by rebel4477
“Even when they do return,” Blade said, “we’ll be at a little more than two-thirds strength. We need to recruit new Warriors.”
“It’s not like they pop out of the womb ready to fight,” Hickok said. “They have to be trained, and you know how long that takes.”
“And the shapeshifter is still out there,” Geronimo said, gazing into the distance. “I wonder what it will try next?”
CHAPTER 25
Razhliq Nher hadn’t hurt so much in a long time. The pain was exquisite, to be savored as the human apes savored food. Razhliq reveled in it, in the feeling of being alive. Like many of its kind, it had lived for such a very long span that there were days when the sameness of much of life dulled its senses.
Leaning against a tall spruce, Razhliq went deep within and assumed conscious control of every gland. Once that was done, it was a simple matter to excrete the hormones that accelerated the healing process. The Gualaon healing factor put that of every other creature to shame.
As the healing continued, Razhliq contemplated. It was taking longer to fulfill the mission than the Lords of Kismet stipulated. Then again, Shiva had stressed that Razhliq had complete discretion.
Initially, Razhliq intended to get it over with within a few days. A week at the very most. Now it might take another week, at least.
Razhliq was going to kill the damnable Warriors one by one. Already four were dead. Lynx, too, might die. His wounds were severe.
Razhliq would work through them. Plan each one so there was time to not just kill them but to slaughter them. Rip and tear them to shreds. Make them suffer as Razhliq had suffered, thanks to that damnable Blade.
Of course, now that they had pierced Razhliq’s Sundance disguise, another form was called for.
Who should it be? Razhliq wondered, and grinned at the answer. It was obvious. There was one guise they would trust more than any other. Before long, they would be so confused and fearful, they’d be afraid of their own shadows, as the human saying went.
That left the question of which Warrior to kill next. Razhliq considered Sherry, Hickok’s wife. It would upset Hickok but Razhliq had met Sherry and while the woman was a competent Warrior, she wouldn’t be much of a challenge.
Razhliq preferred a more worthy foe, a Warrior who would test Gualaon mettle. Blade would, but Razhliq was saving him for last.
Samson, perhaps. He had plenty of muscles but muscles weren’t always proof of prowess in battle.
It was unfortunate, Razhliq reflected, that Beta Triad was away from the Home. From what the Family said, Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was one of the more formidable ones.
And then there was Yama.
Was it a coincidence that he had chosen that name at his Naming, out of all the names there were? Razhliq imagined how the real Yama would react, and grinned.
Fresh skin was forming over Razhliq’s wounds. They itched terribly but scratching them would open them again and it would take three times as long to heal.
Razhliq would very much like to meet this human Yama . He couldn’t possibly be as lethal as the Lord of Kismet he was named after. Then again, Razhliq had been specifically instructed about him from none other than Kali.
That was strange. That was very strange.
Razhliq wondered if the Lords had a secret agenda at work. They did that a lot. Plotted and schemed and carried out mysterious plans without informing the Gualaons.
Razhliq secretly resented that. The Gualaons were willing to bend their knees and call the Lords their masters but they weren’t happy about being treated as lapdogs. Granted, it had been going on for so long that the Gualaons accepted it as a matter of course. Still, they had their dignity.
Razhliq closed both eyes and flashed back mentally in the stream of time to the era of the dinosaurs, which the stupid humans thought dominated the planet for millions upon millions of years. Little did they suspect that the dinosaurs were little more than cattle.
Dinosaur meat couldn’t compare with human flesh, though. Razhliq’s first taste had been a hairy brute crouched by a fire in a cave, part of a family of four. Their flesh was so soft and delicious, Razhliq came to prefer them above all other kinds.
Razhliq recalled the panorama of human cultures. The Atlanteans. The Sumerians. The Mayans. Now there was a culture the Gualaons liked, steeped in the spilling of blood. Razhliq particularly enjoyed how they ripped beating hearts from the bodies of their sacrifices.
The Greeks. The Romans. The wrongly called Middle Ages. Razhliq witnessed it all. The Lords of Kismet liked to keep track of human affairs, and from time to time the Gualaons were sent on reconnaissance and other missions.
Now this latest.
The elimination of the Family and the destruction of the Home.
Razhliq was aware that others had tried, and failed. The Doktor. Samuel II. Thanatos.
Razhliq wouldn’t fail. Razhliq had never failed.
The Lords of Kismet had decreed that the Family must die. And die they would.
In a century no one would remember they existed, while Razhliq would continue on as always, invincible, supreme, as long-lived as the sun.
That was as it should be.
Life was all about survival of the fittest, and in that regard, Gualaons were the fittest of all.
Get ready, Warriors, Razhliq thought, and grinned. I’m coming for you.
CHAPTER 26
A pall of gloom hung over the Home.
Blade saw it on every face. He couldn’t blame them. Four Warriors dead. Two others in the Infirmary. The Healers believed that Ares would recover but he would be laid up for weeks. Lynx was expected to be released in four to five days, depending.
The Family regarded the loss of even a single Warrior as serious. To lose so many was a calamity. The Warriors were their protectors, their first line of defense against any and all threats. The Warriors kept the nightmares that roamed the outside world at bay. They kept the Home safe and secure and peaceful.
“Great job we’re doing,” Blade said to the empty air as he stood on the west rampart overlooking the vista of tainted woodland and rolling hills.
“Talk to yourself much, pard?” asked a familiar voice, and Hickok sauntered up with his thumbs hooked in his gunbelt. “They say that’s the first sign you’re over the hill.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be patrolling the south wall?”
“Just got done a sweep,” Hickok said. “It’s as quiet as can be.”
“That thing is still around. I know it.”
“I hope the critter decides to come after me next.” Hickok patted his Pythons. “This will be over right quick.”
“Says Mr. Modest,” Geronimo said as he approached along the wall from the north. “It almost took your head off the first time we fought it, remember?”
“It was faster than I reckoned,” Hickok said. “Next time I’ll know what I’m up against.”
Blade turned and gazed out over the compound. Family members were going about their daily routines. But it was a lot quieter than usual. Fewer children were playing. Parents were keeping their offspring in, for fear the creature would do to them as it had done to little Bethany.
Plato and most of the other Elders were seated in the Commons. From their sharp gestures, they were having a heated talk.
Geronimo noticed them. “What do you think that’s all about?”
“They’re probably picking on poor Plato because of us,” Hickok said.
“How’s that again?” Blade said.
“Ain’t you heard, pard? Some folks are saying that we’re not doing our job. That they’re not safe. There’s been talk that we should open the Armory and pass out machine guns.”
“If it comes to that,” Blade said, “we will.” Not that it would make a difference, he reflected. Bullets didn’t stop the thing.
“We have other problems,” Geronimo said. “Bertha is a wreck. She won’t eat, won’t drink. She just
sits and stares at the walls.”
“That’s not like her,” Hickok said. “She’s always been a feisty gal.”
“Then there’s Gremlin,” Geronimo said. “He took the news about Ferret hard. They were good friends. He ran off and no one has seen him.”
“I know,” Blade said. He had a sense that the fabric of the Home was unraveling. Unless he did something, and soon , things were going to go from very bad to the worst that they could be. “What we need is a miracle,” he mused out loud.
“Will that do?” Hickok asked, and pointed.
Far to the west a vehicle had appeared, its tinted glass gleaming in a stray shaft of sunlight.
“The SEAL!” Geronimo whooped. “And Beta Triad.”
Blade beamed. Three more Warriors to bolster their ranks. And two of the three were two of the deadliest.
The SEAL was another of the Founder’s brainchilds. Kurt Carpenter had two of the vehicles secretly built before the war. One the Family used for a number of years after the madness was unleashed. The other, Carpenter hid in a sealed vault under one of the Blocks until such time as the Family decided to venture out into the world once again.
SEAL was an acronym. It stood for Solar-Energized Amphibious or Land vehicle. Large solar panels on the roof fed into a bank of six high-tech batteries. Van-like, its body was constructed of a near-indestructible alloy, a synthetic compound much like plastic only a thousand times stronger. The engine was self-lubricating and air-cooled. A radio ran the gamut of all known bands. There were also various weapons systems.
In its comings and goings over the years, the SEAL had worn a winding track through the woods. As it neared the compound splashes of shadow dappled it.
“I bet Rikki had a hoot taking that thing out,” Hickok said. “He always gripes that he doesn’t get to drive it enough.”
“Had a hoot?” Geronimo repeated. “Did people really talk like that in the Old West?”
“Are you poking fun at my lingo again?”
“I don’t need to,” Geronimo said. “Every word out of your mouth does it for me.”
The SEAL rumbled out of the trees and crossed the open space to the west wall. It braked, and Rikki-Tikki-Tavi poked his head out the driver’s window. “Hey, you three!” he greeted them warmly.
“I’m glad to see you made it back safe and sound,” Blade said.
“Howdy, pigsticker hombre,” Hickok called down.
“What did he just call me?” Rikki shouted.
“You don’t want to know,” Geronimo said.
In short order the drawbridge was lowered, the SEAL wheeled into the compound, and the Family converged with cries and smiles of delight . The three Warriors climbed out and shared embraces and kisses with their relieved wives and children.
Blade stood back, waiting for the right moment.
“That Lex sure is a shapely filly,” Hickok remarked.
“I’ll be sure and tell Rikki you’re lusting after his wife so he can pigstick you to death,” Geronimo said.
Plato came over and leaned on his staff. “I take it they are as yet unaware of our situation?”
“Haven’t had a chance to tell them,” Blade said.
“We need to formulate a plan,” Plato said. “It’s only a matter of time before that creature strikes again.” He paused. “If it hasn’t already.”
“How do you mean, old-timer?” Hickok asked.
“Hasn’t it occurred to you?” Plato asked, with a bob of his grey head at the smiling, happy Family, “that it could be any one of them?” He paused again. “Or any one of us?”
“Hell,” Geronimo said.
Blade had thought of that and taken steps. “The three of us haven’t left each other’s sight since we got back. We go everywhere together. Do everything together.”
“Well, not quite everything,” Hickok said. “Our potty breaks are private but we have to stay in earshot.”
“A prudent precaution,” Plato said to Blade. “But my warning holds true for the rest. I could be the thing and you wouldn’t know it. It could be any of your wives. Any of your children.”
Hickok placed his hands on his Pythons. “It messes with my family, it’ll wish it had never been born.”
“Maybe they hatch,” Geronimo said. “It’s a lizard and that’s what most lizards do.”
Blade realized he’d made another mistake. He should have had the Family divide into small groups and have them do as his Triad was doing. It would make it that much harder for the shapeshifter to become one of them.
The welcome was winding down. The three Warriors of Beta Triad gave their wives a last kiss and came toward Blade and Plato.
Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was the Triad leader. A small, wiry man, his hair and eyes were dark, his features Oriental. He was dressed entirely in black and in his right hand he clutched the scabbard to his prized katana.
On his right strode Teucer, the only Warrior who favored a bow. Usually he used a longbow but today he had a compound. A quiver was at his hip, another over his back. He liked to dress in green. He didn’t like that Hickok was forever calling him ‘Robin Hood’.
The last of their Triad was big. Not as huge as Blade or Samson, but close. His hair and his mustache were a striking shade of silver, his eyes the deepest, darkest blue. His one-piece garment, fashioned to his specifications by the Family Weavers, was also dark blue save for the large black silhouette of a skull on his back.
At his Naming he’d chosen to be called Yama. Unlike most of the Warriors, who specialized in one weapon or another, Yama was proficient with any and all. His skill with a knife was second only to Blade’s. His ability with a handgun lacked by a trifle Hickok’s. In hand-to-hand only Rikki was his better, and not by much. Simply put, he was the best all-round killer of all the Warriors, and that was saying a lot.
A Wilkinson Carbine fitted with a 50-shot magazine was slung over his shoulder. In a holster under one arm nestled a Smith and Wesson Model 586 Distinguished Combat Magnum. In a shoulder holster under the other arm was a Browning Hi-Power 9-millimeter autopistol. On his right hip was a 15-inch Razorback survival knife; on his left a specially forged extra-long and extra-thick scimitar.
“Hey, kiddies,” Hickok quipped. “Miss us?”
“No,” Teucer said.
“Beta Triad reporting,” Rikki said formally to Plato. “We found the old missile silos. They were right where you thought they would be.”
“That can wait,” Plato said. “We have a crisis on our hands that demands our immediate attention. I’ll let Blade fill you in.”
Blade did, about the child who had appeared in the dead of night, the Gualaon who served the Lords of Kismet, about four of their fellow Warriors, fallen, and two more severely wounded, about the death of the girl Bethany. He related it all.
“May the Spirit preserve us,” Rikki exclaimed in horror. “Not four?”
“We’ve haven’t lost so many at one time since Samuel the Second sent his army against the Home,” Teucer mentioned.
“Here are your orders,” Blade said. “Until the thing is dead, Alpha and Beta Triads stick together. We never let each other out of our sight—-.”
“Except to tinkle,” Hickok interrupted. “Me, I like to wee-wee in private.”
“Wee-wee?” Geronimo said. “Refresh my memory. How old are you supposed to be? Four?”
Blade glared at them, then said to the others, “By staying together, we know there are at least six of us we can trust to be who they should be.”
“Our wives?” Rikki said. “Our kids?”
“They’ll stay with the other wives.” Blade turned to Yama. “You’re awful quiet. Nothing to contribute?”
“I request permission to confront the creature alone.”
“The answer is no.” Blade titlted his head quizzically. “Did I miss something? We don’t know where it is. We don’t know who it is. How will you find it to confront it?”
/> “I’ll use myself as bait and draw it out.”
“Just like that?” Blade said, and snapped his fingers.
“You’ve been bouncing around in the SEAL too long, Big Boy Blue,” Hickok said. “It’s rattled your brain.”
“This creature is after Warriors,” Yama said. “The logical tactic is to use that against it.”
“The answer is still no,” Blade said.
“As you wish. You’re the head Warrior,,” Yama said. “But there is something you need to ask yourself.”
“Which is?”
“How many others are you willing to lose before you do what must be done?”
CHAPTER 27
Yama’s question stuck with Blade all the next day. He wasn’t willing to lose anyone. But he would be damned if he’d allow Yama to go up against the shapeshifter alone. Yama didn’t realize how deadly it was.
The atmosphere in the Home had improved since Beta’s return. The Family was more at ease with more Warriors there to protect them . But their smiles and amity hid a soul-numbing worry. They were waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Pretty soon it did.
Blade was just emerging from C Block after having checked on Ares and Lynx when a breathless Tiller ran up. “You need to come,” he panted. “You need to see.”
Blade motioned to his friends and Beta Triad and the six of them matched the Tiller’s pace. “Tell me as we go,” he commanded.
“A body,” the man panted. “In the middle of the wheat field. My son Tom was checking for viruses and the like and found the remains.”
“Could you identify who it was?”
The Tiller nodded. “I’d rather you saw for yourself. It makes me sick to talk about it.”
The wheat field was toward the rear of the compound. Buffered by a corn field on one side and rye on the other, it was carefully tended. With good reason. The grain and food they stockpiled enabled the Family to last through the harsh winters.
Several Tillers were at the edge of the wheat field. A woman was in tears, sobbing. A man wrung his hands in distress.
“Show us where,” Blade said.