Chapter Nineteen
Nineteen
Pale flicker flash, between the narrow trunks of trees.
Then another.
“Duncan…”
The girl, tugging at his coat—
He just had time to say, “I know.”
Frenzied, bone-chilling screech across the cool night air.
The first of the Huldu came hurtling from the wooded bank, leapt like an Olympian, hit the ground on Duncan’s flank.
Fucker gauged it to perfection, too—missed the rails, all of them, landed spring-heeled and poised and in too fucking close for Duncan to bring the McCulloch about…
Mimi shrieked—piercing, higher even than the Fae’s war cry.
Duncan hooked round. Stared into a face out of a nightmare.
Rage driven, the Fae had shape-shifted way beyond humanoid norms—face a grotesque elongation of fangs and tusks, long hands spun out like taffy, winter tree branch stark and stabbing.
Black talons slashed. Duncan took the scant space he had, slammed the McCulloch crossways into the thing’s face.
Not much of the barrel made contact, but enough to burn.
The Huldu reeled back, batting at the smolder.
Duncan dropped the muzzle of the trench gun, blew off the creature’s leg at the knee.
The Fae went down screaming, collapsed across the closest rail, shrieked and thrashed away…
He spun back. Saw more crouched and spindled figures break onto the line ahead…
He grabbed Mimi Rush around the waist, lifted her, ran at the left side of the tracks and the drop-off to the slope below. It wasn’t a long way down, but—
“Hold on!” he yelled. Heard her yelp in fear as they went over.
It wasn’t elegant. They hit, he tripped, went staggering.
Through some miracle—or witch’s luck—he stayed on his feet.
Stumbled again, still unbalanced, turning protectively to shield the child as best he could, crashed into the nearest tree trunk with his shoulder.
It smashed a grunt out of him, tore something in the healing furrows of his shoulder, left him momentarily spin-headed.
No fucking time for that, Duncan!
He let Mimi go, braced himself fully upright with his back to the trunk, faced upslope. Up beyond the mossed and cracked embankment stonework, the Huldu he’d shot was still screaming. He pumped the McCulloch’s slide, jacked in a fresh round.
“Mimi?” he rasped. “You all right?”
A whimper. “I hurt my hand.”
“Aye, we’ll fix that.” Fumbling left-handed in his coat for another Kegg bomb. “Now get behind this tree and stay there till I call you!”
She scuttled to do it. The first of the Fae came hissing and snarling to the top of the embankment; he counted four, five, maybe more.
They saw him below, sent up eerie, triumphant howls.
He tugged the stalk on the bomb, lobbed it hard to the base of the stonework.
The Huldu spilled off the ledge, landed a couple of seconds later than the Kegg.
Duncan threw up a shielding arm and the Fae-fucker blew.
He felt the rough sandpapering lash of the iron filings across his hand, brow, jaw, got some in his mouth…
But the Fae…
He dropped his arm, stared in awe at the harm he’d done.
It was like watching the flammenwerfer assault at Hooge all over again.
Staggering figures, screaming, blinded, beating at the flames that consumed them.
The ones nearest the blast were already down, twitching spastic in the last throes of the death he’d brought them.
Elsewhere, he saw one Huldu writhe through a full shape-shift, trying mindlessly to escape the fire that ate its flesh—down into some animal crouch, then a withering, a shedding, one poorly formed eagle span wing thrown skyward, but pulled back down again, eaten by the fire, crumpling to nothing…
Only one member of the hunting party remained on its feet, swaying, seared everywhere, still smoldering, but apparently still in the fight.
It sensed him—whether with what remained of its vision or scent or some other sense he would never know—found direction, came at him in a limping rage of fangs and claws.
Duncan levered himself off the tree. Leveled the McCulloch.
“Should have kept your fucking queen’s word,” he said, and pulled the trigger.
The shell tore a hole right through the Huldu’s rib cage and out the back—he saw through the hole it made. The Huldu made a hissing, sighing sound, crumpled undramatically to the Forest floor.
He’d already pumped in the next round. He hung like cranked cable, scanned the line of the embankment. No movement. Thinning trees on both sides around him, no sign of further pursuit. He blew out a long, relieved breath.
Easy, lad. We’re not out of the woods yet.
He listened—caught a howl, farther upslope, beyond the railway lines. Then another. More, answering. He grimaced. Looked like the revolt against Meb had spread wide. No telling how many angry young males were coming down the hill now. They might even bring archers…
He looked at the carnage around him, hoped they’d find it, hoped it might give them pause.
But it wasn’t much of a hope and he didn’t waste time clinging to it. He dug in his pockets, found two fresh rounds, and fed them into the McCulloch’s receiver.
“Mimi?”
“I’m here,” she quavered. Peeping around the trunk of the tree at him, eyes and nose, tiny hands braced on the bark. He put together a smile for her.
“Right, let’s have a look at that hand of yours. Which one is it?”
Solemnly, she held out her left hand. He knelt, took it gently in both of his. Bent it a little, this way and that—does that hurt? that?—until she yelped. Looked like a sprain. They’d gotten off lightly.
“You’ll be all right,” he said. “We can put a bandage on it when we get there. You want me to kiss it better?”
She looked a bit uncertain about that, uptight Englishness too ingrained, or maybe it was just the years of hardship on the run with her mother had—
On the run?
Where’d that come from?
“You’re hurt, too,” the girl said, and pointed. “You’ve got blood.”
“Have I?” He touched his face, found his fingers wet. Traced up to the slow seep of blood from his scalp—the fang gash from the night before had torn open again in the excitement; must have hit the tree with his head as well. He wiped the blood away, manufactured a grin.
“Looks like we’ve both been in the wars, doesn’t it? Listen, Mimi, we have to hurry now. Down this hill, fast as we can go. There’s a river at the bottom and people waiting for us there. Soldiers, policemen. They’ll protect you.”
Duncan took her by the uninjured right hand, started them down the slope.
It wasn’t great ground to cover at speed—plenty of roots to trip over in the gloom, humps and tuffets and hidden sink spots, now starting to cover over with the first autumn layer of leaves.
He’d hoped to follow the railway right out of the tree line and into the meadows before they cut across and down the slope to the ferry crossing, but that was botched now, no chance of going back up.
Downslope direct would have to do, and just hope they made the tree line ahead of their pursuers.
Howls upslope, not so distant now. He tried not to look back.
“See if you can see lights down there,” he told the girl. “It’s not far.”
True enough—he could see the trees thinning out around them, more space and moonlight everywhere.
It was all he could do not to pick up the pace and drag Mimi along behind him like the rag doll he’d packed away for her.
He kept the pace steady, wove their path a little to favor the more open ground.
Once, the girl tripped, but he dragged her upright so she didn’t fall.
“Oops.” Bright and breezy as he could manage. “Don’t worry, I got you.”
Some creeping sense in his gut, he glanced sideways to the right. Caught the flash of motion, something leaping, plunging downhill to pace them.
“There! There!” The girl’s high, piping cry. For a moment, he thought she’d seen the same thing he had. “I can see lights!”
His heart slammed in his chest. “Where?”
“There! Right there!” Tiny arm raised, pointing. He followed the line it tracked, spotted the gleaming through the foliage ahead. Aye, a whole fucking cluster of lights and—he strained his senses—yes, faintly, voices. Human voices, raised in alarm. Someone had heard the shotgun blasts.
They were close. Five hundred yards at worst.
Movement on their left flank. He snapped about, saw the pallid, leaping shape, coming in fast…
“Run, Mimi!” he yelled. “Run for the lights!”
And swung about to meet the new threat. The Huldu charged in, all fangs and talons and staring blank black eyes.
He snapped the shot, hit it in the shoulder, saw it spin about with the impact and go down.
Not a killing shot, he knew. No time to make it good, no time.
Pump, fall back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the diminutive figure of the girl running full pelt down the slope.
He went after her, turning constantly about, scanning the trees on all sides.
Saw movement, off on his flank, snapped another shot, no idea if it found its target or not. Pumped the slide.
“Keep running, Mimi!” he bawled.
Wailed assent.
He saw the Huldu now, two or three of them at least, skulking between trees, trying to flank him.
He dug out a Kegg bomb, pulled the stalk with his teeth, spat it out.
Tossed the bomb and fell back as rapidly as he could.
Grabbed another bomb—tug—toss. The first one blew, must have caught somebody, he heard a yowl.
He fell back again, McCulloch weaving for targets, none found.
The Kegg bombs were giving them pause. Or maybe some stopped for injured comrades, aye, you could fucking hope…
Fall back, fall back.
Down this fucking slope backward.
But over his head, the gap between the crowns of trees stretched, spread out, let in a sky shoveled with the broken glass of stars, thick and twinkling, they must be—