AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The men heard a crash below and decided they knew a sensible order when they heard it. They scrambled out the window and dropped to the ground below.
Valentine offered Xray-Tango the ax handle. "You want the honors?"
"Sorry, Le Sain, or whoever you are. I was true to you, best as I could be. You weren't straight with me."
"Could I have been?"
"That's a 'what-if." I don't like to waste time with 'what-ifs." I'm no renegade. I can't let you smash the radio. The only other unit strong enough to send for help is at the quartermaster office at MacArthur Park, down by the warehouses, and if you smash that one too, no one will get here in time. Assuming you cut the field-phone lines north on the bridge, and south on the poles, that is."
Valentine shared a smile with his former superior.
There was a scream from downstairs.
"Sorry, General," Valentine said. He swung the ax handle, connecting solidly with Xray-Tango's temple. He reversed the grip and, with three precise blows, left the radio in pieces.
Valentine hid behind rolls of weatherproofing, ax across his lap, lowering his lifesign. He pulled inward, concentrating on a point six inches in front of his nose, taking it down, down, down...
He became a prowling cat, a hiding mouse, a buzzing fly. A pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas. The Reaper came up and took in the ruins of the radio room. It hissed and picked up the general like a distracted parent lifting a child's dropped doll.
"General! General! Wake! Wake and tell what has passed."
Xray-Tango gave a moan as the creature shook him.
Valentine couldn't let the Reaper go to the window, see the men streaming out of his camp. He couldn't risk a single footstep behind him. It would mean a leap. He gathered himself, and readied the ax.
Even with its attention on Xray-Tango, it felt him coming. It was full night, when a Reaper's senses and reflexes become unholy. Valentine still buried the blade of the ax in its side, missing the great nerve trunks running up its spine. It dropped Xray-Tango.
"Melted butter," Xray-Tango murmured. At least that's what it sounded like to Valentine.
"You!" the Reaper spat.
Valentine fired Xray-Tango's gun into it, but he might as well have been throwing spitballs. It sprang.
He ducked, so fast that the air whistled as he cut through it. The Reaper sailed head-first into the framework of a wall, crashing through two-by-fours into the next room. Valentine ran, throwing himself out the window like a swimmer off the block. He jackknifed in midair, landing lightly, but his bad leg betrayed him and he sprawled into the dirt.
It flew out the window after him, ax-pinioned cape flapping like some hideous bat as it descended in a long parabola to the ground. It landed between him and the Ruins.
They faced each other. Valentine drew his .45.
"C'mon, you bastard," Valentine said, sighting on its yellow eyes.
It turned, looking over its shoulder. Valentine saw a hint of movement among the ruins and flung himself sideways.
A blast from the PPD illuminated Ahn-Kha's gargoyle features; the gun's rattle was music to his ears. The bullets caught the Reaper as it spun, knocking it to the ground. It tried to rise, but Ahn-Kha flattened it with another burst as the Grog took a step forward. Valentine rose, hand on the hilt of General Hamm's knife. Ahn-Kha stood, ten feet away from the crawling monstrosity, drum-magazined gun to his shoulder. He loosed another long burst, emptying the weapon. He lowered it, smoke pouring from the barrel filling the air with the peppery smell of cordite.
But the Reaper still lived. Valentine came up with the knife, pressed its head to the ground with his foot, and swung for all he was worth. The blade went in deep, severing its spine. The Reaper's limbs gave one jumping-frog spasm and went limp. Valentine pulled the blade out before the black tar clogging the wound could glue it in place like the ax head in its side.
Valentine kicked over the body as Ahn-Kha put a new drum on the gun. The Reaper's eyes were still alive with malice.
"Mu-Kur-Ri," Valentine said into the still-functioning eyes, for the Reaper's head still lived and could still pass on what it sensed to the Master Kurian at the other end. "The Dau 'weem sent me to kill you. My name is David Valentine. I come for you now."
The Reaper tried to say something but Valentine swung again. The blade bit deep; the head separated. He picked it up by the wispy hair and sent it flying off into the darkness. He pitied the rat that might taste the flesh.
"Neither of us remembered to bring a spear," Valentine said. "We're a pair of idiots."
Valentine's eyes picked up a Quisling soldier or two, watching them from hiding spots. "The headquarters is clear," Valentine shouted at one. "The general's hurt. Call the medics. There might still be someone alive in the basement." He clapped his hands. "Hustle, hustle!"
The soldier scampered off.
