A Shrouded World | Book 8 | Asgard Read online

  I fire into the closest night runners, who are regaining their feet. They stumble even more as rounds strike their bodies, collapsing back to the ground. But there are far too many in my near proximity for me to take them all down. I’m not really sure Kalandar thought his action all the way through.

  I’m turning quickly, looking for new targets, when I hear a steady pounding coming up behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I see a night runner in full sprint just feet away. Its mouth is pulled back in a snarl, the silver of his eyes eerily glowing as it bores its rage-filled gaze into me. Outstretched arms reach for me, seeking to rend flesh from bone.

  Dropping my carbine to hang by its lanyard, I duck low while rotating toward the charging night runner. My hand closes around the haft of my knife, secured at my ankle. Rising quickly under the night runner’s outstretched arms, I grab hold of its chest with my free hand and drive my blade underneath the sternum. I immediately feel warm liquid splash over my gloved hand. Using the creature’s momentum, I launch him up and over me, twisting my knife buried inside its body. As the creature is propelled away, I let my blade slide from its flesh. Trailing droplets of blood, it slams into the ground at the feet of one of its comrades.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spot another pale flash of movement. Turning towards the rapidly closing night runner, I sweep my free arm to move its reaching hands while stepping to the side. I then bring my knife up and over, plunging it into the side of the creature’s neck. Warm blood gushes from the wound to stream down the night runner’s back. Sawing my blade, I cut forward, slicing through muscle, tendon, and gristle. With blood now pumping from its wound, the creature’s knees give way and it slumps to the ground.

  The night, which had been filled with shrieks and roars, is now filled with the sounds of night runners scrambling to their feet. Their screams start rising into the cool air once again. This time, however, their attention is refocused on me. With a little breathing space, I jam my knife back into its sheath and pull out my sidearm.

  The night runners are all around me and recovering quickly. Pairs of silver orbs glow in the darkness, snarls mixing with renewed shrieks. With an abruptness that is startling, the nighttime hunters charge my position. I hold steady, picking out the nearest one. My 40 cal round slams into its torso, the chest caving in and the beast’s arms and shoulders seeming to fold around the impact. The night runner’s forward momentum is halted as if it decided to just give up in midstride. Hitting first on its knees, the creature then faceplants into the desert sand, a cloud of dust pushing forward.

  Before the first one hits, I have my sights aimed at another. This one also is sent tumbling across the desert, coming to rest only a few feet away. Quickly moving from target to target, I fire one round after another in rapid succession, each time downing a night runner. But they’re too many and they’re too close.

  Something slams into me from behind. Thinking I’m being tackled by a night runner, I first focus on keeping the grip on my handgun. I’m about to fire over my shoulder into the weight I feel pressing against me and shoving me forward when I noticed big red fingers circle around me. I’m then lifted into the air to the sound of a hearty laugh that borders on a roar.

  “This…Is…Great!” Kalandar roars as he moves me to his shoulder.

  I now have a bird’s eye view of the battle, but on a very unsteady platform. Up here, I won’t be able to add much to the fight, as I’ll be busy enough trying to keep my own balance. If the demon had hair, I’d have something to hang onto. But as it stands, pun only partially intended, it appears I’m about to ride my first rodeo bull without the courtesy of being tied on or even allowed to sit.

  I shuffle closer to his neck and take what hold I can on his ear while holstering my side arm. Using his other arm, Kalandar swats away a group of three night runners who had been closing in on my position, sending them bouncing and rolling across the desert floor. He then picks up two more in his giant mitts and tosses them like an outfielder throwing to catch a runner at home plate. They go sailing into the night, their pale bodies dwindling, their screams fading. I can’t help but grin inside because watching people getting launched is one of those things you can’t help but laugh at, like seeing folks trying to negotiate icy inclines.

  The desert air suddenly quiets, broken only by a few snarls. The night runners back away from the towering demon, the silver glow of their eyes wary. It appears they know they’ve met their match, and with the easy prey now out of reach, they’re contemplating their survival. Whether that means a change in tactics or not remains to be seen.

  Their ferocity is unparalleled, often keeping them in the fight for too long. But, it’s also what sees them through many times. I’ve come to hate when they change it up, for it’s often unnoticed until it’s too late. I’ve only seen them turn tail a few times, so the idea of them giving up is foreign. However, they are, one and all, backing up. As for Kalandar himself, he’s stopped his roaring and, from what I can tell on my precarious perch, staring at the creatures arrayed before him. I wonder if it’s a prelude to him just hitting palm down and smacking them into the earth.

  As one, the night runners turn and race away into the darkness, the sound of their pounding feet fading. Kalandar starts laughing, his deep bellows chasing the fleeing creatures.

  “Seeing an enemy flee in terror is sometimes better than crushing them between your fingers.”

  “Yeah, um, sure,” I reply.

  “What, you do not like a good fight?” Kalandar asks, incredulous.

  “I’m not against one; that doesn’t mean I go looking for them,” I answer.

  “Mortals surely are strange. I watched for a moment while you fought them. You fight well for your size.”

  “So, wait—you stood there and watched?” I inquire.

  “Surely. What greater honor than to have a witness to your feats.”

  “I think I would have appreciated it more if you had just stepped in. That was getting a little sporty,” I say.

  “Why would I do that? That’s when it gets fun.”

  “Next time, feel free to share in the fun earlier…like, much earlier.”

  “As I said, you mortals are a strange lot,” Kalandar says, shaking his head. “We will journey a little more and find a place to rest.”

  5

  Jack Walker — Chapter Two

  We stroll through the night for another couple of hours. Well, actually, Kalandar is doing the walking while I ride on his shoulder. It’s much easier to stay on it in this manner rather than when he’s flailing around in the middle of a fight. It’s not much different than matching the easy gait of a horse. Of the night runners, I haven’t seen any sign or heard their shrieks. I don’t know if they’re still out there prowling the desert or have vanished back through their portals.

  For that matter, I wonder who creates those for them. Surely it can’t be the night runners themselves. I suppose it could be a function of what brought us through in the first place. After all, I was transported here without any involvement whatsoever. And by here, I mean into this entire mess.

  Reaching a place not unlike any other, we stop to rest. Taking turns, we maintain a guard, although I’m not sure Kalandar really needs one. The only thing he’s ever seemed anxious about are the overseers, and I doubt there are any of those about. I’m sure I’d sense a trace of that fear even from a distance. However, interacting with the relic did seem to change the level of fear I feel. I’m also not overly sure of his dedication to guard duty, as his snoring at his post has woken me on more than one occasion. I would have stayed up all night, but exhaustion claimed me.

  Near morning, with the false dawn sending its faint blue glow across the horizon, I wake to the smell of smoke. It isn’t wood smoke or someone burning fields. This is heavy, oily smoke, carrying the odor of burned brakes and machinery. I haven’t been in a lot of armored battles, but I’ve come across fresh battlefields where they’ve occurred, and this smells very similar. />
  I look to Kalandar, who is sitting nearby in the darkness.

  “I smell it, too. There was a white wave that came through a while ago and the odor appeared just after that,” he says.

  Well, that’s great. Yet another thing to deal with. Those resets seem to be coming more frequently, bringing changes along with them.

  “This place is about to tear itself apart,” I comment.

  “As they all do with time,” the demon responds.

  My fatigues are stiff from dried blood. Several pieces of flesh are glued to the front where Kalandar grabbed me, his fingers caked with the remains of his flesh bats. I’d spare some of my water to clean up, but who knows how long it’ll have to last. We’re trekking toward the mountains, if those are, in fact, still there. It’s difficult to determine the landscape in the pre-dawn darkness.

  Slowly, the sky lightens as the sun moves closer to the horizon. The land around begins to take form. It doesn’t look like much has changed. There are the dark silhouettes of the ridge lines we were heading for with the same behind. Off to one side, the line of mountains that were there seem closer. Again, it’s difficult to tell in the current lighting. The smell of oily smoke is still strong.

  Sunlight flares across the desert. Across the flat plain, pillars of dark smoke rise into the morning air, each column more than likely marking the destruction of an armored vehicle. After I check over my gear, Kalandar lifts me to his shoulder and we start the trek across the sand as the heat begins to climb. In favor of easier travel, I’ve managed to ignore the fact that the demon freely scratches and fondles his nether regions.

  As we approach, I have Kalandar slow down until I can have a chance to glass over the area. Who knows if there are operable fighting vehicles that are still being manned within the battlefield? I sure would hate to be on the receiving end of incoming artillery or anti-armor rounds. I’m not sure how Kalandar would hold up to a depleted uranium rod slamming into his torso. He, of course, scoffs at the notion of being careful, but does as I ask anyway.

  From the thickness and size of the smoke plumes, the battle that played out here took place hours ago. Some of the smoke columns drift lazily upward while others are forced by the heat of still-burning fires. I wonder what is it about this world; it seems as if this place has been nothing but battlefields and armies since leaving Valhalla. Are the overseers studying the art of war? Or was that just how this planet was before the arrival of the whistlers?

  The battlefield stretches for miles, the wreckage of equipment marking a trail of the fight’s progress. The sand is disturbed from tracks and wheels racing this way and that, each unit seeking to gain advantages or to fall back. Craters mark where shells hit, sending sand and clumps of earth outward and turning the sand black in places. Amid the tangle of wrecked vehicles, bodies lie in various postures; some lie draped over the rims of tanks, others lie singly on the sand or clumped around cratered holes.

  Taking my time, I don’t see any sign of living souls. Considering the bodies, I wonder whether this might have been an armored column attacked from the air. However, the differing camo schemes and markings on the vehicles tells of a meeting engagement between two opposing forces. Normally, a victor would at least gather their own dead. But here, there are bodies from both sides. So, is this a battle from long ago that materialized with the passing of the last wave?

  I direct Kalandar forward. I’d circumvent this place, but I want to find a replacement weapon for Mike. More ammo for myself wouldn’t be a bad idea, as I spent a few mags fighting the night runners. We tour the battlefield with me being lowered several times to check out the viability of weapons I find. Most are smashed beyond use, but I manage to find an operable carbine and some ammo for when we meet up again. I also find a working sniper with a few mags. I take that along as well, as you never know when one might come in handy. It’s a good thing I have a big red pack animal to help carry the gear.

  Walking through the wreckage, well, being carried through, we come upon a vehicle that doesn’t have a mark on it. There’s no shell hole through the armor, no hint of smoke rising, no panels or hatches blown. It looks like it was just driven here and parked, the occupants dismounting to go shopping.

  “Hold up here,” I tell Kalandar.

  After again glassing the area, I’m lowered to the ground. There’s a chance that there is a crew hanging around, and they’re salvaging anything they can find. The sight of the demon may have driven them into cover. I know it would me. Or they’re inside, waiting for me to open a hatch. I mutter as much and Kalandar reaches over to tilt the armored vehicle on its side, letting it slam back to the ground.

  “No one inside,” he declares.

  “If so, they’re done for now.”

  It appears as if the vehicle is abandoned. Maybe the crew saw their unit being destroyed and decided there were better places to be. The acrid smell of smoke drifts across the battlefield, hiding most of the stench coming from the dead bodies. Clambering atop the vehicle, the metal warm under the rising sun, I watch for any hatch movement. The tank-like vehicle is comprised of a chassis riding on six large rubber tires with a turret on top, the sides and rear steeply angled. Four barrels protrude from in front, arranged in a square pattern. Although the caliber is larger, the layout looks a lot like the four-barreled anti-air weapons found on World War II ships. I think those were 20mm; these look more like they might be 40mm.

  Climbing to the top hatch, I flip it open and jump back. The cover comes down with a clang, the only sound other than the crackle of flames from a nearby burning vehicle. Nothing flies out of the opening, nor is there any hint of someone moving inside. Leaning my carbine, I peek over the edge with my handgun ready.

  The interior is dimly lit and empty. There are two stations inside, one to the left and right of the gun apparatus. It looks like a driver and gunner’s station with raised commander’s position in back. The main weapon looks to have an automated reloading system, rails carrying rounds leading to breaches. I track the delivery system back to a large ammo compartment. Searching further, there is another compartment which houses additional ammo.

  There are two machine guns, one fired from the gunner’s station and another from the commander’s position. Studying the consoles, I figure out where the battery master is and click it over, hoping to hell that isn’t off for a reason. The whine of hydraulics accompanies gauges that spring to life. The fuel gauge shows about three-quarters full, so this battle must have started right after a refueling. Everything appears to be in normal ranges.

  I study the panel. It’s not difficult to figure out, but Kalandar knocking against the metal sides is annoying as hell. It’s just like back at the helicopter when I was trying to learn about the systems. I swear he does shit like this to deliberately annoy me. I scramble back to the top hatch and poke my head out.

  “Knock that the fuck off,” I yell to the demon sitting beside the armored vehicle. “If you’re bored, go find a bug to squash or something.”

  Kalandar merely stares at me and smacks the side with his finger, the metallic sounds echoing deep inside the compartment.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I say, sliding back inside.

  It doesn’t take me long to figure out the three stations. Luckily it isn’t very computerized, straight forward for the most part. With the periodic rings reverberating from a bored demon, I hit the starter switch. Instead of cranking up like a normal engine, it starts spooling up like a jet engine, eventually reaching a point where it idles with a whine.

  “Okay, that’s interesting,” I mutter.

  Hopefully the fuel isn’t as volatile as the jet fuel I’m used to. If so, then this thing will become a blazing inferno with one hit. I’m sure there’s some retardant or foam in the tank. Sitting in the driver’s seat, I engage the gears and the armored vehicle lurches forward. I practice maneuvering the behemoth for a few minutes before shutting it back down.

  I found some lethal transportation that wi
ll carry me for a ways. I’m not sure how far that might be, but it’s something. The plan is to drive from the driver’s seat and switch to the commander’s seat, should I encounter something hostile. I’ll be a sitting target, but down here I can either move or shoot, not both, like I’ll be able to up there.

  Amid the smoldering pillars, I let Kalandar know that I’ll be driving from here on out. Maneuvering through the battlefield wreckage, the two of us strike out for our original destination — the nearer mountains across the vast plain. I’m not sure what I hope to find there, but it’s a direction. The two of us look something like a kid aimlessly strolling with a mechanical pet tagging along beside.

  We barely clear the wreckage and Kalandar spots a line of dust heading across the desert. If whatever is causing it continues on their current path, they’ll pass close to us from our left to right. It looks like their destination is the distant mountains off to the side. Stopping, I stand in the commander’s cupola, raising my binoculars to get a closer look. The dust clouds have to be caused by a large force, and I wonder if I’m not witnessing some follow-on force heading towards the battlefield we just vacated. If that’s so, we need to hightail it outta here pronto.

  As I continued to stare at the ever-growing line of dust, bright flashes begin appearing along the leading edge. My first instinct is to dive into the tank and close the hatch. However, the nearby ground doesn’t erupt in explosions of earth and shrapnel. If they’re firing, it isn’t in my direction. Looking closer, I discover that it’s just glints of metal reflecting in the sunlight.

  If it were just me, I could sit here on the edge of the battlefield and they’d more than likely pass by, thinking that I was just another casualty. But, if they’re a group coming to recover equipment, then I’d be found. Whether that’s a good thing or not could end up being a coin toss. However, that’s a moot point as there’s no hiding a big dopey red demon. And with him around, there’s no chance at a parley as he’ll likely roar before they get much closer and go charging into their midst.