A Shrouded World 6

by Mark Tufo

  I went to reach for him; my hand passed through. “No, no, no—” Must have said that a dozen times as I tried to seek purchase on what was effectively a ghost. I fell to my knees as he just dissipated into nothingness. I sobbed, my chin against my chest. I felt completely done in. I stayed that way for far too long, to the point I thought that maybe I had imagined the entire thing. So lost in this featureless, empty land, I’d created a fantasy. Though, all things being equal, I think I would have opted for something with booze. I was going to lay down, maybe just die. It seemed as good a plan as any, right up until my head crinkled against the plastic trash bag and I remembered the contents.

  “Yeah, imagination might be running wild, but I’m not good enough to have made that up,” I said as I stood, bent down, and grabbed the bag. I kept moving. “I hope BT found his toilet.”

  The color of the light began to change as I walked; it had gone from a soft white to a pale yellow, and now it had something of a blue hue. Again, this was subjective, the variance not definitive enough. But the anxiety that was beginning to well up, that was real, or so my body thought.

  “Don’t like this at all,” I said to my fluttering heart and roiling stomach. My head was like an electrical storm within a Tesla coil.

  “Overseers,” I hissed. Nothing else I’d yet to encounter in my strange existence could account for the feelings I was suffering through now. Yeah, I got battle jitters like anyone with a conscience is apt to do, but this was different. This was the equivalent of slamming on the flight accelerator built into all of us. As of yet, however, I had no direction to go in, no being to get away from, so I plodded on.

  “Fucking Kalandar. We’re going to have a serious talk when I see you next, dick.” I could see something up in this distance, three splotches amidst the otherwise pristine backdrop. Smart me would have turned around; this was a “me” I’d yet to be accused of, so forward it was. It did not appear that whatever it was, was moving, so that was somewhat reassuring, but it was taking so long to get there, that I questioned that perception. I was close enough now that I could tell it was three distinct figures, two taller beings bracketing a much shorter one. Didn't take much reasoning to figure out what was going on here.

  3

  Jack Walker – Chapter One

  Our plan to scale the walls is interrupted by BT’s yell of “Night runners!” Screams erupt, echoing out from the enclosed walls and reverberating throughout the vast hall. It’s a sound that sends chills down my spine. Expecting the worst, I turn quickly around. Instead of the feared horde of night runners racing along the corridor, I see the demon I battled on the plain filling the narrow space.

  “Aw fuck!” I shout.

  Barely heard above the night runner shrieks are yells coming from Mike in what I assume is an identical passageway. It seems they each have their own demons to deal with.

  “We meet again!” the demon’s deep voice roars throughout. “When I am done with you, I look forward to meeting with the rest of your group.”

  That doesn’t sound exactly promising. I’m stuck flatfooted with the demon instead of having a barrier between us or having a helicopter to give me some leverage. Armed with only the carbine, my sidearm, and a few knives stashed here and there, I’m at a rather huge disadvantage. And calling it a disadvantage isn’t doing it justice. The demon nearly fills the width of the corridor, its shoulder and head reaching above the top of the walls that had sprung up and cut me off from the others.

  I look quickly over my shoulder; the far end of the passageway ends in a doorway and looks almost impossibly far away. That seems my only route, as there’s not much of a chance of making my way past the demon without becoming a grease spot. Turning back, I see the demon has brought his hands together, one of those dark orbs beginning to gather between them. As an orangish-red glow appears in the midst of the darkness, I bring the new carbine to my shoulder.

  I know I won’t do much, if any, damage to the beast with my minuscule weapon, considering that multiple rocket strikes barely had an effect. But I begin firing into the midst of the growing fireball, hoping that it will explode in the demon’s hands. I figure that if it can conjure something that powerful, it might be able to damage the creature as well. It’s really the only thing I can think of in the split second I have.

  Bullets race outward and go straight through the orb. There’s no structure-rendering explosion, no dissipation of the fireball. I might as well have tried punching air, for all the damage my shooting caused. My choices are very limited, either run or die, and there’s not even a guarantee that running will do any good. There’s also the fact that the whole situation seems geared toward pushing me toward the door in the distance, and, whenever I’m being shepherded in a certain direction or goal or toward a specific location, it always seems like the last thing I want to be doing.

  With a roar, the demon throws the fireball at me. Against perhaps my better judgement, I start running toward the beast and incoming fireball. I haven’t the slightest clue what I’m doing or even the faintest semblance of a plan, I just know that I don’t want to go where I’m being directed.

  As I race down the passageway, I can hear the little man in my head screaming and fist-smashing every button and pulling every lever. Even flipping the emergency override doesn’t work for him. The fireball fills my vision. Just before becoming charred flesh, I drop to my side and slide along the smooth, slick floor. I feel the sear of heat and smell my hair singe as the ball of flame and darkness passes just above.

  My slide slows and, using the leverage of my momentum, I’m again on my feet and running. Behind, I hear the fireball explode and feel the heat flashburn my neck. The tall walls flare with red light that reflects the glow of a continuing blaze. The width of the hallway doesn’t give the immense demon much room to move, but then again, it doesn’t need much.

  A deep, growling bass shakes the ground, the demon obviously pissed at missing. I’m still running straight toward the beast without a single plan in mind. The creature forms a giant fist, and I see it making its way down toward me. It seems to descend in slow motion, but is growing larger in my vision by the second. I leap forward and shoulder roll, sliding again on the smooth surface of the floor. The fist strikes like a hammer, the ring of the strike threatening to split my skull apart.

  Still sliding with my weapon in hand, I look straight up. Now I’m immediately under the demon and made aware of his maleness. I guess that’s something I never really noticed before. In my slide, I raise the barrel and pull the trigger. Rounds streak upward, striking into very tender areas, or at least I assume so from the roar emitted from the beast. I almost regret my action because I’m now going to be faced with a very pissed off demon; however, it does buy me a little time.

  Rolling to my feet behind the demon, I drop my carbine to dangle on its lanyard and pull out two, six-inch-bladed knives. I realize my solitary hope for surviving this mess is to get to the top of the wall high overhead, and the only way to get there is to use the meat ladder towering over me.

  Taking a running leap, I stab my knives into the demon’s flesh. I’m not positive the blades will penetrate the skin, but they did pierce the creature’s hand back in the cave. The knives sink in successfully, the demon’s roar echoing in the cavernous building. I have to keep a sharp, downward angle in order that the knives retain a good hold on the beast, lest my weight make my blades merely slice down the calves. Removing one of the knives, I propel myself upward, sinking the dagger into a higher position, as if I’m climbing a cliff.

  The demon can’t maneuver well in the tight space and keeps trying to get at me, but he can’t quite get his arms far enough back due to the confines of the wall. I climb higher and suddenly I’m thrust upward as the giant raises the leg I’m attached to. I have a bad feeling the demon is going to try and jar me free by stomping.

  I sink my knives as deep as I can and hold on. My stomach grows light and filled with butterflies as the leg I’m on rap
idly descends. His foot hits the floor with a resounding clang. My teeth clack together and my blades tear downward several inches, the demon bellows in frustration, rage, and pain.

  There isn’t much I’m able to see upward, but I’m able to detect the demon moving one arm up and above the wall then reaching down, presumably to pluck me from its leg. Gathering my legs under me and bunching, I leap to the other calf just as the hand brushes against where I’d been a moment before. I continue scurrying up the other leg, streams of ichor running down both legs from where my knives sank deep. Compared to the size of the demon, I know the wounds aren’t doing tremendous harm, but they can’t feel that great, either.

  I scale past the buttocks and onto the back of the beast. Gusts of wind flow past me from hand swipes narrowly missing as the creature attempts to remove me. I continue climbing, sinking one knife blade after another. I’ve gained about three-quarters of the distance to the top of the wall and, frankly, I’m not sure how the hell I’ve managed to remain attached. The demon now has both arms behind his back, but isn’t nearly flexible enough to get at me as I continue upward.

  My hands are slick with the greenish-black liquid that has oozed out of the wounds and across my knife. Instead of the iron smell of blood, it stinks like decay. It’s not quite the rotting body type of odor, but it’s not that far off either. There’s now a trail of bleeding cuts up both sides of the demon where I’ve made my ascent, the path broken where I’ve had to leap out of the way and to continue on in another spot.

  The demon is roaring and desperately flailing to get at me, I think more from frustration than from any harm I’m dealing it. I have a momentary thought of scaling all of the way up it and plunging my daggers into its eyes or ears, but quickly give that idea up. Once I’m at its neck or head, he’ll easily be able to pluck me off. The top of the wall is still my only hope, but who the fuck knows what I’ll do at that point. After all, it’s still at least a twenty foot drop on the other side. Even with the added strength and agility I derived from the night runner bite, I doubt I’d manage that jump without injury. However, I don’t see too many options.

  A few feet from the top, the demon finally gets it into his head to scrape me off using the wall. He turns and starts moving backwards to squish me like a mosquito. Again bunching up, I prepare to jump upward. There’s still a few feet to the top, but it’s either take the chance I can make it or discover what it’s like to be an inch thick.

  Here goes nothing, I think, leaving my two knives embedded into the demon’s back and leaping upward and to the side.

  I manage to grasp the edge with both hands, but start slipping due to the greasy demon juice coating them. The beast slams into the wall, the tremors further threatening to shake me off. The demon’s arm and shoulder are right next to me. Using them as leverage, I’m able to clamber the rest of the way up. Far below, I hear the clink of my knives landing on the hard flooring.

  I don’t know if something seems taller looking up at it or looking down from it, but the distance to the floor below is daunting, to say the least. That’s besides the fact that I’m also nearly head level with the demon, who is scant feet away.

  The top of the wall is about three feet thick. Without wasting another moment, I take off running in the opposite direction from the doors at the far end of the building, and away from the beast.

  Two abrupt flashes momentarily light up the interior from the direction of the doors, dying away as quickly as they appeared. In the brief illumination, I see that other walls run the length of the structure, creating three narrow lanes. I assume BT and Mike are held in those. Following the flashes of light, those walls sink rapidly downward, becoming one with the floor again.

  The echoing shrieks of the night runners instantly dies down. Glancing to the rear, I see no sign of either BT or Mike. I have to assume they went through the doors at the far end. In the vast building, there’s now only grumpy and myself…at least, from what I can discern from my brief peek.

  Running atop the remaining length of the wall, I harbor no illusion that I’ll last long on the ledge. And by not lasting long, I mean the next several seconds. Looking at the floor below, I’m also reluctant to just hop off. Honestly, I’m kind of surprised that I’m still alive and haven’t been mashed like an annoying mosquito.

  The bonus is that the front doorway to the structure has reappeared, and it’s open, giving me some measure of hope. Light streams in, casting a fan pattern of radiance across the smooth marble floor. Now, if I can make it outside, there’s a hundred men and heavy caliber weaponry that can do a bit more than the meager carbine in my hand. Having made it to the top of the wall, my goal has now become making it to the exit.

  The wind against my face comes as a little surprise; I may be hauling ass as fast as I can, but I’m no Flash Gordon by any means. That can only mean that grumpy is doing his big breath thing. It was strong enough to stop the helicopter in midair, so it won’t be long before I’m lifted from the wall and sucked backward. My forward motion slows even though I’m still moving my legs as fast as I can. Not wanting to be swept back into the demon’s claws and squished like a bug, I take the plunge and jump from the top of the wall.

  At first, the strength of the growing wind launches me backward. But, gravity is also doing its thing and I start falling as well. The marble wall slides past as I’m carried nearly horizontally, but I’m also now dropping slowly groundward. I rotate so that I’m facing the direction of my fall. The lower I get, the less the wind affects me, and I descend more quickly. I’m still being pulled toward the demon, but my trajectory steepens until I’m falling at a forty-five degree angle. Halfway down the wall, the wind has lessened, I assume due to the height of the wall and the demon being barely taller. The intake of wind just isn’t able to reach me with its full strength.

  I finally reach a point where his breath has a marginal affect, then I’m suddenly released from its grasp. With some forward momentum, or backward, depending on your perspective, I drop the final ten or so feet. The wind actually helped with the long plunge, and it’s really not much more than coming down from a parachute. Hitting the floor, I do a PLF, a parachute landing fall.

  It’s not picture-perfect, but I don’t snap an ankle or neck. Now on the opposite side of the wall from the demon, I roll to my feet. I’ve been pulled back almost even with the beast and hear the roar of the wind echoing within the chamber. I begin tearing toward the door, making sure to stay right next to the wall. The sound of the wind ceases, followed by an angry growl. With a quick glance over my shoulder, I see the demon’s head leaning over the wall, its emerald eyes afire with rage.

  I expect the beast to resume his intake of breath and haul me back to him. Instead, I see him place his giant clawed hand atop the wall and hoist himself up and over it. I put everything I have into pumping my legs. My eyes are now plastered to the doorway, which seems an eternity away.

  Behind, I hear pounding footsteps as the demon charges after me. The interior rings with each thudding step he takes, each one an explosion of sound. I feel the ground shake beneath my boots. As a matter of fact, the entire building shakes with each footfall. The previous aches from the torture my body has been through are pushed to the back of my mind. My entire focus is on the doors slowly growing larger.

  I hit the edge of the light spreading towards me with the sound of the charging demon right on my heels. My heart is hammering in time with the beast’s pounding strides, the hair on the back of my neck standing upright. I expect to be plucked away any second.

  Robert, Nic, Bri, Lynn.

  My heart aches at the thought of Nic, but I keep that mantra going as I continue tearing for the now looming entrance. I feel almost sick seeing the opening so close and feeling the last footfall of the demon seemingly to land at my heel. I dive through the opening, slamming onto the hard marble. The building shakes with a hollow, explosive boom as the demon slams into it.

  Rising to my feet, I see the vehicles an
d men in the near distance. I don’t know if the demon can make it outside, and I’m not staying near the entrance to find out. One step toward the soldiers’ direction and I see that they’re gathered near Kalandar.

  I stop, wondering what in the fuck that traitor is still doing here. And why are the soldiers we traveled with calmly arrayed near him? Why isn’t there a battle going on? Were the soldiers also in on the treachery?

  My mind works furiously, attempting to work through what I’m seeing. As far as I know, the soldiers had never met Kalandar, but that doesn’t mean they both weren’t working for the Overseers. Even from this distance, they certainly seem rather chummy. Not wanting to just leap into an unknown with the possibility of being turned back over, I start running toward the side of the building, as I also don’t want to linger by the entrance with a furious demon just on the other side.

  At the corner of the building, I stop to look back toward the men. The demon hasn’t emerged, and I wonder if the creatures we all faced were brought in by the Overseers and can’t leave the building for whatever reason. I’m relieved that I’m allowed a little breathing space to take it all in.

  Kalandar and the men are still gathered close together and appear to be having a conversation. If I had my old carbine and sight, I could zoom in and see if it’s truly as cordial as it appears to be. I know Kalandar turned on us, but Vice Colonel Truden looked worried and had asked Mike about intervening, so he and his men appeared to be on our side. At least, that’s what I remember. His tone and actions seemed genuinely concerned, so I find myself doubting that he and his men were in on it. Kalandar had even told Truden to not get involved. However, if that’s the case, then they should be fighting each other rather than telling stories around a campfire. Their previous actions and what I’m witnessing now just don’t mesh. And the last I saw of Kalandar was him walking away, finished with his business.