The pieces began to fall into place. Those things had to be the Middle Eastern Parans Ned had heard about. They were likely the presence the old Lar had talked about feeling, too. The problem was I just couldn’t see a pack, much less a pair, of Ghilan taking Oc and Dec unless they caught them completely by surprise. That was unlikely—unless, maybe, the giant bus-moving thing was involved, too. That thought made me feel all kinds of uncomfortable.
After they landed in the field, the pair of Ghilan began surveying the space, sniffing the air. I was sure they knew I was nearby. The blonde let out a soft, staccato call and then shook its head and shifted back into hyena form. The other stayed humanoid.
A Ghilan’s resemblance to a hyena was about the same as its resemblance to its last human victim in human form, which meant only vaguely. They took on their victims’ height, hair color, and general build, but their torsos remained thick and muscular. Their long arms ended in heavy claws, and their legs were short, thick, and muscular. Their stumpy heads sat right on their shoulders, and their eyes were large and dull, matched only in proportion by oversized mouths jammed full of massive, shearing teeth like a real hyena’s, capable of cracking a human femur with ease.
In hyena form, they were huge, quadrupedal beasts with short back legs and long front limbs that ended in hand-like claws. The hairless and leathery skin was a mottled brownish gray, and their torsos were thick and muscular and gave rise to canine-looking heads. Their lower jaws protruded and could unhinge completely. Despite the size of their eyes, they were better suited to scent hunting, and they always hunted cooperatively. They were equally quick and deadly in either human or hyena form, and they were tough as hell to kill.
While I wanted to be preemptive, I decided to hold my attack until they’d separated themselves a bit to give myself a small cushion between assaults. I waited while the female began moving on all fours, occasionally rising on its hind legs, sniffing the air as she closed in on me down the middle of the field. Undoubtedly, she knew I was near, but I was sure she hadn’t spotted me yet. The other Ghilan, in human form, began skirting the fence far to my right toward a little greenhouse, a dark-colored metal storage trailer of some sort, and a covered farm stand. He walked upright on stubby, bowed legs. He crossed into an open area, and I got a glimpse of his face. Eerily, it reminded me of the picture I’d seen on Maurice Ingram’s driver’s license. These creatures were definitely in that apartment, either searching for or working with the bomber, and one of them ran me over trying to get away.
Just as I was about to make my move on the female, the trailer’s door opened, and out walked a small, hunched man carrying a heavy rake. I immediately recognized the protector of Brooklyn.
“You’re a long way from home, no?” the Lar asked the surprised Ghilan.
Oh, hell yeah! The Lar’s sudden appearance startled the pair of Ghilan so much that they froze. The male near the Lar glared back at the female and then cackled a creepy, soft version of their crazy laugh. I used the distraction to my advantage, shifting into a prone firing position and squeezing off three rounds at the female’s head. All three rounds connected solidly but only knocked her off balance. Even if the rounds had penetrated her thick skull, I wasn’t sure there was much inside it to damage. The only way to kill this thing was to rip it apart.
Across the lot, the Lar stood over the other Ghilan, pummeling it with his rake. And I thought I was fast. I stood up and charged the off-balance female, tackling her, but I had too much momentum and rolled past her once we landed. I was trying to get back to my feet and face her when something clamped down on my ankle like an iron vise and then slung me backward through the young corn. I landed where I began, about fifteen feet away, spread-eagled on my stomach with the breath knocked from my lungs. I did manage to hang on to both my gun and knife, though.
I pushed myself up to my knees and sucked in air. The female Ghilan threw her head back and screeched a long, piercing cry and then charged me in a loping gait, her massive jaws spread wide, slobbering as she closed the distance. I recovered enough to feign still being incapacitated, and I waited, making a show of breathing heavily. When she closed to within a few feet, I raised the gun and emptied the clip into her face and upper body, sending her into a face-plant and a skid that I had to roll to my right to avoid. Without hesitating, I discarded the gun and jumped on her prone form, impaling her in the upper back with my knife. As sharp as the blade was, it took all my weight to drive it through her musculature and heavy skeleton. As the blade bit, she bucked, throwing me off her back, but I managed to keep a grip on the knife with one hand. She thrashed, trying to reach me, ramming her heavy elbow into my ribs several times, but I wouldn’t let go. With my free hand, I punched at the base of her neck repeatedly until the knife finally pulled free, and I rolled off into the corn stalks.
She was on me in an instant, pinning my legs and my left arm. I stabbed at her with the knife in my right hand, but she subverted the blow by grabbing my arm, trying to drive it back down to the ground. She glowered at me and roared in my face, showering me with hot drool and spittle and breath that could peel paint. Our arm-wrestling match was at a standstill. Suddenly, an inhuman piercing yelp from across the field drew her attention, giving me the break I needed. She backed off just enough that I overcame her strength and jammed the knife into the side of her head. She reared up, allowing me to free my left arm, and I grabbed her by the throat and rolled her to the left, driving her over with the knife in her skull.
Once free, I straddled her, pinned her jaw shut by shoving on her chin with my left hand, withdrew my knife from her temple, and then jammed it under her chin. Again, she started to thrash. I pulled the knife free, stabbed her again in the face, and left the knife imbedded just to the left of her nose. I shoved my left hand into the knife wound under her chin and grabbed on to her jaw and pulled with every ounce of strength I had until I pulled her lower jaw free, sending thick black blood flying everywhere. She lay still beneath me, but I knew she was a long way from dead. Hell, she’d probably even recover, given enough time.
“You better finish it off,” the Lar said from across the field.
I pulled the Sig from inside my jacket, put the gun against the roof of the Ghilan’s mouth, fired ten rounds into her skull, and then stood up and fired the remaining six rounds into her chest at point-blank range. Her body went into spasms and then went still. While she still may not have been completely dead, I was sure she wasn’t about to pop up anytime soon.
I changed out the clip and put the Sig back in its holster then collected the Glock and replaced its clip and tucked it back into my pants. Finally, I grabbed the knife and wiped it off on the sleeve of my jacket. Weary, I turned back to face the Lar.
It turned out that his rake wasn’t a rake but a spear, and his serpent was eating chunks of the male Ghilan’s flesh as the Lar cut it loose from the carcass. It was kind of disgusting to watch as the snake thing threw its head back convulsively to chew and swallow, and the sound of the crunching bones made me wince.
Before I could even worry about the recent ruckus attracting unwanted attention, a series of rapid-fire gunshots exploded off in the distance, back in the direction of the Red Hook Houses. The Lar just leaned hard on his spear, closed his eyes, and shook his head, his thin lips pursed. Inner-city life, I guess. Of course, as soon as the farmers saw the garden in the morning, all hell would break loose.
“This one’s done for,” I said, breathing heavily. “If your snake is still hungry, send it over here.”
“We’re not done,” the Lar said as he approached me, replacing the rake head over the spear’s tip. “There’s an Ifrit coming after you just up the street. I don’t know why it didn’t attack with these two, but it’s coming now.”
“Seriously? That’s what shoved around those damned buses? An Ifrit? Shit. Given what just happened with the fucking Ghilan, I’m not
sure if I can face their fire-wielding big brother with just my guns and a knife.” I showed him the blade. “Everything is back in my room.”
“I can get your gear for you if you want,” the Lar offered. “No problem. Just take about five minutes.”
It didn’t take me long to decide. “Okay, go, but hurry up. I don’t know how long I can hold this thing off with a gun and a knife.”
There were five kinds of Jinn, including ghouls and Ifrits, and all of them were evil and nasty creatures. All of the types were said to have been formed from fire, and they were ridiculously strong. Ifrits were the most powerful—they could manipulate fire, and they were incredibly cunning. This was going to get nasty.
I watched the Lar go back into the storage shed then decided to draw the Ifrit farther east into a huge recreation area—and away from the furniture store and other people—in order to minimize collateral damage.
Without wasting more time, I vaulted the farm’s fence and bolted for the open space down the street. I could hear the crunching of metal and glass somewhere behind me to my left, and it was getting closer. I ran along a sidewalk path through a thick stand of trees into the park and out to the most significant open space I could see—a football field in the middle of a running track. Once in the center of the space, I crouched into a kneeling position and tried to focus on any noises coming from behind me. The night was strangely quiet.
From what I could make out of my surroundings, the jogging track and football field was at the far northern end of the huge recreational area. Just to the south, a row of trees, denser at either end, stood between the track and another massive open part of the park. The farm and street lay directly to the west of me.
Finally, after what felt like hours but was really just a minute, a noise like a bull chuffing drew my attention toward something hurtling through the air from the farm, heading in my direction fast. Check that—it was heading directly at me like a guided missile.
I dove to my right, rolled, spun around, and fired three times at the object. It landed with a heavy, wet thump ten feet away from me. It was the remains of the talker from the street gang. He had literally been crushed before he was thrown at me.
I followed the body’s trajectory to see if I could detect any movement, but I couldn’t. Of course, in a major metropolitan area, like New York, the light pollution pretty much hampered night vision, and to make matters worse, I was looking back toward the furniture store, which was lit up like a football stadium. I decided to rely on sound.
As I strained to listen, a strong growing rumbling like a damned earthquake shook the ground beneath my feet. I got to my feet as the ground buckled in a straight line that was heading directly at me at incredible speed. Before I could move, the ground erupted beneath me and threw me ten feet into the air. I landed mostly on my back, but I managed to brace myself to lessen the impact then quickly got my feet under me. I ran off the football field to the south toward the open space beyond the trees. The Lar had said five minutes; it’d been three, and if the Ifrit managed to catch me, it would be over in one. Man, was he taking his own sweet time.
I continued moving at a steady pace, and I still couldn’t see a thing for all the trees that surrounded the park, but I didn’t stop. I figured it was safer to keep moving than to present a stationary target.
I changed directions every few yards to avoid being predictable, but it was hard to be unpredictable and move farther away at the same time. I finally decided to bolt for the denser part of the stand of trees just ahead of me. As I ran, the ground began to rumble again, so I swerved sharply and ducked through the trees and into the open space beyond. The expanse of grass on the other side was a huge, square field with a baseball diamond in each corner.
I watched the ground bulge behind me and then shoot past toward the far end of the park, where it buckled and collapsed a wide section of a brick wall at the park’s far southern edge. I couldn’t see the first furrow from my new position, but I could tell that this one didn’t have the same origin. This one came from the trees across the field, somewhere between the farm and the furniture store.
The partially collapsed, ten-foot-high brick wall was about a hundred and fifty yards away to the south, and I couldn’t tell what was directly on the other side, but I figured if I could make it over, I might be out of the Ifrit’s view long enough for the Lar to find me and deliver my gear.
With my Sig in hand, I covered the field in just over five seconds. Moving as fast as I could, I scrambled over the debris and ducked through the gaping hole in the wall and took cover just inside.
Once on the other side of the brick barrier, I could see the space was an extensive parking lot for private tour buses and limos. With my view illuminated by a few lamps scattered around the lot, I took a second to survey the area. Thirty buses and limos of varying lengths were parked in several seemingly random rows. Most of the lot was empty and, luckily, entirely devoid of people. From what I could make out, the lot sat right on the edge of the Upper New York Bay, and I could actually smell foul, fetid water from what I guessed was the Gowanus Canal nearby, as well.
I slowly crept along the shattered wall, finally taking cover behind part of the fallen structure. The spot afforded me a view straight back into the ball fields I’d just crossed. The whole trip had taken me less than half a minute, so I was hopeful that the Ifrit had no idea where I was and that I hadn’t covered too much ground for the Lar to catch up to me—which I was sure would be any second now.
After a few more minutes of scanning the area for movement, I saw a shape move from beneath the trees at the far side of the ball field. A figure crouched with one hand on the ground at the edge of one of the baseball diamonds less than two hundred yards away, and it was huge. It was possible that the zoo could have lost a gorilla, but at around eight or nine feet tall and humanoid except for its inky-black skin, it was probably safer to assume it was the Ifrit. The enormous Jinn also emitted some sort of strange red energy where its hand rested on the ground. I’d never seen that before in an Ifrit, so I had no idea what he was doing. However, it did give me yet another thing to concern myself with when fighting the damned thing.
I watched it rise from its crouch and move slowly south in my direction, moving its head purposefully from side to side. I doubted the Sig would do much to the beast even at close range, and at that distance, I knew it would be totally useless, so I holstered the gun and checked my knife out of habit. Where the hell was the freakin’ Lar? I watched as the Ifrit crept across the infield of the baseball diamond, when it suddenly glanced back over its shoulder and then slunk quickly back into the trees from which it had emerged.
From my current vantage point, I had a clear line of sight to the Ifrit. What I wouldn’t have given for a Barrett XM500 sniper rifle, or better yet, an XM307 fully automatic grenade launcher. Hell, I’d have settled for a piano to drop on it. I tried to assess my options, and none of them boded well with me armed only with a knife.
If the Lar didn’t show up in the next minute, I decided my only option would be to try and escape. Without my armor and weapons, I was no match for this thing. And given the Ghilan had tried to kill me rather than question me—admittedly, a stretch for any kind of ghoul—I had to assume they wanted me dead because they thought I was on to something. At least there was that.
I hated the thought of leaving a monster like an Ifrit to wander around Brooklyn pissed off. Still, going up against it would prove little more than suicide at that point. As I continued to assess my pathetic tactical options from amid the rubble of the wall, a sound behind me caught my attention. It was the Lar, standing next to my heavy gear bags and the Pelian Spear. About damned time!
I crawled out from behind the debris and, in simple combat sign language, conveyed the Ifrit’s position. I put my hand to my mouth and used my fingers to indicate fangs then pointed back across the b
all field. The Lar shook his old head. To my surprise, he pointed off to our left. I couldn’t tell if he meant in the bus lot or not, but it really didn’t matter. I had my gear, which meant I could finally go on the offensive.
I geared up and pulled the Pelian Spear from its tube last. Its long, thin, bronze-colored head had a dull finish that didn’t glint at all in the light given off by the security lamps, and it didn’t appear nearly as special as it actually was. In addition to being indestructible and capable of piercing virtually anything if used with enough force, its ability to stop beings from teleporting or phasing in and out would come in very handy with this type of Jinn. While I hadn’t seen this one do it yet, Ifrits were capable of teleporting to anywhere they could see. If I could nail him with the spear, I could level the field a bit. If only I had that piano to drop on him, too.
Once I was ready, I looked back to the Lar and shrugged.
“It moved into the far side of this lot,” he whispered. This was his town. I was sure he always knew the position every living thing in it—even things that teleported. “I distracted him a bit earlier, but he has found your scent now.”
“Once I see you are in range, I will draw its attention. From there, you are on your own. This one is strong—stronger than me—and he can control both fire and earth. In bocca al lupo, custode,” he whispered, patting my back, wishing me luck.
Havoc Rising Page 14
