“Likely.” Sucking on his cheek, Rutger nodded. “But not certain. Our biotechie will verify. But if you’re not a beaster like us, what are you?”
“And what areyou?” It hurt to be excluded, felt as if he’d poked at a wound she never knew she had. Why should it matter when it was beginning to look like they didn’t know what they were either?
The light caress of Vargr’s hand and thumb across the back of her neck made her shiver. The biting tension drained away. Already, this man knew her too well. “Don’t know about you, Ruttie, but I’m made of fuckin’ sugar and spice.”
“Call me Ruttie again and…” Rutger’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll kiss you.”
Vargr burst into laughter and reached over to slap the other beaster’s shoulder. “Best threat, ever!”
“Good.”
“There’s something I get to tell you all. I’ve seen thatMAELSTROMtag before. It’s tattooed on Cyn’s neck, here.” His fingers tapped her skin. “Want to show them?”
“No. I can take your word for it. So will they.” She was no exhibit. Though she’d look in the first mirror they found.
“T’s crossed and I’s dotted then,” Maura mused. “She’s maelstrom. If only we could find this Big Daddy.”
The beasters fell into discussing whether the biotechie or a weaponsmith could manage to download the data from Little Mo and figure out the location of Big Daddy. It might be a store of all sorts of info. They tipped Little Mo upside down and prodded it, making his eye lights go crazy with the blinking.
She figured the little critter had some sort of simulated feelings. Maybe it was annoyed? Maybe scared? When they released it, Little Mo scuttled over and tucked itself behind herankle. All their talking accomplished nothing, so she dragged a roll of bedding into a spot about the fire and snuggled in to sleep. From the prods and the weight settling on her blanket, Little Mo had settled on the edge.
They should’ve asked Maura some of those other questions…
When we get to the Worshipper place, yes.
She woke,muzzy-headed and with something hard pressing on her chest. Lights danced. Red. Lights.
“Little Mo?”
It’d been saying something.
“Enemies approaching! Multiple sensors show the approach of the creatures called stinkers!”
“Shit!” She sat up, swaying, not sure which way was up and slapped her hand on the floor. Little Mo slid off her chest to the side and into the bedding. “Stinkers are coming! Wake up! It’s an attack!”
To her left and right, two already alert guards swung up their rifles and everyone else leaped from their sleeping bags and found weapons—rifles, pistols, knives, and in her case, once she groggily ran to where she’d left it, a broom. They hadn’t trusted her with a gun, and she might just regret that by the end of this.
Abruptly, the ceiling and floor of the adjacent train tunnel were alive with stinkers. Their legs were stomping. They were a clockwork army of white spiders, their limbs composed of skinny triangles. As they ran, they made a skritching, clacking sound and they smelled rotten, enough to make Cyn wish her nose would stop working.
Guns began firing and she instinctively ducked as Vargr’s pistol went off to her left. He was up, standing bare-chested withhis arm extended as he picked off stinkers. Muzzle flashes and the bang of the guns firing seemed to rock the space. When hit the stinkers dropped and writhed or spun. From behind them a new threat entered, sprinting and firing the strange guns that shot blue bolts. Ghoul guards. The air cindered with ozone.
Rutger and Vargr switched aim to the human ghoul-guards and two dropped instantly, spewing blood and chunks of flesh as the big ammo rounds did their gruesome work. The sweet stench of blood mingled with the burning and the strange foulness. Though she was gagging, a stinker that jumped at her fell victim to the bad end of the broom. The timber shaft thunked into the creature and out, spurting liquids. With a flick of the wrist and arm, she flung it into the distant wall.
One down.
Her head was thumping but she wiped her eyes with her forearm and took a step, watching as more gunshots took out stinkers and one of the beaster foot-soldiers was swarmed and stabbed with those horrible sharp legs.
The crunch and wet noises sickened her more.
Orm and Toother were busy fighting off a separate horde, tearing along in a short path and throwing them airwards, with Toother crunching them and tearing them into pieces. Then they charged again. More stinkers swarmed up the nanodog’s side.
A ghoul guard far to the left was pounded by several shots. He spun and sprawled on the floor then fled, limping, back into the tunnel. Overwhelmed by the last of the tide of stinkers, the others were distracted. A weaponless ghoul guard ran at her, his eyes flaring white, one arm limp and dangling, his mouth snarling. As he leaped, his good arm clawed the air.
But… she’d grounded the broomy end of the broom, planted her feet, rock-steady, and raised the point.
The broom proved worthy. He skewered himself in the very middle. The shaft kept going for a whole foot, and his dirtyshirt was shoved into his innards below his sternum. Though one knife-carrying hand swiped at her, she dodged, dropping the broom to side-step and kick at his gut. He screamed and wriggled, caught on her make-shift spear.
Luckily, before bedtime, she’d sharpened the end using Vargr’s knife.
