ON THE ROAD TO DEATH

CHAPTER 5

—

I

—

The forms dotting the heavens quickly became supernatural soldiers with cylindrical flight packs strapped to their backs. The devices may have operated on magnetism, since the scenery directly below them was distorted as if by a heat shimmer.

Here, too, the gap between their civilization and that of their former masters—the Nobility—was made manifest. In either hand the soldiers carried gourd-shaped bombs with fins attached to them. No doubt they’d be aimed with the naked eye.

“Help me up . . . I’ll drop the bastards!” panted a voice at D’s feet. It was Stanza. The right side of her chest was stained vermilion.

“You’ll just be in the way,” D countered flatly.

“They’re coming from the air. And I’m the only one with ranged weapons!”

“Can you even move your right arm?”

Not a word from the female warrior.

“Don’t let her do anything stupid,” D told Strider, and then he took off.

As the Hunter raced toward the fliers, leaving the other three behind, he asked, “Well?”

He seemed to pose the query to no one. But there was a reply.

“I’ll manage something.”

The hoarse voice made a sound as if taking several deep breaths. There was a faint whooosh! It sounded like flames springing to life.

Five of the fliers halted over D, and the remaining nine headed toward the other three members of his group. The supernatural soldiers took aim at the foe below. They started to release the bombs from both hands—and at that instant, the figure in black raised his left hand.

They saw his palm. Something was surfacing in it. Was that someone’s face?

It was at that very moment that a violent gust shot up at them. With their flight packs destabilized, they spun around, turning end over end. Their flight packs collided, and before their bombs could fall, the soldiers were propelled away. There were no screams. All of them were sent careening to the west—the explosions occurred in a spot just two hundred yards away. Those who’d gone after the other three members of his group were part of the crash.

Dropping to one knee, D fended off the shock waves with the hem of his coat.

“How’s that?” the hoarse voice inquired proudly.

“There are more on the way.”

Other figures were gliding toward the Hunter from the direction of the highway. There were three of them. This time they were flying nap-of-the-earth, blasting away with their guns as they came.

A cloud of dust enveloped D. The soldiers saw him fall face down, and they kept going, right over D’s head.

But the gorgeous fatality rose like a supernatural bird. His attack in midair was a smooth progression from flashing steel to bright blood. As D decapitated one soldier, he simultaneously landed on the man’s back. Manipulating the flight pack, he brought the headless corpse around.

From a mere sixty feet away, the other two soldiers indiscriminately sprayed lead at him. D’s body shook; the bullets were hitting the mark. However, D’s left hand was continuously spitting dark objects at the ground. Lead slugs. The Hunter’s wounds were healing, and even the holes the bullets left in the fabric were closing.

As D approached, the supernatural soldiers were powerless. His beauty captivated them. When he passed, bloody blossoms spread their petals in midair, then immediately became a scarlet shower that rained down on the earth . . . along with the severed heads of the spellbound pair. Still held aloft by the flying devices on their backs, the decapitated cadavers flew off into the distance.

As they watched D skillfully manipulate the dead man’s flight pack for a landing beside them, the two warriors looked as if they could see the very air itself. It was D. But even knowing this, the unearthly skill he’d just demonstrated was difficult to comprehend.

“What the hell are you, man?” Strider asked, his face strangely pale. “Are dhampirs really that incredible?”

Not replying, D put his finger against the neck of the prone Irene. Opening her eyes, she sat up, and the look on her face as she tried to get her bearings showed she was back to normal.

“Where am I? How did I get out here?”

On seeing the bloodied man and woman, the girl swallowed hard.

“We’ll fill you in on all the details later,” said Strider. “Hey, D, I’m gonna be okay, but the skirt here is in a bad way.”

“Keep your snotty remarks to yourself!” the warrior woman shot back, but her complexion was bloodless, like paraffin. Unable to hold her torso up, she fell over.

“So, she’s gonna slow us down?” Strider spat toxically.

“We’ll leave her,” said D.

Staring at his handsome features, Stanza nodded and said, “Good enough. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Suddenly, she coughed. The very action was devoid of strength. Blood spilled from her mouth.

“The lungs?” Strider groaned. “That ain’t good at all. Unless someone does something, she’s not gonna last twelve hours.”

“Sounds like . . . you’d love that . . . to happen,” Stanza said, her words creeping across the ground with her breath.

“Sure. One less hand means more loot to go around when we get back. I’ll take your share!”

As Strider grinned slyly, he noticed someone staring daggers at him. Turning to the glaring Irene, he asked, “What’s that look for?”

“You lousy animal!”

“Excuse me?” Strider replied, more stunned than angry. That was hardly the kind of thing he’d expect the self-centered girl to say.

“Give the fighting . . . a rest,” Stanza managed to say, almost sounding delirious. “Hurry up . . . and go . . . I’ll survive.”

“Hey—pull yourself together! You call yourself a warrior?”

There was no reply. Stanza had lost consciousness.

Irene looked up at D. Her expression was grave and troubled.

“You have to be able to do something. Help her!”

He didn’t respond.

“You just plan on leaving her here? She’s dying!”

“You got left behind, too.”

“You don’t have to remind me. And that’s exactly why I can’t just leave her here.”

“Are you going to look after her?”

Irene was tongue tied.

Never taking his eyes off the girl, D said, “You can go back if you like. What’s it going to be?”

Irene looked down at Stanza, then turned her gaze in the direction of the town. Lacking anything to focus on, her eyes revealed how torn she was.

“Okay,” she said as if the word were a curse, waving one hand in surrender. “I’m used to treating injured folks back at our house. But just so we’re clear on something, I’m not coming along because I wanna save her. I figure I’m safer sticking with the lot of you than going back to town alone.”

“Good enough,” D replied in a tone that suggested there was nothing good about it at all, and then he squatted beside Stanza. As she was face down, he rolled her onto her back and unfastened her armored chest piece. He then pulled up the shirt beneath it.

“What . . . are you . . . doing? Stop . . . it!” Stanza said, with nothing save a flimsy brassiere to secure her bloodstained and ample breasts.

“Hold it right there! I’ll handle this.”

Ignoring Irene’s flustered protests, D removed the undergarment. The woman’s bosoms spilled free. The bullet had entered at the base of Stanza’s left breast. The flesh had already closed around it.

Irene wore an expression that seemed to curse the Hunter as a pervert, but then her features stiffened when she looked at D’s profile.

The thumb and forefinger of his left hand probed the wound. Stanza twitched.

“This will hurt a bit. You can cry out if you want.”

Opening her eyelids a crack, she said, “You must be . . . joking.”

The girl and the warrior both watched as D’s fingers sank into the wound.

Stanza’s face twisted with the terrible pain. Actually, the agony shattered it. Her eyes, nose, and mouth were distended into inhuman shapes, and a series of spasms jolted through her body.

Irene simply stared at D’s pale visage. Her body wouldn’t move. It was as if someone far stronger was in her head, commanding her to train her eyes on D. To watch a man who could lay bare the chest of a writhing, bloodied woman and cruelly jam two fingers into a wound without raising an eyebrow . . .

He’s not human, she thought. No, a man that cold and beautiful couldn’t be human. I’m witness to something here that’s not of this world. That’s why I don’t need to cover my ears or shut my eyes. Even the stench of the blood isn’t making me sick. That unearthly beauty trumps everything else in this world.

Stanza stopped moving for a second, let out a little sigh, and then twisted her body again. D’s fingers had started to come back out. A startling amount of blood spilled from Stanza’s mouth, clinging to her chin and chest. Nevertheless, she didn’t make a sound. Irene wondered if the agony had been so bad the woman had bitten her own tongue off.

D’s fingers slipped out of the wound. Between them, he held a huge lead slug. Naturally, it was covered with blood. Setting it down by his feet, D said, “You didn’t need to cry out, did you?”

Though his tone was still cold, Irene widened her eyes. She detected a certain emotion in his words. Something resembling praise.

Without another word, D put his left hand over Stanza’s mouth.

Shaking violently, Stanza was about to spit up more blood when the strength suddenly drained from her body. Was she dead? As if this were what she’d been waiting for, peace returned to her pain-wracked features. It was almost as if D’s left hand had poured some miracle drug into her.

The Hunter’s left hand was quickly pressed against the wound on her breast. In the span of two breaths it came away again, and Irene heard both herself and Strider gasp in astonishment. Though the woman was still covered with blood, no scar or any hint of the wound remained.

—

II

—

Evening came. Spotting a service area to the right of the highway, D turned his cyborg horse in that direction. Ordinarily, dhampirs operated better at night than by day. On his own, D might’ve charged ahead and covered more of the distance to the abandoned castle, but with the lowly humans along that wasn’t an option.

Up until now, he’d ignored their wishes. All of them were riding on a single steed: Irene sat in front of D, Strider behind him, and Stanza was over his shoulder. As they galloped along, Irene’s and Strider’s asses had taken the bumps right through the bare back of the beast, with the wounded Strider in particular letting out a constant stream of cries of pain and invectives.

“Come on! Patch my wound up, too,” he pleaded with D, but the Hunter didn’t glance at him or even bother to tell the warrior to tough it out. The bleeding had been stanched by the first-aid kit the warrior always carried, but the bullet was still inside him. Though removing it himself wasn’t out of the question, D hadn’t given Strider time enough to do even that.

“Damn it, is this supposed to be some new kind of abuse or something?” the warrior grumbled, but his scornful gaze grew hazy and his mind was starting to slip by the time they reached the service area.

Actually, the service area was no more than a single building—a farmhouse that’d been converted into a combined cafeteria and lodgings, as the proprietor’s main occupation was farming. In a manner of speaking, it was a flophouse.

As expected, the interior had been laid waste. According to Irene, it was run by a family of seven, but not one of them was anywhere to be seen. As proof that they hadn’t fled, their wagon remained out back.

“I wonder what could’ve happened to them all?” Irene said.

No one answered her.

D set Stanza down on a sofa in the living room. Then he went to check out the rest of the house.

“A brat and two gimps—those are some real special traveling companions,” the hoarse voice jeered.

“Never mind them,” the Hunter replied. “What happened to that torrent of malice?”

“Oh, that? I thought it was gonna blow sky high, but it seems to have calmed down. That energy is a collection of hate, but it also has a will. I’m sure it despises all of you and the supernatural soldiers, too.”

“It’s biding its time, then?”

“Probably—it’ll wait for the perfect opportunity to kill us all. That thing’s trouble. It’s flowing around beneath our feet. It’s ever present. It’d be safe to say it’s wise to everything we do.”

“Industrious, isn’t it?”

“You can say that again,” the hoarse voice said, laughing haughtily.

After checking the house from attic to basement, D went outside. There was a barn out back. A deep blue tinged the air. To all appearances, it was the epitome of a peaceful evening.

D suddenly halted.

A sandbox had been set up in one corner of the yard, and in it lay a plastic pail and shovel. Nearby sat a child’s tricycle.

“Guess they’re gone now,” the hoarse voice said. “And they’re never gonna get to play in that sandbox again.”

Saying nothing, D turned to face the barn. It had big wooden doors that opened out from the middle, and they now stood open about a foot.

Right in front of the doors, the hoarse voice said, “Hmm.”

Opening the left side, D slipped inside.

After he’d gone three paces, a voice told him, “Okay, freeze!” It’d called down to him from the barn’s loft. A long ladder stretched up from the ground. Beside it stood a tall man, his old-fashioned repeating rifle trained on the Hunter.

“Zack Morrowbak?” D asked.

The man’s expression changed. “You’re a bounty hunter, ain’t you? Well, I’m gonna kill you dead, fucker!”

Flames of murderous lust clung to every inch of the man.

“Don’t do it, Zack,” called out a voice at ground level—from the far end of the barn. Beside the wagon, a bearded man stepped out with a crossbow leveled. He was around forty, older than Morrowbak.

“Yuri Tataika,” D said.

“My, it’s an honor having a looker like you say my name. Now, Zack, don’t you go looking at his face, you hear?”

“I hear that,” the other man responded in a rough voice, but it was already too late—his words carried a ring of intoxication.

“There’s one more of you, isn’t there?” D said, his eyes peering past the wagon where Yuri was standing.

“No, make that two.”

With that, a middle-aged man appeared from behind the wagon, a longsword on his hip. In his hand he held a knife. The tip of it was pressed against Irene’s pale cheek, drawing a trickle of red.

“Seems the little lady here was looking for something, D,” the third man said to the Hunter.

Though this was the same person who’d brutally cut down men and women back at the bank, oddly enough there wasn’t an iota of killing lust about him. Even his tone was that of an ordinary man.

“My name is Zenon. I may not be as famous as you, but some folks have heard of me.”

“You were a Hunter of Nobility,” D said in a voice like moonlight. Undoubtedly his sighs would be like the dust the Sandman scattered. “But now you’re known as a bank robber.”

A terrible sadness colored Zenon’s face. “We can discuss that later. There’s something I’d like to ask you.”

“We’ve nothing to discuss,” D said firmly. “Let the girl go.”

“How about joining forces with me?” asked Zenon. His tone was sincere. “As things stand, we’re pinned down. But if we had you along, it’d be a great help.”

“Because you think a dhampir is bound to know about the mercenaries the Nobles made?”

“That’s right,” Zenon said, nodding bashfully.

“More than me, it’s the girl you need. She knows shortcuts and things like that.”

“In that case, you’ll need her too. Let’s work together.”

“What are you asking him like that for, Zenon? I’ll blow one of his arms off, and then he’ll listen to whatever you have to say!” Zack shouted from the loft.

He was clearly mentally unstable. Quick tempered, wild, and impatient, he’d lived the kind of life those things embodied, and ultimately it was that which had brought him into contact with D.

“Simmer down, Zack.”

It wasn’t Zenon that cautioned the rifleman, but rather the man beside him—Yuri Tataika. While not as composed as Zenon, he still remained level headed.

“How in blazes are we supposed to keep cool at a time like this? We’ve got freaking monsters in front of us and behind us! There’s no way in hell of telling when they’ll attack. Now our ace in the hole, Zenon, isn’t worth shit. And to top it all off, we’ve got a party after us.”

“They’re in the same boat we are. Can’t you see that’s why Zenon’s saying we should join forces for the time being?”

“Shut your pie hole! What are you gonna do if they stab us in the back while we’re shaking their hands? Hell, I’ve see the kind of shit bounty hunters pull!”

The finger he had wrapped around the trigger was pulled back as far as it could go.

“Zack!”

The man being addressed simply went ahead and took things to the next level. Screaming like a lunatic, he pulled the trigger—but never finished. As he was shouting, Yuri had fired his crossbow at Zack. Bursting through the floor without losing any of its force, the arrow pierced Zack through the heart and came out his back. Even after the arrow had gone through him, the man’s impetus carried him forward. Like a marathon runner breasting the tape across the finish line, he sailed down to the ground. By the time he landed, he’d already breathed his last.

Letting out a sigh, Zenon said, “Now, I’m not asking you to trust us just because of that, but you’ve got to know we’re talking straight with you.”

“Let the girl go.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Zenon pulled the knife away. Irene ran from him, circling around behind D.

“I went looking for some medicine for Stanza. And then . . .”

“Go back to the others.”

Glaring at D as if he were a cold-hearted beast, the girl began to back away.

After hearing her walk out the door, D asked, “So, what’s this talk of joining forces?”

Relief skimmed across Zenon’s face.

“You’re probably here to bring us in, but we know full well the death penalty’s waiting for us. Sorry, but we’re not going back. All we can do is run. Up ahead, though, the whole area is crawling with monsters. To be honest, we couldn’t cut our way through them on our own. And then along comes you. As soon as I saw your face, I thought to myself, God must really like me. What do you say to going to the ruins with us? The freaking mercenaries won’t go into their boss’s castle unless they’re summoned. Then all we have to do is wait until help arrives from the Capital. See, that’s where me and mine will just disappear in the confusion.”

“You’d only be in the way.”

“What?”

“Two of my companions are already injured. I have no intention of picking up any more baggage.”

“Well, we’re capable of taking care of ourselves.”

“Then just go. After you leave the bank’s money, that is.”

Zenon’s expression became that of a completely different person.

“The job I took was to rescue anyone who might’ve taken shelter in the ruins. Since the supernatural soldiers have returned, their master probably lives again, too. As far as you folks are concerned, I was asked to take you down if possible and get the money back. There’s no need for us to fight.”

Zenon closed his eyes.

The hoarse voice was heard to say, “Oh, what have we here?”

His eyes still shut, Zenon said, “Well, I beg to differ.”

“Zenon?”

D dashed forward, the wind swirling in his wake. Light limned an iridescent arc. From the very start, D hadn’t needed these outlaws. His blade zipped toward the top of Zenon’s head. Impossibly, the sword was parried! When did the outlaw draw? And when did he position his sword?

Biting into the blade Zenon held up over his head, D’s sword wouldn’t move. Zenon grinned. D’s eyes gleamed. Not only were the two blades locked in combat, but the minds of the men were as well.

D pushed. Zenon pushed back. As they vied for supremacy, their power reached its zenith. Just then, D’s sword broke. The parrying sword became a blade of death, making a diagonal slash at D.

D leapt back. The tip of Zenon’s blade missed him by a hair—or so it appeared, but was that a trick of the light? In defiance of the laws of physics, the steely flash stretched . . . toward D’s shoulder. The fresh blood that gushed out was no illusion.

On landing, D saw something: the caped Zenon leaping above his head. How would D parry that?

—

III

—

A harsh sound ripped through the twilight. Reversing his blade, Zenon shot a glance at what he’d just batted down, then immediately looked at his side. An iron arrow was stuck in the ground by his feet, next to Yuri—the one who’d fired it.

“You trying to screw with me?” Zenon asked, and his voice had a ring of intoxication to it.

“No!” Yuri exclaimed in fear-fraught denial. “That’s not what I wanted to do. I was just following your orders.”

“My orders?”

“Yeah, though it looks like you might not remember them.”

“Yes, you’re right.” Zenon’s body suddenly grew uneasy. “I don’t remember.”

His sword limned an arc larger than itself as he swung it up toward the loft. There was a low groan, and the sound of flesh and bone being rent. Bisected at the waist, a figure fell to the ground with a bloody spray.

“Be careful—he came from above!” Yuri said, the steel string of his crossbow snapping into action. All five of the figures who’d smashed through the windows in the loft and were charging forward were then sent flying. They looked like skewered dolls.

The roof shattered. More figures rained down, along with pieces of solar panels. A number of the soldiers were sliced in two in midair by gleaming arcs, while others split in half the instant they reached the ground.

D had already leapt from the barn. As he cut across the yard, he grabbed a mattock from the ground and snapped off its iron head. He was left with a pole a little over two feet long.

Figures in gray flew down from the roof of the main house. They held pipes in their mouths.

Without seeming to move at all, D dodged the darts that flew silently at him. He thrust the pole straight out. The instant he caved one figure’s face in, he then swung his weapon around to catch five more. The force of the blows was like the impact of a sledgehammer. The figures in gray were brutally ripped apart.

Untouched by the swirling vermilion fog, D entered the main house. From his left, his right, and up ahead blow darts flew at him. The silent weapons were batted down by a single swing of D’s pole. Not giving them time for a second volley, he leapt, swinging the pole as he landed. The three supernatural soldiers were helpless as he smashed in their skulls or pierced their throats. D knew no mercy.

The Hunter bounded into the living room.

“D?” Strider said, turning where he stood in front of the sofa with a naked blade in one hand. Not only was his chest covered with blood, but his face as well. Seeing the Hunter, he planted the end of his longsword in the floor and leaned on it. A sigh of relief escaped him.

“What about the other two?” D asked.

“Stanza’s back behind the sofa. I haven’t the faintest clue about the girl. I heard voices out back, but that was all.”

“You screwed up,” the hoarse voice said. D shouldn’t have let her leave the barn.

“Time to clear out.”

Pushing the sofa over, D pressed the palm of his left hand against the nape of Stanza’s neck. A violent shudder went through her for a second, and then Stanza opened her eyes.

“D?”

“We’re surrounded. We’ll make a break for it.”

“Okay.”

Clinging to the sofa, Stanza pulled herself up. D didn’t offer to help her, and Stanza made no request for his aid. He didn’t even ask her if she could stand.

Footsteps could be heard approaching from the back door. Strider braced himself for action.

Zenon appeared, saying, “I took care of the barn and the backyard.”

He was back to his normal self.

“Whatever was possessing him has passed,” the hoarse voice said sarcastically.

“This is Strider and Stanza. They’re with me. They’re warriors,” D said by way of introduction. “As for these two—well, you know who they are, don’t you?”

“He’s Yuri Tataika, isn’t he?” Stanza said frostily.

“And the other one—yeah, I remember seeing a wanted poster for him. Zenon something or other, right?” Strider said, his voice tinged with tension and delight. His probing look became one of suspicion.

“Zack Morrowbak was killed by his friends,” said D. Ignoring the ever more suspicious looks from Strider, D told Zenon, “I have no intention of joining up with you. If you choose to follow us, that’s your business.”

The two outlaws nodded. The situation D described would leave them free to stick a knife in his back, but they knew he wasn’t the sort of young man to worry about something like that.

“Go upstairs and see what’s going on outside,” Zenon ordered Yuri.

Without a word of complaint, the crossbowman headed for the stairs.

“Now that they know we’re not pushovers, they’ll probably get to work on a plan, so we don’t have time to just hang around doing nothing. Let’s hit the road real quick. Right now, they’ll still be scattered.”

“Without any horses?” Stanza protested.

“Hell, we’ll take the family’s ride,” said Strider. “You know, the longer we flap our gums about this, the more time they’ll have to tighten their defenses!”

“Their wagon has an engine,” Zenon said. “We can put boards all around the sides to keep out the blow darts. It’ll be crude, but it might be worth a try.”

“Forget it.”

They all turned in the direction from which the voice had come. Yuri was coming down from the second floor. His body was shrouded in a white fog . . . smoke. White smoke was pouring from Yuri’s body.

“They took to the freaking air. I opened the window, and out of the blue . . .”

They could all see the blow dart stuck in Yuri.

“Damn, I’m hot! It’s gonna burn me right down to the bone. They’ve got you surrounded. You guys . . . better . . . watch it . . .”

A second later, flames enveloped Yuri from head to toe and he fell to the floor. On striking it, he crumbled into fine ash.

“Poison darts?” Strider groaned.

“You mean to tell me that from the very beginning . . . ?” Stanza said, her voice tainted with fright.

They’d been lucky.

There were faint raps against the wall. It was as if hail or something like it had begun to fall. Except the roof was silent—it wasn’t falling from the sky.

“Blow darts,” Zenon said, looking all around. White smoke was beginning to billow from the wall.

“Seems like they work on more than just living things. I don’t know if even a boarded-up wagon would do much good.”

“What’ll we do, D?”

Their eyes all focused on the young man in black. He had kept his own eyes shut. And then he looked up.

“You got a plan?” Strider asked, leaning closer.

“I’ll tell you something,” D said. His response startled them, because the words had been delivered by a hoarse voice. “God will deliver us.”

“What?”

“Our salvation is in heaven above, friends.”

They all looked up. Less than ten seconds later their eyes were back down and glaring at D, but another three seconds after that, the roof ripped open and something dropped from the raised ceiling. It was a brass communication capsule.

At this point, everyone but D first noticed the sound of an engine in the sky above.

Moving swiftly, D pulled the communication capsule from where it’d lodged in the wall by the stairs. At one end it tapered for eight inches like the tip of a harpoon. Twisting the other end opened it. Inside was a single piece of paper. As D opened it, three other pairs of eyes were trained on its surface. All of them had run over to him.

The contents were simple. Scrawled on it were the words, Leave it to me! The note wasn’t even signed.

Stanza coughed. Strider followed suit. The poison that was melting away the walls also had a gas component.

The ground shook. Part of the wall and ceiling caved in. It was immediately apparent what was happening. At least three of them had recently had a similar experience.

“Bombs!”

D could feel the incredible turbulence being generated outside. Those he’d sensed surrounding the house now scattered in shock.

“Here we go!” the Hunter called out, heading for the fallen wall. This was their nearest means of egress. He didn’t so much as spare a glance at the pair of warriors writhing in pain. The young man didn’t feel even a trace of fellowship with them. But then, that was understandable. They weren’t as gorgeous as D.

D never stopped until he was out of the house. Mortar-shaped craters had been left across the site and on the highway. Darkness held sway. There wasn’t a supernatural soldier to be seen anywhere.

Sparks shot up on the far side of the road. After they lent a reddish tinge to D’s face, there was a roar. Footsteps halted behind him, followed by a succession of coughs. Apparently everyone had managed to escape.

“Seems they’re on our side,” Zenon said to the Hunter.

D nodded. “There’s only the sound of one engine. Can’t be the military or a private defense unit.”

“Well, we’ll see soon enough.”

Just as Zenon spoke, there was the hum of an engine, and an object that called to mind a thick slice of ham came flying from the direction of the explosions. It was about six and a half feet in diameter and ringed by a metal handrail. It landed on the road five yards from D and the others. Judging from the way it kicked up dust and pebbles, it apparently had an engine and fan at its base.

The craft was now facing them. The figure atop it dropped the yoke-style controls and extended a set of stairs off the right side before stepping down to the ground. With what appeared to be a heavy machine gun under one arm, he came toward them. Something like a long ribbon hung from the bottom of the gun and trailed across the ground. It was an ammo belt for the machine gun.

“How’s tricks, everyone?” the man who halted before the group asked in an unguarded manner, but D alone recognized him. It was Beatrice, known for his husky voice, wild beard, and gigantic stature.