Soul Full of Guns: Dave vs the Monsters
Page 10
Dizzy and disoriented by the furnace burning at white heat to repair the damage done to her body, Karin rolled away from her attacker, hooking his legs out from under him as she went. The effect was almost comical, upending Hooper like an idiot cartoon character. The man had no idea of even basic close combat. He crashed to the floor as she regained her feet and counter-attacked.
“Stop!” he cried out pathetically.
But she did not. Karin raised her sword again and again it flickered down on a trajectory to cut him in two.
Again the damnable shield of the steel hammerhead intervened, throwing off a shower of sparks. The American seemed to lever himself away from her, a move that must have taken great strength and speed given the awkward position in which he had been lying. But she had regained her feet and her balance now and Sorrow sang in her ears, filling Karin’s head with hymns of violence and negation as she advanced on her enemy. The ancient steel fang bit into the air, cleaving it with a hissing whisper and driving Hooper back across the room, his footing uncertain, his face a mask of desperation.
She wasn’t even looking at him anymore. She was looking through him as though he were irrelevant. And in a very real sense he was. Karin knew it was the weapon and the soul of the weapon she must first defeat. Best this foe and she could deal with the lesser problem of Hooper at her leisure.
He was panting, begging her to stop as metal clashed and clanged and bright blue and white sparks flew from the metal maelstrom that engulfed them. Hooper backed into the third secretary losing his balance and his concentration. She felt him do something she did not understand but which she guessed was related to the stasis field in which they fought. It was futile, she could feel her way through every fumbling move he made now, and respond in kind. The din of their battle was deafening as they danced around the room, destroying everything they touched upon.
Including Third Secretary Sitnikov.
A glancing block from Hooper’s war hammer turned her blade aside and before Karin could adjust her flow, the Sorrow had sliced cleanly—or perhaps not so cleanly—through the torso of the fourth-ranking officer of the Second Directorate of the GRU. There was nothing for it but to press on and she went at Hooper through the disintegrating remains of her superior.
He swung the hammer at an antique globe which had so far escaped destruction. It came apart in the threshing machine that encircled her.
And then, as though using the chaff of the ruined globe to cover his advance, the American, or rather his lunatic hammer-axe was at her again. Jabbing and swinging and forcing Karin to give up ground. She retreated in a controlled fashion, but there was no denying it was a retreat—all the way back to the gigantic hole she’d made in the wall by virtue of kicking him through it. She broke off contact by reverting to an earlier discipline, gymnastics, leaping backwards through the breach to escape the assault of the weaponized berserker.
Hooper punched through the breach in a storm of debris but by then she was gone, down the main stairwell, past the guards and into an alcove to regain her breath and balance. A rumbling shock announced his landing on the ground floor. He was a fucking show-off too, then. He charged after her, heedless and unthinking, naturally. Karin launched herself from hiding at the lumbering redneck fool, smashing into the shaft of the hammer, which seemed to wrench itself around into a guard position without Hooper’s conscious help. The impact still sent him through another wall and she accelerated after him, leaping with a flying sidekick.
She almost cried out in victory as the stunning blow landed squarely, his rib cage collapsing like rotted floorboards beneath her heavy boots. Then she cried out in frustration as the bastard flew through a window, which disintegrated around him. Nothing for it but to press on, through the yawning hole of the ruined window. She landed lightly on her feet, raised the sword and closed on him at a rush before his ensouled weapon could respond.
Lucille, she thought. He called it Lucille?
And then the enchanted splitting maul blurred around like the hyper-accelerated sweep of a great clock hand and slammed into her thigh.
Karin screamed as the bones shattered and now she flew sideways, slamming into the wall of the consulate like a bag of old rotten potatoes tossed into a cellar. Sorrow fell from her hands and, before she could respond, Hooper was up. He knocked the katana away with his own weapon. She’d hoped he might kick it. Maybe his leg would fall off, giving her victory at the last. But the sword simply clattered away. She heard its mourning song as they lost contact with each other.
Hooper’s eyes grew wide as he watched her leg heal itself. This close, so intimately known to each other now, there was no blocking his thoughts or feelings. Like her he was exhausted, but the American was also confused, conflicted. She stared at him coldly, panting for breath. Her face was ashen and she did not attempt to regain her feet. The leg was still healing and numb. It would collapse underneath her weight she was sure.
Hooper reached into one of his pockets and recovered a small tube. Energy gel.
“That faith-healing trick, it tires a body worse than getting kicked through a wall,” he said. “I’ve done both today.”
He surprised Karin by tossing her the gel.
He introduced himself as she warily bit the cap off the tube of gel.
“Dave Hooper.”
He put up one hand. He was still winded, drawing in great, deep breaths as he spoke.
“I don’t fancy…going another nine rounds…with you…lady. You got my number… If it’s all right with you…I’d like to talk about what’s been happening. To us…to the rest of the world.”
Karin struggled for her own breath against the pain and fever which filled every part of her body. When she spoke, she did so in the voice of Karen Warat. The woman he had been looking for.
“You fought well,” she said, searching him for signs of deceit and treachery. She found none. Just pain and weariness and free-falling confusion.
“No,” he replied, as though they were in the confessional. “Lucille fought well. I was just the donkey she rode into battle.”
She frowned, unsettled by his honesty and insight. She had not expected him to understand that his weapon was not merely enchanted, but ensouled.
“My friend here,” he said, oblivious to her puzzlement. “Mind of her own. Like yours, I suppose?”
He nodded over to where Sorrow lay.
“You give it a name yet?” he asked. “That’s what seems to power them on. Naming them.”
“It had a name already,” she said carefully. It seemed he did not know the soul within his weapon. She could tell as she examined him that this barbarian cowboy understood only a small fraction of the lore which now presided over them, and that only because he had somehow guessed at it based on empirical evidence.
The BattleMaster he had slain had been a thoughtless brute, not well versed in the lore of the Scrolls. As most indeed were not. Hooper and he would be well suited to each other.
She explained the origin of Sorrow’s original name, without explaining that she knew the sword by its less formal, single word translation.
In names lay power and she was not about to cede any power to this man.
“Look,” said Hooper. “Let’s not get off on the wrong foot.”
She smiled then. Genuinely amused.
“Little late for that, cowboy,” slipping back into her cover persona as easily as she would throw on an old coat or jacket.
“Okay. Zing,” Hooper said. “But let’s try again anyway. I know who you are. I know what you are.”
“Back at you,” said Karen Warat. “Although I thought you stuck to monster killing, not politics.”
She turned all her passive sensors up to full again, reading his response to this. He dropped to one knee and opened another energy gel pack before replying.
“Yeah. I don’t much care for politics. I got a feeling that sort of shit might be redundant now. Might even get us all killed.”
Karin said
nothing. Watching him, letting him fill the silences.
“They sent me in to get you, Karen. Is that what you prefer. Karen, not Karin or Ekaterina? I was supposed to bring you out, or bring your body out.”
“Karen,” she lied. “I’m Karen, in here.” She touched a bloodied finger to the side of her head, and almost laid the same hand over her heart, but stopped herself. She might have coughed up blood laughing at him if he had bought such poor and obvious play-acting. “Not such a great first day on the job for you then, Super Dave?” teased Karen Warat, everyone’s sweetheart. Everyone’s favorite. She found the fires of residual suspicion within him and very carefully and deliberately doused them. Giving him a push in the direction where he wanted to go. Of liking her.
Colonel Varatchevsky eased herself up into a slightly more comfortable position while Hooper burbled on.
“I figure if you and I don’t kill each other,” he said. “Maybe we could help each other out. Maybe kill a few things that desperately need killing. Like the daemon that you put down.”
“A Threshrend daemon,” she said.
“And who told you that?” he asked.
“It did. After I killed it.”
There was no loss in giving him this intelligence. She knew he’d had the same experience with the Hunn.
He nodded in turn.
“I thought I was the only one,” he said, as much to himself as to her.
“So did I, for a day or two. Until I saw you in the news out of New Orleans. That was when I knew I had to exfiltrate. Get home.”
“What are you going to do, Karen? I think we both know I can’t stop you.”
She saw the path into his trust opening up before her.
“I’m going to kill more Threshrend,” she said. “And Morphum, and Krevish and Djinn and whatever needs killing, I suppose.”
“In Russia?”
“That is my motherland. I am vowed to defend her.”
He sighed.
“Well, I’m supposed to put a bag on you, but I think we can both see that’s not going to happen. And you’ve already figured out I’m not good enough to do that anyway.”
He spoke the truth but Karin shrugged noncommittally.
“Do you think you and I could talk for a bit, before you go?” Hooper asked. He was almost childlike in his need for somebody to whom he could pass off the responsibilities which had been laid on him.
“About what?”
“All of it. I know some stuff. I killed a Hunn. You must know different stuff. Don’t suppose your Threshrend had any idea what the fuck you turned into. What we are.”
She shook her head and lied to him.
“No,” she said.
“Any idea if there’s any more of us?”
“I think there might be twelve,” she answered, truthfully this time. There was no point to telling him a lie he would soon find out.
He was surprised enough by her answer to make a face in response.
“Why?” Hooper asked.
“Because there are twelve realms. You knew that right? Maybe it’s as simple as there being one of us for each realm?”
Dave blinked at her. Stunned.
He thought she had revealed some Great and Terrible Truth, but she hadn’t. Colonel Varatchevsky had merely fed him a morsel of information that would confirm her good offices in time.
“I never thought of that,” said Hooper. “And Urgon sure as shit wouldn’t. He’s kind of a dumb lug. Like me. So the thresher you killed… Where was it from? Which realm? Or sect or whatever?”
“Qwm Sect,” she answered simply.
“I’m Dave ur Horde,” he smiled thinly. “Pleased to meet you, orc-sister.”
“I think we’re supposed to be blood enemies, not allies.”
“Dar ienamic?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” said Karen in her dedicated, liberal American accent.
Dave nodded, thinking to himself.
“So what do you say we get our bosses to work out some sort of detente while we get a few things straight.”
Good grief. This was even better than she had imagined. It would not matter that they had killed Sitnikov and Podolski. This buffoon would clear the path for her. Still, she had to stay in character.
She disappeared the smile from her eyes.
“Your bosses want me dead.”
Hooper had the good grace to look uncomfortable, perhaps even a little guilty.
“Yeah, well, they’re not gonna be real happy with me either. Come on. Worth a try. You can always just warp out if it doesn’t take.”
“Warp out?” she asked, instantly intrigued. “You mean, like this?” She gestured around them, taking in the frozen city.
“Yeah.” He frowned. “I’ve never held it as long as this.”
“Nor I,” she improvised.
“So you can warp on your own?”
“Not like this. This is you.”
“Huh. I don’t get it. I thought you did this…”
Karin’s face was blank, but her thoughts raced ahead of him. He seemed to know even less about this ability than she did. She would have to investigate further.
“Look, we got stuff to talk about, Karen,” he continued. “But we’re going to need to chill some folk the fuck out first.”
She grimaced.
“I will need to explain why the third secretary is in so many pieces now.”
“And I need to prepare Trinder for disappointment. At least he’s still in one piece. Can we agree to meet in an hour? And if shit gets out of hand, we go to warp and catch up and talk to each other without starting a war this time?”
She eyed him as though weighing up the potential downsides.
He would not be far away and if she worked quickly, focused solely on what he was doing to stop the world, she might learn enough of it to master the skill herself.
“An hour,” she agreed, already working furiously to understand the strange power Hooper had deployed and which she intended to have from him.
It took less than a minute, as you would expect with one raised to the power of dar Threshrendum Superiorae.
A good thing really.
Well before the hour was done they needed her fully powered up.
This Hooper idiot was hopeless.
This is the end of Soul Full of Guns.
If you like it, please leave a review. It really helps.
Dave Hooper will return in Stronghold.
If you would like a free book, and early warning of discounted releases in future, join me at my book club: www.jbismymasternow.com
You can get all my other books at jbsbookshelf.com
<<<<>>>>
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, this book was a collaborative effort. Thanks to my Beta readers, to my editor Deonie Fiford for cleaning up the original manuscript, and Patricia Lye for proofing the final.
The cover art is by William Heavy and formatting by Guido Henkel.
And thanks to you, for taking the time to read. I do appreciate it.
Published by John Birmingham
PO Box 437
Bulimba, Queensland 4171
Australia
First Edition published 2016
Join John Birmingham’s book club at
jbismymasternow.com
for the latest news, book details, and other information
Copyright © John Birmingham, 2016
Cover design by William Heavy
Ebook formatting by Guido Henkel
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the author. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10% of this book
, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS