Dragon Over Washington (The Third War Of The Bir Nibaru Gods) (40 page)

Thorpe emerged from of one of the NSA vans, looked a moment at Ellis and then ran towards the director. The director, standing with Graham, the State police chief and several NSA agents looked at Thorpe incredulously. A cold wind started to blow gently.

“This had better be important,” the director said coldly. Thorpe mutely opened his laptop case.

“This-” Thorpe glanced at the director whose cold eyes were still on him. Thorpe gulped and went on, stammering.

“This - I - from the drone, two minutes ago. It’s coming our way.” Thorpe turned the laptop towards the director. The director’s cold eyes remained on Thorpe a moment before he lowered his gaze to the computer. Thorpe, his finger shaking, pressed the play button. The winds started howling louder, leaves and branches flying around them. The director looked at the screen. After a moment, an eyebrow went up.

“Agent Graham, we seem to have a rather large visitor heading our way. Prepare the heavy—”

“No!” Thorpe panted. The director stopped talking and glanced at the red-haired analyst. His eyebrow rose higher.

“No! We must retreat! We don’t stand a chance against it! It’s the same in Russia! In Colorado a similar creature destroyed Mathew’s camp a few hours ago! We must retreat!” Thorpe was almost crying. The tall director stared at Thorpe a moment. The winds were blowing strongly, making the trees near the road shake and shudder. A roof tile flew up from a nearby house. The men closed their jackets, keeping their heads down.

“Fall back. A hundred yards,” the director finally said, his long overcoat flapping in the winds. The NSA operatives and the police officers moved away from the blockade, the SWAT team having to drag their raging team leader. Small lightning bolts started flying around, blazing from the dark clouds above to the ground, flicking towards signposts and trees. A deserted police car had its siren torn away by the winds. A black van was repeatedly rocked by the winds, its suspension screeching.

The cult’s procession had reached the cars blocking the town. The idol loomed above the cult members, its eyes reflecting the flashing lighting in the skies. Allan turned towards it, knelt down and bowed his head low.

“I am the Stormgod’s Harbinger! I sacrifice this offering. Give me the power to break free! I summon the Northwind!” Allan’s shout was somehow heard above the din of the storm. A third man was brought and unceremoniously thrown into the blazing electrical fire that Allan called down. Allan rose and turned towards the watching agents, raising his hands, his rod pointing at the sky.

It came, escorted by lightning, heralded by the winds. Huge wings were spread open, vast and metallic, unhindered by the storm, casting a black shadow on the ground beneath. Its arms were held before it, its giant blade gleaming. Electrical light blazed from within its eye sockets, its bovine face covered with a metal helmet. Its crescent shaped horns were huge. The creature moved with a fluid grace, flapping its wings once to hover over the town’s boundary, the same boundary that the black storm clouds above seemed to recognize. The sun could not penetrate the heavy cover of clouds, keeping the town in a gloomy, tension-filled darkness.

The thing gathered its wings around it and glided down, flapping them once just before it hit the road. It landed with a tremendous crash right at the deserted police roadblock, its hooves smashing holes into the concrete road. Its immense size was now apparent as it dwarfed the abandoned police cars. Wind roared around it, shrouding it in an ever-howling, spinning screen. Thorpe heard awe-struck whispering around him from the NSA agents and the police officers who had gathered away from the parked vehicles, following the director’s order.

“It’s bigger than a tree! Bigger than a fucking building!” a nearby policeman whispered. Thorpe watched, feeling currents moving through his body. He saw the blinking police car lights die as the creature approached them and heard the engine of a nearby NSA van splutter. The streetlights turned off one after another in quick succession.

“The reports from Russia. I’m seeing it, seeing one of them. It’s true. All of it, it’s true,” Thorpe murmured. The monster glanced at the agents and policemen and Thorpe felt driven back by the power in the monster’s electricity-filled eyes. Thorpe watched with wide eyes as huge metallic hands reached down. Gray metal fists penetrated cars with ease. A police car exploded, rising up in a small fireball as the metal giant drove its fist through it. Another police car was flattened as the giant raised its foot and squashed it. Yet another police car was tossed aside by a careless toss.

The giant bent down and rose up again, one hand raising a black NSA van high above its horned bull’s head and then throwing it. The huge wings gave one powerful beat and the thing sprang up, gaining altitude easily. Thorpe’s eyes followed the black NSA Ford van that the monster had tossed. It came back down, hitting the county road and raising a shower of sparks. It skidded on the road, losing panels and wheels and then smashed through the metal fence separating the opposite lanes and continued on, rolling and sliding. Thorpe watched the van tumble on, moving in a large circle, and finally head right towards him, the metal screeching on the tarmac. The engine’s compartment hood snapped open, glass windows smashed and two wheels fell away as the van rolled on the road.

Thorpe was glued to the spot. He could think of nothing, do nothing. He could only watch as the doors of the van popped open, the long sliding door falling away, the black vehicle coming at him. Suddenly, someone bowled into him, throwing him down to the hard concrete road. The van passed them, leaving a trail of debris behind it. Thorpe’s eyes snapped to the flying monster. It circled above the entrance to the town, its huge wings flapping occasionally, lightning arcing from its eyes, its bull’s head directed at them. Somebody helped Thorpe up, actually pulling him up with enough force to almost tear out his arm.

“Your training represents a significant agency investment. See that it is not wasted needlessly,” the director told him coldly.

Cars were leaving the town, moving onto the county road, every car bearing the sign of the Stormgod on hood and roof. The large metal statue, the idol that led the cult members in their march against the NSA teams, led them, strapped to the back of a pickup truck. Ellis’s eyes were drawn to a group of motorcyclists led by a blond, helmetless biker, all leaning forward with the curve leading into the road, coaxing every bit of speed the bikes had. They zoomed past faster than the eye could perceive, their wailing engines tearing up the stormy day. It was difficult to miss the gray pennon flying from the lead motorcycle’s antenna, the horned sign of the Stormgod, the same symbol that was burnt into every helmet.

“It cleared the path for them!” Agent Graham rushed over, yelling.

“My hand shall touch the earth and will set you free,” Thorpe whispered.

“The hell it will!” the furious SWAT team leader snarled. He picked up his machine gun and aimed it at the thing flying above them. Veins stood out on the bull-necked SWAT man as he pulled the machine gun’s cocking lever savagely and pressed the trigger convulsively. The machine gun wouldn’t fire.

“Are you certain you can bring that down, officer? If you’re not, I’d rather live to fight another day,” the director told the SWAT leader. The man looked at him and then looked at the flying monster. His eyes followed the gigantic gray metal form as it sailed in the air, casting a flickering luminance around it as electricity continuously arced over it body. Its great hands were spread in front if it and its wings appeared to be bigger than anything that had a right to be airborne. It opened its huge jaws and lightning flickered out of its mouth. Its power seemed to be limitless, a storm personified. The SWAT leader snarled and lowered his heavy machine gun reluctantly.

“Get me a radio, Agent Graham,” the director said. The stream of cars leaving the town diminished. The thing flying at the entrance of the town banked and headed towards them, its mighty hands held forward. Thorpe yelled and ducked as the flickering blue-white light from the monster illuminated them. The other NSA agents and policemen ducked as well, flattening themselves on the asphalt as the monster came closer. It sailed above them, its form casting a cold dark shadow beneath it, its wings beating slowly, wind howling all around it like the world’s biggest helicopter. A large advertisement billboard hanging over the road was smashed away easily as if its metal supports were matchsticks. A large snort exploded from above, as if the creature was preparing to gore and to trample.

Only the director remained standing, looking at the huge thing flying above him, the dead radio’s microphone in his hand, his black overcoat flapping in the wind created by the enormous wings. Two policemen ran off, heading towards the fields beyond the highway. One SWAT member and one NSA agent cowered, hands over their heads, curled up on the concrete. Most of the law enforcement people had their weapons in their hands, looking up at the winged monster flying less than twenty feet above them as hurricane-force winds howled around the creature.

Thorpe tried to keep watching, learning, memorizing, but he was trembling and huddling on the road, as the monster kept growing and growing in his view, filling the world with gray metal, flickering lightning and unimaginable power.

“It’s got to be a robot, an automaton, a machine -” Thorpe muttered repeatedly, feeling sweat starting to cover him, staring up with fog-filled spectacles. The armor consisted of metal plates and rings cunningly worked to encircle the flying monstrosity. Thorpe could see black and brown fur between the armor plates. He saw great white teeth grind together. He saw bovine nostrils widen to take in air. He saw a motley-colored hide cover bulging muscles. The creature’s eyes were pure power, electrical discharges streaming out like water.

Thorpe whimpered, covered his head with his hands and curled up on the concrete. There was a single flap of wings above him, lifting him from the ground and slamming him back into it, making him roll. Thorpe held on to the road for dear life, dreading the blow that would end everything. He expected to be crushed by gigantic hooves or impaled by wickedly curved horns with razor sharp tips. Then something cold fell on Thorpe’s forehead, making him jump. He touched it and looked at his hand stupidly. It was a drop of water. A moment later the skies opened up, rain drenching everything, putting out the fires on the highway and in the small town of Owego. The monster had gone. Thorpe looked towards the town, seeing the metallic giant powering its way to the House of the Stormgod.

Thorpe jumped as the radio in The Man’s hands suddenly came back to life.

***

A few hours later, every policeman in the county was present. Thorpe saw men running to and fro, toting machine guns and placing rocket launchers. The first armored personnel carriers also arrived, their turrets swiveling towards the little town. The blockage had been reinstated, though their targets were long gone. One entire police unit was devoted to media handling; every reporter they saw was being escorted away. Thorpe shook his head.

He was in a van, trying desperately to keep ahead of events in Colorado, Libya and Russia. Information flowed; Thorpe was trying to make sense of all the facts and speculations. The only thing he could think about was time, the fact that a little more than five weeks was left. He tried to look at reports from Mathew and Libya, but he couldn’t erase the image of the inscription on his blackboard, the seven-week deadline. He couldn’t help but think that he had already used up a week and half without achieving anything worthwhile. Thorpe shuddered, feeling cold, thinking of the creature he saw here and of the creature that had attacked Mathew’s camp. What’s next?

Finally, he gave up. He was too tired, too full of adrenaline. He had to sleep. He slowly stumbled out of the van, massaging his wrists. He didn’t remember them aching that way since college.

Thorpe looked around. He thought about calling his mom, letting her know he was all right. He hadn’t talked to her for three days, but he didn’t know what he could tell her, that wouldn’t make her worry even more.

Ellis! He suddenly thought. More adrenaline pumped through him, revitalizing him further. He headed towards a NSA van, one that had escaped destruction. He looked inside it, his heart racing. Ellis was there. She had removed her gear and was sitting on one of the benches in the back. She was staring at an open carrying case for an M107 rifle, the one Fred had used. Thorpe went away and came back a moment later, offering a cardboard cup filled with coffee. Ellis took it. The young man looked at her for a moment, hesitated and then left the van. Her face was lined with tears. A local radio station was playing on the van’s radio, barely audible over the noise of sirens and helicopters from outside.

“The Tri Cities bicycle race is the day after tomorrow, folks. Don’t forget to have your bikes checked! Helmets, knee and elbow pads are compulsory! Kids under the age of fourteen need their parents consent. We just received an interesting update, people. The course has been changed. The organizers want to keep their distance from Owego. What is happening in that little town, you may ask? We are being kept in the dark, freedom of the press meaning little to some folks out there! Apparently, a firefight broke out between the police and a group of people visiting Owego. Get your act together, Owego! You’re the lightning rod for the whole Tioga County! This is WMRV, 105.7 on your FM dial, bringing you the best music out there! I’m Adam Coe. We’ll be right back after this, a few words from our sponsors.”

Thorpe took out his smartphone and looked for missed calls. There were several; four calls just from his mom. Thorpe grimaced. He couldn’t call her back because she’d sense immediately he wasn’t in his office and Thorpe could never lie to his mom. He had tried, but she always saw through him. There was also a call from Andy. Thorpe called him back.