Arsch stood up and hoarsely whispered, "My Dude."
I turned toward him, picked him up, and hugged that little bastard.
"What's happening?" he asked.
"Shh," I said, "I'm getting you out of here."
"My people?" he asked.
I looked around. There were at least a hundred gnomes. Women, children, and men were all categorized by size. Some women held their infant gnomes, while some men held their young daughters.
"Go out the back, turn right, and follow the circle around until you see the sewage. I'll meet you there," I told him, looking around.
"My Dude.”
"Fucking go!" I stage whispered harshly.
Chapter 22
Sometimes you do what's right morally, instead of what's right logically.
Sometimes you reach fuck it.
I made a choice for the gnomes who were standing in formation. I made a choice that I had no right to make but felt they would want me to make.
If you were possessed as a slave in your own body, would you want to be freed, and potentially die, or would you want to be a thrall the rest of your life?
As for me, I chose freedom.
There was no sense in letting the squids know what I was doing yet, so I quietly started ripping the fungi from the back of the slave's necks.
One by one, they fell, and one by one, they got to their knees, shook their heads, and remained stealthy.
They knew where they were, and they knew what I was doing.
Arsch, of course, didn't go. He had followed my lead and was ripping the fungi from other gnomes necks.
Before long, there were at least fifty gnomes, and a considerable dent in the formation.
I looked up to see what the squids were up to and noticed that they were all gone. Well, at least I couldn't see them.
"Fuck," I said out loud.
Arsch stopped and looked around, his hands up in some sort of boxer crouch.
I popped my PVS-14s down and turned the gain all the way up.
I swallowed hard as I noticed at least two sets of four lights headed in my direction from each side of the formation.
"Run!" I yelled.
I then raised my M4, depressed the pressure switch to engage the laser, and centered on the lead asshole.
I rotated the selector switch to semi and pulled the trigger.
I pulled it too many times. The fucktards were lined up one behind the other, and squids don't have bones.
Three rounds waisted, when only one would have done.
The first group of squids pulling from the right dropped like the sacks of shit they were.
I spun, just like in reflex fire drills, dropping my barrel, turning around, and raising it once again.
I fired a single round at the nearest light a mere ten meters from me.
All four assholes fell instantly.
I focused with my normal eye and looked around.
The gnomes were all on their knees, holding their ears.
"Fucking run!" I yelled again.
Arsch stood up and looked at me. His eyes showed determination. He would not run. He was the Scout Master, and he would not run.
I nodded, finding myself happy to have a friend.
"Hug the right wall!" I yelled to all the gnomes fleeing for their lives.
Arsch continued pulling fungi from necks and yelled, "My Dude, keep a lookout, I'll pull their," he paused, "things!"
I nodded, although I doubt he saw and moved purposefully towards the entrance on the opposite side of where I came in.
I want to reiterate that I was wearing my plate carrier, and I was thankful for the fact because three darts hit me hard in the chest.
They actually made me stagger back a step.
I scanned around for where the darts came from but found nothing.
"We need to go!" I screamed.
Arsch looked at me and then looked at the remaining hundreds of thralls still captured.
I knew what he was thinking, but I also knew that we were at a distinct disadvantage. Worse yet, what if the squids started taking control of the thralls in the formation.
Arsch nodded and started for the exit.
You can't save everyone.
I ran for the door as well, keeping my eye open for any lights.
"Stay right," I said.
Arsch went out the door and ducked right.
I exited and saw four huge centipedes flanked by at least twenty ants coming towards us from down the way.
The centipedes were at least thirty feet long and had large red pincers with some sort of blue ichor dripping off the ends. They were not coming slowly.
I let my M4 hang and pulled out an M67.
For those who are not aware, the M67 fragmentation hand grenade is shaped like a baseball and is loaded with composition B explosive in the center. It has a fuze that detonates between three and five seconds.
The blast radius is five meters kill, fifteen meters wound, although you are probably gonna take a piece of hot shrapnel if you are within a hundred feet of the blast.
I judged the distance between the centipede and me and thumbed the safety off the frag. I then twisted and pulled the ring. I popped the spoon and counted to two, and tossed the frag underhand and ducked around the corner.
I was rewarded with a large waboom, as the frag detonated.
By the way, I know some of you have been fooled by Hollywood and their pathetic imitations of what a grenade looks like when it explodes. Let me assure you, there is no big fireball. There is a fireball, but it is very brief and barely noticeable. There is a big black puff that dissipates quickly, and everyone can see. What everyone cannot see is the little spikes of hate that fly from the detonation in a three-sixty. Hollywood also doesn't prepare you for the hard-hitting thud that knocks the breath out of those unprepared.
I imagine that if the centipedes had been wild, they would have fled at such a display of hate, but they weren't. They were being controlled by some fucking squid somewhere else.
Is chiton bulletproof? I was about to find out.
I took a knee, popped around the corner, and saw that I had taken out the left two centipedes with my frag, but the right two were still well on their way towards me. The innermost one that is the one closest to the blast was missing some legs and part of its mandible. It was still coming towards me, though, fairly quickly.
I rotated my M4 to rock and roll and proceeded to pull the trigger until I felt the terrible sensation of the bolt carrier locking to the rear.
I quickly dropped the mag and put in a fresh one.
The centipedes were dead, but the crickets were still coming.
They were spread out too far for me to use a frag effectively or make a concerted effort to kill them.
I grabbed my empty mag, threw it in my dump pouch, and ran.
The crickets were fast, but I was faster on flat ground.
Arsch and I rounded the colosseum and made it to the sewage ditch. We turned left and headed down it until we saw a group of frightened gnomes, dwarves, and one giant bastard who I later found out was a cave troll.
The whole city was alerted now, and I had no desire to kill gnomes or dwarves.
"Where does the sewage lead?" I asked.
"We think the river, but we can't be sure," Arsch replied.
The crickets began to creep around the corner. I also saw a group of trolls and gnomes coming from the other direction.
"Stay and fight or jump?" I said, stating the obvious.
Cave trolls are generally stupid and reckless, but the one standing near us apparently had no desire to stay and fight. I can't blame him.
He pushed the others aside with ease and leapt over the side of the sewage fall.
I tried to listen through the sobs and moans but heard nothing.
"A splash!" Arsch yelled excitedly.
The crickets were within a few meters but had arrayed themselves in a decent line. I began to pick them off one by one.
"Fucking go!" Arsch yelled.
I had never been so proud.
I backed up as the crickets made their way forward, intent on seeing me become a meal.
Five seconds later and another mag change, I was on the edge of the shit cliff staring down a horde of crickets, trolls, and other sentients.
"My Dude, jump!" Arsch yelled.
I wasn't waiting for an engraved invite; I turned and leapt.
Chapter 23
While it felt like a long fall, it only took three seconds to splash into the river below. I was smart enough to push my M4 out, so it didn't smack me in the face when I finally hit the surface.
I guesstimated we fell about one hundred and fifty feet. I hit hard. I also kept sinking.
The impact of me and my ruck hitting the water caused my helmet to fling off my head. My NODs were tied down to my plate carrier, so my helmet just sort of acted as an anchor.
My ruck floated, but my boots, plate carrier, ammo, and whatnot decidedly did not.
My ears hurt as I plummeted towards the bottom. I scrambled to reach for my emergency cord on the front of my plate carrier, but my right arm was entangled in some sort of web-like clusterfuck of helmet, dummy cord, and sling.
I fumbled around with my left hand when I violently struck the bottom of the river. My chin and nose were dragged hard against the slick stone. My ruck had done a great job of keeping me perfectly horizontal.
My air was running out.
I pushed up hard with my hand and kicked off from the bottom. I shot like a missile towards the top. My lungs begged for air, and my throat started to panic swallow.
I reached the surface in what felt like an eternity.
I gulped half a breath of air and half a breath of water, and then gravity decided to be a heartless bitch. I dropped like a rock again, my ammo and plates leading me down to the darkness below.
I'm ashamed to admit, I did the worst possible thing someone could do in that time, I panicked.
I thrashed helplessly and only succeeded in wasting energy, entangling myself further, and causing my lungs to beg for air.
I gave into my base desires, knowing it to be stupid, but I tried to breathe.
My lungs filled with cold water, probably the most painful experience ever.
The edges of my vision began to close.
I heard a voice say, "Ke non dequa kya shesh."
I saw a light flash before my vision faded quickly.
I woke up on the most comfortable bed; it was squishy, warm, and relatively dry.
"Man move," said a very deep and very guttural voice only a few feet from my head. It wasn't a command, but a statement.
"My Dude," I heard in a stage whisper.
"Arsch?" I croaked. My chest and throat hurt bad, and I felt like every rib in my chest was broken.
"Easy, My Dude," he said.
"Hooves, balls, and mouth, what happened?" I cursed.
"Man good?" came the guttural voice near the edge of my raft. The voice was deep, and with every word, I smelled rotten fish.
"He's good," Arsch replied, and then squished his way across the raft to me. "Thank Donker, he's good!"
"I can't see," I said, noting the complete blackness.
"Lights are out," Arsch responded, "We're still in the river. We don't want to attract anything."
"How long," I choked out, and started coughing, hard.
I heard a dozen shushes from various points around.
"Quarter day, I think," Arsch whispered back. "It's hard to tell in here."
I nodded and then realized he couldn't see me.
"Luckily, you found this raft," I whispered.
Arsch let out a giggle. "Luckily, this raft found you."
"Huh?"
"Man glow. Lady say find you, not die. Not find you, get skin ripped off," he said with that deep base.
I suddenly realized I was not on a raft, but on a very buoyant cave troll.
I didn't get a chance to explain what a cave troll looks like, and while I couldn't see him in the dark, I did have a vivid mental image of him as he ran for the edge.
Cave trolls have jet black tops, right above the waistline, and mottled gray legs. They stand twelve feet or so, with bulbous and blubbery, almost human-like muscular portions. Their hands are just like human hands, only bigger, but their feet are webbed and resemble that of a frog. They have wide heads with large black eyes, and bat-shaped ears sticking out from the sides. Needle-like teeth adorn their wide maws, and a cave troll smiling is about the creepiest thing you will ever see.
Also, they float.
"We're on the cave troll?" I asked.
Arsch quickly responded, "He doesn't like that name, it's demeaning."
"Not troll," the troll said harshly.
I noted that no one told him to hush.
"Us sorry," I said to my raft. I was still wearing my plate carrier and could feel my arm was wrapped up in the dummy cord. There was no need to piss him off.
"We good," he replied.
Cave trolls, as we call them, have absolutely nothing in common with the ravenous asshole trolls who walk the forests near Teletha, except maybe their size.
"So, uh, what do I call you?" I asked.
He let out a few choice words that I couldn't even hope to repeat.
I was about to say bless you, but I wasn't sure if the guy had a temper.
"Did you get that?" I whispered to Arsch.
"Umm, no," Arsch responded, and then added, "Can we uh," he said timidly, "call you something else?"
He was quiet for a while, and I wasn't sure if he was angry, hadn't heard us, or was thinking.
"Don't understand," he said.
"Different name?" I said, "New name for us?"
"Yes," he responded.
"What's a good name for a ca-" I didn't complete the word, "him?"
"Never had one," Arsch said flippantly.
"Thanks," I said unamused.
I sat for a moment, contemplating. The cave trolls stomach was comfortable and warm, and I realized I was one of the only ones not floating. I suddenly felt a little guilty, as everyone else was stuck in the cold water.
"How does Bob sound?" I asked.
"K," he replied.
Arsch laughed a little, "Really, My Dude?"
"What?" I asked.
"Because he's just bobbing in the water?" he said.
I laughed a little too, "In America, it's a common name."
"Do they have a lot of rivers in America," he asked.
"Well yes, but," how do you explain the concept of a name that has nothing to do with the action. "Bob is just short for Robert," I said.
"Does Robert mean to float?" he asked seriously.
The magic that was used to translate my speech had some weird and unpredictable consequences. This was just another example.
"No," I said, suddenly realizing how exhausted I was.
The adrenaline of waking up in a new place, not able to see, and being disoriented was finally wearing off.
I let out a small yawn.
"I can wake you up if anything happens," Arsch said pleasantly.
"Need to get my arm free first," I said.
Within a minute, Arsch was next to me, working the cord, sling, and ruck strap loose.
I stretched out my arm and felt my shoulder scream with pain. It was the type of pain that would be there a while but didn't render my arm unusable.
I checked my helmet, my NODs, and my other items. I didn't lose anything on the drop, and my NODs were still operational. It would be pretty stupid to have gear that a grunt would use that would die the first time it fell in the water.
I put the monocle up to my eye and powered on the IR flood.
Looking around showed me at least three dozen sets of glowing eyes. I looked at Bob and saw that his eyes were shut, and he seemed to be enjoying the rafting trip. All the others were huddled together, most just floating on their backs, resigned to the long trip it w
ould take to reach the end or our deaths.
I wanted to ask Arsch some questions, but I realized the Z monster was slowly gaining ground.
Clipping off my equipment in a smarter fashion, I set myself up for success should I drop into the water again.
I crossed my arms over my body to conserve heat and laid my head on what I hope was one of Bob's pecks.
Arsch crawled near me and said, "I got this watch, My Dude."
I smiled and realized I finally had a friend in Teletha, that wasn't a horse.
Chapter 24
"My Dude!" Arsch said excitedly.
I woke up to find myself still on the most comfortable boat ever. A long trail of drool hung down the side of my mouth, through my beard, and onto a small puddle on Bob. "What?" I asked, my throat still hoarse.
I started to cough uncontrollably.
Arsch slapped me on the back of my plate carrier a couple of times to absolutely no effect.
I stopped my fit and got to my hands and knees.
"Are you OK?" Arsch asked.
I heard murmurs and whispers come from the water around Bob.
"Yeah," I replied softly, and then spit out whatever I coughed up.
"We see light!" he exclaimed.
I still couldn't see anything around me, so I turned in the direction we were traveling and saw the smallest pinprick of light. I couldn't tell if it was blue, white, or something else entirely, but it was there.
"That's great, man," I said, trying to muster as much motivation as I could. I felt like shit.
"Still a ways off," Arsch noted.
"Yeah," I said and then coughed up another lung.
I felt Arsch's reassuring hand on my back, but blessedly he remained mute.
We rode the river for several more miles until the dot of light grew into a large cave exit. The exit was wide and only a few feet high, but thankfully free of any stone teeth.
The river started to slow and widen as we approached, and I strained desperately to hear the sound of a waterfall. It was as silent as could be, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
My sigh was quickly replaced with frustration when I felt a cold breeze blow past us. It wasn't one of those gentle breezes you enjoy on a beach in early spring; no, it was a Hohenfells breeze. Like the type of breeze that shrivels your balls and makes you fantasize about nothing more than a warm blanket.
Of Gods & Grunts Page 21