He could see where the flyer had landed, but there was no sign of the lizard man. He cursed himself for losing sight of it when the horse went down. But he didn't have to wait long for it to show itself.
Rising from behind a boulder was the tall lizard man. It roared joyously, then began to bound toward the wounded officer. Macklin aimed with pain-blurred vision, fired, and missed. He fired again, at close range. The bullet hit the left arm of the lizard man, but it didn't slow the creature. If anything, the beast seemed to relish the pain.
"If you like it, monster, I've got more where that came from," Macklin cursed through clenched teeth.
Already his reflexes were slowed, and the biting pain threw off his concentration, so the next two shots were wide of their mark. Then the lizard man was upon him. Its claws ripped at his stomach, and its teeth tore at his face. It pushed downward on the arm holding the pistol, and Macklin's last shot thudded dully into the ground. While the lizard man amused itself with Macklin's body, the now-riderless flyer landed atop the broken-legged, screaming horse, and calmly tore out its throat.
The exodus over the bridge into what had been Fort Providence continued while Macklin's blood flowed onto the ground, and over the next few days. Five tribes of edeinos spread sixty miles to the northwest, along the north bank of the Mackenzie and fifty-five miles to the northeast, along the north shore of Great Slave Lake. Using the Yellowknife Highway, they managed to travel nearly eighty miles toward the provincial capital at the town of Yellowknife. They had not yet found a ford that would allow them to cross to the south bank of the Mackenzie. They would, though, and the edeinos would continue to spread, following the waterways and valleys of the north.
When the optants connected with the trees and other living things of nature, all the beliefs of the Jakatts flowed into the land, making it their land and the land of Lanala. What few Indians were left in the territory quickly succumbed to the spirits of the newcomers, and in their minds, life was as it always had been and always should be. If one of the locals ever dreamed some vague dream that the gods had changed names and shapes, he would shrug, on awakening, and know that the gods were the gods and could do as gods chose.
And, as they settled, the edeinos and their new tribe members prepared the land for the planting of the gospog. For this was the will of their Saar, Baruk Kaah.
40
At Trenton, Father Bryce and his companions caught up with the refugees. They were fleeing the madness that had claimed New York as its own, running from the marauding lizards. There were other working vehicles on the roads now, so the van did not stand out as it had in Manhattan and Newark. But the group decided to keep Tal Tu out of sight, just in case the refugees turned ugly.
In Bristol, Alder turned the van into a gas station/ convenience store. It appeared closed, abandoned. Still,
Alder parked near the pumps and shut off the engine.
"We're running low," he said, "and who knows, maybe there's still some in the lines. We won't know unless we try."
As Alder prepared to work the pump, Coyote eyed the convenience store. Its windows were smashed, and much of the merchandise appeared to be missing.
Coyote shrugged. "We won't know unless we try."
Alder smiled, and Coyote, Rat, and Tal Tu ran over to take a look.
But something more important caught the priest's eye. Across the road was a liquor store. It looked to be in worse shape than the convenience mart, but it was possible that something was left inside. He started toward it.
"Where are you going, Father?" asked Alder as he examined the pumps and hoses.
"I'm out of wine," he called back, "without wine or hosts, how will I comfort the dying?"
The liquor store was a mess of smashed glass and powerful smells. Not only had the display window and door been smashed in, but every shelf and rack had been overturned, every case emptied. Bryce carefully stepped into the gutted building, making his way around the interior.
Sip by sip, he thought, the blessed wine he carried in his mass kit had moistened parched, moaning lips, and finally run out. If he could find something — anything — to replace it with, he would feel much better. As he shoved the glass around the floor with his foot, he happened upon an unbroken bottle. He reached down and clutched the fifth in his hands. Reverently, he lifted it to examine. It was a bottle of Mogen David.
"I'll take that."
The voice startled the priest, and he nearly dropped the precious bottle. But, though he fumbled with it, he managed to hold it tight as he turned to see who spoke.
Standing in the broken doorway was a large, blonde-haired man dressed in dirty work clothes and heavy, metal-tipped work boots. On his right forearm was the tatoo of a cobra, poised as if to strike. Bryce's gaze drifted to the man's hand, which clutched a large, serrated hunting knife.
"Come on," the man said, "unless you want me to cut you?"
Bryce stammered, trying to explain that he needed the contents of the bottle for the dying souls he was sure to still encounter. But what came out was an incoherent mumble that was part fright and part gibberish.
"Maybe I'll cut you anyway," the man said as he shuffled forward, brandishing the blade.
Bryce looked into the man's eyes and saw bottomless pools of madness that frightened him more than any weapon ever could. He handed him the bottle without being asked again, letting his overcoat fall open.
The man studied the bottle label for a time, then looked at Bryce's soiled, white collar that peeked out of his open coat.
"You're the priest," the man exclaimed.
Bryce only nodded, as he was still unable to find the words to say, and he had no idea where this man knew him from.
"I've never killed a priest," the man said, and Bryce swore that in that instant the man's eyes lit up. "But I don't want to deal with all your friends, too."
He shoved the bottle back at Bryce. "Take it and get out of here, Father."
As the priest cradled the bottle and pushed his way carefully past the tatooed man, the man said, "We're a lot alike, Father. We both send people on their way." The man looked again at the bottle Bryce carried and added, "I hope it does somebody some good."
Me, too, thought Bryce as he looked at the label on the bottle. Maybe sending people on their way with a taste of sweetness was not such a bad idea.
"Maybe next time we'll try it the other way, Father, " the man called as Bryce left the building. The priest ignored the remark and continued to walk, hoping that the tatooed man could not see how badly he was shaking.
When Bryce returned everyone else was back in the van and the motor was idling. Bryce climbed in and took his seat, not certain if he should mention his encounter.
"Father," Rat said, "Tal Tu has something for you."
The priest, in surprise, took the small carton the lizard man presented. It was a box of Saltine crackers.
"Hosts," said Tal Tu, and the priest smiled, forgetting all about the incident in the liquor store.
41
Captain Ondarev drove the truck through the fields and forests outside Gor'kij. His concentration was split between the road and the young woman seated beside him. On a particularly straight portion of the road, he risked a longer glance at the woman.
Katrina Tovarish sat straight backed, her sightless eyes staring out at the horizon. Her head was tilted slightly to one side, as though she was listening to something. Ondarev could not help but notice how beautiful she was, especially now that she was in real clothing and not hospital garb. Still, the blouse and pants were simple, plain, but on Katrina they outshined any ball gown he had ever seen.
They had not spoken since earlier that day, when Katrina directed him north toward Kirov. Now he simply followed the roads, winding the truck through empty fields in search of something Katrina knew was out here. What it was or where, that was still a mystery. He only hoped she could locate it in time.
"Stop, Captain Ondarev," Katrina said in her haunting voice.
> Ondarev, caught by the surprise of her sudden outburst, slammed on the brakes. He turned to ask her what was the matter, but she was already stepping from the truck. He joined her outside.
He walked around the front of the vehicle, moving to lend his arm and eyes to Katrina. But she didn't need them. She rested the long, slender fingers of her hands on the hood of the car, feeling the warmth and vibrations of the engine, as she slowly scanned the horizon to the left of the road. He imagined he felt her mind reaching out, searching with senses that Ondarev hoped were as real as the reports he had read indicated.
"I know you doubt that I can really help you, captain," Katrina said, "but if it makes you feel any better, I am not actually helping you."
"Then who are you helping, Katrina Tovarish?"
The young woman hesitated, for the first time since he met her she showed a sign of uncertainty. "I am not sure, but I hear its pain and fear calling to me. It is so afraid of these invaders. That is who I am helping, captain, a voice that is not a voice, a cry for help that only I can hear."
Ondarev did not understand what the young woman was saying, but the way she said it convinced him that she was not a charlatan or a faker. She was sincere, and as dedicated to fighting her prophetic storm as he was to defending the Soviet people. At least in that regard he could agree with her — stop the storm, and the voice that Katrina alone could hear and the country that Ondarev was sworn to protect would both be saved.
"Out there, captain," Katrina said, pointing toward the open field that stretched before them. "That is where we will find it."
"Find what?"
Katrina hesitated, searching for words to describe what her mind was seeing. "The ... alien thing. It is out there, waiting to guide the storm here. It is ... a marker of a sort, or perhaps an idol. It resists my efforts to examine it closely. It tries to hide."
"Then, my young friend, it is time to bring in searchers," Ondarev said as he reached for the radio in the truck.
He made the call, noticing that the horizon had filled with dark clouds.
42
Father Christopher Bryce watched the mass of people that filled the streets and sidewalks as Alder navigated the van through Philadelphia. Watching people, he decided, was much better than watching the falling rain, even if the people were drenched to the bone.
Philadelphia was a city of refugees, Bryce thought, and we have come to join them in this crowded, dirty, beautiful bastion of civilization. The trip down had been a slow one, as the priest forced them to stop time and again along the way to help other travelers on I-95. Bryce was dressed in black, still wearing the uniform of his station as Jesuit priest. With everything that had happened in recent days, he wondered why he still wore his cassock. Then he smiled wryly. It was because of everything that had happened that he still wore his collar.
Everything. That had happened.
He had witnessed the destruction of New York, had escaped dinosaurs and madmen, and now traveled with a New York cop, two street kids, and a renegade edeinos lizard man. What else could possibly be more natural?
Bryce reached down to his mass kit on the floor near his feet. As he bent, fatigue from lack of sleep and praying at the sides of too many deathbeds made his vision dim. It had been seven days since the beginning of the invasion of New York City. Seven days since the storm clouds opened and the rain began to fall. He and his companions had spent much of those days tending to the wounded and the dying as they fled south into New Jersey and Pennsylvania. Precious few hours of those days were spent in rest.
"Even God rested on the seventh day," Bryce jokingly muttered.
"Did you say something, Father?" Alder asked.
Bryce did not respond. After all, they were tired and wet and unsure of their next step, and humor suddenly didn't seem appropriate.
God rested on the seventh day.
The words swam up in his mind and Bryce studied them for some meaning. God had only created the world, so time to rest was available, he mused. Bryce, on the other hand, was trying to save it. After God had allowed it to come tumbling down, Bryce was trying to fit the pieces back together, the way they were supposed to be, even if all he could touch and help were small bits of it here and there. Just like all the king's horses and all the king's men, he imagined. But like them, he didn't think he could put Humpty Dumpty — or the world, for that matter — back together again.
"What does Christopher mean, Father?" Tal Tu asked from the back of the van. His command of the English language was remarkable after so short a time, but the edeinos had explained that he owed it more to conditioning by his former High Lord than to any natural ability.
"Christ bearer," Bryce said, and the words conjured images of days past.
In the midst of refugees fleeing the madness of New York, he had carried Christ down the New Jersey Turnpike, through Trenton, and into Philadelphia. He knew that his trip was not quite like the trip Joseph and Mary made as they bore Christ to Bethlehem. There was no star to follow, and he doubted if there were any wise men waiting for him at the end of the road.
Christ bearer.
He had already carried Christ to more dying souls than he would have thought possible in his entire life as a Jesuit. And here he was, in Philadelphia, on his way to who knew where to send who knew who to whatever waited on the other side of this fragile veil called life.
His thoughts continued to jumble on, but his mind registered the actions outside the van. Bryce saw a blue Ford jump out of the intersection at a speed that was more suited for a highway than a city street. He heard the van's brakes squeal, heard Alder's call to hang on. He watched the Ford fly past them, barely missing the front grill and throwing up great flumes of water as it cut through deep puddles. He heard screams and a sickening thud, and then he heard the Ford peel out, its engine's roar fading as it moved farther away.
Neither Bryce nor Alder moved, too stunned as they were by the sudden happening. But Rat and Coyote had the side door opened almost instantly. Both leaped to the sidewalk and ran over to see what damage the car had caused. It was their action that roused the two older
men.
Alder moved to restrain Tal Tu, as he was certain that exposing the lizard man to a crowd would result in panic, violence or death for someone involved. Bryce simply grabbed his mass kit and followed the boys.
The three pushed through the circle of people that had gathered. The object of attention was a woman lying on the cold, wet pavement. Her body was bent in unnatural ways, and blood matted her long, dark hair.
"It was a hit and run, Father," Rat said sadly.
"It might be a D.O.A. if we don't do something," Coyote shouted, moving to examine the victim.
Bryce prayed to God that this wasn't another person he would have to send on her way with a taste of salt and sweetness, the substitute ingredients for his own brand of last rites, and the staples of his much-used mass kit.
43
Andrew Decker waited for the lights to dim in the House Chamber. Today they would see footage from California that could provide Congress with facts to work with instead of speculation. The Congressman watched as Jonathan Wells entered the hall and took his spot behind the podium. The podium was the traditional platform from which the President addressed the House and Senate on such occasions as the State of the Union. Decker hoped the union was in better shape than it appeared to be.
"Members of Congress," Wells began strongly, but it was still strange to see the Speaker of the House at the podium instead of in the seat behind it. "The United States is under attack. Earlier today, the area around Sacramento, California was invaded by the same creatures that have been reported in the Northeast. The footage you are about to see was taken by Captain Eugene Johnson of the Air Force from the reconnaissance camera mounted on his A-10 close air support aircraft. Captain Johnson will provide some narration as the film progresses. Please watch the monitors."
The lights dimmed and television monitors that had been pl
aced throughout the chamber snapped on. The first scene to appear on the screens was a dark, cloud-filled sky. The clouds exploded with bursts of silver as jagged lightning bolts jumped among them.
"I was on my approach to McClellan Air Force Base when I noticed the storm building on the horizon," explained Captain Johnson. "It was intense, powerful, and I figured the boys in the lab would be thrilled with some actual footage, so I flipped on my camera."
Huge crackling bolts struck the ground over and over. The wind picked up, shaking the plane and blurring the action for a few seconds. Then the camera showed the clouds roll back. And from that break in the clouds, a swirling wave of energy fell to the Earth, followed by an expanse of mutated jungle.
"At this point, I became confused and, I have to admit, more than a little frightened. This wasn't an ordinary storm anymore. But I didn't have time to stay scared, because this was when I lost power."
The image on the monitors dissolved to static, then to black. The black image was frozen momentarily while the pilot spoke.
"I fought with the controls for about twenty seconds, trying to get the engines and instrumentation to respond. The aircraft was falling, and all the while the storm raged outside my cockpit. I knew this because of the booming thunder that shook the craft, and the flashing lightning that provided me with light to see by. Otherwise, my attention was riveted to trying every trick I knew for jump starting a jet engine."
The image on the monitors began moving again, changing from black to a field of static to a close up of the mutated jungle. The image showed that the plane was very close to the jungle, and flying at a weird angle.
"I regained power after dropping some two thousand feet. Now, with working engines, I could concentrate on what was happening around me. The image you are seeing is an extreme close-up of what I have come to term the "jungle bridge." It dropped out of the opening in the clouds to strike the Earth just outside McClellan. It was over a half a mile at the base, and the vines and plants grew to form a pathway down to the ground."
torg 01 - Storm Knights Page 10