Tandem of Terror (15 page)

"
Time displacement," Brook
said bitterly, "How is that any war to fight a war?"

"
The Lemurians are pacifists
Brook, you know that. Their faith demands that they never take a
life unless there is absolutely no other choice."

"
But isn't sending us here,
whenever the heck here is, killing us just as much as blowing us
out of the water? There's nothing,
nothing,
in terms of land
anywhere in range of the Manta's sensor array. The Comm. channels
are dead. Even the G.P.S. isn't working."

"
And it wouldn't be seeing
as G.P.S. tech hasn't been invented here yet," Steve informed her
as he moved to get back inside the Manta.

"
How do you know we're in
the past?" Brook asked stunned by Steve's revelation.

"
He kind of tipped me off,"
Steve pointed at the large snake-like dinosaur creature cutting a
path in the water towards them.

"
Holy..." Brook yelled
following Steve into the Manta's cockpit. She slid into her seat
flipping control switches wildly. "Full power
activated."

Steve began to arm the weapon systems as
Brook got the helm online.

"
Just how big is that
thing?" Brook wondered aloud as she kicked the Manta into high gear
and it splashed below the waves.

"
About the size of an
aircraft carrier, I'd guess."

"
Run or fight?" Brook asked
already taking evasive maneuvers as the monstrous creature came at
them with its mouth open.

"
Fight. We can't out run it.
There's no other choice. Get us out of its path into a good
position."

Steve bounced in his seat as Brook slammed
the Manta into a hard right. The creature shot passed them, its
wake sending the Manta into a spin. Brook barely managed to pull
them out of it and stabilize the craft. When she did, she brought
the Manta about to face the creature's rear. "Get him Steve. I
don't think I can get us through another pass like that one."

Steve let the Manta self aim for him as he
opened fire. A cascade of mini-torpedoes, designed to blast their
way through Lemurian steel, shot out of its launchers and tore a
path of blood and burning flesh along the monster's back. The
creature's howl reverberated in the water around them as the ocean
seemed to turn red.

Steve and Brook sat in silence as they
watched the thing's corpse sinking into the darkness below them. A
tear slid down Brook's cheek. "I'm sorry," she whispered to the
ocean.

"
Looks like you have some
fight left in you yet officer Banks," Steve grinned.

"
Maybe," Brook answered,
"Just a little."

"
Then pick us a heading
ma'am. There's got to be land out there somewhere and we need to
find it."

Brook sat the Manta heading due west as they
raced the sun towards the horizon line.

The Wolf
Boys

Eric S Brown

The camper rocked back and forth as the two
dozen or so dead who'd encircled it hammered and pushed against its
sides trying to get inside. Muzzle flashes lit the night from its
singular window as Paul fired round after round into the things
trying to pull themselves up and crawl in to get at him and Burt.
Burt angrily shoved Paul out of the way. "Stop messin' around with
that little piece of crap pistol! We got a whole freakin' arsenal
in here and you're pussy footin' around with a 9 mm!" Burt leveled
his M-16 at the creatures and let loose on full auto. Paul
struggled to keep his balance as he popped the clip from his pistol
and slammed a fresh one home. "What are those things Burt?" he
demanded.

Burt's rifle clicked empty. "How the devil am
I supposed to know?" he snapped.

"
You said this would be easy
Burt!" Paul raged. "You said there would only be two of them. You
didn't say nothing about them being able to conjure up the
dead!"

"
You idiot!" Burt screamed
as he swung the butt of his M-16 into the snarling face of a dead
woman wearing a pink sundress who was halfway inside the camper.
Her nose caved in from the impact and the force of the blow sent
her toppling back out the window. "This ain't them! This must be
that crap they were talking about on the radio as we drove up
here!"

Paul stepped forward raising his pistol,
popping off a trio of shots as Burt tossed his M-16 aside and
snatched up a shotgun from where it lay in the floor.

In the darkness of the woods, Eddie and Steve
watched it all. "Poor bastards," Eddie commented. Steve shot him a
glare. "You're kidding right? Those buggers came up here to hunt
us."

"
Still nobody should die
like that. It's not right for the dead to be eating the
living."

Steve shook his head. "It was their own
science and pollution that caused the dead to get up. Smell of
those things. They stink of man's crimes against nature." Steve saw
the look on Eddie's face. The younger boy was completely tuning him
out, lost in his own holier than thou thoughts. "I can't believe
it," Steve said, "You're going to help them, aren't you?"

Eddie didn't bother to answer. He started
running towards the battle and the pack of the dead. "Nice knowing
you bro!" Steve called after him. Steve sighed and walked on into
the deeper part of the woods. Eddie was old enough to make his own
choices however foolish they were.

"
Toss me a clip!" Paul
demanded as Burt stood shoving shells into his shotgun. By luck
more than skill, they'd killed over half of the rotting men and
women surrounding them. They'd finally figured out that if you shot
the things in the head, they went down and stayed there. An inhuman
growl echoed in the night.

"
What is that?" Paul yelled
as the camper suddenly stopped rocking. Burt pushed his last shell
into the shotgun's chamber and raced over to the now empty window.
Outside the camper, a hulking, half wolf-half man monster tore into
the remaining dead. It lifted one of the things off the ground,
tearing it in half with ease.

Burt smiled. "It's one of them! He's helping
us!"

Paul peeked through the window as Burt lunged
for the cases of weapons they'd brought with them. "Where are the
freaking rifles?" he complained shuffling through their stockpiles.
Finally, he stood up with a .30-.06 in hand, darting back to the
window. The battle had stopped and the night was quiet again except
for the wolf-thing's heavy breathing as it stood among the now
unmoving corpses of the mutilated dead which littered the forest
floor.

Burt jerked up the rifle as the monster
looked at him with surprise in its yellow eyes. The rifle cracked
and a silver cased bullet caught the monster in its throat. Its
howl of pain sounded like a demented gargle as it collapsed.

"
Get the camera! Get the
damn camera!" Burt ordered Paul as he ripped the camper's door open
and jumped outside. "We got the A-hole!"

Paul and Burt filmed the transformation as
Eddie's body reshaped itself from wolf to human. "Whoo-ee! Those
boys in town will have to believe us that those freaks are
werewolves now!"

Paul tried to smile but found he couldn't.
"What if there's not a town to go back to Burt? What if those dead
things are everywhere like the radio was saying?"

Burt laughed. "Don't you worry none. We'll
kick them in their stinking A-holes too if we have to!"

Shades Darker Than War

John Grover

The rattling of machine guns filled the air
as the soldiers stormed onto the beach of Omaha. The June air was
wet with blood and rain; the ocean waves ran red as soldiers
toppled under the hail of bullets.

Mortars bellowed like thunder, hurling men to
the ground in showers of sand and severed limbs. Cries of fear and
pain echoed around the beach---grunts, curses, pleas to God mingled
into a deafening cacophony.

Ben Hollander watched as his buddies, his
comrades were cut down before they could even get their bearings.
They tumbled from their boats headfirst, enemy fire crumbling
faces, tearing chests apart, ripping throats out; ravaging the
young men without mercy. The German troops pinned them down like
rats under their boots, launching an onslaught so fierce the hope
for victory seemed an impossible dream.

Ben hit the ground as mortar shells broke on
the ground around him. He crawled on his belly through the wet
sand, clutching a rifle he had yet to fire. His stomach churned as
he scanned the Normandy coast, watching men charge headlong into
certain death.

He listened to the shrieks rise above the
rage of the battle, heard the mindless cries in his ears. His hope
began to fade; his hands trembled uncontrollably. He drew his
attention back to the hills and bunkers ahead of him, aimed and
fired without direction, without purpose.

How could he do any good? What did it matter,
they were all as good as dead. It was pointless. It was all so
pointless.
What am I doing here?
I shouldn't even be
here... I
miss my parents...and my sisters. What kind of God
would let this happen?

He pushed on, and was dragging himself over
body parts when someone reached out and grabbed him by the elbow.
He turned to see a young man calling out to him, trying to speak,
but the blood drowned his words. He died a moment later.

Still Ben pushed on, wind spraying his face
with sand, clogging up his nostrils. His ears rang, his heart
fluttered and adrenaline set his body racing. He was soaked from
head to toe from having plunged into the ocean when his boat was
riddled with gunfire.

The lifeless body of Frank Danvers had hit
him under the water, the dead weight making it nearly impossible to
reach the surface. Five minutes into battle and he nearly drowned
until Jimmy, his best friend since boot camp reached down and---

"
Ben!" he heard the call
despite the ungodly chaos that choked his senses. It was Jimmy
calling to him. He needed him.
Jimmy, my God
Jimmy!

Ben looked around the beach, so many figures
rushing toward and away from him at the same time, and searched
frantically for Jimmy.

"
Ben help. Ben!" The cry was
louder now. Ben lifted himself onto his knees and
turned.

Jimmy lay on his back, reaching out to him.
Both of his legs were missing. Ben choked back a scream. He jumped
to his feet and raced to his fallen friend.

"
Medic!" Ben screamed but
knew the medic would never come.

"
Buddy," Jimmy coughed.
"Hell of a ride, huh?"

Ben took his hand. "You know it, Jimmy boy.
Don't worry, you're gonna be fine. Help's coming."

"
Don't bullshit a
bullshitter." Jimmy laughed. "I'm done. I just wanted to say
goodbye."

"
No goodbyes Jim. We're
gonna make it. We're gonna beat the hell out these Nazi bastards.
You wait, I'm -- "

Ben's words were cut short by the bullet that
ripped through his ribs. He buckled and groaned, falling onto his
back to stare at the sky. He felt the rain pelting him in the face;
an icy tingle capered up his spine as he listened to Jimmy's voice
fade into senseless babble. He tried to move. Couldn't. Dull pain
washed over him. He stared up at the sky, listened to something
pierce the air, and watched a mortar shell shriek toward him.

The sky grew dark and everything went black
as he was swept into merciful oblivion.

Ben opened his eyes and tasted blood in his
mouth. The sky was bright and clear. He could no longer hear the
sounds of war. Instead, there was a peculiar calm.

He was able to turn his head and move
slightly and he could feel his legs. That was a good sign. He
looked down---yep they were still there. He looked over to the side
and Jimmy stared at him blankly. He was dead. "Jimmy..."

Ben sat up and glanced around. The beach was
strewn with twitching, broken bodies, pieces of soldiers scattered
everywhere. Men lay where they had fallen, some staring up at the
sky others staring into the sand. The wounded cried out, begging
for help, pleading for an end. Calls for the medic carried on the
wind, as did the foul smell of death.

His heart was still beating; he could hear it
thumping in his ears, which told him he was not yet dead. He
assumed the battle was over but did not know who had won. He tried
to pull himself up but grimaced in pain as his wounds protested.
Only then did he realize how badly wounded he was. His entire body
screamed with agony. Perhaps shock had dulled his senses before.
Now he felt every bit of the hellish agony.

With the pain came a sudden cold. Ben
shivered as icy fingers tickled the back of his neck. His face was
soaked with sweat and as he wiped it from his eyes he saw something
moving in the distance.

A black-clad figure scuttled down the face of
the cliff. It crept along the beach, weaving its way through the
multitude of bodies. Ben stared in disbelief. It was a woman, a
beautiful woman dressed in black robes and a shawl. He watched her
raven tresses dance in the wind, robes rippling as she made her way
closer.

Under the shawl that covered her head like a
cowl was a pale face. She radiated cold beauty, with her full red
lips. Ben was at once both captivated and frightened. He could not
take his eyes off her. In one of her hands she carried a willow
basket; in the other a blade, a dagger gleaming silver in the
light. He watched her approach a still twitching soldier. She bent
to him, then swiftly and methodically plunged the dagger into his
chest until he stopped moving. She yanked his dog tags from his
neck and dropped them into her basket.