by Tufo, Mark
Mike tosses the launcher over the edge and retrieves his weapon. The explosion knocked many of the night runners from the tower. Others stagger below, stunned.
“Didn’t think that was going to work. We should probably go now,” Mike says.
“I’m good with that idea,” I reply.
Firing into the ones nearest the tower base, Mike swings his legs onto the ladder. We’ll have to move quickly because the night runners are beginning to recover. Mike hits the bottom, kneeling and taking out those stumbling nearby. I grab hold of the ladder and slide down the outer rails, not caring if I get a splinter. That’s the least of my worries, and the gloves I’m wearing provide some protection.
Hitting the ground, we race over chewed-up earth, running around the smoking crater. Shrieks rise again behind us as we streak through the ruin of tents left by Kalandar’s beeline to the tower.
“Do you remember where you saw the vehicle?” I yell.
“Um, mostly that way … I think,” Mike answers, pointing down an avenue between tents filled with debris. “The view was better up top.”
Night runners chase after us, their screams rising in the night air. The pounding of their feet is faint but noticeable. Mike and I pass tent after tent, having to leap over the occasional obstacle in our path. With my mind still open, I can feel the night runners closing the distance.
“What if it doesn’t start … or there’s no key,” Mike says between panting breaths. “Or in this shit hole of a place, it doesn’t have a steering wheel?”
“Shut up with that nonsense,” I return, even though I had the same thought—except for the steering wheel part. That one is on Mike, though all things considered, he might have a point.
With the night runners in hot pursuit, we come to an open area with a Humvee-style vehicle parked off to one side. Mike angles toward it and throws the door open.
“You start it, I’ll keep us covered,” I say, turning to face the direction we came from.
Mike climbs in, stares at the panel for a moment, and turns a knob. A glowing orange light comes on. I glance toward the top to see a mounted machine gun, its barrel angled upward. As much as I want to climb inside and use it, there’s just no time as night runners begin pouring into the clearing. I take aim and start firing, watching as several fall, either doing face plants or spinning onto their backs. Shrieks fill the area.
“It won’t start. I think it has to warm up, glow plugs or something like them,” Mike says. “I hate glow plugs!”
“Start dry humping it or give it a little more foreplay. Do whatever it takes to get that thing warmed up faster,” I reply.
“Come on baby, I’ll be so sweet to you. I’ll give you everything you want, just be sweet to me.”
“Mike, I was mostly kidding.”
In my periphery, I see pale figures streak past other lanes. The night runners are about to hit us from multiple sides. I keep firing on those emerging into the clearing, sending more to the ground. I’ve had to reload a couple of times and ammo is about to become a concern. If we get hit from all sides, I’ll have to switch to full auto, which will eat through rounds.
More night runners streak past the lanes, but some now turn and start down the path. From the images I’m seeing, the horde is coordinating efforts to come at us from three sides. Apparently, hitting the fourth side will take too much time.
“Mike, any time now,” I shout, firing into two others that emerge.
“I don’t know what you want me to do,” Mike replies, adding his fire from his seated position. “It’s not like I can cast spells or something. And she’s not warming up to my advances at all. Kind of like that woman from … forget it.”
“Then what good are you?”
I turn to face another direction. Night runners are packed in the lane, the heads of those behind bobbing as they all race toward our position. Those in front collapse to the ground as I begin firing, the ones behind not slowed in the least as they trod over the dead and injured. I keep firing, hoping to keep them at bay and knowing that it’s only a matter of time before we’re hit from the third side. I already feel the creatures closing in.
“The light went out, now normally I’d rather have the lights on, but in this case …” Mike yells.
“Mike!”
I hear the engine turn over, chugging as the pistons rise up and down. But the engine doesn’t start, just keeps cranking.
We’re dead.
I grab a grenade and toss it into the lane I’m currently covering. Unpinning another, I throw it into the area Mike was covering. The explosions ring over the encampment, tents shuddering as shrapnel tears through their canvas. Night runners fall, tattered limbs hanging from threads of flesh and insides spilling onto the ground.
I feel the night runners approaching from behind. They’re out of sight behind the vehicle. Tossing my last two grenades over the roof, judging as best I can to throw them where I feel the approach. The Humvee is outlined in the flash of the explosions. We have a small moment of reprieve.
Clambering through the rear door, I stand up in the circular hatchway. A belt of ammunition dangles from the heavy weapon mounted on top, being fed from a large box. This is a big risk—I’m not even sure the weapon works, but we can use all of the help we can get. Mike is still trying to get the vehicle started and I can hear his curses with each failed attempt.
“Yeah, let’s buy military equipment from the lowest bidder! Why not? Only soldiers’ lives on the line!” Mike says, pounding the dashboard with each word.
The heavy machine gun is mounted to a ring that circles the opening. I place the stock against my shoulder and move the weapon toward the middle lane. It moves easily and seems to be the only thing working on the vehicle. Beyond the iron sights of the weapon, night runners are again pouring between the tents. Some are coming into the clearing while I feel others recovering from the grenades. Aiming down the center avenue, I’m hoping for a working item as I pull the trigger.
Bullets spit out of the barrel, the heavy slugs powering their way toward the oncoming creatures. Green tracers streak down the avenue. The leading night runners are flung backward as the large caliber rounds decimate their bodies. Limbs are torn from bodies, shattered ribs punch into lungs. Blood mists in the night air, visible in the shades of gray of my night vision.
Following the lengthy burst, I roll the weapon toward those racing across the clearing. They’re halfway to us as I begin firing, triggering small bursts as I aim at the nearest ones. The chatter of the machine gun overrides all other sounds. Shrieks fill the night air between bursts as I readjust my aim. The sound of spent cartridges and clips bounce across the roof and hood.
Night runners are pummeled from the forceful impacts. I don’t have time to finish off all of the creatures in the clearing as I feel those behind drawing close. Adjusting my stance, I roll the weapon around and see a dense mob of pale bodies racing down yet another wide lane between tents. I trigger a long burst and watch as the heavy rounds punch into the leading lines. Night runners fall like wheat going down under a swinging scythe.
“Get some!” Mike yells.
I turn back toward the front as I hear the motor catch and feel the rumble under my boots. It revs as Mike punches the accelerator. That’s music to my ears—I wouldn’t be able to hold off three sides much longer. Turning behind me, I see night runners already halfway through the clearing and coming fast.
“Hello, my name is Michael; I will be your Uber driver for the evening. Where would you like to go?” Mike shouts.
“Anywhere but here,” I yell.
“I would appreciate a favorable review upon the completion of your journey.”
I’m pretty sure Mike is certifiable; I would have said so, except I’m thrown forward against the rim of the hatch, my face slamming into the heavy weapon as the vehicle powers backward with tires spinning. Although that gives us a little room from those racing through the clearing, it takes us closer to those coming up f
rom behind. I’m then tossed against the back of the hatch rim as Mike slams on the brakes.
“Okay, ‘D’ means something else here,” I hear him mutter amid the chorus of screams filling the base. “Let’s see what this does.”
“Your rating is going down,” I tell him, trying to hold on as best I can.
I’m thrown against the same edge as the Humvee rockets forward, dirt flinging to the rear as the tires spin and then gain traction. Mike turns the wheel hard, sending the vehicle spinning in the clearing. I release the weapon and hold onto the rim. The night runners have closed the distance, the rapidly turning vehicle clipping a couple of them.
One night runner lands on the hood directly in front of me. I quickly draw my sidearm and bring it up. The creature’s feet are splayed wide to keep its balance, one hand gripping the wipers. Its other hand thrusts forward and grabs the barrel of the mounted weapon. It hisses as its hand burns, but it doesn’t let go. It pulls itself right into the barrel of my handgun. I fire and feel a splash of warm liquid; a thick, meaty mist sprays from the rear of its head and it’s thrown to the side by the centrifugal force of the vehicle.
Mike straightens the Humvee after turning 270 degrees. Another night runner lands on the hood. Hesitating for only a split second, it launches forward. I see its outthrust arms, its lips parted to reveal stained teeth, nose wrinkled in a snarl. Hatred and rage flares in its eyes. I duck below the rim as the night runner sails over.
“Idiot,” I mumble, rising again.
The leaping night runner has somehow grabbed hold of the hatch rim and is hanging on. Its expression hasn’t changed one bit. Steadying myself against the bucking vehicle, I fire into its face. The fingers release and the creature falls away.
I replace my sidearm and swing the mounted weapon around to the rear. We’re motoring through a narrow lane, tents whizzing by as Mike continues to pick up speed. The Humvee bounces over the debris left behind, but we’re clear of the closing night runners. Behind, the horde is running after us, filling the path. I fire into their midst, doing my best to keep the weapon aimed as we power through the camp. Tracers reach out toward the creatures, vanishing as they strike warm bodies, occasionally streaking upward to sail into the night air or angle into the passing tents as we bounce over some obstacle or another.
I’m suddenly thrown back and then to the side as Mike slams on the brakes and turns sharply.
“This thing handles like a boat!”
The vehicle fishtails as we turn onto a wide avenue, but straightens out as Mike again accelerates. Night runners stream out from the lane we were on; others emerge from side paths. But they grow smaller in my sight as we’re able to drive faster and outdistance them. I stay with the weapon in case we’re blindsided, but it seems we’re out of immediate danger. I shut down my mind—the images of the night runners, their anger, their hunger vanishing in an instant.
Mike drives out of the base onto a road of sorts, carved out from a multitude of vehicles having traversed it. We drive for a few more miles before Mike stops. There’s nothing but grass for at least a mile in each direction. No night runners will be able to approach without our seeing them long before they arrive.
A moon rises over the eastern hills, highlighting the valley in a silvery glow. The dark outlines of the encircling ridgelines rise in all directions, their silhouettes a shade darker than the nighttime skies. A breath of air rolls through, the stalks of the surrounding grasses waving with its passage. With the moonlight on them, it looks like we’re sitting in the middle of a vast ocean. There’s only the sound of the idling engine.
I move aside several bullet casings and ease down into the backseat. The sore muscles I had completely forgotten about with the rush of adrenaline return to remind me that they’re still there.
“Holy shit, didn’t think we were going to make it. Do you think God does that shit on purpose?” Mike asks from the front seat.
“Does what?” I ask, hunched over and trying to decide which set of muscles hurts the worst.
“Puts us in situations where we only escape by the skin of our teeth. You know, for entertainment. I wonder if we’re on a big screen somewhere as part of a reality show.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me in the least,” I reply.
“I’d like to know what happened with Kalandar. It’s not like him to just up and leave us in a lurch. We’re not besties or anything, but so far he’s proved to be a stalwart ally. I can’t help thinking that maybe he took BT to eat. Do you think that’s what happened?”
“I honestly don’t know. I’m guessing they were pulled back into the other world, but reality is so fucked here that I have no idea where they might be. We could have used the demon, but I’m honestly kind of glad the big man was pulled away with him. If Kalandar were gone and he remained, we’d be dead by now,” I respond.
“That’s true. I was about to see if he wanted to go up in the tower. No way we would have made it. If we’re going to get to Trip, I have a feeling we’ll have to make our way back to the other world somehow. And, we still need a helicopter,” Mike says. “Although for what purpose I don’t know, but when Trip gives you a cryptic message, it’s best to follow the directions.”
“The helicopter thing didn’t work out very well the first time,” I comment.
“Maybe next time, don’t fly it into a demon. It says that shit on page one of the manual,” Mike says. “Maybe take a page out of my playbook. You see me playing nice with the big scary demons, don’t you? Not pissing off something that can take a rocket to the chest is a pretty smart thing to do. Figured you flyboys were a little brighter than that.”
I sigh heavily, not bothering to respond. Images cycle through my head and I start chuckling.
“What’s so funny?” Mike asks.
“I’m just remembering BT tied to the back of Kalandar like a giant baby.”
Mike snorts, “It’d even be funnier if I wasn’t so concerned about his whereabouts.”
Sitting in the middle of a valley on an alien world, night surrounds a vehicle, the only noise a soft breeze and the sound of two men laughing.
8
Mike Talbot
“How safe you think it is here?” I asked. Now that we’d been sitting for a couple of minutes and the adrenaline had worn off, I was feeling drained.
“Safe?” Jack responded. “I’m pretty sure they don’t have a word for that in this place.”
“What about getting some shut-eye? I’m torched, man, and you look like you lost a fight with a blender. I’ll tell you what, I’ll even take first watch.” That came out with a yawn.
“Well, when you say it like that.” Jack got as comfortable as one can get in the back of a Humvee.
I got out. If I didn’t walk my patrol, there wouldn’t be any way I’d stay awake for it. “One minute down, two hundred and thirty-nine to go.” I could already hear Jack’s soft and steady breathing signifying he’d fallen asleep. I could only hope the realms he journeyed now were better than this one. He’d have a hard time finding anything stranger, that was for sure.
I found myself counting steps to make sure I stayed awake. If I had ever been caught on guard duty being this inattentive, I would have lost a stripe. My head was down and I was shuffling along—the only thing I was going to spot advancing on us would be a squadron of scorpions. Off in the distance, I could hear a war being waged and see the light from explosions. It was a surreal experience to know that not that far off, people were engaged in combat, doing their utmost to destroy their enemies. Right now, men and women were crying out for help to the sound of bullets buzzing like angry bees and the slamming of heavy percussive artillery. The chaos, the anarchy of war, would always prevail over any perceived noble outcome. And here I was in the wings, watching, detached as if it were just a storm off on the horizon. I knew all too well the panic, the terror filling the lives of those people. If they survived, it would be an experience they would never forget and from which many would never re
cover.
I was leaning against the hummer, mostly awake but not enough that I heard Jack approach. He touched my shoulder. I was too tired to even be startled.
“Your lookout abilities leave a lot to be desired,” he said. Tough to gauge if he was being sarcastic.
“I thought I could do it.”
“Get some sleep,” he said as he turned toward the distant manmade storm.
“You think that’s keeping all the monsters at bay?” I asked.
“I imagine it’s a pretty big attractant.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Why chase us when there’s going to be easy pickings.” I was disgusted at the thought, but part of me figured that Jack and I had earned this reprieve. Like anything in life, nothing was gained for free. A lot of people were going to lose their lives this night.
The evening had been getting progressively warmer, like the gates of hell had been left open. I decided to sleep on the ground; the thought of being cooped up in the sweltering hummer was not appealing. Even with the windows down, it was like an oven. There wasn’t the slightest hint of a breeze to cool the interior. When Jack nudged me with the toe of his boot, some hours later, I had more than a fine sheen of sweat covering most of my body.
I sat up. “I feel like my balls are swimming in lava.”
“Morning to you too.” Jack was wiping his forehead with a bandana. “Something’s wrong.”
“In general?” I was hoping that was the response, because yeah, this world was a whole shit load of nope. Didn’t need anything more specific than that.
“Yeah, that, but the weather, the temperature, it’s increasing too quickly. I’d say it’s in the nineties and it’s only 8:30.”