by Joey Ruff
“Taking her out next Saturday. You should come.” He found the key and turned it. The engine bubbled for a minute and then roared to life. Despite the ancient age of the building and most of its contents, the boat was fairly new. It was clean and well-preserved.
He backed it out and angled it towards the freighter. The engine roared like a chainsaw as it propelled us through the waves. Cold splashed my face, and I could taste the salt.
“Stay on this side of the freighter,” I called. I had to practically shout over the roar of the engine. “If there’s another way up, it’ll be on the other side of those rocks.”
“Got it.”
It’d been a while since I’d been on a boat – something I’d loved since childhood – and I wish I could say I allowed myself to enjoy it. Instead, I was nervous, maybe a bit panicky, but Huxley’s first rule as a hunter was to appear confident. My eyes scanned the edge of the ship for prying eyes – or guns, for that matter – one hand ready to draw my weapon.
As we came around the building, I saw the ledge that came away from the door. It angled up rather steeply to a large landing and two giant spires of rock, the larger of which stood before the cave’s mouth as it had in the Petrovka vision.
Maybe ten yards from the hole the troll had torn in the boathouse, the rock wall was splotchy with red and clumps of tissue. An arm dangled just over the ledge.
“Holy shit,” Chuck said.
“What disturbs me more is that the wanker seems to have disappeared.”
The boat moved under the shadow of the rocks and the natural platform around the spire. I noticed a fixed bridge that connected it to the freighter. It looked like red iron, very industrial, and sturdy. It was anchored straight into the rock.
As we came around the spire, I noticed a small wooden dock against the rock wall. I pointed to it, but Chuck had already seen it and was heading straight for it. He slowed as he neared, and I hopped onto the dock and tied the boat as he silenced the engine.
Before us, a metal ladder attached the dock to the rock platform above. It was also made of iron. Whether Rino, Petrovka, or any one of the owners in-between, it was clear that whoever installed the fixtures didn’t want the cave accessible by the Sidhe.
The rungs of the ladder gave a hollow report as we climbed, and the noise echoed off the cliff face. I hadn’t realized how absolutely silent it had been – like a tomb – and as I climbed off the ladder at the top, I realized why.
The area was a battlefield. Carnage and gore lay scattered as far as I could see. Bodies were piled nearly on top of each other. Rifles and spent casings lay like confetti. Severed limbs and crushed skulls were strewn about. Streaks of red were painted across the ground, splattered against the rocks, the walls, and the spire.
“Holy…God in heaven,” Chuck breathed. “What the hell?”
I took a few steps forward and looked around.
“That happened fucking quick,” Chuck said. “Where is it?”
I looked instinctively to the cave mouth, but it was quiet.
Behind us, the troll roared.
The iron bridge to the freighter was carpeted in pinstriped grey and black fabric. Juice, thick and red, dripped from the slotted grates in the walkway to the water below. Beyond that, on the ship’s deck, the troll lurched from behind a stack of semi truck trailers.
The beast looked worn. Shoulders slouched, arms hung heavy at its side, and the dome of its metal cast scraped across the ground at its feet with a high, piercing sound. The sprouts of hair that at one point had stood at attention now sagged around its shoulders. Its gaze was downcast and almost sad.
Then it saw us.
Renewed energy flowed into it from somewhere in the fucking ether, and it stamped and charged.
“Get to the cave,” I told Chuck.
He didn’t hesitate. He moved immediately and as quickly as his wounded leg would allow him.
I turned to meet the troll with both pistols drawn and fired. It hit the bridge with rugged speed and determination, stepping across the fallen mobsters without batting an eye. Had they not been there, the iron would have kept it from crossing.
I backed towards the mouth of the cave and emptied both mags. The troll was on me faster than I’d realized, and I barely had time to reload as it brought the crushing weight of its clubbed arm down at me. I leapt to the side, hit the ground, and rolled. As I came up, I aimed for its head and pulled the trigger.
The bullet glanced off the top of its skull and grey dripped down the side of its head. I shot two more times. The first bullet sunk into its neck, the second straight through its eye.
Its head flew back and the troll staggered and tumbled against the rocks.
“That wasn’t so fucking bad,” I said.
Chuck appeared in the mouth of the cave. “Did you get it?!”
“It would appear so.”
“Good, come look at this.”
Just inside the cave entrance, Chuck had found a forklift that bore a large wooden crate like the one we’d found at the docks.
“What do you think?” he asked. “Does it have more of those monkey things in it?”
“Seems pretty fucking likely.”
I climbed into the forklift and turned the key. It started immediately, but the purr of the engine sounded too arrhythmic and asthmatic to be healthy.
Behind me came a roar.
“Fuck.”
“Swyftt…,” Chuck said.
“I know,” I said. “Cover me.”
Chuck pulled the Five-seven I had given him and smiled. He backed down the tunnel a few paces, and I wheeled the forklift around to face the troll. It bled freely from its wounded eye, but it refused to stay down. It made a sound, a grunt of some kind, and after a brief pause, it followed that with a series of guttural noises. It came forward one slow step, then another.
From behind me, Chuck fired as I stomped the gas pedal. The forklift hesitated and then surged forward, lacking the power and speed that I’d been going for. I’d hoped for a thoroughbred, instead I got a tortoise.
I moved towards the beast steadily, and it lumbered towards me, one step at a time. Neither waivered, but I lifted the tines.
We collided. The troll fell back on its arse as the wooden crate cracked open like an egg against its chest. Several dozen balls of fur –like stuffed cats – rained over it. The forklift teetered back and nearly fell on its side as it wobbled and then stalled. I jumped off.
The karaiju, free of the wood, began to wake. It started with the slightest of movements: a stirring, a yawn, a wisp of smoke. Maybe it was the smell of the troll’s natural musk that aggravated the little fuckers faster than normal. Within thirty seconds, each and every one of the small, furry creatures was wide awake and shrieking louder than any caged monkey you’ve ever heard. As they cried out in unison into the mouth of the tunnel, the noise echoed and was deafening.
The troll stood, and the karaiju crawled about it – under its arms, over its shoulders, around its thick legs – like living shadows. Gradually, the wisps of smoke that emanated from the monkey things became streams of smoke or small, kindling flames at the tips of their tails no bigger than the little orange glow of a cigarette lighter. Then they all ignited at once.
The troll lit up like a bonfire.
It howled and backed out of the cave as it swatted furiously at itself. I mounted the forklift and cranked the engine back to life.
The troll backed blindly into the rock spire. When it realized what had happened, it stepped forward and threw itself back harder. Again and again it reared back until the spire ran red and the flames had dwindled to half their strength and the fire on its blackened shoulders had all but gone out completely.
It staggered forward, and I hit it. The tines of the lift were still up, and they caught it on the shoulder and pushed it forward. Had the troll been paying attention, it would have braced for the impact and I would have been the one to falter. As it stood, the troll hadn’t expected me and the little nudge was
all that was needed to throw the troll over the edge of the cliff.
It reached up with one hand and caught the edge of the metal ramp. As it dangled, its thick digits smoked and sizzled against the iron in a way the karaiju’s flames could never affect it. One finger slipped, then another.
The troll fell.
I didn’t wait for the splash. As I wheeled the forklift around and moved towards Chuck at the mouth of the cave, my phone rang. It was Ape.
“What?” I said, answering it.
“Are you okay? We heard gunfire.”
“Fucking peachy,” I said.
“Did you find the smugglers?”
“In a manner of speaking…”
I felt the vibration in my seat. At first, I thought the forklift was hesitating.
“I’ll call you back.”
Chuck ran forward, the pistol out in a two-handed grip, and he fired. From the angle, it looked like he was aiming straight at me, but I knew better.
I leapt from the forklift and it continued to move, wheeling off towards the cave and slowing gradually. The Five-seven was in my hand immediately, and I fell into step beside Chuck.
The troll’s blackened, blistered skin was hideous, and it smelled crisp and burnt. The flames were all extinguished, and it pulled itself over the lip of the cliff with a mighty effort. It staggered forward, fell, caught itself, and looked up at us with one red eye.
We continued to fire, but bullets were useless against it.
“This isn’t working,” Chuck called.
“I know. I hoped maybe we could wear it down. We need a new plan.”
The troll staggered again. It was clearly getting weaker, but rage kept it moving.
“The car lot,” Chuck said. “The tear gas. Can we do something like that?”
“With what?”
The troll continued to advance and we backed towards the cave mouth.
“Maybe we can outrun it now? It looks tired.”
I watched the troll, attempted to judge its strength level. Behind it, I noted the way the sky was turning shades of orange and lavender.
“It’s getting dark,” I said. “It’ll regain its strength when the sun goes down. Whatever we do, we need to do it fast.”
The forklift had stalled out nearby, and I climbed into the seat and coaxed it to life once more. Chuck stood on the foot rail and held on to the ledge.
“The tunnel’s about a mile,” I said. “Maybe fatigue will trump rage. If it gets too close, shoot its other eye.”
“Right.”
We lumbered forward at a casual gait, and as we entered the cave, Chuck said, “It stopped.”
“What? Why?”
Something hit the back of the forklift in a loud thump, and it swerved. “Fuck. What was that?”
It happened again. This time, there was so much force behind it, the vehicle fish-tailed.
“Chuck,” I said. “What the hell…”
I looked at him. He wasn’t there.
“Shit.”
I hit the brake and leapt off. In the middle of the cave lay the half-naked torso of one of the mobsters, his shirt hanging in tatters from his shoulder. More of the fabric clung to the back of the forklift.
The troll was throwing bodies at us.
Chuck lay near the entrance next to the body of another of Rino’s men. The troll bore down on him. I was maybe fifteen yards away. The pistol was in my hand, and I fired furiously.
From where Chuck lay, he held his pistol as well and fired towards the troll’s face. A bullet took a gash out of its cheek.
The troll towered over him, and Chuck backed against the wall. It lifted its red stub of a hand above its head. Chuck fired furiously: five, six, seven, eight shots. The gun coughed empty, and he tossed the weapon to the side. He pulled his Glock as the troll brought the metal stump down against his chest with enough force to crack open a bank vault.
I screamed.
The sound of crunching bone was enough to catch the breath in my throat.
The troll brought its gauntlet hand away from the FBI agent, and Chuck fell over.
Dead.
35
I screamed and charged.
The Five-seven in my hand barked angrily, erupting in heat and flame, flashing in the dim light.
The troll stood over Chuck’s body, watching it. A twisted smile seemed to play across its lips, and it didn’t appear to see me. As I neared, it spun suddenly and grabbed me, hoisted me into the air, and lowered me towards its gaping jaws. Its breath smelled of rot.
I fired into its throat. Five, six, seven shots tore through the back of its head and neck.
It tossed me to the side, and I hit the floor just shy of the far wall and rolled. The Five-seven fell away from my hand, and as I rose, I pulled Grace. I slid the first two shells from my pocket and chambered them.
I took a few steps towards the troll, leveled my sights on it, and fired. Iron buckshot erupted and struck the troll in the face and chest with a chorus of sizzles and a few coils of smoke.
I fired again. The entire cave lit up with bright, white light as a column of flame nearly fifty feet long erupted from the end of the barrel. I hadn’t expected a Dragon’s Breath shell. The troll was just out of reach, so I moved closer and held the tip of the flame against its great, heaving belly. The grey skin began to pucker and blister, bubbling under the zirconium flame and the fountain of bright sparks.
Grace breathed fire for nearly four seconds before she sputtered and spit the last few sparks.
The troll charged. Its red metal stub flew through the air before it, and I ducked just in time. It struck the wall of the tunnel and sank in about an inch.
I staggered towards the forklift, recovering my Five-seven as I ran. I holstered it, along with Grace, and climbed into the seat and cranked the engine to life. I had a small head-start before the thundering steps of the troll echoed behind me. Moving further into the tunnel, further from the natural light at the cave’s mouth, it grew increasingly darker, with only the string of construction lights illuminating the rather wide corridor.
I glanced over my shoulder. The troll was following. It was slow and lumbering along at an even pace, but it was there. Gradually, the space between us widened. If I could reach the smaller side tunnel that led up to the house, I could escape it. With all the solid rock in the caves, it was doubtful – even with its brute strength – that it would be able to follow.
Or, if I could somehow get it to break the rockslide, the weapon to be used against Aegir should be more than enough to take the troll down for good.
For an instant, I thought of Chuck and saw the reply in my mind. Sorrow threatened to overcome me, but I pushed it way down, only letting myself shed one, single tear. Then I did what I’d become accustomed to: I turned sorrow to rage and let out a primal yell.
I was taking the bastard down. I’d be damned if I was letting Chuck’s sacrifice be in vain.
My phone rang.
“Ape, it’s really not a good time.”
“Jono, we need to talk.”
“You’re fucking right about that one. I…”
“Are you in the tunnel? We saw a bright flash and…”
“Yes, I’m fucking in the tunnel. I’ve got this fucking troll on my arse, and I can’t fucking shake it. I’m heading to the rockslide.”
“We’re already there.”
“Great. See you in a minute then.” I hung up the phone and said, “Bollocks.”
The troll was still behind me, but its pace had slowed just a little.
I passed the door to the house on my left. After a few more yards, I could make out three forms looming in the distance. Behind them was darkness.
Ape broke away from the others, coming forward to meet me as I neared, and I pulled the forklift to the side and climbed off. The troll wasn’t yet visible behind me.
“It’s coming,” I said. “We don’t have much time.”
“Jono, hang on for a second.”
&
nbsp; “It’s coming. I’ve tried every fucking thing. Nothing stops it. I’ve slowed it, but every time I think I’ve put it down, it just keeps coming back even more pissed off. We need a plan.”
“The new ammo?”
“It goes in, but the wounds close. Nobody told me these things fucking healed like that.”
“Where’s Agent McKnight?”
I looked towards Stone. Rino stood in the corner next to her. His hands were behind his back.
She stepped forward, “Swyftt? What did you fucking do?”
“Jono,” Ape said. “Where…”
“He’s down the fucking tunnel!”
I pointed the direction I’d come, and every eye looked up to see the darkened, hulking form materializing out of the darkness. It came straight for us.
Stone spoke first. “Oh my… God…”
“A troll!” Rino said. “Let me free, Terry. We can fend it off together.”
Ape glanced at him but didn’t say anything.
I looked between Ape and Rino and realized that the Mafioso was in cuffs. “What am I missing?”
As the troll drew closer, the thundering of its steps could be felt underfoot. In the rocks behind Stone, something began to rattle quietly.
“Is this the best time?” Ape said.
“A second ago you couldn’t shut up about it.”
“The weapon…,” Ape sighed.
The silver manacle shot out from between two of the rocks and hovered five feet in the air. The chain that bound it to the cavern floor was pulled as taut and straight as an iron pole. Stone, who was standing near with Rino, screamed and backed away into the corner. Rino’s face lit up with excitement, his eyes going wide. He was a patron of the mystic. Stone, however, wasn’t, and the anguish she’d been trying to mask on her face in a professional manner was overshadowed with alarm and panic.
The troll was getting closer.
The manacle moved side to side. The chain swayed back and forth against the rocks. A few times, it went slack and then snapped tight again as if something was pulling at it.
I turned to the troll.
Beside me, Ape’s breath caught and he said, “It’s manifesting.”
The air around the manacle began to ripple, and a winged outline didn’t so much as appear as it disappeared. It was as though a sinkhole opened in the air, a negative space that suggested something should be there. That something was Petrovka’s gryphon, but it had grown. If the inversion in the air was to be believed, the gryphon was the size of a war stallion, and the tips of its flapping wings touched the walls of the cavern on either side. Its head was low as if charging, one hind leg back and held by the manacle, its tail sweeping furiously in the air.