Fallen Stars (The Demon Accords)

by John Conroe

  At New Haven, we left the flatbed, letting it continue on up I-95 while the compass needle in my head told me that I-91 would be a better choice for us. We hopped off near the beginning of I-91 and, after a few moments without any appropriate trucks coming by, we headed off the highway and into the surrounding city. An Italian restaurant near the overpass caught my attention. First, its smell was amazing and both Awasos and I were starving. Secondly, a big black Dodge pickup had pulled up just outside the front door, the driver heading in alone like he might be picking up take-out. We could see him paying for two big aluminum trays of food through the window. While he chatted with the pretty waitress who took his money, I ripped a set of license plates from another pickup in the lot.

  When he came back out, Awasos sat in front of him, which stopped him in his tracks, and I relieved him of his food and keys.

  We got back on the highway in our purloined vehicle, Awasos riding in the back with one tray of chicken Alfredo while I shoveled ziti and meatballs into my mouth barehanded. There was no wrestling with my conscience over the car theft. Nothing. We needed it, we took it. Figure out the consequences later. He was unharmed, just shocked, angry, and scared to death. He’d get over it; Toni might not. My Grim side was already planning ahead, the matter forgotten. The next rest stop, I pulled into a secluded spot and put the stolen plates on the truck.

  The truck’s radio did provide a decent news channel that was all abuzz about some strange attack in Brooklyn. The reporters were frustrated by the lid that Homeland Security had clamped down on the site and witnesses.

  We drove on, keeping the speedometer pegged at seventy-four, seventy-five miles per hour. The truck was only a few years old, and the gas gauge showed a bit over half full. We drove North, the link to Toni getting stronger, while behind us I could feel Tanya beginning to move our way.

  We drove north for two hours. Grim was just under the surface, acceding control for regular activities like driving and navigating or stealing cars, but ready to take over for fighting and killing. Awasos prowled the bed of the truck, alternately whining and growling, finally settling to put his massive head through the cab windows that I slid open. He could just rest his chin on the broad center console, the rest of his bulk hunched against the frame of the cab.

  I kept getting flashes of Toni. She was scared, but okay. Every time she clutched her pendant, I got a picture of her. First, in the back of the chopper and then moving through some complex and now, finally, settled in a cell, talking with two young people who appeared to be prisoners as well.

  The pull of the pendant finally took us off I-91 in New Hampshire, about halfway up the state. We stopped in a little town, Alstead, grabbed McDonalds at the drive-thru to stay fueled, and kept on. This truck would be a wanted vehicle by now, its description and original plates on every law enforcement system in the country. Who knew when the other truck owner would realize his plates were missing and report them?

  None of that mattered as our luck held and we failed to see a single cop anywhere on the back, wooded roads of New Hampshire. I had to backtrack three times to find the right combination of roads to get nearer to where the pendant pulled me. Finally, an hour after leaving the highway, we were there. A long stretch of houseless road, deep in the woods. One gated driveway that stretched back into the forest.

  Mounted cameras on the gateposts and No Trespassing signs confirmed what the pull of the pendant was telling me. Toni was behind that gate, somewhere in a big complex. Now it was time to go get her.

  Chapter 38

  I drove past the gate without slowing, holding 'Sos’s head to keep him from sitting up and staring at the cameras. Two miles east of the driveway, I pulled off into a snow plow turnaround, which is basically just a short patch of tarmac poking out from the side of the road.

  We left the truck and slipped into the woods, 'Sos on soft predator’s paws and Grim moving forward to guide my steps. My senses expanded as they always do when he takes over, like a driver adjusting the seat and mirrors of another’s car. It had taken close to four hours to get this far and late afternoon had settled on the hilly forest, the woods beginning to quiet as night approached. We stalked into the wind, almost immediately picking up the scent of man and dog.

  Grim slowed and stopped, pausing to build a mental map of what lay ahead. Sounds echoed and reflected, scents swirled in the warm afternoon air, and a picture grew. A softly burbling stream ran along the bottom of a small drainage depression that rose gradually toward the location we were interested in. We moved into it, working our way upstream, letting the water sounds block what little noise we created, just as the westerly wind blew our scent away behind us.

  A mile closer, we paused, rebuilding the mental map with more detail and this time with the position of the first team of man and dog we had smelled. There were two distinct teams who they appeared to be circling the property on opposite sides of the perimeter. The closest team was two men and one dog, although its scent was odd. We sank low in the thick vegetation and observed.

  Two soldiers, both in digital camouflage, and an oversized dog. The men carried odd-looking rifles that I couldn’t identify, and the dog was some strange mix of mastiff and Rottweiler. It was built oddly, with bulging shoulders and a flat forehead that somehow looked too small.

  The men were professional, quiet, and alert. White cords trailed from their right ears and I focused my hearing on them. At first, the distance was too great, even for my hearing. But as their patrol path brought them closer to where we lay, I could first hear voices and then finally make them out.

  “… reports that the target is moving this way and could arrive onsite in as little as two hours. Drones will launch in thirty minutes to get on station. Perimeter patrol, at 1700 hours, one team member will begin sweeping with thermal. Acknowledge.”

  Each of the soldiers immediately touched a small button on the wire that ran to their throat mikes and clicked it repeatedly. The one with the dog leash clicked three times, the other four. That one carried an armored tablet computer which he kept checking as they walked.

  “Won’t it still be light at 1700?” the dog handler asked in a whisper.

  “Yeah, but Control wants us to get in the groove with all our gear long before this Brutal Asset guy can get here. That’s why the drones are going up in a half-hour. The drone drivers will have baseline reading on all their sensors long before the action starts. They’ll be alert to the littlest thing.”

  “Is all this really necessary? I mean, that little girl just got here a couple hours ago. How’s this asset guy supposed to find her so fast?”

  “You pay attention to anything, Razor? They don’t know how he does what he does, just that he does it. The whole kidnap team is gone—dead. The guys in the armor barely bought the others enough time to get the kid airborne.”

  “Doesn’t seem real. I mean, those suits are the bomb! How’s some unarmed dude gonna fuck them up?”

  “That’s the whole point of this clusterfuck. Get him and get his secrets. Now shut the fuck up and let’s stay frosty.”

  They moved on, the odd dog ignoring the humans and concentrating on the forest scents and sounds. On the far side of the perimeter, another team was working along a similar path. Grim formed a plan and explained it to the big wolf in short, clipped words. Then he/I climbed a tree and started hopping across the canopy, tree trunk to tree trunk, till we were in a big oak above the patrol trail. The tree had widespread limbs that overshadowed a big section of potential paths the next patrol might take. In fact, from up in its limbs, it was easy to see the disturbed leaf litter from multiple passes by the two teams.

  Ten minutes later, another pair of men with a mutant dog approached the tree. They kept quiet, staying sharp and alert. Never looked up, though. People just don’t look up that much. The dog didn’t, either. And I/me/Grim had done all our moving up high, so we hadn’t left a scent trail for the dog.

  Their path under the tree wasn’t perfect, but
it was close enough. A sudden memory of me in an aluminum air duct, watching two bearded men with assault rifles who were surrounded by hundreds of scared kids flashed through my head. Then I was falling, faster than gravity alone could propel me.

  The first guard died when my boot broke his neck. But his body crumpling under mine forced me to recompose my position. I rolled and came up just as the second soldier started to turn, his nasty-looking rifle muzzle moving my way. The dog was faster, already headed for me with jaws open.

  Part of me was outraged. Dogs aren’t supposed to bite me; that’s my unspoken agreement with them. But another part of me recognized that this wasn’t an average dog. It was much bigger, with a much smaller skull and a collar that was as much computer as it was neck restraint. I don’t like hurting dogs, but Grim has no such qualms. If it’s a threat to me or mine, it’s dead.

  Turns out, it wasn’t my dilemma. A massive, pony-sized black-and-tan beast slammed the dog away at the same time my hand grabbed the fore-end of the gun and my other hand palm-heeled the dog handler in the chest. The stubby gun shuddered with a soft ripping noise, the tree behind me exploding bark and wood chips in a cloud. My right hand struck again, a short, sharp knife-hand strike to his throat, which in the movies is guaranteed to knock a man unconscious. Grim is not a movie aficionado, more of a field-manual-and-hands-on kinda guy. His karate chop snapped the spine, crushed the larynx, and split most of the neck muscles.

  Head flopping on a spaghetti neck, the body collapsed to the ground. I got the guy's finger off the gun and looked it over while noting that the mutant devil dog’s corpse was drumming out its death dance under Awasos’s jaws.

  The gun had few moving parts, a battery pack in the pistol grip, and a tiny muzzle opening—like two millimeters or something.

  I found a latch, and the whole top of the gun hinged upward in the same way as the breech of a belt-fed machine gun. Underneath was a hopper of sorts that appeared to be stacked with hundreds of tiny flechettes, miniature metal arrows, which alternated silver and dull gray in color.

  Another memory intruded. Black-clad soldiers with boxy rifles that shot hypersonic rounds using magnets. Gauss guns. This one was much more refined and elegant than the ones in my flashback. I left the gun alone, not knowing its secrets, tucking it into the oak tree alongside their bodies, which hung from various tree limbs. I did take their sidearms, a Kimber .45 and a Berretta .40. Guns seemed like a good idea, and my Grim side approved. I also grabbed the tablet I found tethered to broke-neck’s belt. It had a display showing a map of the area. The perimeter line was marked with several buildings, a runway, and a heliport in the center. The runway ran east and west, like an old-fashioned thermometer lying on its side, the bulb of mercury the helipad. The buildings were clustered at the west end, as was the helipad. A big square building marked hangar was tucked on the south edge of the heliport, and another structure marked cabin was to the north.

  We had less than twenty minutes before the drones went up. It would be very hard to hide from the electronic and optical sensors of a modern UAV, even a small one, and I did not want us out in the open when they launched. Grim knew we could knock a drone down, even if I didn’t know how, but all element of surprise would be gone. They were expecting me, just not yet. Probably had people observing the Murray hotel and thinking that I was with Tanya and her crew as they headed this way.

  We moved inside the perimeter, travelling fast. The tablet display updated automatically with information from various sensors spread around the woods. Apparently, the tablet talked to the sensor and caused it to disregard the tablet’s presence. Sweet. Like a passkey through the zone alarms.

  The woods ended at a large clearing that was completely surrounded by a ten-foot chain-link fence. Inside was the short, private airstrip, the hangar building and a log cabin. The hangar was a big square, maybe fifty feet by fifty feet, and had a hunter’s blind of sorts, centered on the highest point of the roof. My vampire-virus-assisted eyesight showed me two sniper types hunkered inside it. With Barrett .50 caliber rifles and a clear line of sight in all directions.

  That was the bad news. The good news was that the hangar was the closest building to the edge of the forest. Toni must have gotten scared at that moment—more scared—as a sudden image of her in a concrete room with bars intruded. The pull was downward, below my feet. Of course it couldn’t be easy. Of course she couldn’t be in the log cabin—no, she had to be under it somewhere.

  We moved closer to the hangar till we were just inside the woods directly opposite the hangar and the sniper blind. The two snipers were facing opposite directions, each scanning a field of fire that took in half of the clearing. Although the closest place a person could hide was the exact spot we were crouched in, they didn’t so much as glance our way. Me… I’d be watching that danger zone something fierce. Then I spotted the white plastic housing of a motion detector mounted on the top of the chain-link fence facing our way. Anything stepping into the clearing would trigger an alarm, giving the snipers plenty of time to trigger .50 caliber death. The fence was ten yards from the forest, the hangar fifty yards from the fence. The side of the blind that faced us was armored with an angled plate of steel that would give the two behind it cover from anyone attempting to snipe them. Clever.

  It seemed like a pretty good setup to me, and I wondered what Grim could do to get past it. He sent a silent mental snort my way, unimpressed. My right hand came up, and a focused burst of aura blasted across the thirty feet between me and the motion detector. The blinking red light on its face went dead, and we were running—fast. 'Sos loped beside me as I leaped once into the clearing and once again, completely over the fence and the now-defunct detector.

  I jumped onto the hangar roof while 'Sos ran around to the front of the hangar. One sniper glanced my way in time to catch my index finger through his temple. I memory flashed on a female assassin in running gear dying the same way.

  The other sniper never even registered my presence, his eye staying glued to the massive scope on his rifle. Grim went for a neck choke but squeezed my arm muscles too hard. The man’s spine separated inside his neck, the vertebrae popping apart like cheap costume pearls on a toy necklace. High in the sky to the southwest, I heard the drone of a small plane, but it seemed to be travelling north and not directly near this installation. I watched it nonetheless. Something about it captured my attention for a moment, a familiar pull in its direction. Glancing at the helipad, something else caught my eye. Two giant rectangular outlines carved into the concrete. Doors—giant concrete doors that opened to the sky.

  A trapdoor on the floor of the blind led inside the hangar ceiling, bringing me to a catwalk and then a ladder down. I just jumped off the catwalk, landing as quietly as possible. A short woof told me my landing had been heard, but by friendly ears. Moving around the Bell 406 helicopter that took up most of the hangar floor, I found a man wearing mechanic’s coveralls dead in a pool of blood, his throat gone, head hanging by a thread. Another man, this one wearing a pilot jumpsuit, was backed up against the side of the copter, frozen in fear.

  Massive jaws a foot from his throat kept him from making big movements, but his body shook with involuntary twitches of terror. 'Sos had taken a prisoner.

  The pull from the single engine plane’s last location grew stronger, rapidly increasing in strength till my head turned itself away from the shivering pilot and toward the front of the open hangar.

  A blue blur flashed from above but made only the smallest of sounds as it hit the ground in the form of a crouched person. A female person, one I knew the identity of without looking. But I was looking… straight into a pair of the bluest eyes ever made. Her stretchy body suit was a lighter blue, a sky blue.

  Standing upright, Tanya pulled off the matching blue helmet and shook her thick black hair free. Then she blurred and was in front of me, inspecting me from head to toe.

  “You’re a mess,” she said simply, smiling at my appearance. Looking d
own, I could see why. My clothes were torn and stained. Food on my shirt and right jeans leg, blood—other peoples’—on my hands, mud and vegetation stuck to my boots.

  “What’s that? Blood?” she asked, suspicious of a red stain on my tee shirt.

  “Ziti,” I answered in my own voice. The transitions between Grim’s control and mine seemed smoother, more natural.