An inferno erupted, fed by fuel and dry brush.
The Guardians were nearly as flammable; their massive frames charred in chutes of fire.
– Jon Brewer and Boylen, riding hoverbikes, stopped at the wall of white smoke dropped from the mortars. The main gate waited on the other side of that smoky veil. Wind-seemingly growing in force-chipped away at the wall of white fast.
Behind them, beyond the tree line, rose two great pillars of black smoke announcing Reverend Johnny's success.
So far, so good. Trevor would be proud.
Jon pulled a radio from his belt and transmitted, 'Whiskey, get up here!'
Brewer lifted the hinged seat of the hovercraft and surveyed the ping-pong sized grenades filling the storage compartment.
He asked Boylen, 'You ready?'
Boylen brandished one of the plasma rifles scavenged from the platypus soldiers. 'Aye.'
Shepherd, also on a hoverbike, zipped to their side.
'The Rev took care of business.' A gust of wind sent wisps of smoke trailing into the sky. Holes appeared in the white screen. 'Reckon we’d better get moving.'
The three rode through the smoke and entered the open gate, stopping inside the compound on one end of the courtyard. Robed figures-Monks-drew swords and raced to intercept. They retreated as Shep fired a burst from his assault rifle.
Across the courtyard, against the southern wall, sat the main building with a big sealed membrane: The Order’s equivalent of a door. Two spider sentries defended that door.
Jon dismounted his ride but kept a hand on the control panel.
Shep fired pot shots at scurrying monks and told Jon, 'Do it fast before they realize there's only three of us!'
Brewer pushed a switch next to the handlebars of the craft and the rider-less hoverbike drove off like a cruise missile. The spider sentries opened fire but to no avail; the bike covered the distance in a flash and crashed into the door.
The platypus’ grenades exploded en masse tearing apart the spider sentries and sending chunks of the building's front flying across the compound.
The clatter of a horse-drawn wagon at speed came from behind. Whiskey-the older man originally from Stonewall's group-worked the reigns furiously. The wooden wagon bounced as much as rolled, nearly throwing Gruder and the Grenadiers who rode in the back.
Jon shared Shep's ride and followed Boylen to the blasted-open entrance, as did the wagon. As they neared, two monks-human faces overrun with green blotches-came out from within brandishing thin swords.
Boylen drove his hover bike directly into one, sending it sprawling with a body full of smashed bones. The Irishman avoided a jab by the second monk and blasted Voggoth's minion with his plasma gun.
Jon and Shep dismounted just as the wagon clattered to a stop among the ruins of the destroyed membrane. The cadre of K9s onboard leapt out, led by Tyr and Odin.
The ground shook. Jon spun around and saw another of The Order's defenses approach. This one stood ten feet tall, wore a cone-shaped shell of emerald and red, and moved on two thick gray legs. In some warped way, it resembled a walking Christmas tree, complete with a shiny gold star on top. In this case, the shiny star crackled with electricity.
Gruder-in the wagon-lit and threw a Molotov cocktail. The bottle smashed on the armor plating and spread fire giving the creature an amber glow but was otherwise ineffective.
A bolt of jagged lightning shot from the top of the cone-creature. Gruder jumped from the wagon for cover. The bolt caught him in mid-air. His body charred black instantly and broke into pieces when he hit the ground.
Boylen knelt near the front entrance and fired his plasma rifle at the beast. It responded with a bolt of lightning that slammed next to Boylen, stunning him for a moment.
Suddenly a stream of fire engulfed the cone-creature's legs. It wobbled frantically and then the shiny orb that shot lightning exploded in a fury of sparks. The cone toppled and Reverend Johnny-flamethrower in hand and Stonewall on horseback at his side-yelled, 'I told you, they don't like a hot foot!'
Stonewall spurred his horse to the entrance where Jon asked, 'Status?'
'Ms. Simms, Ames, and Mr. Tolbert are prepared to cover our retreat. Alas, Mr. Sanchez has fallen in battle.'
'Hold here,' Jon said. 'We're going in.'
'Like the rock of Gibraltar!' Johnny cried.
The Reverend, Stonewall, and Whiskey stood in a ring around the hole in the building.
Jon, Shep, and Boylen started in but the K9s moved quicker: Tyr, Odin, and the six other dogs poured through the gaping hole. Jon hoped their noses could overcome the horrid stink of the place and lock on to Trevor.
It felt as if they had entered a living creature, not a building. The corridors seemed more like arteries filled with humid, heavy air. A steady hum reverberated all around. Jon worried the building would gobble them up.
Light came from small orbs placed sporadically. Not bright, but enough to see.
The hall split into four directions. Monks approached from each. Bullets killed two; one ran away, the fourth fell to K9 teeth after skewering a Husky.
Tyr barked and Jon sensibly followed the dog's lead to a large spherical chamber with doors-membranes- spaced along the walls.
The Elkhound approached one, sniffed, left for another, stiffed, then scratched frantically.
'There! Boylen, punch through it!'
Plasma rifle in hand, the big Irishman took aim at the door.
'Move outta there, dog,' he ordered and Tyr backed off as the blast hit. A circle of flames spread across the membrane and sliced open a small slit. 'There's your hole.'
'Let me give it a shot.' Shepherd went to work carving with a hunting knife.
Pellets hit the wall near Jon's head.
A spider sentry approached. The drill bit on its face shot forward like a harpoon. Before it could pierce Jon's chest, a blast from Boylen's alien rifle disintegrated the round head and stole the power behind the shot.
'Ugly bastard, ain't it?'
'I'm through!' Shepherd shouted.
Before any of the people could enter, Try, Odin, and two Rottweilers bound inside the cell. Jon heard them bark and growl. The remaining Siberian Huskies stayed outside forming a loose perimeter of sorts.
'I'll hold here,' Shep said as he raised an M4 and struck down a charging monk.
Jon went through the slit cut in the door and Boylen followed.
They entered a large, dome-shaped room shrouded in darkness save for a solitary light high in the ceiling. Trevor lay atop what looked like a wide, flat tree trunk made of green roots. The K9s circled him, barking angrily with their snouts aimed toward the shadows overhead.
'Boylen, cover me.'
'Aye.'
Jon approached Trevor, slinging his rifle and pulling out a sharp knife when he spied the ropes-or something like ropes-binding his naked friend to the surface.
Boylen warned, 'Somethin' moving up there.'
Trevor lay with his eyes wide open staring up. Jon could not tell if he were alive or dead until he saw the slow rise of his chest.
A brilliant flash lit the room and an explosion of heat erupted. Jon instinctively covered his head as he felt a mass fall from above. A black mass of tangled legs.
The torture-spider missed Jon by a foot as it collapsed to the floor; a big burning hole punched in its abdomen by Boylen's plasma rifle. The creature-attached to the ceiling by a pulsating thick tube-rolled and kicked, searching for balance. The Grenadiers moved in, tearing and biting with incredible ferocity.
'It almost had ya',' Boylen said. 'Tried to slip down right on top of your 'ead.'
He turned to Trevor again and hacked his binds. A shudder of pain echoed around the room with each cut
