Viking Tomorrow

by Jeremy Robinson

  The lead Hanger boat followed, but fell behind as Val realized the throttle was still thrown to full forward. The operation of the craft was not as difficult as she had imagined—there was a wheel to turn left and right, and the lever to her right controlled speed and acceleration. She looked for a brake and then realized there wasn’t one. When the time came, she would just have to reduce the speed, or throw the boat’s motor into reverse.

  On Ulrik’s boat, he was hurling bodies overboard, where they cart-wheeled across the water and quickly sank from view, pulled under by their heavy leather clothing. Heinrich stepped up next to Val at the front of their boat. He watched Ulrik’s frenzied battle fury. Val saw him looking and said, “That is why he is called ‘Fearless.’”

  Across the bay, Morten pulled a Hanger off Anders and flung the man, one-handed, over the gunwale of the boat and into the frothing bay. With his other hand, he yanked a second man up, slammed his forehead into the man’s nose, and chucked the limp body over the side. “And that is why he is called ‘The Hammer,’” Val added, laughing.

  “I fear I will be known as Heinrich the Seasick,” he said, as Val jerked the boat in a zig-zag pattern, trying to throw off her pursuers.

  At that moment, Agnes pulled her head back over the side and wiped a long sticky strand of saliva from the corner of her mouth with her forearm. Her face was pale, and her green eyes were wide and the color of the water. “I think I will have that nickname before you.”

  Ahead of them, Val could see a large artificially flat stretch of coastline. Parked there were two more of the white speedboats. She didn’t know how many more Hangers might be waiting on land, but she knew her Vikings would fight better with solid ground under foot, so she aimed the boat for the spot.

  Across the bay, she could see Morten piloting his black boat—Oskar and Anders were lowering the Venetian pilot’s body into the water, while Nils clung to the side of the boat, looking as seasick as Agnes. Morten gave Val a wave and altered course, so they would meet each other at the shore. Then he threw his throttle forward and the boat leapt ahead, even faster than Val’s boat.

  Ulrik had taken the white boat, and steered to follow Val. The rest of the pursuing white boats fell behind. In open water, they were far slower than the sleek black boats. But they drew into a pack and stayed on course, following Ulrik and Val toward the shore.

  Ahead of her, Morten slammed his motor into reverse and turned as the boat came into the concrete dock. The side of his boat bumped into the solid structure, and Oskar and Anders leapt to shore. Morten followed as Nils scrambled up from out of the boat’s stern. But Morten’s leap had shoved the vessel away from the dock, and Nils plunged into the water. Spluttering, he slowly climbed out of the water, pulling himself up onto the dock.

  Val brought her own boat against the dock in a similar move. Agnes and Heinrich climbed ashore, and then Val lunged to the dock as one of the pursuing Hanger boats came in at full speed, ramming into the longer black boat. The white boat flipped up and over it, and as Val rolled on her back away from the collision, she watched as the white boat—still filled with three Hanger men—toppled over her head and then mashed into the concrete surface beyond the docks, skidding and scraping its way across a huge lot.

  At the far side of the wide open space, she could see the ATVs and a dozen two-wheeled bone-clad motorcycles. Running toward her were ten bearded men wearing the skins of their enemies, their faces sewn up tightly. But the flipped boat toppled straight for them, forcing the group to scatter. Two men were too slow, and the crumpling, scraping speedboat smashed into them, sending their bodies flying the way the boat’s occupants had been flung once it hit the ground.

  Morten and Oskar descended upon some of the fallen men, skewering them with swords. Nils ran to the side of the action, heading for Agnes. When he reached her, he grabbed her arm, and pulled her with him toward the distant ATVs. Anders stood behind the cover of the wrecked speedboat, firing arrows at the foes attempting to flank Morten and Oskar, as the Laplanders performed their back-to-back sword dance.

  Val rolled to her hands and knees, about to stand, when a booted foot connected with her stomach hard enough to launch her vertically. The strike ripped all the air from her lungs, and every nerve ending burned as she soared upward. Before she landed, the Hanger who had kicked her, struck out again, this time with a fist, hitting her in the side of the head and sending her now falling body spinning away from him.

  She crashed to the ground, and the impact launched a mouthful of spit through her bloody teeth to splatter on the ground in front of her. The man rushed for her, his dark brown leather boots clomping on the concrete. Val tried to scramble to her feet, but her arms and legs would not yet obey her commands.

  All she could do was flop over on her back. As the man nearly reached her and pulled his leg back for another walloping kick to her side, Val found a slim reserve of strength and hauled her legs up over her head, rolling backward into a small reverse summersault. She sprang backward and up, but her angle was wrong, and instead of rising to her feet, she launched backward, sprawling to the ground with a groan.

  The Hanger’s kick missed, and continued upward, reaching so high that it threw him hard onto his back.

  Val tried to move again. To take advantage of the man’s blunder, but her body fought against her will, seized by pain. And the man began to stand. Her head lolled to the side, as she tried to find some last sliver of strength with which to rise and fight. Then she saw her end rushing toward her.

  A speedboat caromed off the edge of the dock and launched itself into the air, just feet from the ground, like an arrow aimed at Val’s supine body. She held her breath and waited for death, but she did not close her eyes. She had known this moment would find her eventually, as it did all warriors. She would be damned before she didn’t face her life’s end head on, just as her parents had.

  52

  Kinsker had allowed the other men to move ahead and into the fray, skirting the battlefield and moving for the true prize. He had made for the cover of some small bushes growing along the airport’s fringes, concealing himself from view, and waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

  As his quarry made for the parked flat-bikes, he spotted Faust. The man had been waiting near the shore. Kinsker had sent him a small group of men at the airport, and they had run across the field to attack the Northerners as they disembarked. But one moron—he thought it was Werner—had slammed his boat into another, flipping and crashing up onto the airport’s field, throwing the men into chaos. Faust had wisely stayed separate from the others, and now he took the perfect opportunity to deliver the mother of all kicks to the smooth woman when she was on the ground.

  Kinsker almost cheered, but held his tongue as the slim Northerner and the young girl they had acquired in the Floating City ran past.

  He lunged out of the foliage, swinging his arm hard into the slim man’s chest. His arm clothes-lined the smaller man, knocking his feet out from under him and slamming him on his back. Kinsker kicked out with a booted foot, his heel connecting with the man’s jaw. The Northerner stayed down.

  The girl kept running, but he caught her in just three long strides, spinning her around to confirm his suspicion. He’d caught a glimpse of her during the chaotic boat chase, but as he spun the young girl—she probably was not yet eighteen years—he saw her face up close.

  Her eyes were the most startling shade of green. The hue of summer leaves on trees. Kinsker did not know what the girl’s value was, but he knew he had never seen a person with green eyes, and he had never even heard of such a thing. He knew instinctively that the girl was the treasure the Northerners had come for, and for which Borss had promised him a fortune.

  But now that she was his, he thought he might find better uses for her than Borss’s promised treasures. Then again, maybe Borss would pay more. Maybe a lot more.

  He glanced back across the field and saw that the Northerners were decimating his men. The battl
e would soon be over, and it looked like the Hangers were going to lose.

  Faust tried to kick the smooth woman’s face—a shame—but she rolled away, and the fool fell flat on his back.

  Then an engine roared, and Kinsker saw that the last Northerner—the big one—was driving his boat off the bay and up onto the airfield!

  The boat skipped up into the air, heading right for Faust and the woman. She stayed down, watching the boat come, but Faust was just getting up as the flying speedboat slid through the sky over them. Its bow angled up and the free spinning propeller at the end of the boat’s outboard motor sliced right into Faust’s head. One second Faust had a head and was getting to his feet, and the next second his headless corpse was pitching over onto the woman, as the boat continued past.

  The Northerner leapt off the side of the boat with the biggest damn ax Kinsker had ever seen. He swung it wide in front of him, cleaving into three Hangers, before he crashed to the ground in the midst of their lifeless limbs.

  Kinsker had seen all manner of men in his day, some of whose skins now clothed his body, but he had never seen warriors like these.

  The girl struggled and pulled, trying to free her arm. He broke into a run, dragging her with him. As he neared the fence, he saw the parked flat-bikes—his captured flat-bikes—and the hawgs all lined up near the gate he had smashed open.

  One of the flat-bikes had two seats—the regular seat, and a makeshift saddle that had been fashioned across the rear fuel tanks. He pushed the girl onto the rear seat, and she struggled, thrashing her arms and legs.

  Kinsker punched her in the mouth, just hard enough to end her resistance. He climbed onto the saddle of the flat-bike, and with one hand tangled in the girl’s long ponytail, and the other for the throttle, he kickstarted the ATV.

  It rumbled to life, much quieter than his hawg, but he liked how stable the vehicle felt. He had examined it earlier, before the attack on the Floaters. He liked that the four-wheeled vehicle had no manual gears to shift through. Just a forward, neutral and reverse setting. With a final glance back at the chaos winding down behind him, Kinsker sped out of the airfield, his woozy hostage dangling over the propane tanks behind him.

  Ulrik stood and exhaled hard, then he blew snot and blood from his nose, where one of the Hangers had tagged him in the face. Five bodies lay around him, three headless. Only one of the men was still moving, but he was missing both of his hands, and Ulrik no longer considered him a threat.

  The scent of blood that filled the air was stronger than the tangy odor of the bay and harbor. Around him, Morten and Oskar were cleaning their blades, and Anders was recovering arrows from the men he had shot. Heinrich was helping Val up off the ground. Ulrik saw no sign of Nils, and he turned in a full circle looking for the little man. Just as he spotted the man climbing to his feet near some distant bushes, he realized who else was missing.

  “Val,” he called. “The girl.”

  Val and Heinrich ran toward Nils and Morten and Oskar began scanning the edges of the great clearing.

  “Where is she?” Val said when she and Heinrich had joined him.

  Nils was moving toward the ATVs near a silver chain fence. He yelled over his shoulder. “They took her. Bastards took her.”

  “Shit,” Val yelled, and she sprinted for the waiting quads at the fence-line.

  The rest of the men rushed to keep up with her.

  “One of the ATVs is missing,” Nils yelled. “The two-seater.”

  “Go,” Val shouted to Nils, since he was ahead of her and had reached the ATVs first. “Just go! We will take the two-wheelers.”

  Nils hopped on the first ATV he reached. He kickstarted the vehicle and blasted out of the yard, heading for the open gate.

  Val reached one of the Hanger’s huge bonebikes, but it was laying on its side, on the cage. She bent down to pick it up and found she couldn’t budge the thing. “Ulrik,” she screamed. “They are getting away.”

  Morten, Anders and Oskar leapt onto their ATVs and rushed out of the yard. Heinrich was about to move toward Val, but she shooed him away with a wave of her hand. He was too slight a man to help her with the huge bike, and Ulrik was already bending to lift it. Heinrich turned for the last ATV, while Val and Ulrik hefted the fallen bike up onto its wheels. He steadied it for her, while she tried to start the vehicle. She balanced the heavy bike between her feet, got the engine running, then tried to take off. The bike coughed and died.

  Ulrik had moved off for one of the other Hanger bikes parked on its kickstand well away from hers, near the fence.

  She looked at the bike and remembered Erlend explaining the operation of the ATVs to her that first day. He had told her how the ATVs were automatic, and there was no need to shift between gears. Checking the handlebars, she saw the clutch and then she looked down for the foot pedal to change the gears. She understood how to operate the vehicle, but she had never needed to deal with such things on the ATVs.

  She tried again, and the bike stalled once more.

  She made a quick prayer to Odin, and cursed the name of the bastards who had taken Agnes, then she tried the bike a third time.

  It jolted forward, and then died.

  And then it started to tip over.

  53

  Val screamed from the depths of her being, letting all her anger flow over the bike, as she smacked her fingerless-gloved hand on the handlebars and lunged with her leg, straightening the tipping vehicle.

  Now using the clutch, she started the bike again. She released the clutch slowly while increasing her twist on the throttle, and the bike started slowly in first gear. The huge handlebars made the two-wheeled motorcycle strange to steer, but its heavy weight kept it on a straight path. As she made her way toward the gate, she sped up, and when the motor sounded like it was about to leap out of the bike, she tackled the clutch again, and shifted into second gear.

  The bike raced out of the airfield and onto a small road that had been cleared of debris and vegetation. The road was wide and fairly straight, and far in the distance across the flat terrain, she could see a hint of the Alps, some peaks still sporting a fringe of white on top like the tufts of hair remaining over an old man’s ears.

  Ahead of her on the road she could see some of the Vikings on ATVs. Without a thought for Ulrik and how well he might be managing on his motorcycle, she sped up and shifted again. Her transition into third gear was not as good as her shift into second, but by her move into fourth, she felt she had the hang of it. As she moved up past a dangerous 40mph, she shifted into fifth gear.

  She passed Anders, Morten, and Oskar as if their vehicles were standing still. The blast of the air in her face shook the last cobwebs from her mind after the beating she had taken at the hands of the Hanger before the boat had decapitated him. She also let her fury over the operation of the bike seep away, replacing it with a cold, calculating rage.

  Ahead of her, Nils tore up the road in pursuit of the Hanger who had taken Agnes. Val shifted up to sixth gear, roaring past him at 55mph. The road was better than most they had seen to the north, and the bike handled perfectly, its tires chewing up the miles as she raced after the Hanger.

  A moment later she spotted him in the distance.

  The thick knobby ATV tires cast a thin plume of dust from the road, as the man took the ATV onto the shoulder. He had taken a side road—an exit, Nils had called them—from the main road, and it swept around to the side of the road before moving up an embankment. It then crossed a seamless bridge over the original highway, before descending to join another major road, this one moving west. Val was catching up to the man before, but his need to slow down on the curve allowed her to gain on him even more. By the time she descended the far side of the ramp and merged onto the new road, he was no more than fifty feet ahead.

  She could see Agnes on the back of the ATV, holding on for dear life. The driver had his hand woven through her long hair, pulling her head around him, so he could hold her and the handlebar grip at
the same time.

  He sped up once his tires hit the main road, passing random rusted metal poles and trees lining the edge of the highway. He passed under a large, green, metal sign hanging down above the road at an angle. On it were the numbers 90 and 60, painted on white circles ringed by red, and a small icon of a truck.

  The road was completely clear of obstructions. No derelict cars or fallen tree trunks, and Val realized this was a main route regularly used by the Hangers—and the Venetians—when they traded with the Gasmen, about whom Troben had told her. There was no way she would allow the man to take Agnes to the Gasmen as some kind of trade.

  She twisted the throttle and raced forward until she was nearly on the tail of the racing ATV. Then she swerved out around it and put on a burst of speed, swishing past the Hanger.

  She didn’t give the man a second glance as she sped past. Instead, she kept going at her breakneck speed, rushing a hundred yards ahead. The Hanger slowed the ATV, and as she watched him in a small mirror hanging from the underside of the handlebar, he looked back, thinking to turn and retreat. But far in the distance, just coming down the exit ramp, three more ATVs had joined the chase.

  There was nowhere for him to go.

  Val sped ahead, and then slowed rapidly, pulling the clutch and crushing her brakes. She brought the huge bike to a stop and parked it across the road. She set the stand and hopped off, stepping between the motorcycle and the onrushing Hanger.

  “Nowhere to go,” she said aloud, even though the man was not close enough to hear her.

  The Hanger showed no sign of slowing. Seeing no way out, he did the opposite. He sped up, steering to the shoulder of the road so he would race right past Val.

  She pulled her ax from its holster on her waist, then ran at the front of the oncoming ATV, angling to intercept him. The Hanger leaned forward and sped up, swerving even harder for the shoulder. Val adjusted course, but she wouldn’t be fast enough to get in front of him.