Valknut: The Binding, page 26
Fenrir approached cautiously, frowning, for she had made no sound. Bending close, he saw the blood, the vacant eyes staring skyward, and knew that the prophecy was broken. All things were now possible. His eyes flamed like small suns, venting the triumph that burned in his heart.
The end had begun.
Calling Freyja’s stolen falcon form, he let the visage of Angus Cook fall away, allowed himself to shrink and the feathers to cling. There was one more hindrance in his path. A small one, true, but one with which he must deal.
And then he would stir the waters of chaos.
With a soft rustling of feathers and a fierce screech, he was gone, leaving the remains of Urd on the pavement like abandoned laundry. Then, one-by-one, her body, her boots, her knitting, even the flowered hat, shimmered and disappeared. All that remained of Urd was an oversized handbag, its clasp burst, her savings scattered over the damp pavement.
Chapter 20
Monte cackled and pressed Lennie against the cardboard box, his wet lips inches from her face. He stank of defecation and sweat. Blood dripped from his oozing scalp onto her neck. She tried to wrench herself free, but he gripped her forearms hard enough to bruise.
He could kill her easily. He could do anything he wanted. But what frightened her more was that he was no one-eyed spook or undead shadow that only showed up when no one else was looking. He was real...and he knew about Fenrir. Which meant—
“Bones—behind you. The Ragman!”
Soo’s warning was followed by a grunt and the sounds of scuffle, but Lennie could only see Monte’s face. She jerked her knee up—hard. He twisted and blocked it easily with his thigh. If only she could reach the switchblade, still in her back pocket. She just needed to get one hand free.
But she couldn’t break Monte’s grip. His eyes burned like candle glow over his sloppy grin, reflecting the fire in Fenrir’s eyes. Responding, her tattooed skin prickled with an urge like a building sneeze. She tried to focus on it, but the yellow intensified, filling her vision, choking her will to fight. She closed her eyes, but the yellow tainted even the darkness behind her eyelids. Her struggles weakened until she could only hang limply in Monte’s grip.
Something crashed to the pavement and Bones yelped, spewing curses like machine gun fire. Soo’s voice rang through the noise half an octave too high. “Y’all better leave him alone, Ragman, or Ah’ll show you a whole new meaning fer ‘on the rag’.”
I should help, Lennie thought dimly. Soo and Bones were in trouble because of her. She heard the smack of fist on flesh and tried to make herself fight, but her muscles barely twitched. Desperately, she focused on the untapped power humming through her finger bones. It was there, the buzz of angry bees. She pictured it flowing from her fingertips and tried to aim it at Monte. Nothing happened.
Useless tattoo. She was going to die with a lightning bolt trapped in her fist. She hoped it would explode in Monte’s face.
You are pathetic—like your father before you.
Shocked, she opened her eyes and stared into Monte’s lunatic face. The deep, growling voice couldn’t have come from him. Was it only in her head? It hardly mattered. Its tone was disdainful. Worse, it was dismissive.
And it was right. She hung powerless, a weakling in this madman’s grip, blaming some random tattoo for not rescuing her.
Well, there had been no tattoo when she had won the State Championship in the 400 with a sprained ankle, or when she had worked two jobs her senior year and still pulled a 4.0. No tattoo had given her the strength to strap her crazed mother to the bed near the end, administering meds and cleaning up bloody vomit when they couldn’t afford hospitals.
To hell with the idiotic tattoo.
“You bastard,” she snarled. “I’ll show you pathetic!”
As though feeding on her defiance, her tattooed hand flared with electric fire, burning away the yellow haze. Screaming her rage, she yanked her arms down savagely and broke Monte’s grip. Her clawed fingers found his ears and crumpled them like wadded Kleenex. She anchored her nails deep into cartilage and dug her thumbs into his eyes.
Snarling, Monte wrenched at her hands. She felt one of his ears give way. Seeming oblivious to injury, he rammed his head into her face. Pain exploded in her nose. Stunned, she let go of his head and fell backward. The cardboard box slid out from under her and she hit the pavement hard, with Monte on top of her. She fought him blindly as tears streamed and blood flowed into her mouth. He caught one arm, then the other, and clamped her wrists together in a grip she couldn’t break. Blood rattled in her throat and she coughed, spraying his face. He licked her blood from his lips and laughed. His eyes blazed.
Had her father died this way?
He, too, thought to fight me, but he was a coward. A nothing.
She was falling, falling through a yellow fog, though she still felt Monte’s weight on her arms and the pebbled blacktop beneath her. Within the fog, she saw her father, Jarvis Cook—balding, thick at the waist, just as she had last seen him. He stood a few feet away and smiled at her.
“Dad!” She wanted to run to him like a little girl and hug him around the middle.
Then a huge shadow fell across them both. Her father looked up and gaped at something behind her, an oppressive presence that turned the air suffocatingly cold. His face turned white under a summer tan and he backed away, arms lifted as though to deflect a blow.
I crushed him, as I will crush you.
Her father’s mouth stretched open in a voiceless scream. He seemed to shrink, shoulders hunching, chest sinking inwards. His eyes grew unnaturally wide, open windows into the fear that shriveled his soul.
“No,” Lennie whispered, horrified. Somehow, she felt it all— everything her father felt as he lost his mind. She felt his muscles go rigid—hot breath panting across his tongue—shirt clinging to sweating back—needles of terror jabbing his skin...no, her skin. And as her own will melted along with her father’s, she had a sudden realization. Her mother wasn’t drowning her sorrows in a bottle, as Lennie had always thought.
She was drowning her fear.
“You understand, now, don’t you.” Monte laughed in a voice unnaturally shrill. “Monte knows.”
He dragged her to her feet. Her head lolled helplessly and tangled hair hung in her eyes.
“Time to go visit El Lobo.”
An agonized scream ripped through the jungle. The dwindling part of Lennie’s mind that was still coherent recognized the voice and knew: the gangbanger’s knife had found Bones O’Riley. Monte paused to watch the fight. The pall smothering Lennie’s mind eased somewhat as those glowing eyes focused elsewhere. Lennie raised her head and gazed blearily at the battleground the jungle had become.
Too Long Soo lay on the ground a few yards away. Bones remained on his feet in front of her, wielding his firewood like Conan the Barbarian in grimy overalls. The Ragman lunged at him, and Bones beat him back with a solid clout to the head. Lennie felt a brief flare of hope, but Bones was a cook, not a warrior, and blood soaked through the clothes on his back. Limping, he dodged once, twice, but his reactions were too slow. The gangbanger’s fist connected and he dropped.
“No,” Lennie whispered. She pulled weakly against the iron fingers around her wrists. Monte only squeezed tighter.
“Finish him,” he ordered.
The Ragman nodded and leaned over Bones, knife readied for a killing blow. Before he could strike, a man hurtled into the jungle, moving so fast that Lennie saw only the flash of buttons on a dark jacket.
Junkyard.
The Ragman saw him too late. Junkyard slammed a fist into the side of his neck and the gangbanger dropped to the ground, quivering.
Monte glared at the twitching gangbanger. “Oh, Fenrir will not be pleased.”
He seemed to have forgotten about Lennie. The yellow haze cleared and her strength came flooding back. She drove her knee upward, this time catching him squarely. He buckled and let go of her. She reached for her pocket and pulled out the switchblade.
“Best not try to use it for anything but show,” Junkyard had said earlier in the day, after a futile effort to show her how to use it. “Or it’ll most likely end up in your own hide.”
Maybe. Or maybe not. The knife had heft. Like a roll of quarters.
Before Monte could recover, she drove her loaded fist into his stomach. The breath whooshed out of him and he doubled over, falling to his knees. He reached for her, his mouth working in airless gasps. Wishing for steel-toed boots, she landed a roundhouse kick to the side of his head. He toppled and curled like a stunned wasp.
Lennie stood over him, panting. An unnatural silence fell over the jungle.
“I’m impressed.”
She whirled, ready for another attack, but Junkyard was the only other person still standing. He looked her over, raw relief clear on his face.
“When that guy had you like that, I thought he was going to—” He swallowed hard and turned his head away.
“Yeah, I thought so, too.” She scanned the wreckage around her, grateful that everything was colored in normal nighttime shades of grey.
Junkyard gestured at her hand and said, “I think you can put that away now.”
Lennie looked down. Her fingers were clenched so tightly around the closed switchblade that the skin over her knuckles looked ready to split. She grinned sheepishly. “Never had a chance to open it.”
Swearing colorfully, Soo came to her knees. She shook her head, blinking, as though trying to focus. Lennie was having a bit of trouble with that herself. Feeling light-headed and twitchy, she stepped carefully around Monte and made her way to Soo’s side.
“Are you all right?”
Soo’s voice rasped harshly. “Ah feel like Ah been knocked down by a two-ton wreckin’ ball.”
Bones groaned and tried to sit up. His face was grey above his beard and blood smeared his forehead. Junkyard knelt beside him and gently pushed him back. “Easy there, big guy.”
Bones winced and peered up at him. “Oh, it’s you. Still uglier than a warthog’s ass, I see.”
Junkyard’s smile couldn’t hide the worry. “Good to see you, too, Happy Chef. Looks like someone tried to fillet you, though. Mind if I have a look at your backside?”
“Guess not.” Bones’s face twisted in sudden pain. He drew a ragged breath and glared at Junkyard through a half-opened eye. “But you have to pay a dollar, just like everyone else.”
“Put it on my tab.”
Though Junkyard leaned into him, doing most of the work, Bones’s jowls bulged with the strain of rolling to his side. A dark, wet stain soaked the pavement where his back had been. He lay panting while Junkyard undid his overalls’ strap and peeled back the denim. There was a lot of blood—enough to soak Bones’s t-shirt and obscure the actual cut. Lennie’s head swam at the sight and her legs felt wobbly.
Junkyard gently pulled the shirt away from the wound. Breath hissed through Bones’s teeth. “Damn, that hurts—why don’t you just piss on it, while you’re at it.”
“Quit yer gripin’ and let the man work,” Soo said. Her gaze flicked worriedly from Bones to Junkyard.
The gash ran like a bloody river from Bones’s lower back through the waistband of his boxers. It was easily the worst injury Lennie had ever seen. Her legs buckled and she sat abruptly while Junkyard examined the wound more closely.
“It’s a good thing you’re so fat,” he said. “That knife didn’t come close to any major organs. Soo, can you bring your truck around? I want to get him out of here before anything else happens.”
“Ah’d like to, but those punk bastards flattened all four tires. We’ll have to carry him someplace safe an’ go fer help.”
Something scraped pavement at the edge of the jungle. The Ragman dragged himself upright. Soo swore and lurched to her feet. Sneering, the Ragman held up a cell phone. Before anyone could move, he staggered away, into the dark.
“Shee-it! Better wrap up that slab o’ bacon, Junkyard. Ah think the dogs are comin’!”
Lennie scrambled to her feet. Her arms ached, she could hardly breathe through her nose, her tailbone felt bruised, and pain shot through her pinkie toe like it had been snapped off backward. She had never been less interested in running. But she wasn’t interested in staying, either.
Junkyard draped Bones’s arm over his shoulders and tried to heave him upright. “Come on, big guy—time to go.”
Bones tried to rise, but fell back with moan, his face contorted with pain. Junkyard braced himself to try again and Lennie moved to his other side to help. Harsh voices shouted across the parking lot. Feeling an urgent, renewed interest in running, Lennie hauled on Bones’s arm. He shook her off angrily.
“Hear that?” he wheezed. “That’s the cavalry, and it’s not on our side. Now, leave me and get the hell out of here.”
Junkyard shook his head. “Can’t do. They’d split you like a roasted hot dog.”
“Only if they think I’m alive, and right now, there’s nothing I’d like better than to play dead.”
Bones shifted his bulk back onto the stained pavement, let his arms flop ad hoc, and locked his eyes open, unfocused. He looked very dead. Then he winked up at them and said, “Laying here beats the hell out of trying to out-run a bunch of teenaged punks. Now go.”
The voices were getting closer. Junkyard stared into Bones’s eyes. The fat man gazed back calmly. “It’s all right, Junkyard,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “I’ll be fine. Go.”
Junkyard nodded once and turned away. Soo gave Bones a long, worried look. Then she ran to her truck, flung the door open, and grabbed her guitar off the seat. Junkyard frowned and started to say something, but Soo cut him off. “Ain’t no way I’m leavin’ Woody for those punks.”
With a growl of exasperation, Junkyard took off across the parking lot. Soo followed, Woody banging discord on her back. Lennie hesitated, looking back at Bones. “But we can’t just leave you!”
Bones lifted his head. His eyes blazed at her above a bristling beard. “I’m safer if you leave, dimwit! Their coming after you, so put a rabbit in your ass and hightail it out of here.”
He dropped back into the dead position. Looking past his sprawled body, Lennie could just make out dark forms emerging from the carnival at the far end of the parking lot. Swearing to herself, she turned and ran.
Halfway to the tent village, she heard a shout and slowed to risk a look back. The streetlight at the center of the pavement lit the jungle like a stage. Monte was on his feet amid the wreckage. Two new gangbangers had joined him. One of them leaned over Bones and prodded him with his foot. Monte turned his back on them and stared out into the dark. Nose in the air, he rotated his head slowly, as though trying to catch a scent. Two pinpricks of yellow light stared from his face, tracking across the pavement. They stopped when they reached Lennie, fixing on her in the dark. He pointed.
“She’s there.”
He didn’t raise his voice, but Lennie could hear him perfectly. The gangbanger standing over Bones straightened and pointed an arm at her. Something metallic glinted in his hand. The hairs at the back of Lennie’s neck prickled unpleasantly. “He’s got a gun!”
She was in the middle of an empty parking lot, without even a tree for cover. The gangbanger aimed down his arm.
And the fat body lying at his feet jack-knifed, taking his legs out. Gunshot cracked wildly overhead.
“Don’t shoot them, you idiot,” Monte screeched. “El Lobo wouldn’t like it if you hit the girl.”
“Lennie, get moving!” Junkyard and Soo had stopped a few yards ahead. Before Lennie could follow them, there was a loud pop of gunfire.
“Bones!” Soo’s face twisted in horror. She started back toward the jungle, but Junkyard wrapped his arms around her, guitar and all.
“No—let me go.” Woody rang hollowly as Soo tried to wrench free, but Junkyard held her tight.
“You can’t go back there, Soo.” His voice was soft, but urgent. “Bones’s best hope is for us to draw them away from him.”
“Uh, seems to be working.” Lennie fought panic as the three men charged into the shadows. “They’re coming.”
Junkyard didn’t let Soo go until she stopped struggling. She stared back at the jungle, anguish clear on her face.
“Soo—”
“All right, dammit,” she snarled. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 21
They didn’t stop running until they reached the chain link fence bordering the train yard. Gasping for air, Lennie clasped her hands behind her head and forced herself to take a few long, slow breaths. Soo was in worse shape. She lowered her guitar to the ground and crouched beside it with her head down. Her bleached hair hung like mop strings around her tear-streaked face.
They had lost the bad guys in the tent village, but Lennie knew it wouldn’t take them long to show up. She scanned the train yard while Junkyard searched for a break in the fence. Exhaust hung heavy in the air. A diesel unit idled somewhere in the iron forest, hissing and popping, full of metallic complaints. Flood lights created pockets of deep shadow between cars. Anyone could be hiding there. Or any thing.
“What are we doing here?” Lennie said, still breathing hard.
“Hear that train?” Junkyard wiped sweat from his forehead and pushed aside the shrubbery along the fence. “It’s all hosed up and ready to go. There’s a break in the fence somewhere around here. As soon as I find it,” he tugged at a section, “we’re getting on board. You’re going home.”
“What? No—I’ve got to find my dad!”
“Not this trip.”
“But you don’t understand—”
He waved her off. “We don’t have time to argue. Those ’bangers’ll be here any minute.”
“Dammit, my dad is—”
Junkyard turned on her, his fists half-raised. She shied back.
“Don’t you get it? Those ’bangers are looking for you. People are getting hurt because of you—good people.” He slammed the fence with an open hand. The chain link shook loudly and she almost missed his next words. “I’m not letting you hang around until you’re dead, too.”
