The Last Line Series One

by David Elias Jenkins

  “It’s odd how people think the worst thing that can happen to them is dying. I bet that feels like the prospect of a warm bed after a lifetime in the cold about now, doesn’t it?. Don’t concern yourself. You’re a meat bag. The idea that you were ever anything else was the illusion. You ought to be grateful.”

  The revenant tried to focus through the intense pain it was feeling. All its skin had recently flaked off revealing a host of throbbing nerves that scraped against branches and air currents. It stood there trembling with no natural protection from the cold. Yet the will of the Necromancer beat down upon his lingering personality like a hurricane, demolishing his memories and uprooting his beliefs. Despite the incessant moment of pain his life had become, and no matter how much he longed for the peace of death, the thing that had been Garth bowed low before its master and followed him over the brow of the hill.

  Cornelius Fortune was glad that it was downhill from here on in. He was old and had no love of hills. He pitied the stupid skin-bag stumbling along at his heels. The Necromancer knew exactly what it felt like to have your worldview ripped from asunder. Long, long ago he had loved once too. Cornelius remembered that he had loved more than any other. The things he had been willing to do, the compromises to his own soul he had been happy to barter, would have been unthinkable to the man he was now.

  As he walked through the Bloodmist, Cornelius dipped his hand into the satchel slung across his shoulder and then cast it out into the air. Hundreds of tiny black seeds left his hand and floated off into the mist like spores.

  Each few steps the Necromancer repeated the process, the seeds buzzing around him like a cloud of flies for a few moments before drifting off through the fog in all directions.

  Cornelius was moving downhill now and walked almost jauntily down the path towards the distant mansion. In the distance he began to hear the low thrum of military helicopters approaching the town. He turned to his servant and smiled.

  “This is our first line of defence Garth. They will send people, soldiers, to try and stop us. I shall plant a beautiful garden of death in the earth for them to admire when they arrive. These seeds will find their way to ground all around the town and plant themselves deep. In each one is a wonderful growth of unlife waiting to be born. I don’t think we shall be getting bothered by people anytime soon. Rejoice Garth, for our enemies will fall before us, and we are so close to finishing our task.”

  Then Cornelius strode down the forest path towards the big house, gleefully scattering handfuls of seeds as he went.

  16.

  Edward Debruler stood in the wooded and overgrown front garden of his mansion, with his faithful birdservant Muscadet at his side. Next to him was a fountain containing the carved centrepiece of a beautiful woman fighting a dragon with a spear. Frozen in eternal combat, she had her head cast back to howl up at the heavens as her spear pierced the serpent’s heart.

  The water of the fountain was stagnant and floating thick with brown leaves. It looked not to have been used for some time.

  Edward’s father had spent decades gathering the thaumaturgic energy and materials required to construct this device, built on an island of rock in the front drive leading up to the mansion. It could only ever be activated once, and no one was exactly sure how long it would last. It had been specifically designed to surround the entire mansion and grounds, even beneath the foundations so that the precious vault containing The Bones was protected.

  The purpose of this defensive bubble was to prevent an all-out attack by the Unseelie Court, no matter what they threw at the mansion. It was both physical and thaumaturgic, meaning that it could repel conventional attacks such as missiles or firearms, but it also absorbed magical energy to a high capacity. This protected against the primary source of power the Unseelie wielded. Edward’s father had projected the approximate amount of supernatural energy a coven of top level Unseelie sorcerers could muster in a single attack, which would be enough to level a town like Carnival, and based the absorbency of the shield on that.

  So whatever undead creatures were crawling through that necromantic mist towards them, the shield would be able to hold them at bay for a time.

  That was the theory anyway. No one had ever truly tested the shield. It was a one shot trick.

  Edward swallowed and his prominent Adam’s apple bobbed nervously.

  He looked out at the first tendrils of mist creeping through the treeline a few hundred yards in front of the garden fence.

  “Well old boy, this is it. Once I switch on the fountain, there’s no turning back. We can’t get out, and for a while at least, absolutely nothing can get in. I hope.”

  Muscadet clucked and tutted.

  “I know. It doesn’t feel right. There could be survivors left in town. People that need my help. I know what my father would tell me to do. He’d tell me that my responsibility is the bones.”

  A disdainful cluck.

  “No, he wasn’t the nicest fellow. How can it be more important to protect the bones of the dead when the living are still crying out for help?”

  Edward reached out a shaky hand for the hidden touchstone that would activate the mansion’s protective sphere, sealing them off from the outside world.

  Muscadet reached out and clutched his sleeve with a taloned hand, and then pointed into the sky over the forest. Without the benefit of his servant’s avian vision, Edward heard it before he saw it.

  A distant rhythmic thumping of air being displaced.

  Then he saw the black speck in the distance. Then another.

  “I’m willing to bet, Muscadet, that what we’re seeing is a team of military specialists from those Special Threats chappies. Sent in to try and clear this mess up with guns and swagger.”

  Muscadet snorted.

  “Well, they’re probably good in a pinch, even if they are in trouble.”

  Debruler then watched slack jawed as the two helicopters began to spin out of control as thin tendrils of red mist reached up almost to grab at them.

  “Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear that does not looked planned at all. What do I do Muscadet what do I do?”

  Muscadet slowly shook his head.

  “There could be survivors. Can I leave them out there in the woods to face whatever hell is in that mist?”

  Debruler watched as the helicopters dipped beneath the treeline and into the mist. He saw two thin plumes of black smoke rise up.

  His heart was beating too fast. This wasn’t the kind of decisions he ever hoped to be making. In his ideal situation the Protector of the Bones was going to be more of a ceremonial role during his lifetime. His father would have been better equipped to deal with this, why couldn’t it have happened back in the fifties?

  Debruler looked out to the distant crash site, and then reached his hands out towards the touchstone that would seal them off.

  He hesitated. Gritted his teeth. Damn it.

  16.

  The world turned upside down. The sky spun and wheeled around, a sickening panoramic view that blurred into streaking clouds then sunk into crimson fog.

  The noise of the rotor was deafening, screaming in protest as the steel gave under terrible pressure. There were shouts and screams, breaking glass and howling wind. Usher held on as tight as he could as the sea of red mist rushed up towards them. He could just make out the tips of fir trees poking above the dense murk, like dark stalagmites rising from a cave floor.

  Then the blood-red haze swallowed them up, muffling their screams as it sucked them down into the atmosphere of another more dangerous world…Then all consciousness left them.

  Usher opened his eyes and gasped as he automatically reached for the carbine strapped to his chest. He tried to sit up and face the threat but his chest and arms were wracked with pain and he collapsed back into his seat. Taken with a sudden fit of coughing, Usher spat a gobbet of blood from a burst lip onto his boots.

  His thoughts slowly became coherent. Craning his stiff neck around he realized that he was sti
ll strapped into his seat in the twisted wreckage of the stricken helicopter. They had somehow avoided the trees and were positioned at an angle in a rocky clearing next to a fast flowing brook. Through the broken window he could see the wreckage of the other chopper about fifty yards away, shrouded in tendrils of mist. Through the broken roof Usher could see the sky was a pinkish haze, the daylight only just filtering through the thick gloom that hung everywhere.

  Usher felt like he had been sealed in a barrel and rolled off a cliff. Every bone and muscle ached and his head was fuzzy. His vision was tinged red so he wiped a hand across his eyebrow and felt a stinging laceration there. He wiped the blood free from his eyes and took in his surroundings. Slowly the ringing in his ears subsided and he began to hear his teammates groaning in the seats around him.

  My God I think I just survived my first helicopter crash. I pray that everyone else did too.

  Usher cleared his throat of ingested blood and called out.

  “Everybody OK?”

  Across the aisle from Usher, Brock undid his seatbelt and lurched forward onto his hands and knees. He had a bad contusion on his cheek, dark blood encrusting into his blond beard, and a laceration on his huge forearm. In a deep growl he spoke.

  “Just about, boss. Just need a moment to gather my thoughts.”

  Usher unclipped himself and hooked his arm under the big man’s armpit then helped him to his feet. It took all his strength to haul his comrade’s bulk upright and he was glad when Brock rolled his shoulders out and stood firm on his own.

  “Yeah you’re ok big fella. Take more than plummeting a couple of hundred feet to switch you off. Everyone else? Sound off!”

  Usher was glad when he heard Charlie, Jeter, Santiago, and Stromberg call out. They were clearly all in pain and nursing injuries but they were conscious and lucid. Usher turned to the seat behind him. “Isaac? How you doing?”

  Then Usher saw Isaac’s leg and his breath drew in involuntarily. Isaac’s eyes were tight shut and he was breathing shallow. He opened his eyes and focused on Usher, trying to cancel out the pain.

  “I told you I had a bad feeling about this one Thom.”

  Usher winced as he saw that Isaac’s left tibia was bent at a sickening angle. He could see the bump of the bone beneath the skin but thankfully it wasn’t protruding. Usher took out a syringe of morphine and knelt down next to Isaac.

  “Think you’ve broken something, Isaac, but I’m gonna patch you up, pal.”

  Isaac grinned through the pain and held up a small woven wooden circle that was crushed and tattered.

  “Yeah. Broke my Dreamcatcher. A night of bad dreams for all of us from now on.”

  Stromberg appeared at Usher’s side with a couple of sections of support from the cargo rack, a roll of field dressings and some padding from the first aid kit. He had some spider web cuts on his face from flying glass but seemed otherwise in decent shape. He kept his tone light and jovial to de-stress Isaac.

  “G’day mate. I’m your friendly local paramedic and I shall be applying your splint today. I won’t lie to you buddy, this is gonna hurt like blue murder. Might wanna grab onto something.”

  Isaac grabbed Stromberg’s forearm with a hand like a vice. His contorted, sweating face slowly changed into a good effort at his usual roguish grin.

  “Danny, remember that time I dug a bullet out your back in Malaysia?”

  Stromberg winced at the memory.

  “Took you three tries with that fucking penknife of yours. Think I blacked out twice. I remember calling you a few unsavoury names. Why’d you ask mate?”

  Isaac cursed under his breath. “Shit. I hoped you’d forgotten about all that.”

  Usher jabbed the morphine into Isaac’s leg and gave his cheek a short sharp slap. Isaac looked at him in shock just as Stromberg reset the shin bone in a swift expert move.

  “Jeeeeesssssus!”

  Usher grabbed Isaac’s hand and squeezed as his old friend writhed and bucked in agony.

  “Sorry Isaac, just wanted to give you something to focus on, and as I don’t have any tits…”

  Isaac breathed through the pain.

  “You dirty bastards. When this leg is better its sole function is kicking both your arses.”

  Usher smiled to himself.

  He must be in agony, but he’s lucid and he’s cracking jokes. Little things like that are a very good sign. Still, he’s in crap shape to survive in this environment. I need to stick close to him.

  “Danny, look after him just now.” Usher stood up and turned to the rest of his team. They were all bruised and battered but had automatically busied themselves with the essential tasks of survival and assessment of their situation. Usher Looked around at the torn and broken wreckage around them and was stunned that any of them were even alive. As for the other helicopter, he had no idea.

  “Status report! What’s our situation boys?”

  Charlie had limped upfront to check on the pilot and co-pilot. He pressed a finger on their necks then turned back to Usher shaking his head.

  “Co-pilot’s dead boss. Taylor’s alive but looks like he’s in a bad way. He’s twisted at a shocking fucking angle.”

  Charlie visibly jumped back as the pilot Taylor suddenly gasped in a huge lungful of air and his eyes opened wide. He started to panic but Charlie had one hand on his shoulder and a morphine auto injector in the other.

  “It’s alright Jim. Try not to move. I’m gonna give you a shot to ease the pain ok?”

  Jim Taylor looked wildly around him for a few moments until he realized where he was.

  “I’m ok, I don’t think…I can’t feel any pain. Soldier, I can hardly feel anything. I…I think my back’s broken.”

  Charlie winced at the twisted angle of Taylor’s torso and nodded.

  “Well brother, the good news Jim is that whether you feel them or not, you’ve still got your legs attached. You’ll be up dancing before Isaac I bet.”

  Taylor was breathing shallow and looked pale. Charlie knew he probably had internal injuries and could slip into shock so stayed with him and tried to keep him conscious.

  Taylor turned his head slightly and grabbed Charlie’s harness with a surprisingly strong grip.

  “I’m..sorry..lads…tried to get you down safe…never seen anything like this fog.”

  Usher crouched down next to him. He had a compass in his hand that was spinning wildly.

  “Hey Jim. No one’s seen anything like this fog. Messes with everything. Even my compass is spinning like a top. Right now I don’t even know which way is north. Don’t think there was much you could’ve done, and I pushed you to get closer. I’m sorry, Jim.”

  Taylor rested his head back and his eyes flickered. Usher pinched a nerve on his shoulder and he jolted awake. Usher gave him a reassuring wink.

  “No Jim, no going to sleep quite yet. You’re flying us out of here remember?”

  Taylor gave a small smile. “I think if I… straighten the rotor out a bit I can get us off the ground.”

  Usher spoke quietly to Charlie. “Mate, don’t let him drift off, keep him conscious, stay here with him while we try to get an evac sorted.”

  Charlie nodded and Usher struggled to the back of the wreckage to check on the rest of his men.

  “Jeter, how’s comms?”

  The lean and efficient German operator was focusing intently on the comms set, his blue eyes scanning the equipment like lasers.

  “I am afraid this was almost completely destroyed in the crash. But that is not the real problem that we have, Major.” Jeter tapped his helmet with its attached microphone and earpiece. “I am also getting nothing but static over my tactical comms set and I imagine you are not either. Dr Speedman, what did you put this down to?”

  Ariel was nursing a possibly fractured wrist but was doing his best to appear as tolerant to pain as the soldiers. One lens of his spectacles was cracked and he had a nasty cut on his cheek. He gritted his teeth and spoke. “This fog seems to work l
ike a magic-based EMP. Everything electronic is fried. It seems the Unseelie have found a way to take our technology away from us.” He turned to Usher and his eyes were full of fear. “I’m sorry, but we’re in their world now, Thom.”

  Jeter held up a frayed wire from the smashed comms unit. “It seems we are cut off from the outside world Major. The question is, can we hope to complete this mission and extract or do we cut our losses and get ourselves out of here?”

  Usher tried to control the throbbing pain in his head. He wiped blood from his eye and leaned back against the fuselage.

  There won’t be time for another rescue mission before they bomb this place, so it’s us or no one. But half of us can barely stand.

  “We have severely injured men and we can’t leave anyone behind. But we have a mission to complete. We can leave a guard force here to treat the injured and send an advance party out to find survivors from the town and track down Debruler. Having the resources for that depends on one thing.”

  Jeter nodded and peered out the broken window at the wreckage of the second chopper in the distance. “How many survivors are in the other bird, and if they’re functional.”

  Usher looked out into the gloom. He could vaguely see the other helicopter’s rotor bent at an angle and the tail was snapped midway but he could hear no cries and see no movement.

  Between them and the other team was about a hundred metres of ground enshrouded in thick red mist. Usher clenched his jaw and tapped Santiago on the back.

  “Fancy a walk?”

  Santiago function tested his carbine and flicked the safety hook on the sheath housing his Soulblade. “Always.”

  As Usher strained his eyes out into the mist he began to hear a strange series of sounds. Odd wet earthy pops that drifted to them from all directions.

  “Ariel, you hear that?”

  Ariel knelt down beside him and cocked his head.

  “Yes, but I can’t tell how far or what it is yet. That mist seems to distort sounds, soaks them up.”