Fire And Steel (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 2) (16 page)

      Gerrick shrugged. He looked at Brandon, meeting the younger man's gaze. Gerrick said. "It's up to Bran."

      Brandon felt like punching Gerrick in the mouth for making the decision his. He looked at Claire, at the hopeful look in her eye, and had to speak around a lump in his throat. He shook his head. He said, looking from Claire to her parents. "I'd love to go with you guys.” And he would have. But he had responsibilities that he couldn’t run away from. He felt torn as he said. “But Uncle Gerrick and I have some major spring cleaning to take care of before school starts back up."

      Claire said. "Couldn't that wait until spring?" She looked at him with a hurt expression. "We're talking about Disneyworld here. No curfew. Just us, together and safe."

      Brandon took Claire's hand and stared into her green eye and said. "There's one or two things that can't wait. Things that I have to take care of."

      "I can't talk you into waiting, can I?" Claire said. She looked over at her parents. They looked almost as disappointed as Claire. Mrs. Moody was watching Brandon with tight eyes. Mr. Moody was frowning and looking at his daughter. Claire squeezed his hand and said to her parents. "Mom. Dad. Could you wait for me in car? I want to say goodbye to Bran."

      "Sure, honey bun." Mr. Moody said, taking his wife's hand. He looked at Gerrick and let the affable and adoring father act slip a little as he said. "You two be careful. I’m not sure what’s going on in Matheson, but it’s not over yet. Until then, it's not very safe around here anymore."

      Gerrick met the other man’s serious gaze with one just as and said."We'll be fine. You all have a safe trip." He nodded at the Moodys and went into the house.

      Giving Brandon one last chance to change his mind, Claire's parents said their goodbyes then went out to their car, leaving Claire and Brandon alone on the front porch. Brandon held Claire's hand and met her glistening green eye. He said. "I really have to stay. You know that. No matter how much I want to go with you."

      "I know." Claire said. She looked away from his eyes, letting her gaze wander over the trees surrounding Highgarden. She shook her head and said, her voice low. "They're out there now, aren't they? Those things? They're watching us."

      Brandon said nothing. He pulled Claire against his chest and held her tight. He didn't care that her parents could see. He wanted to remember the way she felt against him. The smell of her hair and the feel of her arms wrapped around his body. In case this was the last time they saw each other. He couldn't fool himself. It wasn't as if Sha'ha'Zel was the only thing that could kill him. The grohlm could do it just as easily.

      Claire pulled back, staring up into his eyes. She was crying again, her cheeks puffy and pink. The patch caught the sunlight, reflecting it into Brandon's eyes, and made the silver and gold stand out against her blushing skin. Brandon kissed her. Her lips were soft and pliant, and the kiss was a lingering one. But it had to end.

      Unwrapping her arms from around him, Claire pulled away and stepped off of the porch. Looking up at him, she said. "Don't die, Bran."

      "I wont." Brandon said.

      She nodded, her face thoughtful, and turned away. Without looking back, she went and got into her parent's car. Brandon watched the car pull away, disappearing into the woods, and felt like a liar for telling her that he wouldn't die.

      He also felt like he jinxed himself.

      Gerrick was in his office, staring out of the window, when Brandon found him. He turned as Brandon opened the door. He saw the look in the boy's eyes and said. "You made the right decision, Bran."

      "Which decision?" Brandon asked. He stood at his uncle's desk and stared at the other man. "To stay here and train, in the suicidal hope that we might get to risk our lives trying to find a door that might not even exist? Or to watch the girl I love leave and know that I may not ever see her again?"

      "Both." Gerrick said. He turned and looked at Brandon. His eyes were hard, but Brandon could see sympathy in them, as well. "I know it was hard, but it was for the best."

      "You don't know anything." Brandon said, overwhelmed with sudden rage. He kicked the chair sitting in front of the desk, sending it crashing into the far wall. "You forced me into making a choice when you could have made it for me. You made me break Claire’s heart. Why would you do that?"

      "Because I had to." Gerrick said. "Because you have a lot more to learn before the end."             

      "Before the end of what? My life?"  Brandon asked. He glared at his uncle. The older man turned and faced him, glancing at the chair lying on the floor. Brandon looked at the chair then met his uncle's gaze. He said. "So, did I pass your little test? Am I ready to go out and meet my end?"

      Gerrick shook his head and said. "It’s still too soon. You haven’t learned nearly enough, but I don't think we have time to worry about that anymore. The grohlm have to be dealt with. Whatever the cost."

      Brandon squared his shoulders and said. "When?"

      Gerrick turned his back to Brandon, staring out of the window. "Tonight. I have tasks to complete first. We move out at nightfall. Go prepare yourself."

Chapter 16

      Underhill put the phone in its cradle and sighed. The old rotary model looked strange, squatting on the counter like a big black frog. An antique as much as the old man sitting on the other side of the counter. Arch Goldman sat on his stool and stared hard at the contents of the coffee cup cradled in his hands. The two old men stared at each other for a long time before Arch cleared his throat and said. “It’s tonight then?”

      Underhill nodded. “When it gets dark. He and the boy will seek out the gateway while our people keep the grohlm at bay.”

      “You mean keep them busy? I take it you’re fine with being bate?” Arch shook his head. He scribbled in his ledger as he spoke. “Young men can afford to be foolish. You should know better.” His sigh mirrored the other’s. “But I suppose it has to be done.” He made a sour face and scratched at his nose, leaving a black ink smudge on the tip. He arched a long white eyebrow and said. “I trust you’ll do your best not to die, old friend? There are few enough interesting people in the world, it would be a shame to lose one of them.”

      Underhill said nothing. There was nothing much to be said. He left the shop, not at all confident that he would ever return.

      Brandon spent the last part of the day sharpening his swords and practicing achieving emptiness. It got easier to find and maintain it the more often he did it. He was in his bedroom, sitting on the floor and waiting for the sun to go down. Running a leather cloth along one of the curved blades, Brandon kept his mind empty as he stared at the gleaming steel. He looked at the stone lying on the floor nearby. He said, keeping his voice low. "You're coming tonight."

     
I know.
Rok said inside his skull.
Tonight, I will give you a taste of my power. Are you prepared?

      "As prepared as I’ll ever be." Brandon said. Picking up the stone, Brandon sheathed his swords and stood. He tucked it under his forearm guard, making sure that the stone was touching his skin. Stepping over to his bed, he looked down at the package delivered earlier that afternoon. Gerrick had brought it up and handed it to him, saying. “If it doesn’t fit, we’ll figure something out.”

      Brandon opened the carrying case and stared down at its contents with a bemused look on his face. His uncle had told him they were changing uniforms, but he was looking at something out of a superhero movie. He began dressing, saying to the god in his pocket. “I might need help finding the zipper.”

      Rok chuckled.             

      Downstairs, Gerrick was in an identical costume. He stood at the back door, cloak draped over his shoulders and the hood up. The mask hung loose in his fist. Looking up as Brandon entered the kitchen, he said. "Are you ready?"

      "As I can be." Brandon said, checking over his weapons, tightening the belts holding everything in place. His short swords hung at his hips. "Tell me again why we're waiting until sunset? Is there some tactical advantage to fighting the grohlm in the dark?"

      Gerrick said. "Not really. Most grohlm can see in the dark as well as day, but we can use the shadows to keep out of sight. They’re just as susceptible to surprise and confusion as human beings. We can use that to keep us alive." He led the way outside, cloak billowing out behind him, and Brandon followed. The sun dipped below the horizon, its golden glow cutting through the ceiling of trees surrounding Highgarden. Gerrick spoke as he walked. "We have a specific goal tonight. Even if we don't know its location, we know the gateway has to be somewhere in the Briar woods. Were not going out there to attack the grohlm. Our job is to find the gateway and close it."

      They reached the bridge, stopping at the edge of the magic surrounding the property. It was cold and they could see their breath as they looked out into the watching wood. Highgarden stood, squat and imposing, behind them. Brandon stared at the tree-line stretching out before them, watching for the furtive movement of grohlm. If there were any waiting to ambush them, they were laying low. It was quiet in the growing darkness. Not even a whisper of wildlife. Something was silencing the creatures of the forest. Brandon knew what it was. He said. "And when we close it? What then? Closing the gateway won't make the grohlm that are already here go away, will it?"

      Gerrick shook his head. He led the way over the bridge and into the woods, moving like a shadow. Brandon followed, trying hard to mimic his uncle's movements and only half succeeding. Gerrick said. “The hunting party is more than just a distraction tonight. Those men are going to be facing the brunt of the grohlm attack. Untrained and ill prepared for what they’re facing, but doing it nonetheless.” He gave Brandon a level look. “Those men are buying us time and paying in blood. We’re going to honor that.”

      Brandon said nothing. He hadn’t really thought about that. Men would probably die tonight. Die badly. All so he would have a small chance to succeed. He breathed deep, feeling the added responsibility settle heavily onto his young shoulders, and triple checked the weapons at his sides.

      Gerrick checked the sky and grimaced. “It’s time.”

Chapter 17

      The hunters met up at the motel. Baker and Faux were all that was left of the visiting agents. Baker had sent his people back that afternoon, staying behind with Faux. The Briar woods was no place for lab techs and scientists. It was no place for anybody, really, but Faux had never thought of himself as having much sense. Even less so since coming to Matheson.

      The two men stood outside their motel, dressed warmly in civilian garb, when Teague pulled into the lot. The former acting chief drove his personal vehicle, a dark gray SUV. Following close behind was another 4 wheel drive being driven by another off duty deputy. There were two other deputies, as well as Winston, the old coon hunter, riding in the second vehicle. 2 of Winston’s best hounds were in the cargo hold, straining against their leashes as if they sensed what was to come and were eager to get to it.

      Or trying to flee.

      Underhill rode with Teague. The 2 vehicles stopped and everybody got out and stood around in the motel’s parking lot. They stamped their boots and greeted each other in muted voices. Teague looked at Winston and said. “You don’t have to come tonight, Winston. We’re not going out there to track these things down. I expect they’ll hit us as soon as they find us tonight.”

      The old man just shook his head. “I lost my best dogs to those little bastards, chief. I’m gonna take the cost of em out of their flea bitten hides. And, this time, they ain’t gonna be able to sneak up on us.”

      Teague didn’t bother arguing. Instead, he gestured and lead the men around his vehicle and opened the rear door. There was an arsenal inside. He glanced at everybody and said. “I got what I could. Krueger is squatting down at the P.D. like a toad, but he spends more time on the phone than actually watching his people.” He started handing out rifles, giving one to each of the 8 men. “AR-15s. They were seized from a burnt out meth lab a few months back. They’ve all been modified for fully automatic fire, but I recommend keeping the selectors on 3 round bursts. We’ve got extra ammo, but we have no idea how much of it we’re going to need. So try to make every shot count.”

      “These creatures come in all sizes, but most are going to be small and fast.” Underhill said, his voice gruff and lecturing. He carried a small duffel bag which he set down on the ground. Squatting, he unzipped the bag and began taking out knives. They were almost short swords, they were so long and wicked looking. Every blade was covered by a hand tooled scabbard and looked ancient. He handed one to each of the men, saying. “These are from my personal collection, so take care of them. Their razor sharp. If you get into trouble, don’t hesitate to use them. They will save your lives.”

      After each man was armed and ready, rifles slung behind their shoulders and a sidearm strapped to each leg along with the long knives, they loaded up in both vehicles and began the drive to the old Kirkman mill. Each man was lost in their own thoughts as they drove and it was a grim looking group that climbed out of the vehicles when they reached the mill. Every man dealt with his fear differently. Some were quiet. Others talked low, to themselves or to the man next to him. Underhill was the grimmest of the lot, the faded scar on his face making him look like a grizzled old soldier as he squared away his weapons and checked up on each man.

      Faux was silent as he watched everybody making their own preparations. He’d been on enough nighttime assaults in his time with the F.B.I. to have his own little rituals that he used to combat pre-battle jitters. He stepped away from the others and squatted on his haunches, the rifle resting across his knees, and watched the dark forest beyond the mill.

      The crime scene was almost completely sanitized now from the scattered showers that were becoming more and more common in Matheson. A few lonely strips of crime scene tape drifted across the broken pavement as the men walked toward the looming silos. The moon hung fat and full overhead, lighting up the night well enough that they didn’t need to turn on their headlamps until they reached the tree line and stepped into the woods. One of the deputies stayed behind to protect the vehicles and make sure they had an escape route. He would also monitor radio chatter, just in case something happened that would require them to pull back early. An attack of some kind.

              Baker had been the one to insist on using radios instead of cell phones. The big man was dressed in a long coat and scarf, his curly hair bouncing on his head as he handed out the radios and said. “Since our cells are useless out here, these will keep us in touch. But keep chatter to a minimum.”

      Everybody gave tight nods and they entered the woods. Underhill and Faux insisted on taking point, following closely behind Winston and his dogs. The animals were tense but focused hard on the ground under their snouts. They growled and whined occasionally, but Winston kept them in line with a firm hand. It became quickly apparent that the hundreds of criss-crossing tracks were all leading to the same place.

      Deep into the heart of the Briar woods. 

      Gerrick followed the hunters through the forest, ghosting from tree to tree as the group moved deeper into the woods. He slipped through the trees without leaving a trace of his passing, and stayed downwind of the hunting dogs. It wouldn’t do any good being scented by the dogs and getting himself seen by the hunters. Anyone or anything that tried to track him through the Briar woods would have had better luck tracking the wind.

      The hunters were much better this night, than before. They moved in tight formation, every man of them watching different quadrants of the woods, their headlamps cutting through the darkness as the moved their heads. Gerrick was proud to see the knives strapped to their legs, showing that they had at least that much sense. For a second, Gerrick worried that Brandon might be seen by the hunters out on his own, but banished the thought. The boy was learning fast and had picked up enough woodcraft to do quite well by himself.

      As if summoned by Gerrick’s thoughts, Brandon materialized at his side. Gerrick was startled by the boy’s sudden appearance, feeling a certain amount of pride at his surprise. The tactical armor that they both wore blended perfectly with the night, making them nearly invisible, and was a marked improvement over their old outfits. Custom made by a German company that specialized in combat armor for soldiers and S.W.A.T. teams, the armor was made of a composite that was lightweight and as hard as steel. Fitted together in a cunning way that offered unlimited freedom of movement, it also offered maximum protection. Their cloaks were also new, made from a cut resistant and frictionless material that, while light and airy, still blocked the worst of the cold and trapped their body heat like something heavier.

      But the helmets were what most of the money was spent on. Powered by an advanced suite of surveillance software, the headgear was equipped with night vision, thermal optics, and a tactical H.U.D. that tracked targets and allowed them to designate them as either friendlies or enemies. Unlike the first night at the mill, they had come as prepared as modern technology would allow them to be.

      For once, Gerrick found himself less experienced than his student. Countless hours spent playing first person shooters and video games of all types had prepared Brandon somewhat for what the heads up display was like. Gerrick had played games before, for his work as a technical manual writer, but had never taken it seriously. Tonight, he was wishing he’d paid better attention.

      It all still felt too much like coddling to Gerrick. Like wrapping the boy in swaddling clothes. But even he had to admit that the grohlm were too dangerous to attack head on, especially at night. They needed every advantage they could get.

      Thunder rolled overhead and a light rain began to fall.

      “They’re close.” Brandon said. His voice came soft and low from the buds tucked into Gerrick’s ears. The helmets were also equipped with mufflers that made them completely silent to outside observers, yet allowed them to speak to each other in their normal tone of voice. The volume was adjustable and turned up loud, hence the soft tone they were using now. External microphones built into the helmets caught the ambient noises around them and amplified them, heightening both of their senses to almost superhuman levels.

      “Switch to thermals and designate all unknown heat sources as enemy combatants.” Gerrick said. The forest around them became an alien landscape of blue and green, dotted with flares of red and yellow. Hundreds of heat signitures, some far too small to be grohlm. Forrest animals, hidden in boroughs and dugouts. Inside hollowed trees and thick brambles. Not many though. Most of the forest’s native wildlife had fled before the grohlm. Those that ran, lived. The rest were living on borrowed time.

      The rest of the unknown heat sources were grohlm. Hundreds of them. Maybe more.

      “They’re all around us.” Brandon said, his voice low and calm. “They seem to be ignoring us though. Holding back for some reason?”

      “Grohlm are natural cowards.” Gerrick said, leaving unsaid his pride for the lack of fear or nervousness in Brandon’s voice. He continued. “Head for the center of the woods, to the place tagged on your G.P.S.”

      “What? Alone?” Brandon looked at the older man and said. “What will you be doing?”

      “I’ll follow as soon as I’ve bloodied the grohlm enough to give the hunters a fighting chance.” The big man kept his tone casual, but Brandon could still hear the tension in his next words. “Stay silent and don’t let them see you. Heed your instincts. You’ve been touched by the gateway’s magic. It will call you to it. If you reach the gateway before I reach you, hold position and wait for me. Do
not
open it under any circumstances.”

      “And if the grohlm see me?” He tried to keep the anxiousness from his voice, but didn’t completely succeed. He asked. “Do I pull back or wait for you to reinforce me?”

      Gerrick was silent for a long moment, then said. “Don’t fear that the grohlm will overwhelm you. Nothing short of the Usurper himself could get close to you tonight.”

      Brandon said nothing. A chill worked its way into his guts as he realized what Gerrick was telling him. Sha’ha’zel was nearby, watching over Brandon like some sort of nightmare guardian angel. Brandon wasn’t yet a man, so the curse would follow and protect him from harm. Well, death at least. Sha’ha’zel didn’t seem to have a problem with letting people beat the crap out of Brandon. They just weren’t allowed to kill him.

      That was the Curse’s job.

      There was sudden movement below as the grohlm shifted en masse and began to encircle the hunters. Gerrick said. “It’s starting. Go. And be careful.”

      Brandon may have hesitated for half a second before slipping away, leaving Gerrick and the hunters to face the horde on their own.