by Bryan Fields
Rose was asleep by the time I got to bed. I thought I was too tired to go to sleep myself, but I did.
Black dust covered my feet. I shook it off my shoes and tried walking, but I kept sinking into it. The dust was as fine as ash, and just as ephemeral. Walking was a pain, so I floated up a foot or so and had a look around.
It looked like Boulder, but I couldn’t see the mountains through the haze of ash in the air. The buildings looked the same, but somehow diminished. Less substantial, as though they were made of eggshell and cardboard instead of brick. The only color I could see turned out to be right behind me—the Dushanbe Teahouse.
Mom was sitting at a table next to the fountain, sipping a cup of glowing golden-red tea. I sat down at the table and tried to talk to her, but nothing came out. She took a drink and started glowing herself. The steam from the tea rotated as it rose into the air, forming a DNA double helix.
Mom said, “It carries more than they realize. They need to live in fear. Fear keeps insanity away.” She started to fade away, taking all the light with her. She reached out toward me and said…something. Something important. I reached out for her, and woke up just as I fell out of bed.
It was three forty-five in the morning. I rambled into my office and wrote everything down before I forgot. Almost everything, anyway. I tried to do a search on the line “fear keeps insanity away”, but got no meaningful results. I rubbed my eyes, and when I opened them again, Thirteen was sitting on my desk.
He pointed to a blank whiteboard behind me and, in a deep, resonant voice, said, “The math is wrong.”
I woke up with half of the keyboard pressing into my face and a terrible crick in my neck. I staggered back to bed and fell asleep hoping anyone else with a message for me would just send a damn email.
Chapter Fifteen
Call to Arms
Morning sucks.
I rolled over and grabbed a notepad out of the side table. By the time I got the details down, Mother Nature was calling and I’d found an R key next to my pillow. Rose was still asleep. I freshened up and went downstairs. Thirteen was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, ears back, hat missing, holding something in his paws. It was still twitching.
Great. Under the layers of genetic code, there’s obviously still a cat in there somewhere. I sat down and said, “Please tell me that’s not a baby bird or something.”
The cat snorted. He pushed the fluttering thing toward me, keeping a good grip on it the whole time. It had patches of fur and smelled of decomposition. I picked it up with a paper towel. Once I had it, Thirteen took off. I carried the squirming bundle into the kitchen for a better look.
In the morning sunlight, it was clearly most of a squirrel. About a third of it had been stripped away and replaced with bronze gears and copper tubing. The brain was enclosed in glass, with a bundle of wires feeding into it, and an inch-long crystal point running lengthwise through the middle.
The tubes connected to pistons on all four legs. Maybe they provided extra force for running and jumping. The internal organs and intestines had been removed, and the eyes replaced with polished lenses the size of a BB. The ribcage held a hydraulic pump connected to a spinning metal cylinder. I pulled the cylinder’s mounting bracket loose and the critter went limp.
Thirteen returned with his hat back in place. He jumped up next to the sink, turned the water on, and washed his paws with soap.
“Well, crap…” I looked the mess over and sighed. “Hopefully we don’t have to whip up a vat full of thermite to get rid of this thing.”
“Get rid of what? And what is that smell?” Rose got the orange blossom water out of the fridge and splashed some under her nose.
“Cat caught a spy. Have a look.”
“Hmm.” She poked and prodded a bit before shaping her fingers into talons and popping the glass cover off the skull. She slid the crystal point out of the brain and set it aside. “Get me that big iron skillet.”
The squirrel went in the skillet and the skillet went on the grate of my charcoal smoker. Rose made sure the cat and I were well back as she focused on a spell. Antifreeze-green liquid dripped from her hand into the skillet. She yanked her hand away as the liquid touched the squirrel and ignited.
“The Rain of Flesh Rending,” she said. “Only used in times of war. It’ll burn anything organic, and keep burning as long as it has fuel.”
Ick. “You’re buying me a new skillet.”
The fire burned the squirrel to ash and the ash into nothingness. The seasoning on the inside of the skillet burned away, leaving the iron surface factory-fresh. The hardware from the squirrel was shiny and clean as well. I reached for it, but couldn’t bring myself to pick it up.
Rose pushed me toward the house. “Go warm up the leftovers. I have a few things to try with this hardware.” She proceeded to disassemble the squirrel’s cybernetics, examining each part in detail. She got to the crystal eyes and said something in Draconic. It didn’t sound like good news, but nothing does in Draconic.
“Problem?” I set a pile of enchiladas down in front of her.
“All the metal parts are from Earth. So was the squirrel.” She poked the crystals and said, “These are not.”
“So we could use them to find his world? Could we warn the powers that be about him and let his own people deal with him?”
Rose frowned. “Giving us the key to his homeworld is a rookie mistake. If I were in his position, I’d use something from a world capable of destroying my enemies and hope it lures them to their doom.”
“Dragons are so suspicious.” The pile of parts looked harmless, but they were inspiring me to suspicions of my own. “But baiting us into attacking where he wants us to attack sounds like a good plan.”
“Yes.” Rose looked into the crystal point, rolling it around and watching the play of light in the facets. “What do you call it in a game when you can’t see the entire map until you go everywhere?”
“Fog of war.”
“That’s it. We’re both operating without seeing the whole playing field. The thing is, neither your world nor mine has ever produced anything like this squirrel. I’d say a Gnome fabricated the metalwork, except that it’s both practical and functional. Gnomish design, but Dwarven execution. The necromantic spells animating the squirrel followed the lines of Human magery.” She held up the crystal point. “The crystal itself could only have been created by another Dragon, but the magic activating it is also Human.”
“Thain’s been dead for a while. Maybe he went to night school, had a few hobbies.”
Rose scowled tapped on the table in front of me. “Or he knows a spell to absorb knowledge and skills from his victims. He did manage to learn a great deal about medicine and whatever else to be able to work on the Loseitall trial.”
Oh, shit. “I think it’s time we stopped trying to fight him on our own. We have friends with resources. Let’s bring them in.” I looked at the calendar and tried to remember what day of the week it was. “We have archery tomorrow night. Let’s take what we have, and go out to dinner afterward to discuss it.”
“You should call your friend Ishmael, too.” Rose swept all the squirrel hardware into a plastic bag and dropped it in her purse. “I doubt the Visitor Services Division will be of any use, but you never know.”
I should have known. “Is that what his group is called?”
“It was when we set it up.” Rose gave me an apologetic shrug. “There have always been Humans who didn’t cope with the loss of the acceptance. They needed something to do. Visitor Services has been useful from time to time. Just… Please let them keep thinking it was their idea?”
I sighed. “No problem. I’ll call him after I talk to Miranda and Ember.”
Miranda said she and Jake were down for a war council after archery, except for one thing. “You guys have been busy, so we didn’t want to add another issue to your plate. The range lost its lease and the land is being turned into a giant soulless corporate sweat box. R
esistance is futile.”
“Well, that sucks. Anyplace else we could use?”
“Yep. We found a nice place on Highway Seven just east of Lafayette. I’ll email you the directions. You two have to be there, anyway. Jake and I have been working on something and we’re going to be bringing some show and tell to play with.”
“This isn’t that naked-women-with-guns tarot deck Jake came up with, is it?”
Miranda coughed. “No, he’s still working on that in his spare time. He wanted me to pose for the Queen of Shotguns so he could create some sample cards. Not gonna happen. But, no, this is a real project. It’s really cool.”
“Sounds good. We’ll see you tomorrow.” I hung up, shaking my head. The last next big thing Jake had dreamed up was a line of navy-colored condoms wrapped in badge-shaped gold foil envelopes. He was going to call them “The Thin Blue Lining”, but Miranda exiled him to the couch until he changed it to “Body Armor”. Last I heard he was trying to trademark Serve and Protect as a marketing slogan.
Thirteen decided to hop into the Land Rover while I was loading our bow cases in the back. I thought about trying to shoo him out, but trying to keep a shamelessly teleporting cat out of anywhere is a pointless exercise. Instead, I tickled him under the chin and asked, “What have you got planned? Cruising for loose country girls?”
He shook his head and stood up on his hind legs to look over the seat, making a harsh, querulous growl as he surveyed the street and the park. After a few seconds, he pointed across the street with a single extended claw. I looked where he was pointing. At the edge of the park, the evening sunlight was glinting off something moving through the branches of a big oak.
“Yeah, I figured he’d send backup.” I ruffled the cat behind the ears. “Thanks for the warning. I guess we’d better get ready to rumble.” I went back inside and told Rose about the squirrel.
Her eyes turned crimson and she hissed Draconic profanity, smoke curling up from her nostrils. “I am tired of hiding,” she said. “It is time we settled accounts.”
I nodded. “Yep. War council tonight. I’m going to bring all our new toys, just in case.”
“I’ll meet you outside,” she said. “This will just take a minute.” She headed downstairs.
While she was away, I went up to my office to collect our hardware. I carried one tactical knife on my belt, concealed the others, and replaced my compound bow with Kindness and the macuahuitl. By the time I’d finished playing musical weapons, Rose was back and ready to go.
“Mother will watch the house tonight,” she said. “She brought all the younglings from her Masquerading as Human class with her so they can learn about television, pizza, and Chinese takeout.”
“They’re studying college life?”
“No, they haven’t gotten to using drugs yet. They’re on teenage life in Western cultures. They have to pass that to get their driver’s licenses.”
“One of these days I want to see your mom’s lesson plans.” I aimed us toward I-25 and headed north.
The range was in the semi-rural part of old Lafayette, an area that still manages to look like something from a Norman Rockwell painting. Some of the houses we passed dated back before the Depression, sheltering hardscrabble folks clinging to the dwindling remains of their family farms. An abandoned gas station boasting prices from the mid-eighties sat next to the entrance to one of those mobile home parks where you own your space rather than rent—premium-grade Tornado Chow.
We turned in at the feed store, and drove past a grain elevator, several silos, and a pack of sleeping hound dogs before coming to a converted warehouse. The sign over the range door read NOCKED AND LOADED. I stifled a moan.
Most of the BADASSES—Boulder Area Deathmatch, Apocalypse, and Zombie Survival Society. Yes, we’re armed geeks—had arrived already, so we introduced Thirteen to everyone and started getting set up. Ember introduced me to a friend of hers named Ron, who had just joined BADASSES. While we talked, Rose pulled Harmony into the bathroom to brief her on the situation. Both looked grim when they emerged.
Jake and Miranda arrived ten minutes later, carrying in a couple of good-sized boxes. Miranda made everyone sit down and make drum roll noises. When it finished, she said, “Ta-da!” and lifted a sculpted 3-D zombie torso out of the box.
“Say hello to Zombie Bob! Suitable for rifle, pistol, bow, crossbow, throwing knives, bet’leH, frying pan, whatever. He’s made from a cellulose honeycomb, totally biodegradable, with penetration resistance similar to ballistics gel. And he bleeds when you cut him.” She planted a kiss on Zombie Bob’s rotting cheek and added, “We’re going to try to crowdsource the funds for our initial production run. Anyone want to help us make a demo video?”
The things we do for friends. I raised my hand. Most of the others did as well.
Jake opened his box and pulled out a matching female torso. She had greasy blond hair, a ragged white tank top, and the remnants of a really slutty makeup job. “Meet Bob’s girlfriend, Amber Cadaver! Yes, her shirt is removable, if rotting boobies turn you on.”
“Our first decent product idea and he has to bring Rule 34 into it.” Miranda shuddered. “I wanted to make her a soccer mom.”
Lucas, the range owner, wasn’t keen on targets oozing all over his floor, so Jake put down a tarp and pinky-swore he’d scrub up any spots. The targets didn’t really bleed so much as ooze a greenish-black gelatin. It welled up at the edges of a wound and stayed there. It looked nasty, but it made it easy to focus on getting consistent groups.
The targets did not go over well with the other customers. One kid who looked to be in high school thought they were awesome, but his dad and grandfather used words like “juvenile” and “nauseating”. Two other shooters decided to leave and demanded a refund on their range fees. At that point, Lucas insisted the targets be removed.
I have to admit, I thought the targets were pretty juvenile. They seemed too geeky to appeal to most rednecks, and too outdoorsy to interest most geeks. It might go over at a Halloween-themed paintball course, but not much else.
While Lucas was happy to gain a dozen regular shooters, he wasn’t happy about the ones we drove away. “You all are welcome to come in and shoot, but I have to ask you not to scare my regulars off. I won’t let anyone give you grief while you’re here, but I need you not to rub your lifestyle into people’s faces. Can we agree to that?”
As a group, we agreed, and for the sake of getting along with the locals, we decided to forgo our usual human silhouette targets and stick with the standard circular ones. Once we stopped doing crazy stuff that alienated the other shooters, the atmosphere mellowed out and we managed to start making friends.
After an hour or so, I decided to skip a few rounds and look at some high-end carbon fiber shafts as possible replacements for my old cedar arrows. I’d started doing archery in the Society, and only wood arrows were allowed under the rules. They were holding up, but they were still well over ten years old. My shopping trip put me in front of the store window, so I got a good view of the police car pulling up. I made sure my hands were visible when officers Wells and Ackerman came in.
Wells stopped at the front counter and said, “Evening, Lucas. We got a call about some circus types causing trouble and carrying out indecent perversions in public. There was also something about desecrating corpses. Any idea what might be behind all the ruckus?”
Lucas looked at me, and then back at Wells. “Just a difference of opinion between some regulars and a new group of shooters. Nothing serious.” He pointed to me and said, “This gentleman is one of the new folks. You might talk to him.”
I said, “We didn’t mean to upset anyone and certainly apologize if we did. If it would help, two of the people in our group are officers with District One in Denver. I’m sure they could answer any questions you might have.”
Wells smirked and followed me toward the range area. “I’m sure. I really want to hear about this corpse desecration thing. We don’t get many ca
lls for that.”
A gust of wind rattled the windows and sent loose pieces of sheet metal banging against one another. A second, more powerful, one hit, shaking the building. Thunder followed it, loud, continuing, and getting stronger. Green lightning danced over metal surfaces along the walls and ceiling.
I looked toward the front window. It was like that old joke—I didn’t know how many of Thain’s undead minions it would take to kick our ass, but I knew how many he was going to use.
Flashes of lightning illuminated rows of figures standing in formation in front of the store. Humans, Elves, Dwarves, a few seven-foot tall savages I assumed were orcs or goblins of some kind. They were months, even years dead, wearing remnants of battle-scarred armor caked with grave mold. They held rusted weapons at their side, ready to draw and attack at a moment’s notice.
Without looking away from the window, I said, “Tell me, Officer Wells—how do you feel about desecrating corpses that want to kill you?”
Chapter Sixteen
A Dead Man Goes to War
Of course, Thain wasn’t immediately visible. Like any good general, he was probably hiding far in the back. We could deal with him later, though.
I ran to the front door and planted my foot against the bottom edge. I shouted, “Lucas! Get the door locked!”
“What are you talking about?” He looked out the window and asked, “Who are those assholes?”
“An army of the dead who want to kill us all. Now lock the damn door!” I looked out again just as the dogs from the feed and grain ran up, barking and growling at the dead soldiers. Three of the dogs settled for barking and withdrawing, but one Rottie attacked. He went after the nearest soldier, biting the corpse’s arm and yanking. The elbow broke backward and the entire arm came away at the shoulder joint.
Two soldiers pushed forward, thrusting spears into the Rottie’s chest and back. A third brought his axe down on the Rottie’s head. The other dogs tried to run, and the soldiers hacked them to pieces. A big guy in overalls charged in swinging a baseball bat. He dropped one soldier before an axe split his face apart.