He was speaking my language. “Don’t these only come with five-shot magazines?”
“I’ve got a bunch of nine-round box mags, and two twenty-round drums. I’ve tested them all, all are reliable, but on full you can run through the nine rounder in a second, so use it sparingly. Go ahead, check it out.”
I gently picked up the massive weapon. It was short, but it was thick and heavy, and that was while it was empty. Add almost a box of shells and a grenade and it would be even more so. I worked the action. The bolt was slick and the spring was powerful. Milo had thoughtfully added a shelf to the safety so that it could be operated with the trigger finger. It pointed better than it looked when I snapped it into position.
“What about specialty munitions?”
“There is a gas regulator at the end of the hand guard. I machined a new one so that it now has three positions. If you have the regulator in the right spot for the right ammo, it isn’t going to malfunction.”
I ran my finger along the regulator, and found detents for the different power levels. There was also a mystery button. When I pushed it a hinge unlocked, and an eight-inch, heavy-duty bayonet was released. The blade was absurdly sharp and thick. With a flick of the muzzle it locked into place with a snap. It was not the world’s best-balanced spear, but I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of it.
“No freaking way. That is awesome.”
“I got the idea off of Czech CZ52, but I improved it. It folds to the side, out of the way of the grenade launcher. You don’t hardly even know it’s there until you need it. Bottom edge is good cutting steel, on the top edge is a silver inlay. You stick this in a lycanthrope and it’s going to know it.”
“Why did you paint it brown?” I asked as I slowly turned the monstrous weapon over in my hands. It felt good. I realized I was grinning like an idiot.
He shrugged. “I’m tired of black guns. Everybody has black guns. I wanted this to be a little different. Plus black gets hot in the sun. I tried to give it kind of a desert-tiger-stripe thing. So do you like it?”
“Milo . . . This is the coolest gun I have ever seen in my life. And I’ve seen a lot of guns. How does it shoot?”
“Let’s go find out. From what I’ve seen from you in practice, and from what Julie told me about your shooting on the freighter, I have been waiting for somebody worthy of Abomination.”
Abomination? That was just too cool. Milo handed me a sack of loaded magazines. “Okay, just one more question. Exactly how many gun laws does this break?”
Milo’s red eyebrows scrunched together in thought. He started to count on his fingers, and then thought better of it.
“All of them.”
The Abomination shot far better than I had expected it to. It was not sleek, it was not stylish, it could never be considered pretty. But it was reliable, and it was amazingly fast. The front-heavy weight swung quickly, and the heft helped keep the barrel down as I poured shell after shell into the targets. The holosight was amazingly fast. At close range you just put the target into the giant floating circle and pulled the trigger. I knocked down steel plates, I dusted clay pigeons out of the sky, and I put slugs into pie-plate-sized targets at a hundred yards with ease. The mag changes were so fast that it put my old reloading trick to shame. If I felt the need I could keep the rate of fire high enough to melt the barrel off of the mutant shotgun from hell.
I even got to run through a dozen flour-filled practice grenades, and even a handful of high explosive shells. Shove them in the front of the stubby launcher until they click, pull on the absurdly heavy trigger, and launch a blob of deadly high explosive out to the end of the range. The explosions threw clouds of red Alabama clay high into the air. What’s not to love about that? By the last grenade I had figured out the approximate amount of holdover necessary to get hits out to two hundred and fifty yards. Well, perhaps not hits, but like the old saying goes, close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.
By the time I had emptied all of the magazines, it had been dark for hours, and I was standing in a sea of spent plastic hulls. My clothing reeked of unburned powder, and the muscles in my face hurt from smiling. What can I say? I’m a gun nut.
“Oh my gosh. That is so cool,” I gushed. “I have to have one of these. This thing is going to rock against undead.”
Milo was obviously proud of his latest creation. I had no idea how much he was paid by MHI, but whatever it was, he certainly deserved more. “Go ahead and take it. It’s yours.”
“For real?” I said, putting the warm gun over my shoulder.
“Yeah, you get to be the beta tester. If any other Hunters want one I can build more. Personally, I’m going to stick with my carbine. Abomination is a little on the clunky side for me.”
“Thanks, dude.” Christmas had come early for Owen Z. Pitt.
“You can consider it bribery. Remember what I was talking about earlier? About that . . .” He drew in close. I felt rather conspiratorial. “Look, here’s the deal, after Julie’s mom was lost on a mission, her dad kind of withdrew from the world. He spent all of his time down in the archives. He read and studied every book we had, and then he started gathering more from all over. It became his thing. You think Julie is smart? She gets that from Ray. He was probably the smartest Hunter we have ever had. If anybody has heard of this Cursed One it would be him.”
“What happened to her dad? Why the falling out?”
“From all of his studying, he learned things that no human should have ever learned. It was stupid. Ray loved his wife and tried something desperate to get her back. It did not go according to plan.”
“So why doesn’t Julie want to speak to him, and why do her grandfather and her uncle freak out at the mention of his name?”
Milo jumped about a foot off of the ground when he heard Julie speak. “Because my dad is dangerous and insane.” We had not heard her approach. I stupidly removed my ear plugs. I had shut down the amplification to avoid wasting the batteries. I found myself wishing that I had left them on.
“It didn’t go according to plan?” Julie snapped at Milo. She strode between us, and stopped directly in front of him, arms folded. She was quite a bit taller than he was. “Didn’t go according to plan? Don’t you think that’s a bit of an understatement?”
“Well . . . I suppose that you could say . . .”
“According to plan? According to plan? Milo, all hell broke loose. Literally. Ninety-seven Hunters were killed, and it was only a miracle that we didn’t suck all of Alabama into another dimension. Even then the government shut us down, and put all of us out of work. Monster attacks on innocent people went through the roof because we weren’t around to stop them, and Dad is responsible for that too.” Milo shrank a little in the face of the onslaught. She whirled and faced me. “And you. What did I tell you before we left Georgia?”
“Stay out of your business?” I answered, feeling like an idiot.
“Do I need to put that on flashcards? Do I need to have it branded on your forehead? I could have it put on backwards; that way you could read it in the mirror.” She was seething. “Were you two going to try and get me to talk to Dad? What the hell were you thinking?”
“Julie, listen. The bad guys want to destroy time. That sounds like a bad thing. We have seven Masters tromping around working as a gosh-darn team for heck’s sake, and it has even scared the elves and the Feds. If the bad guys get to the Place of Power and turn on their evil gizmo, we could be screwed. Ray can probably tell us where that’s going to be,” Milo asserted.
“Yeah. What he said,” was my addition to the argument. Julie gave me the evil eye.
“Owen. Listen to me very carefully. You have no idea what level of trouble we are talking about here. The reason Milo thinks my dad is going to know where this evil place is, is because it is similar to the insane stunt that he pulled. He risked the lives of every living person for thousands of miles.”
“He did it for a good reason,” Milo insisted. “He w
as crazy with grief. Your dad was desperate.”
“He risked the lives of millions to try to bring back one single person who was already dead. That is the definition of insanity!” she raged, grabbing Milo by the shoulders and shaking him violently. “Don’t you get that? My dad did evil things. He is one of the bad guys. If I had known just how far gone he was I would have shot him myself.”
“Ray did evil things, but he wasn’t in his right mind. I’m not saying that we should let him out, just that you should talk to him. Get information, prevent another big problem. If he could help us stop the Cursed One, then it would be a way for him to make up for some of what he did,” Milo shouted back. “He is our best chance. We could still be screwing around in the archives when they set off their evil gizmo.”
Julie dropped her hands and kicked some shotgun hulls angrily. Her face was drawn tight, and she was frowning. She tucked an errant strand of dark hair behind an ear. “I know,” she muttered.
“And another thing!” Milo started to yell, and then stopped abruptly. “You know?”
“Yes. I know. That was why I was looking for you, you idiot. The situation has gotten worse. We just got word from Boone. He’s been keeping tabs in Georgia. About forty-five minutes ago there was an attack on the home of another university professor, strong vampires, at least a couple. Right in the suburbs, just after sunset. They were looking for something. Unfortunately the prof was throwing a party at the house at the time. The place is crawling with the Feds’ reaction team, so Boone couldn’t get a good look, but he was guessing at least twenty dead.”
“Let me guess. A colleague of Dr. Turley?”
“Yep. She was on our list to contact. A Ph.D. in anthropology, religion specialist.”
“Smart vamps don’t hit parties in the suburbs,” Milo said. “That brings too much heat and attention. Vamps feed on the outskirts. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Unless the payoff is worth the risk,” Julie said. “My guess is they’re looking for the when and where to use their artifact.”
“You think we’re running out of time?”
“Why else would they risk having the Feds track them? The Monster Control Bureau guys are not the most efficient bunch, but they have resources we can only dream about. Vampires, especially old ones, don’t pull stunts like this. That’s how they lived to be old to begin with,” she said with authority. “I don’t think we are running out of time—I know it.”
“So who’s the idiot now?” Milo queried, somehow managing to look both smug and innocent at the same time.
“Don’t push it. Milo, tomorrow you cover for me. Grandpa and Earl can’t know what I’m going to do. Pitt . . .” That was a good indicator that she was not happy, she almost never called me by my last name.
“Yes?”
“Try to dream something useful tonight, because tomorrow you’re going to meet my dad.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“It won’t be.”
Chapter 13
Dreaming. Pleasant dreams, just the normal disjointed clearing of the human subconscious. I slept deeply, able to tune out Trip’s snores from the other bunk, and my only visions were good ones. Julie’s beautiful smile and full-auto assault shotguns.
Then it changed. Events came into focus. My consciousness shifted gears. The pleasant, normal dreams evolved into something sharper, with seemingly real physical sensations. Cold snow under my bare feet, and the smell of smoke in the air.
I was standing in the remains of a small town. The nearby buildings had been shelled into rubble. A light dusting of snow covered the broken stone, shattered wood and rusting metal. There were a few signs and torn advertising on some of the crumbled walls. I did not recognize the language, but it seemed familiar. The style of the art was simple and old-fashioned. A gray winter sky loomed fat and heavy overhead. The world was totally and impossibly silent.
The Old Man leaned against a piece of rubble, cane in hand. He took a pocket watch out of his homespun coat and examined it absently when he saw me.
“You are late, Boy. Much work to do.”
“Sorry.”
“No, I the one that is sorry. Almost killed, I got you last time.”
“When the Cursed One saw us on the beach?”
“Too dangerous to take your spirit out of body. I not know what I doing. I new at this. Too, how you say . . . stupid to do again. But I had to show . . . show Cursed One to you so you know what I know. Too dangerous. No more out of body.”
“What would have happened if he had caught us?”
“For me, probably stay same. For you, you end up like me. Something else probably come and take your body while it empty.” He shivered when he said that, drawing his collar up against the winter cold. “Would be bad.”
“Something would inhabit my body?”
“Yes, there are things that not have body of own. They are, how you say . . . jealous. We not leave your body again. Not safe. I have to find new way to show you things.”
“So where are we right now?” I gestured at the silent town.
“In your head, Boy. Where did think?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been here. I’ve never been to that field we met in before either.”
“In your head. But from my memory. I am friend, I am guest here. I can show you thing that I know. Is hard to show, but I getting better. For smart boy, you are sometimes dumb.”
“Hey now,” I said defensively.
He laughed deeply. “Is fine. I forget. Real world is different where I am. Rules change. Come, I show you.” He pointed with his cane, and walked away through the snow. I followed.
The church had been old and battered even before most of its roof had been blown off by artillery. The stained-glass windows had been shattered, and small parts of the walls were charred ash where the church had caught fire. It was obvious that it had been a simple but beautiful structure at one time.
“What is this?”
“Is church. Got blowed up.” He made an explosion noise and opened his hands, pantomiming a bomb. “I not know name, I go to synagogue own self.”
“I can see that. I mean, what are you trying to show me?”
“Is Place of Power. Cursed One brought ancient artifact here. Under this land was place where old kings make sacrifices; before man, other things use this place. This is last place that Cursed One used to try to destroy time. Time is his enemy. Lucky for us, his learning was not right. He was not ready for such bold move. He failed.” We continued toward the building. The stone stairs were cold and slick with ice. “Lucky that time.”
“What would have happened if he had succeeded?” I ducked my head under a broken beam in the doorway. The interior of the church was just as damaged. Pews were smashed or knocked over. There was an altar at the far side of the room. “What does it mean to destroy time?”
“He not want to destroy. Cursed One thinks he can control. He has old device. Older than world. When matter was organized to create this world, the artifact was already there. Not meant for this world. It can torture time. Turn it . . . backwards. Make it stop for some. Go for others. Is bad. Very bad. Cursed One is vain, full of pride, nobody can control time. Will destroy world.”
“The Elf Queen said that he is trying to get back his lost love.”
“Yes. That was first reason. Now I think he is so much twisted with evil and hate I not know. I will try to show you. If you understand him, maybe you can stop.” He reached up and put his cold, arthritic hands alongside my face. “I try to show. I not take you out of your body, but I can maybe show you Cursed One’s memories.”
“Wait. What is your name? The vampire called you Bar Eeka.”
“Byreika,” he corrected. “Not important who I am. Now shush, is hard to show. Must concentrate.”
“Are you a ghost?”
“Ugh. Quiet, Boy. Time is short. Maybe is ghost. I not know.” The Old Man squeezed my head. He wore an intense look of concentration.
“What is this place?”
He took one hand away, and brought it back with a surprising slap. It stung.
“Always with the questions. Respect your elders. Now shush!”
The Old Man closed his eyes in concentration. The church and the smoldering town began to darken and fragment. Falling snow froze in midair. The world he had created began to fall apart without his attention. I could see my reflection in his glasses. As I watched, my face changed into someone else.
Confusion, resolving itself into a hazy vision from long ago.
The jungle road was hot. My horse was exhausted by the heat and lathered with foam. My plate was splattered with the blood of my enemies, and my helmet and plume sat heavy on my sweat-drenched brow. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid smell of powder. I rested my battle-ax across my saddle and passed my matchlock to my secondary to be reloaded. Large carrion birds circled overhead, eager to have their chance at the carnage on the jungle road.
My men were following after the routed, scattering enemy, cutting down as many as possible. Worried about possible counterattacks, I signaled my northern mercenary captain to call the men back. When the undergrowth became thick, the advantages of our muskets and plate were negated. The big man spurred his horse forward, shouting for the men to rally at his position.
I dismounted my steed as a prisoner was brought struggling before me. My men shoved him to his knees. The prisoner was obviously a man of some importance, adorned with gold jewelry and wearing complex armor made of hide, and crowned with a helmet constructed from a jaguar’s skull. The prisoner babbled in his incoherent pagan language. I took my helmet off and waited patiently for Friar de Sousa.