Veiled Extraction: Shadowrun, #56, page 21
It was late morning by the time they’d found a place to hole up and set off on their recon mission. They left Virago’s bike concealed in some underbrush just off a narrow dirt road snaking into the forest from the main road, and marked on their AR maps so they could find it again if they had to get out in a hurry. Now, ten minutes later, they slogged through damp green ground cover as thin sunlight poked its way through the pale gray, overcast sky.
“What if those guys come after us? I’m not so sure we could take them down, from the sound of it.” Virago glanced around as if expecting someone to be following them already.
“What guys? The ones my mom hired?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think they’re trying to kill us, remember? And if we find ’em out here, maybe we’ll teach ’em that we’re not the easy prey they probably think we are.” As they walked, Vyx had been keeping track of the trees they passed; most of them had branches big enough to support her weight—if anybody attacked them, she could be ten meters up before they even figured out where she’d gone. Virago wasn’t quite as fast as she was, but she made up for it with firepower. Let ’em try, if they wanted to.
Virago, wisely, didn’t pursue it. “So we’re looking for—what?”
“Anything weird, I guess.”
“This whole place is weird.” She looked around, her slim nose wrinkling in distaste. “Give me the city any day—buildings, roads, devil rats, pizza delivery…frag, even the smell of garbage. This is…creepy.”
Vyx had to allow that it was, in fact, creepy: in her childhood and early teens, she’d been on vacations with her mother or to summer camps where she’d spent time outside the city, but none of the forests she’d ever seen were anything like this. The bit of research she’d done before they’d left had pointed out that the Salem Wilds didn’t necessarily follow a natural growth progression—all the magic in the area had resulted in a much thicker concentration of trees, some of them huge and twisted and downright spooky. Even though she’d never admit it, she was glad they hadn’t come out here at night. Between the creepy trees, the constant low-level noises from far-off wildlife, and the ever-present ground fog that made seeing where they were stepping difficult—let’s just say it didn’t sound like her idea of fun.
To take her mind off the area’s eeriness as she scanned the fauna for anything unusual, she asked in an offhand tone, “Do you really think they’ll take me back?”
“Huh?”
“The Ancients.”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
Vyx rolled her eyes and made a point of stroking the top of one rounded ear. “Oh, I dunno, let’s think: I’m not an elf. I fucked up and got somebody killed. Half the gang doesn’t want me around. Not lookin’ good, you have to admit.”
“Eh, they’ll get over it.” Vyx shrugged. “They’re hotheads, just like you are. Stuff blows over. Yeah, some of ’em are snobs, but they’ve also seen what you can do. Besides, you’re with me. And just let ’em try to kick me out.” Her voice took on a challenging edge.
Vyx wouldn’t be mollified, though. She stared at the ground as she walked. “Would you go, if they did?”
“What do you mean?”
“If they kicked you out—or if they won’t take me back. Would you go? I mean, come on: the Ancients are like your family. How long have you been with ’em?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“How long?” she pressed.
“Started runnin’ errands for ’em when I was seven,” she said, with some reluctance. “Mostly because of Liam. He wasn’t in charge then, but he was on his way up.”
Vyx nodded. “That’s what I mean. You wouldn’t leave all that for me. I wouldn’t want you to. I’d never ask.”
Virago gripped her arm and brought her to a halt. “Listen, chica,” she said, and her normally soft voice had a hard edge to it. “I make up my own mind about what’s important to me, so ka? They ain’t gonna kick you out. I’ll make sure of that. But if they do—I’m comin’ with you.” She grinned. “Hey, maybe the Hellriders are recruitin’.”
“You know, that’s not a bad idea,” Vyx said, tilting her head. “They’ve got some sweet bikes…”
Virago punched her gently and shoved her away. “Come on, drekhead. Let’s finish up this bug hunt of yours and get the hell back to town. My feet are gettin’ cold, and—”
Vyx’s danger sense buzzed. Fuck! She held up a finger.
“What?”
“Something’s out there,” she whispered. “Run!” She grabbed Virago’s arm and pulled her down into a crouching dash.
An instant later, a series of dark, shadowy forms burst through the trees behind them, at least fifty meters back—but between them and where they’d left the bike. The clearing rang with the sound of automatic fire, followed by an unearthly, warbling howl.
Thirty-Five
Five minutes later when Winterhawk reached the meeting point, the side of a winding, narrow road near the north side of the Wilds, Ocelot was already waiting. The mage pulled Althea’s little car onto the shoulder behind a battered, olive-drab, four-wheel-drive Jeep Trailblazer. Up ahead, an overgrown, even narrower dirt road, little more than a single-lane track and barely wide enough for a car, snaked off into the forest.
Winterhawk wasted no time swapping vehicles. “Where did you get that?” the mage asked, climbing into the Jeep’s shotgun seat. “You didn’t steal it, did you? We’ve got enough problems already.”
“Rented it. Found a local—procurement guy.” He nodded at the back seat, where a large duffel bag took up most of the space. “Picked up a few things, too. Few guns and some ammo. Where we goin’?”
Winterhawk pointed out the direction. “I don’t think it’s far. It was hard to tell from the astral, but it looked like they were near some kind of little farmhouse. Abandoned, most likely.” He drummed his fingers on the armrest and tried to slow his racing heartbeat as the Jeep seemed to crawl with agonizing slowness toward its destination. They can take care of themselves, he reminded himself. “Did you talk to anyone at the Black Cat?”
“Yeah.” Ocelot steered around the moss-covered husk of a fallen tree; clearly this road hadn’t been used recently. “Place was closed—looked like something had torn out half their back room—but I tracked down one of the waitresses. She said two women, one human, one elf in a green jacket, showed up last night and met up with another woman she’s seen before—one of the local witches. Chica named Beatrix. She doesn’t know what happened next, since she wasn’t in the back room, but she said some kind of enormous freaky thing busted out of there, and then a firefight started in the parking lot. By the time the cops showed up, though, everybody’d taken off.”
“Were you able to locate this Beatrix?” Winterhawk kept his gaze fixed ahead of them, periodically levitating small objects out of the way so their forward progress would be slowed as little as possible.
“Nobody saw her at all. They didn’t find a body, and nobody saw her leave.”
“That’s not good.” He reached out to Maya; he’d recalled her after completing the ritual and sent her off to scout ahead. “Do you see anything?”
“They’re here,” she said. “They’re in trouble. Hurry.”
“Are they in the house?”
“No, they’re trying to run. A huge wolf-thing is chasing them, along with a couple of hellhounds and men with guns. I think they might be out of ammo, because they aren’t shooting.”
Damn. If they ran too far away, he and Ocelot might have trouble finding them—or they might run into even more trouble out in the Wilds. He made a fast decision. “Maya—I want you to show yourself to them. Tell them help is on the way, and steer them toward the farmhouse. We’ll be there fast.”
“I’ll try,” she said. “I don’t think they’re too inclined to trust anyone at present.”
“Hurry!” Winterhawk urged Ocelot. By his reckoning they were less than half a kilometer away. He summoned an air spirit and gave it a mental picture of the farmhouse and of Vyx’s aura, then ordered it to go to them and assist them against whatever was attacking. He felt its acquiescence as it streaked off. He hoped it would be enough until they got there.
Thirty-Six
Vyx skidded to a stop, ducking behind a thick tree and waiting for Virago to catch up. Her danger sense wasn’t pinging strongly at the moment and no one was shooting at them, but they could hear their pursuers crashing through the trees off in the distance. They couldn’t stop for long.
“What the hell’s going on?” Virago demanded, bending over to grasp her knees while still maintaining her scan of the forest behind them. “Why is everybody suddenly fuckin’ after us?”
“Good question.” Her gaze darted around, then she pointed upward. “We need to get back to town. I’m gonna climb up and see if I can spot a road.”
“Yeah. Do that. I’ll—” She stopped. “Oh, fuck!”
The glowing figure of a large, long-haired black cat with a plumy tail shimmered into being on a branch in front of them.
Vyx whipped out her knife, and Virago swung her katana around, slashing at the cat. The blade passed harmlessly through and sank into the tree’s trunk.
“Stop, please.” The cat spoke in Vyx’s mind. Its mental voice was prim and feminine, with—a British accent? Seriously? “I’m a friend.”
“What the—” She swept her gaze around again, but her danger sense still wasn’t going off. She didn’t attack the cat, though she did keep her knife raised.
“I’m a friend,” the cat repeated. “Help is coming. You need to follow me.”
“Like hell!” Vyx glared at it. “What do you mean, ‘help’? What help? Who sent you?”
“Are you talkin’ to that thing?” Virago demanded, looking as if she were trying to decide if her girlfriend had gone crazy or if she should take another shot at this weird cat.
“We don’t have time for this,” the cat said. There was no desperation in her voice, but urgency tinged it. She indicated a direction with a head gesture. “There’s an old farmhouse nearby. My master and his friend will meet you there. Please—your pursuers are getting close.”
Vyx froze. “Your master and his friend?” Oh, fuck…Oh, holy fuck… “They’re the guys who’ve been looking for us, aren’t they?” Why did every damn thing in the world have to go wrong at once?
The crashing in the distance was growing louder. She could hear voices now, calling back and forth to each other. Worse, she thought she could make out the massive, loping form of the wolf. Her danger sense buzzed a little harder.
“They’re not your enemies,” the cat said. “They mean you no harm. Please—if you don’t hurry, they won’t be able to help you.”
Two of their pursuers broke through the trees less than fifty meters away. “This way!” one shouted, pointing toward Vyx and Virago’s direction.
Vyx exchanged glances with Virago. “Gotta make a choice,” she said, talking fast. “The cat says it’s with those guys who are looking for us, but they’re not enemies.”
“You believe it?” Virago glanced around the tree again, then jerked her head back. Her grip tightened on her katana.
Vyx hoped she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life. “No choice,” she said. “We’ll deal with ’em if we have to.” To the cat, she said, “Okay, let’s go.”
The cat seemed to nod. “Follow me,” she said. “I’ll try to conceal you, but stay low and move fast.”
“That’s what I do best.” Vyx bared her teeth in a fierce grin. She was trying not to think about the old phrase ‘out of the frying pan and into the fire.’
Thirty-Seven
“Here!” Winterhawk called, pointing.
Ocelot almost missed the overgrown turnoff, but whipped the Jeep off the narrow dirt road and up the rutted track. A rotting and broken wooden fence traced the path along their right side, probably all that was left of a long-abandoned horse corral. None of the buildings were visible yet. “You sure this is it?”
Winterhawk didn’t answer. Instead, he reached out to Maya again. “Did you find them?”
“Yes, we’re coming. Almost to you.”
“How many pursuers?” He extended his senses further to the air spirit, trying to follow its progress.
“At least three metahumans. And the big wolf spirit. I didn’t want to get too close to it, but I think something’s—off about it.”
“Off?” He glanced up as the two-story bulk of the abandoned farmhouse came into view around a bend.
“Hold on—I can see the house now. We’re coming around the back.”
“Get them here safely, Maya. We’re there now.”
He broke contact and leaped out of the Jeep as soon as Ocelot screeched to a stop around the back. “Let’s get inside under cover. Maya says they’re coming.”
Ocelot snatched his duffel bag out of the back seat, slung it and his AK-97 over his shoulder, and took off for the door.
Winterhawk barely got a good look at farmhouse’s interior as they pounded up the rickety stairs: graffiti, trash, and the remains of old sleeping nests told him drifters or chipheads had frequently used it as a crash pad, but none of it looked recent. The place smelled of dust, disuse, and the distant hint of squatter funk.
“Up here!” Ocelot yelled, ducking into one of the bedrooms facing the back part of the house.
By the time Winterhawk joined him, Ocelot had already dropped down below the room’s single window. The glass was long gone; he’d braced his rifle with the barrel propped against the sill, scanning the thick forest beyond the backyard. “I don’t—wait! Something’s coming. Two o’clock!”
Winterhawk crouched on the other side of the window and peered out, assensing the area for any sign of living beings. For a moment he didn’t see anything, and then a small, dark form streaked out of the trees followed by two young women in ripped jeans and leather jackets. Both ran faster than mundane humans, zigzagging and crouching low. Behind them, gunshots rang out.
He lost sight of them all as they darted inside the house. “Bring them up here to us,” Winterhawk told Maya. “Quickly.”
A couple seconds later, more figures broke free of the treeline. Winterhawk counted three dark-clad humans, all armed with rifles, all running uneven patterns similar to their quarry.
“They went into the house!” one yelled. “Surround ’em! We—”
That was all he got to say before Ocelot squeezed off a burst of rounds. The man spun and dropped.
One of the remaining men quickly turned tail and plunged back toward the cover of the trees. The other paused, whipped something from his armored vest, and fired at the house. A quick whuff sounded, and then a louder BOOM!
The old house shook on its foundation.
Winterhawk roared and flung a manabolt at the man, who clutched his head and pitched forward to his knees, scrabbling at the ground as he tried to continue his forward progress. Another burst from Ocelot’s rifle felled him.
Maya zoomed into the room, not even bothering to pretend she was running. “The house is on fire!” she said, her normally cultured British tones full of fear. “They’ve hit it with some kind of grenade.”
A second later, the two women skidded to stops just inside the door, panting and dirt-streaked. They both stared at Winterhawk.
Winterhawk stared back at them—or rather, at Vyx.
Ocelot fired yet another burst into the trees.
“The house is on fire!” Vyx yelled. “What the hell are you doing? We gotta get outta here!”
“Grenade,” Winterhawk said. “We’ve got time. We have to deal with your pursuers first. How many were after you?”
“Three guys,” the other woman, an elf—Virago, most likely—said, still panting. “And one big fuckin’—”
“Holy shit!” Ocelot cut her off. “Look at the size of that thing, ‘Hawk!”
Winterhawk spun back around. “Bloody hell…” he whispered.
The thing that broke free of the trees was a wolf. Or, it would have been a wolf if it had been anything approximating wolf-sized. This creature was the size of a small bus—three meters at the shoulder at least. Its shaggy black fur looked matted and sickly, its eyes burned an unholy red, and thick ropes of saliva dripped from its yellow-fanged jaws. It snapped at Winterhawk’s air spirit, which cruised along beside it attempting to slow its forward progress. As ’Hawk and Ocelot watched, it lashed a massive paw out at the spirit, which already looked diminished from previous attacks. The spirit made a reedy little astral shriek and winked out.
Without looking back, Ocelot snapped, “You ladies know how to shoot?”
“Yeah,” Virago growled. “Outta ammo, though.”
“In the bag.”
Winterhawk flung another spell at the approaching spirit as he heard Vyx and Virago going through Ocelot’s duffel bag in search of weapons. The spell hit it and it yelped, but the sound was more one of anger than of pain. The remaining metahuman attacker, a beefy ork, used it as cover to fire toward the window. Rounds spanged off the rotted wood.
From below, the faint smell of smoke began to grow more pungent. They couldn’t remain here for long.
Virago joined them at the window. She’d selected an SMG, but hesitated as she got a good look at the wolf-thing. It lasted only a second, though, and then she opened up with a flurry of rounds that stitched along the thing’s side with deadly accuracy.
It barely slowed the beast’s movement.
“Holy fuck…” she breathed.
It was almost at the house now. Winterhawk, switching gears, sent another manabolt at the ork behind it. Unlike the wolf, the ork didn’t seem to have any unusual protections against magic. He clutched his head and fell, dropping his gun.
