Piling out of the car, they stripped off their cassocks and habits. Sam and Pamela helped each other with the pins that held on the wimples. “Man, it would suck to be a nun,” Sam said, and she ripped away the material and shook her hair loose.
Rudi and Estevan walked in circles, kicking at the fallen leaves and needles as they searched for the hatch. Eddie opened the top of his shoulder pouch, reached in, and pulled out a velvet-wrapped package. He untied it and threw back the material to reveal mirrors and lenses.
Weber helped Richard shrug into a tight-fitting leather jacket so Richard wouldn’t have to release his grip on the sword. Next the cop buckled the belt of a pair of cycling chaps around Richard’s narrow waist, and then knelt in front of him to thread the zippers on the legs. Pamela watched and had a sudden memory of the color plate in their grandfather’s copy of Men of Iron showing Miles being dressed for battle.
Rudi and Estevan pulled up a metal hatch. Dirt, needles, and leaves cascaded off the gray metal. Joseph came down the ramp of the trailer trundling a large red-and-silver motorcycle.
Pamela circled the bike. “I’ve never really known you, have I?” The smile she got back was rueful, and Richard shook his head. “Well, we’ll fix that once we’ve finished,” she said briskly, and blinked hard again. It had to be nerves that had her so emotional. Fortunately Eddie drew attention away from her.
“I thought it took two hands to ride a motorcycle,” Eddie said.
“Not this one,” Richard answered. “Gilera Ferro 850 automatic. One hand to steer. The other hand to use the sword.”
Bob Franklin had a quiver full of arrows slung over his back and was stringing a large bow. Weber lit cigarettes, puffed, and handed them to everybody.
“Don’t puff, just keep them lightly between your lips. We don’t want them to burn away before we reach the house.”
“And we’re lighting them here because …?” Jay asked.
“Because fire won’t burn near the gate,” Richard said. “At some point they will seem to go out.”
“And we’re gonna be climbing ladders, and maybe fighting bad guys. These cigarettes are gonna be a handful of tobacco,” Jay said.
Weber looked disgusted. “Doesn’t anybody fucking smoke anymore? When they stop burning, you’re going to tuck them behind your ear.” Weber demonstrated with an unlit cigarette.
Joseph handed out nightsticks. Jay and Syd transferred metal canteens from a box into backpacks. There was a greasy residue around some of the caps, and Pamela coughed as the throat-biting smell of gasoline hit the back of her nose.
Richard thrust a helmet at Eddie and swung onto the bike.
“Where’s your helmet?” Weber yelled as Richard gunned the engine.
“I need my peripheral vision,” Richard yelled back. “Eddie, if I give you a gun, can you manage not to shoot me? I don’t need you to actually hit anything, just keep people’s heads down.”
“I’d only have one arm to hang on with.” Eddie’s voice quavered like a fifteen-year-old’s.
“Never mind.”
Pamela watched the resolve harden the young scientist’s chin. The look he gave her brother was pure hero worship. “No, that’s cool. I can do it.”
Weber handed him a pistol, grip first. “When you’re on the bike, keep your arm straight out to the side and pull the trigger. Don’t try for anything fancy, just aim toward any people or … other things you might see. Here, try it once so you see how much pressure you actually need.”
Eddie strained, the trigger snapped back, the gun roared, his arm jerked up, and the pistol flew out of his hand and landed in the winter-withered grass. The smell of gunpowder brought back memories of Fourth of July parties and fireworks on the beach near their house in Newport, and suddenly Pamela wanted to cry; for her lost mother and absent father, and a world that made sense.
“This isn’t a good idea,” Weber said to Richard. “You should have gotten the sidecar so I could have ridden shotgun.”
“I’m going to be weaving through trees to get to Kenntnis. That’s why it had to be a bike, not a car, and the passenger has to be Eddie. He’s the only one who can inspect the glass,” Richard said.
“No, no, I can do it. It just took me by surprise,” Eddie said.
Richard nodded. “Let him try again.”
Weber retrieved the pistol. Eddie took it, closed one eye, and aimed at a tree across the clearing. This time he didn’t lose his grip on the gun. Wood splinters exploded out of the tree trunk.
“I aimed for that tree,” Eddie said loudly and looked around at everyone.
Sam patted him on the shoulder. “You’re a real natural.”
“We need to start humping,” Syd called from where he stood at the tunnel entrance.
Weber checked the face on an old-fashioned spring-wound watch. “It’s about two miles, and then we need to clear any bad guys out of the house and set up. That’s going to take at least forty minutes.”
“I’ll start moving in twenty,” Richard said.
“See you at the compound.”
“I’ll be there.”
Pamela joined the group gathered around the hatch. She looked back at her brother, and suddenly it hit her—this might be the last time she ever saw him. She ran back and gave him a fierce hug.
“When we get back, teach me to shoot.” she said.
“I thought you hated guns.”
“Teach me.”
He nodded. “Come on,” Weber yelled. She ran to join them.
* * *
The chemiluminescent light sticks worked surprising well. They were bright enough that Pamela could see the shadows of the men in front and behind her bobbing and swaying on the tunnel walls. Sam was disgusted at the march order, which had her and Pamela sandwiched between Weber and Franklin and Rudi in the front and Syd, Jay, and Estevan bringing up the rear. When Sam squawked, Weber had pointed out that Franklin had a compound bow, he had a hunting knife, and they were stronger than Sam. Pamela didn’t mind being in the middle.
When they’d first entered the tunnel, there had been the buzz of whispered conversation, but that had died away. Now only an occasional cough or the scrape of shoe leather on grit marked their passage. Pamela tried to identify the men by the sounds of their breathing. Syd had a habit of pulling air through his teeth, a sort of tuneless hum. Estevan was a quick, sharp panting. Pamela wondered how much air was actually reaching the young man’s lungs.
She had been told to expect it, but as they moved toward the compound the thin wisps of smoke stopped rising from the lit cigarettes. She tightened her ponytail and tucked the cigarette behind her ear. Pamela normally hated the smell of cigarette smoke, but now she missed it because nerves had somebody’s bowels in an uproar.
The stink of flatulence mingled with the loamy smell of moist earth. Another fart erupted somewhere back in the line. It was a series of squeaking pops like someone walking on bubble wrap. Her reason to come along now seemed thin, and her determination dropped with each passing minute. She wondered how Richard was doing, and envied him the open air. She wished she could have ridden the bike with him. But it had to be Eddie, and the logical place for Angela to be held was in the house, and her reason for coming was Angela.
FORTY-FOUR
RICHARD
Eddie climbed awkwardly onto the backseat of the bike and wrapped his arms around my waist. It felt like a hug by a Kodiak.
“Not … quite so … tight,” I managed to squeeze out.
“Sorry, sorry. I’ve only been on a bike once before. My dad hated these things, and forbid any of us to ever ride one. But my half-uncle Chet came through San Diego when I was thirteen. He was on his way to Mexico, and my dad was at a conference at JPL so he got to stay, and he took me for a ride. He had this big old Harley.”
I was having to concentrate on the uneven ground as I guided the bike back toward the road. Eddie kept going.
“The problem was that he didn’t mention that the exhaust pipes
run the length of the bike, and man, they get really, really hot. That’s why I was so careful when I got on this bike, because after the ride I just slid off the bike ’cause I was, like, scared and tired and feeling really guilty, and I was wearing shorts, and I rested my calf against the exhaust pipe and got a third-degree burn on my leg. It was so gross, it smelled like roasting pork at a luau. Anyway, my mom was so scared that Dad would find out that Uncle Chet had been at the house, and that I’d ridden on a motorcycle, that she didn’t take me to a doctor. That’s why I’ve got this scar. Solarcaine and Neosporin don’t do much on a third-degree burn.”
The artless, never-ending blather had my neck tensing. Now I was almost wishing I’d worn a helmet. It would have kept out the verbal diarrhea. We reached the road, and I opened it up. The trees flashed by like a gray film unwinding. My ears began to burn from the cold.
We went into a curve, and Eddie stayed stiff as a board and bolt upright. I had to fight to keep the bike from falling. Eddie started yelling in my ear. I got us through the curve, and half-turned my head to shout, “When we take the turns you’ve got to lean into them. Go with the bike so you don’t throw us off balance. Remember, I only have one hand to steer.”
And I looked down at my left hand balanced on the handlebars with the blade of the sword pointed straight forward. The swirling lights around the blade were bright enough to throw a spear of white light into the sullen red gloom here beneath the clouds. I wondered how much darker it was going to get, and if the sword could keep pace.
Another curve was coming. Eddie tightened his grip on my waist and placed his head on my shoulder. This time he stayed in sync with my body, and it worked perfectly. The bike leaned over and came back up smoothly. Eddie gobbled a little as the pavement rose up toward us, but I couldn’t control the whoop of delight.
“That’s the way to do it. Good job,” and I threw back my head and laughed.
“Who are you, and when did you steal my uptight boss?” Eddie yelled into my ear.
I didn’t answer, because I saw the stone gatehouse up ahead. Twisted metal gates lay to either side of the road, torn down by the FBI when they raided the compound. I gunned the engine, and the bike leaped forward. I had a brief glimpse of a man’s face poking out the door of the gatehouse before we flashed past, but there didn’t seem to be any organized security. A crowd of people were streaming down the road toward the gates as if they’d been summoned, but they seemed confused, just a milling mob.
“Eddie! Be ready to use that gun,”
I should have spoken sooner, because a man darted out of the crowd and flung himself at the bike, as if hoping to bring it down with the momentum of his body. I swung the sword and took the attacker in the solar plexus with the flat of the blade. Even over the rumble and roar of the engine I could hear the man’s screams as the magic was stripped out of him.
“I’m going to lean way forward. Use my back to steady your arm, and start shooting,” I instructed Eddie.
I dropped until my chin was almost on the handlebars. One bump in the road took me by surprise, and they hit my chin, and I bit my tongue. The warm coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. I felt Eddie’s elbow gouging into my right shoulder blade, and then the roar of the pistol so near to my ear deafened me. We were getting so close, and no one was reacting. Eddie fired another shot. Again there was nothing. Then on the third shot finally a reaction. A woman in the crowd threw up her arms and fell backward.
The crowd lost cohesion like a ball of yarn unspooling. Only two people remained in the road, a man and a woman. The man reached out as if preparing to grab the handlebars. I abruptly straightened and swung the sword. This time I didn’t have a chance to turn it and use the flat of the blade. The dark metal peeled back the dirty sweater and the flesh beneath. He looked down, reacted in surprise, then slapped his palms down on the cut as if trying to hold in the blood. I reversed my swing and brought the blade down on the top of the woman’s head. She collapsed.
“Are they still following?” I yelled back over my shoulder.
I felt Eddie half-turn. “Yeah, they’re trying, but we’re leaving them in the dust.” To my gunfire-deafened ears his words sounded distant and muffled.
“Are you all right?” I asked next, because Eddie had just shot someone, and that is never easy to handle. I glanced at the blood on the blade. It was rippling under the wind created by our speed.
He was quiet for a few moments and then yelled, “They cut up my friends. They had it coming. So yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” The logic didn’t exactly track, but if it kept him calm and functioning I was all for it.
Then the strange red/orange light was blotted out by something huge overhead. We both looked up, and Eddie screamed.
I had the impression of darkness and thousands of tiny eyes. But I wasn’t sure what I’d actually seen because there was a wavering all around the creature that made it hard to focus. It seemed to be flat and large and black, as if a stingray the size of a basketball court had taken to the air. I thrust the sword point up toward the sky, hoping maybe that would hold it at bay. It felt pathetic, and I felt stupid for even trying it.
A high-pitched keening began. It seemed to resonate in my bones. I took us off the road, but the creature stayed with us and the keening became even more piercing.
It’s tracking us. Marking where we are. Summoning others.
It was a guess, but it felt right, and I hated that it felt right. I was thinking frantically. I had to touch that thing, kill it before any more monsters arrived. My mind seemed to be chattering as it flipped from thought to thought, and then I remembered sitting on the window seat of my bedroom in Newport reading The Lord of the Rings.
I had to let go of the handlebar, but we stayed upright as I sheathed the sword. The engine coughed, the bike shook as the smooth flow of gas stopped, and then the engine died. We rolled a few more feet, and then I threw down the kickstand.
“What are you doing?” Eddie was almost sobbing.
“Run!” And I gave him a hard shove.
Eddie practically fell off the bike. I grabbed his arm and started running toward an opening in the trees. There was a small meadow just beyond it. The seared grass brushed like blades against the leather of my chaps. The shadow hung over us. Eddie was in bunny mode, and he didn’t respond to my tugging at his arm, trying to stop him. I didn’t have a choice, I kicked his feet out from under him. The young man face-planted in the dirt and dead grass, and I threw myself down on top of him.
“Come on, come on down, you bastard. Squat on us!”
“No! No! I don’t want it to come down! Are you fucking nuts!” Eddie was crying.
I really wished I had time to explain, but the creature was spiraling closer. I waited, and tried to appear shattered and terrified and hopeless. It didn’t require much acting. I had my right hand resting against the base of the hilt. The air was filled with a hot metallic scent. I risked a glance. It was close.
I waited a few more seconds, then leaped to my feet while at the same time drawing the sword. I took three running steps and launched myself into the air, arm and blade extended. I pushed it so hard that I felt my shoulder catch and twinge.
The blade was frothing light like the biggest Roman candle ever made. The foible connected. There was a jar that shook my arm and slammed into my side, and then the resistance was gone, and the blade sank deep into the shadow. There was the thunder of sound like a sonic boom directly overhead, and the thing was gone.
I failed to stick the landing. I staggered and fell onto my back. I gripped the hilt so tightly that my fingers cramped, but I didn’t drop the sword. The light from the blade shot into the air. The clouds burned away, and normal sunlight poured through the hole in the clouds. For an instant I just lay there trying to catch my breath and taking joy in the touch of sun.
Then I bounded back onto my feet, grabbed Eddie by the collar, and hauled him up. We ran back to the bike and climbed on.
“Start. Please start
,” I crooned. The engine roared back to life. We were still in the game.
FORTY-FIVE
Doug sprawled on a glider on the front porch of the big stone house. His hand rummaged in a box of Honey Nut Cheerios while he frowned off toward the gate. He looked up at the sound of Rhiana’s footfalls, stuffed a big handful of cereal into his mouth, and gave her a black frown while he masticated. Four raw and deep gashes ran from the corner of his left eye to the corner of his mouth.
“Where’s my food? I can’t fuckin’ cook anything. I told them I wanted a surf and turf. I thought somebody would be back by now.”
Rhiana forgot he was crazy, forgot he was dangerous, forgot her magic couldn’t affect him. She grabbed him by the front of his stained T-shirt and hauled him up out of the glider. The sour smell of an unwashed male body washed over her.
“Where is she? Where’s Angela? We’ve got to get her out of here.”
The smile was chilling. “Well, she’s going to be a little sloppy to carry.”
Panic closed off Rhiana’s lungs. She wheezed, and then gagged on the harsh taint that filled the air. “What did you do?”
He was starting to look like a sulky two-year-old. “You told me I could do anything I wanted.”
“Oh, God, how badly did you hurt her?”
“Well, pretty bad since she’s dead.” He offered up his face for inspection. “Bitch clawed me. And got me in the nuts. I don’t mind a little fight, makes me hot, but nobody gets to hurt me. I made her sorry.”
The moan bubbled out as if propelled by the spasm that clenched at her stomach. Rhiana released him and folded her arms over her aching belly. “We’ve got to get her out of here before he gets here. Before he sees. He can’t know. He can’t find out. Oh, God, what am I going to do? He’s at the front gate.” The hysteria rang in her ears.
“He. The fag. He’s coming here?” Andresson stepped forward eagerly.
“No, no, you have to help me.”
“Fuck that. I want that sword.”
“You listen to me,” Rhiana shouted shrilly.
The Edge of Ruin Page 27