With them rounding the corner, Matt took off after the pair. Though his legs were still wobbly, much of his strength seemed to have returned. Uncertain about whether or not this was simply adrenalin he continued after them before it was too late. As the group twisted down one street, then another, and another, the drones continued to pass over the city, but targeting appeared to have concentrated on the industrial zone—down by the R&D Complex and the city centre. The last was the general direction the women were leading him.
After several minutes—all the while he was getting stronger—Matt chased Shea and Hannah into the town square and the City Hall he’d just left. The roof of the Colonial city hall was licking the afternoon sky with red and orange tongues of flame which had been wound tightly with black, billowing clouds. Then it occurred, for the first time since the power station, he was in the middle of a cold winter day. The barrier was down—it really was down. As if the drones had not been a clear enough indication.
Struck dumb, he stood, lowering his weapon, and stared at the blue sky with its strips of hard charcoal grey clouds. A round struck a street sign just behind him and this woke Feargal up. Flinching away he pulled back behind a carriage. From here he returned fire as something strange was happening to the air in front of the town hall. Then Matt recognised Zakara; he was standing at the foot of the steps—arms raised—at the top of this space appeared to tear open. On the other side of this torn fabric was a road where the building should have been. Even as this opened and Matt was coming to terms with one more of his father’s tricks he disappeared into this.
***
Amidst the dull thudding impacts of rounds and energy weapon reports Matt stood out from behind the carriage and stared. With this, Shea and Hannah stepped toward the tear. This brought his purpose back and he fired several rounds in quick succession. Shea had disappeared onto the other side, but Hannah was just entering when a part of an energy discharge took her in the shoulder. Lurching forward she screamed, but righting herself the Meta stumbled through the aperture and it closed. Not so much closed as vanished. There was no process through which it passed from one state to another—the tear was there one moment and gone the next.
Several of the Meta guards had passed through, just behind Zakara and before the women, but many more were still trapped on this side with Matt and he wasn’t sure if this had frightened them more than he—but he was walking slowly across the square returning their fire. Three went down in quick succession and the others were falling back toward the other end of the square. At this time several large, Archaic transport vehicles entered the square and there were another dozen or more of Zakara’s people to deal with. Driven back to the cover of the carriage they did not push the attack on Feargal, but were content to keep him there while others were busy behind the trucks.
The good news was that Matt now knew how Zakara had been getting about all those years—even if he didn’t know how this was done. This should have terrified Feargal—and at one level it did—but it was a first step in dealing with one more unknown. Salt and his allies weren’t going to like this at all, but for Feargal it was only a matter of stealing the tech. Undoubtedly it would be some kind of Meta tech—as far as he’d been able to tell all of the supposed magic was really technology based on a science and physics they’d not quite figured out, but this was only a matter of time and a matter of encouraging the right people to an altered frame of mind.
With the first elements of a plan for acquisition forming, more apertures began to blossom around the square down by the vehicles. Others might have lost heart at this, but for Feargal it was plain enough that this was the best of all possible moments. The tech was not the provenance of an elite few trusted by the Master above all others, but had been disseminated throughout the rank and file—at least the lower ranking officers—which would mean that acquiring the rift technology would be a simple enough affair.
When it came to the use of these rifts, beyond transportation of personnel, Matt was presented with the next obvious step immediately. There was no wonder in this for the man, but a blind panic. As the guards were unloading the trucks he saw several crates marked with R&D stickers. Some of these crates, obviously enough, had breathing holes cut into them. Whatever was being transported would be organic and given what he’d seen in this pocket of Meta-physics these could cause what remained of the Archaic world a great deal of suffering. But each time he pressed forward he was driven back by an increasing number of reinforcements.
Why these didn’t push him out of the square or circle round to kill or capture him, he never did find out. All the while, more personnel, crates of weapons, devices, organics, and soldiers passed through the apertures. The last seemed to have been modified Metas—more than likely some of R&D’s more successful experiments. This was worrying because that meant there had to have been many more that had been expelled to the Grimm’s Forest at the other end of the valley. What happened now that the barrier was down? Would they be able to survive and Kansas and what would happen to the Heartland if this were possible? Just one more thing for the Americans to deal with—if he made it out.
It seemed that the drones had either rediscovered the square or someone had learnt what was going on here. The first two missiles blew wide of the mark and that could have been faulty guidance systems, but then two more missed and it was obvious something else was going on. Beside one of the lead vehicles there was a Meta soldier—similar to the ones which were passing through the rift—with a small, handheld game system. Flipping open the flap on his optical sight he adjusted for distance, focused on the amber dot and squeezed off two rounds. The reaction of the soldier to the energy weapon was spectacular—the body turned into a bright red mist and was gone.
This hadn’t happened with the guards—a mechanism to prevent the possibility of capture and dissection? With Zakara there was no way to be certain. With no time to waste, Matt sent a round into the game device and with that he became much more interesting to the Meta guards—however, his guess was right and the square exploded with what seemed to be several missile strikes.
Pulling back from the square and down several more streets, Matt was heading in the general direction of the valley—he hoped. Even then the town was being reduced to rubble about him. Then someone was changing up the game because the missiles being thrown down were incendiary. From body parts strewn over the streets Matt was confronted with pillars of flame and the charred, twisted remains of Metas—even children. It shouldn’t have happened but as in most wars the unthinkable remains so only while you are winning. Take enough hits, as the Archaics had done, and you’ll throw the rule book away. If this were the case Feargal could hardly blame them—but it remained difficult to see.
***
Sitting on a small rise just outside the town, and before entering the valley Matt watched the former burn. This may have been the purpose of the incendiaries—since most of the buildings were made of wood and brick burning these made the most sense if they wanted to empty the town. This was happening. Some were stumbling out into the valley, while others were fanning out into the mountains. Very few were heading deep into the valley and Matt suspected this was because of what they might find coming out from the Grimm. Even now he turned over a shoulder and looked down toward this. Smoke was coming from the far end of the valley and Feargal assumed the forest was burning. This would only drive the organic flotsam out, if they could survive in this new physic. Heading in that direction wouldn’t be a good idea.
If the barrier was down up there, and it must be, then what was preventing them from stumbling out into the peninsula and their column? Still it was his only way out. Up ahead there was only Clinton Lake and the last he saw of that it was boiling—no exit there. The only choice was heading back up the mountain and then attempting to swing south and northeast to Kansas City or south and northwest to Topeka. Either way he’d have to hurry to make it out before any of the Metas began to clog the roads—that would just draw furt
her airstrikes and the drones were unlikely to distinguish between friend and foe with all the smoke and fire which would accompany them.
Still unsteady, he pushed himself up from the rise and turned toward the copse. He’d not gone more than half a dozen metres on the path when a Finnerin swung down his twinned heads gibbering with laughter. Matt jumped back and almost raised the weapon but recognised the creature before firing. The Meta abortion ran up to him and threw its arms about the man’s hips. Then the path was filled with the others—the heads jabbering to each other and to Feargal at the same time. As they surrounded him Cynthia stepped out, with a broad smile. “I was certain they were going to kill you.” She said, but there was concern as she took in the state of his face. This, he supposed, must be starting to look bad.
“You okay?” She continued. Approaching she reached out and up. Matt pulled his face back gently.
“It’s a bit sore.”
“You better get that seen to.”
“Soon as we get out of there.” She nodded.
“Why didn’t they kill you?” There was not so much suspicion in the voice as curiosity.
“Botrous was planning taking his time—find out what makes me tick and deconstruct what has been done to me.” Some of this appeared plain enough to the woman, but there were parts, he knew, she’d have no clue about. However, the Meta smiled and turned back to the town—they could still see a few steepled buildings and towers. The drones seemed to have finished their work for the moment and what remained was little more than a smoking ruin.
“We might want to get up the mountainside quickly.” Feargal motioned up the valley toward the forest.
“You think...”
“I don’t know, but if they were being held in there then with the collapse of this pocket of Botrous’ space whatever is in the Grimm will come spilling out—if they can survive in this world.” Cynthia turned up the path calling to the Finnerin to follow. Matt brought up the rear. Luckily, Cynthia had managed to get most of his gear, so that in the dropping temperature he had his warm clothing again, but he wasn’t going to stop to find; then put on the thermals. Partly there wasn’t the time to spare, but he was also worried about discovering whatever damage the Metas had done to him.
After a while they came to a clearing above the valley, from here the group anxiously gazed down toward the forest. This was little better than the town; most of his was either still burning or a smouldering, charred ruin. From out of this were spilling a variety of perversions. Matt detached his optical sight to get a clearer view. Holding the telescope up he saw a dervish of legs, eyes, and hands flapping against a spherical body, come dancing out of a cluster of ruined branches. The spinner wobbled to a stop just beyond the verge and two of their feet clasped the body—there was no head—and a mouth split open below a large compound unit of optics. From this emerged a piercing shriek before it staggered once and the sphere imploded with a loud squelch they could hear on the mountainside. The Amalgam crumpled to the ground and lay still.
Other entities poured out after this—all some variety of a Barkeresque nightmare of flesh. Many made it not much further than the verge before dying in some theatrical manner—but not all. The not all worried Feargal because these owed allegiance to no one and no thing. There wasn’t time, however, to do more than note this before moving on. If Matt wanted back to the hedge barrier before these things made it there he’d have to hurry. Even when they passed the liquefying morass of the Lilacs in their glen he hustled the gloating Finnerin and Cynthia forward—along with the other Metas they’d collected along the way.
What Matt had set in motion here was beginning to dawn on him, and in this he wondered what the world would look like in a year—or less? If there were many of those that could survive outside of the Grimm what would they be like? They had no love for Botrous, but could they have much more for the Metas whom tossed them their? Then what of the Archaics that would be unnerved by their presence?
***
Near the labyrinth there was a blinding flash of light and a deafening explosion from the town. Much of the light had been filtered by the heavy foliage, but even so Matt’s eyes were popping with great purples splodges and there was a sharp ringing in his ears. They all had to sit down for a few minutes until this passed—it took longer for the Finnerin before they could move. Cynthia said their hearing and eyesight were much more acute so the impact was severe. Several of the creatures seemed utterly disoriented and one had killed itself by chewing off its twin head at the neck. Cynthia had attempted to stop this but when she interfered the dominant head had bitten her so hard the Matt had had to bandage her arm.
“Do I want to know what that was?” Tightening the bandage and clipping it in place. The Meta winced. “Sorry, I want it tight enough to stop the bleeding. In about 15 minutes I’ll loosen this for a bit to see if the bleeding has stopped, if it has we can leave it loose.” Nodding, she rubbed the arm. Matt was worried about what kind of bacteria might be in the Finnerin’s mouth, but didn’t believe it useful to worry the woman more than she already was.
“Most likely the R&D Complex—I did the power station. Had to have been that—even the power station would not have done that, and the Finnerin would not have reacted to it in that way.” Nodding to the Meta, as they were slowly and painfully pulling themselves from the ground. “Nor would there be that.” Pointing over his shoulder and back toward the town.
“Oh, shit!” A twisted funnel cloud rose in a whorl above the town, which was shrouded in the lower part of this. The cloud itself was a fractured prism of colours spilling over one another and blending together before separating into crystalline shards which then blurred about the edges and melted together—only to repeat the process. Feargal half expected the top of the blast cloud to be a mushroom, but it was umbrella shaped—the top was pointed and the side swept down into a definite umbrella curve. There were, he was certain, ribs lining this at regular intervals and radiating out from the pointed top of the cloud.
A tremor passed through the mountain which grew until the pine cones and acorns—mutant versions of these—danced over the ground. Matt wondered what must be happening in the valley, but this was hidden by the forest. Even then a breeze rose through these—warm, as though an early spring wind blowing up from the South. The breeze grew to a gust and this to a gale. Branches bowed, creaked, and a few of the less yielding cracked only to be torn loose and carried off into the Ozian force wind. The Finnerin scattered almost as soon as the breeze occurred; the other Meta cowered beneath the larger trees; Matt pushed Cynthia down and covered her with himself. Then came the blast wave.
Feargal thought of it as a blast wave, but it had taken too long to get from the town to the mountainside. This was—though relative to the blast—something else. For the better part of a minute the blast tore over them and through the forest. Several trees were eventually blown over and some of these born up in a curious corkscrew which was not in keeping with the nature of the gale, that suggested to Matt there was another force at work in the blast. Then, slowly at first but gathering the power of stillness about it, the gale eased and fell, abruptly, into the quietus they’d experienced moments before.
“Fucking hell!” Matt yelled, but the ringing in his ears had returned and he found that even though Cynthia was speaking he could hear her only as though a voice through water. Standing up he turned back to the town. Now he could see this because the forest behind them, sheltering them from the initial blast, had been reduced to a field of torn stumps littered by branches and the occasional, large, tree. All others had been torn up into the gale and deposited, he assumed, some great distance from wherever they were now. Here he worried what was happening to Koolup and his Guard. For the moment Feargal’s main concern was what lay beyond.
The blast funnel had disconnected from the town and this had curled up into a vague J shape. Slowly the cloud was breaking up into smaller units of debris and these were almost translucent—each unit of t
he schism representing one colour of the fractured prism. This was both predictable and unsettlingly alien at the same time. What staggered Matt, but again, was the gaping crater where the town had been. The absence was deep, jagged about the edges, and suggestive more of a vacancy than a bomb crater. The blackness of the thing wasn’t a gradient—moving from light to darkness—but a uniform exclusion of substance. Light being the primary absence.
The Americans were going to want to know about this and the better his description the less, Matt was certain, they’d like it. No matter, they did this with those drones—he supposed—and he was oddly happy that something could not be laid at his feet. Moving away from the crater and toward the valley, which seemed a blanket rumpled by a tectonic slip, figures were moving on this—but oddly. These appeared, even through the optical sight, to be indistinct and mutant in their gait. Turning from this, still holding the sight, and moving beyond the crater and the devastated ruin of the peninsula was Clinton Lake. Much of the peninsula head was gone and the lake was roiling. No—boiling.
We’re going to want to get away from here as quickly as possible.” Lowering the optical sight and turning back to Cynthia. “Can you round up the Finnerin?”
“We can try, but they’re timid at the best of times, and this seems to have terrified them.”
“Hasn’t it all of us?” With a weak smile, she nodded. Matt wanted out of here before anything else happened or caught up with them. Looking down over the valley again he could just make the figures out and they seemed to be a mixture of town Metas and Grimm concatenations. Even saying this there seemed something odd about both—most especially the townies. Blaine, again? Possibly, but there was something wildly over-the-top about this visitation. Feargal could not be certain, however, unless he got up close to one of the mutations and he was going to leave that to the Americans.
End Times, Inc. (A Great & Continuous Malignity) Page 38