After a short span, a new voice came on my earpiece. “Hey, I came as soon as you called,” Jack said.
“Have you been briefed?” Dad asked.
“No, too much wind noise at speed.”
“Fine, we’re at the Fort Garriot medical center car park. Get down here, and I’ll give you an overview.”
Jack Fowler was a big guy, barrel-chested and standing almost a head taller than me. The large ‘38’ on the chest of his outfit was actually an in-joke regarding the BHA form for a codename change. He’d had more than the normal amount of trouble finding a good one. He’d listened intently while Dad laid out the particulars of our situation yet again.
“I see,” Jack said. “What do you need me to do?”
“You and Shadowdemon are going to make for the wreck of the SUV and recover the jars from the back. Baron Mortis and I are going to make for the armory to recover protective gear. That is, assuming the Colonel can inform them that this is, in fact, a chemical attack, and protocols for issuing protection are in effect.”
“You’re really going to split your forces?” Otten asked.
“There is only one Adamantaphrax,” Dad said. “Going after multiple objectives at once reduces the risk of any given team being targeted.”
“How do you explain what we saw earlier, when another one appeared behind us?”
“That wasn’t another one, that was the same one. The evidence suggests that this thing can teleport.”
“Right,” Jack cut in. “When do we set out?”
“As soon as the Colonel makes the call.”
Otten shook his head and pulled out his phone. He moved away from the car to have a conversation in muted tones. Donny’s phone beeped. After glancing at the screen, he gave off a tiny shudder and quickly put it away.
“What is it?” I asked quietly.
“After this morning, her posts just have a creepy undertone,” Donny said. He idly touched the bandage on his face before coming back to his senses.
“The armory knows to expect you,” Otten said.
“Right, let’s not waste time,” Dad said. Donny hurried after him.
“You know where the wreck is,” Jack said. I nodded and ran in the most direct route I could remember. Jack flew behind me, staying low, and slow for him. Even at my speed, it didn’t take long to lay eyes on the SUV with its missing rear wheel. Parts of its paint job had reverted to blue, and the tinting had gone more than a little off, resembling a cracked LCD. The doors were still wide open. Glancing around for a sign of Adamantaphrax, I saw nothing but empty road between stocky concrete buildings. I reached inside to pop the rear hatch, and Jack opened it. The three iron jars had rolled around a bit, but didn’t look much the worse for wear.
I picked up the nearest of the three. I’d have picked up another, but they were effectively wrought iron vases, and not exactly the lightest things in the world. Besides, Jack had no trouble picking up the other two and tucking them under his arms. “That wasn’t so-” Jack started. His words were cut off by the downward stroke of a polearm. We dove wide as Adamantaphrax’s spear-glaive smashed the rear hatch and clove into the roof of the SUV. We bolted as it unleashed a hellish, sickly groan. “Holy- That thing really sneaks up on you,” Jack said, flying up and back to get a good view of the creature. Adamantaphrax ripped its weapon free to the sound of shearing metal and shattering glass. It turned its gaze towards Jack and took aim with its rifle.
As I realized Jack wasn’t going to try to evade, I called out, “Don’t let it shoot the jars!” It was easier than trying to convince him that he might not be able to shrug off this thing’s shots. Jack spun to the side as the cannon report split the air. A crater the size of Jack’s oversized chest blasted out of the hardened concrete behind him. Jack blinked at the scale of the impact and took a more evasive path.
A brass cartridge case clanged off the pavement, and Adamantaphrax turned slowly. The red glow of its gaze fixed on me. As the rifle swung about, I took off running, putting the body of the SUV between me and it. I threw myself flat at the sound of its shot more out of reflex than utility. By the time I’d heard it, the shot was already past me, smashing in the steel door of one of the storage houses. The yawning portal was the closest cover, and I scrambled through it as Adamantaphrax’s weapon cycled. The door I ran through was a smaller, human-sized edifice within a vehicle gate.
Instead of the stacks of crates and shelving I’d expected, the ill-lit interior was filled with row upon row of metal men. Or, more accurately, rows of metal ogres. All were thick set and easily twelve to fifteen feet tall. They were painted army green and had unit markings on their chestplates. I ducked behind a leg made as wide as a tree trunk by its outer plating of composite armor. I set the iron jar down on the sealed concrete floor and primed the gas piston launcher built into my wrist computer. I fired a camera at the wall above the entrance. It was probably a vain gesture, as a teleporter didn’t necessarily have to come in by the door.
“Colonel Otten has been lying to us,” I said over the radio. “I’m standing in a room full of mech suits, and they look fully assembled to me.”
“What are you doing in there?” Otten demanded. I asked myself when he’d been added to our channel.
“I took cover from our unwelcome guest,” I said, moving down the row. I kept a semi-transparent view from the camera on the field of vision from my artificial eye as I moved. The gas alarm groan preceded the spirit’s appearance on that view by only a few seconds. It was walking as unhurriedly as ever. “And it followed me in.”
“Explain your earlier story,” Dad said, “And make it quick.”
“Fort Garriot is part of A.T.O.M. Protocol Two. We store hardware in case of alien invasion. And it’s still nothing you can make use of.”
“It all looks operational from where I’m skulking,” I said, darting to the next row.
“Have you ever driven a mech suit?”
“Once,” I lied. I hadn’t actually driven Firegod, and it was in an entirely different category from these.
“Then I seriously doubt you’re certified on the UM-3.”
“Enough,” Dad said. “Shadowdemon, can you extract from your position?”
“The only exit I know of is on the other side of Adamantaphrax,” I said.
“Utility corridors run under all of the base structures. There should be an access hatch in one of the back corners. Look for a junction box or a bundle of conduits,” Otten said. “They will, however, be locked.”
“Not a problem,” I said. My optimism died as Adamantaphrax’s groan sounded just behind me to my right. I shot forward as its polearm smashed down into the concrete. Cracks propagated out from the point of impact in a spray of chips. Amid the shadows, its gaze blazed angrily at me. As it wrenched the weapon free, a slow dread filled me. I could keep running, but you can’t outrun a teleporter. I could try to fight, but that was hopeless... or was it? The blade of its bayonet caught a glimmer of the light that leaked in from outside. There was almost none of it. That meant my powers would be at full strength. I hated using them. I hated being reminded they existed. I hated the thought of letting this thing run loose even more.
I lowered the iron jar to the floor and wrapped myself in shadows. Immediately, the world appeared as if everything were perfectly evenly lit, with neither shadows nor highlights. In the next half-second, I flew forward, slamming into Adamantaphrax’s breastplate with a resounding ‘gong’ and driving it into the far wall. My claws tore into its helm and shredded its gas mask, ripping it away to reveal desiccated gray lips and tobacco-stained teeth. That mouth parted unnaturally wide and it coughed up a grenade.
The blast knocked me back into the air, where I hung as I tried to clear my head. Adamantaphrax didn’t give me the chance, lining up a shot and blasting me back. I smashed into the cei
ling near the far side of the building, chunks of broken concrete raining down from where I’d hit. The spirit took a step forward before I hurtled into it with enough force to buckle the plate steel of its breastplate and bury the thing halfway into the wall. Digging my claws into the damaged armor, I ripped through it and pulled the plate away. I almost toppled back under the weight alone.
A half-dozen emaciated, clawed hands with three fingers each flailed at me from the opening I’d made. I briefly recoiled at the sight of it, creating an opening for the spirit. Its polearm smashed down, crushing me into the floor and cleaving the steel plate in my grip. Adamantaphrax coughed up more grenades, catching them in the hands emerging from its thorax before tossing the spread around it. The crump-crump-crump skidded me along the floor. I ended up bumping my shoulders against the jar I’d set down.
I discarded the pieces of Adamantaphrax’s armor and snatched up the jar. Flying over the UM-3s, I found the junction box Otten had mentioned. My claws tore the lock off the hatch below it, and I dropped into the utility tunnel. Dim red light marked the span between the bundles of pipes and conduits that lined the passage. With so little space to maneuver, I started jogging. “I’m in the utility tunnel,” I said, keying my earpiece. I got no response. Either my earpiece was broken, or the signal wasn’t getting out. I checked my phone. It didn’t have a signal either. Slowly, it dawned on me that the base infrastructure was likely shielded against EMPs, the side effect being an increase in dead spots for radios.
The tunnel had to let out somewhere, so I kept moving forward, listening for any sign that Adamantaphrax had followed me down here. The only sound was my heartbeat, my breaths, and the echoes of my footsteps. I passed under another hatch like the one I’d entered through. It probably led into another of the storage buildings. I didn’t want to claw my way out of one of those. Why hadn’t I headed for the front door? It was just as reachable as the utility corridor, and I knew where to go from there. The image of me getting shot in the back as I tried to cross the daylit street came to mind. I pushed the gory vision from my mind and turned my attention back to where I actually was.
A stairwell made me smile, and I took it up. It was another concrete structure, but this one housed a pack of backup generators. A warning sign told me that an alarm would sound if I pushed through the door marked ‘Emergency Exit’. The door was right, but I was back on the surface again.
“Is my radio working again?” I asked, keying the earpiece.
“We copy you,” Dad said. There was a hint of relief in his tone.
“I just came out of the generator building. Where is that relative to the medical center?”
“Head south,” Otten said. “You’re two blocks away.”
The brick building with its car park canopy was easy to spot, and I ran. I let adrenalin carry the weight of the jar, even as my arms ached at the weight. I skidded to a stop by the olive drab sedan and offered up my prize. Jack took it from me.
“We heard an abnormal number of explosions,” Otten said.
“Turns out Adamantaphrax also has grenades,” I said. “And is really ugly under that armor.”
“How’d you see that?” Donny asked.
“Well, it was pretty dark in there,” I said.
Dad nodded, “Did you do much damage?”
“Some.”
“None of that makes any sense,” Otten said.
“It does to us,” I said.
“Where are the stoppers?” Tekton asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Without the stoppers, the jars won’t actually hold anything in.”
“This is how we found them in Pigeonpot,” I said.
“The stoppers had to be removed to let these things out in the first place,” Dad said. “So either they’re still in the wreckage in Pigeonpot, or whoever attacked the truck has them.”
“We have to check the wreckage then,” Tekton said. “Just in case the stoppers were discarded there.”
“Mister Thirty-eight,” Dad said. “You’re the fastest here. I need you to head south-southwest. Pigeonpot is a town by the highway and a flood control canal. There is an Army Corps of Engineers Depot along the canal with a wrecked Paragon Logistics truck in the lot. Search it for sign of the stoppers. Be thorough.”
Jack nodded. “I understand.” He traced his finger along the opening of one of the jars to get an idea of the size. Satisfied he had a clue what he was looking for, Jack flew off.
Part 6
The waiting game was like drawing sandpaper across my nerves. One of the soldiers explained the proper method for donning and sealing the Army’s NBC gear. While it was information we needed, his tone told me he was doing it to have something to keep his mind off of what was wandering about the base. He was interrupted by Dad’s phone ringing. He checked the ID before answering. “You’re on speakerphone. There are non-Fund personnel present.”
“Well, do they care about the Bluebottle situation?” Rookhound asked.
“They have had other things to deal with,” Dad said.
“Does that mean I shouldn’t talk about it?”
“Just give us your update.”
“I tracked the thing to a small clinic. It was tearing up their infectious disease lab. Just your typical stuff, not any of the pants-shittingly scary diseases. It was not happy to see us. I put it down a couple of times before it abandoned the clinic. You should be aware that it can mutate when it reincarnates. It also retains memory across incarnations, so it does learn from its mistakes. Right now its figured out that The Dart is a faster flier, but not as maneuverable. So it’s hugging the ground and weaving through trees to try to shake me. It hasn’t figured out that is impossible.”
“Where does it look to be headed?” Dad asked.
“East, mostly. I’ll discourage it from turning north if it tries.”
“Understood,” Dad said. “Keep on it.” Dad hung up.
“How many of these things are you chasing?” Otten asked.
Dad gestured to the three jars, but didn’t say anything.
“Plus whoever let them out,” Tekton said.
“Do you know anything about that guy?”
“Nothing,” Tekton said.
“We know that they are versed in the arcane,” Dad said, “Given the target and the use of the Litany of Despair in Pigeonpot. We also know they used the visual representation of the grim reaper when attacking the truck. Whether this is their actual appearance or an affectation is unknown.”
“But motive, identity, and capability are still blanks,” Tekton said.
“Is this how you guys typically operate?” Otten asked.
“Typically, no,” Dad said. “This is non-standard on several levels. However, we don’t often get the option of choosing the conditions under which we act. While controlling the situation is always among our objectives, we’re called in because the situation has become inherently out of control.”
“So what are you planning to do to get this situation under control?”
“We don’t have what we need to conduct offensive operations,” Dad said. “So we mitigate and contain until we do.”
“So you’re doing nothing?”
“Adamantaphrax is immediately hostile, but does not appear interested in destruction for its own sake. Nothing, is, in fact, our optimal course of action at the moment. That is, until circumstances change.”
“You were the one eager to get inside the base and face this thing,” Otten said.
“At that time, I did not have a complete assessment of what we were dealing with. I still don’t, but the picture is more complete than it used to be.”
Otten turned away from us and called for another status report over the radio. From what I overheard, the soldiers had hunkered down in a handful of plac
es. I wasn’t sure if it had been by Otten’s order, some pre-existing protocol, or personal initiative. Whatever the reason, they were keeping an eye out for signs of Adamantaphrax. The camera operator in the security center usually had the most sightings to report.
“We have ceded the initiative to the enemy,” Otten said. “This is unacceptable.”
“He who knows when he can fight and when he cannot will be victorious,” Dad said.
“What?”
“Sun Tzu,” Dad said. “To fight now would be to lose, to waste resources and possibly lives. We wait.” He folded his arms and leaned against the olive drab sedan.
Jack hadn’t returned yet when something changed. There was a sound. Or rather, a lot of sound. It reminded me of the hum of a large a capella group warming up with a harmonic humming. Confused expressions crossed our faces. I don’t know if one came to Dad or not, his full face mask hid subtle changes. Before anyone gave voice to the question rattling through everyone’s head, the first words joined the harmony. They were quiet, and definitely not English. Their unnatural syllables had my skin crawling. It grew louder, and more voices joined the chant.
“That’s not the Litany of Despair,” Donny said.
“It’s the Litany of Dread,” Tekton said.
“Where did this unholy choir come from?” Otten asked.
“I don’t know, but we have to find out,” Dad said. “Shadowdemon, on me. The rest of you stay here.” He started running, and I fell in behind him. We were not the only ones who’d heard it. The dissonant moan of Adamantaphrax’s gas alarm voice protested the choir’s chant. With a clanking hiss, the spirit strode into the lane in front of us. It had reattached the pieces of its breastplate with new bolts and rivets. Crude stitches across its gas mask closed my claw marks, and three weld lines on the sallet sealed the damage I’d done. If Dad saw it, he didn’t comment. Tawny vapors roiled from its coat like the smoke of a fire about to catch. It wailed at us with the sickly tone that was the only noise it seemed capable of vocalizing. The choir grew louder, and a pale blue glow emanated from one of the side streets.
Gruefield 18 (Tarnished Sterling Omnibus) Page 114