Gruefield 18 (Tarnished Sterling Omnibus)

by Robert McCarroll

  “Can you get an angle on that road?” Dad asked, his gaze darting for the best path around Adamantaphrax. I pointed my arm near the roof line of the building to our right and fired my line launcher. The series eight kicked harder than the seven, firing out two lines and tandem grip plates. I’d fired it in direct mode because I was used to it. I shot up at the eaves, scrambling over the lip of the roof as I detached the line. From the corner of the roof, I still didn’t have a line of sight to the source of the blue light, but did have an unobstructed view of Adamantaphrax as it strode in that direction.

  “Time to try out the new features,” I muttered to myself. I took aim at the eave of the building across the street and fired only one of the lines. Once it had purchase, I leaned over the edge and fired the other line at the building I was on. Part of a feed wheel emerged from the casing as I slipped over the side. The wheel turned, spooling in one line while spooling out the other. I slid along as easily as if I was rolling down a zip line, albeit slightly slower. Catching the other building, I pulled myself onto its roof and spooled in both lines. I ran to the other side.

  The blue light was being shed by a spectral skeleton that hovered in the gap between buildings down the side street. A hooded scarlet cloak fluttered from its shoulders. A dense weave of runes and glyphs was stitched along its trim in gold. Glowing motes of red hung within the sockets of the semi-transparent figure. The sound of the choir emanated from its direction. With nothing impeding the sound, I got a full dose of the Litany of Dread. My fingers tightened about the lip of the roof as fear and anxiety bubbled up inside of me. I sank down to my knees, eyes wide, as its skull tipped up and cast that burning gaze upon me.

  As Adamantaphrax came round the bend, the scale of the thing finally registered. It was easily as tall as the UM-3s, though far from as bulky, having almost none. The bellow of the gas alarm turned the specter’s gaze back to Adamantaphrax. With a skeletal finger, it pointed east. Adamantaphrax raged at it, but the specter was unmoved. Slowly, grudgingly, the ironclad spirit turned east and began walking. The specter vanished, along with its choir, its scarlet cloak fluttering away on the breeze.

  I was trembling as I pulled my grip free from the architecture. The fear had to be magical, but that didn’t reduce its effect on my composure. I lowered myself to ground level and spooled back in the lines. It was fully retracted by the time Dad arrived at my side.

  “It was the thing that attacked Tekton’s truck,” I said, my voice wavering despite my best efforts. “And the Litany of Dread definitely lives up to the name.”

  “Where did it go?” Dad asked

  “It vanished.” I looked around. “Kind of like Adamantaphrax just did.” Dad turned me back towards the medical center, and we rejoined the others.

  Calling Jack, Dad set his phone on the hood of the car. “The evidence suggests that it left Fort Garriot and is headed East.”

  “Isn’t that the direction Rookhound said Bluebottle was headed?” Donny asked.

  “And this reaper was directing it?” Jack asked.

  “I didn’t see a scythe, but yes, it was giving orders,” I said. “Whatever their objective is, it’s east of here.”

  “What’s East?” Dad asked.

  “Before or after you get to Georgia?” Otten asked. “It’s a bit sparse until you get near Columbus. Then you’ve got a lot”

  “How fast do these things move?” Jack asked.

  “Bluebottle flew at about thirty miles an hour,” Dad said. “Adamantaphrax teleports and crossed the ground to Fort Garriot much faster.”

  “Well, I found your stoppers. A strange girl kept snapping pictures of me though.”

  “Ignore her, she’s a Hero Watcher,” Dad said. “Get back here.”

  “On my way.”

  “Our car is wrecked,” Donny said. “How are we going to follow them?”

  “I don’t really care,” Otten said. “It’s off my base, so you’re off my base. I have a mess to clean up.”

  “Would you at least move our vehicle to Garriot Field?” Dad asked, “I’m sure you have a flatbed somewhere.”

  “If it gets you out of here sooner,” Otten said, heading off to arrange it.

  Dad dialed his phone, but left it off speaker. “Shiva, who’s the Fund-friendliest General in the Pentagon? Yes, I mean Army.” He paused. “How quickly do you think you can convince him to make Colonel Otten loan us some trucks and chemical protection gear?”

  Otten was fuming as we drove out of his front gate with a Humvee and his flatbed with our SUV on it. The Humvee was the biggest thing I’d ever driven, and it felt like a monster. Dad was behind the wheel of the flatbed, as he was the only one confident enough to drive it. Donny was in my passenger seat, and Tekton was in the back with the jars. A stack of protective equipment was piled in the far back. Jack rode with Dad. Dad was leading, since he was in the less maneuverable vehicle. Anywhere he could make it through, I should be able to follow.

  “You know what else is East?” Donny asked.

  “What?”

  “Rockstead.”

  “The prison?” I asked.

  “What if this is a prison break?”

  “It seems awfully convoluted. There have got to be easier ways to go about it.”

  “Yes, but, costumed criminals have a flare for the dramatic. Else they wouldn’t have donned a costume in the first place.”

  “That thing looked less like a costume and more like an apparition,” I said.

  “What if it wasn’t the one in charge?” Tekton asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “If it’s not an illusion, it might be a fourth spirit. Spirits don’t go around bossing each other about unless compelled to. It’s not part of their nature to even work together.”

  “So you think there’s something non-spiritual pulling the strings?” I asked.

  “I’d bet real money on it,” Tekton said.

  “And about the Baron’s theory regarding a prison break?”

  “Not so confident,” Tekton said. “Too many other things it could be.”

  “Just because you two are so skeptical, I’m betting it is a prison break,” Donny said.

  “How much are you putting up?”

  “Ten bucks, I don’t have a real job.”

  “All right, you’re on,” I said.

  The Humvee fell silent, and we continued in the wake of the flatbed. The devastated ruin of the SUV looked extra-sad for some reason. From this angle, it was hard to tell that it used to be a nice vehicle. “Why are we dragging the wreck with us?” I asked.

  “Dude, our personal stuff is in there. Including our civilian clothes,” Donny said.

  Tekton gave a sardonic snort. “But you left my leg behind.”

  “The circumstances...” I started. He waved my comment off.

  “I told Otten I have magic to regrow lost limbs. And I know that from experience.”

  “So, do you spend much time in hospitals?” Donny asked.

  “Only as a patient,” Tekton said. “It doesn’t work on other people. Believe me, I would love it if I could help other people regenerate, but it just doesn’t work.”

  “Oh,” Donny said.

  “Just out of curiosity, how many magic users are there in the Fund?” I asked.

  “Maybe two dozen,” Tekton said. “Not enough to put one in each state, that’s for sure. Certainly far fewer than regularly powered people.”

  “Why do I keep running into them then?” I asked.

  “You’re based near the Fund HQ,” Tekton said. “New Port Arthur has an abnormally high amount of Hero traffic. Especially come the election.”

  “That’s in a few months, isn’t it?” Donny asked.

  “This will be the first time I get to vot
e,” I said.

  Part 7

  Dad pulled the flatbed off the highway and into a cracked, empty parking lot. The two story building beside it looked like it had gone unused for some time. I wasn’t sure if it was an office and small warehouse or a small factory, as the signage was gone. The side of the structure closer to the road looked more like a classic office building with long runs of glass windows, now covered in plywood. The back had the bulkier, more concrete form of an industrial facility. I keyed my earpiece on. “What’s here?” I asked.

  “An open patch of relatively intact pavement suitable to land a helicopter on,” Dad said.

  I checked the time. “It seems early,” I said.

  “Just a bit. They’ve reported favorable atmospheric conditions, and as such are making good time. Rookhound will be rejoining us here so that we can enact a unified strategy.”

  “I’m guessing that means sending one of the magic users with him to chase Bluebottle?” Donny asked.

  “More or less. We also have to take his sidekick with us, since The Dart only seats two.”

  “No one bothered to introduce Rookhound’s sidekick earlier,” I said. “I didn’t even know he’s taken one on.”

  “His codename is Ukar,” Dad said. “His powers are largely water-based. Anything beyond that, you’ll have to ask him yourself.”

  “Why doesn’t this box have air conditioning?” Donny asked. He wiped sweat from his forehead.

  “It does, and it’s been on for the entire trip,” I said.

  “Then why does it feel so warm in here?”

  I reached out and touched his forehead with the back of my knuckles. There was too much gear on my hands to properly judge his temperature. Even through the fabric of the hero suit, I could feel the warmth radiating off his brow. “You’re burning up,” I said.

  Donny turned the nearest mirror to point it at his face and carefully peeled off the bandage on his cheek. Just from the mix of fluids soaked into the pad, I knew I didn’t want to see the wound itself. The look of horror on Donny’s expression cemented my opinion. “There’s no way it got this bad this fast,” Donny said.

  “You caught something fighting Bluebottle,” I said. It was the only thing that made sense. Donny swore loudly. I didn’t really blame him. Donny turned towards Tekton.

  “Pass me the medkit, I have to disinfect this thing.”

  “If you have a fever, it’s already in your bloodstream,” Tekton said.

  “I know, but I have to do something, anything.”

  “All right,” Tekton said, handing forward a white plastic case with a large red cross on it. He broke it open, cracking the plastic as he scrambled for anything to clean out the wound on his cheek.

  I keyed my earpiece. “We have a complication,” I said.

  “What is it?” Dad asked.

  “Baron Mortis’ scratch got infected with something particularly virulent,” I said. “He’s running a fever. Given the timetable, it’s more than likely something he picked up from Bluebottle.”

  “Assessment?” Dad asked.

  “If it’s not strictly a traditional pathogen,” Tekton said, “He’s going to need magical aid in banishing the disease.”

  “What time frame are we talking about?”

  “Unknown, but if he’s already running a fever, we should act quickly.”

  “All right, when the helicopter arrives, he, Ixahau and Shadowdemon evacuate immediately.”

  “But I’m fine,” I protested.

  “You are, however, his team lead, and seeing him to treatment is your responsibility.” I wasn’t sure if Dad meant it, or was just trying to get us out of harm’s way.

  “I’d advise taking him to the infirmary at Rockstead,” Tekton said. “The treatment will be top-notch, and as a Fund facility, they will respect his identity.”

  “Will they keep my face from melting off?” Donny asked. Fortunately, he hadn’t activated his earpiece, so Dad didn’t hear the fear in his voice.

  Dad was briefing Grandpa Walker on the current strategy when the blue and white helicopter came into view and drowned out our ability to talk. Grandpa Walker wore a throat mic, so the background noise didn’t get picked up. It was probably why he’d been able to call us while airborne and not be drowned out by the wind. The first one off the helo was a relatively normal girl, albeit a six foot blonde, in blue and gold. She held a gold headband in place as she ran clear of the rotor’s downwash. It was impossible to keep her hair from getting horribly tangled in the powerful air current.

  Dad pointed at the Humvee and yelled, “Can you drive that thing?” Miss Pain gave a smile and a thumb’s up. From my own memory of her driving, I was glad I wouldn’t be subjected to it. She had a cavalier attitude towards braking that didn’t sit well with me.

  The second one out was the least normal. He was a seven foot tall, jackal-headed man with metal bird’s feet. He wore a plain black hero suit over his emaciated frame and an ornate bronze chestplate over that. The chestplate held a cartouche of hieroglyphs over his heart. A pair of kopeshes were slung over his shoulders, and he stalked forward with his hands clasped behind his back. The rotor wash visibly ruffled the short black fur covering his head, and flattened his normally upright ears. I gave a wary look towards Jester of Anubis, remembering our first meeting.

  As Ixa started to climb out of the helicopter, I rushed over, dragging Donny with me. “Change of plans,” I yelled, “We need to get Baron Mortis to the infirmary at Rockstead, and he needs your help once we arrive.”

  Ixa dressed in white and black, with the pattern on her hero suit giving the impression of long gloves and boots. The black starburst over her chest held a Mesoamerican glyph at its heart. That same glyph appeared on the forehead of her jade mask. The white jade mask was Olmec old, and had broken in antiquity at an angle around the level of the nose. Because it didn’t fit perfectly, she wore a white domino mask under it. Her skin tone was not quite as pale as her outfit, but came close. Her hair was pure black, and only reached down to her jaw. A red sash about her waist and knotted by her hip was the only splash of color on her.

  “What do you-” she stopped at the sight of Donny and the off-color fluids leaking from below his new bandage. “I see.” Donny was not terribly coherent as we loaded him into the back seat and belted him in. I was forced to take the seat next to the pilot, the one Jester had vacated. I yelled the new instructions to the pilot in order to be heard over the rotors. He nodded, but the visor of his bubble helmet hid most of his expression. As soon as we’d gotten the doors closed and we’d belted in, the helicopter took off. With the doors closed, the rotor noise was not nearly as deafening, but it was still loud.

  “We’re not convinced it’s an entirely mundane disease,” I called to the backseat. “That’s why we’re taking you along.

  “Today is a weird day,” the pilot said. I’m not sure he meant me to hear it. We raced east, over Alabama farmland, towards the Georgia line. I wasn’t sure what model of helicopter we were in, nor did I remember how fast a knot was. Whatever it amounted to, we quickly exceeded two hundred of them according to the airspeed indicator. The pilot raised his voice and addressed us. “We’re running a bit low on fuel, but we should have enough to make the prison. Once we land there, I’m not heading up without a refill of the tanks. We’d be on fumes.”

  “Copy,” I said. “We called ahead, so they should be expecting us.” Below us, the farmland looked like it was crawling by, but we’d risen up to the appropriate flight corridor for this type of aircraft, so the ground was distant, and the occasional vehicles were mere specks if I didn’t zoom in on them.

  “Are we there yet?” Donny asked. He sounded like he’d just woken up from a sleep. Ixa checked his temperature for herself and winced.

  “He’s not contagious, is he?” the pilot asked
.

  “We don’t know,” I answered honestly.

  “You guys had better cover my costs if I get sick from this.”

  “We’re not going to leave you hanging,” I said. Relative quiet fell over the helicopter cabin, just the omnipresent chug of the rotors. Ixa was casting something in the back. It turned out to be a very simple spell to chill a bottle of water. She used it to wet a scrap of cloth which she applied to Donny’s forehead. He flinched at the sudden cold. There were words being said, but I couldn’t hear them over the general din. I fidgeted as the ground crawled past under us. Even though I knew we had to be passing several miles a minute.

  Ahead of us, on a low rise, a large complex emerged from the horizon. The central compound was hexagonal in shape, the granite gray outer wall studded with towers. Inside the wall, there were seven round blockhouses. The central blockhouse was larger than the six ringing it. Each was connected to its neighbors and the central hub via a building-sized structure in its own right. The linkages were one story shorter than the blockhouses, and relatively narrow. The wedges in between formed the prison yards. Outside the main perimeter walls were two parking garages, and another fence, this one topped with copious spools of razorwire.

  In an otherwise rural span of the Alabama-Georgia border, Rockstead Penitentiary dominated the landscape. It was a massive edifice positioned on high ground. As we came in closer, I realized that it wasn’t positioned that way to be seen, but to permit the guards in the towers to see as much of the surrounding area as possible. With the inmate population of Rockstead, the possibility of the prison falling under siege couldn’t be ruled out.