Читать книгу Atlantis Reprise - James Axler - Страница 13

First watch passed without incident, and the exhausted Ryan was only too glad to hand over second watch to Mildred and J.B. It was unusual to take a watch in pairs, but both had agreed that neither would rest that easy in the forest that night. Both were aware that they didn’t share Krysty’s and Jake’s heightened senses. This being the case, both figured that doubling the watch would make detecting any intruders easier in a strange environment. The density of the woodlands and the maze-like nature of the paths that could be forged was a major concern.

Yet this seemed a concern that was a thousand miles away as they both prowled the silent forest. The night above was clear, the stars lighting up a sky that was further illuminated by a wan half-moon. Yet much of this light couldn’t filter through the canopy of foliage cast by the forest, so that underneath, where the companions kept camp, it was a world of gray shrouded further by deepening shadows.

The lack of anything living—other than themselves—meant that the shadows were still and it should be easy to detect any movement within. The only sounds were the distant rustle of the foliage in night breezes.

Despite this, both J.B. and Mildred were on edge. They had little doubt that Affinity had been serious and accurate in his description of the Nightcrawlers they had to guard against. Every slight rustle, every trick of the shadows that seemed to move or to deepen that little more, became something that made their nerve endings jangle.

For much of the watch they avoided each other, dividing the area around the camp into two 180-degree arcs that they would take individually. Each knew the other’s footfall, the sound of each other’s breathing and movement so well that they were able to filter out those sounds that they knew to emanate from the other.

It didn’t make the watch any easier, and after nearly two hours, both felt that they were at breaking point. As their patrol arcs came close to each other, Mildred moved across into J.B.’s territory.

‘What is it?’ he demanded sharply as she approached. His voice was too low to carry farther than a few yards, but the fact that she was close enough to catch his words gave him cause for concern.

Something she was swift to allay.

‘Chill, John. There isn’t a problem. I’m just getting a little too strung out on my own. Kind of think that I’m going to be believing my own breathing is a freakin’ Nightcrawler if I’m not careful.’

The Armorer gave a wry chuckle. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean. I haven’t felt this paranoid since I was left alone with a bunch of stickies on human fry night.’

Mildred gave him a bemused look. ‘John, what the hell are you talking about?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I figure this is really getting to me, so that I don’t really know what I’m saying. Have you thought that we might just be talking to reasure ourselves of the fact that we’ve actually got some company and aren’t just here in the forest completely alone?’

‘You mean that the total lack of anything else resembling a human being is getting to you, too, right?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘It’s too quiet. If they are out there, then we should be able to hear them. But if they’re not, then…’

‘The sooner morning comes the better, I figure,’ Mildred muttered. ‘This is playing hell on both our nerves.’

J.B. shook his head. ‘You can say that again.’

THEY COULD HEAR someone in the forest. Someone who was other than those they sought. The runaways who had established the rogue ville of Memphis were too scared to be out in the forest at this time of night. And yet there were so rarely strangers who traversed these lands. Atlantis had deliberately been established so that it could hide from the prying eyes of intruders, far into the forest and near to the coast, where there were no major routes that would bring convoys and invite unwelcomed attention.

Whoever these people were, they had taken a lot of trouble to come this far. It was a shame that they couldn’t take the extra trouble to be quiet and to protect themselves.

A vulpine grin crossed the face of the first warrior. This would be easy. They were making their position clear by their lack of concealment, and they would never hear a sec force as experienced in the sounds of the forest as the Crawlers. He turned and looked back, his night-adjusted eyes picking out the seven others in his pack. No one else would be able to spot them in this darkness, but he knew where they would be, was so used to the shadows that he could pick out the most infinitesimal change on depth and width of blackness, and had a sense of smell so highly attuned to the forest floor that he could even smell them.

Like his fellows, he was covered from head to foot in mud and paint, his tight-fitting tunic dyed to blend with his decorated skin. His hair was oiled and smoothed back to his scalp, and in his eyes he wore lenses that had been made by craftsmen. They were of a darkened glass, so that his eyes wouldn’t reflect light. Each time he wore them they wore away at his eyeball a little more, so that he would have immense pain and blurred vision by the time that he was five years older. But it was worth it, to serve the greater cause in this way; and he would be rewarded, as all surviving Crawlers were rewarded. While others slaved at construction, the Crawlers were awarded a pension for the services they had offered to their people. The more recaptures and kills they had to their name, the greater the pension.

So far, his pension was good. That was why he was group leader, in charge of the operation. He had left it until the stiller watches of the night as he was aware of the juvenile efforts of the Memphis sec to keep his people at bay by mounting their ridiculous patrols. They offered no real threat, but a few Crawlers had been injured during skirmishes and the irritation they caused was something that the Crawlers could do without. They had stopped day attacks, but, as they were too scared to be in the forest at night, all they had achieved was to make their enemy concentrate on the time when they were at their most dangerous. In a sense, they had served the Crawlers well. Fools.

This contingent of Nightcrawlers had five men and three women. All were dressed identically, with camou robes, laced leather thongs dyed black and soled with rubber, body paint and dark lenses. All had their hair slicked back. Those whose natural hair color was lighter had dyed it dark, and those with long hair had it plaited. They were armed with blades. Blasters were too loud, and stealth was their watchword. Of course, carrying a blaster didn’t mean that you had to use it. But in an extreme situation, the temptation may prove to be too strong, and subterfuge was paramount. So they carried Tekna and Wilkinson Sword hunting knives, as well as machetes and pangas. Each blade was sharpened and polished, with the resultant shine being dulled by the same kind of camou paint that they used on their bodies. The sheaths were oiled and tied to their bodies to prevent accidental collision and clanging of blades.

They moved independently of one another, hugging tree boles and moving at a crouch between the cover. They knew the forest well, and knew that—as there was no animal life to disturb it—the contours of the forest changed little with the seasons. In fall they had dry leaves underfoot, and this made it the hardest time of year to ply their trade; but now, with a canopy overhead adding to the dark, and little on the surface of the woods to make a sound beneath their footfalls, it was easy for them to move quickly.

They weren’t totally silent. That was impossible for anything that took breath. But they were as quiet as it was possible to be. They were sure-footed on the ground, placing their feet where they would make the least noise on ground they knew almost as intimately as their own bodies. They avoided overhanging branches that would rustle if disturbed, and had no need to communicate with sound. Each Nightcrawler trained hard with the others so that they built up an almost preternatural degree of understanding with their fellows.

Eight pairs of ears identified the direction of J.B. and Mildred’s conversation. Eight pairs of eyes focused in the almost pitch-black darkness on the area they had to cover. Even in this poor light, and with the strangers’ earlier fire having been extinguished, they were able to discern different levels of dark as they saw the two move together, talk and then move apart.

The leader stopped grinning. Even his teeth would stand out in such absolute blackness. Nothing would break the shadow of his face, even though he was still smiling wolfishly on the inside as he began to move toward the companions, knowing without even looking back that his fellow Crawlers were on his tail.

These people wouldn’t know what had hit them.

KRYSTY WAS HAVING a nightmare. Trapped in the tentacles of an octopus that was dragging her beneath the waves. She lashed out and it jetted a stream of dark ink into the water as it sought to protect itself from her blows. The darkness engulfed her in a swirl, the cold water becoming so dark that she no longer knew which way was up and which was down. But she knew that she was sinking into the dark.

She woke with a jolt and could feel her hair tight around her head and throat. It was more than the nightmare that was making her feel this way. There was a stirring in her bowels, a knot that only came when true danger beckoned. She sat up and looked around her. She could hear J.B. and Mildred talking in a low whisper and, as her eyes adjusted to the faint light, she could see them. They appeared to have everything under control, and yet…

Something had hit her right in her doomie sense; she didn’t know what, but it was there.

And she wasn’t alone. As she watched Mildred and J.B., she became aware that Jak had also stirred. She made to speak, but he stayed her with a gesture. His red eyes burned in the darkness, the faint light making his white, scarred face translucent and ageless as his brow furrowed in concentration.

‘Stupe talking—cover all else,’ he whispered shortly.

‘Where are they?’ Krysty asked, knowing already that the Nightcrawlers were out there, and guessing that Jak had caught wind of them.

‘Circling Mildred and J.B.—can smell shit on their skin, make them dark. Almost can’t hear them—nothing that quiet….’

Krysty was on her feet, although keeping low. ‘Get Mildred and J.B. I’ll wake the others,’ she whispered. ‘Triple fast. If you can hear them, you can bet your ass that they’ve already heard us moving.’

THE LEAD CRAWLER SAW two people rise from the group that lay beyond the two already standing. That made at least four. No matter. However many they had, they would be no match for his people.

Silently, and as one, they moved into attacking positions, each instinctively knowing where the others had gone. They quickened their pace and pulled their blades.

‘I CAN SEE THEM!’ J.B. yelled. ‘In a line, right at three o’clock to six, coming quick.’ He slipped the mini-Uzi into position and set it to rapid, firing off a burst into the dark. He had no idea if he had hit anyone, but the purpose of the blast was to try to delay the Nightcrawlers, perhaps wake up the others. He needn’t have worried. Ryan had already been awakened by Krysty, the sleep fog clearing rapidly from his brain as he took in the situation. He sprang to his feet, eschewing the Steyr and pulling the panga from its sheath. He understood J.B.’s motives, and also knew that in these conditions the use of blasters would be suicidal.

Doc and Affinity were also roused, while Jak was directing J.B. and Mildred to pull back into the central camp area.

‘Dark night, we’re sitting targets if we do that,’ J.B. said, ignoring the irony of his curse.

‘I think not,’ Affinity said in a low tone. ‘They never use blasters, only knives. And they always work in close. It’s their trademark, if you will.’

They fell into silence, straining every fiber to catch the slightest sound made by their attackers. There was nothing. The Nightcrawlers had also fallen silent, as still as though they weren’t there, waiting for their prey to crack first.

It was a war of nerves. The companions scanned the darkness, all but Jak able to detect nothing.

‘Still where they were,’ he whispered. ‘Can smell them…but we move, then they, too.’

‘Could try to fire on them again,’ J.B. murmured. ‘A quick burst of spray’n’pray might catch them before they can move.’

‘Yeah, and in the noise and confusion they get to move out of position. At least this way we know where they are. Let them make the first move,’ Ryan replied.

They stood still—as still as their opponents. The silence beyond the camp became oppressive and time slowed so that every breath seemed to take a day to draw.

Then it happened. The faintest of noises, and Jak yelled, ‘They come!’

Before the companions had a chance to ready themselves, the Nightcrawlers were upon them. Their camou made them seem like indistinct shadows that moved across the lesser darkness, having no shape or form beyond an amorphous black mass that broke into pieces and reconstituted into different shapes when on the verge of the camp.

Jak had slipped knives to Krysty and Mildred, as they knew that their blasters would be ineffective. The razor-honed, leaf-bladed knives the albino youth used so well would still be deadly in the hands of the less-skilled women. J.B. had his Tekna, and Affinity and Doc had both unsheathed their blades.

The combat was silent. Even when the companions landed blows upon their enemies, they made no sound, as though they either controlled with a will of iron the reflex to shout, or they’d had their tongues ripped out by the root. It could have been either, but it had the same effect regardless. It was as though the companions were fighting phantoms that had no feelings and were invincible.

But definitely human. They stank of the body paint, and they were slippery with sweat and also with blood where the blades caught them. Slippery not just from their own blood. With the dark lenses over their eyes, they were almost impossible to pin down visually, and it was difficult to tell where their blows were coming from. Ryan winced as a blade sliced at his upper arm. Jak caught the point of one under the eye. He ignored it and struck home with a blow before his opponent had a chance to adjust balance, knowing that he had hit home when he heard an involuntary expellation of air. He was just thankful that the cut was under his eye. Above, and the running blood would have made vision difficult.

Krysty and Mildred were faring well. Although they couldn’t see their opponents clearly, both women were wearing dark clothing that made their body movements harder to discern in the black of the night, and so were able to dodge the blades with ease. They also landed a few body blows that took a toll on their opponents.

Doc thrust and parried with his sword, grinning maniacally, as though enjoying the combat. Particularly when he felt one thrust penetrate into flesh deeply enough to stick. His opponent slumped noiselessly to the ground.

They had no idea how long they fought, or how well they were doing. It seemed as though their opponents were endless…and yet the Nightcrawlers were used to fighting opponents of a lesser mettle and were shocked at the skills of those they now tangled with—so much so that they began to withdraw. Because they were losing? Because they had suffered casualties? It was impossible to tell. The only thing for sure was that they melted into the darkness as smoothly as they had first materialized.

It was some time before the companions and Affinity could relax in any way. They expected the Nightcrawlers to come at them as soon as they showed any sign of weakness. But as time crept on, it became apparent that their opponents had withdrawn from the fray. Comparing notes, they were sure that at least one of the Nightcrawlers had been badly wounded—the warrior skewered by Doc—and that two or three others had also taken heavy blows. For themselves, there were only a few cuts and bruises that Mildred could easily tend to when the sun came up.

Which was also when they expected to recover the wounded or chilled. And yet, when the light did break, there was no sign of any of their opponents. Doc was certain his opponent was chilled. If so, they had taken the corpse with them.

Apart from a few dark patches of blood on the floor of the camp, and some splashes on the nearest clumps of foliage, there was no sign of disturbance. Nothing to indicate that they had been attacked.

As though it had never happened.