by Samuel Fort
Chapter 37 - Falling Rocks
They were, by the driver’s estimation, thirty-five miles from the turn that would take them to Steepleguard. They had acquired a new BMW with all the amenities for the trip but the man at the wheel, dressed in a black silk suit and tie, hadn’t enjoyed the drive. He was unfamiliar with the steep, twisting road up the mountain. The fog and heavy rain had made every mile a white-knuckle nightmare. The skies were a rolling sea of gray and black clouds that too-frequently flickered white and blue, their booms of thunder rattling him.
He wrestled with the steering wheel as the storm’s unrelentingly violent winds buffeted the car. The winds were the reason the helicopter flight to the top of the mountain had to be cancelled and the hellish drive was necessary.
He glanced at his watch. It was a few minutes after three o’clock.
“We’re fine, Sullin,” said Jathus, the woman next to him. She was dressed in a sparkling black evening gown, cut low to display a great deal of both her breasts and the diamond necklace dangling from her neck. “The attack isn’t for four hours. All we’re going to do until Lilitu’s surrender is to sit in the car and stare out the windshield.”
“Sorry,” the man said. “I don’t drive much, anymore. That’s what Mr. Fetch is for.”
“Enjoy it,” said Lord Nizrok from the seat behind him. “After tomorrow, you’ll have few opportunities to do so.”
“That’s right,” said Benidita, the other backseat passenger, a middle-aged woman who was dallying with her Rolex. “The cars won’t start after the EMP blasts.”
“Not that it would matter,” Nizrok added. “It will be impossible to find a road that’s not jammed with abandoned vehicles and corpses.”
“I know,” said Sullin. “But I hadn’t expected to spend the day before the end like this. I’d always envisioned myself sitting at my favorite Italian restaurant slowly drinking myself into a stupor and carb-loading. I’d even recruited an Italian cook as a fetch.”
“A good investment,” said Nizrok, pulling a cigar from a pocket and biting off the end. The aroma of the Cuban tobacco comforted him. The woman next to him wrinkled her nose disapprovingly but he didn’t care. He was a Peth lord whose troops were about to root out a serpentine rebel. If he wanted a cigar he was damn well going to have a cigar.
Benidita, like the two people in the front of the car, was a dignitary from another House. She was from the Fifth, while Jathus was from the Eighth and Sullin from the First. The Seven had required representation from those kingdoms not participating in the attack to be present during Lilitu of Sargon’s surrender.
Ostensibly the dignitaries’ presence was intended to show that the Seven were united in their opposition to Sargon’s daughter, but the Peth lord suspected that the other Families did not trust Moros and Nizrok to represent their interests when negotiating the surrender of the aristocrats who would be present. The First, Fifth, and Eight Kingdoms wanted their fair share of the fame and spoils that came with victory over Lilitu even though they had not committed a single Peth to the battle. The Fifth would undoubtedly stake a claim on Steepleguard when the smoke had cleared.
Not that there should be a battle. Lilitu’s guests were professionals, aristocrats, or tradesmen, and there had been no signs of troop movements anywhere around Steepleguard in the past forty-eight hours. The woods and hills around the old hotel were devoid of human life. If Lilitu had banked on bringing warriors in by helicopter, she had picked the wrong day for the reception. Nobody would be flying anywhere in this weather.
“Road block ahead,” Sullin grumbled.
Nizrok and Benidita leaned toward one another and peered through the windshield. The rain was relentless but between swipes of the wipers they could see a highway patrol car with its flashers on. It was parked on the other side of a collection of large rocks that had rolled onto the road from the muddy bank above them.
Nizrok said, “No need for concern. Lord Moros and I have arranged for a few roadblocks to prevent Lilitu from calling in reinforcements and to prevent Ardoon involvement. Speak to the man in Agati.”
Sullin nodded. As they slowed to a stop, a state trooper in a fluorescent orange raincoat emerged from the other car and trotted over to the BMW, a battery-operated baton glowing orange in one hand. When he reached the car he tapped on the driver’s window. Sullin lowered it, recoiling from the icy rain that pelted his face.
“Rock slide?” he asked, squinting to keep the water out of his eyes.
The trooper nodded. “Yes sir, one here and one about four miles further up. It’s a bad day to be on this road. The bank above is falling apart.” He peered in, saw the other occupants, and said, “I’m guessing you folks aren’t hikers.”
“No,” said Jathus, switching to Agati. “We are representatives of the Seven come to witness the surrender of Steepleguard. Lord Nizrok is with us. You will let us pass.”
“Right away, sir,” said the state trooper who was not a state trooper, also in Agati. “I’ll make sure no traffic is coming from the other direction. Please drive slowly. It really is dangerous.”
“I will,” said Sullin.
Switching back to English, the man in the fluorescent raincoat said, “Alright, you folks have a good day.” He trudged back up the wet road to the rockslide, fighting the wind. When he got to the boulders in the road he waved the orange baton toward the car before pointing it to the outer limits of the slide.
The driver cautiously moved the BMW into the oncoming lane of traffic and was focused on the policeman’s baton when Jathus suddenly gripped his leg.
“I know that man,” she gasped.
“He’s from your House?” asked Sullin, mildly annoyed at her because he was trying to focus on the maneuvers necessary to clear the obstacles in the road. There were large boulders a few inches to the right of the car and a guardrail a few inches to the left. Driving between them with almost zero visibility was like threading a needle.
“No, he was from my House.”
The driver grunted an acknowledgement.
“Sullin, he’s a rebel! Maqtu! Stop the car!”
“He - oh, shit!” cried Sullin, slamming on the brakes. He turned to warn the passengers in the backseat but it was too late. A spray of bullets shattered the windshield. One of the bullets sailed cleanly into the side of his skull above his left ear, scrambling his brain before tumbling out of his right jaw, showering the passengers in the back with blood.
“Maqtu!” screamed the woman in front, reaching for her phone. A small metal canister rocketed through the shattered windshield before she could punch the panic button. The object hit the driver’s corpse in the chest before plopping into his lap and rolling to the floorboard between his feet. The hiss of escaping gas filled the car’s interior.
Jathus began to convulse.
Nizrok tried to open his door but the adjacent guardrail blocked it, just as boulders blocked the doors on the other side of the car. Cursing, he pulled his pistol and shot at the window next to him only to find that the bullet made a hole in the safety glass instead of shattering it.
As Benidita screamed, the Peth leaned back and kicked at the window with his heels. It was too late. Millions of barbed particulates wafted up through his nostrils and into his lungs, where they released their payloads into his bloodstream. The muscles in his legs constricted and his chest emptied of air as Bendita’s screams became gargles and her body began to spasm.
The Peth lord would never see the new world.
