by James Axler
‘Stupe talking—cover all else,’ he whispered shortly.
‘Where are they?’ Krysty asked, knowing already that the Nightcrawlers were out there, and guessing that Jak had caught wind of them.
‘Circling Mildred and J.B.—can smell shit on their skin, make them dark. Almost can’t hear them—nothing that quiet….’
Krysty was on her feet, although keeping low. ‘Get Mildred and J.B. I’ll wake the others,’ she whispered. ‘Triple fast. If you can hear them, you can bet your ass that they’ve already heard us moving.’
THE LEAD CRAWLER SAW two people rise from the group that lay beyond the two already standing. That made at least four. No matter. However many they had, they would be no match for his people.
Silently, and as one, they moved into attacking positions, each instinctively knowing where the others had gone. They quickened their pace and pulled their blades.
‘I CAN SEE THEM!’ J.B. yelled. ‘In a line, right at three o’clock to six, coming quick.’ He slipped the mini-Uzi into position and set it to rapid, firing off a burst into the dark. He had no idea if he had hit anyone, but the purpose of the blast was to try to delay the Nightcrawlers, perhaps wake up the others. He needn’t have worried. Ryan had already been awakened by Krysty, the sleep fog clearing rapidly from his brain as he took in the situation. He sprang to his feet, eschewing the Steyr and pulling the panga from its sheath. He understood J.B.’s motives, and also knew that in these conditions the use of blasters would be suicidal.
Doc and Affinity were also roused, while Jak was directing J.B. and Mildred to pull back into the central camp area.
‘Dark night, we’re sitting targets if we do that,’ J.B. said, ignoring the irony of his curse.
‘I think not,’ Affinity said in a low tone. ‘They never use blasters, only knives. And they always work in close. It’s their trademark, if you will.’
They fell into silence, straining every fiber to catch the slightest sound made by their attackers. There was nothing. The Nightcrawlers had also fallen silent, as still as though they weren’t there, waiting for their prey to crack first.
It was a war of nerves. The companions scanned the darkness, all but Jak able to detect nothing.
‘Still where they were,’ he whispered. ‘Can smell them…but we move, then they, too.’
‘Could try to fire on them again,’ J.B. murmured. ‘A quick burst of spray’n’pray might catch them before they can move.’
‘Yeah, and in the noise and confusion they get to move out of position. At least this way we know where they are. Let them make the first move,’ Ryan replied.
They stood still—as still as their opponents. The silence beyond the camp became oppressive and time slowed so that every breath seemed to take a day to draw.
Then it happened. The faintest of noises, and Jak yelled, ‘They come!’
Before the companions had a chance to ready themselves, the Nightcrawlers were upon them. Their camou made them seem like indistinct shadows that moved across the lesser darkness, having no shape or form beyond an amorphous black mass that broke into pieces and reconstituted into different shapes when on the verge of the camp.
Jak had slipped knives to Krysty and Mildred, as they knew that their blasters would be ineffective. The razor-honed, leaf-bladed knives the albino youth used so well would still be deadly in the hands of the less-skilled women. J.B. had his Tekna, and Affinity and Doc had both unsheathed their blades.
The combat was silent. Even when the companions landed blows upon their enemies, they made no sound, as though they either controlled with a will of iron the reflex to shout, or they’d had their tongues ripped out by the root. It could have been either, but it had the same effect regardless. It was as though the companions were fighting phantoms that had no feelings and were invincible.
But definitely human. They stank of the body paint, and they were slippery with sweat and also with blood where the blades caught them. Slippery not just from their own blood. With the dark lenses over their eyes, they were almost impossible to pin down visually, and it was difficult to tell where their blows were coming from. Ryan winced as a blade sliced at his upper arm. Jak caught the point of one under the eye. He ignored it and struck home with a blow before his opponent had a chance to adjust balance, knowing that he had hit home when he heard an involuntary expellation of air. He was just thankful that the cut was under his eye. Above, and the running blood would have made vision difficult.
Krysty and Mildred were faring well. Although they couldn’t see their opponents clearly, both women were wearing dark clothing that made their body movements harder to discern in the black of the night, and so were able to dodge the blades with ease. They also landed a few body blows that took a toll on their opponents.
Doc thrust and parried with his sword, grinning maniacally, as though enjoying the combat. Particularly when he felt one thrust penetrate into flesh deeply enough to stick. His opponent slumped noiselessly to the ground.
They had no idea how long they fought, or how well they were doing. It seemed as though their opponents were endless…and yet the Nightcrawlers were used to fighting opponents of a lesser mettle and were shocked at the skills of those they now tangled with—so much so that they began to withdraw. Because they were losing? Because they had suffered casualties? It was impossible to tell. The only thing for sure was that they melted into the darkness as smoothly as they had first materialized.
It was some time before the companions and Affinity could relax in any way. They expected the Nightcrawlers to come at them as soon as they showed any sign of weakness. But as time crept on, it became apparent that their opponents had withdrawn from the fray. Comparing notes, they were sure that at least one of the Nightcrawlers had been badly wounded—the warrior skewered by Doc—and that two or three others had also taken heavy blows. For themselves, there were only a few cuts and bruises that Mildred could easily tend to when the sun came up.
Which was also when they expected to recover the wounded or chilled. And yet, when the light did break, there was no sign of any of their opponents. Doc was certain his opponent was chilled. If so, they had taken the corpse with them.
Apart from a few dark patches of blood on the floor of the camp, and some splashes on the nearest clumps of foliage, there was no sign of disturbance. Nothing to indicate that they had been attacked.
As though it had never happened.
Chapter Seven
The sec party stood back in cover when they heard the noises from the woods. There were four of them, and they were all dressed in the same white robes as Affinity. Using the dense woodlands as shelter, they stepped into shadow and waited as the sounds grew nearer.
‘Mark, do you think that they are Nightcrawlers?’ asked the youngest. Barely out of his teens, the clean-shaven Philo had only escaped from Atlantis a few months before and was keen to prove himself. Despite this, he could feel tremors on his right leg as the strangers approached.
‘Idiot, have you ever heard a Crawler make so much noise, even when they thought there was nobody around to hear them? They know we have sec patrols now, and they would be ever more vigilant,’ Mark snapped in a low whisper. He was nearing thirty and had been in Memphis for more than five years. He had several family members in his bid to escape, and was filled with a burning desire for revenge against the regime of Atlantis. That had driven him to rise rapidly to head of sec for Memphis. Not that there was a lot of competition. He sometimes felt—particularly at times like this—that he was almost fighting alone.
Philo stayed silent, although he felt slighted. What other explanation could there be other than that the approaching strangers were Crawlers? Those who had returned on the previous day had spoken of those they encountered as being strong fighters, but not garbed as was the norm for Crawlers. Perhaps this was a change in tactics by the men of Atlantis to counter the measures shown by Memphis. After all, who else could it be in these woodlands?
The sec part
y stayed silent, letting the strangers come to them. There was a low undertone of voices and the sounds of their progress were clearly audible. These Crawlers—if indeed they were—made no attempt to conceal themselves.
Mark showed himself to the others long enough to mutely direct his men into position for an ambush. He had determined the direction of the approaching party and wanted to make sure they were surrounded. Crawlers were tricky, slippery fighters. His men were probably outnumbered from the sound of it, and there was every chance that they would be outfought. But he was a great believer in the element of surprise.
He had little idea that in this instance it would be himself on the receiving end of such a shock.
As the four sec men adopted their new positions, and readied themselves for attack, Philo tried to calm himself by concentrating on picking out the words spoken by the approaching party. His guts were churning with fear and he supposed that to try to decipher their conversation would act as a distraction from his fear.
They were far enough away for the talk to be little more than a low buzz, but within a few seconds he had adjusted to the volume and could pick out a few words.
‘…the methods of destruction, and the tactics involved, are sometimes schematic of an intelligence that is little more than misguided.’
‘Doc, you talk such crap sometimes. The only thing you can ever think about is survival. That’s the triple red priority.’
The first voice was rich and full. Male. Whereas the answering voice, although throaty and deep, was most definitely female.
The first man continued. ‘My dear Dr. Wyeth, one must always consider beyond the knee-jerk reaction. It is the ability to think rationally and translate this into tactics that actually wins wars. Staying alive is one thing—’
‘Can’t win wars if buy farm,’ a third voice, low and almost monotone, interjected.
‘Exactly my point. I’m not saying that tactics are wrong—hell, if Ryan didn’t give us some, then we’d long since have been chilled—but the numero uno priority is to keep moving and keep breathing.’
‘I appreciate your willingness to enter into debate so freely,’ a fourth voice added, ‘but if you are to be moving on, I fail to see how it can be of any practical consideration.’
‘A little learning never hurt anyone,’ the woman’s voice countered.
But the fourth voice, the mellifluous tone and the use of language… It couldn’t be—he had been taken by the Crawlers the day before and was considered lost. It was Affinity, of that Philo had little doubt. The two men were friends, and the young man had been fired up by the apparent demise of his compatriot.
So these were the people the sec patrol had fought yesterday. And they hadn’t chilled or taken Affinity. In fact, he seemed on friendly terms with them, and they were headed back toward Memphis.
This was most strange. Philo had no idea what it might mean, but he was sure that they should refrain from attack. He knew that Mark wouldn’t have bothered trying to hear what was being said. The sec chief would be too busy psyching himself for combat. It was probable that only Philo was aware of what had been said between the approaching strangers.
He knew that he had to inform Mark straightaway and stop an attack that could be disastrous—unnecessarily so—for the sec party. The young man broke cover to seek out his chief.
Mark stepped from his own cover, grabbing the young man by the arm and pulling him into the shadow.
‘What in the name of Minos do you think you’re doing, you idiot?’ he asked quietly. His tone, however, was anything but soft.
Rapidly, Philo gabbled everything he had heard, knowing that time was of the essence. When he had finished, Mark nodded briefly.
‘You did right,’ he affirmed. ‘I’ll halt the attack and we’ll reveal ourselves.’
Philo allowed a smile of relief. It died on his lips on the silence following Mark’s words. For silence was all there was. The advancing party had fallen quiet, as though aware of the ambush in wait for them.
RYAN HELD UP his hand to halt the party, but he needn’t have bothered. The exchange of views dried to silence as an awareness that they were no longer alone swept through them—all except Affinity, whose puzzled expression was met with a gesture from Doc and an inclination of the head to the paths ahead.
Although seemingly relaxed, the companions had been acutely aware of their surroundings. They had tuned in to the silence around them, and although apparently paying no heed to the environment, had easily caught wind of the change. Ahead of them the foliage had moved in a manner that bespoke of more than the wind, and the rustling was underscored by something that could only be muffled and quieted human speech.
Ryan looked questioningly at Jak. The albino youth held up three, then four fingers with a slight shrug, indicating he couldn’t be more exact about numbers. He then indicated the spread of the sounds.
Ryan nodded and gestured to J.B. and Jak to fan out and come around the source of the noise in a pincer movement. He further indicated that the remaining five move forward in a staggered line through the trees, with weapons to hand. For stealth, and because of the close yet shielded proximity, he further indicated that blades would be of more use than blasters.
Jak tossed a couple of leaf-bladed knives to Krysty and Mildred before he and J.B. headed off in separate directions, disappearing silently into the undergrowth.
The others began to move forward, now watching every step, keeping sound to a minimum. Affinity wondered at their ability, realizing that they were a match for any team of Nightcrawlers…and hoping that the opposition wasn’t his own people’s sec, if only for their sakes.
MARK GESTURED to Philo to move back into position, wincing at the relative noise the young man made as he went into cover. Mark knew that all his men were willing, but the fact was that they simply weren’t of a comparable quality to their opposition. For all of the talk of Memphis mounting a raid on Atlantis to topple the ruling regime, he knew in his heart that talk was all it would remain, at least for a few years to come.
He slipped farther into shadows, then moved toward the source of the noise before it had ceased. In the time before he had run from the old ville, he had pretended; he had played the games and acted as though he’d wanted to become a Crawler, to become one of the elite. In truth, he was filled with loathing for them and the way in which they treated the people for whom they were supposed to be the sec force. But he knew that if he could learn a few of their tricks, then it would aid his escape.
It had. It also made him the best fighter in the breakaway ville of Memphis, and natural choice for sec chief. In many ways this was something that sat uneasily with him, as his natural inclination was not to lead. He loathed the concept of leaders and followers, as to his mind it led to the kind of situation that prevailed in Atlantis. So he tended to let his men have their heads. The only problem with that being that in a situation such as this, there were those who had no idea what to do.
Such was Philo. He was trying to keep his progress as noiseless as possible, but found it hard to tell as nothing seemed to be audible over the thumping of his own heart. He blundered forward, tongue licking over his lips, hoping that he would find the fighters with Affinity before they found him. If he could make himself known, it would prevent his being killed before recognition could be made with his friend.
The other two in the sec party, Paris and Jason, were still in position. They were frozen with fear, which would spell their certain demise under most combat conditions, but in this instance might just save them.
Mark was faced with a difficult choice. There was no way he could reach both of them and tell them of Philo’s discovery. Partly because they had spread out in their initial formation, and partly because he had no idea where they had moved to, if at all. This was the problem with giving them their heads: he had no way of pinpointing their location. He didn’t want them to blunder into the opposition, as he was sure they would be bested, perhaps killed. In these
circumstances, a pointless waste of life.
His only certain way of insuring their safety was to reach the opposition and make himself known to Affinity, thus calling attention to who was out in the woods stalking whom: but even this had its problems, as he had to hope that they hadn’t moved far from his estimate of their position.
How much easier it would have been if he had been alone, or if he’d had a better team of fighters. As it was, he could almost feel the weight of responsibility bearing down on his shoulders. It clouded his judgment, he was sure.
So much so that it took all his attention, and he was surprised when he felt the point of a blade nick the skin at the base of his neck when he stopped to take his bearings. He hadn’t heard the owner of the blade drop from the tree above him, hadn’t registered the sound until the cold metal was already pricking his skin, until he could feel the breath on his cheek.
‘I don’t want to cut you, but if you get jumpy you’ll have no spinal cord left. Drop your knife. Believe it or not, we’re on your side.’
WHILE J.B. WAS OVERPOWERING Mark, Jak was taking care of Philo. The young man blundered through the undergrowth, making enough noise to be tracked by anyone. In point of fact, he was moving so fast and with such recklessness that the albino had to remove himself from the young man’s path. If Philo had careered into Jak and lashed out in surprise and fear, then the albino would have been forced to act defensively, which could have entailed violence upon someone who was not actually an enemy. So, acting with a discretion that was far from his usual disposition, Jak sidestepped the oncoming Philo, then slipped into his wake as the young man passed.
A trip, a movement of the arm to flip him as he fell, and Philo was on his back staring up at the sky before he knew what had happened. And, before he even had time to take in this much, he found Jak descending on him, expertly pinning his arms and legs so that he was unable to move.