by Paul A. Rice
As with all of his training, Ken was relentless and they soon became used to his hoarse interruptions, it was what he did best and they knew that he was doing it for their own good, doing it to counter a very real, and very dangerous, threat, one that seemed to be getting nearer with every hour. After several days and nights, Ken had ramped up their state of alertness by several notches; the whole team seemed more wired.
They became acutely aware of their surroundings and even managed to use the strange telepathy. Not really well, if the truth be known, as it was Maggie who had seemed to be the hub of that particular skill. But, even though the old woman was gone, they still practised the art and every now and then they would get a quick flash of something one of the others was thinking about.
‘Dust on the horizon, looks like a car going straight past…’ or perhaps, ‘Deer, running by the lake, possible disturbance. Stand…no, wait! Okay, all clear, it’s just a wolf!’ The more they used it the better they became at utilising the skill. It would never be like when Maggie did it; the crystal-clear pictures she had been able to send seemed to be way out of their skill range at present, but the sending of thoughts, sensations perhaps, was now starting to become commonplace amongst them.
Jane and Tori had organised a delivery of supplies from town. Ken had forbidden any trips away from the farm whatsoever; so once again Jack did the honours on their behalf. The two women made sure that everything was well-stocked as far as tinned goods and frozen food was concerned. The men, on the other hand, took care of things like wood for the fires, fresh water for the tanks, and the repositioning of their vehicles.
They had been using both the pick-ups for a while now, the expression on the faces of Red and the two other men, when Ken had dragged the second, miniaturised vehicle out from the cupboard in the RV, where it had lain hidden for years, and then ‘zapped it back to its full size, was quite one to behold.
So, now they had one truck, fully-fuelled, loaded with supplies and camouflaged to the nines down in their last-stand position, whilst the second, similarly-laden vehicle, was positioned by the back door and lay within the cover of several, thick layers of filled sandbags, that way it couldn’t be seen and was protected from the sides by the hastily-built protective walls.
In the event of the farm being overrun, Ken’s plan was an easy one – all everyone had to do was pile into the truck and then run like hell! If it, the first truck, was too damaged, then they would fight a hasty retreat down to the other truck, which lay hidden in the gulley, and then go about some of the aforementioned running. Either way, he was going to do his best to make sure that he managed to get everyone out of there, and in one piece, too.
It had been nearly a week since Maggie had gone, and the job of turning the farm into somewhere more defensible than it had been was now complete. Windows were covered in chicken wire to stop grenades being lobbed through. Although they hadn’t seen any of their previous attackers using such weapons, Ken wasn’t taking any more chances than he had to. Sheets of steel plate had been fixed all around the sides and underneath those same windows, followed by the positioning of a thick layer of sandbags, which acted as added protection. Ken had made them take all the glass out of the frames and build a thick wall of sandbags along the line of the veranda. The old wooden structure had creaked alarmingly at first, and then seemed to accept the enormous extra weight without further complaint.
Ken knew that when it came right down to it, taking the fight outside was their best option – he would only fall back to the house if the going started to get tough outside. He had plenty of options open outside and had made best use of the short time they’d had. Wire obstacles lay in a seemingly haphazard fashion, but only to the casual observer; the pattern in which the wire had been laid was cunningly designed to channel any and all attackers into some carefully prepared fields of fire. Every single opening in the wire would be engaged by at least three different firing positions. Ken had numbered all the gaps and had made sure that everyone had memorised each of the numbers, and where the corresponding gap lay. With a few shouted numbers, he would be able to quickly call upon a veritable torrent of fire to rain onto the targeted gap.
It was whilst he was walking around their defences, kneeling here and laying down over there, checking the distances and the viability of those oft-mentioned fields of fire, that Ken had another strange experience. He was just thinking of how he might have been able to do a much better job with some Claymore mines and a handful of grenades, maybe a sniper rifle or two, if only he had been able to have a chat with George.
As those thoughts waded through the thick mire of his overloaded mind, Ken heard George laughing at him. The sound was so clear that he actually climbed to his feet, dusted his hands on the thighs of his trousers, and looked around. He half-expected to see the old guy sitting in the rocking chair and having a casual drink of beer, whilst he, Ken, grovelled around in the dirt and chicken shit.
Unfortunately, his imagination had obviously been running riot, and except for a few of the offending chickens, Ken was alone. But he had definitely heard George laugh, certainly he had. With that crazy sensation still fresh in his mind, he had one last scout around and then headed for the house; the thought of a cold beer having quite taken his fancy.
He shook his head, saying: ‘Thanks a lot, George, I’ve had enough of this for the time being anyway, let’s get to it, eh, just bring it on!’ Ken grinned as the sound of his own words whispered through the deserted courtyard.
Two minutes later, whilst going for the handle of the fridge door, Ken was interrupted by the sound of Tori’s soft voice. ‘The Communicator’s been flashing – maybe you should take a look, Kenneth,’ she said, softly.
He stopped reaching for the handle, all thoughts of cold beer temporarily dispelled from his thoughts, and ran into the living room. Tori was sitting at the table and reading a magazine, she looked up calmly as an animated Ken rushed into the room, his haste sending the door rebounding off its stop with a clatter.
Ken hardly noticed. ‘When did that start, have you opened it yet, what’s he have to say?’ he said, dragging out a chair and sitting down, whilst looking at her expectantly.
Tori folded the top corner of the page, flipped the glossy magazine shut and then looked up at him. With a small smile, she said, ‘I have no idea, the call is for you, I would imagine?’ Her eyes twinkled and Ken had the feeling Tori had been doing more than just some ‘imagining’.
He laughed at her, saying: ‘God, you lot are unreal! Right then, let’s see what the old bugger has to say for himself, shall we? Why don’t you give the rest of ‘em a shout, make sure someone stays on watch though, yeah?’ As she rose to her feet, Ken started the routine of getting the machine to work.
After waiting for them all to gather at the table, and with Red volunteering to stay on top of the water tower outside, Ken pushed the buttons that summoned the presence of their distant master.
Less than one hour later and the Demon Hunters were somewhat the wiser compared to how they had been prior to the reappearance of their aged mentor. George had appeared with the usual milky swirl, and without much delay soon briefed them up to date. After asking about their well-being and dishing out some warm praise for their efforts and actions so far, the grey-headed one had started.
‘As you may well have gathered by now,’ he said, ‘the Dragon seems to have mastered the ability, albeit a somewhat rudimentary one, to send his people into your current dimension – this is something about which we had no knowledge of whatsoever! I am afraid his actions completely blind-sided us!’ He looked down at them and shrugged his slight shoulders; his action seeming to say: ‘Ooops!’
Appearing to be aware that it looked like an understatement, he immediately apologised, saying: ‘We are terribly sorry about that, but what else should we do? It must be the mist…’ With a slight grimace, George then proceeded to tell them about the latest twists in the tale.
His tale told of how the Dr
agon had indeed managed to send his workers into their parallel, although, it seemed as though his transfer-skills had been far from perfect as many of his subjects had been horribly killed when they had been zapped by whatever method he was using. Ken remembered what Jane had said about the mutilated bodies, the ones Jack had taken care of.
George’s voice cut into his thoughts. ‘I’m quite sure there were several more killed at the departure point,’ he said. ‘Although, it must be said that his method for the disposal of their unfortunate cadavers has been somewhat less dignified than yours...’ The old man fiddled with some unseen buttons and a clip flashed onto the screen.
The image was blurred and interspersed with black shadows and patches of frozen interference, the parts they did manage to see showed a pack of wild dogs, wolves, and other strange carnivores, along with hundreds of buzzards. They were all fighting over the remains of some dead animal or another.
That’s what the onlookers thought at first, until they saw one of the animals break-free and canter off with the hard-won prize clamped tightly between its yellow teeth – the sight of a man’s hand, bouncing and dragging by the side of the wolf’s head, soon changed their perceptions. The beasts were devouring the ruined corpses! The sickening atmosphere was only made worse by a sudden clarity in the picture’s reception. For two or three seconds the silent room was filled with the noise of crunching bones and snapping ligaments.
Michael exclaimed: ‘Urgh! Man…that is just so gross! Grandpa George, do we have to watch this?’ He turned to Junior and the two younger men made puking motions, fingers pointed halfway into open mouths.
George smiled, ceasing the show immediately. ‘It is all part of your education,’ he said. ‘But, you are right, I suppose. ‘Gross’, you say, Michael? I will try and remember that particular colloquialism for future reference. Yes, right, anyway…where were we?’ He then continued to tell them about the fairly large attacking force their enemy had amassed. Nothing more than a bunch of ‘vagabonds and ruffians’ happened to be the term he used.
That phrase would have set most ex-professional soldiers’ minds at ease, but the words he preceded the term with were the ones that Ken paid most attention to. ‘Heavily-armed, vagabonds and ruffians’, is what George actually said. That’s when Ken had jumped in and asked George if they might have a word later, in private?
George had merely waved his hand in a manner that spoke of friendly dismissal. ‘No need to worry, Kenneth,’ he said. ‘No need for secrets or to be concerned about alarming the others, it is all out in the open now, my dear fellow. The battle is nigh and, to put it quite simply, you require some better weapons – yes?’ He smiled at them again.
Ken turned to the others, saying: ‘Sorry, guys! It’s just that I didn’t want to…’ He clamped his mouth shut when he saw the supercilious expression on the faces of his comrades.
Tori said, ‘Don’t worry, Kenneth – we are only pulling-your-leg, we know it would be handy to have some more weapons, and anyway…I don’t think anyone here has even the slightest illusion about the predicament we are in, there’s a lot of them and they’re headed straight this way, that is correct isn’t it, George?’
George said that it did appear as though this was indeed the case, but they were still having problems in penetrating the shield that the Dark One had cast about himself. So, the exact details of where, how many, and when their expected attackers would be upon them, was still very much a mystery.
Once again their only consolation was to listen as he announced: ‘We are working on it…’ He then told them to adopt a more positive attitude as, so it appeared, approximately thirty per cent of their enemies’ transfer attempts were ending in their own annihilation. ‘He sent more than thirty men the last time, and nine of them were turned into corpses before they had even started. That is really good news, is it not?’ George said, with a happy smile.
Ken had the overwhelming desire to throw the ‘everything is relative’ jibe right back in the old man’s face. Maybe he should say something like: ‘Well, let’s just hope that he doesn’t have a thousand men, eh George? That will be good, won’t it? At least it will mean that we’ll only have about seven hundred to deal with – yeah, that would be just brilliant!’ He stopped short of making the comment as he knew it probably wouldn’t have been too smart an idea.
George looked across and smiled at him, Ken smiled back.
It was around about then that the old guy had become more serious; his persuasive banter and gentle sarcasms ceased. He looked at them and said, ‘The Demon has managed to get his hands on two things, two very precious items. One of them is my daughter, Maggie!’
They saw his ancient face collapse slightly, the wrinkles deepened and the old blues eyes took on a more watery glint than was usual. He breathed deeply, coughed once and then explained that the primary aim of the men, who had been sent to the farm, seemed to have been in the testing of the Demon’s ability to conduct the crossing over of things from one dimension to the next. ‘Moving’ as it was now to become known. Apparently their nemesis had somehow managed to figure out the required physical parameters and then put them to good use.
‘It is not a simple procedure by any means, and is something we ourselves had worked at perfecting for many, many years,’ George said, with a gentle shake of his head. With a grimace as he spoke again. ‘The secret lies within the capabilities of his current host, of that we are certain, for it is this person who has taught the Fiend such things, the black veil and Moving are but a few!’ As had become the norm, he then looked down at some notes, before continuing.
‘At this precise moment, the host is in the process of imparting some further knowledge to our enemy, the knowledge of how to use its final weapon,’ he commented. ‘The Demon has taken this man completely, his infestation is so great that it appears as though they have become as one, it is a terrible marriage and very little separates the Darkness from reality; this man must have welcomed the Dark One with open arms, he must have gone looking for it!’
Jane said, ‘Final weapon…what final weapon, what do you mean, George?’ She looked up at the silver screen in uncertainty.
She wasn’t alone in her concerns, there were several other people gathered around the wooden table who were having those exact same thoughts, least of whom would have been Ken. He looked at his wife, and then at Tori, before letting his gaze slide across the faces of the two young men who were also sitting and looking worried – none of the occupants of the room seemed to have any clue as to what George was referring to.
Then George gave them the really great news.
Without blinking an eye, he said, calmly: ‘Our friend has managed to get his hands on a device, the word ‘Nuke’ would be the term used to describe this archaic weapon, I do believe?’ He sat and serenely looked at them.
If Ken hadn’t been doing other things…things like only just restraining himself from screaming…he would have sworn that George was so laid back the man was about to casually inspect his own fingernails. As it was, Ken had no time for such considerations. He had very nearly fallen off his chair.
He roared at the screen: ‘What? Did you just say what I thought you did, a Nuke, what? Whoa, hold on there, cowboy, we didn’t sign up for this shit – a Nuke?’ Ken was absolutely stunned.
His outburst, along with George’s little bombshell, had unleashed a crackling silence, an overwhelming sensation of static tension that forced away all other thoughts, even their concerns for the absent Maggie were now sent scuttling to the back of the line. That one word, ‘Nuke’, was enough for anyone to have taken a quick moment, or two, to think about things – maybe grabbed their bags and headed for the door in a hurry. In fact, let’s just forget about the bags and get running immediately, shall we?
In complete contrast, George sat and looked at them in silence, not a hair was ruffled upon his old head, they may as well have been screaming about the dangers of an exploding marshmallow, for all the concern he dis
played. Over the next twenty seconds, or thereabouts, he sat back and allowed the unleashed avalanche of random questions to smother him.
From Michael’s: ‘Don’t we need to build a bunker?’ To Junior’s: ‘I never heard of any Nuke, never heard of such a thing, is it from history or something?’ From Jane’s: ‘Oh God, George, whatever next, what are we supposed to do about this?’ To Ken’s ubiquitous: ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ Their questions and horrified remarks kept on coming. It was only Tori who didn’t add to the rambunctious ranting of the confused Hunters. She sat quietly and waited for her much-loved family to calm down. Although, it does have to be said, her blues eyes had taken on a slightly brighter gleam than as was usual – when Ken caught a glimpse of that look, he couldn’t figure out if it was fear, maybe excitement, or possibly joy.
Perhaps it was all three.
George sat there and waited whilst they squabbled amongst themselves, listening to them as they fired questions to-and-fro, questions that no-one had any answers to. No-one, it seemed, except him. In the end, their furore had burned itself out and the only sound remaining was that of a few coughs accompanied by the drumming of some anxious fingertips on the wooden table. Junior’s chair creaked loudly as he adjusted his weight.
Silence befell them.
Hearing their ranting cease, George said, ‘Have we quite finished?’ Their silence was in the affirmative. ‘Good!’ he said, ‘I am sorry my revelation has caused such a panic, truly I am. I had no idea that it would be received so badly!’ He shook his head woefully and proceeded with the tale.
The Demon had managed to take control of a man who was at the centre of a secret project, one that had been underway in the remote northern mountains of a land known, to Ken and his wife, as Afghanistan. George said, ‘In your time it was known as that place, the place where we first met, but in Jack’s time things were different there, certainly the place was still known by that name, but its history and the future that lies before it, are totally different!’