James Axler: Northstar Rising

"Disgusting, pathetic little thing," Doc observed. "Don't harm it, Ryan."

"Let cut neck?" Jak asked eagerly, still gripping his honed blade.

Ryan reached down and plucked the mutie off his leg, heaving it out of the ring of light into the malodorous darkness. With an expression of disgust he wiped his hands on his pants.

"This redoubt must be sealed off from ordinary light," Krysty said, instinctively moving closer to Ryan. "They've evolved like that because of living in darkness. No hair, big eyes. Feeble."

"Heard of some out in the big Rockies," J.B. said. "Heard they call 'em troggies. Don't know why that is."

"I suspect that it might be an abbreviation for the word troglodyte. One who creeps into a hole. A dweller within caves," Doc offered.

"If there's no light, then there's not a lot of point in going on," Ryan said. "I know they're no threat in a firefight, but I wouldn't like to meet a hundred or so down a dark hallway."

Krysty had stepped away from him, out into the corridor. She stood with her head on one side, listening intently. "Quiet!"

"What?"

She looked at him, her emerald eyes glittering in the half-light. "I just have a feeling, lover, that you're going to meet what you didn't want."

"You mean there's..."

"Hundreds, lover. I can hear them shuffling this way. And I do mean hundreds!"

They could all hear a sibilant bubbling sound, and soon they were able to make out movement in the black corridor.

"Got the firepower to chill 'em all," J.B. said.

Ryan shook his head. "No. No way, folks. If Krysty's right, and there's a hundred or more, we can just about take them all out. But it'll mean using almost every round we got between us. Can't waste bullets on muties like that."

"Not fuckin' gateway again!" Jak exploded. "No. Let's chill 'em."

"You want to go against me, Jak, then go ahead. Want to fight? Okay. The rest of us are leaving."

"Didn't..." the young boy began, his red eyes downcast.

"No time for talk, Jak. Let's go. Drop the sec door and we're safe. Those triple-poor sons of bitches couldn't open it in a year of rest days."

Ryan was last in from the corridor. He glanced out and saw that the nearest of the muties had crept within twenty yards of him. He considered firing a warning shot, then dismissed the idea.

"Lower it. Press two five three. Drop the green lever."

"Drop the door!" he snapped, seeing the muties suddenly rush closer.

Once the entrance was barred, they could at least rest for a few uncomfortable hours before facing another jump.

"Stuck!" the teenager grunted.

"Yeah, it's stuck fast," J.B. agreed, trying to help Jak.

"Fireblast! Cover the corridor, J.B., and I'll try it." The Armorer hefted his Heckler & Koch MP-7 SD-8 and put it onto semiautomatic. Ryan joined Jak, struggling to move the heavy green lever that operated the controls of the sec door.

It moved an inch or two, then they heard the ominous grinding of stripped gears. The door fell about seven inches, then stopped again.

"Once more," Ryan said through gritted teeth, putting everything into a last effort. The lever moved again, but with the doughy softness of a broken mechanism. Ryan stepped away from it. "Coupla bursts, J.B. Then follow us in."

"Not another jump, my dear fellow! I beg you, Ryan, to reconsider. I have the gravest doubts that I shall be able to..."

Doc was interrupted by two triple-round bursts from J.B.'s weapon, the sound effectively muffled by the integral silencer.

"Hasn't slowed them much. Figure if I had a burner-gren it'd keep them back."

Ryan led the others back through the faltering control room to the gateway. The cacophony of the advancing muties was much louder. Their naked skins rustled against one another in the press of bodies, their gobbling, bubbling speech rising into a menacing crescendo.

"Inside," Ryan snapped, pushing the chamber door open. Doc, Krysty and Jak filed in.

"They're coming for real," J.B. called, firing a double burst as he ran. At least one of the bullets ricocheted into a control panel, and two rows of lights went out.

"Come on. Move it, before you wreck the whole joint," Ryan urged.

The slight figure, fedora perched perilously on the back of his head, darted inside the arma-glass walls.

"Could we not hold them off, Ryan?" Doc called plaintively. "A third jump, so devilishly close to the others..."

"No choice," Ryan insisted as he jumped into the chamber and started to close the door.

The hinges were stiff and it moved slowly, giving the mutie in the lead just enough time to slither across the anteroom and throw its body toward the shrinking gap.

Ryan saw it coming, figuring its puny strength could do no harm. The ponderously heavy door slammed shut, triggering the jump mechanism in the defective gateway. And the troggie's arm was trapped in it.

The arm was almost severed at the wrist, and the slightly webbed fingers fluttered and tapped on the nearest metal disk. Blood, virtually colorless, flowed along the side wall.

"Clear the damned door!" Doc croaked as the vaporous gas began to fill the room and the metal plates in the floor and ceiling started to glow.

"It can't get in," Ryan said, slipping to his knees.

"Not the point. Blocks contacts so micros won't properly inter..." The old man's voice was fading away.

Ryan could feel his own mind already slipping from his control. He tried to crawl across the chamber to where the fingers danced, thinking he could still manage to free the severed arm and close the arma-glass door properly.

Someone was pushing him and he heard a single, piercing yelp. "Zorro," he whispered, though his lips had become numb and rubbery.

The lights were painfully bright and he had a sudden, agonizing ache across his temples. Sensation was draining from his extremities as he reached the mutie's hand and tried to move it.

But the mat-trans process had already gone too far.

"Malfunction!"

Ryan couldn't decide if the voice came from Doc Tanner or if it was some doomsday warning from the gateway controls.

"Malfunction," he breathed.

Then the nightmares began.

Jak Lauren wandered through a green-leafed forest. Shafts of summer sunlight darted between the gently swaying branches, dappling the winding path ahead of him.

Every now and again the rich balsam scent of the overhanging pines filled his nostrils. Around him stretched the high, clean meadows, speckled with Indian paintbrush, like speckles of spilled blood. Delicate bear grass, tipped with abundant white lace, nodded along the edges of the trail. Purple asters, harebells and the tiny false Solomon's seal filled his vision.

Somewhere down to his right he caught glimpses of a large lake, crystal clear, with the faint tint of turquoise that whispered melt water. And up the slope to the boy's left was the distant thunder of a high falls, tumbling over starry quartz into a spray-fringed pool.

The animal appeared from nowhere.

A massive silver-tip grizzly sow, with the characteristic hump of muscle across its shoulders, was weaving its head to and fro, and bloody spittle frothed from its muzzle.

An arrow thunked into the bole of a lodgepole pine at Jak's side, a small strip of white parchment tied around it with purple ribbon. Keeping a cautious eye on the bear, the boy unpeeled the paper and read the message.

Yellow cottage, quarter mile behind you. Turn left at lightning-hit live oak.

There was a distant crackle of thunder somewhere over the lake, and the wind was beginning to rise.

Constantly looking over his shoulder, Jak paced out a quarter mile. He gripped the bow in his right hand, an arrow notched and ready to loose. But the silver-tip had vanished.