Chapter Nineteen #2
Mimi wailed. A different note in it, sharp with pain. She’d gone over, fallen.
Duncan snapped around, saw her sprawled full length over a root.
So did one of their pursuers—he felt more than saw the Huldu leap past him a solid yard over head height.
Yank up the barrel of the McCulloch—he felt a tug in his wounded shoulder with the speed of the move—gunned the Fae out of the air, no idea where he hit it, saw it go tumbling and screaming down the slope.
He ran to catch it, pumped the slide as he moved.
Reached the Huldu as it struggled to rise, stomped down hard on its neck, put another shot between its shoulder blades—
The second attacker cannoned into him from the rear.
He felt talons slash across his side, dig in deep.
He screamed as the old wounds from the night before tore open anew.
Swing and face this fucker—the Huldu’s rage-distorted fangs snapped inches from his face.
He uppercut left-handed, into the elongated jaw—weak shot, in close, but the iron rings in the punch did their job.
Magnesium splutter and flare, the Fae reeled back, Duncan followed with the McCulloch in both hands, slammed the barrel hard in at eye level.
Second flash-flare, broader this time. Blinded, the Huldu lashed out again wildly, caught him in the shoulder, he felt fresh furrows torn deep, yelled pure rage at the pain, slamfired the McCulloch and took off his attacker’s head.
The Fae’s body stood strong for an insane second, fountain of coruscating blood out of the neck, then dropped like a puppet with its strings slashed through. Duncan, swaying on his feet…
The girl.
And howls through the trees around him.
Stand, sir! Stand up! Shredded memory, some bluff Aberdonian NCO at Ypres, Duncan’s first bombardment, and thrown flat in the trench, sprawling stunned in a hail of muddy clods and body parts from the same shell that knocked him flat.
Stay in the fight, sir! The men need to see you! Sir! Just—fuckssake, sir—stand!
Aye, c’mon, Duncan, ya big sook. Stay in the fucking fight.
He jacked a fresh shell into the McCulloch, staggered to Mimi, crouched at her side, and rolled her.
She was crying, deep, desperate sobs, tear-ribboned face, blood from a nasty scrape down one cheek, mouth a down-drawn oval emitting the cries.
Gut-punch relief that she hadn’t winded herself or broken anything.
He grabbed her upright, steadied her, put one hand on her bloodied cheek.
“You’re not hurt!” he yelled at her. “You’re not hurt!”
Wide-eyed, trembling. But she seemed to nod.
He turned her bodily to face downhill. Saw the spread of lights down at the river’s edge.
Torches, hurricane lamps, at least one campfire.
Activity on both sides, and it looked like they had at least one ferry boat up and running.
Two score men, at least. Not more than two hundred yards now.
The final fringes of the Forest clung around them, lone trees and copses pushing out the line, but the last 150 yards to the water was pasture, open ground, a killing field for Hardy, if he’d brought the right hardware.
“There!” he said hoarsely. “Look, the soldiers! Your mother’s waiting! You run for your mother! Run for the lights!”
“You!” she wailed, clutching at him. “You!”
“I’m right behind you, wean! Don’t you worry about me. Now, go!”
She went. Tottered unsteadily away down the slope, like some ill-used mechanical toy. Howls behind them, on both sides now. Mimi heard and cried out, speeded up.
He dug his pockets for shells, fed them to the McCulloch with desperate, fumbling speed. He was five down, dangerously low. Blood running copiously down the inside of his shirt. Fresh, searing pain across his ribs and down from his shoulder.
Stand up!
Duncan felt his lips draw back from his teeth. Flogged back to his feet.
“Come on, then,” he snarled.
As if in answer, the howls. He faced the sound, thought he caught flickered movement in the copse off to his left. He racked the McCulloch, winced at what the action did to his shoulder, began a slow retreat, out of the trees.
Something snapped and hissed in the copse, came at him crouched.
He fired from the hip, never knew if he hit—the Huldu dived away, back into the trees, seemed disinclined to show itself again.
Duncan grinned, found another Kegg bomb and tugged the fuse.
On general principles, he tossed it where the undergrowth and foliage were thickest, walked steadily backward as he waited for the blast…
And into the open of the meadow.
It took him seconds to realize he’d done it.
Suddenly, open ground. Stars, an uninterrupted glimmering display now everywhere over his head, the moon beaming from low on the horizon to his right.
Oddly, the darkness felt suddenly deeper, more complete.
Long damp grass to his knees. He looked cautiously over his shoulder, saw torch beams jump and wag in the darkness, figures running out from the river’s edge to meet Mimi in the meadow as she tottered toward them.
They knelt to her height, someone swept her up and carried her.
He puffed out a long sigh of relief, felt himself sag.
Stand, sir!
He caught himself, cast about for one more check along the tree line. Swung back to the men below in the meadow, hand raised to wave—
Wink of light from over the river—was that—?
Something slammed him hard across the side of the head.
Meadow grass and stars went spinning around him crazily, like painted sheets in a pantomime backdrop grabbed and flapped by some improbable, gyring wind. Distant thunder. He hit something hard with his whole body. Realized it was the ground.
Scrabbling for coherent thought—that couldn’t be right, that was—
Something massive snatched the thought away, crushed him apart from it.
Sucked him down, away.
Into fresh-smelling, earthen dark.