by Tufo, Mark
“Higher!” Kalandar grumbled. I was surprised to hear his voice.
“This is like lifting a Chevy with a paper airplane,” Jack grunted over the ship’s PA.
Wasn’t much I could add to the conversation. I was surprised I could hear Kalandar at all, then I saw the small helmet tucked close to his head. Forward thinking on BT or Jack’s part, I would imagine. Jack turned so I could see him, holding his pinkie to his mouth and his thumb toward his ear, the universal hand gesture for a phone. Made no sense—we already had established comms. Then it struck me: he wanted another channel, one that was private. I found the switch and hit it twice, passing by the one where I heard Jack talking. Circled back around after another four clicks.
“You there, Mike?” He sounded desperate.
“Yeah.”
“Between the runners holding on and Kalandar’s weight, which seems to be significantly higher than half a ton, I’m having a hard time flying this thing.” I didn’t say anything, though I knew where this was going. “You might have to cut him loose.”
BT looked at me; he’d heard the same thing. He shook his head. I was in agreement. I looked down to Kalandar, who had his arms outstretched, pushing off on the ground to avoid hazards—small scrub brush, the occasional boulder. That was all great and fine, but in another mile was a forest—not something he was going to be able to dodge, and if he got wedged tight, he’d pull us down around him. BT and I both looked at the safety release on the winch—it could possibly be Kalandar’s best bet at survival. The runners were still chasing, but were beginning to fall behind. His fall would be short and we weren’t totally to speed, so the likelihood of him hurting anything was slim. The question was, could he survive an attack by hundreds of runners?
He had his powers, but after a good jolt he would need a rest, and if he didn’t kill them all—well, that was self-explanatory.
“Turn to the right!” I told Jack. Wasn’t the best direction as it put the woods closer, but it gave me a firing angle on the runners. “BT, grab the next ammo case.” I spared a glance at the 32 mm box of rounds my feed belt was attached to—didn’t look to be more than a hundred, which I would blast through soon enough. I began to fire, blowing through the bodies of the front ranks with a weapon that was designed to be used on machinery. The heavy bullets were devastating in their ability to deal death. Bodies were shredded, limbs detached, heads disintegrated. The runners did not slow, nor even take pause of the fallen.
“Can’t—get—it—up!” Jack was straining. You know, if not for the savagery I was dealing, the trouble we were in, and the possible necessity of releasing Kalandar, I would have responded. It was a physical ache not to.
BT was dragging the heavy box of fresh ammo over and watched as I kept firing. He had the beginning of the belt in his hands; as he saw the last of the rounds feed through, he quickly pulled up on the cover and swapped in the new belt. He had me loaded up and tapped my shoulder to let me know all was good in under five seconds. I wanted to ask him how the fuck he knew how to do that—eventually I would, hopefully.
“Trees!” BT said, needlessly. We had about a hundred yards and Kalandar was about twenty feet up, which was roughly twenty feet too short.
“I would prefer if we went higher!” Kalandar let us know in no uncertain terms.
“Can’t you hover, get us higher?” I asked. No way this was something Jack overlooked and I felt foolish even asking but … well, why hadn’t he done just that?
“Haven’t figured it out. Fucking thing is like driving a dishwasher. Not going to have time.”
This was where I figured we were high enough, just turn the whole friggen rig around while he figured it out. Should have known, should have absolutely known. When I brought my gaze up higher than the pursuing runners, I saw the wall that signified death to all who entered.
“Cold front,” I muttered. “Sum bitch.”
“Yeah, and it’s moving fast.”
He didn’t need to clarify the direction it was moving. He swung back to the left to give us a second or two more before we treed Kalandar.
“Mike,” Jack said. I knew what he wanted to do. We were thirty feet up; I don’t think it’d be enough to kill the demon, but the drop could fuck him up pretty bad, or even stun him—he was in a pretty awkward position, chances are the runners would descend upon him long before he could aptly defend himself. The nose of the aircraft pulled high, the harness tight on my belt as I now precariously balanced on the edge of the floor. I was looking straight down and out, hoping beyond hope my web belt held.
BT yanked me back quickly. “Gotcha man, I got you!” he yelled. Would have kissed the big man if I didn’t think my helmet would get in the way. I could hear the sound of heavy limbs cracking as Kalandar was pulled through the trees. The helicopter was jerking around as our anchor attempted to stop us mid-flight. The only beauty of it was that the runners were torn free like barnacles being scraped off bottom of a ship by a shallow reef. There was a moment of tension as I waited for the inevitable “brace for impact” to be said aloud.
Then, it blissfully stopped. It was as calm as a helicopter ride can be—not saying much, but still. It was Kalandar who finally spoke.
“I am a flying demon!” he roared. “A super demon!” I looked down at him with his arms stretched out in front of him—the thought of him in tights and a cape was worth a smile. I motioned for BT to look. He shook his head but was smiling as well.
I sat down, suddenly exhausted. “We’re coming, Trip. I don’t know where we’re going or what we’re going to do when we get there, but we’re coming.”
“That’s what she said,” Jack replied, beating me to the punch line I had so wanted to deliver earlier.
About The Authors
MARK TUFO
Mark Tufo was born in Boston Massachusetts. He attended UMASS Amherst where he obtained a BA and later joined the US Marine Corp. He was stationed in Parris Island SC, Twenty Nine Palms CA and Kaneohe Bay Hawaii. After his tour he went into the Human Resources field with a worldwide financial institution and has gone back to college at CTU to complete his masters.
He has written the Indian Hill trilogy with the first Indian Hill - Encounters being published for the Amazon Kindle in July 2009. He has since written the Zombie Fallout series and is working on a new zombie book.
He lives in Maine with his wife, three kids and two English bulldogs. Visit him at marktufo.com or http://zombiefallout.blogspot.com/ or http://www.facebook.com/pages/Mark-Tufo/133954330009843 for news on his next two installments of the Indian Hill trilogy and upcoming installments of the Zombie Fallout series.
I love hearing from readers, you can reach me at:
email
[email protected]
website
www.marktufo.com
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https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mark-Tufo/133954330009843?ref=hl
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All books are available in audio version at Audible.com or itunes.
All books are available in print at Amazon.com or Barnes and Noble.com
JOHN O’BRIEN
John O'Brien is a former Air Force fighter instructor pilot who transitioned to Special Operations for the latter part of his career gathering his campaign ribbon for Desert Storm. Immediately following his military service, John became a firefighter/EMT with a local department. Along with becoming a firefighter, he fell into the Information Technology industry in corporate management. Currently, John is writing full-time on the series, A New World.
As a former marathon runner, John lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest and can now be found kayaking out in the waters of Puget Sound, mountain biking in the Capital Forest, hiking in the Olympic Peninsula, or pedaling his road bike along the many scenic roads.
You Can Find him at:
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https://Facebook.com/AuthorJohnWOBrien
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orld
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Merchandise Store:
http://www.zazzle.com/anewworldsupplies/gifts
http://www.cafepress.com/anewworldseries
A Shrouded World The Series
Whistlers Book 1
Atlantis Book 2
Convergence Book 3
Valhalla Book 4
Asabron Book 5
Bitfrost Book 6 coming soon!
Hvergelmir Book 7 Coming Soon!
To be determined Book 8 Coming Soon!