He took a long drag. "I've got three Newbies that seem to think you're their leader. Trip, Holly and Albert would follow you anywhere. Whether you know it or not, you're a leader. That's good enough for me. Consider this a promotion."
"But… I'm no leader."
"Yes, you are. I know none of you have a damn clue, so I still want y'all attached with my team. But they answer to you, and they stick with you. No matter what. Do what I tell you and you should be fine." He held out his hand. I shook it. He almost broke my fingers. "Don't screw up."
"I won't let you down, Earl."
He only nodded. Gave my hand one final bone-crushing squeeze, and then moved on, leaving me alone in front of the map. Alone, except for my doubts and uncertainty. I hurried to find my team.
Milo Anderson crashed into me. He excitedly pushed a loaded five-round Saiga magazine into my hand. He had an insane gleam in his eye, as he seemingly did whenever he had the opportunity to harness whole new forms of destruction.
"Think this is going to work?" I asked.
"Not a bad idea. They were oversize, so I had to trim them a smidgen. Hope that don't mess up the mojo. Lucky for you I had the reloading bench already set up for 12 gauge," he answered as he tugged absently on his beard. "If this works, it should be awesome. If not?" He shrugged.
"If not, at least my death should be relatively spectacular."
"That's the spirit." Milo grinned. "Lightweight projectiles. Low powder charge. This is short range only, like conversational-distance short range. Accuracy is going to suck. Penetration is going to be negligible. Probably won't have enough pressure to cycle Abomination's action. So plan on going manual."
"Can do. Thanks Milo."
"Good luck, Owen. I've got to go grab some spears and my garlic wreath. Catch you on the flip side." The strange Hunter ran to take care of his team's supplies.
I contemplated the magazine. I sure hoped this worked.
The convoy of mismatched vehicles tore northward at dangerous speeds, dawn fast approaching. I sat in the passenger seat of one of the MHI Suburbans. My armor was still damp and cold from Natchy Bottom. You can't just drop twenty pounds of Kevlar and Cordura into the drier. I had my shotgun clenched between my knees. Over a dozen magazines of assorted 12-gauge ammunition and 40mm grenades rode in pouches on my chest and sides. I was wearing both of the STI.45s that Julie had given me, along with several magazines of silver bullets. My ganga ram was strapped across my chest, and several sharpened white-oak stakes rode in a pouch on my back. I had smoke, frag and incendiary hand grenades. And just for luck, on my ankle I was wearing the little.357 which I had used against Mr. Huffman.
I had used our last few hours to get some much-needed sleep. I had not dreamt, and I felt a chill loneliness. I was certain now: The Old Man was gone.
The wipers beat rhythmically. The rain was increasing, running almost like rivers down the road. The wind was howling and the big vehicle rocked as strong gusts hit us. Being the only one of us who had lived through any hurricanes, Trip assured us that this storm was not far behind in intensity. The sheets of falling water were so thick that I could barely see the taillights of the vehicle ahead of us.
The storm had come out of nowhere. It had the mark of the Cursed One on it. I worried about Julie, buckled into the Hind with the rest of her team. Surely Skippy would get them through.
The Newbie team had been crammed into the overloaded Suburban for the trip. Holly had taken to calling us the rainbow coalition team, since we had one white female, and males of the Black, Asian, and Other categories. All we needed was a lesbian and a guy in a wheelchair and we were ready to salve even the biggest liberal's angst. The others were sharing the second row of seats, and the driver was a talkative little Hunter named Gus, out of Hurley's team in Miami.
"Yeah, you guys should have seen it. Little town outside of Pensacola. Vampires nested all over the city works building. We're ready to go in and hit them fast and hard. We get stopped by the mayor for-guess what? You guys ain't gonna believe it…"
"What, Gus?" Lee asked in exasperation, not wanting to egg him on, but seeing no other way out. Gus had talked nearly nonstop since leaving the compound. Everybody dealt with the stress of an upcoming mission in their own strange ways, I supposed.
"She was a big Anne Rice fan. She wanted to 'reason' with them. She just thought that they were misunderstood. She wanted to open a 'dialogue.' " He took his hands from the wheel long enough to make quote motions with his fingers. I started to instinctively reach for the wheel as we began to hydroplane.
"I hate that sensitive romantic vampire bullshit," Holly said.
"Yeah, exactly. You wouldn't believe how hard killing undead got after those damn books came out. Every love-starved housewife out there started thinking of them as tragic homoerotic Fabio-looking things. Morons. Well, anyway, so the mayor goes and gets eaten and Hurley says to us-"
The radio cut him off.
"This is Harbinger. We've got to land the chopper. Storm is getting too bad to fly-even for Skip. We're putting down before Sylacauga." The radio went out.
"So, anyway, Hurley says to us-" Gus was cut off again.
"Pick us up. Clearing at the end of the road right before town. Skip will stay with the Hind. Hopefully the weather will clear enough that he can take off and provide some air support later."
I saw brake lights ahead. Gus swore and slowed down.
"What's the problem?" Holly asked.
"Shh," Trip hissed. He rolled down his window, letting rain in.
"What are you doing?" Holly asked.
"Hear that?" he asked.
"No," I answered. But it was no secret I had the worst hearing of the bunch.
"What is that?" Lee asked nervously.
"Tornado sirens."
"What's that mean?"
"It means we have a tornado warning. Weather is weird for them so it probably isn't just a warning on conditions. Means some have been seen in the area."
"How will we know if one is nearby?" Lee asked.
"It'll sound like a million freight trains. You'll know," Trip warned.
I noted with some concern that the clouds had turned green, a sick deadly color.
Other noises could be heard over the rain, thumping against the roof of the Suburban. Small round things were smacking wetly against the window.
"Now, that's different," Gus said as the wipers knocked away the blood and meat on the windshield.
"Dude, roll the window up!" I shouted.
"Oh, gross!" Trip exclaimed as something hit him.
It was raining frogs. Thousands of tiny amphibians were striking us, bouncing off of the hood or road. Some were falling faster than others, hitting hard enough to explode in little red puffs.
"Isn't this from like the Ten Commandments? Let's get out of here before the plague of locusts show up," Lee suggested nervously.
"Well, actually, it's not an unknown phenomenon to have it rain frogs," I said. "Tornadoes or water spouts can pick them up and drop them someplace else. Fish too."
"Not the time for trivia, Z," Holly said.
I bit my tongue. My attempt at explaining the phenomenon was rather lame. We all knew what this meant. This was the day. One of the frogs examined me through the glass before the wiper batted it aside, leaving only a red smear.
MHI assembled in the parking lot of a small grocery store. We were only a few miles from the caverns, and Harbinger did not want us to hit the site until the sun was fully up. Not that I thought it would do much good; the clouds and rain were thick enough that it might as well have been night.
"How much light can a vampire stand?" I asked.
"Very little can cause them pain. A direct hit and they catch on fire. And maybe we'll get lucky and get a little sunshine," Julie answered.
"At least it quit raining frogs," Sam grunted.
A large contingent of us had assembled under the store awning, making last-minute preparations, asking questions, or just stretching our legs before the final fight. Some extremely curious locals had ventured out of their homes, trying to figure out what the large group of paramilitary-looking folks were doing in their small town. Considering the things that had happened over the last few days, we were not that weird in the grand scheme of things, but we still must have been a sight.
Sam nudged me and pointed across the lot. A local teenager in a yellow rain slicker approached one of our parked vehicles, a three-quarter-ton pickup hooked to a gooseneck horse trailer. It belonged to our orc contingent. Overcome by curiosity, the kid peered over the side door, only to stumble backwards and fall into a mud puddle when something large slammed into the sheet metal and growled.
"Hey, kid! It ain't polite to poke your nose in other folks' business. You trying to lose a hand?" Sam shouted.
"What was that? Who are you guys?" the kid shouted, suddenly afraid.
"It's your momma. And we're the circus. Now scram!" Sam let his duster jacket open to reveal his armor and.45-70.
The kid pulled himself up and ran back toward his home, probably trying to figure out what exactly it was that he had seen in that horse trailer.
"Sam! Quit scaring the children."
"Sorry, Julie," Sam said as he grinned at me from under his mustache.
"Boone? You got anything about who's on guard?" Harbinger demanded.
"This one was high priority. Word is at least a squad of actual Feds on the cavern. Local guardsmen blocking the road. They've been checking in on a regular basis, so they're still alive," he answered. "We've got authority to deal with local infestations, so the soldiers should let us through. The Feds, on the other hand…"
"If they are on site, figure that they've been turned," Julie said.
"You mean I might get to stake a Fed?" Sam asked with far too much eagerness. "Oh, that would be fricking awesome."
"Easy there, big fella. Only if they're dead," Harbinger warned. "This is it, folks. Any questions?"
The group was silent. Our radio channel was open so the Hunters still sitting in the running vehicles could hear. No one asked anything.
"Fine then." Harbinger cleared his throat before continuing. "Whatever happens, I want y'all to know that I'm proud. Most of you know how long I've been doing this, and you know I won't lie. This is the finest group of Hunters MHI has ever assembled. I mean that. You know what to do. You're the best of the best. I would take this crew against the gates of hell themselves if God would give us the contract. With these teams we could collect PUFF on the four horsemen of the apocalypse. It's an honor to have led you into battle, the greatest honor I've ever had. Like the memorial wall says, Sic transit gloria mundi. We're mortals, but the deeds we do are the stuff of legend, and your courage will live forever. Know that, and be sure. You're the modern versions of Beowulf, of St. George, of Odysseus. You're Van Helsing with firepower. You're Jack and the Beanstalk with automatic weapons. We're walking in the valley of the shadow of death, but we shall fear no evil! Because evil is about to get a stake put through its black heart because we are the baddest mother-fuckers to ever set foot in the valley!" he finished in a roar.
A cheer rose from the Hunters. I pumped my fist into the air and shouted. All of the horns were honked. The wargs in the trailer began to howl. I was surprised that nobody started shooting into the air. That was probably just because they wanted to save ammunition.
Harbinger paused, looking out into the rain. A malicious grin split his face. He finally continued. "Good hunting. Move out."