Chase takes the phone away from his ear and pushes a button. For a moment, I think he’s hung up on the man and tightness grips my chest.
“Can you hear me?” Chase asks.
“Yes,” the man replies, now on speaker phone.
Chase hits a few more buttons on the phone and the reads off a series of coordinates to the man.
“Okay,” the Odin crewman says. “Okay, we have you. We’re under way.”
“Copy that,” Chase says. “What is your estimated time of arrival?”
“Uh, one hour. The sea is getting rough.”
“Hold on,” Chase says to the man. He turns to Willem and me. “Is the south shore clear now?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Last time we saw it, there weren’t any walruses. The polar bear is dead.”
“Did she say polar bear?” The crewman says. I forgot the speakerphone is on.
“There was a polar bear on the island,” Chase says. “It’s not a problem, now. The south shore between the island and the mainland is the safest place to land a small boat. It’s a sandy beach with no rocks. The rest of the island is much more dangerous.”
“South shore,” the crewman says. “Copy that. How many survivors should we prepare for?”
Chase looks at the group. He doesn’t need to count, he just doesn’t want to give the number. “Four,” he finally says.
“Four?” The man sounds stunned.
“There were more than sixty lost,” Chase says. “Most at sea. Some on the island.”
The crewman clears his throat, regaining his composure. “I see…”
“The men you send to pick us up,” I say, “make sure they’re armed.”
“Armed?”
My voice coupled with the request for an armed pick-up has the man on edge again.
“We…have hidden from the polar bear,” I say. “But it’s still here. And dangerous.” It’s a lie, but the truth might make them think the whole thing is a prank.
“Thanks for the warning,” the man says. “Is there anything else?”
“Just hurry,” Chase says.
“Copy that. We’re on our way.”
“See you in an hour.” Chase hangs up the phone. His eyes glow with excitement as he looks at the three of us. “Our plan stays the same.”
“Shouldn’t we just run for the coast?” Willem asks.
“We’d get there too soon and would be defenseless with our backs to the ocean,” Chase says. His voice is followed by the sound of metal being dragged over stone.
They’re coming.
“We stick to the plan,” Chase says. “Get them all here. Make a run for the gorge. Blow it and bury them. And then we’ll follow the west coast down to the south beach.”
I’ve been down the west coast of the island several times now and feel confident we can make decent time, especially without having to worry about the polar bear. “Let’s do it,” I say, picking up my gun.
As the others reach for their weapons, a shadow cuts across the floor of the ruins. A shadow…from above.
37
The four of us dive away from the middle of the ruins like a grenade had fallen there. Of course, that wasn’t far from the truth. The last remaining Draugr dog lands, but is far from graceful. With one of its legs already ruined, it takes all the weight from its upper body on its single forelimb. With a crack, the leg breaks and the dog falls forward. But the thing isn’t fazed by the injury. With its ass in the air, the Draugr dog runs with its back legs, pushing its body around in circles, biting at everything around it.
The thing comes around toward me and I jump over its head. If the dog could leap, or even turn quickly it might have gotten a bite, but it’s stuck in a counter clockwise spin. I could probably shoot it, but its moving fast and wouldn’t be an easy target. I’m about to suggest someone with a blunt object put the thing out of its misery when Willem steps forward and swings a well timed strike. The sword blade separates head from torso.
Momentum and perhaps the dog’s nervous system keeps the body running and spinning for two more laps. As it spins, white blood oozes from the body and head. Then the body falls limp next to the head and I get a good look at the blood.
It’s not blood.
It’s a pool of white, larvae-like parasites. And they’re on the move, squirming toward the four of us, slowly but surely.
“They’re outsmarting us again!” I shout. “They wanted us to kill the dog!”
My assessment is greeted by three frowns.
“Get anything flammable you can find and throw it on top of them!” Chase shouts. He digs into his survival pack and pulls out a flare. Understanding the plan, we toss useless supplies, wrappers, space blankets, and anything else that might burn atop the spreading army of parasites. The dried out dog will burn best, but the rest should help the flames spread.
Chase takes the plastic cap off the flare and then strikes the ignition surface against its rough end. The flare works a lot like an oversized match, and like a match, doesn’t take on the first try. Chase quickly strikes the flare against the sandpaper-like cap again and it catches. Red flame blooms from the end. Instead of throwing the flare down, Chase eases forward, squishing a few parasites, and places the flare on a patch of fluffy fur still attached to the dog’s side.
The hair bursts into flame so bright it makes me squint. The fire quickly spreads out to the rest of the carcass and then to the human detritus we’ve spread around it.
The heat and smell of burning hair and melting plastic pushes us to the walls, which might have also been the purpose of the Draugr version of Monty Python’s cow catapult. As though to prove me right, the wall shakes from an impact. A stone falls and nearly strikes my head.
A gloved hand reaches over and nearly catches my hood, but I duck down beneath it. I recognize the hand as the dog-master’s.
“Raven!”Jakob shouts, and I think where? But when I turn to the man, I see he’s speaking to me. Talk about an unfortunate nickname. He holds up the blacksmith hammer. “Take it!”
He tosses the hammer to me and I catch it by the handle. The hammer’s head is a little smaller than a modern sledge hammer, and the handle is about the size of the average nail hammer. That means it’s heavy as hell, but I can hold it in one hand, which I do. I put my whole body into the swing and crush the dog-master’s hand. The bone-crunching impact must register with some small part of the Draugr’s mind as a bad thing, because he quickly withdraws his hand.
Or he’s changing strategies now that they’re all around us. Through swirling smoke I see a thin shadow moving beyond the wall to my left where Chase crouches. He’s quickly packing up the C4, detonators and Sat-phone. Good thinking. Willem stands to my right. Beyond his wall is the clinking of metal tools. The blacksmith. And behind the wall opposite me, where Jakob repeatedly yanks the Zodiac’s start cord, I see two large horns. They seem to be rising up in the air, but I realize they’re just getting closer.
Torstein is coming. And he’ll be tall enough to look over the top.
A shift of light to my left tears my eyes away from the approaching Viking. The shadow flickering between the gaps in the wall by Chase is moving.
Up.
Whatever this is, it must be the Draugr that entered the ruins earlier and destroyed the life raft.
“Chase!” I shout as the thing rises up above him. The Draugr leaps to the top of the wall and nearly loses its balance on a loose stone. But it rights itself and looks down at Chase. Despite being severely disfigured by time and dehydration, I can still tell that this was once a boy. Maybe a young teenager. He’s dressed in furs, like the others, but has a thick black belt around his waist and a single tool hanging from it. A hammer. The blacksmiths apprentice, I realize.
The apprentice steps to the side where the stone wall is stronger. His body tenses as his eyes watch Chase’s feeble attempt to scramble away. It looks like a cat about to pounce.
I draw my arm back and throw the blacksmith’s hammer wi
th all the strength I can muster. I feel the tink, tink, tink, of muscle’s pulling in my arm. But my throw is good, though slightly off target. I had hoped to strike the undead teen in the head, but the weight of the hammer pulls it down prematurely and strikes the boy in the center of his chest. The impact knocks the boy back. His feet slip out and when he falls, his legs catch the wall and spin him ass over tea kettle. I can’t see the entire fall, but I imagine it’s the kind of unceremonious and embarrassing spill, that if videotaped, would end up on Youtube and Tosh.0. What sucks is that when the boy falls, the hammer, which I see is actually embedded in his chest, goes with him.
Two rumbles fill the ruins at once. The first is the Zodiac engine as it roars to life. The spinning propeller is a wonderful thing to see. The second rumble is the top half of the wall behind Jakob crumbling down.
Jakob hobbles away from the falling wall, but a few of the stones catch his foot. His injured foot. He shouts in pain, but manages to stay on his feet. Willem catches his father and helps him stay up.
The wall behind them crumbles under a fresh blow from Torstein’s giant, double bladed axe. He’s exposed from the waist up. This close up I can see his braided blond beard and hair. His eyes are large and white, twitching with movement. The parasites are watching us. The Viking giant still retains a lot of his muscle, which makes him stronger than the others.
Is that why the wall is crumbling beneath his blows and not the others? I wonder. Or do they want our attention on him?
Before I can voice my concern, Willem snatches the boat engine from his father, hoists the spinning propeller up in front of him, twists the throttle and charges Torstein. The big Draugr swings his axe at Willem, but the blow is blocked by the wall, which crumbles some more.
Willem climbs up the spilled stones and shoves the propeller at Torstein’s chest. The blades bite flesh with a wet grinding sound. Bits and pieces of partially decayed skin and bone spray out like Fourth of July fireworks.
But Torstein is undaunted by the attack. He raises the axe over his head. If he brings it down, he might well split Willem in half.
Willem shoves hard, burying the propeller blade deep into Torstein’s chest. Is he trying to reach Torstein’s spine? I think. If he is, the attempt fails when the blade catches on something it can’t chew through. And when the blade stops spinning, the engine starts spinning. The sudden twist of the engine throws Willem to the floor just as Torstein brings the blade down. Luck saves Willem twice in the span of a few seconds.
As the engine spins, its weight and momentum throws Torstein off balance and the giant stumbles back for a moment, taking the engine with him.
We’d do a lot better if we didn’t keep handing them our weapons!
“We need to get out of here,” I shout.
“We’re still surrounded,” Chase replies.
“Which way is north?” I ask. I’m so turned around I can’t tell.
I scan the walls. Torstein battles to remove the engine on one end. A moving shadow to my left reveals the boy is recovering. The wall to my right shakes from repeated strikes where the blacksmith attempts to break through. And the wall behind me—
Chase points to the wall, eyes wide with fright. “That way,” he says. “North is that way.”
The dog-master pulls himself nearly to the top of the wall behind me. Torstein was distracting us.
“Willem!” I shout. “The sword!”
Willem pulls the sword out from his belt and moves to strike the dog master.
“No!” I shout. “There’s a better way!” I reach out for the sword. Willem looks doubtful for a moment, but then hands the weapon over. I move to the fire at the center of the ruins. The flames have dulled, though the stench has not. An occasional pop and sizzle marks the death of another parasite. But I’m not interested in any of that.
I shove the tip of the blade into the still burning dog’s eye socket. I lift the head up, take aim and fling the thing. It sails through the air like Greek fire from a catapult and strikes the dog-master’s shoulder. It’s a glancing blow, but it’s enough. The copious amount of furs the dog master wears burst into flames. The heat forces us all back a few steps, but then the undead bonfire falls back off the wall and the heat is hidden behind the stones.
Given the intensity of the flames, I’m sure the dog-master is done for. The path north is clear.
“Time to go,” I say.
“Willem,” Jakob says, limping towards his son. “Leave me here.”
“What?” Willem looks horrified. “Never.”
“I can barely walk,” Jakob says. “You won’t make it with me.”
For a moment, Willem looks like he might actually be considering it. I sense there’s some kind of macho Viking, “let me die in battle,” bullshit happening here and put a stop to it before it can go any further.
“The hell is wrong with you two?” I say. “Willem, pick your fucking father up and carry him.” I turn to Chase. “Think you can set the explosives?”
“No problem,” he says.
“Just wait to set the timer,” I say.
Chase salutes.
“I’ll cover our rear,” I say.
Willem looks about ready to argue, but I cut him off. “You have your father. Chase has the explosives.” I brandish the sword and gun. “And I’ve got the weapons. Now help me push.”
I turn to the north facing wall and push against it. It shifts a little, but not enough. Chase throws himself against the wall. Then Willem. Even Jakob, standing on one leg, puts his weight into it. The wall tilts away from us and then spills over, covering the smoldering dog-master with a thousand pounds of stone.
The other walls are weakened by the sudden crumbling and begin to fall inward. Before being crushed, Chase leads the charge out over the dog-master’s corpse. Willem throws his father over his shoulder and follows. I leave the ruins just as the walls collapse and three sets of white eyes turn toward me. Seeing the three of them, out in the open like this, is terrifying. But perhaps even more frightening is the fact that the raven is nowhere to be seen.
A problem for another time, I think, and then leap off the crumbled wall and hit the ground running.
38
Half way to the gorge, I glance over my shoulder and see brown teeth stretching out toward me. The apprentice is quick! But there’s something different about him, something that keeps me from panicking at his proximity. He’s smaller than the others, but that’s not it. Nor is it the fact that he’s not brandishing a weapon of some sort.
Then I see it. It’s his mouth. His stretched back skin and open maw give me a view of his mouth that only a dentist could love. And what I see is a normal looking tongue. Well, as normal as it could after being preserved by clear slime for six hundred years. Unlike the others, the apprentice’s tongue has no white dots. The parasites controlling him aren’t trying to infect me.
They’re trying to eat me.
And while that should disturb me, being eaten alive would be a far better fate than becoming a Draugr. Not only would I be under the control of parasites and potentially attack and kill people, but I’d also have to spend the rest of my eternal life with this rank-ass Viking zombie horde.
The apprentice’s teeth clack together as he takes a bite and finds only empty space. I take a wild swing with the sword and have the same crappy luck as the Draugr. Running and fighting at the same time is hard and for fifty feet we repeat the dance of missed bites and sword swings.
As my shoulder starts to burn from the previous day’s furious rowing and today’s repetitious swinging, and I start to feel rather stupid, I change things up. Instead of swinging after he bites, I let him take three bites in a row. Each is closer then the last, but I want him in close, and I want to find his rhythm. By the fifth bite, I’ve got the timing down—he takes a chomp every three steps.
On his sixth attempt, I swing with the sword and make contact. The impact shudders up my arm and I nearly lose my grip on the sword. When I can�
��t pull the blade back, I realize it’s snagged on something. I look back and see it wedged in the apprentice’s face. With a twist, I yank the blade free and get a good look at the damage. I’ve severed his lower jaw, and tongue, clean off. If my strike had been harder, I might have taken off his head. On the plus side, he won’t be eating anyone soon.
But that doesn’t mean he can’t still take me down and hold me until pappy blacksmith arrives. The big Draugr’s jangling tool belt is loud as he charges toward me, just twenty feet back. Torstein brings up the rear. He’s moving fast, but not nearly fast enough. That sounds wrong, but I want these three together in the gorge.
Of course, I don’t want them this close to me either, or I get buried along with them. I need to do something to slow them down.
I still have just one round left in the gun, but I’m holding the gun in my left hand and I’m running. So odds are I’ll miss. I could probably hack the legs off the apprentice, but then he wouldn’t get buried. Inspiration comes from Chase’s story of how he tripped the blacksmith.
With the apprentice still hot on my heels, and making the occasional lunge forward like he’s still got a lower jaw, I veer to the side and slow myself just enough so that he pulls up beside me. He bites at open air again—I swear he’s the dumbest of the Draugar, which might actually be because he was a boy rather than an experienced hunter, when they took his mind. When he realizes I’m next to him instead of in front of him, he begins to close the gap.
When I strike, I’m sure there are a thousand little parasite minds in his body all thinking, “What the fuck just happened!?” I take the sword and poke it between his legs. When he takes his next step, both legs strike the flat side of the hard metal and the undead kid launches forward. One more clumsy fall for the zombie Youtube sensation. If only I had Peach’s camera.
The trouble is, when the apprentice’s legs lock onto the sword, it’s yanked from my hands and sent spinning back toward the blacksmith. No time to go back for it. But the same motion that took my sword also frees the hammer embedded in the apprentice’s chest. I stop for the briefest of moments, snag the hammer and start my sprint again.
THE SENTINEL (A Jane Harper Horror Novel) Page 20