by C. E. Martin
By the time she recovered, the Colonel had moved again. He shattered a hip with a hard kick, then drifted back out of reach.
The fight continued on like this for several rounds—the elemental screaming, punching and even trying to kick Kenslir as they continued on in free fall. The Colonel simply laughed, swooping in and out, jabbing, punching, kicking and even poking the elemental with fingers so hard they pierced her skin.
Decklaa was beyond furious now. Never, ever, in all of her long life, had she ever been so humiliated. No human, no creature, not even her own kind had ever enraged and belittled her so much.
"So," Kenslir called out, pausing in his harassing, freefall attacks. "I guess you can't fly?"
Decklaa just growled, unable to think of anything in response. Then she noticed Kenslir was pointing down. Decklaa followed the tip of his finger, looking down where he was pointing.
Then the earth hit her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Parachutes were a brilliant invention that had changed the face of warfare. They allowed soldiers to descend onto battlefields inaccessible by aircraft. They had shifted the course of many a battle since World War II. They had saved lives and taken them.
But Mark Kenslir really didn't need one.
With a parachute, a human's terminal velocity, something like two hundred feet per second, could be greatly reduced. This meant the difference between life and death for someone falling from the sky, as the human body could only withstand so much damage.
Colonel Kenslir on the other hand, wasn't entirely human anymore. His bones were nearly as strong as stone, his skin and muscles denser than any natural animal. It made him quite resilient. Not indestructible, but significantly stronger than the average soldier. It had taken him quite a few skydiving accidents over the years to realize this.
On those rare occasions when diving without a parachute, the Colonel always liked to pick a target that would give more than him. Dirt with thick grass was good. It absorbed most of the impact.
In this case, that dirt was in the northern panhandle of Texas. Nice flat ground, covered in low scrub and brush. Not soft, but considerably better than pavement.
Kenslir had chosen the flight path for the elemental's plane with just such an emergency disembarkation in mind. The original plan had called for a landing, but bailing out, forcing the plane to make an emergency landing had always been a backup plan.
Kenslir lay in the grass he'd landed in for several long seconds, letting his body heal. He could feel his ribs, arms and leg bones slowly moving back into the correct positions. Flesh torn and ripped on the inside knitted itself back together, guided by the dark hand of the curse that he had carried since Korea. The curse of a werewolf.
In the early days, the curse had been useless—nullified by his resistance to magic. But when he had his first death, the Colonel learned that the curse was merely dormant, ready to take over and bring him back to life. Which brought his own resistance to curses back into play, halting the transformation and leaving him with the werewolf's strength and healing abilities forever more.
But even werewolves knew better than to jump out of an airplane with no parachute.
After several long moments, satisfied everything was back in the right place, the Colonel slowly stood up and pulled his shattered tactical goggles off his head. He disconnected them from the small transmitter in his assault vest and pitched them aside. He pulled a small earpiece from a pocket of the vest and connected it to transmitter.
"Command?"
"We read you loud and clear. We have you in Keyhole view now."
Kenslir brushed himself off and looked around. Dawn was still a couple of hours away. Without the goggles, he had to rely on his own eyes to see. They were significantly better in the dark than a normal man's, but not as good as some creatures'.
He looked around slowly, his senses alert.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are," he called out softly.
Only the wind answered.
This was a little unexpected. Very unlike an elemental to die from a simple fall. Although there was a kind of ironic justice to that.
He began to walk in a circle, slowly spiraling out from where he'd landed, searching for the gold sequined body of the elemental.
"Not good," he at last said aloud.
At his feet a torn, battered, sequin dress lay in the grass—empty.
"Command? Any heat signatures near me?"
"Negative, Colonel? What've you got?"
"Looks like the wicked witch melted on me. Body's missing."
Kenslir knelt in the grass, picking around at the dress. He found earrings, necklaces and bracelets. And even two saline breast implants, inside the dress. But no sign of the elemental.
He moved the dress aside and thrust his hand into the ground, his dense fingers penetrating the soil up to his knuckles. Green light flared.
"Found her."
***
When she hit the ground, Decklaa momentarily lost consciousness. That was the danger of taking a human form—she was partially susceptible to mortal injuries. But as an elemental, she also recovered from mortal wounds much, much faster. Her unconsciousness lasted only for seconds.
Her stolen body was ruined. It was already at least fifty pounds lighter than it had started out—thanks to the removal of an arm and three tentacles by the soldier. She needed more biomass to repair it.
But then what? As she lay face down in the dirt, every bone in her human skeleton shattered, Decklaa realized that a human body just wasn't going to do. The soldier was far more durable than she had guessed. It was time to get creative.
She let go of her physical form, willing the bonds between molecules to come apart. She could always reform later, but first she needed to hide and gather her strength. She poured herself into the ground, soaking into the thick soil. It felt warm and comforting, a dark place where she could feel the embrace of safety.
Then she was filled with agonizing pain. A burning like nothing she'd never experienced before. The loose molecules of her body broke down where the burning was centered, turning into elements no longer in her control. Had the burning been large enough, it would have killed her, her essence separating from her earthly form.
Decklaa retreated from the burning, pulling herself together in a pool, just below the surface. Resting was over—she needed to fight. The soldier was no doubt the source of this pain. It was time to teach him a lesson. And she was finally in a position to do so.
For all his own strength, the soldier had made one fatal mistake. Decklaa was an elemental—a nature elemental. She controlled life itself. In the warehouse, in the airport, in cities—anywhere people were— she had a vast stock of living flesh she could manipulate and join with.
The soldier had let her board the plane, sneaking on board himself. He'd removed the passenger's from her immediate grasp, and apparently put them all to sleep, safely belted in. Then he'd jettisoned them both from the aircraft, intent on keeping Decklaa from all those juicy bipeds she could consume and use as she saw fit.
But she wasn't limited to just controlling flesh.
Christians said it best in their burial practices. Dust to dust, they called it. They had been created from clay, their Bible told them. It was the building block of their lives. And Texas was covered with it.
Top soil the humans called it. Dirt filled with life, from microscopic organisms to insects, to the remains of larger creatures long dead. Not as pliable and easy to work with as flesh, but more than adequate for her needs.
Yes, the soldier had delivered her right to her salvation. Now it was time to rip him apart, limb from superhuman limb.
***
The ground began to rumble where Kenslir had stuck his hand into it. The rumbling radiated out in all directions, like a mini-quake. Then dirt began to push up in the middle, rising from near the spot where he'd found the discarded, empty sequined dress. As though something were coming up from out of its grave.
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Long furrows appeared in the ground, stretching out from the man-sized, growing mound of roiling soil at the center. Soil that seemed to glisten and turn to something that moved like liquid as Kenslir watched. The long furrows on the ground grew thicker and thicker, liquefying as well.
He noticed the level of the ground around the moving dirt was sinking—lowering into the earth. A depression, crater-like spreading out from the growing mound of soil.
"Command, I may have a problem."
The first of the tentacles formed from the soil ripped up from the ground, a meter thick and made of slick, glistening black flesh. It slammed into Kenslir like a tree, knocking him off his feet and cracking his ribs. He could tell it was a solid construct, far heavier than any made of flesh and blood would be. It was like dense, living clay.
He rolled with the impact, coming up in a crouch and drawing his OA-93. He fired the weapon on full auto, directly into the mass of enormous tentacles sprouting from the ground like upturned roots.
The rounds fired from the submachinegun dug into the thick material of the tentacles, penetrating deep and leaving clean tunnels to mark their path. Tunnels that quickly closed up. The writhing form of the elemental could absorb bullets.
A second tentacle swept out, and Kenslir had to push off from the ground, springing straight up into the air twenty feet. The massive clay limb swept through the air beneath him.
The Colonel landed, then quickly somersaulted back and away, twisting in midair and landing on his feet. At the sound of his feet touching down, the mass of tentacles recoiled then the swept two of their number toward him.
Again, Kenslir ducked, passing under the first tentacle, then springing up and over the second one. This time he was careful to land quietly, his legs absorbing the impact of landing.
The tentacled mass could hear him, but the elemental could not see him. She had no eyes.
"Colonel? What is your status?" Major Campbell asked over the ear piece.
A tentacle swept out, smashing into Kenslir's chest and sending him flying. But instead of letting him hit the ground, the massive appendage wrapped around him. The dense, clay-like material crushed in, breaking his ribs.
Kenslir grabbed the coil around him, his fingers plunging deep into the thick flesh. Green light flared. The tentacle shuddered and released its grip on him and he fell to the ground.
The Colonel rolled clear as the monster recovered and smashed down, intent on beating him to a pulp. As he leapt to his feet, he tore the earpiece free and pitched it aside.
Making only the slightest of noises when it landed, it produced enough sound for the tentacle monster. A massive limb smashed into the ground, obliterating the earpiece.
A single tentacle now rose up from the mass of writhing coils. Its pointed tip rounded and the tentacle seemed to shrink back in on itself. It formed into the torso, head and arms of a woman—the last body the elemental had worn.
"There you are!" Decklaa bellowed, her voice amplified.
Like some terrible mix of woman and kraken, she rumbled forward, carried by her many tentacles—two of which reached for Kenslir again.
The Colonel dodged, leaping up and back, out of reach. His bounds could carry him thirty feet at a time—slightly longer than the creature could reach. For now. Top soil stretched out all around them, for miles and miles.
"Hold still, insect," Decklaa yelled, another tentacle snaking out.
Kenslir braced himself and struck the tentacle, his dense fist crushing into the wet, clay-like material. Green light flared around his arm as it plunged into the tentacle to the elbow.
Decklaa screamed and the organic material of her tendril exploded outwards from Kenslir's arm, freeing it. The stump of her mangled limb retracted back, reforming as it did so.
"No patty cakes?" Kenslir asked, ignoring the pain in his fist. The blow had broken his knuckles. They would take several seconds to heal. But first, he needed to even things up a bit.
The Colonel grabbed the vest he was wearing and pulled. The dense ballistic nylon and Kevlar material ripped apart. He threw the pieces to the side, then dodged another tentacle that slashed through the air at him.
"Dance for me, little man!" Decklaa laughed. She slammed another tentacle into the ground beside the Kenslir, narrowly missing him as he dodged away.
The Colonel now grabbed at his long sleeved shirt and ripped it off in one pull.
"Don't stop now, human! Take it all off!" Decklaa yelled. She rubbed her human hands over the large breasts on her torso.
Kenslir drew his OA-93 again and fired a quick burst, directly into the elemental's head. Clay blew apart from the stream of rounds.
A tentacle slashed out, and Kenslir dodged it, then fired again, this time into the chest of the human torso topping the tentacled monster.
Decklaa reformed her head, bellowing in rage once she had air in her lungs to do so. She opened her mouth to speak, but Kenslir fired again.
A tentacle whipped up in the air in front of the elemental's torso, catching the rounds and absorbing them.
"Naughty, naughty," Decklaa said in her booming voice. Again, she swept out with a tentacle.
Kenslir dodged the thick limb—only to be caught by a second one.
The tentacled wrapped around his body, from his hips to his chest. Where it touched his skin, bright green light flared. The thick clay-like material instantly lost its cohesion, melting where it touched the Colonel.
Decklaa screamed again in pain—but held her grip.
"Die, foul thing!" she screamed.
The tentacle dripping as it melted reared up in the air then smashed down, over and over, beating Kenslir against the ground. After the third strike, it finally released him, a withered, barely moving tendril of black clay.
"That the best you got?" Kenslir said, pushing off from the ground. His lungs burned and his internal organs were on fire—skewered by his own ribs. One eye was swollen shut and one arm was broken, the bone sticking out. Every movement he made he could feel broken vertebrae cutting into his spine. But he didn't have time to heal. He had to finish this.
Kenslir managed to stand, his healing powers working feverishly to undo all the damage. The skin around the bone protruding from his arm was gray now, turned to stone.
"C'mon, you bitch," Kenslir said. "Show me what you've got."
Decklaa screamed again in rage. Her tentacles raised up, then slammed into the ground around her. They immediately began to swell in size, the top soil rapidly lowering as she absorbed more raw organic material into herself.
Kenslir charged forward, legs numb from the damage to his spine. He leapt into the air, tucking and rolling and landing beside a tentacle. His hand dropped to his boot, and he quickly pulled out a Kabar knife.
He thrust the knife through the palm of his left hand, blood flying. He ripped the Kabar back out, then jammed his bleeding hand into the side of the closest tentacle.
Decklaa screamed anew— in agonizing pain as the green light from Kenslir's nullification shone brightly from her bulging, swelling tentacle.
"Eat this," Kenslir said, slicing down with the Kabar.
The black blade sliced through his arm, just below the elbow, severing the limb trapped in the mass of the elemental's tentacle. The huge member ripped up from the ground and slammed into Kenslir, lifting him off his feet and sending him flying backwards.
He landed roughly, unable to roll with the blow. His Kabar flew out of his hand.
"Delicious!" Decklaa yelled. "Give me more!"
Kenslir sat up slowly, the stump of his left arm already turned to stone.
Decklaa started to move forward, but could not. Her human head, atop her tentacle-torso, looked down. Her face assumed a horrified look as she saw a gray discoloration spreading out across her tentacle—directly from where Kenslir had plunged his arm in.
"So long, sucker," Kenslir said, finally standing.
The petrification was spreading swiftly now, streaks of gra
y shooting out from the petrifying tentacle, like veins, all over Decklaa's body. Gray spread from the thin ribbons, quickly enveloping her entire, tentacled mass.
"No!" Decklaa screamed, just before the last of her body and face turned to stone.
Kenslir staggered over to the remnants of his vest and crouched, digging through the pockets with his one hand. He finally found a cellphone and dialed it quickly.
"Yeah. I'm fine... round up some jackhammers and some semis. And a few buckets of water."
EPILOGUE
Kenji could tell the Colonel was nervous. He was fidgeting, shifting his weight back and forth from one foot to the other as he watched the approaching helicopter with a worried look on his face. Until he saw Kenji looking at him. Then he became somber again—just like the first time they'd met, in that awful parallel future that now would never be.
Kenslir frowned at Kenji and stepped forward, his new left hand open and closing, as though he were working the stiffness out of it. Kenji had watched him regrow it, a gray appendage just like stone soldiers. That had then faded and turned to flesh.
"What's with him?" Kenji asked.
Beside him, Josie leaned in, almost whispering in his ear. "Some pretty big VIPs on that chopper."
"Really?" Kenji asked, surprised. He never would have guessed the Colonel would have been nervous about anyone—not after watching him fight the elemental to the death.
The helicopter landed softly, then a moment later two passengers disembarked. One was an older man, with gray hair, nearly as tall as Kenslir. The other was a short woman, with thick, black hair. They wore plain clothes, rather than the military uniforms everyone else had on as they bustled around the petrified stone form of the elemental.
The duo approached as the helicopter lifted off in the background.