The 6th of Six (The Legend of Kimraig Llu) (25 page)

The temporary bridge on fifth floor, across to One Nine proper, had not been replaced. They moved back down the stairs to concentrate their efforts on the main bridge from floor three. Teams of Troopers easily removed doors from the individual offices to use a flooring to replace the absent pieces removed years before. The bridge floor quickly took shape. Kimraig did not enter One Nine from the bridge; if needed, that entrance was a second attack point. Leaving a small contingent to hold the Annex, he gathered their remaining forces and turned his attention to the building that would be their home.

One Nine was larger but completely open in the front. Skirting the worst of the broken glass, Luna and her team, resealed the two entrances to the basement stairwells—same patches but temporary for future access. Service and delivery personal once used the elevators, as did the fire department. Red locks were required above the controls for each set of doors. Disabling them was quick and temporary.

The two dozen combined troops originally left by him to hold this building, had locked themselves down on the ground floor with plenty of food and water. They were gone, along with their supplies.

Kimraig walked the short distance back to the carriers and Breen. He knew they would find nothing as they continued their search. Night was approaching; everyone must be under cover before full dark. The small solar panels on the SHORTS would not power the engines without sunlight. They had to hoard what little juice the makeshift batteries held.

“They cannot just be gone.” Breen knew there must be a trace of something.

“They are not in the defensive positions we prepared before we were arrested.”

“Certainly there must have been some sign of a battle, or at least blood stains.”

He answered with one raised eyebrow and a condescending frown.

“Alright, I know you checked,” she said resisting the urge to verify the facts for herself. “Suggestions?” she added.

“We will pull the SHORTS into defensive position just inside the open spaces left by the broken front windows.” He motioned all the drivers to follow him. “Please protect yourself inside your vehicle until we are in final position. Then I will explain,” he added for Breen.

When the final SHORT was in place, just inside the large foyer, twilight was almost history. Torches lit the interior. Two of the carriers had driven straight into the building facing the open courtyard. The other three backed in and stopped where only their slender hoods and windscreens remained on the sidewalk. The heavy concrete roof protected them from above, the marble floor from below.

Parked like this, the light fading, they did look like very Short Pencils.

Any attack would come down the hallways on either side, or from the street. He considered the large common space inside, surround by a balcony, safe for now. They had only to wait for dawn. The Ergots did not like daylight. He knew the Outsiders did not have the “want to” needed for a second attack.

Kimraig was already explaining his strategy as he walked to Breen. “I have asked Brody-1 to help your new Queens adjust to this type of battle.”

“You asked?” Breen tried to hide her surprise.

“I did. She was quite shocked, just as I intended. Once she has a battle or two under her belt she and her group will be a neat little package no one would want to deal with.”

“Your groups have heavy armor and long shields,” he continued. “They will hold the inside of our defensive circle. We have no armor and only short shields and stabbing spears. My Atl-atl will be of limited use inside: short distance only. The broken shreds of glass windows on the sidewalk and street should give us enough advance warning to use the short shields to our advantage.”

“And if they swamp us?” Breen asked.

“Unlikely. If they do, just flash them your winning smile. It worked on me.”

“I will not sit idle for all these hours. Post me in the watch rotation.”

“Absolutely not, you are your troop’s connection to a home they can only dream about. Walk the rounds instead, no helmet or spear. Talk to them. Let them know you trust them with your life. Regardless of whether they are escaped prisoners or not, they still need their leader’s assurance.”

Breen did not answer she just tried to blink her night sight back into her eyes. These wretched castoffs were beneath her, fit only to order about.

“I know,” Kimraig continued. “Not your style; make it work.”

She did not talk to them. As each of the torches winked out, she whispered, touched shoulders, and inquired about each in turn. Breen made sure she kneeled to their level without standing over them demanding their attention. All she had to do was employ the same finesse used to coax a reluctant lover to her sleeping mat.

It seemed only a few seconds had passed when she returned to her SHORT. After rolling herself into a thin blanket and stretching out on the hard flooring, she wondered how she had lived without her comforts during training and the Gender War. Had she won an epic battle this day, the very center of her could not be more alive.

On the stroke of midnight, she repeated the process. When she returned, the uncomfortable floor was not an issue.

Just before dawn, it started raining sharp chunks of concrete.

The unnatural torrent was heaviest from the street, those from the balcony inside just as deadly. Each piece was lighter and smaller but obviously thrown from the second story and meant to bounce off the floor and ricochet into the SHORTS. The area between the two sets of vehicles was reasonably safe, only small chips from the cement made it that far. Those took their toll. They saw no one.

Dust mingled with fear and an intense need to hit back at anything—something.

As dawn began, light forced back the black of early morning, a female shout rang from the front line looking out across the highway towards the buildings at the far end. “The street is boiling,” she stood up trying to back pedal away and caught a sharp chunk of concrete in the face.

“Hold your positions. Prepare to engage,” Kimraig yelled.

The street boiled into the SHORTS, jamming for a moment in the narrow kill zones between the vehicles. Short spears stabbed repeatedly into small translucent creatures that looked like bubbles. But bubbles did not have wide gapping mouths.

“They do not die,” echoed from several places along their line.

He could not explain the dread that shot through his every fiber when he caught movement inside the bubbles. What was that? Did another presence exist inside the froth? Or could bubbles use spears. He could not see, but there was something there—no time to wait.

“Atl-atl to the ready,” he snapped and checked all the weapons loaded and ready to cock behind each throwers ear. Satisfied, he gave the command “Bracket throws, left to right, second volley from right to left. Target is head to crotch, fire at will, on my mark...now.”

In unison, Atl-atl’s were cocked behind four ears and the Trooper on the left swung forward letting go of the dart as the launcher curved an arc from ear to toe. Before the spear thrower reached the midway of the arc, the next in line started his throw; and the next, and the last. Like geese flying from a pond, first the leader then each in line equal distance apart. The short dart-like spears disappeared into the bubbles shoulder high to a man, each slightly lower until the last dart entered at crotch level.

A second volley before the last shaft disappeared. As the last four darts flew, Kimraig shouted. “Hold.”

As if they had been waiting for his order, bubbles flooded over the top of the vehicle next to him. When they spotted the female killed by the concrete, they oozed down the metal side and began to feed. He stabbed his spear into the head just above the eyes of the nearest ooze. It popped and formed a small, red-stained puddle. Its unconcerned companion continued to feed. For its trouble, Kimraig delivered a second blow to its crown. Another puddle stained with red. He did not try to stop the sudden covering of the female corpse. Bubbles took over.

“Do not try to stop them. They are running to escape the sun.” Kimraig shouted. He repeated the command twice to make sure everyone got the message.

He somehow knew these creatures only tried to force through their defense when there was blood available on the other side. The flood of them bunched up and formed a wall climbing one on top of the other. There were so many now that they blocked the rising of the sun. Like a curtain going up, the bubbles disappeared out of sight above them.

Then their purpose hit him. As the sun blasted full force, he turned to their inside defensive line.

“Heads up inside,” he shouted. “They went in the open windows above us. Watch for them dropping down from the balcony. Do not engage.” Again, he repeated himself.

The steady rain of bouncing concrete ebbed as the curtain of bubbles boiled down from above their split Battle Groups. They stacked, and then flowed out into the main floor of the common area, away from them, then bunched at the sealed exits.

The cloying odor of ocean surf, salt and rotting Choker weed, followed them. With it, the smell from spilled alcohol served at forbidden nightclubs.

The huge room was filling rapidly. Their heaviest concentration was in front of the elevator doors Luna had just locked. Bubbles flattened themselves trying to slither through the cracks. No go. They flowed towards the left side of their line.

Kimraig did not have to think.

“Pull back to the light. Let them get to the basement steps.”

There was no need to tell them twice. His troop’s rapid yet orderly withdrawal to their outside line let the bubbles flow around and over the SHORTS in their headlong quest for the basement stairs.

Hunter Curtis and one of his Troopers were carrying a second victim bleeding profusely from facial wounds. The flow of bubbles swarmed over them so fast they lost their grip and their load fell, hitting the concrete floor, a limp rag doll. Kimraig rushed in and pulled the two of them away. Once they were clear, the bubbles concentrated on the body. He tried to fling them off but his hand slid through them, coming away strangely wet.

In a wild charge, his youngest son swung his sword at Kimraig’s head. Deflecting the wild blow with his blade, Kimraig used the boy’s off balance momentum to send his gloved fist in a vicious jab to his exposed throat. His went down hard, choking. A swift glance around showed everyone in the place watching, not wanting to be involved. Kimraig just hoped his twin brother Hunter Cullen, was not coming up behind him ready to finish the job.

With the tip of his sword dimpling the dazed boy’s throat, he spoke.

“You are out of line Hunter. If she is dead, your Trooper is already in pieces. If she is not dead, it appears they clean her up, heal the wounds, and then leave her alone. You will not live long if you do not pay attention to the habits of your enemies.”

With that, Kimraig stepped back and checked the prone injured Trooper. She was dazed, pale and clearly in pain but still in one throbbing piece. The bubbles were gone. He waved two Troopers forward instructing them to drag their fallen comrade to the light.

He took his son himself, dragging him roughly and dropping him on his nose into partial shade.

They all heard the basement door buckle. The bubbles flowed away.

“Police your darts and reform,” he shouted to his troopers

Breen appeared at his side demanding attention. “What the hell were they?”

“Not sure, could be Ergots. I only caught a glimpse once, years ago and it was a lot bigger then these; looked more like a man, not a bubble.”

Kimraig took a deep breath.

“About Curtis,” Breen began, but Kimraig quickly stopped her.

“He is a hot head just like you. I expected his reaction at some time, but not like that.” He knew he had to reassure the mother that her son would be safe in his command. “Besides, he will be a more than adequate Hunter once he decides you are not around to bail him out.”

Unfortunately,
Kimraig thought,
I will end up killing him one day.

“Hunter to the Street,” echoed from behind him.

He turned back and started down the aisle between two material handlers. His troops cleared the way as he moved forward into the blinding sun. There on the ground were three piles of rags with dart-like spears protruding from what had been Outsiders. Nothing left now, only piles of sodden rags stained red.

Nice delivery, well aimed, these females will make excellent Hunters.

Each dart was stuck exactly in the rags where shoulder to crotch would have been.

Breen was at his side. “Outsiders,” she said, also recognizing the rags.

“We could not have killed them all. I sensed them too late.”

“If we had bows and arrows instead of these silly little throwers it might have been possible,” Breen said.

She had spoken softly, as if she knew something he did not

“Yes it would,” Kimraig answered. “I will go directly to the local armorer and trade for a couple.”

To hide his temper, he turned back to the building entrance. He looked to the windows above, where two sets of blood smears gleamed in the morning sun. The concrete second floor glared back as well, with its blank stare of broken windows.