Hellgate London - Exodus Part 13

Something caught Simon's foot and wouldn't let go.

Controlling the panic that soared through him, Simon rolled over onto his back and gazed up at the Darksp.a.w.n. Simon kicked twice, trying to free himself, but didn't succeed. His foot simply struck the demon's chest and stopped. Simon's ankle screamed in pain at the impacts.

The demon laughed while it maintained a crushing grip on Simon's leg.

Thrusting the Barrett between them, Simon fired into its face. The bullet ricocheted, coming almost straight back and burying into the ground only inches from Simon's head. He swung the rifle, hoping to use it as a club to break free of the Darksp.a.w.n's grip.

The creature swept an arm out almost lazily. The impact ripped the rifle from Simon's fingers and broke the Barrett into pieces. Fingers numb, Simon watched helplessly as the rifle bounced off nearby trees and finally fell to the ground twenty feet away.

"Die, hu-man!" the demon shrieked. According to the ancient texts, the Darksp.a.w.n had limited ability to speak, but they'd already picked up the English language. They served as spies and were quick-witted enough to be intuitive about prey and technology.

Simon gripped the Darksp.a.w.n's powerful wrist in both his hands. Straining, Simon tried to break free of the inexorable grip. Unable to match the creature in strength, Simon searched for nerve cl.u.s.ters he could inflict pain to. The scaly hide seemed impenetrable, though. Black comets swirled in his vision. He tried to breathe...couldn't.

Then the Darksp.a.w.n's grotesque head leaped from its broad shoulders in a spray of green ichors.

Simon thought he was hallucinating. He knew from experience that he was on the edge of blacking out.

A mailed fist, dark steely gray with a ruby undercurrent glowing beneath the surface, seized the thumb of the Darksp.a.w.n's hand around Simon's throat and pulled. The demon's bones broke with loud snaps that penetrated even the cannon fire.

Simon sucked in a greedy breath that felt like fire to his lungs. He stared up at the armored knight standing over him. The Templar's armor was so shiny while in Engaged mode-with the NanoDyne technology devoting so much of its energy to hardening the shields-that Simon could see his own features in the smooth faceplate.

"Simon?" The amplified voice sounded strange in Simon's ears for just a moment. It also sounded surprised.

It took Simon only a moment to place the voice. He was helped by the fact that the armor couldn't disguise the womanly curves of his savior.

"Giselle?" Simon said, surprised as well.

The Templar offered her hand. Simon took the hand and allowed her to help him get to his feet. He'd known Giselle Fletcher since they'd been children. She was his age and they'd been reared in the same Underground complex.

"Yes," Giselle replied. For a moment she allowed her faceplate to "ghost," turn translucent enough to permit him to see her features. She was a beautiful redhead with freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. Her gray eyes were warm, but they looked more tired than Simon could ever recall. "Hadn't fancied on meeting you out here, love."

"It doesn't seem like the place to be." Simon's heart leaped and he took strength in Giselle's presence. Looking beyond her, he spotted five other Templar battling Darksp.a.w.n with blades as well as sidearms.

A demon lifted its weapon and fired. Giselle blocked the deadly purple beam with her shield. The beam lit up the image of the tall cross with a hippogriff wound round it. Although Simon couldn't see the image, he knew it would be there. He'd watched Giselle make her shield down in the Templar forge. The energy beam reflected up and away, cutting through trees and dropping branches down.

"Talk later," Giselle said. "Fight now. Take my Grenadier." She hefted the huge Templar sword she carried as she turned to follow her opponent's movements. "Try not to get yourself killed."

Simon ignored Giselle's disparaging remark. They'd always been compet.i.tive, always pushing each other to the next level.

He lifted the Grenadier from her hip and readied it. The Grenadier was solid and heavy, an ugly weapon packed with killing power. It fired grenades filled with Greek Fire, the alchemical liquid created centuries ago. Only this version had been upgraded by the latest in Templar technology.

Despite the desperate nature of the situation, Simon smiled grimly. It felt good to have a Templar weapon in his hands. He armed the weapon and stepped into Giselle's shadow the way they'd been trained to do when one of them was wounded or had their armor trashed. While Giselle blocked the purple beams, Simon took aim and fired.

The grenadeswhumped from the Grenadier's stubby throat and struck their targets with deafening results. The Darksp.a.w.n went to pieces, torn apart by the high-explosive rounds that set them on fire.

"At least you haven't lost your touch, love," Giselle commented dryly, as if they were back in the practice arenas their parents had arranged.

Simon took pride in that. Even though he was unarmored and so very vulnerable on the battlefield, he could still kill his enemies. That was what he was trained to do. He searched the area for Leah and found her ensconced behind two large Templar. She looked terrified but moved to stay clear of the attacks. "Who's the bird?" Giselle asked.

"A friend." That was all anyone needed to know at the moment.

"Well, come on then. Let's see if we can save that ship out there." Giselle strode forward, moving superhumanly fast in her armor. Everything was amplified in the suit: strength, speed, and awareness.

Simon went forward with her, staying behind and slightly to the right so she could offer some protection and he had a fairly clear field of fire. He had to run hard to keep up.

The Templar charged through the night. They carried their swords, preferring them over the sidearms because they'd been trained more for close-up fighting if it came to that in the Underground. And the swords were the most powerful weapon in their a.r.s.enal.

A Darksp.a.w.n trooper, one of the elite warriors in that cla.s.s of demon, hurled itself from the darkness and caught Giselle by surprise. Simon knew it had to be cloaked or else the armor's infrared sensors would have picked it up.

The trooper smashed into Giselle and drove her back with a horrendous clang. She left her feet and nearly fell on top of Simon, who had to duck out of the way. That was the only thing that saved his life.

A rocket screamed seemingly out of nowhere and struck the ground where he'd been standing. The wave of concussive force knocked Simon over and peppered him with rocks and dirt.

Rolling to his knees, temporarily deaf, he yanked his coat up over his mouth and nose to filter out all the swirling debris. If the snow hadn't fallen and the ground hadn't been muddy, dust would have filled the air.

"In the trees!" Giselle shouted as she flipped to her feet and brought her sword up. The Darksp.a.w.n was almost on top of her, lifting a huge mallet that looked like it had once belonged to a Templar. The troopers were known to use the weapons of their enemies.

Moving again, knowing he'd heard Giselle only because the suit amplified her voice, Simon skidded on his knees, hooking his toes to slow himself. He raised the Grenadier in both hands and took aim at the figure high in the trees, tracking the purple blasts back to their source.

When he had the crosshairs centered over the Darksp.a.w.n sniper, Simon squeezed the trigger. The Grenadier shivered in his grip and three grenadeswhumped to the top of the tree, impacting the demon as it tried to escape.

The explosions ripped the creature free of the branches and hurled it away in flaming pieces. Simon gave a hoa.r.s.e shout of triumph before he knew it.

"Good job," Giselle said. "Now maybe you could stop celebrating and focus on the work at hand." Feeling decidedly more confident now, Simon took cover behind a thick oak tree and took aim. The Grenadier was magical in nature, allowing it to generate a nearly inexhaustible supply of ammunition.

He squeezed the trigger again and again, knocking down targets as fast as he recognized them. Most of the Darksp.a.w.n died on impact. Few required a second shot.

Giselle and the other Templar fought on, using the incredible strength and their swords to lay waste to the Darksp.a.w.n that challenged them. Blades flashed and demons lay stretched out on the ground.

One of the Templar was on the ground, though, and Simon knew from the posture that the man wouldn't be getting back up. His sword lay before him, only inches from his outstretched fingertips.

Clipping the Grenadier to his hip, Simon raced for the fallen Templar's sword. It was a broadsword, much like the one Simon had forged for himself.

Throwing himself forward, Simon slid across the muddy, snow-covered ground. Mud splattered into his eyes and temporarily blinded him. He grabbed frantically for the sword and pulled it from the ground just as a shadow fell over him. Whirling, coming up to one knee, Simon held the sword before him in both hands.

Green energy sparked and winked along the blade's edge.

Feeling more confident, Simon lashed out at the hand. The blade cut through the demon's forearm with ease. The creature's arm dropped to the ground. Before the hand came to a rest, Simon was in motion again, circling around to the right. He launched an attack on the demon, reminding himself that he wasn't clothed in armor.

Simon cut the backs of the demon's legs, hamstringing the creature. It whirled, trying to deliver death, but its unresponsive feet landed it facedown on the ground.

Spinning the sword in his hand, reversing the way he held the weapon, Simon sank the sword through the demon's chest and into the ground beneath. The demon opened its mouth wide to scream. Before it could, Simon kicked it in the head with his boot. The Darksp.a.w.n lay there shivering for a moment, then relaxed completely as death claimed it.

"Look out!"

Simon moved as he saw the shadow on the ground lurch toward him. He rolled away from it, picking up cold mud, and came up with the sword in his hands. A Darksp.a.w.n flailed for him, throwing a Grappler toward Simon's last position.

The Grappler was Templar magic and technology, too, and the Darksp.a.w.n had probably claimed it in battle. Blocky and thick, the barrel an upended rectangle, the Grappler spat a tether made from spun palladium alloy that would wrap around an opponent and pull him into range of the user. If the tether had locked on Simon, he would have been yanked toward the demon.

Roaring in rage, the demon took aim again. Simon surged up from his knees and drove the sword before him, following it with his weight. The blade pa.s.sed through the demon's stomach, deeply enough that Simon knew it had pa.s.sed through the creature's back. He felt the spine grate along the edge, then used it as a fulcrum to get the leverage he needed to disembowel the demon.

The Darksp.a.w.n emptied in a slithering tangle. Noxious fumes filled the cold air, tightening Simon's breath in his lungs. Almost overcome by the foulness, he stumbled back and lifted an arm across his mouth and nose. He kept the sword ready before him.

As he looked around the broken ground through the trees that still had some of their leaves, he saw that the Templar owned the battlefield. Several Darksp.a.w.n lay in unmoving heaps on the ground. Steam rose from the cooling bodies as approaching winter claimed them, too.

Even the gunbattle along the coast had quieted.

Fearing what that meant, thinking of all the women and children he'd helped escort into the dinghy, Simon charged through the trees.

Fourteen.

Aided by the armor, Giselle quickly caught up to Simon and pulled ahead.

"Idiot," she snapped. "You want to be a hero? Heroes are always the first to get killed." Her voice broke. "We've had enough of those lately."

Before Simon could say anything, she left him behind. He ran harder, but the other surviving Templar pa.s.sed him as well.

Minutes later, they reached the coastline. Gunsmoke hung in the air, mixing with the thick fog. In the distance,Dauntless sped away, climbing the horizon as the ocean rose away from the coastline. Two fires danced on the deck, but even at the distance Simon could see the crew battling them.

G.o.dspeed,Simon thought, and wished them well. Then the ship disappeared over a wave, although the flicker of flames hung in the air for a while longer before the fog swallowed it.

"Going to stand there all day?" Giselle asked. Simon looked at her.

"There's work to be done, love," she said quietly.

Surveying the coastline, Simon watched as the other Templar walked among the dead and the dying. Most of them were demons, but some of them were human.

A middle-aged man groped feebly. Horror tightened Simon's stomach when he saw the man's legs had been burned off at the thighs by one of the demons' beam weapons. The cauterized stumps were charred black and b.l.o.o.d.y.

The sight and smell of battle was nothing like Simon had envisioned. Even what he'd done to the poachers back in South Africa paled before this. This was carnage, raw and vicious.

Giselle went to the man and knelt beside him. She removed one of her gloves and held the man's hand in hers. Her helmet visor retracted, allowing the man to see her face.

"You're...you're an angel?" the man asked.

"No," Giselle told him quietly. "Not an angel. Just a woman." "Not like any woman I've ever seen."

Simon kept his distance, unwilling to go any closer. He tightened his fist on his sword.

Giselle reached into a small compartment built into the armor and brought out a slap-patch.

"What's that?" the man asked.

"A dreamie," Giselle answered. "It'll take away the pain."

"That's good." The man's eyes fluttered. "I don't want to keep hurting." "You won't." Giselle placed the slap-patch on the man's throat.

The narcotics filtered into the man's bloodstream instantly. The pain and fear drained from his face. "Am I...am I going to be all right?"

Giselle smiled at him sweetly and touched his face soothingly. "You're going to be fine."

"I'm glad." The man took in a breath, then let it all out. Every muscle in his body relaxed. His head lolled to the side.

Tears glittered in the moonlight on Giselle's cheeks. Her helmet closed and hid her sorrow from Simon's eyes, but he felt the weight of it in his heart.

Simon looked down at the seven dead humans they'd gathered and laid on the ground. Three of them were the men who'd been left behind to wait on the dinghy, but there were two more men, a woman, and a child that Simon had pulled in from the shallows. He didn't know how many others had been lost to the sea.

"Does anyone know who they are?" one of the Templar asked. Simon shook his head. Leah did too.

"Captain Patel was just picking up survivors along the coastline," Simon added. "There aren't any regular meeting places, and no communication between England and France. They were just...people." Scared and frightened people.

"It would be better if we knew who they were. That way we could tell their families." That was from Justin, one of the Templar whom Simon barely remembered from cla.s.ses. He'd been from another Templar complex, but they had met twice a year in practice matches.

"Their families are probably already dead, too," Devin said. She was a young brunette. She was three or four years younger than Simon and Giselle, and more slightly built. Her face was carved alabaster.

"There's nothing we can do for them here," Giselle said. "We'll take images of them and post them when we can. Maybe their families will find out what happened to them soon enough."

There is no soon enough,Simon thought bitterly.They're dead. n.o.body wants that kind of news.

In the end they decided to bury them all in shallow graves, along with the two Templar that had fallen to Darksp.a.w.n weapons. There was nothing else to be done.

"I need to know about my father, Giselle." Simon tramped through the forest beside the Templar.

Simon had outfitted himself with weapons. He would have liked to have used the armor, but all of it was made for custom fit. However, if he'd found a core suit his size-and that would have been nearly impossible given his size-it could be added to, or plate could be replaced from other suits or pieces of armor. The other Templar had salvaged what they needed from their mates' armor. None of it was to be left to fall into the hands of demons.

Giselle faced Simon. "Your father died at the battle of All Hallows' Eve, Simon. I trust he died well."

Even though he'd been expecting the answer, Simon still felt pole-axed. He stumbled for just a moment, then regained his footing.

"I'm sorry," Giselle said. "I thought you knew." "No. How would I have known?"

"The media broadcasted the battle."

Simon remembered all the footage he'd seen while in Cape Town. "I knew there had been horrible losses."

"Yes. Most of the Templar are dead."

Simon struggled to fathom that and couldn't. All of his life there had been thousands of Templar, men and women, who lived among but separate from the inhabitants of London and England. In the city they lived in the Underground, tunnels that had been lost and forgotten, or built without the city management offices being any the wiser. In the countryside they lived in underground bunkers and complexes.

"Why?" he asked in a strained voice. "Seems pretty b.l.o.o.d.y stupid to go off and get themselves killed after hundreds of years of preparation. Did they go off like a lot of lemmings, then?"

"No!" Giselle's voice was a whip crack of emotion. "That's not how it was, Simon."