by Dyrk Ashton
“Where’s Peter?” Fi asks.
“Fighting locusts,” Zeke replies.
Edgar hands Fi her blood-stained pink backpack. “He’ll be along, don’t you worry.”
Zeke sees Kabir keeping the Mahisha’s at bay nearby, and Cù Sìth battling them in the center of the room. “They’re still fighting?”
Edgar helps him slide his arms through the straps of the blue pack. “Their kind do not soon grow weary. This could go on for days.”
While Edgar stows his shield in its case, Fi and Zeke watch Cù Sìth ravage the Buffalo Demons. The wounds he received from his brother Cerberi are already healing pink scars and he appears to have sustained no further injury. Kabir has taken more superficial wounds, but his zeal hasn’t diminished in the slightest.
Edgar retrieves a sword belt from the shield case and straps it to his waist, then dons the case like a rucksack. “Hurry, now.”
“Wait...” Zeke rolls a wampyr body out of the corner by the desk and retrieves the guitar case.
“Really?” Fi asks.
“Peter gave it to me,” Zeke replies. “I can’t just leave it.”
Kabir meets them as Edgar slings on his long bag at the hall to the kitchen. He places a hand on Edgar’s shoulder. “Fair thee well, good sir.”
Edgar returns the gesture and replies, “Until the chance of our next meeting.”
Kabir nods and readies to cover their retreat—just in time, because a Buffalo Demon is charging straight for them.
* * *
Edgar leads the way through the kitchen. A Mahisha’s head crashes through the wall, smashing cupboards to splinters. It spies them and bellows its rage, then disintegrates and bursts into flame, the result of a deathblow from the other side of the wall.
Through a small door hidden behind a refrigerator at the far end of the kitchen and down curving steps to a cellar of mortared stone. Fully stocked wine racks cover all four walls, floor to low ceiling.
In spite of what he’s been through, Zeke is oddly elated by their escape. “That’s a lot of wine,” he observes.
“Take some, if you like,” says Edgar, moving to the far corner and pulling a bottle from the rack. He tosses it to Zeke, who catches it and inspects the label. Fi reads it as well. Dom. Romane Conti, 1997. The name means nothing to either of them.
“Not bad, but hardly worth the price, if you ask me,” Edgar adds, reaching through the space where the bottle had been. He presses a stone, which recedes at his touch. There’s a clunking sound and a segment of the wall, rack attached, separates from the rest. Edgar ushers Fi and Zeke through. “Après vous.”
They find themselves in a tubular tunnel made of brick, angling downward. Dim electric lights strung from wires along the ceiling recede into the distance. Zeke unzips Fi’s pack.
“Hey!” she objects, her voice echoing.
“I can’t reach mine,” says Zeke, shoving the bottle in.
Edgar leads them deeper into the earth, Mol a few steps ahead of him. “These tunnels once went on for many miles, up and down the river,” he explains as they walk. “Some went beneath it as well, all the way to the heart of the city. The oldest were part of a natural cave system used by primitive humans for tens of thousands of years. Later peoples dug more. The Native Americans used them for travel, trade, shelter and war. During Prohibition they were a smuggler’s route.”
They pass entrances to other tunnels on either side. There are also ladders leading up into shafts in the ceiling and down through the floor. Some are made of wood, others rusty metal, while still more are grooved into the bedrock.
“I’ve never heard of any of this,” says Zeke.
“The few existing records report that they were all destroyed or caved in of their own accord before World War II.”
“Cool,” Zeke declares.
“You think so? It feels warmer to me...” He sees Fi and Zeke exchange glances. “Ah, I see. You mean ‘cool’ as in ‘nifty,’ ‘neato,’ perhaps ‘rad,’ ‘badass,’ ‘phat,’ or ‘sweet?’ In England we might say ‘ace,’ ‘brill’ or ‘smashing.’
Zeke grins. “Something like that.”
“Whatever you do, do not attempt to slip from here. Understood?”
“No problem. I don’t plan on doing that ever again if I don’t have to.”
“Well, just don’t, even if you think you must, unless you relish an instant demise buried in stone. The tunnels are collapsed on all other worlds, or don’t exist.”
Zeke glances at Fi. “Okay, good to know.”
* * *
A Mahisha hauls off to hit Kabir with its mace. In mid backswing it bursts like a water balloon. The mace flies free, knocking another Mahisha off its feet before it dissolves into the aether.
Having slipped right into the heart of the beast, Peter stands where the splattered Buffalo Demon had been, his tattered clothes covered in gore. Kabir spits Buffalo goo and tries to wipe it from his eyes, but it suddenly blazes green. He smacks out the flames while Peter lets the flash fire that covers his own body pass. More Mahisha’s close in. They turn back-to-back to defend against them.
Peter shouts over his shoulder. “Did the boy and Molossus return?!”
“Yes, Pater. They’ve all escaped, as you wished.”
Peter is relieved. “I must follow, but first we need to finish this. Keep close.” He cuts down several Mahishas. “Cù Sìth! To me!”
Peter slashes through Buffalo Demons as he makes his way to the fireplace hearth, Kabir at his back. Cù Sìth leaps from the path of two charging Mahishas, leaving them to knock heads and lock horns. He catches hold of the broken balcony, swings clear of swiping maces and grasping hands and runs in a crouch. Peter kicks a charging Mahisha, sending it crashing back against the others, and scythes a clearing near the hearth with his spear. Cù Sìth jumps down next to him.
Electricity is already arcing along Peter’s arm when he commands, “Get back! And get down!”
The lights in the ceiling burst in showers of sparks. The nearest Buffalo Demons realize what’s coming and frantically push back against their clambering fellows.
Multiple firebolts erupt from Gungnir and fork through the throng, followed by a flash of atomic proportions.
* * *
A supernova of blue light blazes from inside the house, setting it ashudder. Glass from the remaining windows is blown out. It tinkles, glittering on the grounds.
Luc exclaims, “Putain!” as he and the wampyr policeman shield their eyes. Kleron remains passive, unaffected by the blinding brilliance.
“Ohhhh!” Max cheers, thrilled by the goggle flare that would blind a human being and seriously impair the vision of a younger Firstborn. “Pretty!”
* * *
The great room is dark except for the electric glow of Gungnir, the atmosphere as thick as dockside fog at midnight. A backup generator kicks in. Emergency lights blink to life at the exits and in all four corners of the room.
Peter glances over his shoulder at Kabir and Cù Sìth, who both had the good sense to cover their eyes as they crouched. They lower their hands and peer up at him. He raises an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth crooks up. They exchange glances and see what Peter is smirking about.
Even behind the blast, the power of Peter’s spear would have killed any human. As it is, their fur stands on end, fluffy and steaming. They look like big scary teddy bears.
They clear their throats and smooth down their fur as they stand to assess the effect of Gungnir’s fury. The greasy air is clearing through the broken windows. Charred streaks score ceiling, walls and floor. Bodies of dead wampyr and werewolves lie cooked, burst and fuming. Nothing remains of the Buffalo Demons but lingering wisps of their demise—except for two who lie moaning in the far corners.
Peter grunts in dissatisfaction. Kabir catches his arm. “Go to the others, Pater. We’ll take care of this.”
Peter’s features harden, questioning.
Cù Sìth nods. “Go.”
P
eter studies him. “Are you truly with us, Moddey Dhoo?”
Cù places a hand on his heart and bows his head. “You have my allegiance, Pater, forevermore.”
Kabir doesn’t look convinced.
Peter deliberates, then gestures toward the broken windows. “There is an islet in the river below, meet us there, but do not delay.”
“Yes, Pater,” Kabir replies.
Peter spots his haversack in the debris. He shoulders it, saying, “Be nice, you two. I’ll need you both before this is over.” They eye each other warily. “I mean it,” he adds, and runs out of the room.
* * *
“The person of interest has followed the others,” reports the wampyr policeman, having retrieved the goggles from Max.
“Person of interest?” Kleron queries.
Luc explains, “Zat eez cop talk.”
“I see,” Kleron responds. “So, what are we waiting for?”
Luc is confused. “For your order, Master.”
“Well, you have it.” He and Max turn to watch the house through the trees. The wampyr moves closer for a better view.
* * *
A wounded Mahisha rises groggily. Cù Sìth swipes out its throat with his claws. It gurgles and dissipates in flame. Kabir snatches a mace from the reaching hand of the other. The haft is big in his hands and longer than he is tall, but he swings it with proficiency. Both mace and Buffalo Demon disappear as the flanges split its thick skull.
Kabir peers through wafting dust. Cù Sìth is nowhere to be seen. He growls at the assumed betrayal, then hears a mighty crash and roar.
Yet another Buffalo Demon, apparently the last, clomps through the gaping hole in the wall where he had remained hidden. He tears Cù Sìth from his back and flings him away.
The Mahisha regains his footing, grips the haft of his mace in both hands and raises it vertically before him. “Samavari Maya!”
Kabir throws himself into a feet-first base slide and catches the descending toe of the shaft on his shin instead of letting it hit the floor. The Mahisha roars in frustration and shifts the mace to crush him. Before Mahisha can strike, Cù Sìth’s jaws are clamped to the back of his neck. Kabir attempts to drag himself out of the way but The Buffalo Demon’s hoof stomps his injured leg. The grappling duo fall right on top of him.
* * *
Kleron watches expectantly. Nothing happens. He looks over his shoulder to see Luc, his finger poised over the detonator, watching Kleron eagerly. “For pity’s sake, Luc,” he says, “push the damn button.”
“Oh!” exclaims Luc. “I woz not sure—”
“Luc!”
KABOOM!!!
Luc pushed it alright. A gigantic fireball erupts from the foundation of the house, then another, and another. Flaming hunks of stone smash into trees. Edgar’s Bentley is crushed and buried. Explosion after explosion sets the ground trembling beneath their feet.
“Primitive, this human technology, but effective under the right circumstances.” Kleron grips the handle of one of the kevlar cases and beckons, “Maskim Xul.”
Max gazes at the explosions for a moment longer, bursts of color reflecting in his multiple pairs of sunglasses, then hops to Kleron’s chest and clings there.
Kleron says, “Let’s see if we’ve had any luck with Plan C. Or is it D, now?” then launches into the air, flapping his great bat wings.
* * *
Zeke doesn’t think they’ve gone all that far, but they’ve taken more twists and turns in the tunnels than he could keep track of. If he were to lose Edgar, he’s sure he’d never find his way out.
“Zeke!” Fi shouts. “You all right?”
He peeks around the corner of the earthen tunnel where he is taking a much needed pee. “Be right there!” He zips up and enters the passageway where Edgar, Fi and Mol wait next to a rusty iron ladder that leads down into a shaft in the floor.
“Sorry,” Zeke apologizes. “I really had to go.”
“When nature calls.” Edgar replies, digging inside his long bag. He pulls out two flashlights. “We’ll be needing these,” he says, handing one to Zeke. “You’ve each got one in your pack as well, but I’m afraid I stowed them toward the bottom. If it begins to dim, twist the handle back and forth.” He demonstrates, a whirring noise accompanying each turn. “In daylight, you can recharge them in the sun. The casing is photoelectric.” He gives the second one to Fi. She and Zeke try the twisting recharge.
“Smashing,” says Zeke.
Edgar “harrumphs” and returns his attention to the long bag.
Fi wonders how Zeke can joke at a time like this. She thinks she might understand, though. She’s glad to be alive, too. Maybe it’s some kind of post-battle, post-war high. If so, she’s not looking forward to the crash. She watches him play with the flashlight like it’s a Christmas toy. After all he’s been through, he still has that insatiable curiosity of his. And she can’t forget, he went back for her uncle’s dog. What kind of guy does that? She’s beginning to think—maybe the best kind.
Edgar lifts an electric lantern from his bag, closes the bag with straps and ties.
That ratty old thing must have been made before zippers were even invented. “Uncle?” Fi says delicately.
Edgar stands and shoulders the bag. The tone of her voice has caught his attention. “Yes, dear?”
“I’m sorry, but seriously, what are we doing?”
“Why, evading mortal danger.”
“What about work? School?” she asks. “Zeke’s supposed to be going to a conference tomorrow.” She takes a step closer. “When do we get to go home?”
Edgar ponders before speaking. “I had hoped and prayed with all my heart it would never come to this for you, but now that it is upon us, I believe you’ll find there are many things we consider important, crucial to our very existence even, which become meaningless when confronted with the immediate and basic necessity of staying alive.”
Zeke swallows hard. The possibility of prolonged mortal danger might be something everyone considers at one point or another in their lives, but now they’re living it, on this very day.
Fi puts the flashlight in her back pocket and takes Edgar’s hand in both of hers. “Then help me understand, Uncle. What’s this all about? What’s really going on?”
Edgar is struck by Fi’s proximity. Her tender touch. But mostly he’s moved by the sudden realization of just how grown up she is. What happened to that troublesome child with the unruly hair? Where did she go? So quickly? “I...” He doesn’t know where to begin.
Fi considers, My uncle, lost for words.
Suddenly the earth shakes as if a giant has stomped the ground above—the result of the first detonation at the house. Dust falls. The lights flicker and go out.
“Bloody hell.” Edgar switches on his electric lamp, snatches the guitar case strap from Zeke’s shoulder. “Quickly now!” Bypassing the ladder completely, he steps over the edge of the shaft and drops into the darkness below.
* * *
Peter is just entering the tunnel from the wine cellar when the first explosion hits. The ground jerks, loosing bricks from the ceiling. He runs, sliding the haversack more securely onto his back. With the second explosion the cellar door blasts apart, sending splintered shelves and shattered bottles spraying into the tunnel behind him. The concussions continue. The tunnel begins to collapse.
Peter hits the ground and slides feet first to a shaft with no ladder and drops down. He lands in a passage lined with cut stone. This one is crumbling as well. He sprints, knocking falling rocks out of his way, hurdling rubble. He reaches another downward shaft and dives in head first. He hits the floor in the lower tunnel, rocks crashing around him, and bounds to yet another shaft. He stumbles over a slab and somersaults in. Fifty feet he falls, the walls collapsing around him, and splashes hard into a foot of water. And so does all the stone from above.
* * *
Edgar holds the lamp high to provide light for Fi as she climbs down the wrought iron
ladder. A blast rocks the tunnel and the ladder snaps loose from the wall.
Zeke, shining his flashlight down from above, shouts, “Fi!” She screams on the backward falling ladder. The top slams into the lip of the shaft, jarring her loose from the rungs. Edgar drops the lantern and catches her in his arms.
“Hurry lad!” shouts Edgar, setting Fi on her feet.
Fi pulls her flashlight from her back pocket and shines it up the shaft, calls out, “Come on, Zeke!” while Edgar retrieves his lantern.
Zeke shoves the back end of his flashlight in his mouth and swings down onto the tilted ladder. Awkwardly but quickly he steps down the rungs like steep stairs and jumps the last few feet. Mol bounds down easily after him.
Another massive concussion. Edgar hands Zeke the guitar case, shoves him and Fi in the direction they need to go. “Run!”
They do, splashing through puddles, as fast as they can while burdened with their packs. A section of the tunnel caves in behind them.
“Bear right!” Edgar calls out, bringing up the rear. “Go right!”
Fi and Zeke sweep their flashlights through the thick, billowing dust. Mol, now leading the way, barks up ahead. They find the tunnel and dart into it. The earth all round them rumbles and shakes.
“Now left!” Edgar yells over the din. “Left!!!”
They dodge falling rock and almost pass a small entrance, but again Mol barks a signal.
“Fi!” Zeke grabs Fi by her pack, shoves her into the tunnel and bounds after her. He looks back to see the entire passage closing in like the throat of an enormous beast. A boulder falls right at him. He twists and it grazes his backpack, nearly knocking him to the ground. He catches up to Fi and sprints with her. “Run Fi! RUN!!!”
But Fi is running, all the while fearing she’ll trip over her own blundering feet like those stupid girls in the movies. Don’t fall! she pleads with herself. Please don’t fall!
Mol barks wildly, urging them on, but they can’t tell from which direction in the rumbling quake and opaque dust.
Zeke pushes on blindly, his lungs burning. The muscles of his legs are on fire. They’re going to give out any second now and he’ll be buried alive, he just knows it.