Found (Lost Town Book Six), page 20
“A family affair. I like that. Ser Finnian is our son,” King Edgar informed them.
She noticed the similarities, though they weren’t easy to spot. The knight took after his mother more, with a high forehead and piercing eyes.
“Tell us about the Imps,” Amelia said. The army continued at a decent pace, and they were eating up miles faster than she’d expected.
“In a moment.” King Edgar reached behind his seat, grabbing a metal goblet. He motioned to a porter up with the driver, and the small man noiselessly moved through the open-air carriage, passing golden goblets to their guests and his queen. He then uncorked a clay bottle and splashed a red and pungent wine into the glasses.
“To new alliances,” King Edgar said.
They repeated it, and Amelia waited until the royal couple drank, in case they were trying to drug their visitors. Grover slurped his with a loud noise and set his hand to his large belly. “Nice tannins. We have our own winery and whiskey operation…”
He cut off with a glare from Amelia. This wasn’t the proper moment for Grover to start bartering; it was about their survival.
The king polished his off even before Grover, and Amelia figured the pair were well suited to one another. She shoved her glass toward the porter, who promptly vanished with it into the front.
“You were saying,” she encouraged.
“The Realm has stood on Arcadia for centuries, with my bloodline reigning since day one. My ancestor, King Thaddeus, ruled with an iron fist, demanding much from that first generation.” Edgar’s rheumy eyes were blank, as if he could transport to that very timeline. “He had no intention of disrupting the Imps, but had no choice when the creatures came a month later.”
“I imagine it was difficult to realize they were transported off Earth,” Logan said.
“We recently went through the same thing,” Amelia noted.
“Yes, though I don’t believe Thaddeus quite knew where they ended up. ‘Twas he that coined the name Arcadia, and it has passed to even the farthest reaches of our planet, with most not knowing the source of the title.”
Queen Eleanor set a palm on his robe sleeve. “Darling, the Imps.”
“The monsters attacked at night, striking the fortress hard. The Imps scaled the walls, broke into the castle, and bashed skulls. The knights were roused and fought hard, sending the Imps scattering into their holes. Search parties were formed, and every single potential opening in the ground within fifty square miles was filled by boulder and mud. But they found ways to escape. The Imps always showed up when the current regime believed to be done with them.”
“So they’re migratory?” Amelia asked.
He glanced at his wife.
“They move around, darling,” she said.
“Yes. Migratory indeed. Like a flock of birds leaving before the snow falls, the Imps travel across Arcadia, using their giant network of underground tunnels,” he told them. “Occasionally, they stop at one of their primary nests to reproduce. An army that continually replenishes its forces is a very difficult one to defeat. But The Realm did. It’s been nearly a century since we’ve seen them.”
Amelia recalled the incident at their campsite and winced. “They’re not gone, are they?”
“No, I’m afraid not. We send our Protectors, knights in plain clothing, to visit the various communities. Every few decades, these brave men and women check the nests, and until most recently, they were empty.”
Logan asked the question she’d been hesitant to mention. “Where is the primary nest?”
“I had no idea that someone had moved there,” Edgar said.
Amelia’s heart pounded in her chest. “Lost Town?”
“That’s what I’ve been told.” King Edgar rang a bell from inside his red robes, and the porter returned. “Get the scouts.”
Grover perked up. “Scouts?”
The carriage didn’t slow as a man on horseback took Ser Finnian’s position. He rode ahead, letting two passengers off a wagon he pulled. The man nearly fell on Grover, and he apologized, then started to laugh. “Mayor!”
“I’ll be damned. It’s Dove!”
The woman that came in smiled sheepishly and stayed near the porter.
“How is this possible?” Dove asked. “I’ve traveled far from home.”
Grover hammed it up. “I’d walk to the ends of Arcadia for one of my own. When my kids visited, I asked them to help me bring you home. Jenny missed you fiercely.”
“They were being cautious, trying to learn what they could about our towns. Though putting us in cells, wasn’t the best way to collaborate.” Dove hugged Grover, then shook hands with Logan and Amelia, though it was extremely awkward in the increasingly crowded carriage. “I almost forgot…this is Tina. The knights located us both while searching for Imps. Did you visit the pyramid?”
Amelia made introductions, and Tina took a seat between her and Grover.
“We tracked Dove to the pyramid and discovered two dead knights, and what we’re assuming to be an Imp. Their tapestry led us in this direction.”
“What a shame,” King Edgar said.
“They attacked us twenty miles out,” Logan said. “We had to use a defib on Grover.”
“A defib?” the queen asked.
“To restart his heart.”
“Oh my.” Edgar shoved an empty glass at the porter, who promptly refilled it. “You’d better visit our court’s medicus. He might want to bleed you for a night.”
Grover blanched. “I’ll stick to these little pills.”
Amelia looked to the king. “How many Imps are we talking about?”
“It’s been ages. Possibly tens of thousands,” he said.
“At Lost Town?”
He nodded gravely.
“How long do we have?” she asked.
“Not long enough.”
9
“Why are we going in now?” Summer asked Duck.
“The Imps are nocturnal, so two hours before sunset is when they’re out cold.”
“Kind of like Carly when the alarm clock rings,” she said.
“Funny.” Carly stood by the quarry, arms crossed. “Maybe I should come too.”
“I’m already risking Summer.” Christine clutched an M4 and looked the part of a warrior with her dark uniform. Summer had the same clothing, brought from Lost Town, and plucked at her sleeve, finding it stiff and protective. If the Imps tried biting them, it would bruise, but the fabric wouldn’t tear. Or so they hoped.
Summer saw Duck differently. He’d lied to them about being a Protector out of The Realm. He wasn’t a kid, but a twenty-year-old with a young face. He’d refused the uniform, opting for his own jacket, which held his twin blades on hooks.
Birch rounded out their investigative group of four, and he was almost as daunting as Christine. He wore a cowboy hat, a long-sleeved shirt, and a brown leather vest with jeans. His boots were scuffed, but his old revolvers were shiny and chrome, suggesting he spent more time caring for them than himself.
Summer gazed at Wayward, continuing about their business, having no clue there were creatures beneath the surface. Hopefully, they’d find a couple of Imps lingering behind the rest of their horde and scare them out. Then she could go on with her life, finish school, and start scouting for Lost Town a year later.
“Why are you smiling?” Carly asked.
She dropped it. “I was thinking about the future.”
“We won’t have one if there’s a nest of those icky monsters,” she said.
Summer hugged her friend. “If I don’t come home…”
Carly’s eyes welled with tears. “Don’t say that.”
She nodded, then paraded to the bottom of the pit with Birch, Christine, and Duck. Carly remained at the top with Dixie and Gus, and her best friend waved goodbye before Duck rolled a boulder to the side, revealing a hole.
“They must be getting out another way if this is blocked,” Birch said.
“Can you think of anywhere in town that has an opening to the ground?” Christine asked.
Birch stood thoughtfully rubbing his moustache. “There’s the wells.”
Wayward tapped into an underground lake and harnessed buckets with a rope and pulley system to get freshwater. The lake at the edge of town was primarily used for bath water and farm animals.
Christine put on a headlamp and turned the beam to low. “Everyone do as I say, for your own safety.”
“Gotcha,” Summer said. Duck agreed, while Birch nodded.
“Good. Stay together. We don’t know where the tunnels will go, or if there have been any collapses.”
Summer climbed down and walked out of the halo of light pouring in. White spots shone in her eyes, and she blinked to refocus. Unlike the others, she had a bolt-action rifle, and she held it tightly as they started forward.
Birch took the rear, with Summer crammed into the middle with Duck. Christine moved methodically, investigating each corner before she allowed them to continue. The air was musty, and the scent of minerals clung to her nostrils.
“How long have the Imps been on Arcadia?” Summer whispered.
“They were on the planet prior to the first residents of The Realm,” he said.
“Six hundred years isn’t that long from an evolutionary standpoint,” Birch reasoned.
Christine stopped, and Summer nearly bumped into her. “Would you please keep it down? For all we know, these things have supernatural hearing.” She tapped her ear with the side of her gun.
“Sorry,” Summer murmured.
The tunnels were roughly shaped. Had the Imps done this, or had the subterranean network been created by an ancient race of animals? It made more sense that the Imps had discovered the passageways and decided to use them.
Christine’s M4 lifted to her face when a noise carried to their position. It wasn’t much, just a grunt, but Summer’s spine tingled. She shouldn’t have demanded to join the excursion. This was beyond her years, and she suddenly wanted to be home under her blankets.
A sound bounced dully on the walls, and Christine led them to an opening. She instantly snapped the headlamp off and stood in the shadows. Summer peered past her, finding the remnants of a sheep. In the corner was a messy pile of random items.
It stank like an animal’s lair, which was precisely what they’d encountered. As far as she could see, it wasn’t occupied.
Christine waited five minutes, and when nothing moved, she crept in. Duck had both blades out, prepared for a fight. Summer’s rifle shook slightly.
Only Birch walked in unarmed, but she’d seen him draw those revolvers faster than should have been possible, like a real gunslinger from the Wild West.
She inspected the pile, finding bits of hay, torn pieces of a leather tarp, and an assortment of blankets, ripped so the insides spilled out. Bloody streaks came from a second tunnel connecting to the cave, meaning the sheep had been dragged in there. Birch was right. The Imps had another entrance to the subterranean levels.
“How many would live here?” Christine asked Duck.
He stared at the nest in disbelief.
“Duck,” she repeated.
“Uhm, sorry, I’ve never seen an actual active nest before.”
“How many?”
The cavern was large, and the bed they’d created looked like at least twenty humans could occupy it.
“Fifty,” he said. “But I bet there are more.”
A shriek grabbed their attention, and Summer wondered how much time had passed since beginning their exploration.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” she said.
Christine stayed by the second exit, crouching to touch the blood. “It’s old.”
Before she rose, Imps began to run by, oblivious to the fact four humans lingered in the cave. They raced through the tunnel, and Summer watched in horror as one fell and its own kind stampeded on it, not caring that it was dying.
The Imps were past the cavern and heading deeper into the corridor.
“What’s in that direction?” Duck asked, slowly turning to get his bearings.
“Wayward,” Birch grumbled.
Christine blocked them. “We either backtrack and return to the quarry or follow the herd and hope we’re not too late to help.”
“Help what?” Summer asked.
“Wayward is under attack.” Christine moved, and Summer saw the pitiful creature. Black hair clung to its armpits, and it stared at her. A finger twitched and she hid behind Birch. The leader of Wayward pulled a knife from his boot and deftly slit the Imp’s throat, putting it out of its misery.
Summer fought to keep her lunch down.
“We have to follow them,” Birch said.
“Stay back.” Christine was in full operative mode, and Summer did as directed, praying that another part of the horde wasn’t lingering behind. If that was the case, they’d end up sandwiched between two clusters of Imps, and there would be no escape.
Summer kept her gaze on the ground after stepping in excrement. It was a good reminder that the Imps weren’t human, despite the familiar attributes.
A bullet ripped through an Imp, and its head exploded. Christine shoved the body down with a boot.
They occasionally encountered a wounded Imp, and Christine disposed of them before the creatures knew someone was on their tail. When they slowed, Summer tried to picture what part of Wayward they were under, but didn’t have as good a grasp as Birch, who’d lived here for ages.
“The well is close,” he advised.
Summer smelled the change when Christine gestured at the exit. Beyond was a large pool of water, and five ropes descended into it, the buckets floating on the surface. The Imps scaled the ropes, reminding Summer of the boys showing off in gym class, trying to ring the bell on the gymnasium ceiling.
There were hundreds of Imps in the pond, splashing around. A few flailed in the middle, clearly not realizing it was too deep to stand. A couple drowned, but no one went to save them.
“What do we do?” Duck asked.
Christine gazed at her weapon, then at Birch. “We can’t take them all.”
“Wait until half are up top, then go at them,” Birch said. “It gives us the element of surprise.”
“What about the folks in town?” Summer asked.
“I told Dixie to lock herself in with Carly and Gus, and to tell others to do the same. If we can get up there, we’ll save them.” Birch pointed to the well’s opening, which had five Imps struggling to escape.
Christine seemed conflicted. “When I give the signal, I want you three to concentrate on the left side. I’ll hit anything moving on the right edge.”
Duck lifted a blade. “What am I supposed to do?”
Christine pulled a 9MM from a holster on her thigh and slapped it into his palm. “Flick the safety off. Point and shoot.” She gave him a spare magazine. “Don’t stop until they’re all dead.”
Summer swallowed and hefted the rifle up. She’d spent hours practicing shooting bottles at Coach’s house over the last year, and it was time to learn if it had paid off. Many creatures were in the lake, waiting for their turn to scale the rope.
Christine whispered to herself, probably counting the remaining Imps, and after a dreadful two minutes, she shouted, “Now!”
Gunfire exploded from both sides, with the bark of the M4 quickly killing anything in Christine’s sightlines. Birch shot from the hip, using both revolvers, and struck more than he missed. He reloaded with precision, while Summer blasted one Imp after another. She did her best to forget they were living creatures, and shot a fourth in the shoulder. Duck bumped her, making her final shot go wide.
She reloaded, and Christine was in the water, picking off her targets now that there were fewer. Summer jumped in, killing two Imps near the base of the ropes. Then there were none left alive.
It was too quiet when they were done.
“The battle’s on,” Birch said.
Summer heard the bang of revolvers coming from Wayward above. “How do we get up there?”
Duck tucked the pistol into his waistband. “I’ll go first.”
Christine grabbed the rope next to him, standing on the bucket, and they kept pace with each other, covering the fifty-foot distance in less than a minute.
Birch went next, and it was only when he was halfway up that Summer noticed the top was frayed, probably from an arrant shot.
“Summer, get on!” Duck shouted.
She stood on the bucket, and the rope snapped tight as they cranked the handle. It moved in slow jerks, then became smoother near the second half. Duck strained at the crank, while Christine pulled Summer by her arms the last few feet until she was outside of the well’s opening.
Birch was three-quarters of the way up, the rope fraying more with each passing breath.
With Summer safe, all three gave their attention on Birch, and they added their efforts to the last handle. The twines broke apart until only a fraction remained.
Birch’s eyes went wide as he sensed his fate.
“Grab my legs!” she told Christine, and lunged, hoping the operative listened. Summer outstretched her rifle, and Birch clutched it. Beneath him, the rope gave way and snaked to the water, splashing at the bottom. Summer jerked forward, but Christine held tight. Duck held her arms while they braced for Birch to climb the last few feet.
He made it over Summer, and fell out of the well, wheezing. Summer dropped the rifle, and it pinwheeled into the cave below.
“Take this.” Duck gave her the handgun and flipped his knives up.
They rose, exhausted but not out of the fight quite yet.
Imps tore through Wayward, attacking the farms and scaling buildings. Somewhere a fire had started, and gunshots rang in all directions.
Birch lifted both revolvers. “Let’s save Wayward.”
INTERLUDE
Usher
Water’s Edge
The first creature arrived as the sun set. Usher had never seen anything like it, and wished that remained the case. Now, the morning after, he couldn’t believe the damage the demons had caused. Half of their town was gone, the shelters burned to the ground. The monsters didn’t seem to recognize fire as they knocked aside torches while rushing the streets.
