A Shrouded World (Book 5): Asabron

by Tufo, Mark

  BT thought he caught an implication in Kalandar’s words that if things got too hot, the demon would move on to save himself rather than make a stand. The sound of smooth-running engines could be heard, then came tires on asphalt.

  “Has to be twenty or more cars,” BT said as he craned his neck. “They’re not slowing down.”

  Kalandar reached out and pulled BT away from the window as the first of the cars raced by. BT wanted to say that they sure were in a hurry to get somewhere, but was afraid that merely speaking would alert the passersby to their location. The first car to pass had windows tinted so darkly they were as black as the entrance to a cave. After that, BT stopped trying to look inside, fearful something would peer out from the blackness. He counted each car as it passed, thrilled when he got to nineteen and they still had not stopped. It was the telltale sound of dirty brakes squealing that slapped the mirth from him like a mother catching her child shoplifting.

  “Just one, we should be able to take care of that,” BT said aloud, attempting to convince himself.

  His declaration was immediately followed by the sound of tires running over gravel in the parking lot.

  “It would seem your estimate of twenty was a little under the mark.” Kalandar had taken a quick look out the window.

  “How many?”

  “Four.”

  “That’s not bad, right?”

  “Perhaps not, but how many entities do you believe can fit in each of those vehicles?” Kalandar asked.

  Bile rose up in BT’s throat as he looked upon the first of the creatures to step out of the lead car.

  “That can’t be real,” he said, backing away from the window.

  “They are very real, and they have weapons.”

  BT had at first been focused on the striation of coloring on their hairless heads, though that detail was soon overshadowed by the strange bend of their legs.

  “Like a bird,” he said softly. “What should we do?” he asked as more and more got out of the cars, the total number more than twenty.

  “I would suggest doing nothing.”

  “Can we kill them?”

  “They are mortal, so yes, they can be killed—but so can we. I do not suggest starting anything that perhaps does not need to happen.”

  “We’re in agreement there. What are they doing?”

  Kalandar looked at him harshly; BT got the feeling the other wanted him to stop talking. The whistlers got into a loose circle. With their heads thrown back, they outstretched their arms so that all of their hands were interlocked. BT could not help but let out another gasp as what he could only describe as talons emerged from their feet and sank into the ground. He could not begin to understand what they were doing as they leaned back to the point that their heads were resting on the ground, their bodies at an unnatural angle, and still they held on to each other, though it did not look as if it were for support.

  “I do not know, do not ask,” Kalandar said, heading BT off at the pass.

  The unbroken circle began to move in a counterclockwise direction, their talons ripping up clods of asphalt as they moved. They continued to spin and move around a large area of the parking lot, their heads mere millimeters from scraping the ground. BT could not imagine the sheer amount of stresses being applied to their legs and midsections. This was all strange enough before a high nasally whistling chant began to emanate from the group.

  “This looks like some sort of mating ritual, we need to go,” BT said in alarm. He’d seen enough strangeness to last through this life and into the hereafter—he could not take the idea of these odd creatures mating.

  “I do not think that is what is happening.”

  “Oh, good,” BT said with true relief.

  “I think it is much worse than that. But you are right: we are going to need to leave, and soon.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I think it is a birthing circle.”

  “What?” BT said much too loudly.

  They continued to watch as a black fluid poured forth from the whistlers’ sternums, shooting high into the air where it spread into tendrils that then sought out and found the visceral substance from the others. This mass hung in the air and expanded, creating a pulsating lattice, continually branching out and growing higher as the rest of the group added to it.

  “Looks like tree roots,” BT said, fascinated.

  “Something is forming in the middle—many somethings,” Kalandar said.

  BT had not noticed, but at the very top, the network of webs was pouring thin filaments down to the ground, where they were taking shape.

  “You sure it’s not some kind of magic? I mean, that could be bad, but not more whistlers bad.”

  “I do not sense that the beasts possess a magical quality; this is something primal. The problem with them creating offspring will be that they require nourishment. Many animals do not have young if they cannot secure a food source.”

  “Us?” BT asked astutely. “You think we’re the food source? But they haven’t even acknowledged that they know we’re here.”

  “That may be the case; I do not wish to find out.”

  “What about him?” BT pointed to Mike. “Can we just take him?”

  “I fear if we separate him from the area in which he now stands, he will be lost to the realm where he finds himself.”

  “How is this even happening?” BT looked around the garage until he found something he could use to prod Michael. He hoped the tire iron was long enough to reach. BT made sure he was far out of the ring as he leaned forward cautiously. The tire iron inexplicably got lighter the further he pushed it through the strange formation. He thought perhaps it was getting slightly transparent, but he couldn’t be sure. He met no resistance when he touched Mike, though he couldn’t tell if that was from the man, the tool, or both. He’d put the tire iron an inch or more through Mike’s side before pulling it back.

  “That didn’t work!” BT said in alarm.

  “It will not be long now.” Kalandar had not moved from the window. He watched as the newly born whistlers began to wriggle on the ground like fat worms caught out in the sun.

  A long, loud, and high-pitched mewl escaped the circle as the last of the birthing trellis fell to the ground, coating the newborns in a viscous embryonic fluid. The hatchlings quickly devoured the tar-like substance and resumed their cry for food.

  The whistlers in the circle began to stand; some staggered, others walked slowly away, most heading back to the cars. BT was again next to the window, watching as one of the whistlers opened the swinging gate door on the back of its hearse.

  “What the absolute fuck,” BT pushed through clenched teeth as the being pulled out a silver-colored coffin. “It’s not feeding dead people to those—things—is it?” There was no doubt in his mind that he was going to be sick over the whole affair. He turned away, not willing or able to watch what happened next. There was a loud thump as the casket slammed into the ground.

  After a moment, Kalandar spoke. “It’s worse.”

  BT could hardly believe himself when he turned to see three bound and gagged people fall out of the now overturned box.

  “Oh God, how did they all fit in there?” BT had to choke back the bile and the tears. The three, two males and a female, were naked except for the ropes that tied their legs and hands and the dirty rags that covered their faces. The whistler that had pulled the coffin out grabbed the bonds of the two men and dragged them across the roadway toward the offspring. The two twisted, trying to get away, muffled cries of pain and anguish pouring from them.

  The woman, who had been left alone for a minute, somehow found her way to her feet and was doing her best to hop away on her hobbled legs. A different whistler, one that looked exhausted, slowly made its way over to her. BT and Kalandar watched as it pulled a weapon free from a holster attached to its leg. The whistler raised its arms and fired—there was not the explosive percussion BT had expected. It was more like air being expelled fr
om a CO2-charged pellet gun. The woman instantly went rigid and then fell over, her head cracking as it slammed onto the pavement. The whistler grabbed her violently twitching form and dragged her by her feet, leaving a smear of blood on the roadway as he did so.

  “We have to do something,” BT said, one hand on his stomach making gentle circles in an attempt to appease the roiling beast.

  “We have to stay alive—that is the best we can do right now.”

  “I realize that for you, watching people die might be like me seeing a squirrel killed—distasteful for sure but not something worth risking your life over. But I can’t just stand here and watch.”

  “It is true that I am a demon and they are human; however, that does not mean I do not have compassion for them. The more honest comparison would be like humans watching dogs being slaughtered. I should think a great many of your kind would risk whatever hazards may befall them to prevent that from happening, so do not presume to know how I would act in any particular circumstance. Regardless, to go out there now is to forfeit our lives: we do not have the numbers or the weaponry.”

  BT wanted to call him out for his cowardice but could not, as he realized the truth of the demon’s words and he himself had not made any moves to save the three bound humans either. He let his head sag.

  The worm-like objects on the ground began to take form and definition as they fed, jostling and wrestling for the best positions to eat as much as they could. By the time they finished the second body, they were standing on spindly legs, bobbing up and down like birds of prey as they pulled pieces of meat free. Their arms were the last thing to form as the three-foot-high beings coalesced. The adult whistlers, without looking back at the younglings, got into their cars.

  “Take the fucking monsters with you,” BT begged. The car engines started and within a minute were out of sight, leaving behind only the twelve ravenous juvenile whistlers who were now looking around their surroundings, most likely for their next meal. BT moved a fraction of a second too late as one of the youths looked right at the window.

  “Shit, did it see me?”

  “They are moving here, so my sources are going to say yes.”

  “Sarcasm?”

  “You have made me angry; had you not moved there was a good chance they would not have seen anything, but … well, to be fair, there is not much here. They would have likely come in anyway.”

  “They don’t have weapons.” BT whooshed his tire iron. It coincidentally whistled as it cut through the air.

  “I have no way of knowing this for certain, but seemingly defenseless creatures often have ways of protecting themselves, especially predators.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Theoretically, the way those people stilled the moment they were in front of the worms has me thinking.”

  “Couldn’t it have just been fear?”

  “Perhaps, but I’m more inclined to think it was the result of a neurotoxin—whether from the birthing fluids or their teeth, it is difficult to say.”

  “So just touching them could kill us?”

  “Incapacitate.”

  “That’s worse!”

  “I would have to agree; getting eaten alive is not on my bucket list.”

  “You have a bucket list?”

  “Is it so strange to believe I have things I wish to do before my end?”

  “Honestly, that’s the least weird thing I’ve seen, and I’m wearing a dress.”

  A loud bang came as something crashed into the garage door. Kalandar raced to the front, grabbed the map display, and propped it against the door and the counter.

  “That might buy us some time.”

  “Then what? We have a frozen Mike and no ride.”

  “I am open to suggestions, should you have any,” Kalandar said.

  “Nope, just bitching.”

  “I do enjoy honesty.”

  “As a demon you enjoy honesty?”

  “There are many incorrect assumptions regarding my kind. Stereotypes, if you will—but you would not understand that.”

  BT could not help but laugh. “Probably right, no way I’d get that.”

  Glass shattering in the garage bay garnered their attention.

  “I had hoped they would have a more severe learning curve. It would seem hunger is all the motivation they need to overcome their lack of knowledge.”

  The whistler that broke out the window had jumped up, his chest resting on the sill where he was thrashing about in an attempt to get the rest of his body through the opening. Black blood poured from a severe gash in his side where a jagged piece of glass had laid it open. BT ran and was swinging as he approached; the head of the tire iron had so much torque it ripped through the relative softness of the creature’s skull and sent tissue spraying across the room. The beast fell away only to be quickly replaced by another. This one BT dealt a glancing blow, breaking through its jaw and into the rows of serrated teeth. Another jumped up but only to look—too far for BT to swing his weapon.

  “Come on, I’ve got a little something for you,” BT growled. The creature hissed and backed away. “That’s right. Run, you little motherfucker!” A rock was hurled through the window, narrowly missing his head. “Holy shit!” he said as he ducked down. “Kalandar, they get the concept of weapons!”

  “And breaking and entering,” Kalandar added just as more glass smashed in. “Front entrance is compromised.” Kalandar entered the bay and shut the door that separated it from the entrance, unhappy with the weight of the access point. He pressed his bulk against it; he was not in danger of being forced away, but he could hear claws ripping through the wood veneer as their assailant tried to get through. The garage bay doors were suffering a similar fate. Every potential entry point was being probed. Both Kalandar and BT turned as a finger of light poked through from a hole in the large door, immediately darkened as an eye peered in. BT made a move to drive his iron through it, but before he could make it halfway, the whistler withdrew.

  “The window!” Kalandar shouted.

  BT turned in time to see a whistler fly through like it had been launched. He thought that perhaps the monster had help from his siblings, but what did it matter—the enemy was through the gates. As if the others somehow knew that one of them was in and were afraid of missing out, their efforts to gain entry were redoubled. The lone whistler took stock of his dining arrangements and went for what it figured was the easiest meal: the being standing still in the center of the room. It wasn’t nearly as large as the other two, but it also wasn’t threatening him, and not getting injured on the hunt was of the utmost importance.

  “Shit.” BT knew he was going to be too late, though it did not stop him from trying. He was thinking about his apologies even as he tried to get there. The whistler launched; BT watched in amazement as the leading edge of the animal became translucent, the effect spreading down its entire body as it passed through the barrier. Then it somehow defied gravity—with less than three inches separating the two individuals, the whistler hung in midair. BT swung his tire iron and stutter-stepped to the side as the weapon flew right through the beast. He caught himself before falling over; two more had come through the window, a third had half his body through the bay door and was viciously ripping at the wood with his teeth to widen the opening. Kalandar moved as a chunk of wood to the side of him fell inwards. They both backed up toward the center, their backs to Mike.

  6

  Mike Talbot

  “You can’t do anything here. This place is more like a window—you can look through, but nothing else.”

  “Trip, where do I need to be?”

  “Seriously, Ponch, don’t you pay attention? It’s all in the notebook, I think. Hvergelmir, man; there’s a door there.”

  “And then what?” That was just about when all hell broke loose. Well, it started off as a “what the heck” moment as part of a tire iron showed itself and embedded a few inches into my arm. I was expecting pain and was happy when none mate
rialized.

  “They know you’re here,” Trip said suddenly. “No, there. They know you’re there … and maybe here.” He looked over his shoulder at the overseer slowly walking over.

  “What?”

  “Aren’t I usually the confused one?”

  “Helpful,” I told him.

  “They know where you are—they’re trying to stop you.”

  “Shit.” That meant Kalandar and BT were in trouble. “Um, how do I get out of here?”

  “Did you bring your ruby slippers?”

  “Trip!”

  “No fun, Ponch. If you look hard enough, you can see the borders of the structure you stepped into, like a window frame. You need to step out of it.”

  “This me, the circling me, or the statue back in the Valhalla outskirts?”

  Trip pushed me just as the overseer grabbed his shoulder and a dwarf whistler launched into the nowhere. The overseer looked like he’d seen a ghost as the hissing invader jumped past me and into the area proper.

  “Get out!” Trip yelled. He was fading away as I stumbled out of the circle and snapped back into my body. What I experienced was instantaneously disorientating. The best I can describe it was like I had taken a hit of LSD, drank a six pack of beer, and was peaking on my trip when instantly a switch was hit and I found myself standing stone sober amid a fight for my life. My brain, or at least the thoughts within it, were swirling. I could see what was happening around me; I just didn’t have the cognitive ability to reason it out. It was akin to looking at the works of Plato in the original Greek. Sure you knew it was important, potentially even life-altering, but you couldn’t do anything with it.

  Things were trying to kill other things—that was the basic gist of it—that I understood. But who any of them were, nope, nothing. It’s a good thing that the survival instinct isn’t reliant on higher reasoning. Stay alive, that is the foundation, and from there it’s just the actions necessary to fulfill the desired outcome. The two larger beings closest to me were not an immediate threat. The little monster coming at me with the gaping maw, she meant me harm. I used the solid object hanging from the front of me to bat it away. Blood fell from a wicked gash I had opened up in its skull. It shook its head and tried again. On its second approach, I thrust out the much smaller, harder end, and drove it straight through its eye socket. The thing danced on the edge of my weapon.