She fired her weapon, cutting all eight in half with a single shot. They plummeted into the fire.
She wondered briefly if she should do something about the humans. Just because they had been lucky so far didn't mean their good fortune would remain. If they survived the fire they had caused, they'd likely meet their demise some other way. This was an especially dangerous place.
It was a shame she hadn't been able to consume one. Perhaps when she got back to the city she'd purchase a human. It would be a treat to herself for devising such a clever plan. With a burst from her bottom wings, she headed home. She'd put some distance between herself and the fire before she radioed in news of the ambush.
* * * *
In the distance ahead, Hekka, the sole surviving member of his Tempest Platoon, streamed toward the temple in the sky, his prize clutched in his hands.
Insurgents
First Rico, now Hitomi. Dave kicked through the leaves, frantically searching for her. Fire rained. He prayed the huge branch hadn't crushed her.
“Hitomi!” he cried. They had to find her now, or the fire would surround them.
He stepped on the leaf that covered her. She let out a humph, but when he ripped the leaf off, she was still unconscious. An angry purple knot blazed on her head, already healing. She was alive. She had a death grip on her periscepter. He slung his demon weapon over his shoulder with the strap and lifted her. A glowing ember landed on his head, burning his scalp.
“I found her!” He ran. She was so light, almost like she was hollow.
“Let's go!” Indigo said, the relief obvious on her face.
They ran away from where he had fired the bulk of his fireballs. The upper atmosphere burned. Flaming hunks of wood fell like bombs. Their only escape would be out of the forest, into the open field.
“What happened?” Hitomi groaned from Dave's arms.
“You got hit with a tree branch,” he said, continuing to rush through the woods.
“Rico...”
“He's gone.”
He felt her breath heavily against his shoulders, her whole body tensing.
“Put me down,” she said. “I feel fine.”
He gently put her down. Tears poured down her face.
“Hurry,” Gramm said. “Please.”
They made a break for the tree line, dodging an explosion of burning, rotted wood. Branches whipped by, scratching his face. Déjà vu. This was too much like his dream. The wolf was the fire.
As they passed out of the choking cover of the flaming trees, a new fear took him. Dave clutched his weapon tightly. Gramm was now holding the powerful gun Rico had dropped. Hitomi and Indigo held the periscepters. They scanned the smoke-filled sky.
Cinders zipped by like angry dragonflies. “Pull up your hoods,” Indigo said.
When Dave had climbed the tree, part of the field in the distance looked like a junkyard. Shadowy hunks of metal were scattered about with no apparent purpose. If they could make it to one of the bigger ones, they could hide there until they were sure the demons were gone. He quickly told the others of his plan.
They ran.
The grass was thick and strong, like the bristles of a broom. But it seemed to sense their urgency, and it parted easily once they reached full speed. There was no sign of the demons. The field teemed with rabbit-sized mammals.
A few dozen rodents popped up out of the grass. He almost fired the weapon into them. He lowered the power on his gun, realizing if he had to shoot something close up, the resulting explosion would catch them all. Rico had said something about that when he had showed him how to use the gun. A pang of remorse hit him.
Rico.
Could they have done something? What would they do to him? Torture him? Dave would rather be dead than captured. He didn't know what those monsters wanted, or why they attacked them. They were terrible. A living nightmare.
They ran and ran and ran.
Towering shapes took form. The junkyard. One looked like a double-wide trailer that had fallen from the sky, and the other appeared to be half of an exploded tank. Like the helmet he had found, these were covered with black markings. The remains of a battle.
War. In Heaven.
Yet the sight of these burnt-out husks relieved him. Inside, they'd have cover from the prowling demons. And they would provide a distraction to the burning knife of regret over the loss of Rico.
They headed toward the crashed trailer. More shapes emerged in the distance—some monstrous, some the size of compact cars. Indigo let out a gasp of surprise when they saw one of the biggest shapes. It wasn't a crashed vehicle, but a skeleton. It was difficult to make out what it would have looked like alive, but it had six legs, and a human torso. The long ribcage arced into the sky like that St. Louis Gateway Arch. The blackened bones almost glowed against the backdrop of the fiery sky. The skull was smashed and scattered, but a long row of spikes jutted down the spine of the behemoth. An iron helmet lay on its side, like an empty swimming pool turned over. The creature's weapon rose out of grass, a cannon reminiscent of those on battle ships.
“I hope I never meet one of those when they're alive,” Dave said. In the distance, other skeletons peppered the battlefield, intermixed with the machine carnage.
They took shelter under a massive skull cap that once belonged to a reptilian monstrosity. A portion of the lip was broken off and they could all crawl under. Tiny, glowing bugs had taken up shelter under it, and they clicked angrily at the intrusion. The helmet was a capacious, metallic igloo, and it smelled of sweat and potatoes.
They huddled together not talking. Each of them jumped at the slightest sounds. God, he was scared. It was unbearable. How long could they live like this?
The sound of movement caused them all to tense. A group of creatures prowled outside. It sounded as if they were attempting to move quietly, but there were too many.
“Maybe it's animals,” Gramm whispered.
A murmured command quickly dismissed that idea. One of the creatures answered, too quietly to hear. They were just outside. Dave's fingers clenched his weapon like a vice. His heart pounded.
“Only Hitomi and I will fire,” Indigo said quickly, holding her periscepter up in slightly shaking hands. “You two hold off.”
“Why?” both Dave and Gramm demanded at the same time. Dave's finger was taut on the trigger.
“Because if the light doesn't hurt them, they're good guys.”
Gramm grumbled something but eased his finger off. Dave didn't let up.
A Frisbee-like machine suddenly buzzed into the chamber, as loud as a chainsaw, so abrupt and unexpected Dave was paralyzed for a few precious seconds. It whirred right into the center of them and stopped, hovering in midair. It was silver, like a knife, and its edges gleamed. Everyone screamed. Hitomi flashed her light at it, but it had no effect.
Dave sighted it, but before he could fire, a beam shot from the Frisbee, and the tip of the gun melted like wax. A moment later it did the same to Gramm's gun.
Indigo raised her periscepter like a club. She rushed the flying saucer like a madwoman, screaming. It deftly dodged her swing, rising to the top of the chamber. Blue gas began to seep from the bottom of the machine, quickly filling the tight area like a crashing wave.
Dave felt as if he was drowning. He fell to his knees.
Please, he prayed as the darkness rushed him. Just let me die. I can't handle sleep. Just death. A real death with no more waking up, no more demons, no more dreams.
His prayer was not answered.
* * * *
The woods, like always. And he ran. But it was different. This wasn't the wolf-dream, but a memory. His last moments on Earth. The mail carrier had left the gate open, and Carumba, his four-year-old Siberian husky, had gotten out again.
The dog had been his shrink's idea. He got her right after his dad had died. She was mostly Siberian husky, but the store owner had said she had a little timber wolf in her. Dave doubted it was true, but sometimes her frosty ey
es reminded him of the wolf stare in his dream. But less menacing, full of love.
He loved his dog, but damn was she stupid. The stupidest animal ever to walk the planet.
The fluffy white dog would saunter right into walls sometimes. Or get her feet all tangled up on the stairs. She'd chase her tail for hours, finally catch it, and whimper in pain as she chewed on it. She would eat whatever was put in front of her, no matter how full she was. Like a goldfish. One night she got into the garbage, and he discovered her on her side, bloated and groaning, her tongue still lashing at the insides of a can of Spam. She chased any and every small animal and would put herself at extreme danger in the process. More than once he had found her hopelessly stuck in a hole in a tree.
He had brought her to the vet, thinking she had an eyesight problem, but the vet just shook his head sadly. “Your problem is you got yourself an idiot dog there.”
Still, she wasn't just any old idiot dog. She was his dog. He loved her.
She began to escape when she was about one. The gate sometimes wouldn't latch after it was closed, and she would push her way out. After that problem was fixed, she learned to dig, no matter how hard with frost the ground was. Once she pushed her Dogloo up against the fence and used it as a step ladder. It was the only time she showed any real intelligence.
He always knew where to find her. The damn pond. She would be there, without fail. He wasn't sure why, but she loved that place. If it was frozen, she'd go to the very center and bark at the ice fishers, who'd give her hunks of meat. If it wasn't, she'd take a swim, almost freezing herself to death every time.
That day he ran to the pond. It had been abnormally cold for May, despite the lengthening of the days. He wasn't sure if the lake was still frozen. And if it wasn't, then Carumba was likely paddling around in the ice water. If it was frozen, then the ice would be brittle. The sixty-pound dog could very well have crashed through.
Dave ran a lot to keep in shape, but he tried to keep it to the roadways. Running in the woods always made him uneasy because of his dreams. But it also awakened something else in him, that strange affinity he had with the forest. His own personal Call of the Wild.
Breathless, he finally arrived at the pond. It was still frozen, though the rangers had put up their “Danger—Thin Ice” signs. The ice fishers were long gone.
And to his horror, Carumba was on the lake, struggling desperately to remove herself from a hole in the ice. All common sense fled him, and he rushed on the lake, half sliding toward his dog. Somehow he kept his balance, and he ignored the loud cracking sounds, the spiderwebs that appeared with each footfall. The last few feet he slid on his stomach like a seal.
A man started hollering at him, calling him a damned fool.
He grabbed onto her front paws and pulled with all he had. She licked at his face as he yanked her slowly from the deadly water. She whimpered slightly as she was finally set free, but soon her tail wagged like nothing had happened. She quaked uncontrollably.
“Stupid dog,” he said, hugging her closely, trying to warm her. “Why do you do this?”
She licked his face.
He realized his predicament when he slowly turned, still on his stomach, to plot his trip back to shore. It was only about 200 feet, but it was miles. The ice looked like an upset jigsaw puzzle where his feet had fallen. They couldn't go back that way. He had to stay on his stomach to distribute the weight. He slowly crept to his left, Carumba trailing cautiously behind him. Every crack of ice sounded like a gunshot. Carumba seemed to understand the new danger and began to whimper again.
He looked up, and the man was at the edge of the lake. He was on a phone.
The man yelled something, to not move. But the ice under him could go at any minute. He had to keep moving. After about fifty feet, he sensed his dog wasn't behind him anymore. He turned to look, and she was sitting down, her features rigid. Like she was suddenly paralyzed. Or had seen something.
“Come on,” he said.
No response. She didn't even blink. Her hackles began to rise.
“Carumba! ” The ice cracked again. A thin line broke across the cold ice, drawn by an invisible pencil. Reluctantly, he swiveled around and slid back toward his dog.
“What's wrong?” he asked. “Do you see something? Is it a bear?”
She looked down at him, her eyes suddenly sad. She pushed her muzzle against his head affectionately, keeping it there just for a moment.
When she pulled back, her eyes were different. Those eyes. The eyes. From his dream.
He couldn't move, his mind not registering what this meant.
She pounced. She vaulted at him, pinning him to the ice, growling. Her sharp teeth dug into the back of his neck, and she began ripping, tearing at the skin. Through the pain he felt the hot paths of blood against his nearly frozen skin, her strong paws digging at his jacket.
It was his dream. It was really happening. But this wasn't the monster wolf. This was a dog. His dog.
He fought desperately, confusion and fear dulling his reactions. The ice shattered, and they both plunged into the water. Carumba nimbly hopped out as he sunk over his head. He reached up and grabbed the edge of ice, but it broke off and stuck to the skin of his hand. The ice burned like he had touched a hot stove. He screamed underwater, filling his lungs with cold fire.
He tried to swim upwards, but he was no longer underneath the hole. He pounded frantically at the ice. It had seemed so weak and brittle from above, but now it was a solid pane of unbreakable glass. The cold wrapped its fingers around him, pulling him down.
As he drifted down toward the mud of the frozen pond, he could see Carumba standing above, staring down. Blood dripped from her maw, splattering against the ice.
* * * *
Carumba. Why? The betrayal still stung, and he was thinking of it when he awakened. It took him a full five seconds to realize he didn't know where he was. He shot up from the small cot, frantically looking around.
He was alone in a suffocating room, like a jail cell. His armored suit was gone. So were all his possessions. Including the melted gun and the three periscepters he carried. Now he wore brown pants and a sleeveless vest, and a red cloak was heavy on his shoulders. Leather boots tightly wrapped his feet and ankles.
A quiet yellowish light filled the cell, like from a lone street lamp. But there didn't seem to be a source. Or a door. He felt along the smooth walls, but there was no seam. It was noticeably colder here, and the air was musty and stale.
“Hello?” he called. “Indigo? Hitomi? Anyone?”
No answer. His voice didn't seem to even escape the room.
“Hey,” he called again, banging his fist against the wall. It made a clunk. He banged the wall again.
The wall vanished, and he fell forward, landing hard on his face. Before him was a pair of black boots. One of them had what appeared to be fresh blood on it. He looked up fearfully. Towering over him was an extremely angry-looking female angel. She was about six and a half feet high with red, dreadlocked hair. She wore black plate armor and had two guns slung over her shoulders to form an X. In one hand she clutched a black metal helmet. Her vaporous wings were collected against her back, covering the weapons. They were ghostlike, like he could put his hand right through them.
“Holy cow,” he said.
“If you don't shut your mouth right now, I will rip your voice box from your neck,” she said. “Do you understand?”
He nodded, standing slowly. “Where am I? Where is everyone else?”
“Your location is not important, human. Your friends are safe. You shall be reunited shortly.” She pushed her palm against his chest, and he flew back like a car had hit him. The wall to his cell reappeared, blocking him in.
“Hey,” he called, his chest burning in pain. He opened his mouth to yell again, then thought better of it. He lay there wheezing for several minutes, but finally the ache subsided enough that he could move again. He slowly pulled himself up, groaning.
; So their captors were angels. That was good, wasn't it? If it had been the demons, he suspected they would be dead already. But why the jail? It didn't make sense. Weren't the angels the good guys? Why were they so mean?
He sat down on the cot, his mind heavy with worry and fear.
It wasn't long before the wall vanished again, revealing three angels. One was the female. A strapping male dressed in the same black armor towered behind her, a mild smirk on his face. The third was another woman, much older with shoulder-length gray hair. She too wore armor, but it was green with gold trim. Unlike the others, she actually had a sword over her shoulder. The ornate handle was worn with use.
The older angel spoke. “Follow us.”
Wordlessly, he followed them out of the room. The tunnels were just high enough so he could walk without hitting his head, but the three angels had to stoop, making them noticeably uncomfortable. They walked much slower than he did. The backs of their wings glowed subtly, like they had been dipped in glow-in-the-dark paint. He resisted the urge to touch them. The red-headed woman angel would yank his hand out of his wrist.
The tunnel reminded him of the one they had used before to escape the beach. Water dripped from the occasional stone arch. The cold, the musty scent, the tunnels, it suddenly made sense. They were underground. But why would angels live underground? Only bats did that.
They came to a gigantic room. A cavern, in fact—about the size of a football field. Stalactites and stalagmites filled the room like random teeth. One far wall was frozen, a glacier slowly pushing its way in. His eyes lingered on the blue ice.
At one time a serpentine stream wound through the room, but it was frozen now. The stone around its banks was fissured. Strange purple and yellow mushrooms, big as umbrellas, shot up from the cracks.
In the center of the room was an enormous U-shaped table. The room buzzed with black armored angels. They all watched as he entered, their dark eyes searing a hole into him. The vacant center throne was covered with ornate carvings. Behind the mighty chair stood six angel guards. They held their weapons at ready.
The Shivered Sky Page 8
