by Joey Ruff
I heard London. His voice sounded close, heard the gunshots roar out. He laughed. Then he screamed.
I fought to take a few steps forward before I felt the suppressing squeeze against my leg, the snaking tendrils wrapped around my ankle. My left foot was pulled behind me, lifted from the ground. I fell, one leg and one hand, pulling with all of my might against an impossible strength. Heads were everywhere. I couldn’t count them all. Another spearhead scraped against my left leg, and I couldn’t breathe anymore.
The hardest thing I’d ever done in my life was in that moment. I resigned myself to death. I was bleeding and caught, drowning in the neak’s sea of heads that pierced and held, and I couldn’t see anything but darkness.
As I closed my eyes, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It seemed larger than a human hand, felt stronger, more solid. It was like granite.
Then it was gone.
When I opened my eyes, I saw the massive body of the neak and its tangled, jumbled mass of heads from a distance. I was maybe fifty yards away, completely in the open. To my right, the lake still rippled with the splashing of the neak’s tail, which was now like a tree trunk batting back and forth, sending drops of water into the air in every direction. To my left, the hills rolled away, and behind me another thirty yards was the outcropping of rock and a small cave at its base.
Beside me lay the Edomites. London sat three feet away, void of his bag of guns, but still clinging to a semi-automatic rifle. He had a vacant look on his face, and he was bleeding from his ear and nose. “Never been in a shit storm like that before…”
For a minute, I didn’t understand how I’d been plucked from the midst of battle, but as I followed London’s gaze to the maddening scene before us, I saw the neak and the creature that rallied before it. The thing moved so fast that at times it was little more than a blur. When I did catch a glimpse, I didn’t believe what I saw. The creature was massive with big broad shoulders, fists the size of soccer balls. The shoulders of the neak must have been twenty feet tall at this point, and this new creature stood nearly to its knees with long, luxurious hair and the face of a horse.
“What the fuck is that thing?” London asked.
“I think…I think it’s a Tikbalang,” I said, though not really believing it.
“Well, where the fuck did it come from, brother? I didn’t know you had one of those roaming around here.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t.”
“I will be thankful for its appearance,” Omri said. “However it came to be.”
“So what you’re fucking saying,” London offered with a laugh, “Is not to look a fucking gift horse in the mouth?” He chuckled to himself before wincing in pain and falling quiet.
“Is everyone okay?” I asked.
Levi and Kol were kneeling over someone. “Eres is dead,” Levi said.
“Avim and Silvan are unaccounted for,” Kol added.
“We need to get out of the open,” Omri said.
I turned to him and said, “Omri, I…”
“Do not speak ill. None of this was your fault.”
“Yes,” Levi said, “And Boaz is also unaccounted for.”
Laughter erupted from the hills to my left, and London said, “Yeah, I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
We turned to find White-streak, or Boaz, rather, striding toward us. He had a large sword in each hand and an ornate dagger tucked into the belt at his waist. The amulet around his neck that I’d seen him stroking previously was now glowing with the same green light as each of the neak’s eyes.
His steps were slow, purposeful, and when he got about ten feet from us, he stopped. The most sinister, vile laugh I’d ever heard erupted from his lips. “You did well,” he said, “getting me this far, Omri. I’ll take it from here, now.”
“Boaz, what are you talking about? I…”
Boaz laughed, threw his hand forward, and hit Omri with a bolt of lightning. Omri began to writhe and then fell over, quivering slightly.
“Which one of you pathetic mortals is next?”
“I hate to say this,” London said, “But I don’t think that motherfucker is Boaz anymore.”
36
Swyftt
With Grace in-hand, I emptied out of the alley and onto a quiet street. It was early, before dawn. While the sky was awakening, the street lights were still on. There was nobody anywhere. It was a small town, and it was a Sunday morning. The store fronts along the street weren’t even chained or gated, just locked. Signs hung on the door that said, “Sorry, We’re Closed.” The only thing happening would be church in a few hours. Maybe the diner would start serving breakfast soon. But that was all after the sun came up.
I turned toward the bayou and started walking at a brisk pace. As I moved, I cracked Grace open and checked the loaded rounds to find iron buckshot. I snapped the barrel closed.
As I walked, it occurred to me how unlike Seattle this place was. There weren’t any sounds, for one, which was creepy. No cars idled at the curb, no doors opened or closed. Nobody gathered on the street. It seemed less like an actual town and more like a staged set, like those towns they build at bomb test sites. The place was a fucking ghost town.
The street I was on ended in a tee intersection. There was a little park area in the grassy patch with a few benches, a swing set, and a slide. Beyond that was the forest and swamp.
I saw the glow of the Alfar as I neared. They made no sound as they walked, but they shone like fucking angels in a nativity display. I stepped onto the grass at the playground the same time that they left the tree line. I moved straight for them. They were angling off to the left, seemingly unaware of my presence.
I figured they had a singular mission. If what Huxley said was true, and what Ezra was doing was polluting their world, they were acutely aware of the pollution’s source and were gunning straight for her. Only problem was, they had to go through me first. And I brought cold-fucking-iron.
I unloaded both shells into the first from only a few feet away. Two direct hits. I saw the smoke coming from the wounds, heard the sizzling of its skin.
Both of them turned to me. Their blades were drawn. Their faces were expressionless. I was a bug on their windshield.
Or so they thought.
One of them said something in a language I didn’t understand, and I got the fleeting feeling that something was off about them. I didn’t know what it was. I had encountered the elves before. These two were…not normal. The other responded the same way. Then they attacked.
Two swords came at me. Now, I wasn’t a sword guy. I wasn’t going to beat them in a fair fight, so while they had exchanged a few words, I popped my spent shells and chambered a couple of fresh ones.
The one on the left wore an armored breast plate. Gauntlets covered his forearms, a leather skirt was held around his waist by a thick belt. He had bracers on his legs, but his feet were bare. His hair was long and white, held out of his face and away from his pointy little ears by small, yet thick, metal bands.
The one on the right had the iron shotgun pellets singing his flesh. He was topless, wearing a pair of form-fitting pants that looked like leather. He was also barefoot, wore wrist gauntlets, and went to the same hair stylist as his traveling companion, but his hair was more of a chestnut brown.
Typically, I liked to finish what I start. If I took Shirts out of the occasion, I could focus on Skins, who was already wounded. I took aim at Shirts and fired a bolo round. The steel cable burst from the tip of the gun, spiraled through the air, and wrapped tightly around the Alfar, securing his arms to his side. He hopped in place for a half second and then fell over.
Skins barely noticed his pal and continued to charge at me. He swung his sword in, missing me on the left, and I ducked as he swung sideways to catch me. I kicked him in the knee, and he staggered, but didn’t fall. When I stood, I noticed for the first time that his chest was leaking, though not what I’d thought was blood. It was more like tar.
The el
ves, along with most other Seelie, were renowned as the kind of beautiful that made models and Playmate bunnies look starved and depraved. Despite the bioluminescent glow, his skin had the appearance of clay. His eyes were sunken and dark. He looked…sick.
This wasn’t going to be much of a fight, after all. He swung again, and I brought Grace up to block it. For the first time, I realized how sluggish his movements were. The Alfar were as quick and nimble as they were beautiful. Normally.
Shirts flexed his muscles and burst the bolo cable. I was running out of time.
Skins swung in again, and I deflected the blade, stepping forward into him, and jamming Grace up under his chin. I pulled the other trigger, and his head exploded into dust. As his arms fell limply to his side, I stepped back, watching his body topple like Jenga. It struck the ground and crumbled into dust again, disappearing as though he’d never been.
Shirts moved toward me. He was a little quicker than his pal had been, but not nearly what I would have expected of him. Still, he was quick enough that I lacked the time to reload. I holstered Grace and pulled both FN’s, aiming squarely for his head, and I emptied both clips as fast as I could.
As I watched him fall to dust, I realized something crucial. Neither of them had been the one I saw in the woods behind Ezra’s house. That one, as far as I could tell, was the leader. He was the first, at any rate, and the procession that had followed him was none too shabby. If these two, who had been the only two I’d seen, were not the first in the group, they weren’t the first into town. They were likely the last. Stragglers bringing up the rear. The others had already infiltrated the town. Probably already found Ezra.
As I turned to go, I heard a footstep behind me and caught the blur of motion just before being clubbed in the back of the head. My knees gave out, and I was thrown forward onto my hands, catching myself.
I rolled onto my back, a little dazed, but still conscious, and saw Brisbane and Baylor, dressed in uniform, smirking over top of me. Brisbane had a police-issued baton in one hand.
“We were told to keep an eye out for you,” Baylor said.
“You hit like a fucking girl,” I said. “A blow like that should have knocked me out.”
“I want you awake for everything that we’re going to do to you,” Brisbane said.
“Is that what you told your date last night, too?” He didn’t say anything. “From police to barbarians, now, is that it?”
“You killed St. Clair,” Brisbane said. “We’re going to put your ass away for a long time.”
“You have no fucking evidence.”
“We have eye witness accounts. We have your fingerprints. We’ve already filed the paperwork. There’s a warrant out for your arrest.”
I never took my gloves off. He was lying. Anything they had was faked. I guess that shouldn’t surprise me.
“Are you scared?” Baylor said. “We’re going to tear your ass apart.”
“You hit like cunts, but I didn’t realize you were a couple of queers, too.”
Brisbane kicked me in the face. His boots were big, heavy things and hurt a hell of a lot more than his fists. I could taste the iron of my blood. I spit at him, and he answered with a kick to the ribs. I coughed and sputtered, and when I caught my breath, I said, “You kick like a pussy, too. That all you got?”
The last time, he pulled his foot back just a tad, and I dared him to do better. As expected, he brought his foot way back as though he were getting ready to kick a football. I spun and kicked the leg he was standing on, and he fell hard on his side.
I still had both FN’s in my hands, and Baylor had pulled his gun by the time I’d gained my feet. The hammer was back and his finger was on the trigger. Safety was even off. He meant to use it. “Take a step, fuck head!” he said.
“Does backwards count?” I asked, lifting my hands into the air just a little, making a show of taking my fingers from the triggers. He didn’t know the guns were empty. Or maybe he did. Maybe he’d seen me evaporate that Alfar’s head. He eyed me suspiciously, but said nothing. As I took a step back, he grew agitated.
“I said, don’t fucking move, asshole!”
“No, you told me to take a step.”
He grinned as he shook his head. “You’re one of those, huh? Just give me a reason, jackass.”
“Look, I’m sorry. I’m putting the guns on the ground, okay.” I started to kneel slowly, watching Baylor closely, never taking my eyes off of him. He held the position of the gun where it was, aimed at where my chest would be if I were standing. As I lowered, the barrel was pointed over my head. I guess he was waiting for me to stand again. His mistake.
I lunged upward at him, and by the time he realized what had happened, I’d grabbed his elbow and pushed his gun into the air. When he pulled the trigger, the bullet went straight up. I caught him with my other arm, wrapping it around his chest, lifting him just slightly into the air, catching him off balance, and carrying him back with the momentum. He slammed down onto the slide with such force that as his arm hit the slide rail, the gun was jarred from his hand.
I put one of the FN’s away, ejected the spent mag on the other, and popped in a fresh one. I moved to put a bullet into Baylor, but his partner hit me from behind. It was a solid tackle, with both arms wrapping around my waist. He carried me forward, and I nearly missed the metal leg of the swings when we landed in the worn patch of dirt.
I rolled quickly onto my back and brought the FN around, hitting Brisbane in the side of the head with the butt of the handle. He jarred back, dazed, but rebounded quickly. I caught the glint of steel as he moved for my gun hand, felt the hard, cold slap against my wrist. He smashed my hand against the ground once, twice, harder each time. On the third, my fingers opened, and the gun leapt from my hand.
He stood just a little from me, shifting his weight around to his other leg, and he slapped the other end of the handcuff to the pole of the swing set. I jerked my hand, but it was too late. I was caught.
From the other side of the yard, Baylor moaned and stirred slightly. Brisbane stood, taking my loaded FN from the grass and sticking it in his belt. Then he turned and moved for Baylor, but he was still close enough, and I kicked out with my full might, striking the soft spot at the back of his knee. As he fell, I kicked the back of his other foot as hard as I could, sending that out from under him. He fell onto his back right beside me.
I stood, testing the limits of my reach with the handcuff. The link slid up the pole, allowing me to stand, and I could just reach the chain on the first swing. I grabbed it as Brisbane stood, and wrapped the chain twice around his neck. I held the chain, putting all of my weight on it.
Brisbane’s hands went immediately to his throat and struggled at the chain that was crushing his windpipe. He couldn’t get a grip as his eyes went wide and bulged a little. He gasped and coughed, sputtering. I watched it happen, watched his face turn bright red.
With one hand still fighting at the chain, he reached for his gun, but he couldn’t turn to look at me. As he brought it up, I swung my boot up and kicked it from his hand.
The way I held the chain, he wasn’t able to stand all the way, bent half-backwards, but I saw his footing, threw one of my legs over the swing chain (partly for added weight but partly because my fingers were starting to slip) and I kicked his legs out from underneath him, leaving him to dangle, using his own weight against him.
It took seconds more before he stopped struggling. As Baylor sat up, I let go of the chain and dropped to the ground. Brisbane continued to hang there.
Baylor screamed. Then he fired a few shots. At first, I thought he missed, but then I started to feel the heat in my thigh. I grabbed the loaded FN from Brisbane’s belt, and dropped him with two bullets. The way Brisbane was hanging, I couldn’t reach his pockets for the key, so I held my breath and shot the cuffs, severing the chain that held the links together.
I stood there, rubbing my wrist where the cuff had chafed. My thigh was burning pretty hot, but I
didn’t see any blood, didn’t lose any strength in my leg. I didn’t hear anyone approach, but all of a sudden, a shadow fell across the ground next to me. The smell of wet dog hit me as I turned, and the skunk ape that stood there was nothing shy of startling.
Given my last two meetings with the creatures hadn’t gone well, I wasn’t exactly feeling all warm and fuzzy about the thing that stood before me. Its brown hair had a golden hint that made it appear almost orange, and it was short for one of its kind, standing right about my height.
I pulled my gun on it, not wanting to shoot, but prepared if I had to. For a second, neither of us moved. By this point, my thigh was so hot it had gone almost completely numb. I felt my leg again and came across the bulge in my pocket.
I reached in and pulled the Seeker sack out, but it was too hot to hold, and I dropped it with a bit of a yelp.
Three more skunk apes walked out of the forest. They were taller and stronger than the orange one. Then, alongside them, stepped Nadia.
37
Ape
Boaz ran forward, drawing his blade on the second step, and collided with Levi on the third. Levi had drawn his blade and was fully prepared for the attack, but apparently he wasn’t prepared for the force that Boaz hit with. The blades struck together with a resounding clang, and then Boaz strong-armed Levi to the side.
London brought his gun up and put a half dozen rounds in the center of Boaz’s chest. The Edomite staggered back a step, looked down at the seeping wounds, and then back at London with a grin cold enough to freeze the pond. I caught the faint glow of green in Boaz’s eyes.
Boaz threw his left hand out toward London, but before anything could happen, Kol charged in from the side, bringing his blade down low in a chop, taking Boaz’s hand off at the wrist. In the past, when I’d witnessed limb amputation, there was usually a degree of screaming that accompanied it. Boaz didn’t even whistle. He just stood there for a second, eyes half closed, and a small tremor swept through his body. His head cocked to the side and jerked robotically to the right.
