We, the Einherjar and everyone else, were going to be the deciding factor in Ragnarok. It was our time to either rise above the odds, or plunge the world into a darkness as deep as the void I was in. It was comforting to know that there were others at work out there that I hadn't met yet. That meant that there was hope and sometimes that is all you need.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Dawning
"So as through a glass, and darkly, the age long strife I see.
Where I fought in many guises, many names, but always me. "
- From the Poem "Through A Glass, Darkly
- By General George S. Patton, Jr.
I awoke to the feeling of a cool breeze washing over my face. There was light in the room and I was lying in my bed. My vision was still blurry, but I could make out the details. Karen was leaning over me and wiping my face with a moist towel. With the light silhouetted behind her, she was absolutely radiant, like a Goddess come to earth. I felt myself reaching for her and our lips met in a passionate embrace.
I pulled her to me and onto the bed. At first she hesitated, but then melted into my arms. The next sensations were wonderful. We fell together in a passionate embrace and soon we were merging our flesh. It was beyond anything I could have expected. For a moment, the harshness of the world was gone and only the two of us mattered. Our embrace eased the pains and made me feel more alive than I had felt in a long, long time. When it was over, the darkness came again and I was back in the void.
Only thought existed in the void and I seemed to float there forever. It was oddly comforting to just think and let my mind rest while my body healed. I knew that had to be what was happening. Somehow, I was dreaming lucidly while my body repaired itself. Nothing else really made any kind of sense.
There were other visions, too. Not nearly as vivid as the embrace I shared with Karen, but vivid nonetheless. I remembered camping trips with my sons, reliving conversations I had with them over the campfire; telling them tales of the great heroes of old and of the Old Gods. I told them that it was their deeds that would make them great men, one day. Much the same as my father had done for me.
There were moments with my other family, the officers that I had gladly shared a uniform with and shed my blood beside. They were as much a part of my family as my own flesh and blood. There was wisdom there. Whoever stands beside you when things are the darkest, they ARE your family. That is a bond forged in a fire that no force can break. That kind of bond transcends race, religion, gender or orientation. Honor, courage and commitment mean the same to all who uphold them.
When I awoke again, this time I was lying in my bed. The room was in semi-darkness and I could tell that I was back in the "real" world. Spec-4 was asleep beside me, the covers pulled up to her chin. She was beautiful and frail like a porcelain doll, but there was strength and resolve there too. She was peaceful and sleeping deeply. I hated to move and wake her up.
Gently, I pushed back the covers. I was dressed in only my underwear and bandages around my torso, legs and arms. Everywhere that I had been wounded was covered with fresh bandages. She had been keeping watch over me and keeping the wounds clean. She protected me while I healed. I had little doubt that I would have been dead many times over, if not for her.
I started to sit up, expecting a shock of pain. When not even a twinge came, I swung my legs off of the bed and gently stood up. I felt amazingly well and fit. Lifting the big bandage over the wounds in my chest and stomach, I found that they were closed. There was only a ragged purplish scar where they had been. One by one, I removed all of my bandages to find that they were all healed.
"How long was I out?" I whispered softly.
Padding into the master bathroom, I lit the hand-cranked lantern that was setting on the counter. I observed myself in the mirror and found that I desperately needed a shave and a shower, but looked healthy despite the punishment I had been through. A quick glance at my back tattoo told me that the scars had only added to the image, not destroyed it. They fell perfectly along the lines of the runes and edges of the Hammer.
Stepping out to the kitchen, I grabbed a large pan and began filling it with water from the bottles. Once I had it full, I headed back into the bathroom and started heating it with one of the heat tabs. It was going to take some time to heat up, so I busied myself with cleaning my body with water from a few more bottles. I shut the door and stood naked in the bathtub and cleaned myself with cold water and soap, then rinsed off. Then I washed my filthy hair and beard, combing them out over the sink.
By the time I was finished, the water was hot enough to use for shaving. I had to shave old-school style since there wasn't any running water or power for my beard trimmer. Using scissors, I cut my beard down to a manageable length and trimmed my hair down as close to the scalp as I could. Then I began applying shaving cream.
Using the hot water to keep the razor from sticking, I scraped my scalp clean and shaved the beard down to a goatee. I finished up by trimming the goatee into about a three inch long spade. The white color did nothing to make me look older. In fact, I felt that I looked leaner and stronger than I ever had before. If nothing else, Ragnarok had gotten me into the best shape of my life.
When I came out of the bathroom, Spec-4 was still asleep. I dug clean underwear out of the dresser along with a fresh t-shirt and socks. Then, I took a clean uniform out of the closet and grabbed one of my older sets of tactical boots. After a quick application of liquid color shine, they were ready to wear. By the time I finished dressing, I was stunned to see myself as an officer again. Somehow it was more fitting to the moment than putting my armor back on.
For one thing, it was armor from the Hrimthurssar and not what I represented. For another thing, it was so badly damaged that it wouldn't be much use anyway. My cloak was equally as useless, since it was now ragged and tattered. That was fine with me. I began this as an officer and that is exactly how I was going to finish it.
Slipping back into the closet, I reached into the back and dug out the bag that had the riot gear that Karen had bought me for our anniversary a few years back. I'd worn it a few times, but forgot it when the dead began to rise. Probably because I knew that they were never really "rioters" at all. The armor was only designed to stop edged weapons, not bullets. It was a C.O.'s vest, worn over the shirt and had my name and patches on it, just like my shirts. It fit better than I remembered it.
The last thing to slip into place was my belt. I had a spare tactical belt with cuffs and even a can of O.C.[5] It was easy to add the holsters and blades to it. Although the swords and daggers were out of place with the uniform, they were part of me now. They were the embodiment of my faith, just as the uniform and guns were the embodiment of my commitment to duty.
Spec-4 was sitting up on the edge of the bed when I emerged from the bathroom for the last time. The look on her face told me that she wasn't expecting to see me looking like I did. The smile on her face was as bright as the morning sun. I thought she was going to faint.
"It's ok," I said, returning the smile. "I'm fine."
"You've been out for four days," she said, grinning. "The fever almost burned you up, but I guess it cleared out of your system. What about the wounds?"
"All healed," I said, grinning. "Nothing but scars, now."
"That's nothing short of amazing," she said, shaking her head. "Do you remember anything from when you were out?"
"Not really," I replied. "Mostly just weird dreams. Reliving old memories with my kids. Fallen friends. Bits and pieces come and go."
I walked over to the bedside table and recovered my eye-patch, slipping it on over the empty socket. I found that I felt strange when I wasn't wearing it. Like it was a part of me now, as well.
"What's next?" she asked, reaching for her clothes.
"We take the fight to Loki," I said. "But before we do, I have a date with Thrym. There's going to be a reckoning between us."
I looked around my house, knowing it was for the last time
. For good or for ill, I knew I wouldn't see the inside of it again. I wanted to etch every memory into my brain forever. There were still pictures of my sons hanging on the walls from school and from vacations. There was a large framed image of the entire family that was taken when we took the tour of the Budweiser plant in St. Louis. The boys looked so young. It was a number of years ago, back when I was still taller than all of them. Those days had passed. Even Evan, my youngest, was taller than me now.
Karen was her usual beautiful self, radiant with pride in her sons. I looked different then, as well. There was no beard in the picture and none of the scars on my face and head. Then there was the fact that I had two eyes in that picture, too. I had earned those scars though, paid for them with my blood and pain. I proudly wore every one of them, since they were earned defending everything I hold dear to me, my family foremost in that. My kindred: one and all.
While Spec-4 used the same technique I had used to get a quick bath, I wandered through every room soaking in the memories and saying farewell. I loved this house, not because of what it was, but because of the memories it represented. It was our home and when I think of the word home, it would be this place I saw in my mind. Those were happier times with my family, before the world fell.
"Ready?" she asked, catching me as I came slowly down the stairs.
"Absolutely," I said with grim determination. "Let's finish this."
We refilled our packs with canned goods and the remaining MRE’s. When I checked my pack, I found that four of my MRE’s were perforated from the arrow that I had taken to the back. The barbed head was still stuck in one of the packets of chicken-ala-king.
“Damn,” I muttered, when I found it. “He ruined one of the few meals in these damned things that I actually like.”
“Aw, too bad there tough guy,” chided Spec-4, tossing me three cans of chili-mac.
“That’ll do nicely,” I said, chuckling.
After we had finished loading our packs, I slipped into the straps of mine and adjusted the weight. Spec-4 had already stripped and cleaned all of my weapons while I was out. The Keltec Shotgun gleamed with a thin coat of oil. My M-4 was ready to roll and so was Beowulf. The big XVR sat comfortably on my right hip and I had the KSG’s tucked into shoulder holsters. Ordinarily, that would have been a lot to carry, but I had become used to carrying heavy loads over the last few months.
Loading the tactical sling of the M-4 to the front, I would lead with that weapon since it was suppressed. It would make the least noise and be able to handle just about anything short of either the Hrimthurssar or the Eldjötnar. If I ran into them, then stealth wasn’t exactly going to be a major concern. I was going to switch to the Beowulf. I’d test their mettle with the fury of Beowulf and see who was still standing in the end.
I nodded at Spec-4 as I chambered a round in the M-4. Then we ducked out the back door of my house, blocking the sliding glass door with the picnic table just in case any stray dead wandered nearby. It might not stop an intelligent search but it would deter the dead.
Just as we were walking off of the end of the wooden deck, I felt the ground begin to tremble. At first, I thought it might be something big moving nearby but it continued for several moments.
“What the fuck was that?” I asked, turning to Spec-4.
“That’s a tremor,” she replied. “We’ve been getting them fairly regularly for the last few days. I think it means that the magma tap may be about ready to blow.”
“That’s not good news,” I replied. “We need to be well away from here if that thing goes.”
“What if we can’t get away in time?” she asked.
“I don’t really want to think about that,” I said, shaking my head. “That will definitely be a bad day.”
As we rounded the corner to the front of my house, I froze when I saw movement in the window of the house diagonally across the street. Holding my fist up, I motioned for Spec-4 to stop. She followed her training and went to one knee, bringing her weapon up to the ready.
I crouched down and began surveying the front of the house with my ACOG. It wasn’t long before I found the source of the movement. It was a zombie that I recognized instantly. It was the busy-body old lady who used to live there. She let her yappy little dogs crap in my yard, even after I asked her not to. She would walk the little noisy crap-factories up and down the street on those long retractable leashes and without fail she would stop by my mailbox and let them shit in my yard.
Well, about the third time I stepped in little tootsie roll sized turds, I was close to losing my temper. I waited for her to come out to walk them and I stood at the end of the yard. When she got close enough, I asked her one final time to desist. Her indignant response was that she would allow her annoying little shit-machines to crap wherever they pleased and walked away in a huff.
Well, that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Little did she realize that I had two large mastiffs? She never saw them because they were in the house during the night and in the backyard during the day. So I went back inside the house, grabbed Odin and Thor’s leashes and hooked up their collars. Then I proceeded to walk them up and down the street until they were both getting that “special hunching feeling” so common to big dogs.
Then, I walked them right up into her yard and let them drop two of the biggest steaming land-mines I’ve ever seen come out of those two beasts, right next to her porch. The best part was that she was looking out the window at that exact same time, glaring at me as they did it. I just smiled sweetly at her and waved.
After that, she walked her dogs another direction and I never found anymore stinky surprises next to my mailbox. Come to think of it, she never spoke to either me or my wife after that. Not that it bothered me. Frankly, I never liked the nosey old bitty anyway.
With a soft chuckle, I brought the reticule of the ACOG right to the middle of her forehead. Without so much as a twinge of guilt, I took up the slack and squeezed trigger, ending her existence. I was almost glad to shoot the old bitch right in the face. I hated her when she was alive, and I bet that she was a fucking Shrieker now that she was dead. Honestly, I couldn’t take the chance of her bringing a horde of the dead down on us. Well, that’s the justification I was going with. Whatever gets you through the night, right?
“Friend of yours?” asked Spec-4.
“Well, friend might not be the right word choice,” I replied, grinning. “More like shitty neighbor.”
We both chuckled for a moment before heading off cautiously down the street, roughly heading back towards the police station. I stuck close to the houses, not wanting to be seen walking in the middle of the street without any cover. I noticed that we were seeing very few of the dead wandering around. Spec-4 commented on seeing the same thing when we came through here while I was semi-conscious. I knew that they had to be around here, somewhere.
Despite the fact that we didn’t see any of the dead, I wasn’t going to let my guard down and end up attracting entirely too much attention down on us. Without any type of vehicle to give us mobility and protection, we were going to have to be careful.
“Hey,” said Spec-4 softly, tapping me on the shoulder.
“Yeah,” I whispered, crouching down and glancing back at her.
“Aren’t we fairly close to that church where the Intel Colonel had taken the bodies from the airport?”
“Well, yeah,” I said, frowning. “Now that you mention it, that’s south of here about a mile.”
“Didn’t we leave several vehicles and some gear there?” she asked, grinning.
“Yeah,” I answered eloquently. “We left quite a bit of gear there. I’d bet it’s been plundered long-since, though.”
“Not if there hasn’t been anyone left around here to plunder it,” she said, shaking her head.
“You’ve got a point,” I said, scratching my chin. “It’s worth checking out. I don’t think either the Hrimthurssar or the Eldjötnar would have much use for our gear. I haven’t
seen many of them use any sort of guns.”
“Then there might be a chance we can find something useful,” she added. “Maybe even a working vehicle.”
“As long as they’ve sat,” I replied, shrugging, “I doubt that any of them would start.”
“We can always roll-start a truck or something,” she said, smiling.
“Alright,” I agreed. “We’ll give it a shot.”
With that, we turned to the south and started picking our way around houses and apartment buildings. It was still eerily quiet and the only dead we saw were either trapped inside buildings or the non-moving variety. The permanently dead kind. Not that I was complaining or anything, I just thought that it was really odd.
I could tell it was approaching mid-day, but the thickly overcast sky made it a dull shade of grey everywhere you looked. We were making good time, but the silence was beginning to take its toll on our nerves. We were both constantly waiting for something to happen, but all we could hear was the wind whispering through the empty buildings. It was strange. Just a few days ago, we were dogged every step we took by the Hrimthurssar and the Eldjötnar. Now, there was nothing anywhere.
Pausing to take a rest, I glanced around to get my bearings. The street signs were gone, but my mental map of Springfield was still pretty good. We were hiding near a warehouse at the corner of what I believed was Scenic and Walnut Lawn. I was fairly sure that those were the right street names since across the street was the carwash where we always took our vehicles.
“Where do you think everyone is?” asked Spec-4, after a moment.
Taking out a bottle of water, I took a long pull and offered it to her. She gladly accepted and took an equally long drink.
“I don’t know,” I whispered with a shrug. “This doesn’t make any fucking sense.”
Leaning back against the metal wall of the warehouse, the metal made a soft popping sound. Instantly, I heard an all too familiar sound from inside the warehouse. It turned the blood in my veins to ice water and I wanted to get away from here as fast as possible. It was the unmistakable sound of the clicking of claws on concrete and the soft snuffling sound of something trying to get a scent.
Ragnarok Rising: Desolation: Book Five of the Ragnarok Rising Saga Page 35
