, sucking his teeth. “If it’s a hostile, he’ll eliminate the target.”

  “You mean an All-Steam Hunter?”

  “Could be.” Coyote snuffed his cigarette in the snow. “No one knows if they’re even going to show.”

  Rhode returned from using the restroom, wiping his hands on his trousers, and climbed back into his perch. When he was settled, he said to Snofrid, “Getting girlish trembles, yet?”

  “Not even close.”

  “Just you wait. A little while longer and you’ll be squealing. Right, Nethers?”

  No reply.

  “Silence is consent.” Rhode placed his mil dots on the back of her head. “Just don’t think too many erratic thoughts while us soldiers are fighting. It can get distracting when someone is screaming through the bug dials.”

  Snofrid turned around, looking for him in the trees. “Take that off me.”

  “Getting scared?”

  “No. I don’t trust you not to slip and pull the trigger.”

  He puffed out a snort. “I’ve never missed a hit in my life.”

  “Dragoncrap,” Coyote called out. “Nepal.”

  “That was ONCE.”

  Snofrid caught a glimpse of a grey shape at her rear and did a double-take. She almost turned around for a better view, but stopped herself at the last moment. “Wait, Rhode. I need to see behind me. Put your scope back on me.”

  “Girls.” He scoffed. “They can never make up their minds.”

  “Put it on me!”

  “Excellence takes time, girl. Patience.” Rhode readjusted his scope height, settling it on her head. “Done.”

  “What is that?” she demanded. “Is that a rock?”

  He glanced up with a snort. “You wasted my energy on a rock?”

  “Just look behind me.”

  Rhode scanned the glade and his eyes bugged out. “Commander, are you getting this?”

  Hadrian had already left his spot in the log and was running through the forest, his Halo-hand ready. “All units prepare to fire on target.”

  Heart pounding, Snofrid stared at the grey shape through Rhode’s rifle scope. It wasn’t a rock, it was a boulder, roughly the size of a small car. And it was barreling toward her position, splintering the trees in its path. Wherever the welx was, it had a plan she hadn’t foreseen—to use its magic from afar. To pin her under a rock so she couldn’t flee.

  “Start gutting the deer,” Coyote ordered.

  “Is that going to crush me?” she asked, shoving the deer onto its back.

  Rhode chuckled. “If it does, at least we won’t have to carve a tombstone.”

  �
��Shut your mouth, Vortigern,” Coyote barked. “Focus.”

  Using her folder knife, Snofrid sliced the deer’s belly open from its sternum to its crotch. She hauled the intestines out and then began clipping the membranes that fixed the innards to the spine. “Is it still moving toward me?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Coyote verified. “You’ll be fine. Keep gutting.”

  As she cut the diaphragm, a ring of blood pooled across the snow. She yanked the guts free and set them in a pile to her right before smashing through the pelvic bone using the butt of her knife. With each movement, her bloody hands trembled and her pulse raced faster. All her mind could produce were spasmodic thoughts, cascading over themselves, repeating: Don’t look over your shoulder. She froze when the cracking of the trees grew louder. “My hell, that boulder is right on me, isn’t it?”

  “Just stay where you are,” Coyote said calmly. “Nethers will tell you when to move.”

  “I’m counting on you, Nethers,” she called, and pulled the colon from the deer’s body cavity. “Has anyone spotted the welx?”

  “Not yet. It’s probably raising the spell from a safe dist—”.

  “Now, Snofrid!” Nethers cut in. “Roll left!”

  She rolled left just as the boulder breached the tree line. Fragments of wood peppered the air. Snofrid waited, nerves thrashing, until the boulder had crossed the clearing—flattening the deer carcass along the way—and then scrambled back into position.

  A screech tore through the forest. Spinning around, she scoured the trees. “Is that the welx?”

  “Target in range,” Rhode announced.

  “Take it down,” Nethers shouted.

  Rhode’s mind cooled as he took aim. “Height of target, 4.2 meters. Calculating distance.”

  Snofrid saw nothing but wood, rocks and snow. The ground shook with thunderous footsteps, and the trees bowed. Something was moving through them. Fast. Math equations trickled into her mind even as the soldiers calculated their shots, “4.2 times 1000; divided by 5 mils is an 840 meter distance.”

  Rhode scrunched one eye shut. “Wind adjustment, head on. No value, guys. Drop shells.”

  Shots fired.

  A beast tore through the tree line, roaring as bullets bounced off its hide. Snofrid skidded back in terror, ducking a flurry of sharp branches. For a brief moment, she saw her shuddering reflection in its scaly hide. Before she could fling her knife at the beast, a wall of metal sprang up around her, crashing shut and caging her in a titanium sphere.

  Through the snipers’ eyes, she saw the welx turn and gallop toward the tree line. One good look at the beast and she feared for everyone’s lives. Its tail tapered to a bony, spiked mace. As it ran, it swung its tail-club at the trees, splintering the trunks. Its forelimbs were shorter than its hind-limbs, giving it extra thrust, and every inch of its body was coated in armored scutes—external plates overlapped with horns. Air sacs flared above its six eyes, and its snapping jaws spilled over with rod-like teeth.

  The welx skidded to a halt at the edge of the Alchemy Sphere. Pacing back and forth, it shrieked in frustration. It was trapped.

  “Why didn’t the Fail Floor activate?” Nethers demanded. He took shot after shot at the beast, but the bullets ricocheted off its shell like pebbles.

  “I don’t know, but Wolba is a sitting duck now,” Rhode chuckled. “Headshot takes it home.” He yanked back his trigger, sending a 50BMG round barreling toward the welx.

  The welx hunkered down and hissed, as if it were laughing.

  “Damn it,” Coyote spat, clamping his arms around a tree trunk. “We’re about to get hit. Everybody hold on!”

  Green magic fanned from the beast’s jaws and blasted through the forest in a flash fire. The trees started rattling, shaking off the snipers like fleas. Nethers shouted a curse. Throwing his rifle, he toppled from his tree and struck the snow with a thud; Narwood shielded his face with his hands, grunting as sticks impaled through them and into his gasmask; Coyote tumbled backward, grappling, and braced himself on a branch.

  “Go, Hessia!” he yelled. “Now!”

  Hessia darted from her log, dropping the Isolation Spell so she could raise new magic. She tore off her gasmask as she reached the glade: magic dove from her mouth, spearing into the welx’s forelimbs. The beast buckled, but only for a moment, before sending a wall of rocks hurtling toward her.

  “Drop, Hessia!” Coyote shouted.

  She flattened against the snow and the rocks grazed her spine.

  Coyote scanned the trees, panting. “Call in.”

  “I’m alive,” Hessia groaned.

  Snofrid felt a tremor under her feet. Stumbling, she supported herself against the dome; thoughts of pain spattered across her awareness, stretching her focus. Narwood was dead. Two others were injured. With a bout of panic, she jacked into Coyote’s perspective. “Something’s heading toward the glade,” she warned.

  Coyote dropped from his tree. “What is it?”

  “It’s round two,” Rhode cut in, reloading his rifle. “Things are about to get violent.”

  A dunespike ripped through the trees and landed beside the boulder, uprooting ice chunks with its paws. Snofrid let out a startled cry, thinking the beast was going to tear through the dome. Instead, the dunespike bit into the welx’s neck and dragged it away from the Alchemy Sphere. Snofrid saw and heard frenzy in Hadrian’s mind. “Slaughter it. Rip it to pieces. Kill it.”

  The welx twisted, slashing Hadrian’s neck with its claws. Blood sprayed the snow, but Hadrian’s scales took the brunt of the hit. Snarling, he slammed the welx into the ground and butted it again and again with his horns, puncturing a large hole through its ribcage.

  “Vortigern, headshot!” Hadrian growled.

  “Calculating distance,” Rhode said, peering through his scope. “Got him, Commander.”

  Snofrid heard a dull crack. She backed up, blinking, and hopped to Rhode’s viewpoint. All the mud-tusque nests were waking, splaying greedily as they slurped up the bloody snow. “The nests are active,” she warned, her voice shaky. “Watch your feet.”

  A mud-tusque mouth, as wide as five men, stretched open beside Hadrian and sucked the welx’s hind legs into its throat. With a startled yelp, the beast tore at the ground. Small hooks shot from the mud-tusque’s mouth, latching onto the welx’s legs and yanked it down farther.

  “Bull’s-eye,” Rhode cheered, pounding his fist on his rifle. “There’s no way the bastard is getting out of that.”

  Hadrian seized the advantage. He attacked without mercy, chewing through the welx’s hide until its ribs gleamed white in the sunlight. The welx’s snout twisted as it tried to wriggle free, its eye sacs flaring. Hadrian targeted its legs and shredded the muscle and bone, freeing it from the mud-tusque’s jowls. Then, rising up on his hind legs, he thundered his paws against its back and cracked its spine. Snofrid’s eyes enlarged as the welx’s body collapsed, limp and stunned. It was paralyzed.

  “Whohoo!” Rhode exclaimed. “Tell me that really just happened!” He slid from his perch and bolted toward the glade. “I’m going to be famous. FAMOUS. Nethers, where the hell are you? We need to celebrate. Oh man, we can finally take that trip to Cabo.”

  “Everyone regroup at the glade,” Coyote ordered. He was coasting down a ravine slope, shoving a magazine into an assault rifle.

  “On our way,” Kuzmic said as he lifted a fallen tree off another Dracuslayer’s leg.

  Snofrid caught ahold of the dome’s ceiling lever and yanked; the walls lowered, unveiling a field of red. She stepped over the lip of the dome, still panting, and hopped through the thicket of nests. Gaper fowl swarmed the welx’s wounds, screeching as they stripped off flesh; Hadrian stood over the heaving body, now in his man form, with a battle axe in one hand and a khopesh sword in the other. She could hardly believe the sight. The welx was down. Most of them were alive. They could finally signal the Sky-Legion to attack.

  “Can he still raise magic?” she asked, stopping at
a distance from the welx.

  “Not after this much blood loss,” Hadrian told her.

  She inched closer, gaining courage, and gazed at the beast’s six eyes. Blood spilled from gashes in its skull, streaming across the rips in its snout; even so mangled, it betrayed little sign that it was in pain.

  “Maybe you should just kill him,” she suggested.

  Hadrian’s tone was disapproving. “A quick death would be merciful. Wolba deserves none.” He unclipped a bottled spell from his belt and popped the cap. Green light beamed into the sky, signaling the Sky-Legion. “Lord Pim will ensure that the humans are occupied while we deal with Wolba.”

  Snofrid stared at the green light as it spread above the city. Her spirits soared with the magic, and, for the first time since the quarantine, she felt herself truly smile.

  “We’re about the have the biggest family reunion of all time,” Rhode called. He skidded to a halt at the edge of the glade, his eyes bright and his skin flushed. “Not so mighty now, are you Wolba?” He laughed, nudging the welx with his boot. “What do you think? My name is going to go down in history as the guy who finally nabbed you. I bet that makes you want to be me, doesn’t it?” The welx snapped at his boot and he skittered back, laughing. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  In minutes, Hessia and seven Dracuslayers had reported to the clearing, some with severe injuries. Kuzmic, a bull-necked boy with black clipper cut, glared at the Fail Floor suspiciously. “Why the hell didn’t the floor collapse?” he demanded. “We checked and double checked it. There’s no reason it could’ve malfunctioned—unless someone rigged it.”

  “Maybe you should have a chat with Hessia,” Rhode suggested, drawing a longsword from his back holster. “Ask her why she’s all words and no brain.”

  “My magic was flawless,” Hessia asserted, her tone hot. She backed away from Rhode’s sword, her eyes mistrustful. “It failed because someone else slipped up.”

  “Everyone quiet,” Hadrian ordered. He looked over the Dracuslayers faces. “I want a death count. Where is Nethers?”

  Coyote shook his head, wiping blood from his cheek. “I don’t know. He exited the bug dial pool a few minutes ago, but I didn’t see him get hit.”