We slunk with speed down the hall.
The sound of sudden bootfall thundered behind us. I swore. Angry voices, shouts of doom followed. Somebody must have gotten wind of the expo of carnage back at the Orpheum. I turned to level fire at the pursuing figures, a half dozen or more.
“Rusco!” I felt a sharp tug at my arm. Wren.
From up ahead, two ghastly shapes scuttled straight for us. Anthracite figures out of a ghoul’s nightmare. Chip and Chong. I almost shat my pants. Wren raised her gun to blast them to atoms. I elbowed her gun wide.
“What did you do that for?”
I pulled her off to the side and we hugged the wall. Blest, half out his wits, lifted his trembling rifle.
I slapped his gun away. “Don’t kill them!” I barked. The two locusts scuttled forth on their hind legs, antennae twitching, but as anticipated, they fled past us as if having a definite mission in mind. I could see in their red glinting eyes the malice and vindictive wrath, armed with centuries of old animosity for whatever the fuck else. The ancient memories that brewed behind those insectoid skulls, could not be known. They were infathomable.
“Let them face Mong’s guard,” I hissed.
“Why, they’re—”
A crunch of bone precluded words. The two black shapes pounced on a defenseless meslar armed with a truncheon.
The first locust’s strike was lightning fast. Lashing out a slimy appendage, it hooked the man while its partner snapped off the man’s arm at the elbow. Another pincer reached for the man’s jugular. The victim gave a blood-curdling shriek as his life blood spurted on the marble floor.
The creatures sped away on their hind legs, heading toward the Orpheum and the place where I remember Mong kept the amalgamators…almost as though they were drawn to a homing beacon like moths.
I had to turn my head away as more crunching sounds came drifting back to the tune of men’s screams and hoarse wails of agony and terror.
The insects scuttled on, leaving a trail of dead in their wake. Feisty and efficient devils, I thought.
“What are they?” hissed Grild.
“Come on!” I rasped. “Let’s get the fuck out of here before those bugs decide to beetle back and bring a horde after us.” I waved my R4.
“Where did those things come from?” Wren called.
“You don’t want to know, Wren, believe me.”
Blest was too dissociated from pain to do anything but mumble doom and gloom. Volia, paralyzed with shock, was having trouble registering any of it. Zan had already inured himself to such unnatural violence, having seen and experienced enough grisliness to last a lifetime back in the Redemption hall.
Events were fast sliding out of control. I knew I had to get a grip on reality and get the fuck out of here.
No such luck. Fierce shouts issued from down the hall—Mong’s men, perhaps even Mong himself. The heavy tread of clopping boots and running figures came to our ears. We were blocked in. Enemies in front, enemies behind. Too many to deal with, even with our guns. Some of us would die. Maybe most of us. I looked around in utter desperation. Where’s your bag of tricks now, Rusco?
On a sudden inspiration, I shuttled Volia and Zan to a door and into a room, hoping to hell there was nothing lurking there to cut us to ribbons. Blest and the others loped behind; Wren brought up the rear.
Nothing. Nobody. Just a shrine room dedicated to some obscure god, one of Mong’s pantheon of creepos.
We crouched in the murk, the whites of our eyes showing and our breaths held. The shadows were thick at the far end of the chamber. A lone, sputtering candle set on a low altar cast long and wavering shadows upon a grim warlord’s face carved on the stone wall.
We passed precious minutes hunched in the dark, crouched like mice, trying to stay out of the cat’s jaws. Weapons trained at the door, we prepared for violence. Blest tried to hiss out some unsolicited advice, but I waved him to silence. Too many bloody amateurs spilling ideas in the stew pot. Too many foes around us. I could hear harsh, enemy voices echoed from under the crack of the door. We couldn’t hide here forever. Decision time. I was about to give the order to head out and let us take our chances in a mad scramble in the hall when I heard more voices and figures doubling back this way. I winced and waved the others back, though they huddled close at my shoulders. I stuck my ear to the door.
“The locusts, sir. They’ve escaped!”
“What do you mean, escaped?” Mong’s voice rumbled in a throaty roar. “How the fuck did that happen?”
I heard the man groan then another groan. “There’s more, sir. Balt’s in a tank. Drowned.”
There was a pause until Mong bawled, “Rusco! I’ll kill that fucking bastard. Go, look for them.”
Now the proverbial shit was about to hit the fan.
The sound of running feet echoed up then the sound of panting breath. Another harbinger of doom?
“They’ve killed six men, sir! With pincers and claws. One guard mauled but still alive, told a gruesome tale. They fight like demons. The Mentera. Hooks, claws, squirting venom from pointed teeth. The meslars died badly.”
I opened the door a crack and saw Mong’s eyes widen with fury.
“Find them,” he hissed through gritted teeth. He flung out a hand and the wall sizzled as if
