Such groups must make a friend of death, because he keeps popping round to visit them uninvited.
Usher did not know how many more friends he could cope with losing.
He felt that he could no longer take part in the culture, this military ignorance of grief. He knew fine well that Christi understood the game she played. She was not killed by a hit and run driver, or a peanut allergy, or a fall down the stairs aged eighty seven. She was killed by a knife in the heart at thirty three years old because she wanted a life less ordinary and because she didn’t like bullies no matter how big, small or supernatural. She squared up to the closet monster, the thing under the bed, and it ate her anyway.
Except that wasn’t what killed her was it? She was killed because she trusted someone she thought was a friend. Someone she thought was reaching out to help her when she was at her weakest.
Kruger would pay for that if Usher had to dedicate his entire life to it.
Usher glanced around at his team and could see they were thinking exactly the same thing. Racked with hot grief but coated with a cold desire for revenge.
Usher suddenly felt anger at the system they were part of, blunt tools there to do the dirty work of their masters. He wouldn’t put it past humanity to make a deal with the Unseelie if they were promised enough money or power. Perhaps Kruger was representative of the majority, the only species on the planet too greedy for trinkets to ensure its own survival. Did Kruger really think he would be offered some special place of safety if the Unseelie invaded? No, he was alive as long as they had a use for him. Not even that long if Usher and his team could get their hands on him first.
Usher then felt his thoughts swirl down into a drain of grief.
I just miss my friend.
They arrived at the graveside where the army chaplain and family members had gathered. The chaplain gave a kind and thoughtful eulogy, as the mourners did their level best to remain calm and dignified.
Usher caught Christi’s father’s eye for a moment. He was a Welsh rugby prop and ex miner, a balding tough old fella with ruddy cheeks and a proud laugh. His eyes were red from tears, his hands shaking slightly. In that moment’s gaze he nodded at Usher very slightly and gave a tight lipped smile. It said She loved you, I know you did everything you could, don’t blame yourself.
This was too much for Usher, he could barely hold it together. His own hands were shaking as he slowly helped to lower his friend’s coffin into the dampening earth.
I’m so sorry. I ran as fast as I could. But even with magic in my blood I was too slow.
Usher was still trying to make sense of his own experiences discovering the Secret Arena and the black market in the Feral that had sprung up around it.
It had not escaped him that despite sustaining almost certainly fatal injuries at the hands of the Russians, he stood at the graveside with only the dark yellow stains of bruising and a map of scars across his body.
The STG doctors had examined him and attempted to discover more about the properties of the performance enhancing serum. They had surmised that some element of it builds up in the system with repeated increasing dosages, until a point where the body’s DNA is altered permanently. It was concluded that the commando group who had attacked the STG headquarters in Scotland had received far higher dose than Usher and were altered for life.
After the service, as Usher was walking through the well-tended cemetery on the way to the pub where the real service in Christi’s honour would begin, he was stopped by his commanding officer, Colonel Greystone.
Greystone was a product of Sandhurst who had personally bayonetted sixteen Argentinians during the Falklands war and had always treated Usher with blunt fairness. What he lacked in imagination he made up for in honesty and honour. Usher had always regarded him as a good leader and a concrete wall against the unnatural tide of the Unseelie. He extended a well-manicured but hirsute hand to Usher.
“I know you two were close. These times are difficult. I’d get pissed if I were you Usher.”
This was as close to overt sympathy as Usher could expect, and he took it graciously for what it was.
“Thank you sir. It was a good service.”
The rest of Empire One had gathered behind Usher. As a unit they stood squarely and looked at Greystone with a shared expression in their reddened tear soaked eyes. Each one of them was a patchwork of bruises, cuts and grazes. They all should be on enforced leave as their wounds healed but their eyes were clear in the message.
Ready to be deployed sir.
Greystone eyed them up and down, saw the determination in their faces, and then nodded slowly. No words were needed. There would be no dissuading these men.
“Alright. Walk with me then gentlemen. Business to discuss.”
The team followed Greystone through the broken crooked teeth of the graveyard until they found shelter from the rain under an ancient willow tree.
Greystone tucked his brown leather gloves into his pocket and produced an expensive looking silver hipflask.
“Brandy gentlemen? I thought we might honour Corporal Polson in our own way. Off books.”
Usher took a sip then passed it back to Isaac.
“There’s a debt needs honoured here sir. As far as I can see all our books burned in that attack.”
Isaac passed the hipflask over to Brock, who sniffed it once then took a big glug.
Usher brushed rainwater from his sleeve and watched the big drops of water fall from the branches of the willow tree. Greystone cleared his throat then addressed them.
“We’ve received a signal from the subcutaneous distress beacon placed in our man aboard the Proteus, Ariel Speedman. It was designed to activate automatically when the cortisol released in his body reached a certain level. With the amount of control the Chromium Project kept over all incoming and outgoing communications we felt it was a way to know if he was in trouble. This morning those cortisol levels went through the roof. So something scared him half to death.”
“He still alive? You think his cover was blown along with the rest of us?”
Greystone shook his head. “The signal will keep sending as long as his heart is beating, so he’s still alive. From the satellite footage we’ve recovered, the Proteus is icebound and damaged. About two hours ago someone left the ship that matches the co-ordinates of Dr Speedman’s signal. Something else followed him all the way. We think it might be the source of the Feral. An hour ago four Chromium project helicopters took off from Norway heading out to the Proteus.”
Usher gritted his teeth. “Norway is where they keep their Bleak Teams. We might have a score to settle with them too.”
Greystone was handed back his hip flask by Charlie and took a sip.
“Well you might be able to kill a few birds with a single stone. We think Kruger is with that Bleak Team. Odds are they will be after our man as well as the source of the Feral. Speedman is one of our own and may have valuable intelligence on that ship and its occupants. So this is a race to get to him before they do.”
“Tactical parameters regarding any subjects encountered?”
Greystone looked Usher in his pale eyes.
“We can’t allow them to endanger any more lives. Attacking us was clearly a precursor to a larger attack. Anyone encountered we can assume is a hostile combatant and must be eliminated with extreme prejudice.”
Brock spat brandy infused mucous onto the grass. “Anyone?”
Greystone’s face was impassive. “Corporal Brock if you can get your hands on Kruger you have my permission to tear his still beating heart out and eat it. Is that emphatic enough?”
Brock grunted and nodded as Greystone continued.
“Empire One, we’ve been hit hard, our resources, communication and personnel are all still reeling. You can imagine the political fallout from this as Cobra take a week too long to make even the most basic decisions. You are currently the only tactical team I have operational, and you and I understand the threats we face in a way
government cannot. Time is not on our side. I have called on my favours with the Regiment at Hereford and managed to procure one stealth helicopter under false pretences. It’s being fuelled up at RAF Credenhill as we speak, ready to fly you to Spitsbergen to intercept. Cold weather gear is all packed on board.”
Usher glanced around at his team.
“Colonel, we’re now three team members down. What kind of resources have we got here?”
“Courage. And enough bullets. It’s all we had in my day and we still managed to turn back a few dark tides.”
Usher took a deep breath then turned around and stood before Empire One.
Stromberg, Isaac, Brock and Charlie squared their shoulders and stood straight.
They looked tired, emotional and battered but Usher could see them digging deep.
That was what separated them from the public. Their work only began when they were at the end of their tether.
Usher knew they all felt the same as him. They were tired of getting hit, tired of losing friends and tired of being afraid of the monsters in the dark.
It was time for them to hit back.
31
SVALBARD
Ariel twisted the accelerator until it locked.
Pleasegofasterpleasegofaster.
The powdery snow kicked up all around the Kevlar tracks as the four stroke engine complained loudly.
Behind him, the huge looming hulk of the Proteus, tipped at an unsettling angle and trapped in the ice. The large ragged tear that had been ripped into its thick steel hull was bleeding fuel.
Ariel was struggling to control the motorized snowmobile, he had never been athletic and his limbs were shaking with effort and shock.
The cold weather gear he had salvaged before fleeing the Proteus was keeping him alive, but the raging snow was still like crystalized bullets against his face. It took all his concentration and effort to maintain control of the vehicle and read the satnav at the same time. He hoped he was heading in the right direction, towards Longyearbyen. Three kilometers west of the town was Svalbard airport, the northernmost airport in the world. Perhaps the STG would intercept him there and helivac him to safety, or failing that he could try to blag his way onto one of the few commercial flights to Oslo. He knew his cover was probably blown by now, he had sacrificed it to save the crew in his care aboard the ship. Ariel knew it was just a matter of time before they started hunting him, the Unseelie could keep grudges and hold vendettas for centuries. If they could not exact their revenge on an enemy in his lifetime, it was not unknown for them to hunt down future generation of that same family to pay the blood debt on his behalf.
As his wrist twisted on the throttle, Ariel noticed the faint bead of light pulsing through his skin. In the stress of the last few hours he was unsure exactly when his emergency distress beacon had activated itself. It could have been anytime, Ariel could barely remember a time when he was not mortally afraid. It gave him some small measure of comfort. At least now the STG could track his position by satellite, but right now Ariel did not think it would do him any good. He was unlikely to survive past nightfall.
If he had misjudged his bearings then he was heading deeper into the wilderness, and certain death. He was dreading the possibility of seeing a polar bear somewhere in the blizzard ahead. They were one of the few animals that truly regarded humans as food. He had a hunting rifle strapped to the side of the snowmobile, but other than the half day safety brief and introduction to arctic survival when he had arrived in Ny-Alesund six weeks ago, he had never picked up a rifle before in his life. He didn’t even know if he could hit a damn thing with the gun on his best day.
But polar bears were not his true fear. His deepest fear was the thing that had been unleashed aboard the Proteus. Ariel needed all his concentration to pilot the vehicle but he also did not have the courage to look behind him to see if the thing was after him.
Every religious person in the world finds pride and comfort at having a special personal relationship with their deity. They see it as a blessing to have their object of worship acknowledge them and give them special attention.
Ariel disagreed. There was nothing more terrifying than having the eyes of a god fix upon you, to have it stare into your soul.
Ariel finally slowed the vehicle and turned around to look at the huge stricken ship, slowly bleeding out onto the ice flow. He didn’t know how many people had been killed on board, if a few stragglers had somehow managed to lock themselves away in secure rooms. He hoped that the fifty or so people that had been in his care would stay safe until help arrived. What were the logistics of that? They would need access to food and water, to heat and cold weather clothing if the power systems aboard slowly failed. But most importantly, they would need to be absolutely sure that the beast could not find a way to get in there with them. As far as he knew there was no other way out of that engine room. He hoped his theory about Iron rang true.
Ariel took a moment to catch his breath and take a final look at the Proteus. He wiped the snow from his goggles.
The Chromium projects Bleak Teams, CBRN trained commandoes with state of the art weaponry would have be sent out by helicopter from Norway as soon as the ship’s distress beacon was activated. Men with medical supplies, guns and the right equipment to recapture the beast were on route.
After seeing the ancient feral god tear through the security teams aboard the Proteus, Ariel was not confident that even the Bleak Teams would have much effect on this quarry.
The irony was not lost on Ariel that the only creatures potentially capable of restraining and capturing this beast were the berserker team Fury One. The Bjorn would be undone by what in magical terms were its own children. Ariel could not believe that part of him was longing for the return of those hellish soldiers, but both they and Argent were gone, off to perpetrate whatever terrible attack they had planned against his own friends and colleagues at the STG.
He peered back at the slowly dwindling ship. Ariel removed his goggles for a moment, blinked hard twice. For a moment he thought he saw something crawling nimbly along the ice.
Oh no. Please no.
His face screwed up in concentration, Ariel scanned the ice through the blizzard, searching for movement, some huge hunched shape heading in his direction.
Why would it come all the way out here after me? I didn’t torture it or take it from its sleep, why does it think I have wronged it so much?
The snow was becoming heavier, the wind howling in his ears. A wave of dizziness suddenly washed over Ariel, nauseous bile rose in his stomach. He felt as if he may pass out.
Deep breaths Ariel or you’ll go into shock.
Ariel peered harder into the blizzard, the freezing gale stinging his eyes and face.
There.
He saw it moving fast across the ice on all fours, the agility of a predator in it gait. It looked like it was tracking his scent.
Ariel felt the adrenaline rising in his body, causing his limbs to shake. With clumsy trembling hands he unslung the Winchester high power hunting rifle from the long holster on the side of the vehicle. In a panic he went through the drills, fumbling for the box of rounds he had hastily thrust into his pocket. Looking up, he saw the thing hunting him had caught his scent, was moving faster across the ice now. Impossibly fast, straight at him.
Ariel could barely control his hands. The mixture of shock, cold and rising panic had drastically reduced his fine motor skills. He recalled once hearing that in live police firearms operations, sixty percent of shots miss due to this effect. That was why they generally trained for centre body mass, the biggest target with the most chance of hitting the central nervous system. At first Ariel panicked even more, thinking that if trained professionals miss, what chance did he have? Then he tried to steady his breathing and focus on the practical. Centre mass, aim for the big important organs.
Suddenly he clumsily dropped one of the low velocity, big bore cartridges into the snow at his feet. Reaching down he thrust h
is hand in desperation into the white powder and felt for it. He craned his neck up as he heard a noise coming through the blizzard ahead.
A low guttural snarl. Then he saw it more clearly, the huge shape advancing on him, closing the distance.
Pleasepleaseplease.
Ariel’s freezing fingers found the cartridge and loaded it into the rifle. He could hear the thing’s clawed feet pounding on the ice now.
He sat up on the snowmobile, steadied himself as much as his terrified body would allow. He shouldered the rifle, tried to find his comfort with it. It felt so unnatural and heavy in his hands. He looked through the sight and attempted to control his ragged breathing.
Suddenly out of the snow something leapt. It was almost too fast to make out. All Ariel could focus on was the jaws, wide open and densely packed with fangs. It sprang through the air with impossible grace and strength, right at him.
Ariel screamed and pulled the trigger. Once.
Miss. Twice.
Miss.
“Get the fuck away from me!”
Third shot. Hit.
He heard the round penetrate the body of the thing, a dull heavy thud. It collapsed into the snow and its snarls went silent.
Ariel breathed a momentary sigh of relief. Somehow he had hit the thing dead centre mass, with a round designed for bringing down big game like elephants and lions.
He could hardly believe his luck. But he already knew it wouldn’t last more than a few moments. He had learned that aboard the Proteus.
He knew he needed to start the snowmobile and get as far away from this creature as he could, but some macabre part of him couldn’t tear itself away. He just stared at the horrific chimera creature steaming in the snow in front of him. Its hyper-fast metabolism melted the ice around it with a dull hiss.
The Last Line Series One Page 24