“Maybe one of us should go with you,” said Sky.
“The only person besides me on this boat who knows how to use a weapon is you,” I said to Sky. “I’d feel better knowing you were here protecting them while I checked this out. Believe me, I’d much prefer to have you as back-up but we don’t have that luxury.”
Sky didn’t argue but she looked like she didn’t like it either. Neither did I, for that matter. It was comforting to think that she could provide cover fire if I had to come running back in a hurry, though. Despite that, I’d still have been happier if I wasn’t going alone. The feeling of danger was growing and I felt like whatever it was, it was close by. I needed to move quickly, if this had any chance of success.
“I’m going in close to the shore,” I said. “Once I get ashore, go back out into the water and wait for me. When you see me coming, come pick me up.”
“What happens if you’re fighting your way back?” asked Morgan.
“Then hopefully Sky can give me some cover fire while I make for the boat,” I replied. “Worst case scenario, just get out of here. If I can’t make it back, you shouldn’t try to come get me.”
I decided to play this one a little differently. Handing Sky my M-4, I unpacked and loaded my Beowulf. I checked the load on all of my weapons. I’d use the PMR-30’s if I needed to be silent, but if I got into a firefight I doubted that stealth would be my biggest concern. I wanted to be able to pack a punch if I needed to engage. Between the Beowulf, the XVR and the Keltec Shotgun, I doubted that there was much that could withstand that much firepower. At least, I hoped not.
When we reached shallow water, I got ready to jump out of the boat. I didn't wait for the boat to reach the shore. I jumped out as soon as I could clearly see the bottom. I splashed into water up to my knees and managed to keep my weapons all dry. Before I had waded the ten feet to shore, Sky was already backing the boat out into deeper water.
Without looking back, I headed up the bank and crouched down in the tall grass. I waited until the sounds of the boat motor had faded to a soft idle. I listened to the wind whispering though the grass and to the sound of the water gently lapping against the shore. I strained my ears to hear any sign of movement, but nothing caught my attention. Carefully, I reached forward and slowly pushed the grass aside so that I could peer through it into the field beyond. Other than the massive furrow through the field, nothing looked to have been disturbed recently.
Rechecking my weapons, I brought the Beowulf to my shoulder and prepared to move. Just as I was preparing to stand up, I heard the sudden movement of a flock of birds all taking to the air at the same time. The frantic flapping of their wings and their angry calls indicated that a predator had disturbed them. I glanced in the direction that the sound was coming from. It appeared that it was across the field and into the woods beyond. I was closer to the crash site and could reach it first. The problem was that I wouldn't be able to get back before who or whatever it was arrived.
"In for a penny, in for a pound," I muttered as I started across the field.
Moving in a crouch, I headed into the ditch that had been dug by the crashing aircraft. Not only could I move faster by following it, there was the added advantage that it would keep me below the level of the grass. That would help me to remain hidden from whatever was coming towards us. Maybe it would give me the element of surprise. Then again, it might just lead them right to me. In this case, I was willing to sacrifice stealth for speed.
Once I got into the ditch, I headed right for the downed aircraft as fast as I dared to go. I could see roots, rocks and the occasional piece of debris sticking out of the soft, bare earth of the trail. I considered examining the debris, but thought better of it. It would be better to get to the crash site and try to locate survivors. I could figure out more about the aircraft when I got there.
I was pushing hard to get across the field and the feeling of danger was starting to grow. Whatever was about to happen, it wasn't going to be good. I just hoped that it was worth it, when everything was said and done. I could handle the fight, so long as whatever I was here looking for was worth the effort.
I was making good time when I saw movement up ahead, near the pile of earth and rocks that the aircraft was embedded in. Standing on top of the berm was a grey and black wolf. Its facial coloring was mostly black, leaving the eyes shining bright in the dark fur. Emerging from the trees behind it was a second wolf. This one was white and grey, with a mostly grey face. It was odd, since there weren't supposed to be wolves in Missouri. I had the distinct feeling that it was the same two wolves that had been with the Old man.
As I got closer, the wolves looked towards the tree line from where the birds had flown and then back at me. Without another sound, they turned and trotted off into the woods. I didn't have time to ponder the significance of this for very long. I had bigger things on my mind, at the moment. I could figure out the symbolism later.
As I began to climb the pile of dirt and rocks, I got my first look at the crashed aircraft. It looked like a stubbier version of the Space Shuttle with slightly upturned wings. It appeared to be mostly intact, but it was sitting partially buried in the ground and one wing was almost torn off. Even if it could get off the ground, it couldn't fly. It would take some major repairs to make it space-worthy again.
The hatch was still closed, but it was clear of debris. Keeping my weapon up, I took another look around the field. Nothing had emerged from the trees yet, but the feeling of impending danger was steadily growing. I could almost taste it, it was so palpable. Bitter bile had risen in the back of my throat and I felt nervous energy starting to make my hands shake slightly. It almost felt like I'd drank too much of the legendary jail coffee back at Nathanael County. The stuff we referred to as Booking Sludge.
Once I was certain that nothing was getting close to me, I decided I would take a look inside the aircraft. Since it was slightly canted to the side, I walked up onto the side of the aircraft and searched for the locking handle on the door. There was no window to peek through, but the entire surface was covered with heat resistance tiles. I had to open a panel with markings that read, "Emergency Access." I pulled the lever and heard the release of air as the door seals popped. With a hiss and a metallic clunk, the door popped loose and I swung it open. It took some effort since I was opening it upwards. When I released the door, I turned to find that I was looking into the barrel of a pistol. Needless to say, I froze.
"Chto ty khochesh'?" said the man, fiercely.
He was wearing blue coveralls with patches on the shoulders. His short cropped hair was worn in military regulation length and his grip on the pistol never wavered. It was clear that he was well accustomed to handling a firearm and had no problem using one. I wasn't completely sure, but I would guess that he had spoken Russian or one of the other Slavic languages. I didn't have a clue what he said but whatever it was, he meant it.
Holding my hands up, I kept my palms facing him to show that I wasn't making any threatening moves. I knew that he saw my weapons and armor, so I had little doubt that he thought of me as a threat. Hel, I would have done the same in his place. For all he knew, I was here to loot and pillage.
"Easy, pal," I said, trying to sound reassuring. "I'm not here looking for a fight."
"English?" he said, smiling slightly. "You are American, I think?"
"I'm American," I said, nodding. "You crashed in Missouri. Are you alright?"
"You are soldier, da?" he asked, his voice thick with the Slavic accent.
"No," I replied, honestly. "I used to be in law enforcement, before the world fell apart. Now, I'm a survivor. Just like you."
"American," he said, again. "I was trying for Canada."
"Sorry, but you're almost a thousand miles too short," I answered.
"Hmm ," he said, frowning. "Too bad."
"Look," I said. "We can't stay here. This area isn't safe."
"The dead," he said, nodding. "I agree. But there is problem."
"Wh
at's that?" I asked, glancing around.
"I am not only survivor to escape station," he said, gesturing back inside. "My co-pilot, she is injured."
"How badly?"
"Broken leg, maybe," he said, shaking his head. "I am payload specialist, not doctor."
"Can we move her?" I asked.
"I splint leg," he said, smiling. "But she cannot walk."
"Fine," I said. "I'll carry her, if I have to. We really need to get moving."
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Wylie Grant," I replied.
We really didn't have time for formal introductions. Whatever was coming towards us was getting closer by the second. I wanted to get us moving before it was too late. I wasn't sure what was coming, but I knew that it wasn't going to be good when it got here.
"Aleksandr Nikolaivitch Ivchenko," he said, grinning and lowering his pistol.
"Good to meet you," I answered. "Aleksandr, we really need to get moving. We are in danger. A lot of it."
"Please, call me Shura," he replied. "I have feeling we will be getting to know each other."
He stepped back inside the hatchway and I followed him inside. Most of the equipment had been smashed or broken in the crash. It was a miracle that they had even made it down in one piece. I could smell the burnt circuits and wiring, along with the familiar odor used by fire suppression equipment. This shuttle was a complete wreck. I doubted that any of the systems could be brought online, much less function properly.
I turned my head when I heard a soft moan. I looked towards the cockpit and saw that one of the seats had been reclined all the way back. Seated in it was a woman in her early to mid thirties. She had shoulder length black hair and her face was drawn from both pain and fatigue. She was wearing the same blue jumpsuit that Shura was wearing. I could see that her leg had been wrapped with four pieces of what looked like metal conduit piping and tied off with seat belts. As long as the leg was set properly, it should be held immobile enough for us to move her.
"We've got to get her out of here," I said to Shura. "We need to get back to my boat. Grab whatever gear you need and let's get moving."
"We did not have time to grab gear," he replied. "We have emergency bags. That is all."
"Then it will have to do," I said. "Let's get moving."
I quickly checked the woman over before I tried to move her. She was running a fever and was only semi-conscious. I wished that there was another way to move her, but there just weren’t any other options. Any way I did this, it was going to hurt her. I only hoped that I could make it quick enough that I would minimize her discomfort. We could stabilize her, once we were safely back on the boat.
I lifted her by her arms, tentatively at first but with gradually increasing pressure. She groaned in pain, but didn’t wake up or complain. Shura grabbed her by the legs and gently cradled them in his big arms. Between the two of us, we carried her out of the crashed ship as easily as we could. Try as we might to not bump her against anything; we only managed to get her through the door without dropping her. She groaned and shook her head a few times, but nothing more. I had the distinct feeling that there was more wrong with her than a broken leg.
Once we were clear of the ship, we laid her down on the ground, careful to not jar her any more than necessary. Sweat was beading on her forehead and running in rivulets down her face, despite the chill in the air. I needed to get her to Sky to have her thoroughly checked over. The fever had me worried that she might possibly have internal injuries in addition to the broken bone. If that was the case, she might not survive. We didn’t have the facilities or the training to perform any kind of surgery. It was in the hands of the Gods now.
“She is hurt bad, da?” asked Shura, concern on his face.
“Yeah, I think so,” I replied. “I think that broken leg may be the least of her worries.”
“That may be truer than you know,” said a deep voice behind me.
I spun around in a blur, drawing the big XVR as I turned. I leveled it at the figure standing above us on the edge of the ditch. Whoever the Hel he was, he was pointing an equally large handgun back at me. From the distinctive front end, I knew it was a Desert Eagle. From the size of the barrel, it could only be the .50 caliber. Fortunately, neither of us fired. We were at a dead standoff.
“Who the fuck are you?” I demanded.
“No one you’ve ever heard of,” was the icy reply.
He was a massive specimen of a man. He had to stand at least seven feet tall and was rippling with muscle. I would guess he would weigh in at close to four hundred pounds. Across his back was strapped a massive two-handed sword. The craftsmanship on the hilt was magnificent. His bare arms were covered with runic tattoos and symbols. I recognized most of them, but they weren’t symbols of the Aesir or Vanir[4], they were symbols of the Jotuns[5]. They were the symbols of Loki, the trickster and evil one. The one on his left forearm was of two intertwined snakes biting each other's tails and forming an "S" shape. I wasn’t sure if it was due to the chill in the air, but it seemed that his skin had a bluish cast to it. It was then that the words of the old man came flooding back into my mind.
“In the battle that is beginning all around you, the All-Father isn't the only one who has his chosen warriors. Loki has his own, as well. The Hrimthurssar serve him."
Suddenly, I felt as if someone had poured ice water down my back. My blood ran cold and I knew that what I was facing was one of the Hrimthurssar. If I was indeed one of the Einherjar, the chosen of Odin, then this man before me was one of the chosen of Loki. This battle was going to be like nothing I had ever faced before.
“Shura,” I said, softly. “Can you carry her?”
“Da,” he replied. “I think so.”
“Take her and follow the ditch to the river,” I said. “There will be a boat waiting just off of shore. If I’m not there a few minutes, then leave without me.”
“Yes,” interrupted the Hrimthurssar. “By all means, take the woman and head for the boat. I will deal with you all when I’ve finished with this one.”
He was gesturing at me. I didn’t like the feral gleam in his eye, but if I could buy them time to escape it would be worth it.
“Go,” I said, nodding at Shura.
“Are you certain, my friend?” asked Shura.
“Just go,” I replied, grimly.
Shura took the woman by the arm and drew her across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. He looked at me and we locked eyes, then he gave me a knowing nod and headed off. I watched them go out of the corner of my eye, but kept most of my attention focused on the giant before me. He seemed content to wait for them to make their way away from us.
They made slow progress moving towards the far end of the field. Shura was struggling to carry her weight and maintain his footing. I’m certain that his time in space wasn’t helping matters any, either. I’d always heard that astronauts had to have a period of readjustment when they returned from a mission, to reacclimatize themselves to life under gravity. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the luxury of time to recover. Both of their lives could very well depend on him now.
“Shall we put away our guns and settle this like warriors?” said the big man, smiling.
I thought about it a second before answering. I didn’t exactly relish the thought of getting shot by a .50 caliber round, but by the same token I didn’t look forward to facing that massive sword, either. All things being equal, I would have preferred hand to hand fighting, but things weren’t even close to equal. He had the advantage in size, reach and I was willing to bet on strength, as well. Speed was my only asset.
Then the thought occurred to me that Shura would have a better shot at reaching the boat if I could keep this monster busy. In fact, the more time that I could buy them, the better. Reluctantly, I nodded agreement and blew out a big breath.
“Excellent,” said the man-mountain, lowering his weapon.
For a brief moment, I considered shooting him while I had t
he chance. His weapon was down and mine was still aimed squarely at his massive chest. It would make things much easier, but there would be no honor in it. It would be a dishonorable, cowardly act to do such a thing. Some people could live with that, but I wasn’t one of them. I would live or die by my word. I might not survive this fight, but I would still fight it with honor.
Lowering the XVR, I thumbed the hammer onto the cylinder and replaced it in my holster. He did the same with his massive pistol and reached for the hilt of his sword. With a powerful sweep of his right arm, he unsheathed the blade and held it before him. The blade wasn’t quite as long as I had originally thought, but it was still more than big enough to cut me in half. It was a wide-bladed broadsword with etching on the blade. There were runes etched into the blade along with the leaping form of a wolf that ran down both sides.
“You like?” he said, twirling the blade around for me to see.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, appreciatively. “It will look great on my hip.”
The big warrior laughed long and deep, nearly bending double from his mirth.
“I like you,” he said, with a smile. “You have fire. What is your name?”
“Wylie Grant,” I said. “And you?”
“My name is simply not important,” he replied. “The only name you need to know is the name of my sword. For tonight Fenrirtǫnn, the tooth of Fenris, will feast on your blood.”
“We’ll see,” I replied, drawing my own sword.
The shorter bladed Gladius gleamed from the oiling that I had given it and captured the morning light, giving it a fiery glow. I brought it up into a defensive position and waited for his next move. He watched me with a measured look before he climbed down from the top of the debris and readied himself.
Once he was in position, he launched himself at me with surprising speed. He was much faster than I had expected him to be and I only narrowly avoided a slash that might have taken my arm off had it connected. I quickly stepped to the right and avoided the blow, but it took me out of striking distance. I had underestimated his ability to move. It was a mistake that had almost cost me the fight.
Ragnarok Rising Page 11
