by Mark Tufo
“There’s no more room. You’ll have to catch a ride on the other one,” he shouts above the engines.
I expect to see a copilot, but apparently they don’t use them in this world.
“I have a better idea,” I say, withdrawing my sidearm and pointing it at him. “You catch a ride on the other one.”
“You … you can’t do this,” the pilot stammers.
“I can and I am,” I shout, backing up to give him room to get out.
The pilot just sits there, his gaze going from me to my handgun.
“We’re not waiting for Christmas here. Move it,” I say, motioning with my weapon.
“Waiting for what?” the pilot answers with a confused expression.
“Never mind. I won’t ask again,” I shout.
The man looks over at the other helicopter, possibly hoping someone has noticed what is happening and is on the way to assist. The others are too busy loading, their movements hurried and focused. Seeing that no help is going to arrive, he looks back and unbuckles. Leaving the door open, he hurries around in front. Shortly after, I see him waving his arms and I assume yelling. I don’t have a lot of time. Looking into the rear cargo compartment, I’m glad I don’t have to convince some gnarly crew chief to leave. I hop in and close the door, not bothering to strap in.
“Okay, let’s see if I remember how to do this,” I mutter, looking over the control panel.
I wrap my hands around the sticks, thankful that at least these are the same and hoping that they function like in my world. It wouldn’t do at all for them to be reversed. The people are already in for an entertaining show without my dumping this thing upside down into a fiery ball of exploding metal.
I rev the chopper up and pull back. The wheels become light and I’m soon airborne—although airborne is a relative term when you’re only two feet off the ground. Pulling back a touch further, I gain a little more altitude. I notice the pilot has made it to the other aircraft, and people are staring. Some raise carbines to their shoulders and I know that my time in the air is limited if I don’t get away now.
Pressing on a rudder, the helicopter spins a complete 180 before I really even know I’m turning. I’m thrown to the side, barely managing to hold onto the sticks. Counteracting the spin is a mistake: the chopper reverses, spinning a 360 in the opposite direction. This time, my feet are thrown from the rudders and the helicopter stabilizes.
“Touchy little son-of-a-bitch, aren’t you?”
Barely touching the rudders this time, I put my tail to the would-be shooters, pulling up more on the collective stick and pushing forward with the cyclic. The helicopter rises higher and starts forward. Metallic pings come from the rear, but I’m gaining height and picking up speed. The ground below me grows smaller and passes underneath. I can’t even call what the chopper is doing “vibrating”—more like shaking rhythmically. It’s like being in a paint shaker set on low.
The ridge is coming up quickly and I won’t be able to clear it. I arc away, the touchy as shit rudder sending the chopper fishtailing through the air. But the pings from the bullets have stopped, so there’s that at least. Still slowly gaining altitude, I fly away from the base in the midst of a mass exodus.
I set down several miles away from the base. And by “set down,” I mean that I didn’t bury the wheels too deep into the earth. I’m worried that their version of attack choppers may be on their way to stop me and I don’t want to be in the air should that happen. Plus, I need to spend a little time figuring this beast out. It was a miracle I was able to get out of there to begin with. There’s also the little problem of a stampeding demon on the loose. I’d like to completely clear the area and get as far away from that beast as soon as possible, but I also don’t want to plant my only advantage into the ground.
With the engines idling, I look over the control panel to see that it isn’t that much different than the ones in my world. The altimeter merely says “height” instead. I’m a little amused that the airspeed says “faster” and “slower” at the respective ends of the gauge. There’s the arming panel, which seems pretty easy to figure out. Opening the door to a gale from the downwash, I look to the pylons on one side to see the noses of rockets inside of the tubes of the rocket launcher, two on each pylon. If the demon comes after me, I’ll have a little surprise for him.
Buckling in, I notice a dial on the lower part of the panel listing a sensitivity setting for the pedals.
Now who in the fuck would put something like that in? And why would the pilot have set it so sensitive in this beast?
I lower the setting so the helicopter won’t imitate an octopus ride at a fair. I wonder just how many other gadgets are like this, but for now, I have the stupid thing more or less figured out. Now, to the other issues, the first of which is the demon on the other side of the ridgeline. I have the means to distance myself by a few hundred miles, but if I do that, then it will be more difficult to locate Mike and the demon at his side. Which brings up another worry—are they even in this version of the world? And then there’s the fuel concern. There may be more in the hastily evacuated base, but I can only assume that what’s in the tanks is all I’ll have to work with.
As I’m pondering these issues, I catch sight of movement on the top of the ridge. The demon’s head appears over the crest and then its body as it scales the rise. Standing atop the hill, it turns its head left and right until its gaze settles on me and the helicopter sitting in an open field. Even from this distance, I see it tilt its head back once as if to say, “Ah, there you are.”
Its large strides allow it to descend the hill in no time at all. The engines grow louder and the rotors spin faster as I increase the throttle. Pulling back on the collective, I’m quickly airborne, shaking to the rhythm of the engines.
The helicopter responds better this time as I cautiously press the rudder and turn away from the monstrosity crossing the valley floor. It’s already about halfway to me before I can even think about putting distance between us. Pushing forward, the ground too slowly begins to pass underneath.
The chopper gains altitude and picks up speed. Without the luxury of rearview mirrors, I can’t see where the demon is, but I may have become airborne in time to make my escape. Now, I know Kalandar has special powers, but I’m not sure what this one can do. In other words, I’m hoping I’m not about to get a fireball up my ass.
The helicopter shudders, the engines taking on a more desperate note as they come under stress. I can feel the strain of the seat straps as I’m slightly pushed against them. Below, the ground passing underneath slows. The rotors beat madly no matter how much power I give the chopper, but I do my best to try and keep it moving forward. It feels like something is trying to pull the chopper backward, the control sticks bucking wildly in my grasp. And then, the ground beneath begins to recede.
That’s not the way this is supposed to work.
Afraid of stalling, I have no choice but to turn around. The land in the distance slides in and out of view as I rotate 180 degrees. A short distance away, the demon is standing in the middle of the valley with his arms spread outward. His chest is puffed out as if drawing in a deep breath, bending the tops of the trees in the valley toward him. Debris comprising fallen limbs and loose dirt bounces across the valley floor. Facing the demon, I try again to counteract the force, but the helicopter is shuddering under the strain. Warning lights begin to flash, along with the associated alarm beeps and buzzers. I’m slowly being drawn toward the demon.
Reaching down, I select ARM on the weapon panel and the outward-most rocket pod. I then ease off the controls lest the helicopter be torn apart. As I do so, the helicopter surges forward, drawn in like the rest of the debris. A reticle had sprung into view on a HUD-like display atop the dash and I do my best to keep it centered on the massive demon’s body. That isn’t easy as the chopper is buffeted and shuddering, the red dot sliding off my target as much as it’s on it. I can’t just fire when the dot passes over the targe
t; the momentum of the buffeted chopper will cause the rockets to spread in too wide of a pattern.
“Fuck it,” I mumble.
I forget trying to fight against the tidal force drawing me in. I ease further off the controls and allow the helicopter to surge forward. The demon quickly grows larger in my field of vision. I attempt to adjust to keep the red dot centered, but it keeps sliding off target. Then I remember to just think about what you want to do with the controls while trying to make minute adjustments and find that works much better.
The demon must have lungs the size of a small solar system because there’s no letup of the forces driving me toward him. The windscreen is now filled with the demon’s presence; if I don’t fire soon, then I’ll be caught up in the explosions. I hold the bucking horse of the chopper as steady as I can, and fire.
Sequential streams of yellow fire and smoke race by the side window and streak toward the demon, the impacts registering with explosive flashes, the smoke from the blasts partially blocking my view of the beast. The helicopter suddenly surges forward as the force holding it is released.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, big boy,” I say, fighting to bring the chopper under control.
The beast fills the windscreen and I pull up on the collective while turning and attempting to gain altitude. I feel like my feet are about to slam into the monstrous demon’s head as it races past just underneath. The chopper gives a lurch as the wheel bumps into its head. And then I’m past.
I arc away and claw for altitude. I want to gain distance again, but also keep the beast in view for whatever shenanigans it might attempt next. The demon brings its hands together. I’m not far away when something dark and ominous begins to form between its curled fingers. Dark smoke twists upward from a growing orb of darkness with an orange glow emanating from deep within it.
Suddenly, the demon turns and throws the orb. A ball of darkness with fire in its midst is quickly closing in. I turn and climb, but the fireball follows as if it were a tracking missile. I have no idea if there are countermeasures, and I’m not about to barrel roll a helicopter.
The fireball nears on an intersecting course. At the last moment prior to impact, I push down on the collective while decreasing power, simultaneously lowering the nose. The helicopter drops like a rock, taking my stomach with it. I hear the roar of the giant fireball over the engines as it passes just overhead. Regaining control, I look out the side window to see the dark orb trail away. I watch for a second or two more to make sure it doesn’t turn and begin tracking me again.
Satisfied, I look back to the demon that now has one arm outstretched. Its other arm is in the same position as before, with another dark orb forming. Again, the helicopter shudders as it’s taken in the grips of the force of the demon. This time I don’t fight it, but turn in the direction of the beast.
I’m not sure this tactic is for the best as it now seems the demon wants to hold the chopper in the grip of the pulling force while it launches the next fireball. I’m not a big fan of that idea. I select the next rocket pod on the left pylon. I figure what worked before will do so again, but I’ll have to hit it before it can launch the orb.
Instead of fighting the force, I embrace it and push toward the creature. The helicopter lunges forward at near dizzying speeds for the size of it. The orb grows larger, as does the demon. Steadying the reticle, I fire again.
More streaks of light arc toward the beast, exploding up and down its body. The force is again released and the chopper slows its forward speed. But I’m still too close. Clawing for altitude and turning, the sight of the demon looms in the windscreen. I notice two things. First, there isn’t any apparent damage from any of my salvos, and second, the orb in its hand is still there.
Again, the snarling face of the demon fills my sight before vanishing just under my feet. There’s a mighty metallic clang from the rear, and the helicopter lurches. Gaining control, and with little room between me and the ground, fearful of the fireball, I set the controls again to drop like a stone.
A ball of darkness and fire trails smoke as it passes overhead with a roar, growing smaller as it fades into the blue skies above. The wheels bump into the ground before I can get the heavy bird to gain altitude. There are several warning indicators still flashing, but the others have gone dark.
Nursing the chopper back into the air, I have no idea how I’m going to get out of this mess. Although so far I’ve been able to interfere with or dodge the forces the demon is able to call forth, I don’t seem to be able to injure it. All I’m doing is pissing it off more. It’s really only a matter of time until one of those fireballs hits or the helicopter comes apart in mid-air from the forces assailing it. I’m actually surprised the demon hasn’t pulled me in and just swatted me out of the air like some irritating gnat.
Again I come into the grips of the force. I just can’t get away; this seems to be the demon’s forte. This manipulation of the air is similar to what the cultist members exhibited when I fought them at the cave. My feeble attempts to escape are rebuked every time and I haven’t the faintest idea what to do about it. It’s all I can do just to stay alive and airborne.
Again the helicopter staggers in the air as I fight the controls to remain aloft. Glancing toward the demon, I see his head is raised toward the sky, his great lungs drawing in the air around us. Instead of a fireball forming, I see the creature’s hands balled into fists. My thought that he could merely slap me from the sky seems to be coming true. If I’m pulled within the reach of his long arms, I won’t survive it.
“Fine! You want me, here I come,” I growl, rotating the chopper until I’m pointed at the demon.
Giving it full throttle and pushing forward on the stick, the helicopter surges forward. I select another rocket pod, firing as the creature swells in my vision. The small missiles strike the demon as I select the last pod and fire another volley. The force drawing me inward relents again, but I kept charging forward and watch as multiple strikes hit the demon for a fourth time. The beast looms large in my windscreen but I don’t attempt to pull away, instead giving the failing helicopter everything it has.
The smoke around the demon’s chest and torso clears. The creature bellows, its roar shaking the chopper, but I keep going. Its emerald eyes narrow. I know this may be the end of me, but I’m frustrated beyond compare and not really caring what happens to me at the moment.
I have a fleeting thought of Lynn and the kids as my screen fills with an angry demon. The helicopter is thrown to the side as the fast-moving heavy rotors strike its head. There’s a blinding flash of light that quickly vanishes, and the windshield cracks from the impact. The cockpit darkens, but it’s also filled with alarms, buzzers, and flashing lights.
The jolt sends me violently forward against my harness. I’m then tossed sideways, the straps digging into my neck, chest, and torso. Lateral Gs keep me pinned against the straps and the controls are torn from my grasp—like there’s anything I could do with the out-of-control chopper. I’m disoriented amid a flurry of debris being tossed about in the cabin, and then there’s a heavy crash. Everything goes dark.
Some semblance of awareness returns, although the term “awareness” can only be loosely applied. I’m dazed and only really aware that there are synapses firing. I don’t know where I am or what happened. I don’t even know who I am. There is only pain and confusion.
Vaguely, I feel something pushing and prodding against me and then the sensation of free-falling before crashing into something hard.
Crashing into something hard … crashing … crash. That’s right, there was a crash of some sort.
I’m being pulled and there’s a flare of brightness through my eyelids.
Whatever could that be? Why can’t I see?
A shadow blocks the light.
Am I dying? Aren’t I supposed to go toward the light? What does it mean if the light recedes? That can’t be good, can it?
“Jack … Jack.”
Is that me? Maybe I
’m supposed to follow the voice, but it sounds like it’s right in front of me. How do I follow that?
“Jack!”
I then regain enough awareness that I figure out I can’t see because I have my eyes closed. Opening them, I only see a blur hovering close over me.
Is that the demon? Oh, right, there was a demon, wasn’t there? Yes, there was a demon.
Images of the demon and me flying enter my mind like a fast-moving PowerPoint presentation. Slowly, memories begin to form and knowledge returns. The blur slowly becomes clearer, shapes sharpening. The smear of my vision resolves itself into the image of Mike’s face. Clarity returns.
“What in the fuck are you doing here?” I mumble.
“Saving your ass. I can put you back in the wreckage if you’d like,” Mike says.
“No, no. I appreciate it. Just let me lie here. I need a moment or two … or three,” I reply.
“Your shoulder is dislocated,” Mike states.
“That would probably explain why it hurts.”
Mike pulls away and I close my eyes. I startle when a hand closes around my wrist and I feel a foot in my armpit. I know what’s about to happen, but I’m not ready for it.
“No, wait!”
My arm is pulled sharply and I feel the muscle and bones of my shoulder snap back into place. The pain there eases but it only makes me aware that I hurt elsewhere—like, everywhere else.
“Or don’t. But, thank you.” I open my eyes again. “Where’s the demon?”
“It vanished in a flash of light when you crashed into it. What possessed you to do that?”
“Best plan I could think of at the time.”
“Not that I’m one to talk, but you really need to work on your planning skills.”
“I get that a lot,” I reply.
I rise to a sitting position, feeling every one of my over 600 muscles. I’m near the downed wreckage of the helicopter, which is nestled in a gouge of chewed-up earth, lying partially tilted on its side. Tendrils of smoke rise from its battered fuselage, which is sagging in the middle like the back of an old workhorse. The massive rotors have dug into the ground, the front ones snapped cleanly in half.
