“Two more grimbals,” Ashara said.
“Which way are we going?” Jomrik looked at Basilard. Everyone looked at Basilard.
Leadership. He had never sought it, and the weight of it settling around his shoulders made him nervous. This entire situation made him nervous, not just because of the animals, but because of their strange behavior. Whoever was controlling them might be even more dangerous than the grimbals.
Forward, Basilard signed.
“Go, Corporal,” Maldynado said. He grabbed a rifle, opened the driver-side door, and leaned out.
“Can you fire one of your big guns over their heads?” Mahliki asked. “Try to scare them?”
“Over?” Jomrik grumbled. “My vote is for through.”
He adjusted the angle of the weapons, then fired one. Whether he was truly aiming at one of the creature’s heads or not, Basilard did not know, but the shell parted the fur of one, then disappeared into the foliage to the side of the road. The freshly shaved grimbal reared up, spinning toward the lorry. Two of the others turned in their direction too. None of them ran away.
Basilard opened the other door to check on the ones Ashara had promised were coming from behind. Her report had been accurate. Two lumbering white figures bounded down the road after the lorry.
“Basilard?” Mahliki offered him a rifle from the locker.
Even if the noisy Turgonian firearms were not his preferred weapon, Basilard accepted it. He could not imagine throwing knives working against creatures of this size. Nor did he have any plan to hop out and retrieve anything he threw.
“Trying to go through them,” Jomrik said, firing a second shell, the launch sending a shiver through the vehicle. “Got one.” He pumped his fist, but his exuberance only lasted a second. “That didn’t kill it?” He cursed. “My lady, will you reload for me?”
“Yes.” Mahliki crouched and opened the ammunition locker.
As Jomrik accelerated, more of the grimbals faced the oncoming vehicle. Wind battered Basilard’s face, but he propped his rifle on the top of the door to steady it. He hated to kill wantonly, especially when they had no plans to skin the creatures and use the meat, so he hoped they would scatter before that was necessary.
Two rose to their hind legs, batting their paws at their chests like gorillas. Some of the others crouched on all fours, preparing to charge.
“Idea,” Mahliki announced after she had reloaded Jomrik’s guns. She dragged her pack over and rummaged inside, the contents clanking as she pushed them around. She pulled out a jar and a couple of vials, resting them on the vibrating metal floor of the cab.
“Get ready,” Maldynado called from his position behind the driver, his rifle also braced. He had already fired twice, his bullets either not hitting or having no impact on the creatures.
One of the grimbals charged, with two others close behind. Suspecting the others would aim at the one in the lead, Basilard chose the one behind and to the side of it. He targeted the head, but the way he was hanging out of the lorry, balancing his weapon on the jostling door, affected his aim. He only clipped its ear. The creature did not slow down.
The lorry’s guns did more damage, with one shell smashing into the ground in front of the lead grimbal. Rock and dust flew up in all directions, obscuring the animals for a moment. Unfortunately, they soon charged out of the debris cloud. The gait of the one in front had been affected, but it continued on, followed by its buddies. An arrow sailed out from the other side of the cab, taking one in the eye. The creature spun away, pawing at its face.
Basilard took more care in lining up his second shot. The grimbals were almost upon them, and there wouldn’t be time to reload and fire again. This time, his bullet slammed into the chest of the one that had not been wounded yet.
The animal stopped, roaring with pain as it reared back. It batted at its chest. With its fur so thick, Basilard could not see blood or any sign of a wound. He had to trust he had injured it. While it was rearing up, exposing what should be more tender flesh, Maldynado shot it in its white belly.
“Behind you,” Ashara said, and before Basilard realized what she was doing, she slipped out behind him, climbing atop the cab again.
Jomrik fired the lorry’s second gun. This shell, instead of hitting the earth, slammed into the lead grimbal’s chest. The big projectile had much more thrust and mass behind it than Basilard’s bullet, and it was hurled backward. Two arrows streaking down from above pierced it next, and it stumbled to the side of the road. Two were out of the fight, but the others that had previously hung back had decided to join the charge. Four creatures pounded toward the front of the lorry.
“Get inside,” Maldynado barked at the same time as Jomrik yelled, “They’re going to hit us.”
They were too close for the vehicle’s guns now, but Jomrik rushed to reload them anyway. Mahliki was still fiddling with her vials. The grimbals leaped at the lorry, paws raking at the vehicle from all sides. They were fearless in the face of the giant mechanical device spouting plumes of black smoke.
Basilard ducked back inside, slamming the door shut an instant before one hammered into the side of the vehicle. The huge body rocked the lorry. Metal screeched, and white fur filled the view through the window. The jolt flung Basilard backward. He caught his balance just shy of stepping on Mahliki, who was still kneeling, trying to assemble something. Jomrik cursed, struggling with the vehicle’s controls again, as he tried to push them through the attacking creatures.
Glass cracked, the ominous sound filling the cab.
“Not the windshield,” Jomrik groaned.
The lorry swerved, throwing Basilard against the wall. The back of his head clunked against something hard, and he gave himself a brief moment to silently curse Turgonian technology and this strange way of traveling the world. While he cursed, he reloaded the rifle in the darkness caused by the blocked windows. Despite his throbbing head, he knew they would be in more trouble if they were out there on foot.
The lorry swerved again, and light filled the cab. A grimbal tumbled off the hood.
“Can’t shoot them if they’re on top of us,” Jomrik grumbled.
Basilard stepped toward the door, but Mahliki stopped him with a hand to the shoulder.
“Let me try something,” she said, holding up a couple of vials.
The vehicle struck something, and she flailed for a second, nearly falling into Basilard. She caught herself on the wall. A grinding noise came from the lorry’s engine. They had come to a stop.
“I was afraid of that,” Jomrik said. “We’re in the mud, and it’s deep. Hold on. Trying to get us free.”
Another grimbal hit the side of the vehicle. Claws gouged the door, and metal squealed like a dying animal.
“They’re all around us,” Ashara yelled down from above.
Basilard wished he had the ability to yell back, to order her to come inside. By now, more arrows protruded from the pelts of the grimbals throwing themselves at the lorry, but she was not safe up there, not even close. The massive creatures towered taller than the vehicle. Surely, they could easily swat her down. Indeed, thumps came from above. Paws striking the roof? Or Ashara jumping to avoid the creatures’ swipes? He couldn’t tell.
Basilard tried to push open the door again, his rifle ready for more shots, but there was too much weight pressed against it. All of the grimbals had surrounded them, and they were trying to peel open the vehicle like a tin of sardines. Even though Jomrik had thrown the controls into reverse, the wheels spun uselessly, unable to find purchase in the soft earth. Mud flew everywhere, spattering the white coats of the creatures. Basilard could not tell if the ones coming from behind had caught up or not. There seemed to be claws and white fur everywhere.
Maldynado managed to force his door open and start firing again. Mahliki leaned out behind him, hurling one of her vials. A shadow fell over her, and Basilard grabbed the collar of her shirt. She leaned back at the same time as he yanked her back. A bloody white paw swi
ped through the air, each claw as long as a dagger. Maldynado was firing at one of the animals on the hood and did not get out of the way in time. The paw clipped his shoulder, bashing him against the doorjamb. He grunted and stumbled against Jomrik.
“Off,” the corporal snarled, as if giving a command to a naughty dog.
“You talking to them or to me?” Maldynado asked, righting himself. He tossed his hat aside and reloaded the rifle.
“Everyone. Is that blood on the floor of my lorry? I’m going to kill these ancestors-cursed monsters.”
“Better not tell him it was my blood, eh?” Maldynado whispered to Mahliki, his words almost lost in the chaos.
The vehicle lurched forward, rolling over something, and a howl erupted from outside. Jomrik smiled grimly. “One foot down.”
More distressed howls sounded. Something more than a wheel rolling over a paw must have happened. Most of the cries came from the driver’s side of the vehicle. A greenish-blue smoke filled the air out there.
“Now would be a good time to leave,” Mahliki said. “Even with the doors shut, that’s going to be acrid for us too.”
“I’m trying to leave.” Jomrik batted his hanging duck feet and cursed under his breath.
The sounds of grunts came from outside. No, those were coughs. Ashara.
Basilard spun toward Mahliki, pointing toward the roof.
“Tell her to come inside,” Mahliki said, shaking another vial, ready to throw it. “It’s going to get worse before it dissipates.”
The press of shaggy white bodies had lessened, the creatures reeling back and swiping at their snouts as the smoke filled the air. Basilard tried his door again. This time, nothing was pressed against it. After taking a deep breath, he slipped outside. He climbed up, nearly falling when the vehicle jerked and shuddered. One of the wheels had caught the edge of the road.
Basilard pulled himself to the roof. Even though he was holding his breath, whatever Mahliki had thrown stung his eyes, and his nostrils itched madly.
Ashara had dropped to her hands and knees, her shirt pulled over her mouth and nose. Tears streamed from her eyes, but she reached for another arrow.
Basilard gripped her arm and pointed downward. She hesitated, glancing toward their attackers. She must be thinking that they would be easier to shoot from up here.
More emphatically, Basilard tapped his nose and pointed downward. Ashara wiped her eyes with her sleeve. He thought she might object, but this time, she gave a jerky nod and waved that she would follow. Basilard slithered back over the edge first, landing in the cab. He turned back to offer her a hand, only to see a white shape fill the sky as Ashara’s legs swung down. Instinctively, he tried to scream a warning, but as always, his vocal cords failed to comply with the wishes of his heart. The grimbal wrapped its massive paws around her waist before she could drop into the cab.
She cried out in surprise and pain as claws sank through her clothing.
Basilard leaned out as she was lifted away. He fired twice at the exposed belly of the grimbal, careful not to hit Ashara. It lifted her above its head, as if it meant to hurl her to the ground—or carry her away.
She twisted in its grip, so that she faced its head. Arrows fell out of her quiver, her bow useless to her now, but she managed to yank out a dagger.
Basilard dropped his rifle and tore out one of his own daggers. He leaped from the cab, catching the grimbal’s arm and hanging on with one hand as he stabbed the blade into its flesh with his other. It was like trying to stab a log. The dagger barely bit in. With tears streaming from his eyes, he struggled to see. He’d had to take a breath, and the noxious air burned all the way down his throat and to his lungs. Snot filled his nostrils. He hung on tenaciously, stabbing again, trying to work his way higher up the arm. If he could reach the neck, maybe he could saw through its tough tendons and find an artery.
Above him, Ashara hadn’t stopped fighting. Her own dagger slashed for the grimbal’s eyes. She struck one, and blood spattered the animal’s face. Ichor dripped from the damaged eye.
The creature howled and lifted its arm, trying to fling Basilard aside. He nearly lost his grip. He did lose all sense of up and down and where the vehicle was. And he had no idea how many other creatures surrounded them. They had to finish this grimbal and escape back into the cab—and hope the lorry could find its way out of the mud.
Though the creature’s arm continued to flail, Basilard clawed his way up to its shoulder. He thrust his dagger at its throat with all of his strength. It wasn’t a killing blow, but the grimbal squealed and dropped Ashara.
Even with the roar of the animals and the stomping of feet, Basilard heard her land in the mud. He wanted to cry out for her to run, to leap into the cab, but he couldn’t. All he could do was stab the neck again, hoping to buy time if he couldn’t kill it. It wheeled back, flailing at him. Fortunately, with Basilard clamped around one of its arms, it had trouble finding the right angle to claw him. If he hadn’t seen more grimbals moving about at the edge of his tear-filled vision, he might have tried to finish it off. But the squealing of tires several meters away told him the vehicle had left him behind—or the grimbal had pulled him away from it. He stabbed it one final time, cutting into the flesh of its nose and hoping that snout was sensitive, then dropped to the ground.
He spun, intending to run after Ashara, but he found her waiting for him. Somehow, she had retained her bow, and she had it back in hand, an arrow nocked. She let it fly, nodded at Basilard, and they ran together for the lorry.
The vehicle had indeed found its way onto the highway again. It was waiting for them. At least, Basilard hoped that was the case and that it wasn’t too damaged to move. More of that greenish smoke filled the air, this time in front of the vehicle instead of around it, fortunately. Basilard’s throat and nostrils couldn’t take any more.
Ashara reached the door first, lunging inside at the same time as one of the big guns fired. A grimbal less than two feet from the front of the lorry flew backward, blood blossoming on its chest. Basilard leaped into the cab at the same time as the vehicle lurched forward. It struck the injured grimbal, knocking it to the side, even though a punishing shudder jolted the frame.
Basilard pulled the door shut behind him, only to find that it no longer latched all the way.
“It’s working,” Mahliki yelled from the other side. She was hanging out of that doorway again. This time, it was Maldynado who pulled her back inside. “The smoke slowed them down.”
“Go, Corporal,” Maldynado ordered. “That won’t keep them busy forever.”
“I am going,” Jomrik said.
The vehicle accelerated, but not as smoothly as it had before. Something was clanking, and the wheels no longer seemed aligned, for they listed to one side of the road. Jomrik had to put a lot of effort into pushing the lever to put them back in the middle. Sweat gleamed on his forehead.
“A little farther, girl,” he crooned, patting the control panel.
“A little?” Maldynado dashed tears from his eyes. Judging by the snot plastered on the front of his shirt, he had also inhaled some of those awful fumes. “Try about a hundred miles.”
“We’ll see,” Jomrik said grimly, his gaze fixed on the road, his shoulders tense.
Basilard grimaced. They might have delivered enough damage to keep three or four of those grimbals from giving chase, but if some shaman was directing the animals and could override their natural instincts, there were others that could follow.
“We’re outdistancing them,” Maldynado said, his head hanging out the window. “For now. Can we keep up this pace?”
An ominous clunk came from underneath the vehicle, followed by a scrape and a tink, tink, tink as something fell off and bounced away behind them.
“I don’t know.” Jomrik glared at Maldynado. He looked like he wanted to strangle him. “I knew my first sergeant was lying when he said, ‘Easy mission, Jom. Just take the Mangdorian ambassador home, then come back. You’ll get
to miss those early morning company runs for a few days. You can relax.’ You know how I knew he was lying?”
Maldynado shook his head.
“The president was over there chatting with the captain in charge of the motor pool at the same time. Presidents don’t show up to discuss easy missions.”
“You sound bitter.” Maldynado noticed snot on his own shirt, prodded at it, and grimaced.
“Up until twenty minutes ago, my baby didn’t have a dent on her. I buffed her out every week, painted any scratches away, took real good care of her. I…” Jomrik’s words disappeared in a snarl, and he focused on the highway ahead.
Basilard could not imagine being so attached to a mechanical contraption, but he did understand that the repairs would be expensive and time-consuming, if the vehicle would even be capable of making it back to the capital. He regretted that his mission had resulted in so much damage. He hadn’t wanted to cause trouble for the president or anyone else.
“Are you all right, Ashara?” Mahliki asked, lifting a hand toward the woman.
Basilard turned, feeling guilty that he had been distracted and had not thought to check on her. His own back ached—even if he hadn’t been ravaged by claws, he had pulled a muscle, at the least—but she must have been injured more badly. Those claws had cut through her shirt, sinking into her flesh.
“Fine,” Ashara said.
She was leaning against the wall beside the door, her deep breaths pained, her shoulders drooping, her bow dangling from her hand.
“You’re bleeding.” Mahliki pointed at the floor, where fresh drops of blood spattered the textured metal.
Jomrik glared back at the spot but did not complain about his tarnished floor this time. With all the other damage, what did drops of blood matter?
“What’s your point?” Ashara asked, grasping her belly. Blood had seeped through her shirt in several spots.
Basilard stepped past the women, pulling his pack out from behind the coal bin, so he could find his first-aid kit.
Diplomats and Fugitives Page 8