torg 02 - The Dark Realm (24 page)

"You need to get back into bed," she scolded.

"No," Decker said, sitting up. "I need a shower. Then I need to meet with the President. He's set up a meeting with a bunch of the military types to assess our situation."

"What is our situation, Ace?" Julie asked quietly, suddenly no longer the self-assured officer but a frightened, uncertain human being.

"Bad, but not impossible," he said softly, giving her a smile. Decker took her hand then, holding it the way she had held his when he came out of his long sleep. For the moment, that was enough for both of them.

98

"He's in that building," Monroe said, pointing toward the hospital. "Room 436."

"There are too many soldiers around," Scythak decided.

Monroe thought the large man's name was strange when he first heard it, but he didn't say anything. He noticed that this Scythak was quick to anger, and he didn't want to be on the receiving end of a violent outburst. After all, he could still see the blood drying on the large man's hands.

"I think they've noticed your handiwork," Monroe commented, gesturing toward the helicopter they had left back on the tarmac.

"Yes," Scythak breathed heavily, "maybe that bit of fun was an indiscretion. Nothing to be done about it now, though." He studied the hospital and the soldiers all around it with his cat eyes. For long moments neither man spoke. Then Scythak said, "We need a place to hide. It has to be nearby, in sight of the hospital. If I make a move now to capture

(kill, kill, kill)

Decker, he might get hurt in the resulting battle. I

need to wait until the time is right."

Monroe knew he was missing something, especially when Scythak's hand went to the pendant he wore around his neck. The large man fingered the stone that hung from the gold chain without realizing it. Monroe doubted the man even remembered he wore such jewelry. It certainly didn't seem to be his style. But the doctor didn't say anything about the pendant. Instead he thought about a place to hide out.

"Come on," Monroe said at last. "I think I know a perfect place."

99

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, amen," said Father Christopher Bryce over the funeral pyre. Praktix did not survive the night, even though Mara had done everything she could. The dwarf had internal injuries, Mara had explained, she had lost too much blood. Bryce was sick with the words he spoke. They had become a recording over the last few weeks, an endless chant that he said with more and more detachment. No, that wasn't true. Each death still hurt. Some more than others. He watched Braxon put the torch to his sister's remains. This death hurt a lot.

Tolwyn and the dwarves sang a hymn to Dunad then, to the warrior god of Aysle who even the pragmatic dwarves respected. The others remained silent through it all, even Kurst (who constantly raised his nose to the wind throughout the ceremony), until the pyre blazed brightly. Then Tolwyn spoke in her soldier tone.

"We must move on now," she said. "Our goal is nearby. We must not let this sadness deter us — or others will suffer these fates, over and over again. It is for life that we go on." Bryce smiled. She would have made

a fine preacher.

The dwarves moved over to Mara, helped her rise. The girl was still upset with herself. She was having a tough time excepting this loss. Bryce pressed his lips together. He had counselled doctors who had lost patients before. And he had counselled young people who had lost friends. It was the combination of the two that was difficult for him to comprehend. He contented himself with walking nearby, smiling at her when he could catch her gaze, trying to envelop her with his caring.

They all climbed into the carriage; Kurst and Tolwyn behind the horses, Triad and Toolpin on top, the rest inside. They rode in silence for a time, and Bryce tried to find words to comfort them all. But nothing came to his lips but a frown. He heard the music but didn't pay much attention at first. It was a catchy, old-fashioned tune, like the songs on a player piano, and he hummed along with the sound. When the scenery outside the carriage window suddenly changed, it took him a while to notice it. But there it was — a town!

"Hey!" he shouted, banging on the roof of the carriage. "Hey, stop! Let's take a look around."

The carriage was moving slowly along the cobbled path, and Bryce had no trouble leaping down from the cab. He was standing in what appeared to be a town right out of Victorian England, right down to the low fog that filled the streets. He heard Kurst call for the horses to stop, so he walked toward the tavern across the way.

A strange smell reached Bryce's nose, but he put it out of his mind as he walked. He had to see who was playing such fine music! He had to dance just once to its bouncy tune. The door to the tavern was open, and the light pouring out was warm and bright. It would be good to have some real food for a change, and maybe they could find a few real beds. A good meal and a good night's sleep was just what they all needed right now. He was forty steps from the door, and the music pulled him along.

Thirty steps. He could see people now, or at least shapes, twirling and laughing in the light beyond the doorway.

Twenty steps. He could smell ale and sizzling sausage wafting out of the establishment. Someone inside called for a serving girl, and Bryce smiled.

Fifteen steps. A woman appeared at the door, framed by the golden light. He couldn't see her features because of the way she was silhouetted, but she had a round, pleasant shape that reminded him of home.

Ten steps. A strong hand grabbed Bryce's arm and spun him around. It was Kurst, and he was looking at the priest with hard eyes.

"Get back in the carriage," Kurst ordered.

"What is wrong with you. Kurst?" Bryce yelled. "This is a town. Do you know what that means? It means hot food and warm beds. It means a touch of civilization out here in the jungle."

"It means more than you know, priest," Kurst said. "If you enter that place I cannot help you. You will belong to them, and we will go on without you."

Bryce looked for the humor, the joke, in Kurst's eyes. There was none. "What are you babbling about?"

"The Gaunt Man surrounds himself with places that are between this world and the next. Way stations, you might call them. This is one of those places."

Bryce smelled the sausage, and his mouth watered. He tried to pull free of Kurst's grasp, but the hunter was too strong.

"Everything here is dead, Bryce. Those inside cannot move on. They are stuck, trapped in time. If you enter, you will be trapped as well. Take a deep breath, Bryce. What do you smell?"

Bryce breathed in the air, and suddenly he understood what Kurst was saying. Beneath the aroma of sausage and ale was another smell. A dark smell. It was the smell of dust and decay, or things long dead. The priest wanted desperately to be ill.

"No time," Kurst said. He dragged the priest back to the carriage.

"Not even one dance?" Bryce asked before Kurst closed the carriage door.

"It is not as exciting as it appears," Kurst said. "The dead are a very boring lot."

The smell was stronger now, making Bryce gag. "Then let's leave them to this place and be on with our journey."

The hunter nodded, closed the door. Soon the carriage was past the town, but the smell stayed with them for a very long time.

100

At oh-eight-hundred Special Operative Lance Odell was dressed as an intern, sorting laundry in a corridor six doors from the room the meeting was to be held in. Outside, the long day was finally coming to an end, and twilight was settling over Twentynine Palms. Odell folded another bed sheet, keeping one eye on the closed door.

Three minutes later, people started to arrive. First came four soldiers. Two stationed themselves in the corridor; two disappeared into the room. Odell smiled at the ones in the corridor. They ignored him. He folded

another sheet.

At five minutes past, Colonel McCall and an aide arrived. Behind them were Lieutenant Charles Covent (recently at the battle front but now recovering from wounds sustained while fighting the enemy) and the civilian, Eddie Paragon. Paragon had arrived on the base with a wild story of having been with the leader of the dinosaurs since the invasion started in New York. It sickened Odell to see someone so obviously against the discipline that marked military life included in such an important meeting.

At six minutes past, Congressman Andrew Jackson Decker entered the room. With him were Major Julie Boot and the edeinos visitor, Tal Tu. That was another transgression that Odell couldn't understand. Let's just invite the enemy to our war conference! These were the kinds of decisions the Delphi Council was going to correct. That's why Lance Odell was first on line to become one of the Council's operatives — one of the Spartans. He even loved the code-name.

Finally, at seven minutes past, President John Wells and his security detail arrived. The door closed with a resounding slam. Odell folded the last of his sheets, then wheeled the laundry cart past the soldiers stationed at the door and onto the elevator at the opposite end of the corridor. He couldn't wait to report his findings to Quartermain. For a moment he considered trying to get some details as to the specifics of the meeting, but then dismissed that as too dangerous. Besides, Quartermain would be interested in knowing the names of the people in that meeting.

Odell was sure that the Vice President would be as disturbed by the mixing of civilians, the enemy, the army and the President as he was.

The carriage stopped and Bryce came awake with a start. He had been sleeping, lulled by the steady rock as they traveled along the path. He noticed that the smell of the way station was still with them, but then decided that this smell was fresher, closer. It was a foul death- smell, reminiscent of rotting garbage and carrion.

"What is that?" Bryce exclaimed as he stepped from the carriage.

"Fields," was all Kurst said. "We've got to be careful, now. There might be soldiers or other creatures about."

There was a field of sorts to their right. Bryce could see it in the faint light of the approaching dawn. But full day would be long in coming. Still, the promise of light after the extended night was a welcome sign. The smell, however, was like something that had been under the sun for far, far too long.

"Dear sweet God," Bryce exclaimed as his nostrils were assaulted. Mara moaned beside him

"It's the field," Kurst said again. "A large open area. We have to go around."

Bryce stared at the huge clearing, perhaps two hundred yards square. It was not a natural clearing, for trees were stacked at the corners, dragged from where they had been felled, and the land itself was neatly plowed in even rows of crops.

As the priest watched, plants began to burst from the ground. But the plants were man-shaped, a disgusting synthesis of twisting roots, rotting flesh, and packed soil. Some of the plants opened vine-covered mouths, screaming their arrival out of the earth. In the holes they emerged from, the priest could see the remains of human bodies, which seemed to serve as either seed or fertilizer for the terrible plants. From the number of rows, many

people died to create this field.

"Gospog," Kurst explained.

"This is an abomination," Tolwyn whispered.

"Maybe," said Kurst. "We can't stop here, though. There are too many Caretakers about, and probably the Others as well."

"We must destroy this place," said Tolwyn.

Kurst looked at her a moment, as if wondering whether to reply or not. Apparently he decided against it, and turned to go.

"It must be destroyed," Tolwyn repeated, feeling at the edge of her sword with a roughened thumb. "This is an offense to all things."

Kurst turned on her. "Is it?" he asked, his voice cold, chilling. "And let us give thanks that this is the only offense to all things that has ever existed or ever will exist, so that destroying it will cleanse the world of evil and save all lives for all times to come! Are you mad? We are attempting to enter the castle of the Gaunt Man in order to destroy the machine that is destroying Decker. And you want to alert him to our presence by wrecking some minor tool of his in a fit of ... of what?"

"This is no minor thing. Look at that field! There must be ten thousand of those things ready to ripen! An army of horror, and we could destroy it now! You find it surprising I wish to destroy it? I find it surprising you do not."

"No," said Mara, ignoring both of them. She was standing forward, almost at the edge of the clearing, gazing out at the field. She turned back to look at the others.

"No," said Mara again, and Kurst and Tolwyn both forgot the momentary feud watching her. "I remember this, from my own world. They make armies, armies to