***
Didi’s computer crashed to the floor and he stumbled away from his chair. After weeks of being trapped in his own home under house arrest, the absurdity of his situation finally struck him to the core. He was allowed to work from home, but what did that matter? Whether he could solve the mystery of genetic traits wholly unassociated with mood still having a role in blocking serotonin reuptake inhibition via pharmaceuticals, what did it matter? His work, anyone’s work, or anything at all – what did any of it matter now?
He stripped off his clothes, suddenly unable to breathe in the confined space. He fell on his bed and with jerky, panicky motions he unlatched his leg brace and let the metal anchor drop to the floor. He knew that they were all doomed. No matter what he did for the Department of Research, no matter what any Havender did in the pursuit of their own interests, it was a fact that Project was gone. The age of man was over.
Didi stumbled away from the bed and gripped the wall, moving across the darkened room with crab-like gestures. He, Korliss, and Sevrik had irrevocably tampered with the genes of an unborn child in order to create a superhuman being. The other two did not know the truth of how it had been accomplished; he knew his allies, his former friends, would be horrified at the truth behind their accomplishment. But it was a fact that Project was gone. Project was either dead, or the flesh demons had taken him and added his genetic potential to the hideous catalogue of weapons already at their disposal. In either case, the human race was doomed.
Didi reached a tall window and held onto the curtains for support as he bathed in the dying light. If anyone bothered to look up, they would see his twisted, stunted body shifting forward and back as he steadied himself, one malformed leg swinging beneath him. Project is gone, thought Didi, and there is nothing I can do about it. He saw a storm rising in the distance, black and deep, casting the city below into premature night.
“God is dead,” he muttered. No other man knew it as he did. “God is dead!”
In the darkness of the growing storm, he could feel something like enlightenment welling up in his soul. Vast, all-encompassing, and darker than the darkest storm, enlightenment hovered just inches over his forehead and threatened to encompass his entire being.
I have to let go, he thought. There is nothing more that I can do. I did what I could. My part is over. I have to let go.
He felt the texture of the curtains gripped in his fingers.
But if I let go, I’ll fall, he thought. That would be irrational.
Didi gripped the curtains, then looked back at his leg brace. He knew that his sorrow and desperation and dread and sense of failure were only results of chemical reactions occurring in his brain. That was why his work with the genetic markers associated with counterproductive antidepressant drug tolerance was so important. He had to return to work so that others could live as they wanted to live… even if only for a short time.
He could not let go. If he did not do the work, who would?
***
Storm clouds gathered over the mountains. Gusts of wind rushed through the high passes, sending clouds of dust racing through the tortured paths of stone. The face of the sun dimmed pale and white.
The primitives gathered on the back of a wide shelf that overlooked the pass. From their vantage point they could see the pass as it wrapped around and continued on to a Guardian checkpoint miles away. Nearby, several narrow paths continued further up into the mountains. If their ambush worked, the Ugly could be hit from above hard enough to either kill them or force them to retreat so that runners could be sent northwards and the Guardians could be summoned. If their plan did not work, they could use the mountain paths as fallback positions or simply scatter and delay the inevitable.
While the others prepared themselves, Brad and Agmar laid on either side of Wodan, who laid on his belly and watched the pass through their binoculars. “I can see them,” Wodan said finally. “They’re on foot, but moving fast. I can see a few horses… I think they’re using them for cover. I think we outnumber them.”
“Good,” said Brad.
“Don’t underestimate them,” said Agmar. “Each one of them is a dangerous killer.”
Wodan handed the binoculars off to Agmar, then said, “I saw four really big guys with shotguns gathered around Barkus. He’s hard to see, but it’s definitely him. Wallach’s there, too.”
“All our old friends,” said Brad. “We must have pissed them off good.”
“Humiliated them, more like,” said Agmar. “Who the hell is that weirdo with them?”
“The tall guy all covered up?” said Wodan. “No idea.”
Agmar handed the binoculars off to Brad, then said, “They’re getting close, keep quiet!”
Wodan signaled to the others, who already knew the basic plan: Those with rifles near the ledge, those with small arms stay back and prepare to cover the riflemen as necessary. Brad hissed and nudged Wodan, then whispered to him.
Wodan gritted his teeth, then patted several of the riflemen nearby and whispered, “Apparently they’ve got two grenade launchers. When you fire, try to hit important targets first – the launchers or Barkus or Wallach. If we can kill those, it could force the others to back down!”
Finally Agmar pulled his head beneath the ledge; if they were seen, the trap would be blown. They waited, clutching their guns, wiping sweat from palms. Heavy footsteps pounded harder, echoing throughout the pass. Wodan wanted to rise and shoot immediately, but he knew they had to let the enemy come close, as close as possible. Anxiety clogged in their veins. A bead of sweat rolled down Wodan’s forehead and dripped off his nose. A light rain fell, chilling their backs. Maxil wet his pants quietly.
Wodan waited until the steps seemed nearly upon them. Slowly, he leaned forward and chanced a look over the edge. Brad saw his eyes widen in shock, as if the Ugly were close, much closer than he had thought. He jerked his head back, said, “Now!” and the riflemen leaned over the edge, weapons raised.
The line of marching Ugly and horses were almost directly below them, but few of the experienced killers were caught unawares. They had been eyeing the ledge the entire time and, as soon as they saw movement, many stopped and began to spread out to either side of the pass. Wodan heard rifles blasting on his left and right and saw one Ugly’s chest explode; he spun in a shower of his own blood, covering his companions as he fell. Wodan stared down the length of his rifle and felt his eye and trigger finger lock in sync. His mind shut out the sound of the explosions ringing from the walls of stone. He found Barkus immediately. The man stared directly back at him, as still as stone. As Wodan pulled the trigger one of Barkus’s fanatical guards leaped backwards upon his master. His chest was run through by the bullet and he fell in a heap at his master’s feet. Brad’s shotgun sprayed the horses, causing them to panic. One Ugly gripped the reins and was slung about like a rag doll, then another horse threw its back legs in the air and kicked the man’s face with such force that the head twisted about completely, the eyes open as if pleading for assistance. One grenadier held his weapon lengthwise, as if to defend himself, then felt his legs disappear in a hail of bullets, sending corpse and grenade launcher clattering along the path. The remainder of the Ugly split in half and hugged the walls of the pass for partial cover, then raised their weapons.
“Back!” shouted Wodan, rolling away. “Back, get back!” The rocks the primitives hid behind chipped and shattered as an incredible shower of bullets tore into their position. Wodan waved them further and further back, for they could not hope to continue the ambush under such a focused assault.
Barkus scanned the ledge and the pass while his men fired round after round, chipping at the stone until the air was thick with dust. He tapped one Ugly on the back and pointed to the launcher lying in the pass. The man nodded, ran low into the middle while his brothers covered him. “Wallach!” Barkus shouted. The blond beast lowered his rifle and cupped a hand to his ear. “Get some horses, take two of my shotgunners and two othe
rs. Ride around the pass, hit their position from the other side of that ledge!”
“Right!” barked Wallach. “Keep covering me!”
Barkus unsheathed his two massive handguns, leaned against the wall, and breathed deep. An Ugly returned to his side with the launcher. Barkus nodded, tapped the other grenadier, and said, “Get in the middle of that pass! Watch me!” They nodded.
Barkus, one of his personal guard, and another Ugly left their cover and walked casually to the base of the ledge, firing indiscriminately at the primitives’ former position. From the corner of his eye, Barkus saw the robed demon shift his weight, then bound up the sides of the pass. The climb was nearly vertical, but the monster bounded up the side faster than a man running on level ground. Barkus reached the base of the ledge with his men and stopped firing. There was silence as his men stopped firing and reloaded. He heard the hooves of Wallach’s horses in the distance. He laid his back against the stone. Rain fell softly, turning the rock from gray to black. He nodded to the two grenadiers in the middle of the pass.
At that moment, Brad tried to stop his friends from bunching up. “They’ll be up here soon!” Wodan shouted. “We’ll have to go further up the mountain, then try to pick them off as they climb-”
They heard two dull thuds. As everyone scattered or dived, Wodan grabbed someone’s arm and ran. There was a flash of light, then the ground shook and tossed his legs into the air. Wodan felt a sledgehammer inside of his lungs. He felt strangely at peace as he drifted through the air. He sensed movement from the person he’d been pulling, then saw that he was only holding an arm, the fingers still flexing in his grasp. Suddenly he slapped into hard stone and skidded along the floor, sharp stone biting into him savagely. Cold stone and hot blood rained on him as he laid against the ground, staring upward. He turned his head slowly and saw a man running; there was a flash of another explosion and the man simply disappeared; only his boots with ankle bones sticking out of them remained and slid along the ground.
He rose. The ledge was littered with dead and wounded, too torn apart to number. He was amazed to see that Brad and three others had reached a safe niche further away along the ledge. Wodan saw a man lying near him. He pulled at the man, slapping him roughly.
“Can’t give up!” Wodan shouted, his own voice distant in his ears. “Keep fighting! Die fighting if you have to, but get up!”
The man stirred, nodding and wiping a thick line of drool from his face. A small hand grabbed Wodan’s shoulder, hard as a vice grip. Wodan turned and saw Rachek with Maxil and three other primitives. Agmar was nowhere to be seen.
Lightning lit the precarious folds of the mountain above them. “Get up there!” shouted Wodan. “They’ll be firing more grenades or coming up the sides themselves! Let’s go!”
***
The storm poured into the valley and threw its thunder against the mountains. Wind ran shrieking along the black walls. The grenade launchers fired round after round onto the shelf until the southern reaches were demolished, sending clouds of white dust racing past. Barkus waved for them to stop.
“Let’s go,” he said to the two on either side of him. “They’re either dead or further up the mountain. You two launchers - stay down here and wait for my signal to fire or follow.”
“Yessir!” said one. He laughed grimly and clapped a hand on his friend’s back. “Not a bad job of it!”
“Hope we don’t get done too quick,” said the other. “Gettin’ back on that boat is the last thing I wanna do!”
Suddenly there was a sharp crack, then one Ugly’s hand split open. Flecks of blood and bone peppered the face of the other. Two more sharp reports sent the Ugly’s vest jumping, then blood flowed out from the bottom. The other Ugly dropped his launcher and ran before the dead man hit the ground. Barkus saw the flash of the gunman’s rifle higher up the mountain.
Agmar’s back was against the wall, his long rifle perched against a stone. “Get you back to the Hell you came from!” he whispered harshly. He had clambered up onto a lonely crevice just before the explosions started, then ran up a steep pass with all his might to save his skin. But when he saw Wodan and some others scrambling up one of the steep trails before the final devastating wave of grenades, he swore he would do everything in his power to keep them safe.
“Sniper!” shouted one of the Ugly guards.
“Go back and get those launchers!” Barkus shouted to the Ugly.
“Screw you!” said the shaking Ugly. “I’m not dyin’ out here, not for you or nobody!”
“We’re immortal, you fool,” grated Barkus. “Don’t you know we have a demon here watching over us?”
“He wasn’t watchin’ my buddy!” he said. The purple scars on his face twitched with fury.
Agmar eyed the remains of the ledge. Suddenly Barkus rose over the edge, handguns drawn. Agmar swiveled his gun. Several Ugly ran around Barkus, who walked calmly to the place where Wodan and the others had fled. But Agmar had not been ready for them, and cursed himself for a fool as the four killers reached the concealed rise where his friends must still be hiding. Agmar could no longer see anybody from his vantage point, but if he stayed there then he would most likely be found and killed. He left his crevice to climb higher.
Lighting flashed, and for one second he could see a lone figure crouching further up the mountain. Black robes whipped around its body, and in the sudden darkness he could see its yellow eyes glowing faintly. Agmar stumbled and raised his rifle, but the thing disappeared in an instant.
“Flesh demon!” he said. “Oh, no! Gods help us!”
***
Brad and his three friends huddled under a narrow stone roof while the area down below was destroyed by seemingly endless grenades. In the silence that followed, they had no idea if their friends were alive or dead. Finally they heard the sharp reports of a rifle, then horse hooves further down the pass.
“Hear that?” said Brad. “That means someone’s still fighting the Ugly!”
“Come on!” said another. “We gotta help!”
They crawled from their niche and slid back down to the blasted ledge. They heard hooves clattering up the northern side and knew that the Ugly were trying to sneak around and hit any survivors from behind. They ran straight for the side, their fear drowned out in a typhoon of adrenaline, each one knowing they would risk anything to save their friends. At the edge of the steep incline they saw five mounted warriors with guns drawn cresting the rise with the blond beast Wallach in the lead.
“Surprise, bitches!” Brad screamed, and both groups fired into one another simultaneously.
With deadly precision Wallach aimed his revolver and blasted one primitive in the face, killing him instantly. Without pause he leveled his revolver at Brad, then their horses panicked as bullets tore into their necks and chests; Wallach ended up fighting his mount as it spun about wildly. Brad managed to fire two shots from his shotgun, then a hail of buckshot tore into the side of his face. He stumbled, then gunfire blasted his knee, crippling him. A dead man fell on top of him. As he fought to free himself, he saw horses and riders crash into one another and slide away from view, cursing and blasting anything in sight. The last rider regained control of his mount, saw that he was alone, then turned and followed his brothers back down the side.
Brad felt hands pulling him away from the dead man on top of him. His eyes were covered in blood, but he could dimly make out the man with the Mohawk – the one Wodan had saved from drowning. The man pulled Brad back to their hidden niche, then fell beside him.
Brad cleaned his remaining eye, then felt an awful wave of pain wash through him.
“We didn’t do so well,” said Mohawk, crying.
“They won’t be so quick!” said Brad, choking on each breath. “They won’t be so quick to come up that way again!”
Wallach dragged himself away from the horses and the man that had fallen into him. His own horse rose painfully, ready to serve again. “Thanks a lot,” said Wallach. He laid h
is revolver against the horse’s head, fired into it, and the animal dropped instantly. One horse bearing a dead man scampered nearby, and Wallach jerked a shotgun from the dead man’s clenched hands. He slapped the horse and it continued further up the pass with its ghostly burden.
“We do it without horses this time,” said Wallach. Three surviving Ugly nodded to him, visibly shaken. “No need for embarrassment,” he said gruffly. “Let’s just get some heads for Barkus. Remember, it’s the winners who get to say what went down. None of... this... ever happened.”
He led them back up the steep ledge, ignoring the pain in his knuckles and knees that disagreed with his statement.
***
Spears of lightning flew and stabbed into the black mountains, shrieking and bellowing. Rain turned to razors in the killing wind, howling like the gates of a hateful world thrown wide open. Black, white, black, white, over and over flashed the heavens, all reason rent asunder, pure savagery laid bare, the world burning and drowning all at once.
Wodan, Rachek, Maxil, and four others climbed and ran up the slick paths of the mountain. They did not rest. Tall boulders jutted into the air, concealing them from their killers but also hiding any true path of safety from them. The paths were winding, and often they found they had doubled back and risked their lives to reach a place they had already passed. Sometimes hollow laughter followed them, laughter from a scarred mouth, and they ran harder.
Wodan held Maxil’s hand to help him keep up and to comfort him against the black world of fear they ran through. They came to a high place. The sky was black and stretched as far up as down. They knelt and rested without thinking, crouching like animals.
They heard thunder – then bullets. Gunfire smacked into the narrow platform that held them aloft. Hollow laughter rang out. In a flash of lightning, Wodan saw them: Barkus, clothed in black and sopping wet, laughing maniacally, firing with both arms, with three Ugly devils firing at his sides. The seven scattered. A woman covered Maxil, but took a bullet at the base of her skull. She fell over the edge. Maxil moved to grab her – then teetered over the edge and fell. Wodan and Rachek screamed, ran to the edge, and saw the boy clinging to a slender crevice. His face was so small, so deathly pale in all that darkness. Stone came loose under his grip. He slid down, down, down into the hungry black. He disappeared in the darkness. There was a sharp crack and Rachek buckled. Wodan grabbed her, then someone pulled them behind an overhanging stone. The terrible laughter went on, and on, and on.
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