Awakenings (31 page)

Lelani let out a scream that made Cat freeze. She thought for a moment that the centaur might need her help more than Cal, but she made the difficult decision to look after her own first—and damn the guilt.

She walked south of the men to keep the camp’s fires behind them; that way she could see them better. The giant had gotten the advantage over Cal, who was on his back with the big guy sitting on him. But Cal had a vise grip on his wrists, so he couldn’t hit. The giant’s arm was weak, torn up from the shotgun wound, and bled down. They were at a stalemate.

Cat came up to within a few feet, cocked the shotgun and aimed at the giant’s head.

“Get the hell off my husband,” she said.

The giant slowly did as ordered and backed away with his hands up.

Cal got off the ground and joined his wife. Another cry of pain from the sorcerer’s battle echoed in the night. This cry was deeper … a man’s voice. And then that part of the wood went still.

“Guess your man wasn’t as good as you thought,” Cal said.

It was hard to read the giant’s expression in the dark. When Cal moved to relieve Cat of the shotgun, the giant rolled to the ground, disappearing into the darkness.

Cal fired where his adversary had been. After two shots, the gun clicked empty. Cat heard his footsteps crunching in the snow, heading toward the forest. The giant ran past where the mages had fought, then broke through a row of bushes in the tree line and was gone.

Cal and Cat followed. Cat tripped over something big on the ground. It was the centaur.

“Wait!” Cat told her husband.

“I have to go after him,” Cal said.

Cat felt around her fallen companion’s body and found the bolts that were lodged into her. She was warm and still breathing. Cat’s hand came away wet and sticky. “Lelani’s hurt.”

Cal dropped beside her and looked the young mage over. He cradled the centaur’s head in his hands. Her clavicle was broken in the same place the bolt hit her earlier in the day. There were several other knives and small bits of metal protruding from her. She breathed in rapid pants.

“If we pull these blades out here, she’ll bleed to death before we reach the tree,” Cal said. He looked out in the direction the giant had fled. “Cat, can you get Lelani back to Rosencrantz?”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“After that guy.”

Cat couldn’t stand the thought of Cal in that pitch-black forest alone with that monster. More so, she didn’t want to be left alone in the meadow.

“How am I going to get a four-hundred-pound centaur across this meadow without your help?” she said.

“We can’t let him report to Dorn,” her husband responded.

“It’s pitch black in that forest, you’re bleeding, and you can’t even see five feet ahead of you,” Cat insisted.

Cal stared into the night like a wolf that’d lost his pack.

“We won,” she emphasized.

“Barely,” Cal said. “Most of these guys clearly got here recently—no guns, no body armor—they were still using crossbows and daggers. Luck won’t always be on our side.”

Cat’s attackers were scary enough without the modern weaponry in their arsenal. She did not think it could get any worse than it did this night.

“We’re going to need Seth and Ben’s help to get her back,” Cal said, acceding to her wishes.

Cat looked inside Lelani’s satchel. Something cold and cylindrical popped into her hand. She pulled it out. A flashlight.

“This thing won’t shoot lasers, will it?” she asked.

“Only one way to find out,” the cop said.

She clicked it on, and there was light. Cat surveyed the immediate area. The beam fell upon the other mage a few feet away who lay facedown in the snow.

“Cal, look.”

Cal took the flashlight from his wife and examined the area around the fallen sorcerer. The footprints of a seven-foot man were around the body. “Our friend stopped here first before taking off into the woods. Cat, hand me one of Lelani’s arrows from her quiver.”

Cal gingerly searched the dead mage’s pockets with the arrow. It clinked on something metallic in the inside jacket pocket. He pulled out a small, heavy metal canister with symbols on it.

Cat came up behind her husband and put a hand on his shoulder. “Cal, we have to get her to Rosencrantz,” she urged.

He shone the light on the canister. It bore the infamous black and yellow symbol for radiation. Around the symbol it read,
Danger! Fissionable Material. Property of Indian Point Nuclear Facility.

Cal and Cat gave each other worried looks.

“What the hell is Dorn up to?” he said.

5

Seth climbed down and went to check on Ben. The old man was next to one of the pyres brushing himself off.

“What’s the score?” Ben asked him.

“I think we’re okay, old-timer.”

“In that case it’s
pasteles
and rum by the fire in PR.”

“Ben! Are you done getting your butt kicked?” Helen asked from the trailer door. “Get back home, now.”

Seth and Ben smiled. Helen had earned the right to nag after this night.

Their smiles turned to abject fear when they realized a gnoll was on the roof of the trailer just above Helen. Before Ben could warn his wife, the creature reached down, grabbed Helen, and hauled her over the top of the trailer. It jumped off the roof on the other side and took off into the north meadow with Ben’s wife.

“Helen!” Ben screamed. He hobbled after them as fast as he could.

“Ben, no!” Seth shouted. The old man did not heed him. Seth looked for Cat, but she was gone. Seth didn’t know what to do. It was madness to go out there and face a nocturnal creature in the dark. But what choice did he have? The phrase
What is good?
popped into his head. Ben had delved into the realm of the amateur philosopher by questioning absolutes, but what Seth knew for sure was that abandoning your friends to the darkness was definitely
not
good. He had abandoned people who needed him all his life. It was second nature to him, and he needed to end it. Seth looked around for a weapon and spotted Ben’s ax. He grabbed it, lit two rolled-up magazines and pocketed a few extra ones, picked up a can of kerosene, and followed Ben into the night.

Ben wasn’t hard to locate. A few yards away from the trailer, where the grass met the snowline, he gripped a small hunting knife and yelled into the winter night, “Helen!”

“Ben, keep it down.”

“Those things have night vision, punk. You think it doesn’t know where we are?”

Seth was acutely aware of their tactical disadvantage. But he couldn’t tell Ben to abandon his wife; even though that was the sane thing to do. All that would come of them chasing that gnoll in the dark was three dead people instead of one.

“It’s a trap,” said Seth.

“No reason we should feed it two mice,” Ben responded. “You go back to that tree and see if the wizard can help us out.”

“Nice try, but I’m not leaving you out here alone.”

They heard Helen’s weak cry in the distance. “Ben!” She was still in the meadow, at least—somewhere near the tree line.

“She’s still alive,” Ben whispered, relieved.
“Helen!”

“Go back,” Helen cried.

“Ben, we’re fucked if we stay here.”

Ben contemplated something big in a way that only a member of America’s greatest generation could. He took the can of kerosene from Seth. “Listen up,” he said, “it’s a dog-man, right? I’m injured. It senses weakness, smells blood. I’m going to walk out along the edge of the snow line a couple of yards. It’s going to come after me. I’m going to grab it and hold on for dear life. No matter what it does, I ain’t letting it go. When you hear it, come to me and hack away. We won’t even have a minute, so don’t hesitate.”

“Ben, I don’t like the idea of you being bait.”

“Well we’re a few cans short of Alpo, kid. This is no time to split hairs.”

“Ben, I can’t even see out here.”

Ben held up the can of kerosene. “You’ll see me fine.” He walked away into the dark.

Seth gripped his ax tight. His magazine was halfway gone so he rolled and lit another one. He closed his eyes and tried to listen. It was the more effective sense in this situation. He caught a whiff of something foul upwind, like a garbage scow. It was in the direction Ben had gone.
Damn!

Seth started toward Ben before he heard the scuffling. Then he heard a shout. A circle of flame ignited before him, lighting up the meadow, and in the middle of the ring was Ben struggling on the ground with the creature. The gnoll was startled by the circle of flames around them. It clearly wanted to run. Ben wrapped his arms and legs around the gnoll and held it in place as it tore and snapped at the old man. Ben yelled, “NOW! NOW!”

Seth quickly hopped through the ring of fire and landed a solid hack with the ax into the gnoll’s back. The creature howled and rolled on the ground bringing along Ben, whose legs were entangled with the gnoll’s in a wrestling grip. They rolled through a corner of the ring, and the gnoll’s fur caught. Ben went limp and the creature was able to push the old man off. It frantically patted the flames on its body. Seth picked up the can of kerosene and splashed the remains on the gnoll. Several embers on the fur lit up. The gnoll ran into the snow aflame. Seth chased it. The creature rolled around trying to extinguish the burning hair; Seth came upon it and swung a solid shot into the thing’s gut with his ax. The creature cried out and swiped at Seth’s legs. Seth continued to hack at it to his heart’s content. The smell of burning hair filled Seth’s nostrils. His fifth shot, a solid gash to the forehead, ended the creature.

Seth heard crunching in the snow. He lifted his ax to ward off another attack.

“Ben?” Helen queried.

“It’s me,” Seth said. “That thing is dead.”

She was shaking with fear. Seth took her hand. “Where’s Ben?” she asked.

Seth led her back to the spot where he left her husband. Ben hadn’t moved from where Seth left him, and Helen rushed to her husband’s side.

“Ben, talk to me.”

The old man didn’t respond. He had gashes all over and was bleeding out onto the ground. Ben’s head tilted back when his wife tried to prop him up, and they saw the rip in his throat. Helen kept calling his name as she patted his face trying to revive him. His eyes fluttered, and he coughed blood. He reached out to his wife and touched her cheek.

“Helen,” he slurred. His voice had turned into a raspy gurgle.

“You did it, Ben. I’m safe. We’re both safe. You hold on now. We’ll get you to the tree.” She turned to Seth. “Help me get him back.”

Seth was sure that moving Ben was a terrible idea, but he didn’t have many options. He reached under the old man to lift him. His clothes were saturated with blood as was the ground beneath him. Seth only moved him a little when Ben started to convulse and spit up blood. His body spasmed; he gasped for air.

“What happened?” Seth asked.

“It’s a heart attack!” Helen said. “Ben, hold on!”

Seth picked up the old man and struggled toward the tree with Helen right behind him. A few steps away from camp, Ben went completely limp. They got him to the tree and laid him beside the trunk. Nothing happened. Helen looked at Seth. Her face, streaming with tears conveyed the fears in her heart.

“Try touching the tree and holding Ben,” she said to him.

Seth did so, and felt the warmth of the tree fill him again, but the flow stopped at his hand, not going into Ben. He tried touching Ben’s forehead, his wounds, but nothing worked. Seth turned to Helen, who was looking to him for answers he couldn’t provide. Seth was sobbing as well by now. “I don’t know what to do,” he said. “Lelani has this powder that heals, but it’s out there with her.”

Seth stood back and looked at the bloodied old man slumped against the tree. He had a peaceful expression. Ben had caught the moment he knew his wife was safe and made it his eternal mask.

“Nooo!” Helen wailed. She leaned down and embraced her husband. She had no care for all the blood. She kissed his cheeks and cried freely.

Seth kneeled beside her and put his arms around them both. They wept for an eternity.

CHAPTER 17

STRANGERS IN A STRANGE LAND

1

Dorn hated America. It lacked order. It coddled the weak. The rules of behavior were contrary to nature. Common women were arrogant, badly disciplined; peasants pressed for their rights; the wealthy kept the masses subservient through financial debt instead of fear; and leaders were subject to criticism and even ridicule, such as on the players’ farce
Saturday Night Live
. Madness. Dorn rubbed his temples in an effort to relieve the growing pressure.

The Quinta do Noval ’83 slid down his lordship’s gullet and warmed the chill from his bones. He didn’t like the Park Plaza’s vented heating and longed for a real fire to stoke under a large stone mantel. Nothing was real in this world; the food was processed and bloodless and even the warmth was an illusion. The city smelled worse than brimstone, noxious waste belching from the asses of a million horseless carriages. Mass production by scientific trickery produced a lot of nothing. The masses hoarded material goods as if they were nobility—fooled into believing the purchase of soulless objects would overcome their ingrained defects. The right car or the toothpaste with a catchier tune will bring them closer to being noble. As wines went, though, port came closest to the spirits of home. It alleviated the throbbing in his temple, which had been growing worse since their arrival in this cursed world. It was also becoming harder to hide the pain from his underlings. He found himself drinking more of the wine the longer he remained here.

This world was not an easy place. Like hawks in a maelstrom, they struggled through it, denigrated in the effort of not drawing attention to themselves. Limited sorceries, restricted violence, and the inability to freely draw manpower from local denizens without leverage over them. More than that, there was no way to tell how high-grade magicks might react on this plane. Some unknown cosmic balance might be tipped. Such a thing could make the situation worse—the ensuing chaos might cause difficulty in their search. So they had to wade through the mire of orthodoxy, risking a spell only when needed, and slinking off like weasels after raiding the coop.