Somewhat more awake now, David struggled not to panic. He staggered out of his room like a robot. His lanky, five-eleven frame stumbled down the hall toward his front door. He stubbed his little toe hard in the darkness. A second later he grunted and cursed the sudden blinding spread of pain, but kept moving.
Oh, hell. No way out the front.
Dangerous ribbons of smoke curled violently through the metal front door frame and snaked up across the ceiling like an upside down waterfall. The paint of the metal fire door already bubbled and blistered. David choked and swallowed hard.
If that door had been wood, his entire apartment might have already been completely engulfed. He might not have even come to. He saw no sense in touching the steaming door knob.
The apartment building stairs acted like a natural chimney, funneling the fire and heat straight up.
A window–climb out a window. He was only on the second floor.
His three richer roomies were already off on spring break for the next week, to the Bahamas or some such. Their parents could afford such junkets. David could not.
He suddenly realized two very important things. The fire hadn’t spread to the back part of the apartment building yet.
Next, he was only wearing navy boxers and a gray T-shirt over his shaking frame.
Early April in South Bend, Indiana could be any weather from sun and sixties to a flippin’ blizzard.
Clothes. Only seconds to throw some on. Even in the dim, flickering orange light spilling out of the thick curtains, he spotted his laundry basket on the couch.
The smoke in the living room grew thicker. He put his precious picture, smartphone, and wallet down for only a few moments.
Jeans. On. Socks. On. He snatched up his thick blue, gold, and green hoody from the back of the old couch where he usually left it, and pulled into its soft, warm, comfort. Stocking cap. Popped on his head. Wool scarf. Around the neck. He sat down and jammed on his old gray Nike running shoes, feeling a pair of thin gloves and keys in his hoody pockets still, when he bent over.
Ready to ride, or, at least climb out the back window to escape burning to death.
He stuffed his folks’ picture, wallet, and smartphone into his dark green Jansport backpack with his pad, gel pens, and a few books. He zipped it all up.
To the back window. He pulled the curtains aside and yanked the big panel open.
He jumped slightly, at some guy who already climbed down the back of the building from the third floor. Their eyes locked, only a window screen between them in the dim, pre-dawn light and the cold morning air.
The guy looked utterly terrified.
“Watch out!” he warned, trying to keep his voice low. “Those things are killing people. They’re everywhere!”
“What things?” What was this guy freaking out about?
The guy jolted wide-eyed and then choked.
A bloody iron arrowhead jutted out the front of his throat. In the time it took them both to blink, another arrow punched through the front of his chest, out of his T-shirt. The poor guy’s mouth gaped and worked. Then his eyes rolled up white. He fell backwards, head down.
David grabbed for him, but missed, his hands blocked by the barrier of the screen. He tore it away and stuck his head out the window.
He spotted strange movement down in the darkness.
Two dark, twisted, hunched-over figures loped in on bandy legs and clawed feet wrapped in fur and rags. They were smaller than humans, about four to five feet tall and very skinny and wiry.
Whatever they were, they were definitely not human.
One of them slit the dead guy’s throat from ear to ear with a long, wicked-looking rusty knife.
Blood spurted bright black in the night.
The other creature sniffed the air and snarled up at David with a greenish-black, twisted, inhuman face. Long pointed ears stuck out of holes in its ragged hood. It had a big warty nose, and gleaming green eyes. It gave full draw to the same kind of short, black bow of jagged horn that the other one carried.
The creature took dead aim at David.
And fired.
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Mergeworld
Book Two
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by Mason Elliott and Garan R. R Faraday
“Several of the enemy mage prisoners have escaped,” a runner came to warn them. The young trooper looked terrified.
Mason drew his Spillers. They would have to be enough. After the bath, he didn’t have all of his other guns. And there wasn’t time to go after them.
It also worried him that he still felt–off his game, somehow. Something was still very wrong with him, but he couldn’t figure out what. Perhaps that was merely what sorrow and depression felt like.
Blondie shook the terrified runner. “Calm down. Tell me what you know. Which prisoners? How many of them?”
“S-six, six, I think. They tried to free the rest, but the guards on the scene shot two down. Then the enemy mages fled this way, and started killing everyone they could find with magic.”
Troops screamed, and close by to the west, magic blasts went off, and the sounds of battle and further bursts of magical rapidly sped their way.
The runner continued to stammer, “The tall n-n-necromancer is leading them. Five others. I don’t know their names. As soon as they broke out, the duty officer sent me after you two and the Thul woman.”
Blondie let the runner go. “Try to find the Thul. Go. Keep spreading the alarm.”
“Yes, s-sir!” The young runner looked only too happy to keep running.
“They’re coming for us, aren’t they, Blondie?” Mason asked, hefting his Spillers.
Blondie clenched both fists, and violet magefire flared up to his elbows. “Yep. Just like I said they would. How do you want to do this, Mace?”
“Hmmm…too many to hit them head on. Let’s go at them from the flanks. I’ll hit them on the left.”
His blond friend nodded. “Then I’ll take them on the right. The necromancer’s going to be the toughest of the lot. Let’s peel off the other five, if we can, and then take him on together.”
“Sounds good, Blondie. Let’s ride.”
They skirted around to either side, trying to stick to cover and stay out of sight. Mason quickly lost sight of his friend.
It did briefly occur to him that this would be an excellent time for Blondie to turn on them all, and help the mages make good their escape. But at this point, Mason had no choice but to keep trusting his good friend.
Blondie said that his abilities were returning.
He could tell them anything he wanted. How would they know if it was the truth or not?
From the sounds of things, the militia troops were putting up a pretty good fight and delaying the enemy at least somewhat. Each precious second they could hold them back, more troops would pour in.
Yet even as Mason got into position to attack, the enemy mages continued to push through, causing death and destruction all around them, and leaving many casualties in their wake.
Startled troops could slow the enemy down, but they would be hard pressed to stop six enemy mages bent on a rampage of devastation.
They were lucky that it wasn’t all thirteen of the mage captives on the loose.
A
t Blondie’s urging, Major Bill had spread several of the captive mages out to other nearby, secret locations–beyond the limited range of their prisoners’ telepathy.
Mason spotted the enemy. The necromancer strode out in front with another sorcerer. A pair of enemy wizards marched slightly behind them on either side, guarding their flanks and watching the rear.
Blondie stepped up and raked the enemy left and the middle with violet lightning that knocked four of the six off their feet, and stunned the two flankers.
The first flanker on the other side turned to attack Blondie. The second one raised his hands and his eyes got big when he saw the Pistolero step out and aim both of his pistols.
Click! Click!
Nothing. Mason’s guns wouldn’t fire. He cocked and pulled the triggers again.
Nothing.
By then the one mage was charging Blondie, exploding anything that was made of wood around him. He sent the shards and splinters and whirling debris at Blondie, while the necromancer and the other sorcerer still looked dazed and tried to regain their feet. And the mage facing Mason shot greenish-yellow flames out of his hands at all before him.
Mason dove out of the way, tucked and rolled out of sight, and then crouched and ran. The enemy wizard would be on him in seconds.
Finally he came to a building and ducked inside. He scrambled out of sight into an adjoining back storage room and ducked down. He tried his guns again. Still nothing. Why was this happening,? Now of all times?
Blondie needed him out there.
Maybe if he reloaded. Yeah, that would do it.
Slowing his breathing, doing his best to stay calm, he broke out his spare cylinders for his guns and swapped them out. He was fast at it, but every second counted.
He went back out into the fight. As he expected, the fighting quickly turned Blondie’s way, and blasts of magic nearby showed where the foes were pursuing Blondie hard and blasting everything around him. Blondie fought back as best he could, but from what Mason could tell, his friend was outnumbered four to one.
He raced that way, not even trying to stay under cover this time. He had to catch up quickly, and take them from behind, if possible.
Mason sped around a building and almost slammed into the same enemy mage as before. This one seemed to be holding back and protecting the rear of the other three while they stalked Blondie.
Mason had intended to shoot them on sight, but he clobbered the mage from behind now that he was right on top of him. The mage grunted and dropped, unconscious.
Pistol-whipping worked better in this instance. Mason dragged the mage back out of sight and quickly gagged him, and bound his hands and ankles behind him.
At this distance, Mason would not have any trouble taking out the other three with one or two shots, once he spotted them again. And their spells gave them away when they fired. Hopefully, Blondie was staying ahead of them.
Mason rushed forward once more, spotted several troops closing in with bows and crossbows, and motioned for them to go around and close in from one side or the other.
Finally he spotted the necromancer and the one wizard, crouched down and making plans of some kind.
Mason took aim at them with both barrels.
Click. Click.
Crap, not again. What the hell was going on?
Even worse, the necromancer turned and locked eyes with him.
“There’s the other one. Let’s get him!” All of their hands glowed with magefire.
Mason turned and ran for it. Dark lightning and exploding ice covered the area he had just been in.
His foes were right after him. Archers tried to fire upon the mages, but they swept the troops away from their positions with blasts of power.
A stone or outcropping of brick caught the toe of Mason’s boot. He hurtled down upon his face, and tried to roll back up to his feet.
The third enemy mage stepped out right in front of Mason.
Now, the three of them had him fairly trapped.
“Kill him!” the necromancer roared.
The wizard still hesitated an instant. Then he prepared a spell, his hands beginning to glow brighter and brighter.
They were only a dozen or so feet away. Mason hurled his useless pistols at the wizard.
One missed as the fellow dodged to one side.
The other smacked him squarely in the face and dazed and bloodied him.
Mason expected to be cut down from behind by the other two enemies any second.
He glanced back just as the two stood ready to unleash their spells.
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Mergeworld
Book Three
by Mason Elliott and Garan R. R Faraday
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DAVID
Ten days after the Elkhart battle, the Allies of Michiana declared a victory celebration to be held on August first, in honor of the defeat of the Dark Khabal, the Kolugtathuloth colossus, and the Dragon Cult in Elkhart. The names of the victorious dead would be read aloud and their families honored. General Dirk Blackwood always tried to assess needs in private, make sure that the families of the fallen were taken care of, and not just left to fend for themselves.
This was yet another reason why Dirk was universally loved and respected by those who followed him. They knew that even if they went down in battle, as long as Michiana survived, those they were fighting for were going to be all right. Many of the militia leaders noticed that as well, and applied similar practices to their forces with a similar degree of success.
David and Jerriel attended the party nearest to their home, one of many such celebrations held across town in smaller groups. Most of their friends were there. Dirk and Belinda spoke briefly about the construction progress on several forts and strong points, and the massive fortresses taking shape in the center of town. Tens of thousands of people volunteered to work on constructing these safe points. The progress of so much concentrated effort by so many became staggering. Everyone wanted a fortification nearby. If the monsters overran the town again, everyone wanted a safe place to go to.
Dirk, Jerriel, and many others spoke about the rapidly expanding war with the Dark Khabal. Not just in Michiana, but most likely across both worlds of the Merge and on every continent.
David’s heart always sank at the prospect of such talk. It made his efforts and the sacrifices of his friends and neighbors all seem so small and insignificant. When would such a war possibly end? How would he and Jerriel ever have a normal life together? Would they all eventually be killed?
David and Jerriel had inspected several of the new fortified safe sites. He brought up his misgivings about an endless war at the celebration.
“I hope we never need to fall back on all of those hard points,” Dirk said in response. “But it’s also good to be prepared. They’ll be there if we need them. I won’t leave us without such defenses for our civilians ever again. This could be a long war for all we know. Modern home and business structures–Pre-Merge–are now worthless for defensive purposes, against the types of foes and threats we now face. We’ve barely managed to survive. Now we have to think long term, into the future about so many things.”
“Many other important local buildings are being hardened and fortified as well,” Belinda added. “People will
have any number of safe places close by to retreat to, if the town is ever cut off and attacked in the same ways.”
They looked over the posted maps nearby and noted all of the coordinated locations spaced throughout town. People were assigned to hard points in their area. If that was where the people would go for protection, no wonder they worked on them with such fervor.
There were numerous artist renderings as to what the finished designs would look like. A generic, medieval castle or eighteenth century fortress look prevailed.
On a lighter, more enjoyable note, there was still sufficient food and even drink at the parties. Some of the fresh food and drink was shipped in from Elkhart and the surrounding area, so as not to waste it. Freshly slaughtered livestock of any kind: beef, pork, goats, sheep, geese, ducks, chickens was now a luxury that would need to be rationed, even at festivals. Much of it was used to feed the army and the population in general so that nothing went to waste.
Thul-Kazar and Thulkara did not complain one bit about more food to eat. They dove into the feast like the champion eaters they were. Thulls loved barbecue, all of the sauces, all of the spices and flavors.
That included the side dishes and desserts and the beer and wine that flowed freely as well. As a special thanks to their pair of valiant barbarians, Dirk made sure they had plenty to chow on, even for them.
David sat contentedly in a circle of his friends while their troops danced and made merry all around just after sunset. They utilized a hodge-podge of lawn chairs, camp chairs, and folding chairs around a bonfire in the middle of their part of camp.
Every time he glanced at Jerriel, David’s heart pounded. He could barely take his eyes off her. His love and desire for her seemed only to increase with each passing second. For the time being he smiled at his own happiness and good fortune.
“What do you miss the most about the world before the Merge?” Robert Billings suddenly asked aloud.
Naero's Valor Page 46
