Firestorm d-6

by Taylor Anderson

  “What do you want from me?” Fred asked, already fearing the answer.

  “Flying machines, of course! And instruction in their use. Give me those things, and you will not only live-with your pet by your side, I presume-but you will become a wealthy and respected Child of God, a convert to the Holy Church, and a beloved citizen of the Holy Dominion! More you could never ask nor earn!”

  Fred started to say he knew nothing about building airplanes, only flying them, but decided that might not be the best idea just then. “And if I refuse?” he asked instead.

  “You and your pet will both be skinned alive… to begin with.” Don Hernan shook his head sadly. “And regardless of your… suffering, your very soul will be destroyed and you will never see God.” He paused as two men entered the alcove with a brazier of coals and assorted irons. “Think on it for a time. We will talk again.” He turned to leave.

  “But… W-what the hell is that for?” Fred cursed, his tone shrill.

  The Blood Cardinal glanced back. “Just something to pass the time, to help you think. Besides, even should you choose wisely, as I expect, you must first be purified for your conversion gestured at the two men. “They will call me when you have decided… and they are positive you are sincere.”

  South Africa

  Lieutenant Toru Miyata was alone in the vast wilds of southern Africa. A strong cold wind blew directly in his face from the south, leeching his strength and seeping into his bones. He was still struck by the irony of the weather, given where he was, but irony barely registered anymore in his starving, pain-filled, cold-numbed mind. Things had gone pretty much the way he’d always expected, he supposed, even if the sequence of events hadn’t. Umito wasn’t the first to die, after all. Even in his weakened state, he’d been more resilient than the Grik to the cold of the high plateau they traversed. One of Bashg’s “elite” Uul warriors was almost immediately eaten by something barely bigger than itself, despite the firearms and swords of his companions. Toru didn’t know what the thing had been; the creatures of this land were different from any he’d seen, and he could barely even think of anything to compare it to. Maybe a combination of a furry crocodile, a giant sloth, and a koala bear. The thing had looked more ridiculous than menacing, but it made short work of one of Bashg’s best “troops.”

  They remained on the alert for the creatures after that, but no others were ever seen. That didn’t mean there weren’t other threats, even more dangerous. That was probably why they didn’t see more “Koala-diles.”

  Another of Bashg’s Uul was just simply dead one morning, presumably of the cold, even though it couldn’t have dropped much lower than forty degrees during the night. It made its bed too far from the large fire they’d maintained, and the relatively “advanced,” but still imbecilic creature probably died completely unaware of its danger. No Grik, as far as Toru knew, was accustomed to cold, and that was one of the things he and his companions were counting on; secretly why they’d suggested this colder, higher altitude route, ostensibly based on its directness. Grik weren’t reptiles and actually had better insulation than humans, but Toru supposed, like most birds, they just didn’t like the cold and avoided it as a species. Therefore, the weather took a toll on them. The temperature had been similar to that of a Japanese fall, for the most part, so Toru and his companions weren’t terribly affected, but even in their heavy coats, the Grik shivered almost uncontrollably-and were always hungry.

  Bashg’s remaining warriors butchered the chilled corpse of their former comrade to augment their already dwindling rations because, after only two weeks, they’d flown through the provisions meant to last two months and had resorted to eating whatever they could catch. For all intents and purposes, halfway to their destination, the expedition had ground to a halt. Even Bashg no longer seemed to care about the mission, though he still talked of “resuming” the trek once they were “rested.” Despite his supposedly superior intellect to his underlings, instinct now prevailed. He was just as cold and hungry as the others, and all he wanted to do was sit near a huge fire.

  Aguri and Toru hunted, trying to find food with their trusty, but rather underpowered (for this world) Arisaka Type 38 rifles. That last morning they’d struggled through knee-deep, frozen grass, across what should have been a tree-covered plain teeming with game, but which was now a glistening, frosty steppe. Some snow had even fallen during the night, and they were both confused by that. They knew the weather on this world was different, and they counted on it to aid them now, but they didn’t understand why it was. They saw a few creatures from a distance, but all were bigger than they wanted to attempt with a 6.5-mm projectile. One of the beasts seemed impossibly huge, and they watched it quite a while from a careful distance. It looked something like one of the brontosaurus-type creatures they’d seen before, but it was bigger and covered with long, thick, shaggy fur. Unlike its apparent cousins, it was solitary as well, with no great herd for company or mutual protection. Toru was no biologist, but everything about the creature just seemed wrong and out of place-at least until he saw it eat.

  The thing’s head was shaped like a bony spade at the end of a powerful, but oddly shorter than “normal” neck. It moved slowly through the thick grass and light snow, shoveling it aside with its head in wide, sweeping motions and heaping the grass into large piles beside it. For a time, it then stood still, eating the dark, lush, still-greenish stuff it harvested.

  “Look at that!” Aguri had said. “ He has plenty to eat. I wonder why he’s by himself?”

  “Maybe he’s an old bull and doesn’t like company. Maybe something got the rest of his herd and he’s the last one left,” Toru said.

  “Or maybe he’s just grumpy, an outcast from his kind,” speculated Aguri.

  “Outcast… like us?” Toru chuckled darkly. “Come,” he said, standing from the vantage point where they’d watched the monster. “Let’s get back. We won’t find anything today. Perhaps the snow has everything curled up in a warm bed.”

  “I doubt it,” Aguri said. “I’m sure they’re used to it.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know much at all.”

  “Neither do I. That’s why we’re here, Toru.”

  “Well, let’s get back, anyway. I don’t like leaving Umito so long with that pack of jackals.”

  “How much longer must we remain here?” Aguri asked. “Umito can’t last, and those Grik could never catch us if we fled.”

  Toru nodded. The timing was just about right. They no longer needed the Grik to carry supplies-there weren’t any left. Also, only four Grik remained; each far more weakened by hunger and exposure than the Japanese sailors. “We must wait a while longer. Umito still lingers, and though he has begged me to, I will not leave him until he has joined his… impossibly distant ancestors.” He paused. “You know what will happen to him even then, and we must not allow it. As soon as Umito passes, we will slay the remaining Grik and then move on-get off this damn plateau. It must be warmer at the lower elevations near the sea, agreed?”

  The three men had grown close, and Toru didn’t expect an argument from Aguri. There was none. As they’d known all along, a confrontation with their captors was inevitable. It had always been a matter of timing. As it turned out, the exact timing of their plan was a little off, as were the circumstances that precipitated it. When they trudged back to their camp, they discovered their Grik “allies” frantically devouring their-hopefully already dead-friend, and as quickly as a brain can comprehend a thing the eyes try to tell it, everything suddenly changed.

  “Aaieeee!” shrieked Aguri, and charged down the slope into the little bowl where their camp lay, bayonet thrust forward before him. All he saw was the spattered blood on the snow and the mangled shreds of his friend dangling from savage jaws.

  “No, Aguri!” Toru yelled, bringing his rifle up. One Grik sprang at Aguri, and he and the other man both shot it. It went down, writhing, but another reacted just as quickly. Toru worked his bolt-too slow!-but A
guri lowered his bayonet with a roar and buried it in the creature’s chest up to the handguard-where it stuck. Toru shot a third Grik, still wolfing down gobbets of Umito as fast as it could, and the creature merely collapsed atop the scattered, unrecognizable corpse. But there was still Bashg.

  The Grik leader approached Aguri from an angle, leaving Toru without a clear shot. Realizing Aguri’s bayonet was jammed, Bashg plucked a coal from the fire with his claws and held it to the slow match on his musket until it sputtered and smoked. He slid aside the plate covering the priming powder in the pan. “This work now. Less stomachs, lots eat!” he said, almost excitedly. “Us go quick now, do orders!”

  Frantically, Aguri released the bayonet from his muzzle and tried to chamber another round, looking at Bashg. Toru was running downslope. Bashg must have realized the fight wasn’t over after all, and before Aguri could raise his rifle, he squeezed the lever on the bottom of his gun. The glowing match descended, lit the charge, and a huge, bloody hole appeared on Aguri’s back as the heavy ball exited and whirred away.

  “Stu’id,” Bashg said, surprised. “Lots eat already.” He saw Toru approaching. “Stu’id Jaaph,” he said. “No di’rence. Just us now.”

  “No,” Toru snarled, aiming at Bashg’s head. “Big difference. Just me.”

  Now, almost ten days later, Toru Miyata was alone. He had a compass to guide him, but it had snowed nearly every night since he lost his friends, and the daytime sky was gray and gloomy. He just didn’t understand the weather, and it was taking a toll on him, despite his dwindling supply of fire-dried Grik flesh. He thought he knew roughly where he was and he should’ve crossed the frontier of the “others” by now; however, he saw no sign of habitation, and he didn’t know how many more miles he had in him. Still, he’d escaped Kurokawa and ultimately the Grik themselves. Despite losing his friends, at least he was free. Unfortunately, if he didn’t find other friends soon, or if this damnable weather didn’t break, he was doomed.

  He was roused from his stumbling, exhausted stupor by a terrifying screech and the sound of heavy beasts running toward him. Panicked, he looked toward the noise, knowing his moment of inattentiveness had cost him his life. His panic turned to amazement. Four men, mounted on horses, galloped to a stop before him, rifles slung on their shoulders.

  “Blimey!” said one bearded horseman. “It’s a man!”

  “Ja,” replied another. “A dead one, if we don’t get him quickly to shelter.”

  “Blimey,” the first muttered again. “Looks like a Chinaman or somethin’. Wonder where he’s from.”

  “Perhaps we may find out, if we save him,” came the bantering reply. “He must have quite a tale to tell.”

  “I do,” Toru suddenly croaked, splitting a lip. “The world’s at war, and the Grik will soon drag you into it.”

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