Called, p.16
Called, page 16
part #2 of The Grey Gates Series
It probably hadn’t occurred to the council members in their city suits that none of the Marshals, at least, were here because of the council’s order or because the city dwellers were furious that they couldn’t drive their cars as much as they wanted. No, the Marshals were here because the city needed the fuel. Even with strict rationing, and the advances being made in alternative fuel-sources, a lot of critical infrastructure still needed old-fashioned oil for power and the city’s reserves were dwindling. The Marshals wanted the radio towers to keep working, to allow easy communication, to keep the power stations working so that the lights stayed on and the taps kept running with fresh water, among other things.
Max wasn’t sure how many council members were aware of just how fragile the city’s infrastructure was. Their primary concern seemed to have been the protests and the possibility of them being voted out at the next election. They wanted to look good to the population and let them fill their cars for pointless journeys. None of the council members were ready to face the hard truth that they needed to find a way of not relying on oil.
Right now, though, oil was needed. And for some outlying homes, like Max’s own house, heating oil was also required. She remembered struggling to get the tank filled last winter, when there hadn’t been any shortages. This year was going to be worse. She had used some of her recovery time to phone around various contractors. No one wanted to come to her house, so close to the Wild, even if they had fuel to sell her. She’d been forced to rely on her back-up electric generator for hot showers for the past few days, but that wasn’t a long-term solution, and didn’t help heat the house. Winter was on its way.
Another bounce focused her on the here-and-now. The truck slid sideways, the driver cursing as he wrestled it back onto the track.
“It’ll be easier coming back,” he said. “The weight will help.” He was an older human man, and from his mannerisms Max could tell he knew what he was doing. He might be barely as tall as her shoulder, but he was made of lean muscle and intense focus, similar to many of other drivers. No one wanted inexperienced or easily frightened drivers for this convoy. The one less-experienced driver, a woman about Max’s age who looked like she would single-handedly take on anything that came at her, was in the vehicle behind Max’s, and all the other drivers had been keeping a check on her without trying to make it too obvious that was what they were doing.
As the truck bounced back onto the path, Max hoped he was right and the return journey would be smoother. Not only was the constant jolting aggravating her wound, but the unsteady movement was making her feel queasy.
A large shadow moving in the trees near her made her sit up, lifting the shotgun and grabbing the radio handset from the console.
“This is truck five. I’ve got movement in the trees to the left. Anyone else see that?” she asked. It was an open line, meaning everyone could hear her and she could hear everyone else.
“This is Vanko on truck six. I see it too. Can’t tell what it is yet.” Vanko and Zoya were manning the guns on the roof of the truck behind Max.
“Truck seven. We see something. No idea what it is either,” an unfamiliar voice came in. Probably one of the law enforcement personnel on that truck.
“On the right,” came over the radio. The voice was high-pitched, and Max didn’t recognise it.
“This is truck seven,” the unfamiliar voice said again, calm and firm. “Simmons, get a grip. Where on the right?”
“Sorry. Truck four,” the high-pitched voice said.
Max glanced to her right, and saw another shadow moving. Through the trees, she couldn’t make out what it was, only that it was big, and keeping pace with the trucks. She checked that the bag of spare ammunition was still in place, hung from the vehicle dashboard in front of her, its mouth open to allow her easy access to reload.
“What the heck is that?” came another stranger’s voice over the radio.
“This is truck one.” Faddei’s voice was clear and firm. “No chatter. Business only.”
Max could hear the tension in his voice, and knew he would be frustrated that the threat, if it was a threat, was behind him where he couldn’t do anything about it.
She shifted in her seat, her leg protesting as she tried to put her weight on it to give her a better position to brace for firing the shotgun. She muttered a curse, lost in the noise of the vehicle engines.
The whatever-it-was in the trees on the left side was closer now. She had a fleeting impression of a humanoid shape with broad, malformed shoulders and long, ragged hair, its head far higher than the roof of the tankers. She cursed again, more loudly, and grabbed the radio again.
“Truck five. The thing on the left looks like a full-grown Behemoth,” she said. Despite Faddei’s reminder to stick to business, she heard curses over the radio.
“Truck one here. Any update on the thing on the right?” Faddei asked.
“Truck four. No. There’s still a shadow. Can’t tell what it is.” The high-pitched voice was fractionally calmer, then lost composure completely as it added: “A Behemoth, really?”
“Truck six here. Behemoth on the left confirmed. Another Behemoth on the right. Sighting confirmed,” Vanko’s voice was steady, a much-needed dose of calm for the non-Marshals. Max would bet that the other Marshals were, like her, mentally reviewing everything they knew about Behemoths and possibly also wondering just how many tranquilliser rounds would be needed to take down such a large creature.
“This is Bryce on truck ten. Reminder: do not fire unless they attack.” The voice cut through more curses, speaking with the same authority as Faddei. The senior member of the Order’s warriors. Bryce was right at the back of the convoy. Despite the gossip and speculation Max had overheard when they had all been setting up that morning, she didn’t think the separation of Faddei and Bryce was because they wanted to be as far apart as possible. Rather, it was because they each recognised the other as a leader of their people and it made logical sense to have the front and back of the convoy manned by experienced people.
There were more mutterings through the radios, too indistinct for Max to catch, but no one fired.
Her palms were damp on the shotgun’s grip as she held it ready, straining her eyes to the left and then the right, trying to keep track of the Behemoths. She had never seen them before, only heard rumours and sat through more than one of Raymund’s lectures on the creatures. The Marshal’s lead researcher on supernatural creatures had a vast wealth of knowledge and enthusiasm for his subject that often led to him being carried away. Very few people interrupted, though. The information that Raymund Robart gave them had saved lives more than once.
Max briefly closed her eyes, trying to recall Raymund’s lecture on Behemoths. It had been quite some time ago. Even as she tried to remember their behaviour patterns and weak spots, another voice cut across the radio.
“Truck nine. We have something else on our right.” The voice was terse. One of the human law enforcement agents. They were more accustomed to dealing with violent humans than supernatural predators, but they were also the best trained of anyone outside the Order warriors and Marshals.
“Truck ten. I see it. Looks like another Behemoth,” Bryce’s voice cut through more rounds of curses.
From behind Max, in the cabin of the truck, she heard a quiet whimper. One of the scientists, she thought. Probably regretting their decision to join this convoy, however excited they had been to get into the Wild and explore.
There was no time to reassure them, and no reassurance that she could honestly give. One Behemoth would be difficult enough to deal with, but it seemed as if they had three. A family group? Max frowned as she tried to remember what Raymund had said. Something about nests and territory and young. She made another grab for the radio, almost losing hold of her shotgun.
“Truck five to truck one,” she said, “have you seen a nesting site ahead of us?”
“Truck one. Nothing so far. Why?” Faddei asked.
“Truck five here. Didn’t Raymund say something about Behemoths having transient nesting sites and defending them? I’m wondering if we’ve strayed into their new territory,” Max said. She heard some muttered agreement over the open radio, other Marshals confirming what she had remembered.
“Truck one. All stop. I repeat. All stop,” Faddei said. “Dog handlers out of the trucks, everyone else stay put and keep watch. And no firing unless we’re attacked.”
Dog handlers included her. Cas and Pol had been disgusted at the idea of riding in the truck’s cabin. They were somewhere on the roof, having managed to scramble up the ladders put there for the humans, no doubt having a grand old time with the fresh scents and sights of the Wild around them. As the truck drew to a halt, Max gathered her ammunition bag, slinging it across her body. She picked up the portable radio unit and clipped it to her belt, then turned to the driver.
“There are still two people with heavy guns on the roof,” she reminded him. “Keep the windows and doors shut until I get back.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, nose wrinkling as he looked across her into the forest. There were enormous shadows in the trees on either side of them. More than three, Max thought.
She got out of the truck, grateful for the iron steps to help her manage the distance to the ground, and looked up at the cabin roof. Cas and Pol were leaning over, looking at her, eyes bright, tongues out, looking for all the world like overgrown lap dogs rather than the superb predators they were.
“Come on, we’re needed,” she said, settling the radio earpiece in place. Her dogs slid down the side of the truck, ignoring the steps. She could only hope they didn’t scrape the paintwork too badly on their way down. Once on the forest floor, they bounced in place. Happy to be off the truck, and happy at the prospect of working. They were absolutely silent, though, eyes travelling to either side and the great shadows in the giant trees around them.
“Dog handlers, comms check.” Faddei’s voice sounded in her ear. Far clearer and louder than over the radio.
“Max here,” she responded.
“Aurora here.” Max would know that deep, warm voice anywhere. Aurora and her partner Ben had helped Max train Cas and Pol, and had a pack of shadow-hounds of their own. Despite the circumstances, it had been a welcome surprise to see both of them earlier.
“Ben here.” Ben’s voice was lighter than his wife’s, but still full of warmth.
“Sirius here.” The one that Max didn’t know as well. Aurora and Ben had brought him along. The small, slender, dark-skinned man had been quiet, but his hounds were devoted to him, and that was usually a good sign in Max’s experience.
“All present, good,” Faddei said. “Can everyone move to the front of the convoy and keep an eye out for nesting activity?”
“I’ve got more shadows in the forest around me,” Max said, beginning to walk forward. Cas and Pol came with her. As far as she could tell, the Behemoth shadows stayed where they were.
“Me too,” Aurora’s voice confirmed.
“Ay, here too,” Ben’s voice followed.
Faddei spat a curse that had Max raising her eyebrows, and drew a spurt of laughter out of the others.
“Your grandmother did what, old man?” Aurora asked, still chuckling.
“Never you mind,” Faddei said, laughter clear in his voice. “Positions, please.”
“I’m just past truck two,” Aurora answered.
“Right behind you,” Ben said.
“Just at truck three,” Sirius said.
“Just passing truck four,” Max said, glancing up at the cabin high above her as she made her way around the vehicle. There was a big black number 4 on the cabin’s side, and there would be one on the top of the tanker, too, in case anyone needed to try to find them by air.
She saw a pale face peering down from the top of the cabin, a tight expression suggesting that the gunner was holding his nerve, but only just. That must be Simmons. She remembered him from the briefing that had been held before dawn that morning. A heavily muscled human man somewhere in his early forties, he had been confident and sure of himself. All his confidence seemed to have gone. She didn’t blame him. The Wild had a habit of affecting even the bravest and best-trained fighters. So she gave him a brief nod, one warrior to another, and got a terse nod in response, but saw his shoulders relax a fraction. She wondered who else was on the roof with him, and hoped they would keep each other calm.
“Which side of the convoy are you on, Max?” Faddei asked.
“Left side,” she answered. “Do you want me to move?”
“No. I can see Ben and Sirius on the right. Any movement from our guests?”
“Nothing,” Max confirmed. “They stopped when we did.”
“That’s something, at least,” Faddei grunted.
Max silently agreed, and sent up a prayer to the Lady that the Behemoths would stay quiet and still and out of the way, and that the convoy wasn’t heading straight for a new nest. Based on the briefing they had been given, and the rough map she had been trying to follow, she thought they were still a good hour’s journey from the oil field. And that assumed that they could follow the old road. If they had to divert around a Behemoth nest and hack a new path through the Wild it could take them another day to get there, which would mean travelling overnight through the Wild. Even though she was sure that some of the law enforcement team would have night-vision lenses, trying to move at night would make them far more vulnerable to the supernatural predators that tended to hunt at night and were perfectly adapted to their environment, unlike the ungainly trucks and their passengers.
Her vision shifted, another perspective overlaying hers, the world going black-and-white, then shades of red for a moment, one area to her left lighting up like a beacon. She muttered a curse, stumbling as she tried to keep her balance.
“What’s up, Max?” Faddei asked.
“Sorry. I tripped,” she said through stiff lips, heat scorching her face. She hated to admit a weakness. They needed her dogs, not her. If it hadn’t been for Cas and Pol, she would still be back at the Marshals’ offices and not out here.
Faddei said nothing, which was almost worse than if he had tried to reassure her or even criticise her for being clumsy. He was missing the lower part of one leg and fingers from one hand, and he was still managing to move through the forest, she reminded herself, biting her lip to hold in a sigh.
The Behemoth to her left shifted position slightly. She stopped, Cas and Pol halting with her. Through the trees and the dense undergrowth, the enormous creature seemed to be looking straight at her. And behind the Behemoth, further into the forest, she could sense something. Not another Behemoth, as she couldn’t sense them with anything but her eyes, but a tangle of magic and life.
“Faddei, I’m just at the back of truck three. There’s something off in the forest to the left here. Behind the Behemoth. There’s magic there,” she said.
“Can you get a closer look?” Faddei asked.
“I’ll need to break out of the line,” she said, and waited, mouth dry, heart rate picking up. That was not in the plan. They were all supposed to stay in visual contact with at least part of the convoy.
“Go ahead,” he told her. “Aurora, can you go ahead of the convoy a bit, make sure we’re not about to run into anything?”
“Sure can,” Aurora said.
“Leaving the convoy now,” Max said. She took a deep, steadying breath, made sure her dogs were with her, and then took a step off the path the trucks had made and into the Wild.
Chapter seventeen
Between one step and the next, the world changed. The background hum of the truck’s engines, the creak of the vehicles as they settled into place, all vanished and she was swallowed by a silence so profound it roared in her ears. She glanced down, finding Cas and Pol close by, their ears laid back, bodies tucked in closer to the ground. Something had upset her hounds.
The magic she had sensed was a beacon pulling her forward, through head-height bushes with leaves that stuck to her clothing as she ducked under the lowest branches of a young tree, the sapling long and spindly, reaching for the limited light. She moved around the huge expanse of trunk of an ancient tree, its canopy somewhere far, far overhead.
Now that she was out of the noisy metal truck, and off the path that the Chomper and trucks had ripped through the jungle, there should have been life moving around her. The Wild was full of living things, from the plants to the great Behemoths standing close by. It was never quiet. There should be rustling of creatures in the undergrowth, the chatter of primates nearby, branches shifting, wings flapping, leaves stirring in the slight breeze. And her footsteps and her passage through the jungle should also be making a sound. But there was nothing. Just the roaring quiet in her mind.
With nothing for her ears to follow, she had to rely on sight and scent and the feel of the air against her face and hands. There was a dark, earthy smell from something large and warm nearby. Probably the Behemoths. For all their size, they were reputed to be peaceful creatures and almost exclusively vegetarian. Like the Galdr she had encountered at the docks, they had a reputation for being gentle, but could be ferocious when provoked, or when defending their territory.
Her vision lit up in shades of red again between one step and the next. She stopped, shaking her head, trying to clear her sight. She remembered Audhilde’s theory that she was coming into her magic, whatever that meant. But the displacement was still worrying. Max had almost asked for a medical assessment the day before, held back by the new information Audhilde had given her. And the knowledge that if she admitted to another medical problem, Faddei would have practically chained her to a desk until it was thoroughly investigated. So she didn’t want to seek medical help. Not yet. The little bit of information that Audhilde had given her and that she had managed to read suggested the medical profession might not be able to help. She set her jaw as the red shades swirled, regretting her decision to stay quiet, fear making her breath quicken. What if something happened while she was in one of her episodes? It wasn’t just her life at risk out here. Her dogs, and the convoy she had left, were depending on her.
