In a Fix (32 page)

The sun was getting low in the sky when the vibration from my cell phone gave me an unexpected thrill. I dug it out of my pocket and flipped it open. “Yeah. Uh, Sarah here.”

“I’ve heard from our friend.” Laura’s voice—she must mean Mark. “We’re going in. The cavalry has been held up. Stay where you are and keep a look-out for them, and when they get here, tell them what we’ve done.”

She hung up before I could argue with her. Did she think I was just going to sit back and watch the three of them—well, four, counting Nils—go up against a hundred Vikings? Those suckers were big. They had swords, and knives, and God knew what other kind of medieval weapons … and I would be about as useful under the circumstances as a parasol in a hurricane. So I stayed put and prayed SÄPO would hurry their asses up.

Through the binoculars I saw Laura and Billy approach the camp together, looking like curious tourists. From their gestures, I could tell they were asking about the spectacle, maybe inquiring if it were some sort of reenactment exercise. What would they do? Make a distraction of some sort, I guessed, so Mark could get to Trey.

Which one was Mark? No way to know—there were too many possibilities. Was he even close enough to Trey to do any good? I just didn’t see how Laura and Billy could create a big enough ruckus to get the attention of all the Vikings at once. Even if they pulled out some handy weapons, numbers alone would overwhelm them.

As if to prove my point, one of the big guys clapped an arm over Billy’s shoulders. Another did the same from the other side, and
voila!
Billy sandwich. His struggles did no good—he was held immobile.

Only one Viking attempted the same with Laura, and got a foot in his face for his troubles. Damn. I didn’t know anybody could kick that high, that fast. The big galoot went over like a felled tree. For all the good it did Laura. As soon as the Viking went down, three more were on top of her.

Pain flared at the tip of my left index finger.
Shit
. I spit out a piece of fingernail and sucked off a drop of blood. I couldn’t just sit here waiting for SÄPO. I’d be down to my knuckles before long.

I shook my hand.
Shit, shit, shit
. It stung.

Wait a minute—that was it! Shit.

I dropped from the tree, sliding down the trunk like it was a fireman’s pole. I ran—faster than I ever had before—straight back to the farm. They needed a distraction, I’d give them a distraction.

The truck was still behind the barn, just where it had been the last time I saw it. Only this time there was a man with it. Crap. Apparently Nils’s neighbor was getting ready to fertilize the fields.

The driver’s seat was empty—the neighbor was in back of the rig, piping more of the oozy brown glop into the back of the truck from a holding tank. The ultimate in recycling—straight from the cows to the field, to help grow the grass to feed the cows.

I chewed my bottom lip, debating whether to enlist the neighbor’s aid. He could be a major help, since he knew how to operate the machinery, but what if he just thought I was crazy? At best, he could shoo me off the property; at worst, hold me until the authorities came. There was no time for that, or for the lengthy explanations it would take even if I could somehow convince him I wasn’t a lunatic.

So I’d just have to take the truck and do it myself.

How close was he to topping off the tank? I had no idea, and I didn’t plan to wait long enough to find out. I snuck to the front of the truck, opened the door just enough to squeeze through, and slid myself into the driver’s seat. No keys, but that was okay. It was an old truck; getting it started shouldn’t be a problem.

To my right, rising up from the floor below the dash, was a control panel I guessed was connected to the distribution system. I couldn’t read the few words printed on it, but I assumed the buttons were “on” and “off,” and the lever controlled the flow. I’d find out soon enough.

Scooting to the edge of the seat, I reached under the dash and pulled out a bunch of wires. Selected the right ones, peeled back the insulation, touched them together. The engine turned over at once, purring like a large, loud cat.

Thank you, Billy, for being such a delinquent, and for showing off to me.

I released the emergency brake, jammed the truck into drive, and stomped on the gas. There was a tug when I got to the end of the big hose filling the tank, but it didn’t slow me down. Nor did the vision of one very surprised neighbor dancing in my rearview mirror. I pressed the pedal harder and left him to his jig, putting my eyes back where they belonged—on what was in front of me.

Crap!
Cars. Coming from both directions on the previously deserted road.

I couldn’t afford to slow down, so I sucked in a panicked breath, made an executive decision, and did the next best thing—I closed my eyes and stepped on the gas.

Brakes squealed, and the smell of burning rubber permeated the air. When I dared peek, only two cars had run off the road. Both drivers were waving their arms and making rude gestures, so I knew they weren’t hurt. That was good.

Also, I hadn’t hit a tree. That was better.

I rattled over the bumpy terrain, dodging pines, butt bouncing on the seat, teeth snapping together in jaw-jarring clashes. It might have been wise to fasten my seat belt. Too late now.

As I neared the encampment, I crossed my fingers and pushed a button. If it didn’t work, I’d be shit out of luck. Literally. Then all I’d be able to do is run down as many of the Vikings as I could. The thought made me queasy, but I’d do it to save my friends.

There was a sputtering, followed by a loud, metallic groan. I held my breath. After a small eternity, there appeared the most beautiful sight I ever saw—liquid poo, flying high.

“Woo-hoo!” I yelled to nobody in particular, playing with the lever to adjust the flow. “Get out your parasol, Per, you son of a bitch. The perfect shitstorm is heading your way.”

The first of the Vikings to notice me—a few sentries posted on the outskirts—stood and stared, mouths agape, until they finally figured out I wasn’t stopping. They jumped out of the way and went running for the gravesite, yelling. I followed, sticking close.

The nearer I got, the thicker the Vikings got, and the more they had to scramble to get out of my way. But none were fast enough to escape the flying shit. They tried, though. Boy, did they try—they parted like the Red Sea, leaving me bearing down on the small central group standing in the middle of the boat grave.

Trey and Laura were held by two Vikings each, gagged, arms stretched out to their sides. Billy was on his knees, hands tied behind his back. One Viking was behind him, with a knife to his throat.

Per, sword in hand, on his way to do something unspeakable to Trey and Laura, was pulled up short by my arrival.

I couldn’t plow through the standing stones without doing considerable damage, not only to the ancient site, but also to the vehicle I was in, and quite possibly to the people I was trying to help. So I leaned on the horn and veered left, maneuvering the tank into position for maximum coverage.

The odorous slurry coated them all like fudge sauce glopped on an ice cream sundae. I let loose a hoot of laughter at the look on Per’s face—what I could see of it, anyway, covered as it was. Surprise would be an understatement. Total, pole-axed disbelief was more like it.

Even stunned as he was, I didn’t expect he’d stand still for long, and he was still too close to Trey and Laura for somebody in possession of a blade that long. I needed to draw him away. So I got close to the window, plastered on a huge smile, and pointed at my face. And then I finger-waved at him.

Thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head. Geez, you’d think he wasn’t happy to see me alive.

While Per stared at me with murderous intent, the Viking holding the knife on Billy moved in a flash, cutting the ropes. He shoved the knife into Billy’s hand and retrieved another from the sheath strapped to his own belt.

Billy dove for the nearest Viking—one of the two holding Trey—and, within seconds, sliced both of the guy’s Achilles tendons.

Holy crap!
And I thought Mark was ruthless. As the man screamed and grabbed his ankles, Billy repeated the process on the oaf holding Trey’s other arm, felling him, too.

As soon as Trey was free, he and Billy grabbed one of the Vikings holding Laura. They threw the guy to the ground, where Trey delivered a quick kick to the side of his face, leaving him inert.

The other Viking let go of Laura and ran, slipping and sliding in the ever-increasing pool of slurry. They let him go.

All of that happened in seconds. The screams from the men Billy had sliced and diced broke Per’s focus on me. He looked like he might be tempted to bisect the Viking who’d freed Billy—that had to be Mark—and go after Billy and Trey, so I honked the horn to get his attention again. Once his eyes were back on me, I put my thumbs in my ears and waggled my fingers.

See, most people would think that was funny, but Per had no sense of humor. Leaving my friends to the tender mercies of the Vikings who hadn’t run off at the first sign of the shit hitting the fan, he hunched over like a maddened bull and ran straight at me.

Oops. Hadn’t really thought this part through. I reached to lock the door, only to discover the window was open. I grabbed the handle and twisted for all I was worth. It spun uselessly in my hand, broken.

Maybe I could outrun him. Which, granted, would work better if he weren’t already just yards away from the truck and closing fast. Still, I had to try something.

I made myself wait a few crucial seconds, and shoved the door open as hard as I could. Timing is everything. It caught him hard across the chest and face, knocking him flat. Knowing I couldn’t count on him being incapacitated for long, I jumped down from the high seat and took off, heading back the way I’d come.

It was less than a minute before I heard a stream of angry Swedish, hot on my heels. Damn. I was hoping for more time before he—

Tackled me from behind.
Déjà vu
. Only this time kidnapping was not in the cards—I was sure he had something more permanent in mind.

I rolled over fast, planning to shove him away before he dropped his full weight on me. Mistake. It gave him better access to my throat.

Slurry-coated fingers gripped my windpipe, and white-ringed eyes stared down at me. His freshly broken nose canted to one side. The tendons on his neck stood out more with each growling breath he took.

Yep, looked like a classic case of ’roid rage to me. I wouldn’t last long at this rate.

So I did it. The forbidden thing. The ultimate taboo.

The Big No-No.

I adapted in front of a nonadaptor. (Hey, I was
desperate
.) Using my last bit of conscious energy, I shifted into a replica of the man pinning me down.

The look that spread over his face was priceless—if I’d thought he was crazy before, it was nothing compared to the total lunacy engulfing him now that he was strangling a living, breathing mirror-image of himself.

His hold weakened, and I gulped in air. Said to him, in his own voice, “This is your conscience, Per. Your higher self. And you’ve been a
VERY
 …
BAD
 …
BOY
.”

He squealed like a girl and released me entirely, pushing himself away like I was the devil incarnate, which wasn’t too far off the mark at the moment, as far as I was concerned.

I rose up on my elbows, keeping my head as close to his as possible, seeing as how it was having such a beneficial effect on him. He scrambled to his feet, straddling me in much the same way as he had beneath the trebuchet right before he’d launched me out to sea. I did what I hadn’t been able to then—I swung up a now painfully tight boot, and kicked him.

Right in his raisins.

He clutched his crotch and fell over sideways, drawing his knees up to his chest. Man, that felt
good
. Who knew causing pain could be so darned satisfying?

As I stood, I heard voices getting closer, and rid myself of Per’s aura at once. My feet and waist were supremely grateful. Per was a big guy, and my clothes had been a snug fit. I sincerely hoped I’d never have to don the bastard again.

The first one to reach me was a Viking, caked in brown.
Crap!
It wasn’t over yet.

I turned to run, and was once again caught from behind. This time I screamed in frustration, because with all those other voices getting closer I couldn’t risk another change. You can claim one person is crazy, but not a whole bunch of people who see the same thing.

“
Tyst
, Ciel. Shhh. It’s me.”

I shut my mouth and peered closely at him. Under a thick, aromatic coating was Nils.

“SÄPO is here. You are safe.”

“Well, it’s about bloody time,” I said.

He laughed and looked down at Per, still writhing on the ground. “But see—you didn’t need SÄPO after all. You truly are an astonishing girl.” His smile was ultra-white against the brown on his cheeks.

The new guys who joined us were not dressed as Vikings. As far as I could tell under the slurry, anyway. They gathered up Per and dragged him away, wild-eyed and screaming the whole way.

“Just out of curiosity, what’s he saying?” I asked Nils.

He screwed up his brow and shook his head. “Crazy talk—something about witches, and being attacked by his conscience. Perhaps he meant he is having an attack of conscience? Though he doesn’t sound remorseful, does he?”

“No, he doesn’t. Not a bit.” But Looney Tunes enough that no one would believe him if he told them what I did, thank goodness. Breathing easier, I turned back to Nils. “I, uh, borrowed your uncle’s truck. I hope you don’t mind.”

“We at SÄPO call that initiative.” I heard the smile in his voice. “Perhaps you would like to stay here and take a job with us? I can get you the proper work permits.”

Before I could frame a polite refusal, a very brown Mark appeared, stepping between me and Nils. He must’ve figured it was safe to drop the Viking aura he’d been wearing, what with being covered in shit from head to toe.