by Brian Fuller
“Angel Fire,” Faramir answered. “I guess they don’t let Gabriels use the good stuff. So you’ve never used Angel Fire shotgun shells?”
“No,” Helo answered, “but if it’s what I think it is, then awesome.”
The protest of a squealing suspension down the road let him know Shujaa had righted the propane truck. A moment later, Aclima broke in over the comms.
“We’ve got a problem,” she said. “I’ve got one normal backed up here, but a Dread Thrall is powering toward me in an old blue sedan. Fast. It’s not slowing.”
“They’ve got a trailer following them for protection,” Goliath said. “That Dread called him in. This one’s on you, Faramir. Shujaa, dump the propane truck.”
“Again?” Shujaa said.
“Yeah, again,” Goliath returned, voice curt. “Can’t have normals getting in here. On the plus side, another Dread to kill. When you’re done, get set up for a sniper shot to drill that car as soon as it comes over the hill. Kill the engine. We’ll take position by the trucks. Let’s keep the fight here, in the sun, where it can’t heal. We’re going to need a burn team or a gas can.”
Helo had fought a Dread Thrall in an apartment. The things were hard to kill. To create a Thrall, a Sheid had to rip a Dread limb from limb, decapitate it, and eat its heart. The Sheid then used its dark power to put the Dread back together again, infusing it with the Sheid’s gift of healing in darkness and shadow, though the transformation gave the Dread only three days to live. Without a heart, the only way to kill a Thrall was to keep it out of the dark and then burn it completely.
“The Thrall just drove past,” Aclima said. “I’d guess it’s got the pedal to the floor. Can I come help?”
“Stay there,” Goliath said. “You’ve got the keep the normals away from here.”
“Okay,” Aclima said. “Helo, don’t take unnecessary risks. What’s in these trucks is not worth dying for.”
“Yeah, Helo,” Faramir said, “just leave the dangerous stuff to the rest of us. Momma Aclima will get mad if you get a boo-boo.”
“Cut the chatter,” Goliath said, though the edges of her lips were turned up.
Helo took up a position at the rear of the third truck, crouching down behind the double rear tires. Goliath took a knee behind him. Faramir took the same position on the other side of the truck.
“This is taking too long,” she said, glancing at her watch. “The real cops are going to show up, and then we’ll all be telling lies in a police station until kingdom come.”
The whine of an engine stretched to its limits brought their weapons up. Like a bullet shot from a gun, the blue sedan crested the hill, steam from the overworked engine billowing from beneath the car. The Thrall’s black-and-red aura swirled about inside. The Dread angled the car hard to the left and off the road. Shujaa’s sniper rifle popped three times, bullets tearing out the windshield and ripping through the engine, but the momentum of the car sent it hurtling into the woods.
A slender maple met the car head on, but it wasn’t enough the slow the mass of plastic and metal. The forest swallowed the car whole, hiding it from view. Birds scattered. The engine died after a couple clunks. The snapping of branches ceased. Only a hiss from the overheated engine filled the air until the sound of wrenching metal—probably a door kicked from its hinges—broke the quiet.
“It’s loose,” Goliath said, gun trained on the hole the car had ripped in the undergrowth. “Shujaa, get out of the woods. Why’d we have to get a smart Dread?”
“Smart?” Faramir asked. “We just stay out of the woods and—”
Three shots rang out from the trees, bullets tearing at leaves and then tearing into Goliath’s body armor and neck. She staggered back and fell down, head half off. Helo grabbed the shoulder strap of her body armor and pulled her backward, trying to duck under the truck and get her behind the wheels. Two more shots. One nailed the trailer bed, the other exploded a tire, the blast of air knocking Helo prone.
“Goliath’s down,” Helo said, rolling to his belly and reasserting his grip on his weapon.
“Not for long,” Faramir answered. He scooted under the truck, reaching for Goliath’s hand. When he had made contact, a glow of Virtus enveloped Goliath, her body knitting.
“Just a couple more seconds,” Faramir said as three more shots spit chunks of biting asphalt at them.
Helo couldn’t say where the Dread was exactly, but he aimed his shotgun toward the wood and let loose with four blasts of Angel Fire rounds, the tip of his gun spouting gouts of flame and burning pellets into the undergrowth. Some of the drier branches caught fire, the rest of the greenery sending up wisps of smoke.
A quick series of snapping twigs signaled the Dread had moved farther into the trees. Helo chanced a glance behind him, finding Goliath whole and army crawling toward him.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Faramir said after ending the healing. “We get in the trucks right now and drive.”
“Won’t work,” Goliath said. “It’ll just pick us apart before we get in. Shujaa, what’s your status?”
“I’m off the road in the ditch past the first truck,” he said. “Can’t see it.”
“We’ve got to drive it out into the open,” Goliath said. “It can just sit in there and pick at us until we are forced to leave. Shujaa and I both have Speed. We’ll get in there and use a little Angel Fire to push it out here. Faramir, Helo, as soon as you see it, you unload. Shujaa, you flank from the north. I’ll flank from the south. On my signal.”
Goliath wriggled backward until she was out from under the truck and behind the back tires.
“Go!” she said. In a streak, she zoomed away. A single shot from the Dread rang out from the undergrowth, but she was too fast and darted unscathed into the patchy darkness of the woods.
“This is where it hits the fan, Helo,” Faramir said, glancing around nervously. “They don’t get it out here and it’s just us.”
“Get ready,” Helo said, loading his shotgun to full.
For a few seconds, the trees ahead of them were quiet save for the occasional sharp snap of a twig. It was like waiting for an unseen monster to come hurtling out of the woods. Helo repositioned behind the back corner of the truck, coming to a crouch. Faramir went prone beneath the truck, behind the one good tire left on the back.
And then all hell broke loose.
Shotgun and rifle fire erupted in rapid succession, twigs snapping, the hiss of ammunition ripping through leaves. The smoke of Angel Fire and the frantic commands of Goliath over the comm to Shujaa filled the air. The racket crescendoed for a moment, then settled, slowed, and died out completely.
“Goliath, do you copy?” Helo asked. “Shujaa?
“Speed,” Goliath gurgled over the comms. “It’s got—” There was silence.
“Helo,” Aclima said, “you’ve got to get out. We’ll hit it again later. I’ve got three cars backed up here. They can hear the gunfire.”
“She’s right,” Faramir said. “We’ve got to bail.”
“No,” Helo said.
Faramir frowned. “It’s not cowboy time, Helo! That thing just took out our two best fighters! Goliath would pull out now.”
Helo shook his head. “I’m second in command, and we aren’t going anywhere. The real cops are going to show up. Who knows what’s in the second truck. The other two trucks we can leave, but the one with the Vexus can’t stay here!”
A mere streak of black and red, the sprinting Dread tore out of the woods heading straight for the second truck, the rifle in its hands whipping furiously back and forth with its accelerated movement. Helo snapped up his gun and fired, but the angle was bad and the shot went wide, Faramir’s blast was a fraction behind but too slow to catch the racing Thrall. Helo rounded the corner of the truck just in time to see the driver-side door close. It was going to make a run for it.
“Helo?” Aclima asked.
“Stand by!” Helo said, putting his shotgun on the ground. “Farami
r, you’ve got Glorious Presence, right?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Follow me!”
After the hiss of disengaging brakes, the truck wheels turned. Like a safety chasing a receiver, Helo dashed toward the cab. The Dread Thrall angled the semi hard to get it into the other lane without hitting the truck in front of it. The maneuvering slowed the truck just enough, and Helo jumped, grabbing the tall sideview mirror, the Thrall’s lips curling into a snarl. Like tendrils of living poison, the Thrall’s Vexus tried to worm its way into Helo’s mind. Helo flared his Strength and with a yell reached through the window, grabbed the Thrall by its leather jacket, yanked it out of the truck, and threw it onto the ground.
“Now, Faramir!” Helo yelled as the Dread skidded to a halt on the road, the asphalt shredding bits of the Thrall’s clothes and flesh.
Faramir’s Glorious Presence burst forth like the unveiling of a hot star, and the Thrall groaned, thrashing under the divine light. The truck angled left off the road, and Helo jumped off the running board, running back toward Faramir and the stunned Thrall. The truck slammed into a stand of slender trees on the side of the road, stopping amid the snapping and cracking of branches.
Helo grabbed his shotgun and unloaded on the Thrall with Angel Fire ammo at close range. Once the Dread had been reduced to a flaming chunk of leather and flesh, Faramir extinguished Glorious Presence and joined in.
“What are you doing?” Aclima asked over the intercom. “It sounds like the Fourth of July up here.”
“Dread Thrall is neutralized,” Helo reported as the rancid smoke from its burning remains filled the air. “We’re going to inspect the trailer.”
“Please hurry,” Aclima said. “I’ve got four cars backed up on this side now. Who knows how many are on the opposite side. And, Helo, be careful.”
“I’ll be careful too, Momma Aclima” Faramir said.
Helo shoved more Angel Fire shells into his shotgun. “Don’t worry, Aclima. If it’s not a Sheid, it’s probably a Vexus store like they had on the Tempest.”
“Vexus can only be stored in water,” Aclima said.
“Might be bottled,” Helo joked.
The guttural purr of the diesel engine blocked out every other sound as they jogged to the back of the trailer. Helo double-checked to make sure the sanctified knife was firmly tucked in his belt before signaling for Faramir to undo the latch on the truck’s cargo doors.
After disengaging the latch, Faramir pulled the left-most door, which swung open with a shuddering, metallic whine. Helo kept his shotgun trained on the opening, but the opening only revealed a half-collapsed stack of Clearbrook bottled water.
“Wow,” Faramir said. “You called it.”
“It’s not storing Vexus,” Helo said, feeling the Vexus swirling in the abyss toward the back of the trailer. He hopped up inside the trailer and pushed away a box of bottled water to get a better look. And once he saw what it was, he kicked open the other door to let light flood in. He’d seen the Dread Loremaster before him on the Tempest, and he fit Aclima’s description of him.
“Faramir,” he said. “You got enough juice to heal Goliath and Shujaa?”
“Depends on how bad they are,” Faramir said. “What’s in there?”
“Aclima’s nephew,” Helo answered. “Get going. We’ve got to get out of here. Aclima, you’re going to want to see this.”
Chapter 8
Admah
Helo drove in radio silence for an hour, the other two trucks and the red Dodge Durango Aclima was driving following behind at spaced intervals to make it look like they weren’t a convoy. Not since his military days had Helo driven a large truck, and he had never driven a full-fledged semi with a trailer. It took the first hour just to feel like he wasn’t going to destroy the transmission or other cars on the road.
Faramir had only enough divine virtue left to heal Goliath to completion, and they had to leave Shujaa’s body in the woods after collecting his heart. They hadn’t had time to linger or interrogate the captured Dread Loremaster. After closing the trailer doors, Helo had used his Strength to right the abused propane truck to clear the road. They’d had to leave the cop car and the propane truck for Gabriel operatives to pick up later if the real cops didn’t impound them first.
It took half an hour to get out of the Mark Twain National Forest, and he continued southeast through wooded hills interspersed by cleared fields, the occasional connection with back-country roads curving out of sight behind sunbathed trees.
After another hour on the road, Helo spotted an abandoned gas station, just the place they needed to park the trucks to take inventory. He pulled off to the side of the dilapidated building, the white paint of its cinder block walls peeling away onto asphalt dotted with gravel and sickly weeds. All the pumps had been yanked out, but the shelter of the gas island was still intact, and Goliath and Faramir pulled their trucks underneath it.
Helo sat in the cab and waited for Aclima’s Durango to pull in, the Vexus emanating from the trailer behind him always searching for a way into his thoughts. Had the other two trucks been decoys? That someone had gone to the trouble and had the power to chain up a Dread Loremaster chilled him. Aclima didn’t believe Admah would willingly follow Cain, but apparently Cain wasn’t taking no for an answer these days. He might not have the Talisman anymore, but he was still exerting his will over the Dreads. The Vexus around Admah didn’t bode well, either. If Helo had to guess, Cain was busy collecting Vexus from atrocity sites to attempt to pull King back into the world as he had done in the hold of the Tempest.
Helo set the parking brake and turned off the engine, hopping out of the truck as Aclima pulled up. She had morphed herself to middle age but kept an athletic body to go with crow’s feet and the occasional gray hair sneaking into the black. Because of her role in the operation, she wore civilian clothes—tan slacks and a burgundy shirt—and when she got out of the car, her bemused grin reminded Helo he was still in costume as well.
“The mustache is a bit much,” she said. “You should probably change. You’ll attract attention dressed as a cop. Your Michael uniform is in the black bag in the back with mine.”
She made as if to head toward the trailer emanating Vexus, but Helo grabbed her arm.
“Look, Aclima,” he said. “I appreciate you looking out for me and all, but enough of the reminders to be careful, okay? I can take care of myself.”
She patted his cheek with a motherly expression and said, “Of course you can,” before walking away to meet Goliath and Faramir, who had hopped down from the cabs of the other two trucks. Helo shook his head. Of course you can? Was she being sarcastic? Teasing him? She was difficult to read. He just wanted her to understand he didn’t need a mother. Rather than change, he followed her over to the back of the truck Goliath had been driving.
“So what happened to you and Shujaa back there?” Helo asked Goliath. They hadn’t had time to get the particulars of what had gone down in the woods with the Dread Thrall.
Goliath put her hands on her hips. “He had Speed and ambushed us once we slowed down to look for him. He kneecapped me first thing. We both had our Toughness going, but the Thrall was a marksman. Sure, we hit him a few times, but the shadows healed him, and in the end he blew both our heads off. I hate that. It’s only the second time it’s happened to me.”
While Helo had been decapitated, he had yet to have his head turned into mush by a bullet or explosion. He wasn’t looking forward to it.
“Let’s check these trailers out,” Helo said.
“Hold up,” Goliath ordered. “Aclima, what can you tell us about this Loremaster? Admah, right? He’s your nephew?”
“Yes,” Aclima confirmed. “He’s Jumelia and Cain’s third son. Admah is a classic loner, and I mean a loner in the extreme sense. He wants nothing to do with Cain, Ash Angels, or anybody. He has spent his afterlife wandering the wildernesses of the world. He just wants to be left alone. That they’ve captured him means they hunt
ed him down and forced him to do Cain’s bidding. It’s also an opportunity, though. He will likely tell us anything he knows if we promise to set him free.”
“Shujaa won’t like that,” Faramir said. “I don’t either.”
“He doesn’t go free,” Goliath stated, “but we might let him believe it if it will get us intel on what Cain’s up to. I’m more concerned about being able to transport him. Dread Loremasters have all Dread Bestowals. How far to the airport in Doniphan, Faramir?”
“Two hours,” he reported. “They only fly small stuff out of there. Not sure Admah’s going to fit in a Cessna, and sneaking someone who looks like that through a rural airport might be a trick.”
Helo agreed. Admah was absurdly huge, had hair down to his waist, and a beard descending just as far. He wore animal skins and was dressed like a deep-woods trapper from the 1800s. Helo pulled his phone and checked the time. “Sunset won’t be for over six hours. We wait until after that and then break his limbs and take his heart.”
Goliath nodded. “I’ll consult the Medius on how they want to do this.”
“Let me talk to him first,” Aclima offered. “I might be able to convince him to cooperate.”
“I’ll give you a shot,” Goliath agreed, “but I want to be there.”
“It won’t help if you are,” Aclima said. She was morphing back to a younger age as she talked. “As I said, he didn’t mingle with humankind. He won’t speak a language you understand.”
Faramir’s eyebrows shot up. “What language does he speak, then?”
“Lower Adamic,” Aclima answered.
Faramir pinched his chin. “I heard some of the Scholus research gurus thought they had gathered a few words of an Adamic language. So you’re saying it’s real? Is there a higher Adamic?”
“Yes,” Aclima answered, now fully morphed to a woman a little older than the one Helo had seen in Cain’s memory when he’d been connected to him on the Tempest. “High Adamic is not just a language, it’s a state of being that allows everything to be understood perfectly. I never got to that point, even before I . . . well—”