Weston Ochse - Age of Blood

The creature rose like a Soviet HIND-D helicopter and Walker was all out of antiaircraft missiles. His entire body trembled with the proximity of the creature. He thought back to the time of the Grave Demon and time-shifted forward through every creature he’d ever noticed, some rendering him a weeping shell of a human being.

But those times were long gone.

He’d been practicing.

He brought the magazine filled with SLAP rounds to the Stoner, jammed it upward, and missed. The magazine’s edge caught on the lip of the receiver and slipped from his fingers. He reached out as it began to fall, the universe sinking in his stomach, and watched helplessly as it hit the tip of his fingers and fell to the floor of the tunnel.

Bent over with no ammo, he looked up and saw the terrible visage of the obsidian butterfly. He’d always had a sneaking suspicion that butterflies were up to no good, always holding on to his hand like it was a drummet and they were hungry. Now, confronted with a seven-foot-tall version with Damascus wings, taloned feet, and an alien face, that feeling was reaffirmed. This beast meant him incredible harm and if it got the chance, Walker absolutely knew it would treat his entire body like it was the last drummet at an all-you-can-eat SEAL fest.

He reached for the magazine and almost had it in his hand when the butterfly landed on the lip of the tunnel and brought its wings in tight. Walker had little choice but to dodge away from their deadly edges. He’d seen what they could do.

He straightened a little too quickly and fought for his balance. He stepped back automatically, and that’s what saved him. The obsidian butterfly shoved its left wing toward him as it edged closer. It sliced the air mere inches from his face.

Walker was forced to backpedal. He needed to put distance between him and the creature, whose glowing white eyes appraised him with an unnatural clarity of focus. It dipped its head as it stepped, moving its six-clawed foot forward, then easing the rest of its behind inside the mouth of the tunnel. He was thankful it couldn’t operate freely in the space. Then again, neither could he, and he had nowhere to run.

Then the back of his legs hit something… someone.

Jen!

He grabbed at her and pushed backward, but Hoover stood in his way, the hackles on her neck like a mohawk. Her growl turned into a snarl of warning.

Walker had no choice but to launch both himself and Jen into the air as they dove backwards over Hoover. The ground came up and smacked him and Jen right in their faces. She went limp and he felt his own vision grow dangerously dark. He fought to overcome it.

Hoover was barking madly now.

The obsidian butterfly hissed in response.

Walker found himself alive and awake, and turned to see Hoover make a suicidal dive through the creature’s legs, until she ended up on the other side. Hoover had gotten the creature’s attention, but it might mean her death. There was only ten feet between the creature and the edge of the tunnel. With a sixty-foot drop behind her and the creature in front of her, death awaited the dog from both directions.

Walker made a wild decision. He’d have loved to push Jen through the cave-in where she might be safe, but she was deadweight right now and it would be like trying to shove a wet spaghetti noodle through the eye of a needle. And that wouldn’t do anything to protect Hoover, who was as much a member of the team as any of them. No—he had an idea. What mattered most was staying away from the edges of the creature’s wings and from the vamphyric tongue.

Walker spoke low into his bone-conducting communications device, trying to get the dog’s attention. “Hoover. Hoover, listen. Get rope. Bite rope.”

In the grand tradition of all dogs barking at a giant winged monster, Hoover continued to bark.

“Hoover, get rope .”

The dog actually glanced at the rope curled against the wall by the lip of the tunnel, the same rope Yank had used to descend. But that’s as far as she got. She began barking again, this time even more furiously.

“Jesus Christ on a Big Wheel.” Walker pulled out his SIG Sauer and aimed at the junction where the wing met the torso. He fired four times. The sound was more devastating than the impact and resulted in nothing more than chips flying free.

The obsidian butterfly turned its head. Sideways as it was, it could fend off both Hoover and Walker, but it could only give attention to one of them. It hissed and lurched toward him with its left wing.

Walker dodged its edge, then hammered at it with the butt of his SR-25 Stoner. “Hoover!” he shouted. “Get the fucking rope! Bite the rope! ”

This time Hoover obeyed.

Walker lunged backward as the obsidian butterfly swung its wing at him again. As it did, he stuffed the working end of the Stoner into the strawlike protuberance. Without any rounds, it was as worthless as a spear, so that’s what he’d use it for. The creature gave a muffled squeal and batted its wings, trying to get it out, but the tunnel was too narrow. Walker took the moment to dive beneath the creature. He scraped against the legs, but managed to come up into a standing position on the other side of it.

He hustled Hoover to the edge. They both glanced down to gauge the distance. Hoover seemed to give him an I don’t think this is a good idea look, but Walker ignored it.

“Hold,” he commanded, knowing the dog was trained to follow that command and not let go… or at least hoping the dog would know better than to let go.

Then he grabbed the remainder of the rope and commanded, “Jump.”

Hoover hesitated for only a second, then leaped into the air.

Although they’d tied off the rope to a pinion on the floor of the tunnel, Walker leaned back and held on.

The rope tightened and Hoover slammed into the wall. She held on though, her eyes on Walker, her gleaming white teeth bared in a dog’s wince.

Walker quickly lowered the dog. When Hoover was about ten tunnel, from the floor, Walker began taking fire. He pulled his 9mm free and returned it as best he could, then grabbed the rope and started climbing down after Hoover.

Suddenly the obsidian butterfly dove for him. Walker had no choice but to let go and push off the cliff face, knowing that the mess of metal beneath him would break him into a thousand pieces. Still, it was better than being torn to pieces by the talons of the butterfly.

Just as he started to fall, Walker realized that the obsidian butterfly was hovering in mid-air to watch his demise. The proximity was close enough that Walker was able to reach out and snag one of the roughly ridged, birdlike ankles. He dropped another five feet, but the creature arrested his descent by flapping its wings.

The butterfly flapped its wings as hard as it could and gained a few more feet. It spun several times, trying to dislodge him. Then it climbed even higher.

Walker saw his chance. He swung out and on the forward swing let go at the apex, landing back on the lip of the tunnel.

Hoover regarded him from down below with a What the hell are you doing up there? look.

The butterfly creature spun, not knowing where Walker had gone. Without thinking about it, Walker took two steps back, then ran forward and leaped. As the creature spun, it lost altitude, so Walker fell farther than he’d planned. When he landed on its back, the air was knocked out of his lungs. Even so, somehow he hung on.

The butterfly didn’t like being ridden, didn’t like that Walker’s weight was forcing it inexorably down. It began to buck and shudder, flapping its immense wings as hard as it could. Walker closed his eyes and pressed his face against the cold blackness of the creature’s back. He remembered when he’d fantasized about riding a Pegasus and just pretended he was breaking one in.