My hair is whipped violently back from my head with a blast of frozen wind
as the helicopter ascends, lifting itself up and off the Arctic ground before the
door has even fully closed. Ah grimace with a lurch my stomach, muttering
her quick prayer as we leave the earth behind. I'm not particularly religious,
but I'll admit it, I'm scared. You find me at the tail end
of a confusing and chaotic twenty four hours yesterday morning, my military routine was
disrupted by my superior superior and I was deliberately separated from the rest of my
squadron. I was informed I would be taking a brief hiatus from the NATO
Rapid Reaction Corps here in Norway and would be temporarily relocated to a coalition based
outpost in the Ural Mountains the Ural Sir, I'd replied, But that's in
Russia, isn't it. That's right, he said levely. NATO Russian Coalition.
NATO Russian Coalition. I considered the existence of such a coalition incredibly unlikely,
especially considering certain current geopolitical circumstances, and yet here I am on board
a Royal Norwegian Air Force helicopter departing from the air base in Bard of Us
and in transit to the base in Orland, where one of NATO's finest will
fly me directly into Russian air space, across the country and towards the Urals,
the mountain range that marks the border between Europe and Asian Russia. I
feel sick, and not just because of the chopping us of the flight.
I suffer through it. We arrive in Ireland, I am bustled from one
means of transport to another. Out from the helicopter and into a plane space
nothing inside for plenty, but aside for myself and the pilot, entirely empty.
Another American, the pilot remarks as they clamber on board, pointing to
the flag emblazoned across the arm of my uniform. He turns to his copilot
and muttered something in Norwegian. I picked up a little of the language during
my time in the country, I think, he says something about one bet.
Excuse me, I ask, as I buckled myself into my seat.
The pilot turns to look at me over his shoulder. The last four were
the Americans, he says, simply. I have thought they were over ju
for a European by now Canadian maybe Adam Smith, Yes, yeah, I
reply, yeah, that's me good, great, Well here we go,
then, Adam fingers crossed. We don't get shot down by any Moscow missiles.
He chuckles and turns back to the controls, failing to see the impact
that is Joe had and my constitution. I still don't understand, I shout
out above the rising roar of the engine. No one's telling me a damn
thing. Why am I going to Russia? Why do we have people's stationed
in the urals and they're not spice right, they're working with them, So
what the hell is going on? The co pilot shoots me a sympathetic look,
secret information, friend classified. We ferry the people to and fro.
But that's all. He shifts and turns back to the runway ahead. But
you're in for a rough couple of weeks, Smith, maybe longer. Best
to look to you. And the aircraft begins its run between the mountains,
clambering up and into the sky, the snow like little stars in the dark
as we saw up high between them. I watched the little blinking lights on
the sides of the wings. It's early as hell, and the sun is
still yet to rise. We saw through the darkness, and I settle into
my seat, doing my best to try and grab a few hours of sleep.
Not an easy thing to do when you're expecting to be blown out of
the sky at any given second, burnt half to a crisp in the initial
explosion court amidst billowing flames and plumes of smoke, plummeting and free fall towards
the ice and the rocks below, I scratched the side of my neck,
shifting in my seat. To be honest, I'm not even sure that I'm
supposed to be here. I happen to share the exact same name as another
soldier on the base. You see a guy also named Adam Smith. In
a further bizarrity, he was even born in the exact same town, just
a few years apart. We've been mistaken for each other on numerous occasions,
not that we look anything alike, of course, I doubt that that even
matters. We all look the same to the higher ups, these misunderstandings have
never been particularly consequential. They've always been remedied pretty promptly once they were pointed
out, amusing to everyone else, involved. Nothing quite like this has ever
happened before, ever, and I've never noticed anyone disappearing from the base.
Despite what the pilot said, the last four were Americans. Why had nobody's
spoken about this before? Why is this the first time I'm hearing about a
joint US Russian base? A base in Russia. Surely not. It makes
no strategic sense, It's downright dangerous. But I'm unable to come up with
any concrete, logical theories. And so I spend the next few hours drifting
in and out of bleary, unrestful, deep tainted with disturbing dreams. The
hours pass, the sun rises, and any real chance of sleep is lost.
I drowsily watched through the window as the Eurs appear beneath us, below
the layer of cloud. We fly overhead in a wide arc, and the
pilots begin our descent, ears popping as we draw closer and closer to the
sight of a runway nestled amongst the mountains, attached to what looks like a
very modest military installation. The wheels judder against the asphalt, the plane trundles
to a gradual stop. My heart hammers well. The pilot says, after
a moment, this is your stop. Y unfastens and steps out of the
cockpit, stretching his legs. He pauses, and there is a poignant moment
between us as he looks to me. Then he holds out his hand.
I shake it. Good luck man, he says quietly. All traces of
sleepiness are blasted back with a rush of wintry wind as the doors clank open.
Jeez, I shout out into the gale, shielding my eyes from the
wind and frost. As I made my careful way down the steps towards the
ground, I'm greeted there by two men, one American and one Russian.
I salute and both salute in return, saluted by a Russian and Russian soil.
The American muttered something in Russian to his partner, then steps forward.
Smith. He calls out loud above the winds. Yes, Sir, I
shout back with me, he replies, turning and walking the length of the
runway towards a collection of squat, low gray buildings. I hurry along after
them, casting a quick look at our surroundings. There is nothing but gray
and white bleak, snow, mounds of rock, mountain mist, and concrete.
We head into one of the nearest buildings, revealing it to be a
part of a corridor connected network. I draw the door closed with some effort,
and with the thud of the door the roar of the gale he is
replaced by the quiet buzz of electric lights. The two officers do not stop
walking, and I move to keep pace. They'll want you up in the
outpost before he gets dark to night, the American says to me, grab
some breakfast of the canteen. The wind is due to die down in an
hour or so. Officer so Glof will take you via helicopter to the closest
available sight and will then lead you on foot from there to the outpost.
You are to address him as sir whilst you are here. Is that understood,
my falter? I yes, sir, But canteen is that way?
The officer points. Helicopter port is down there. I know you've had a
barrel of questions Smith, and do not have them answered. It's frustrating,
but you have been assigned to the outpost. You will serve a two weeks
duty, possibly longer dependent on the weather. You are doing a duty to
your country. He stops. He points again, canteen smith, it's that
way. He claps me on the shoulders, and the discussion is done.
Away they walk, leaving me fumbling for words like an idiot in the corner
of where exactly I look around, gray walls, no boards, and signs,
all written in Russian, of course, but I recognize a military installation
when I see one. My stomach growls. I cannot deny my hunger,
so I anxiously consider my predicament. As I go to grab some food.
I think I might be the only America in this section of the facility.
The canteen is mostly empty, though there are a smattering of Russians at the
far tables. Some shoot me glances, most pay me no mind. So
I mind my own business, in turn, filling my stomach until it is
time for the next rough leg of my journey. Since the beginning, since
I first became aware back at part of us that I was going on something
of an excursion, there's been this building growing, gnawing not of anxiety inside
me, slowly spinning and tightening all the cords that it is attached to.
Around it goes around and around. The pressure rises. Another helicopter ride,
the American officer bids me a rapid goodbye, and accompanied by the Russian Sokolov,
I believe his name was. We have flown across the urals, higher
and higher. Sokolov gives me two pills that take on route as it is
zolomide, he mutters, then potassium he points up to the sky for altitude.
I take them both, and then after brief consideration, he hands me
a small capsule box stuffed follow them in case of need, he says,
and I thank him. The ice now broken, I risk a question.
I still don't understand, sir, this outpost hidden away in the mountains.
Why are there are Americans here too? What are just Russians? What makes
this place in particular so important? International agreement is the only response? Secret
important? And then he leans back against the helicopter walls with his arms folded,
eyes closed. I sigh quietly, assuming that this means he has deemed
the matter closed. But as I turned to look out the window at the
world below, he mutters one more quick phrase. Monsters at the gate,
he says. As the blade of the helicopter were around and around and around.
The helicopter goes as high as it can into the mountains. There are
some decidedly nerve inducing moments, but it at last brings us down into a
crude helipad in the cradle of stone. Upon her departure, we are then
forced to walk to climb, almost for the bulk of the afternoon, then
evening. My head hurts, and after a point I find myself winting with
almost every step. Not much further now, Sokolov says, as a sudden,
sharp guss blows snow into our faces. Hour to go ninety minutes,
most sweat buds across my forehead, but I nod and contin knew the climb.
Seventeen minutes later, the outpost itself at last shimmers interview through the fog.
The mountain goes higher still, but from here we are given a commanding
view of the rocky plains in outcrops, drops and cliffs all around. At
least we would be if the day was clear. At present, these shots
of rocks appear as little more than looming shadows through the mist. Flashes of
colors from my eye, and I glance up, wearied to see five flags
above the outpost roof flapping in the wind. The one on the leftmost spire
is the flag of the Russian Federation, bands of white, blue, and
red. It's in pretty good condition, though the same cannot be set for
the other flags, tattered and string worn past their best days. Beside the
Russian flag is all glory herself the stars and stripes. To the right of
this is the Union jack, and to which right beyond is the flag of
Norway. After that is an empty spire, and then there's one more flag
at the far end, and this is the NATO and sign white and Navy.
As I said before, these latter four flags have seen better days.
These flags are almost the outpost's tallest point, beaten by a lightning rod,
and what looks like a standalone tower a little further out across the mountain,
partly shrouded in fog. If I squint, I think I can just about
make out a lightning rod of the tower zone. The outpost itself is a
series of closely clustered, roughly rectangular, black gray buildings. There is a
white scratched the tank attached to the wall of one of these buildings, linked
up with pipes. I cannot see all the way around the outpost from here,
but it looks like it might be built right up to the edge of
the cliff on the other side, and likely hangs over a steep drop.
There are a couple of stand alone sheds, an aerial dish or two,
and what looks like the wreck of what might once have been a water tower
off to one side. Sokolov clicks his tongue and mutters something under his breath
when he sees it. This clap structure is not the most interesting feature of
the outpost up here in the mountains, however, nor are the curious combination
of flags waving in the wind. There are three key features that alert my
sense of curiosity the most. The first is the low, circular wall that
borders the outposts perimeter. It only comes up to about waist height, and
the officer and I are able to clamber over it easily enough, but the
surface is completely covered in chalk. Once we've crossed, I watch with uncertain
interest as Soacloth carefully shows that our hands and footprints have been scrubbed away,
using his fingers to re smooth out the layer of chalk. The second of
these three features are the symbols and scrollings drawn all across the body of the
outpost itself. Most of these drawings are crosses, but amongst them I spy
multiple wheels, watchful eyes, moons and suns. I see stars of David,
an eagle with widespread wings, and what appears to be a whole horde
of ancient Slavic or maybe Celtic rooms. But the aspect that gives me the
most cause for alarm is the object attached to the side of the outpost,
about twelve or so feet from the ground and clearly connected through to its interior.
It is, to put him bluntly, an enormous gun. It has
the appearance of a massive, white gray rifle, like something a giant wood
wield, though its exact make one i'm familiar with. I've never seen such
a design in my life. A wall too low to keep people out,
religious graffiti, and the world's largest gun. I do not have long to
dwell on these abnormalities. As we have now approached the outer gate of the
complex. So Glove presses the side of his hand against the buzzer, an
action repeats four or five quick times. As we wait for a response.
He turns to me and scratches his drawer, regarding me, looking me up
and down, as if properly seeing me for the first real time, assessing
me as an individual. Thank good thoughts, he says, eventually tapping the
side of his head. It helps. I don't respond, I only nod,
unsure of what to say. The gate makes a dull, whirring sound,
and then, after a series of clicks, it grinds and clanks open.
Two disheveled looking individuals greet us, both with American flags on their uniforms,
a man and a woman. The man breathes in the cool mountain air
and laughs. He clasps hands with a woman, smiling at her. She
smiles back. They are the first smiles I've seen in days. He strides
out into the cold and greets Sokolov with a salute. Great God, it's
good to see you again, sir. The officer grunts and nods and returns
the salute, nodding to the woman. In turn. She drops her own
salute and her eyes go to mine, looking me over with curiosity. I
squirm beneath her gaze. I look away, and the American man turns to
me. Pity flashes across his face. Burst to look to you, man,
he says, don't let your guard down in there. He makes a
movement as if the place a hand on my shoulder, then decides against it.
Thanks, I reply augurdly, I'll er keep that in mind, and
then I watch, bewildered as he hoists back back up higher on his shoulders,
and Sokolov starts to head out back across the outpost grounds, towards that
low little wall, back presumably down the side of the mountain. As they
walk away, Sokolov turns to me and points, I will return two weeks
time when duty is done. Do not die, he shouts, and that's
all the goodbye I'm given away. He goes, and two men, fading
gradually into the fog. I slowly turned back to look at the woman.
She's still regarding me, head cocked at a slight angle. She's about my
age, maybe a little older. After a beat, she sticks out of
hand for me to shake April, she says, Hi, Yeah, nice
to meet you, Adam. She nods, Come with me, Adam,
Welcome to the outpost. She glances at a watch as she leads us inside,
shutting the gate up tight behind her. We have about an hour to
sundown, might be enough. Time, maybe not. She shrugs and sighs.
She looks tired Christians in the tower right now, but the others are
all around. I'll introduce you, right, So am I the only new
person? What's the deal with this place? The deal? She gives me
another look. How much do they bother telling you you into the supernatural?
Adam? I laugh, though there is much humor behind it. The supernatural,
Nope, can't say I am mm is all she says. Classic.
The outpost has several interlinked corridors and several defense style turrets jutting out through the
walls, with sections of thick dark glass or mesh that I hadn't noticed from
the outside, which would allow one to peer out over the rocks below.
She shows me the various rooms, the storage facilities, the kitchens, and
the comms room. One of the rooms, it's just stacked full of alcohol,
vodka mostly so. How many people are stationed here? I ask?
After a while, Russians and Americans together? What's that like? She shrugs.
It is what it is. We're civil. I suppose they keep to
themselves, mostly the Russians. There's only six of us, six six people
for all this space and equipment. She nods only six. Elena tells me
that there used to be more, but it didn't quite work out. She
makes a noise. I don't know what to make of Eleana. There's something
not quite right about her. Eleanor April nods, yeah, she's one of
the Russians. They've been here longer. The Russians, I mean, they
command makes them stay for two months at a time, whereas NATO only need
to do two weeks. I think Ellen has been here a little longer than
that, though, what makes you say that? April again does not respond.
She leads us into a wide, hexagonal room, six walls. My
mouth drops open, and I'm forced to compose myself as I look around.
Three of these walls are comprised of hard glass, framed and reinforced with concrete.
They look out over incredibly sharp steep drops. It's difficult to tell how
far they go down from my current position in the room, but it looks
pretty damn to me. Pillars of cracked rock and narrow, unstable looking mountain
arches lead away into the mist. A person could probably walk across one if
they were brave to jump across the gaps and go foot in front of foot.
There are stairs built into the walls here, leading up to what appears
to be a higher level. I glance up to catch a glimpse of the
edges of further defensive turrets. The room is lined with weaponry. There are
crosses nailed to the walls. I count multiple maps, one of the surrounding
mountains, one of Russia, and one of the world. This map is
intersected with dozens of gently curving, glooping lines. There's a collection of framed
pictures on the wall, most seem to have been taken in or around the
outpost. And in the room center, on an old wooden table is a
pile of what appears to be bibles. And as I consider this, I
find myself being searched by three pairs of interested eyes. Two men have looked
at me from the game of cards. One has the Russian insignia, the
other has British. The Russian man's expression does not change, but the brit
raises a hand in greeting Hello mate. He says pleasure to meet you.
Hey, I reply, how's he going? Trugoy americanete? The Russian mutters,
his interest already lost, returned to his hand. Of cards. This
is Charlie, Abril says to me, pointing at the British guy. And
that's Yuri. A woman near the back of the room rises to stand Hello.
She says, her accent thick welcome. She does not sound particularly welcoming.
Her tone is ice. I take her in. She's tall, long
bond hair kept mostly in a pony tell. It goes all the way down
her back. I don't know how old she is, thirties. Maybe she's
beautiful, I decide, But for a curved, brutal scar across her face.
He goes down her right cheek, through both of her lips, and
finishes at the edge of her chin and her eyes. Her eyes are piercing,
full of icy judgment. She mutters something in Russian, and Yurie chuckles
around his cigarette in response. There won't be an ass Eleanor, Charlie chide,
though there is no heart in his words. And yeah, that's eleanor
Able gestures to the woman in question, without looking at her. Eleanor holds
her stands arms crossed and staring right at me. Christians the sixth. But
as I said, he's up in the tower right now. There always needs
to be at least one person in the tower duty five. So what is
all this? I ask? Unable to keep my frustrations held back any longer.
I've done nothing but get bustled around from place to place all damn day.
I'm tired, I'm scared, and I want to know what the hell
I'll be doing? What are our duties? Who's in command? There is
no command here. We are the outpost, Eleanor replies, before Abril can
answer. Our orders are constant command deferred to our judgment duties. There are
five five duties. She lists them off. Five keep constant presents in the
tower. Four do not leave outer ring of the outpost after sundown. Three,
do not use weaponry beyond outer ring. Two, do not engage verbally
with the enemy. One defend outpost. Do not allow enemy into the outpost.
I listen as she goes through them, So who's the enemy? Then?
I ask, looking from face to face the Chinese or what they seem
to find this amusing? My question creates a ripple of laughter around the room.
The Chinese Eleanor repeats. Charlie chuckles and grins wide. Dolbeb ur,
he mutters, shaking his head as he flicks through his cards. There is
no point in telling you who the enemy is, Eleanor says, the grin
quickly fading from her face. You won't believe, they never believe. You
will have to see for yourself. She holds up her hand and raises her
forefinger. First night, you stay here, o the way, observant watch,
yes, April turns to me. Probably for the best, Adam.
Oh, she announces this to the group, This is Adam, by the
way. No one responds you hear me? Yes, Eleanor asks again,
watch observe, do not get in way, so it'll be down soon,
lads. Charlie murmurs, checking his watch and reluctantly conceding his game to Yuri.
Better get to us stations. Come to my station tonight, Adam,
April says, as the others climb to their feet, sorting their equipment.
And here, do me a favor and take this. She draws from her
pocket across on a silver chain, and she passes it to me. Oh,
I'm not really all that religious, I reply, Eleanor snorts as she
walks past. You will be, she murmurs, I really don't know what
to make of all this, so I accept the gift of the cross and
prepare my weapon as I'm not sure what else to do. The minutes tick
by, and before I know it, I find myself perched on a station
of the outpost roof, shivering with cold and blood iced. April sits next
to me. I can just about make out Charlie or perhaps Uri at one
of the other stations a little further out into the darkness, but I cannot
see eleanor Below us and out of the sides are the vast drops of the
mountain, like a gaping moor, looming up from beneath ice and snow and
shadow. The mists have cleared somewhat, and the starlight tipped edges of the
mountain's glimmer warningly far far away into the distance. As a regard the abyss,
a slow, cold terror begins the creepest way into my bones, a
terror I find heart to describe. There'll be coming up now, April whispers
in a voice that since goose bumps, shivering up my spine and away in
the darkness, A deep, low voice begins the sing. As the wind
blows the sounds of the song across the mountains, April lifts across of her
own from her neck and places it briefly against the lips. Are you wearing
yours? She asked me, and I lifted out from the front of my
uniform to show her. She nods, keep it on. We should be
fine, she whispers, though I gotta admit it's nerve racking. Having somebody
new here changes the dynamic a little, the balance. She moves into position
against the little wall on the edge of the roof, and with a grunt,
she hoists up a mechanical contraption of some kind connected to the outpost itself.
The thing clanks into place. It looks like a mix between a battered
old spotlight and an M four. What is that music? I murmur,
April, come on, what is happening? How does the song sound to
you? She asks me, staring down the side of a curious weapon.
Does it sound good? I consider, heart pounding. I can't make out
the words, but the cadence to them, the language. They sound ancient.
The tones fade in and out, layered liquid in their fluidity, from
deep low rumbles to higher pitched melody male to female and back. Yeah it
does, I reply, It sounds good. And although it scares me.
This song. I cannot deny its beauty. I tried to work out the
source of the music and the mountains. You're trying to work out where it's
coming from, aren't you, April says in the pause, Yeah, I
just that's how it starts. Then you just want to get a little closer
to hear it better. Next thing, you know, you just have to
go and find the singer yourself, and then you never come back. April
clenches a jaw. Give it a few days, the song loses its appeal.
Approaching comes a sudden, sharp voice through the darkness. Charlie, it
must be my right, And so the night begins with an almost impossible speed.
April halls her amalgamated weapon around with a mechanical clank, and it slams
into place. She takes quick aim, and I'm treated to the site of
this weapon in use for the first time. It's quite something. I'm forced
that shield my eyes. As an intense and fiery blast of immediate controlled light
it sent rocketing out from the weapon's barrel. This is no spotlight. This
is an intensity beam the likes of which I had never seen. It sparks
with dangerous crackling energy as the beam is sent like a laser, out and
down towards the abyss, pushing aside the remaining traces of mist, as if
blown with a great breath. Geez, I shout out loud, and the
beam is swung round to the left. I cannot help but remember the enormous
rifle attached to the outposts roof, the one I saw when I first arrived,
and I wondered if its effect is the same, and if so,
well, the purpose for such a monster of a weapon could possibly be.
April pulls down on a lever attached to the contraption side, and she launches
the beam again. Little crackles of electricity jump between its gears as another sphere
of light bursts from its bowl and screams down into the darkness. I blink
as quickly and as rapidly as I can, do my best to dispel the
streaks of color that now dance across my field of vision. Through this kaleidoscope
of confusion, I see, to my horror a shift in the shadows far
beneath, Like living wind, it snakes and slithers from stone to stone as
it approaches down below. I shouted an alarm april and a response. The
weapon is swung around and angled down and again the light is sent tearing into
the abyss below with a high pitched electric scream. The rippling wind is obliterated
into shards and little dark shapes, too far down for me to see what
they are, but they rattle on their way back down the mountainside as they
fall like lightning. The lights burn and flash all around me. My hair
is whipped away from my head in the wind, and it feels as if
I'm in the eye of some terrible, twisted storm. The beams from Charlie's
position are clear, and I see the lights fire out from the tower way
over to my left. Further, brilliant flashes in the night jump up and
illuminate the edges of the mountains all around, and I can only presume that
these are Eleanor's or URIs. A new voice rises up through the sound of
the song. It comes from nearby, Hey prel It whispers as sinister servantine
voice in the shadows. Damn, she mutters, pulling temporarily back from the
weapon, Adam, there should be a pile of bibles behind you, beside
the crate you see him bibles, I turn frantic, scrambling around the nearby
crates and the darkness. Yeah, I got one, open it up and
read one of the highlighted passages. You want me to what which one?
Anyone? But be quick, please, April, comes their voice again.
I start in terror as it sounds like it comes from right behind us.
But turning to look reveals that there's nothing there. I see what lurks in
your heart. You will take this new one with you, deliver him unto
us, And the voice says us. It is as if two voices are
speaking at once, one says us, and one's saying me. It makes
both sounds together. I feel something pressing the side of my face. I
turn again in panic, but as before, there's nothing there. The wind
blows and the night flashes come on Adam, April says a little more urgently,
as he fires off another beam. This one, however, seems thinner
than the last, not quite so bright, a little less full of life
in its energy. Right thumbing through the book with trembling hands, a cat's
sight of a highlighted passage, and I read it out loud. The thief
comes only to steal and destroy I manage my voice weak in the wind.
As the battle rages, shadows drift and dance in the dark. A collective
sense of clamoring, of scuttling, and of writhing is shivering. It's steady
way up the mountainside. Yeah no, try another, April shouts at me,
as she swings the weapon around. I desperately flicked through the pages,
ducking instinctively to avoid the shadowed hand reaching out towards me. But when I
look for it, as with before, there is simply nothing there. I
find another passage you when you go to war in your land against the adversary
who attacks you, then you shall sound an alarm with trumpets that you may
be remembered. Come on, Adam with heart. April shouts as a circle
of wind rises up between the mountains, swirling and crackling with terrible storm like
energy in the night. What the hell is happening? But I get the
message. As I said before, I am not a particularly religious guy.
I don't know if I believe in God or any of that, and I
don't really know why I am leaving through a battered old Bible and the side
of a Russian mountain in the middle of the night, but we do our
duty. So I roll back my shoulders and take a deep breath. I
hear that whispering begin again, but I don't allow myself to listen. I
project, and I bellow out into the storm, the beams flashing like lightning,
as the mountains come alive with shadow and fire. When you go to
war in your land against the adversary who attacks you, my voice carries loud
and clear through the frost tipped air. April cannot help, but shoot me
a quick glance, with eyebrows raised before returning to the weapon. She brings
it quickly round with a clank, and an arc of light is sent rippling
through the night. Then you shall sound and alarm with the trumpets, that
you may be remembered at the word of trumpets. Where before I conjured in
my mind something meek and modest, like a school marching band, one that
I might well have taken part in as a child, I now see an
army of golden horns aimed up to the heavens, amidst swirling dust, lasted,
loud and charged in their energy. The light of the beams glitters bright
in the edges of my silver cross flailing and waving in the wind, and
a terrible clambering shadow is resolutely obliterated into clattering, rattling fragments and lost to
the rock of the mountain side below. And so it goes for the longest
night of my life. The hours crawl by, the shadows come, and
the lights flash, and it's not until the first slither of light appears welcomingly
on the far horizon, to be crashed back against the crates and the walls
up here on the outpost roof April and I. She looks over to me,
eyes bloodshot, and hair streaked with sweat, sweat that quickly freeze across
her face if not wiped away. Well there you go, Adam, she
says, Welcome aboard. I don't respond warily with grunts and grimaces. She
clambers to her feet to the sound of clicking bones. She stretches her arms
and turns to the left and to the right, cooling down the muscles.
She raises her hand to someone, though I do not have the energy to
turn and see who she's waving to. Charlie. Probably come on, she
says, lowing her hand and offering it to me. I take it and
allow it to help me up, and we head through the doors and back
down the stairs. She shows me through a corridor towards the sleeping quarters,
and we pass by Yurie coming the opposite way. One of his hands shakes
and the motion draws my eye. His knuckles and fingers are all scratched,
scuffled, and scabbed. He stares right through us as he walked spy.
For a moment, I think that April isn't going to say anything. Then
at the last second, she says good job. Ury Uri grunts in reply,
not slowing or stopping or even turning our way. I have a thousand
questions, but they can wait for now. Despite the rising of the sun,
I'm fit to crash, and so once April has shown me to my
room and she shut the door behind her, I haul off my uniform and
collapse into bed. A modest little thing, but right now it feels like
the most comfortable place in the world. I fall into immediate sleep. My
questions are intertwined with my dreams, and they are realistic and unsettling. My
sleep is deep and long. I awake much later in the day, unsure
of where I am. I tried to push away the nightmares of the demons
in the dark, only to realize that they were not nightmares at all.
The wind blows beyond the windows. I groggily roll over to check the time,
three forty five pm. I've slept about ten or so hours straight.
Impressive. I guess I really needed it. I rubbed my face and groan.
So this is actually real, this is all happening. I clamber out
of bed and head to the sink, preparing for the new day, if
you can call it a day, A handful of daylight hours left to go,
and then and then what that same hell all over again? What is
this place? I arrived short in that wide hexagonal room, the room I've
taken to be the main one. Yuri has headed right towards me, jaws
set and cigarette between his lips. Hey, I say to him, good
work with the attack last night. He does not slow his pace, and
he strides past, but he squints and shoots me a sneer. I dive
ben, he mutters as he shoulders past me. All right, then,
I say to no one in particular, as he heads down one of the
adjacent corridors. The others are in here. April reading a book, Charlie
tiding up a box of cards, and Elena stood watching the sky and the
mountains through one of the windows. No one is jumping up to explain this
place to me, so I say it's straight up, loudly and clearly,
this place is messed up. Charlie in April glance up to me. Eleanor
does not turn around. I feel like I've been pretty accommodating, I reply,
but come on, for real, I would really genuinely love a brief
explanation or or something. I mean, the Bibles, the shadows, light
guns or whatever. Help me out here, people, what's going on?
Tell me straight, it's just the prank, mate, Charlie replies after a
beat, and I stare at him. He laughs. Elena at last breaks
from a position at the window and walks down the edge of the room.
Adam, come see here. Tentatively, I head over. She regards me
with those icy eyes, then points me to the world map, the one
intersected with a series of gently waving, looping lines. One of the lines
arcs up to the United States, and she points to it where you were
born, Adam, somewhere along this line. Yes, I look at the
map, well, yeah, actually, just here. How did we were
all born on one of these lines? She points to a place in Russia.
Not many born here, harder for our government to find Russians Americans invited
as part of international agreement. They're lay lines, April chimes in, looking
up from over a book. You heard them, madam, people born on
the lay lines have greater resistance to the supernatural, greater resistance to the supernatural.
I repeat, but but the supernatural isn't real? Right? There is
a pause, as I said, fellow, just a big prank, Charlie
says to himself, and he leans back in his chair. But but we're
defending an outpost from from what demons? I laughed nervously, But no one
else joins in demons? Really? So does that confirm the existence of hell
or what heaven is? God real? Is it all real? The gravity
of our situation begins properly, settling in for the first real time despite everything,
My breathing shallows. As the panic starts to rise. April rises from
her seat and comes over to me, placing her hand on mine. Hey,
Adam, it's okay. Helena shakes her head with frustration. She grimaces,
and the grisly scar that cuts through the side of her lips is pulled
tight. See this is the problem with NATO soldiers who only do two weeks
shift. We have to explain this over and over and over. Hey,
Charlie calls out, I've been here for a month, Elena, you forget
it, yes, beyond a typical Charlie. Eleanor replies, in a thick
accent, you are crazy, man. I gather myself. I'm a soldier,
goddamnit, pull yourself together, Adam. So the Russians stay for two
months? Why is that, April replies, before Eleanor has a chance to
respond, Because the Russian command don't value the lies of their soldiers. Of
course, Eleanor fumes and makes a noise of frustration. She closes a fist
and marches towards us. She only takes about two steps, but it's Hella
intimidating. The woman is taller than myself. Russians stay for two months,
she says, pointing her finger, because our command of faith in us to
do job well, because we are reliable. Russian's chosen Americans had names picked
from a hat. Hey, guys, comes in new voice from behind the
accent is when I recognize immediately from my time in bad off Us as Norwegian.
I turned to look at the voice's source. A man about Eleanor's age
comes walking into the room. He's bundled up in fur coats, the outermost
of which bears the Norwegian flag. Curls of red hair poke out from beneath
his winter hat, and he approaches me at once smiling. Hello, friend,
he says, shaking my hand. My name is Christian. Pleasure to
meet you. He jokes, a thumb back in the direction he just came
from. I've just come from the tower. Uri says he did well last
night. I'm surprised by this, did he As a pause, Christian scratches
his beard. Well, no, but he didn't say anything bad about you,
so you must have done pretty okay, right. Christian walks through the
nearest of the walls and straightens one of the picture frames, taking a moment
to admire the photograph within. What happened to this tradition? He says,
after a moment, Eleanor, what do you think maybe we should get ourselves
a group pick. Eleanor snorts and folds her arms. No, it's the
quick response. He murmurs and scratches his beard as if in deep thought,
turning back to the photograph. So I continue, Yeah, it's nice to
meet you, Christian. I'm kind of still getting brought up to speed here
this outpost. What's its purpose? Like? Why did the demons want it
so much? Why is it so important to defend? I think about my
own question. And they are demons. Aren't they the shadows of the night?
Or are they The tone shifts and Christian turns to me, his eyes
sparkling. You may call them whatever you like, my friend, he says,
But they are the enemy, and what they seek this spot exactly we
do not know. We can make guesses, though. He walks across the
room to the maps, pointing first at the map of Russia, then at
the map of the lay lines. You see where we are, he asks,
pointing a nod. The outpost intersects three lay lines. He says,
it's an important place. This the outpost was built upon it. We have
it for one primary reason, so that the enemy may not There are other
such places, I should think. He points to a couple other places across
the map where multiple lay lines meet. Wait, you mean there are more
outposts? I asked, bewildered. More places like this, I should think
so, Yes, replies there is one in Australia, this I know,
perhaps one in India. He points the three intersecting lines. Maybe others.
I put my hands to my head. This is insane. This doesn't make
sense. It makes perfect sense, Elena says. Then she says americanet,
she mutters, locking her eyes from me to April, before turning away.
Hey now, Christian says, good naturedly, we are all friends here.
Comrades and coalition are the spirit of this outpost. He pats me on the
shoulder. You're very welcome here, friend. Come, I will teach you
how to use the weaponry this afternoon. How the hell is this guy so
cheerful? Is all I can think as he leads me from the room and
out into the cool afternoon air, up to one of the garrison posts stationed
around the outpost. Roof this one, like Aprils, looks out over the
expanse of mist and rock and a steep, deep drop down the mountain side.
So Christine begins with a pleasant smile. The corners of his eyes crinkle
as he does so. The weapon works as follows, crank here turn here
to move aim with the sights. You saw how it works, yes,
I nod, yes, yes, he continues. They are modeled after the
M four, so you should be okay. The light is powerful, but
not all powerful. Do not hold its concentration for too long or the demons
might adjust to the light. So that's what they are. Then they are
demons. I shake my head. I just don't understand the implications of all
this. Best not to think too much about it, he chuckles. Think
good thoughts. It really does help out the side of his head. Before
my time, this next little story. But according to Eleanor, there was
a seat guy stationed here. Once he looks out over the edge, lacrosse
did not work for him, nor the Bibles. He had a rough few
days. How rough exactly, I risk asking Christian size, I do not
know. According to Eleanor, he lost this sight and then the next night
was the waiting rescue. He simply disappeared. He lost this sight, went
blind, you mean, then vanished. Yes, sadly, I dwell on
this as August. The breeze sends a shiver down my back. I followed
Christian's gaze. The view really is beautiful and a clear day like this,
beautiful and terrifying in its isolation. Chris and goes on. But whilst they
was here, Ellenor tells me that the demons were different. The things they
said, the things they tried, they were unusual. How so, he
shakes his head. I cannot say, I do not know. You would
have to bring the topic up with her. How long has Ella been here
exactly? I ponder. I know that April doesn't really trust her that much,
is plain. She has her suspicions about the woman. And as I
said, the Bibles didn't work for him either. Christian says they are supposed
the work relatively well for the Abrahamic religions, at least. We talk on
for another hour, the first hour to actually go by quickly since I set
off from part of us. He tells me about the others, about himself,
He asks questions about me and wearing rom He really is a nice guy.
He tells me that Eleanor is friendly once you get to Noah, which
I find hard to believe. That April was worse than me on our first
day here, and that Yurie believes that there is only one demon and what
we see are but puppets or appendages of a greater hole. We talk a
little longer, and we eat together as a group, a large evening meal.
Though our day it is really only just getting started. I and to
be manning the turret and the outpost to night. This very idea sends a
pall of anxiety in my stomach back into its rapid cycle of tightening tenting.
It's a painful physical ache that comes in quick, awful cold washes. Washes.
They become more frequent as the hours pass and the sun creeps lower.
But one cannot stop the ticking of the clock. The shadows or in the
wind rises, and I find myself at my station squinting out into the wind.
You remember the duties Christian had asked me, Yes, I had replied,
and I listed them off. Five keep a constant presence in the tower.
Four. Do not leave the outer ring of the outpost after sundown.
Three do not use weaponry beyond the outer ring. Two. Do not engage
verbally with the enemy. One defend the outpost. Do not allow the enemy
into the outpost. Christian had nodded. Duty one is the key, Adam.
We defend the outpost. We do not allow the enemy into the outpost,
I say to myself. Now, at the edge of the mountain,
in the midst of the wilderness, the waste, the vastness, and the
ice and the cold. There are still so many mysteries left to solve.
What are the hearts of the outpost? Why do the enemy want it so
bad? Is it really all just about supposed lay lines? And why would
so few soldiers be stationed in so large an outpost as this. I wonder
if there are still things I'm not being told, and if I can truly
trust my teammates. But these questions have to wait. Do not allow the
enemy into the outpost, I murmur out loud, my fingers trembling against the
sights of the weapon. As the sun sinks slowly below the horizon, nightfalls
and the wind bellows, the first melodic notes of that sinister song are carried
across the mountains towards me, and a wave of cold fear shivers through my
veins. I have a couple of Bible passages memorized, and it's still all
seems so bizarre to me. What I mean, Hey, if it works,
it works, I mutter them to myself over and over as I watch
for any signs of an approaching and approaching What exactly what am I fighting here?
Demons, I suppose, or demon if your's theory is correct? But
are they Are they really demons in the way that I'm supposed they assume they
are. That's same singing from the previous night, ebbs and flows with the
tides of the wind, a deep, low line of voice that rumbles the
bones, interspersed with harmonious, beautiful chords. It's different tonight, though it's
ever so slightly sharper. It sounds just a little less like a song I'm
simple hearing, as opposed to a song that is being sung to me.
But for the first two hours of the night, nothing further happens. A
modest tumble of stone across the gorge sends my heart rate into temporary overdrive,
but nothing approaches. Not yet. The tension builds almost unbearably. It isn't
until well into the third hour did I hear Eleanor's voice carry across the wind.
Sighted she shouts, and across the outpost. A blast of dazzling light
tears suddenly into the sky. Here we go, I wentz knuckles white on
the weapon, A part of me is almost relieved to have that brutal building
tension finally crack. It's a far clearer night tonight, and I can see
further down the cliffside into the abyss. A ripple of dark wind crashes like
water into the mountain down below, and this wind carries with it a shadow,
clambering with speed and determination up the rock towards the outpost. Damn,
I shout out loud as I angle the weapon down with a clank, hauling
up the lever to the side and taking quick aim. Despite the cold I'm
sweating, and the forearms on my jacket I currently rolled up to the elbows.
The hairs across my forearms all react to the crackle in sudden electricity as
I fire. The hairs across my forearms all react to the crackle in sudden
electricity As I fire, and the spotlight gun sends a blast of concentrated sunlike
styled energy down towards the approaching assailant. I miss, and the creature draws
closer. I catch glimpses of disturbingly human like arms and hands bursting from the
side to the demon's form as it tears up the mountain side I bring the
weapon round with another mechanical clank, and the beam passes right through it,
bursting the creature into shadowy flakes and smoke pieces clatter from the obliterated demon and
rattle back down the rock. And the night is clear enough and the monster
close enough for me to actually see the cause of the rattling. This time
they are bones. As the demon is destroyed, burnt bones I sent clattering
out from its ruin, ribs and pieces of spine, and and others too.
They vanish back down into the shadow pretty promptly. But they were bones,
all right, I'm sure of it, And so it goes. I
do my best to keep the demons in the darker bay. This is my
task, this is my duty, and these are my orders. I cannot
help but recall particular words of Christians as I blast these monsters. The Kingdom
come. There was a seg station deer once he lost his sight, and
then the next night he simply disappeared, disappeared? How and why? What
exactly happened to him? Here on the mountain side. One of the enemy
below screams with the wind as the night tears into a thousand pieces, and
as the night progresses as we enter into those hours, the furthest from the
lights of dusk and dawn. I watch as something clambers steadily up the mountain
side opposite, not the drop directly beneath me. I mutter a phrase from
Corinthians and aimed the weapon up high with a series of mechanical clicks and clanks.
Electricity shutters through my veins as the light is since soaring out towards it
with esteem and acts differently to the others. It is difficult, almost impossible
to focus on these creatures, such as the fluidity of their forms. But
this one is more difficult still. It spreads out wide into the shape of
a circle, and the beam passes harmlessly through its center. I direct the
weapon this way and that, but each time the entity on the opposite mountain
distorts and shimmers through various dreamlike shapes to avoid it, and by doing so,
my faith in the weapon's ability faulters. Sweat leaks and little rivulets down
my back, and a voice I recognize whispers into my ear. The voice
is my brothers, made all the more alarming by the fact that my brother
has been dead for ten long years. I miss you, Adam, he
says, no, it's not him, it's them. My heart pounds in
pain and longing, fear and anger. I give anything to call back to
him, to talk to him one last time, but I cannot, of
course I cannot. Two. Do not engage verbally or physically with the enemy.
I shout out the passage from the previous night, the one with the
trumpets, a passage of defiance. Adam, lay down your weapon and come
to the edge. The dwellers in the outpost are lying to you. You
seek the truth, and I can provide it, as with before. When
my brother's voice says I, it comes as two words, sounding as if
he's saying we with the exact same breath. I griped my teeth, eyes
wide and knuckles cracked as I mutter the passage again and again, over and
over, my breath clouding in the blasts of the beam. My brother's voice
whispers further. I know you are scared, and I'm sorry for the fears
I've caused you. But ask yourself, with a true enemy lies. I
seek nothing but safety, sanctuary, and peace. But I do not listen.
I push aside these intrusive words and battle on through the night. Keeping
at bay every creeping threat to the outpost. The beam from another turret comes
to my aid. I do not know who it is, Christians perhaps,
but it strikes through the shadowy shape shifting entity directly across the great gorge,
and together with the ray of my own light, the demon is obliterated into
the night with a shower of smoke and dark clattering bones. So the demons
can see inside our heads, then they can access our memories. The prospect
is a terrifying one. I am now decidedly unnerved and panicked hearing my brother's
voice again, coming from something other than a recording on an electronic device.
It has set me on a new and precarious edge. I thought I had
a basic grasp of these creatures, but I'm realizing all over again that I
don't have a clue where they're capable of. Anything could happen. Now,
lights flash in the dark. I hear a voice carried from the roof of
the outpost by a sudden gust of wind. Female Russian eleanor no doubt,
And I feel as stab of bit of frustration as I swing the mechanical weapon
around with the clank. She's been here for a long time. That much
is clear. How long exactly, I'm not sure, but it could be
anything up to two months, potentially longer. Charlie's been here for four weeks,
that's what he said, and he's NATO, so so surely he should
only be doing too in April seems to be under the impression that Eleanor has
some secrets to hide and shake my head and mutter a curse under my breath.
The system here seems to be in all sorts of shambles. Perhaps our
respective commands don't really give a damn all things considered, provided that the outpost
fulfills its most basic quota of six warm bodies the Defender. But I digress
Eleanor has been here a long time, Yuri likely as well. Why didn't
they warn me about all this? They've barely helped at all. What have
they done for me exactly a soldier putting his life on the line in the
face of such unearthly terror. I've been given a brief lecture and lay lines
from Lena, and scarcely a handful of words from Yuri. Maybe they're just
blinded by anti American propaganda. But surely up here on the mountain side.
They tried to put that to one side. Right surely, in the face
of such greater evil, my forearms ache as I tensed them up and swing
the weapon down with another mechanical creak and clank, electricity sparkling as a fire,
a beam into the darkness below. Destroy all those who curse my soul,
I recite, with jaw clenched in service. I am yours. Blessed
be the Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war. Mechanical
booms of thunder I sent rippling through the valley and the mountains, as the
lightning light flashes alight their rocky edges in the darkness. The Lord, of
course, was not quite the one who trained my hands for war. However,
I have the Army of the United States of America thank for that,
and not to benevolent Lord, if there ever was one less Jehovah more mars.
But I try not to think about this. Such thoughts I have found
weakened the effect of the weapon. I tried to follow the advice given to
me by Christian think good thoughts. It helps. The same advice given to
me by the Russian officer who dropped me off on my first night. That
first night was two days ago. Adam, you've scarcely been here for two
days. She feels like a damn lifetime. But the night goes on and
the battle rages, and as before, as always, thankfully, the darkness
recedes. The first glorious shimmer of sunlight rises above the jagged horizon, and
the edges of the mountains are washed in faded gold. I collapse away from
the weapon, my back up against the metal railing behind me. I looked
down at my hands. They're covered in grime, shaking and several other fingers
are locked into their positions. To move them causes me pain and I WinCE
as I try to wear the blood float back into them. And after a
concerted burst of effort, I clambered to my feet and head across the roof
of this section to the outpost, make my way down the metal ladder and
returning into the building in a dreary daze, I passed by both Charlie and
Christian, and my way back to my dorm, I nodded both of them.
Charlie nods back, Christian even gives me a smile and a clap on
the shoulder, as I do before I shed my uniform and my coat,
and I collapse into my bed. I do not even bother to draw the
curtains, though it doesn't particularly matter. The daylight streaming weakly through the window
is not sufficient to wake me from my slumber, and my sleep is deep,
deep, And as with the previous night unsettling, I awaken with a
groan at two pm, earlier than yesterday. There's no blissful ignorance as a
return to the land of living this morning afternoon, I suppose, and I'm
instead instantly aware of where I am and what my purpose is here and what
I'll need to do again tonight. I groan a little louder, rubbing my
hands across my eyes, smelling the grease and grime across them as I do.
So. I need to start washing a little better before bed. This
can't be healthy. I clean up and dress for the day, leaving my
dorm and heading through the kitchen canteen to grab some breakfast. A generator hums
quietly in one corner as I cook some eggs and beans and bring them through
to the main room to the hexagon. Eleanor is in here eating something out
of a bowl at the side of the room. She glances up from a
cross word at my approach, but does not make any kind of greeting.
April is in here, also, at the room's opposite end. She's fiddling
with a small radio, the pieces of which lay scattered across one of the
tables. Hey, Adam, she says to me. Good sleep. No,
I reply, not really, but it served its purpose. That's the
spirit, she replies, as she tinkers say you aren't an engineer, are
you? No? Sorry, now worries thought. Who's worth asking? Ur?
He is, but you know he is miserable. Eleana looks up again
and swallows her mouthful of food. She japs the hand with a spoon in
it over to where April is sitting. Ur, he'll fix your radio.
Get off your high horse and ask him. He'll do this. April snorts
and shakes her head. Now he won't. He'll swear at me in Russian
and leave me to suffer. He isn't a good person. Eleanor seems to
take offense to this. Uri does what is best for the outpost. You
need him to fix the radio. He will fix radio. This is Russian
good person. American good person means fake smiles and hollow laughter all twenty four
hours, A very cliche and water a Russian with an anti Americanism complex.
Eleanor's cold, pale eyes flicker over to mine, and I get the une
easy sense that a great weight was just dropped on top of me. She
puts down a bowl and gets to her feet, a slow motion one that
serves to draw out the tension. But this woman does not scare me,
not after the horrors of the night. You are not typical recruit. We
get sent here Adam, she says. I note that this could be the
first time she's addressed me by my actual name. No, I ask,
No, she replies, You are timid. You have angst, the aura
unsettled childlike you're putting the Outpost coalition in danger with your presence. My stare
at her, irritated, but doing my best not to seem phased. I
forced out some laughter and fold my arms. You've got me all wrong.
How am I putting the outpost in danger? Exactly? I just helped successfully
defend it. You know how many demons stroyed last night? Eleanor doesn't respond.
She only watches me, searching me with those arctic eyes. I shift
uncomfortably. April chimes in, oh, leave him alone, Eleanor, You
bully is doing his best. This seems to maker particularly angry the bully comment.
A flash of genuine fury crosses her face, and I watch your body
twitch, her fists clench. Just for a moment, my throat dries,
and I get a quick, modest burst of adrenaline, but nothing happens.
Eleanor crosses her eyes and takes her breath, and then she simply strides from
the room down one of the corridors and towards another section of the outpost.
I untense my muscles and bring myself down to a sit near April with a
grunt to actually go ahead and eat my breakfast. We sit there for a
while in comfortable silence, me eating and April working away at a radio.
She presses a button and it cracks and fizzles. She sighs. These things
are temperamental at best, she says, shaking it in a hand. They
don't work like they're supposed to appear in this environment, and minds died completely.
I look at her, April, tell me how long have you been
here? Exactly? At the outpost, just over a week. She replies,
just over a week, and Charlie's been here for four? Is that
right? She nods? But I thought NATO personnel were only required to do
two yeah, she says uneasily. But you know how it is. They
tell you why thing, and then they change it. And to be fair,
I think Charlie actually volunteered to stay longer. I think he wants to
do two months like the Russians. What why would he want that? April
shrugs again. I think he just likes the thrill, the thrill, I
shake my head. And what about Christian? Then? So Christian's been here
before, He's only only second week right now, but he keeps coming back.
I think he's been more or less alternating groups of weeks for about a
year. A year, yeah, maybe more even a yeah? Why would
he do that? Why would he keep coming back? Is this of his
own choosing or his superiors forcing him back all the time? Our superiors,
I guess. So what about eleanor you sure ask a lot of questions,
Adam. Well, maybe that's because no one tells me anything. Okay,
okay, she's I don't know how long Ellen has been here. She won't
tell me. I don't really know anything about her, but she hates me.
That much is pretty obvious. The thing is, though, Adam,
I think she's been here for a long long time, like really long.
You can tell in the way she speaks to Christian that the two go way
back. But I think she's been here longer than he has. And I'm
not convinced she's taking any time off either. There's something that scares me about
that one. And I'm not just talking about that nasty scar. So Christian
won't tell you anything either. Why not? I don't know. I think
he and the Russians are keeping secrets from us, from the Americans. I
don't get it. Why would they do that? And Christian is a nice
guy, is a NATO soldier for God's sake. April just puts out a
hand. Listen, come take a look at this, all right. She
stands up and checks down the corridor that Eleanor left through before beckoning me over
to the side of the room, to the section of wall with a little
framed photographs across them. You want to see something really weird. I don't
know what could be possibly weirder than what I've seen already, but sure,
go for it. She leads me through a door in the wall to a
small back room. It's basically a storage unit with lots of shelves, and
it's full of dusty photographs, many of which have been framed. Some I
kept in stacked piles, others hang on the limited wall space. She points
to one such photo. Take a look at this one. You recognize anybody?
I squinted it. It's a picture of a squad of six people out
the front of the outpost. The enormous weapon and the outposts roof can be
seen in the background. In the foreground stand three people with three others crouch
down at the front. Five men, one woman. They're all grinning in
this picture, which makes the woman initially quite hard to identify. The quality
is unusual, also quite grainy looking, but the scar wants you think to
look for it is obvious. It's Eleanor, all right. Her hair's different
and she seems a bit younger, but she still looks pretty much the same.
Oh, it's a picture of Eleanor and the rest of the team.
They're all different people. Yeah, but that's not the weird part. Check
this. April again glances around, peering back out through the door. Before
moving to unhook the picture frame from the wall. She turns it over and
adjust the clips until she's able to fully slide the photograph out from the frame.
She flips it, revealing a scrawed line in pen near the bottom.
Read this, she says, Look at the date I take it from her.
The handwriting is poor, but in thin black ink, or a series
of initials and a date sgh nineteen eighty seven, s nineteen eighty seven.
I frow my brow atter nineteen eighty seven. Think about it, I would
make this picture thirty five years old. What the hell are we supposed to
take from that? Then? Ellen has been here for thirty five years at
least, And I mean, just look at her. You have to be
eighteen to join the army, right, So let's assume that in this picture
she is at the absolute lowest eighteen. Does the Eleanor, you know,
look like a fifty three year old woman? Well no, I reply uneasily.
Obviously Eleanor isn't fifty three years old. Then what the hell is she
doing in a picture from nineteen eighty seven? I consider this, flipping it
over, looking from the picture to the writing and back. No way,
I murmur, this can't be right. There are loads of good explanations for
this. Maybe it's not eleanor maybe sgh R the nineteen eighty seven on the
back for a joke. There's no way this picture is from so long ago.
Why would anybody do that? Abril asks me intently, where's the joke?
Well, I don't know. Maybe it's a Russian reference. Did any
think of significance happened in nineteen eighty seven? I shake my head. It's
just pen and paper, April. You can write any old numbers on photographs,
doesn't mean they're actually from that date. April Grimaces. There's something they're
not telling us, Adam. They're keeping something from us, And if I
was a betting woman, I'd say it had to do with the outpost.
I consider this as we returned back to the main room, as April and
I continued talking about our lives back home. She's from a little further south
than I. She comes from a little town just outside of Saint Louis.
I don't think she particularly likes it there very much, based on the way
she talks about it. Maybe that's why she joined the army. Eventually,
she heads off to relieve Yuri from his tower duty, and I decide to
wonder the complex. I head from room to room, spending most of this
period in an old equipment storage facility. It's full of musty, dusty,
old climbing gear, harnesses, carabineers and ropes, all that stuff. I
recognize one such set, a standard US Army issue, and it says,
I'm investigating these items that Charlie's head appears suddenly from around the doorway. I
jump in alarm. Afternoon, mate, he says with a grin. Then
a bottle of vodka appears in his hand. He shakes the bottle and the
liquid slashes about in the glass. Fancy a drink? I hesitate, I
don't know, man, I tell him, is that really such a good
idea? Come on? He says, just a little, just to wet
the whistle one or two. He gives the bottle another tempting shake. I
hesitate, sure, I reply, after a beat, why not? A
few hours pass? These hours comprised myself, Charlie and Christian sharing one or
two modest drinks in the hexagon. Yury partakes two, though he keeps himself
and sits by one of the room's windows, nursing thirstily from a bottle.
He mutters something in Russian as he finishes it off, dropping the bottle to
the floor with a glassy clank and staggering up and out of his seat,
stumbling towards the low little table at Christian, Charlie and I have sat around
to grab another to take away. But that's just the thing, lads,
Listen, I'm serious. Listen, Charlie slurs as they knock over her kind
of questionable Russian beer with the back of my hand. Christian interrupts with his
best impression of Charlie's accent. For real, lads, I'm not kidding.
It's a bloody mess, all right. Alcohol splurts from my lips as I
struggled to hold back laughter, and Charlie slams a fist down on to the
table with rich amusement, sending the hordes of glasses and cans rattling and knocking
into each other. One or two of the empty cans fall on their sight
and roll to the floor. If you aren't such a nice bloke, I
knock you out, Christian, he says, just a little too loudly.
Christian shakes his head and wipes some froth from his beard, then waggles his
finger in Charlie's face. No, no, you wouldn't, my friend.
Such violence is not for the good vibes. Yes, he creaks himself.
Such violence is not good for good vibes. Disturbs the demons or demon singular.
Right, Yurie, I say, leaning back and calling over to the
Russian in the corner. He spits on the ground and a hand and mutters
something in Russian. Again, my mood sours. I throw out a hand.
What's your problem? Man? Why don't you like me? Give me
a chance for goodness sake? I'm doing my best here. Hey, chill
out, mate, Charlie says, putting out a hand, a drunken blink
rolling across his face from one eye to the other. Don't be so American,
you know the hell's that meant to mean? I asked him, as
Urie staggers to his feet. Hey, nothing personal, like, Charlie says,
his eyebrows shooting up as he reaches for another sip of vodka. I
just mean, like, you know, needing to be liked in that.
Don't stress it. He'll warm up to you in time. I'm not sure
he will, I sigh, but whatever, just trying to create a sense
of coalition, looking out for my fellow man, unity, etc. Eurie
snorts on his way out of the room. I reach for another bottle and
take a swig. Charlie chuckles. Russians think they're hot because they've been here
so long. Well we'll see. I'm going to break your his record,
I promise you now, lads, what about Eleanor's I asked him. The
man shakes his head vigorously. No chance, pal, She's been here for
years, so it's true. Years. Charlie shrugs and leans back in his
chair, burping. I don't know, mate, I could be exaggerating.
Christian knows it better than I do. I turned to him, Christian,
what do you think? What's Eleanor's story? Christian scratches his beard. She's
been here a long time, Yes, since nineteen eighty seven, I whisper,
anxiously. Nineteen eighty seven? What? I stare at him. He
stairs back, then laughs, taking another big swig of beer. You're joking,
right, that she's been since nineteen eighty seven. Not possible, really,
actually, so how long has she been here? Then? He sighs.
She prefers me not to tell you. She's a private person, mysterious,
she has lots of history. I think she finds peace up here,
away from the world. Peace up here and Demon Mountain, Demon Mountain,
Charlie snorts. I like that one sounds like a ride of bloody Disneyland.
And think about it, demons. We're fighting demons up here, I shout,
throwing out my arms and knocking a bottle to the floor with a clatter.
Why haven't we all acknowledged how crazy that is we have made We've just
been through what you're through. Damn going through already, Charlie says, pointing
his bottle at me and clapping me on the shoulder. You're doing good,
mate. Just keep the demons out, don't let them into the outpost,
don't use weaponry outside the boundary, etc. The demon spoke to me my
brother's voice last night, and Marta quietly and the guys share a quick glance.
What did he say, Christian asks. He told me that it only
wanted peace, that I should ask myself who the true enemy are. You
didn't respond, did you make? Charlie asks, in a sudden panic.
Of course he didn't. Christian interjects, you think we would be sitting is
so casually right now? If he did so, what happens if we do
respond, I asked nervously in a low voice. If they do get into
the outpost, I leaned forwards. The two others too. Likewise, they
look at each other as the wind blows beyond the walls of the complex.
It's snowing. This evening might be a cold one. Tonight A demon got
into the complex once before, with you, didn't it, Chris. Charlie
asked the Norwegian, and the man nods. That was a terrible night,
Adam, one of the worst nights of my life. He sighs and says,
his bottle back onto the table. And believe me, I've had some
low quality nights. Eleanor was there also? It was like taking away the
mosquito net by the banks of a tropical river. Charlie nods sombrely and takes
another sip, staring off into space. Poetic mate, I press him,
and how long ago was this worst night of your life? When was this
exactly? Christian rubs his fingers over his eyes. I'm not sure. Two
years, maybe two years, so you've been here that long? I asked
him. No, he replies, I come and go. I consider this
so that confirms some of what April was saying earlier. Christian comes and goes.
Eleanor has been here for at least two years, quite lightly longer.
I need more. I need more information, and Eleanor I begin whispering now.
Though Charlie seems amused by this, It's all right, mate, he
slays. She ain't gonna hear you speak your mind. He winks at Christian,
I certainly know what's on my mind. Lads. He puts his hand
out in front of his chest, making the international gesture for massive boobs.
This says Christian, roaring with laughter, and I cannot help but join in.
Charlie. Christian laughs, you're a bad man. You shouldn't speak like
that of our comrade. What Charlie says, defensively, giving us his best
innocent face. I'm just saying, I'd love to have a go on em.
He helps me. Eh, wouldn't you, Adam? I laughed drunkenly
and shrug. I'm not sure, man, she kind of scares me,
this said to the guys, laughing even harder. Hello, I suppose I
put on my best British accent. She does have a lovely pair of knockers.
What the hell is going on in here? Says Elena from just behind
me, and the three of us shout out an alarm and stagger up to
our feet in an instant, Bottles and glasses clinking and knocking and tipping,
rolling noisily across the little table and clattering to the floor. She stares with
fury at the enormous collection of bottles and emptied cans across the able chairs and
floor. She looks between us a gaze sharp and terrifying. You stupid,
stupid assous, she shouts, in a thick accent, What the hell have
you done? Looks she gives the Charlie an I convey basically a disgust,
but the glance she gives the Christian is full of disappointment, a cringe from
the second hand disapproval. Christian chuckles awkwardly. Look eleanor maybe this's got a
little out of hand to any of your idiots? Know what time it is,
she asks, throwing a hand out towards the window. We have one
hour until sunset. One hour. Tension ripples around the room. No,
Charlie mutters squinting and blinking at his watch. He is the only one wearing
one. Oh we've got ages, haven't we? I made it at least
three or four. He trawls off. Eleanor does not say anything. She
puts her hand to her head. Where is Yuri, she asks quietly,
with her eyes closed. Tell me it did not have access to this alcohol.
No one replies. Damn, she shouts, Well all of you need
to sober up quickly too. She claps her hands in her face. Move
and move, we do, stumbling and tripping, trying to keep out the
sudden panic attacking the back of our minds. Damn is all I can think
as I feel the alcohol sweat start a bud across my body. Damn,
damn, damn. What the hell was I thinking? I asked myself as
I splashed cold water into my face? Am I really so irresponsible? Charlie?
That man can drink like a fish? How could I have allowed myself
to get so swept up? I rub my hands through my hair, run
my thumbs over my eyes. No, no use placing blame. This is
just as much as my fault as it is his. An ice called shower
follows the water like needles across my body. A crate of some weird Russian
soft drink is discovered in the back as I drive myself off a curious green
gatorade like juice with a Russian label. I pop the cap and rug one
down, as do the others. Taste okay, I guess, though I
don't know how long it's been here, the electrolytes, if indeed it has
any should do me good. I can hear Eleanor arguing with Christian in another
room, though I cannot make out the words ah. I take a look
at myself in the mirror, and my blood shot eyes the guilt in my
expression. I gave myself a light slap across the face and head towards my
station with a few parting words to Charlie. He raises his eyebrow at me
and grimaces, but says nothing. Time's up. Our revitalization hour has passed.
The night cometh. I clamber up my ladder and WinCE as my head
breeches the gap in the ceiling, the wind blowing cold and fierce into my
face. Eleanor shouts up at me from below. I turned down to her,
pausing on the final wrong. What Yuri, She shouts again, angrily.
Where is Yuri? Crap I didn't I don't know, I haven't seen
since earlier. He's not a distation. No, Eleanor replies, he isn't,
and the sun will be down in a middle it or so. She
draws a radio from a belt and up to her mouth. April, April
coming. Please have you seen Yuri? Oh? Elena? I called down.
April's radio is still broken. She won't be able to hear you,
Elena swears loudly in Russian, slamming the radio back into its clip on a
belt. What is wrong with you people, she exclaims, swiveling on the
spot and marching off through the complex, shivering. I returned to the ladder
and ascend up and on to the roof, heading over to my position by
the gun and dropping down to a crouch, looking through the sights at the
mountainside all around another clear night to night. I blink rapidly, trying to
force away the dizziness. The bitter cold of the air helps somewhat. I
am aware of the gravity of my mess up, but still I do actually
feel a little braver tonight, brave, No, you're just stupid. Idiot,
you're still drunk. The sun sinks behind the mountains, A wipe machine
of alcohol sweats from my forehead, glancing away and up to the sky.
Clouds swell softly overhead, and little flakes of snow begin to fall, one
by one. I wonder how long it'll take for the demons to show up
this time? Last night gave us three hours of steadily building tension. Could
it be a similar story to Night More? Maybe my question is swiftly and
brutally answered. Even before I had time to allocate significant brain power to such
a line of thought, they appeared, to my utter dismay, the demons
arrive at the very instant the night begins, The tip of the sun sinks
beneath the horizon, and the song begins. The shiver its way through the
night, from peak to peak, discordant to night, jarring sharp notes where
one does not expect them, like nails on a chalkboard. I gripped my
teeth. Dark void like air crashes in the form of waves into the cliff
far below right, where the rocky slopes are lost the darkness, and up
they clamber to begin with shadowy near formless shapes. There was long, shimmering
arms reach out, grabbing hold of the rock and hauling themselves up towards me.
The arms vanished back into the air as more are thrown out, an
endless cycle of grabbing hands and clawing feverish limbs. I suck some mountain cold
air in through my teeth and angle down the weapon, the great contraption clanking
and creaking as I fire. The first chaotic streme of screaming light down tears
the beam with an electric shudder, an arrow of gold in the gloom as
it burns right past the demons directly below. I curse and try again,
this blast, two going wide. Come on, Come on, third time,
lucky. I feel the juddering in my forearms as a light is sent
searing down and the demons are both caught together. They burst into wisps of
smoke and shards of clattering bone, and I bring the weapon around, firing
again as the next of the abominations appears over to my left. This is
not good, This is not good at all. What the hell is Juri
is eleanor even at a station, yet she's trying so hard to make sure
that the rest of us are already Why did the demons have to arrive so
early tonight. Damn. One of the creatures gets frighteningly close. Adrenaline surges
as the shadow ripples up the mountainside towards me, reaching up and out with
a desperate hand. And at this range, I swear I can see the
rough outline of something in its shadow ahead, and a pair of shoulders,
perhaps a jaw that stretches from one side to the other, opening wide.
As the darkness spills out, I cry out in horror and slam down the
weapon, releasing a beam directly beneath, temporarily blinded as the blast thunders out
and tears down the rocky wall below, destroying the demon with a screech and
a clatter of bones. One of these bones, a piece of rib by
the looks of it, flies up and over my head. I ducked to
the side as it flies behind me and strikes the wall, tumbling down to
the ground below. Too close, too close, Come on, Adam,
come on, don't let the enemy into the outpost. I blink some more
as the colorful streaks of retin a burned light flash across my vision. I
groan and my stomach lurches. I find a way to somehow make my experience
on this outpost even worse. Your comrades lives are at stake. Wake up,
soldier, Wake up, Adam whispers the voice of a demon into my
ear. I jump in fright and swat the air instinctively, but there is
as always nothing there. Wake up and see the truth. I require entry
to the tomb. I do not want to hurt you, but I will
do what I must. I have been waiting for a long long time.
I gripped my teeth and swing the weapon around, firing off concentrated bursts at
the approaching targets. What the hell are these things? I muttered to myself,
blasting the weapon again and again. The alcohol as divided me with some
temporary resistance to the cold, it would seem the wind, despite the shock
of the initial cold, does not seem quite so brutal. But the trade
off in terms of accuracy and sense of impending doom really not worth it,
Not worth it in the slightest. Many of my shots go wide. The
demon clambers ever closer to my position, streaming constantly up the walls, and
every time that they reach a certain distance away, my terror flares up.
The fear of the unknown. I still don't know exactly what would happen if
such a creature were to breach and make their way onto or into the outpost.
A shout way after my right draws my attention. I shoot a quick
glance over to the roof and catch a blur of movement at the wall's edge.
Lightning like flashes in the darkness all around illuminate the edges of the cliffs
and walls, and my comrade, Yuri. My blood freezes. The man
is a mess stationed on a section of roof across the gap over to my
right. He is shouting belligerently down and into the shadows below by watching horror
as a pair of hands grabbed the wall by Euri's side. It's difficult to
see from this distance, but there is nothing else they could be. Yuri
bellows in Russian and staggers back to his weapon, grabbing it, taking careless
aim, and then swinging around the thing around in a chaotic ark. A
blast of light tearing towards me, right past me in fact, as I
shield my face from the rush of heat, slipping and stumbling backwards and striking
the section of war behind me with a thud. Jeez. I shout,
Yuri, what the hell? But he cannot hear me. Either that or
he is simply failing to listen. The light goes wide again and again as
the man struggles with the machinery. He wipes his eyes with a sleeve and
slurs a long string of words as he sways from side to side. I
reach from my radio and bellow into it, eleanor are you there? Urie's
up on the post right beside me. But it is a mess. Something's
going to happen, something bad. And as I speak, I watch as
a dark shape grabs a hold of URI's arm. Uri swears and draws a
knife from his belt, hacking and slashing at the smoke. It seems to
do little, however, and more of the substance envelops him. A moment
more and he's falling. The shadows drag him over the edge. I watch
with eyes wi as everything in the moment begins to play out in slow motion.
Uri slips from the wall and tumbles down the cliff side into the darkness
below. Lights flash at the edges of my vision and the snow flakes fall
thicker all around Uri. I shout, but the man has vannished. I
draw my radio up to my mouth and try and report this handshaking He's Urie's
gone over. I shout, It's gone over the edge, but my radio
only crackles with static. I looked down over the edge, peering into the
darkness. Hastily. I returned to my weapon, launching a beam in a
wide, acts like arc directly below, obliterating a group of demons and illuminating
for a moment, Uri trapped on a rocky outcrop below, his back against
the cliff, darkness swirling around him. Damn Urie. Other man does not
respond. I'm sure what to do. I spend a further few moments blasting
demons away from the rock below, shooting a few wide to try and keep
URI's immediate area free from them, and in a moment of brief respite,
with the cliff side below entirely empty, I make a decision. I abandoned
my post, aware of the critical importance of the first rule, but still
there is a man in danger. I scrambled down the ladder in haste and
sprint through the complex corridors towards the equipment room, the room that Charlie found
me in as it happened, I burst in and looked wildly all around.
Where is it? Where is it? And yes, in a rack stashed
in a corner is just what I found earlier, standard US Army issued,
covered in dust, a set of old climbing gear. I run over and
grab it up into my arms, running as quickly as I can back through
the halls over to the room and ladder that would take me up to Eury's
post, and I climb up. I go back into the wintry world above,
and dumping the equipment unto the ground in the snow, I jumped to
Eura's weapon, angling it around and feeling the electric crackle across my skin as
I send a beam out, daggling down the side of the cliff. Demons
burst and steam with shattering bones, and I swivel on the spot, grabbing
the equipment and getting myself into it as quickly as possible, binding an anchor
to attach it to all while simultaneously trying to protect both my own and Eurie's
section of wall. I swear to myself over and over, sweating and shaking
in the snow, my hands alternating between the straps of my gear and the
mechanisms of the weapon attached to the wall. I try the radio gain for
a second time. I try simply shouting as loud as I possibly can.
God, I should have called to someone when I was in the complex.
Why didn't I think of that? But it's too late now, Yury.
I called down, and the man looks back up at me, his face
illuminated briefly and faintly in a distant flash. The demon slithers up on the
rock by his feet, and he kicks at it in alarm. I jumped
to the weapon duck, I shout, firing a prolonged beam down into the
shadows. Yury shields his face as the demons about his feet are obliterated,
and I bring the beam across the chasm below. I jumped for a Bible,
of which there are several piled up against the wall, and I flip
one open, rivaling through the pages for a good passage. But it's pointless.
It's all in Russian. I can't read a single word of this.
Oh God, I shout. Then I lean over the edge and throw the
bible down to Yuri. He reaches up to catch it, but misses and
it lands unceremoniously at his feet on the ledge beside him. I'm coming for
your man, I mutter, finally finishing and fixing the climbing gear to myself
and the outpost, and with a breath, clambering over the side and stepping
clumsily down into the dark. The sensation is hugely, hugely uncomfortable. It's
like the air is thick down here, wetter almost. It becomes harder than
taking breaths. But down I go, step by step down the rock,
praying that the demons will stay in the darkness beneath just for a little longer,
long enough for me to grab ury and haul him back up and over
the wall. I reached the man and put out a hand. He stares
at me, eyes blood shot, forearms all scratched up and bleeding. He
says something to me in Russian, staring in utter disbelief. Come on,
I shout to him, No man left behind, God damn it Uri swears
in Russian and grabs a hold of my shoulder straps. We're going up.
Come on, help me here, you have to climb, I tell him,
grabbing ahold of his jacket and making to haul us both back and up
the side of the cliff. Back up we go, blood pounding in my
veins, and I can only watch and dismay. Despite my bitter hopes,
a demon slithers its way right past us. I get the closest view of
one of these creatures so far from this angle. It looks vaguely, ever
so slightly human, one comprised of rippling smoke and mist. Its arms move
with such speed that it's impossible to tell how many it might have been.
An arm stretches up, grabs hold of the rock to drag the demon up,
and in the very same second another arm comes up to replace it,
and another, then another. No. I shout out into the night,
as the demon rushes right past, grabbing hold of the lip of the outpost
wall up above, and clambering over the side and onto the roof out of
sight. No yurie, come on, I shout to the man, and
together we climbed back up the rope faster than I would have thought possible,
but we reached the summit, and fling ourselves back over the edge and onto
the outpost, I take a deep but shaky breath, throwing myself at the
weapon and bringing it a sound like releasing into the darkness. I grabbed the
man by the front of the uniform. Are you okay, Urie, I
shout, can you man this thing? He nods, bewildered. He shoves
me away and returns to his station, reaching for a Bible and flipping through
the pages. And I make to unfasten myself from the climbing harness. I
grabbed my radio again, bringing it up to my mouth. Attention, I
say, into it, a demon, there's a demon in the outpost.
I tear the equipment off and clamber unsteadily down the ladder, darting through the
complex, looking this way and that for any sign of the intruder. I
don't know what I'll do if I actually find it. However, everything is
a blur. I just know that this is partly my fault, my responsibility,
and so I have to be the one to deal with it. Shadows
and creep in the corners of the complex. Light flashes through the thick glass
of the windows as I race between the walls. Hey, I shut down
the halls, Hey show yourself. A voice crackles through my radio. Eleanor's
two words where she says, then when I grabbed the thing and bring it
up to my face five minutes ago or so my side of the outpost with
Urie by Eurie station. The radio crackles, And where are you now,
she replies, inside the complex near the kitchens, trying to find it.
No, return to your station, Do not engage. I will deal with
this. The ice in a voice makes it difficult to disobey. I falter,
but then just do as she says, running back through the complay,
expecting to get jumped at any second. Returning to my post and ascending the
ladder, A part of me is waiting for a demonic hand to reach out
below me, to grab me round the ankle and drag me down and away
into the shadows. But no, nothing happens. I climb back up and
out into the snow, shielding my eyes as a beam lights up the area
immediately before me. One of your's bones rattle and clatter down the mountainside,
and I return to my weapon, carrying on with my duty. The fear
like a fire within me. Eleanor's voice comes to the radio again. Barricade
entrances that outpost immediately, all draw up the ladder as if possible, do
not return into the complex for any reason, we must wait and hope for
the rising sun. And so I do. I reach for a near by
crate and heave it across the roof in order to block the little passage back
into the outpost. I dropped the ladder with a clatter and block up the
entrance as best I can. Is this really our plan? I can't help
but wonder. Leave the demon inside to its own devices. What happens at
daybreak? Will it simply die? That's what I'm hoping. But it's too
chaotic right now to formulate any kind of serious alternative. I just do my
best to keep any further demons from breaching the walls. Roll number one,
do not let the enemy into the outpost. Damn. Oh hell, And
I was doing so well too. What's going to happen now? What's going
to happen to the outpost? To us? I remember Christian's words from earlier
about the last time the demons got into the complex. It was like like
taking a way the mosquito net by the banks of a tropical river. My
grimace. And the night deepens, the demons become more and more numerous,
whereas in the previous nights and in the past few hours. It was the
occasional assailant clambering up the cliff side in ones or two's. They now appear
thick and fast, in hoards, constant, an endless stream of monsters in
the dark. Sweat paws from my body. I can feel it freezing across
my skin. My hands ache and burn with exertion. The muscles in my
shoulders and upper back scream in time to the blasts of the burning, blinding
light. The song from the mountains is almost entirely lost beneath the endless shiver
and rattle of ribs and spines and bones. As demons smoke billows in all
directions. My silver cross is gripped tied to my left hand. My voice
repeats a nonsentical tale of ceaseless disjoint did vaguely appropriate Bible verses, until it's
horse and still. I shout out into the shadows. The whispering becomes worse,
and the things they say, Adam, you are no first man.
Stand aside. You cannot stop the tide. You're a good man, Adam,
you do not belong here. End this. Just let me pass.
I won't hurt you or your friends, I promise. Let me end before
it's too late. I can save them if you let me. Your brother
would understand. Just stand aside tricks, all of it tricks. I have
to believe this because any alternative is too dangerous to even consider. So I
do my duty. The outpost and surrounding mountains are lashed with light and fire
and smoke all the long way through to the sparks of the morning. I
do not collapse with instant relief. As the first flicker of sunlight appears on
the horizon, I do not even notice it. My eyes are shot with
retina burnt streaks of color. Every blink is like a firework show. My
hands are white and frozen, yet still they tremble violently, Gripped tight to
the sides of the weapon. I angle it this way and that, then
back again, searching for demons, still repeating the verses over and over,
But after several minutes of no further approaching creatures, I finally risk a quick
glance up to the sky. I see the light, the natural light of
the day, not whatever terrifying light it is that we create here with these
accursed weapons. I gasp and stagger backwards, unclenching the fingers of my left
fist, slowly listening to them crack, and I carefully bry the silver cross
from my grip. A deep imprint has been left in my flesh, the
outline obvious, and I returned the little cross to my chest, eyes still
wide, shivering and a dream like days. I pushed aside the crate and
the other items I used to barricade the entrance to the rooftop lookout. I
send the ladder back down with a metallic rattle, the noise like the bones
of the demons against the rocks. I turn and step by shaking step,
I descend, my muscles failing me and the final few wrongs and I crashed
down into a heap at its base, groaning as I tried to climb back
up. Sleep. I need to sleep. It's weird, my mind tells
me. I need to rest, but my body remains and high alert,
heart pumping since his primed, despite my wariness. It's very difficult to describe,
and I know I'm going to get shouted up by Elena too. Something
I'm really not looking forward to. Elena, Damn and the demon. There's
still a demon between these walls. Christian appears at the end of the corridor,
rubbing his forehead, Christian, I croak out, raising a hand and
walking towards him. The light from the sun as yet to do more than
allow the briefest trickle of light through the glass, and the walls are still
thick with shadow. Christian, Hey, is it safe? Do the demons
all disappear when the sun rises? Is there anything we need to do?
Christian size? As I approach, he brings up a second hand to rub
his eyes. Christian, I say, in a voice barely above a horse
whisper. You heard the radio right, the demon, the one that got
in? Is it gone? What do we do? Is it safe?
The man removes his hands from his eyes, A dark human sized silhouette at
the corridor's end, a warm body between these cold, sterile walls, and
he turns to me slowly. His body remains perfectly still, however, as
to his shoulders, and only his head makes the turn, turning slightly,
ever so slightly further then it should. I stare at him, and hears
eye. He steps from the shadows, and I am able to see his
eyes in the dim glimmer of light. The color in them has completely vanished.
There is only white, with the tiniest pinprick of a pure people at
the center of each I take a slow, horrified step back Christian. The
black of the man's pupils dilate, they expand, and then they expand further
still, until the entirety of his eyes are washed over in black. His
body cracks as he moves it around to line up with his head, and
step by step he begins to make his way towards me, shambling through the
shadows. For a long, grim moment, I'm stuck fast with shock.
As Christian shambles his way through the corridor towards me, several of his shadows
are cast out in impossible directions. They flicker and jot with his movements,
and he opens his mouth to speak. The spell is broken as they take
a hasty retreating step, Christian, like a sudden sword in the darkness.
From seemingly out of nowhere, appears Eleanor. She throws out her hand and
stands in front of me. Tall and defiant idiot, she mutters to me,
shooting me a quick cold glance. Do not engage verbally with the enemy.
The enemy, I whisper in reply. As Eleanor raises a rifle.
The silvery light of the morning catches in her hair and reflects in the dark
void like pools of Christian's eyes. Christian's jaw falls open, and a myriad
of conflicting voices pour out, slithering through the air. The sounds serpentine.
Adam, don't let her hurt me. We aren't so different, you and
I. They lie below. Let us return to them, Adam, don't
stand in my way. A loud, sharp shot rings, loud and painful
down the corridor. I catch a flicker of recoil. Alana's weapon jumps up
ever so slightly, and with a flash, Christian drops like a stone to
the ground. What the hell, I hear Charlie shout above the ringing in
my ears, and then he appears beside me from an offshooting corridor, watching
an alarm. As Christian strikes the floor, the man lands into line with
the window. The first rays of the day's sun fall across the skin.
He mutters, writhing on the floor, blood leaking and pulling beneath him.
I can't see, And a second later the man starts the steam. The
process takes literally seconds. One minute he's there hole and the next his mass
begins to drift away in the form of thick, dark smoke. It sticks
to the walls like tar and condenses on the ceiling. And all that remains
behind is a blackened, charred skeleton, ash blood, and a thick,
viscous semi solid, connecting it all with unsightly strands of inhuman gristle. We
stand there in horrified silence, Charlie and I, and beside us Eleanor like
a statue. The ringing echoes in my ears, and I turned to her,
to this mystery that shut down the demon, and I notice that she
has started trembling, ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, but she shivers nonetheless.
She swivels on the spot and marches away, shovering me to the side
as she does so, and I catch the briefest glimpse of tears streaming down
the sides of her cheeks. She disappears round a corner, leaving the Englishman
and I in the corridor alone with Christians remains. Charlie wretches, then he
turns away. I'm sorry, mate, he murmurs unto his breath. Then
he passes me by. We'll deal with this later, Adam. He says
bitterly. Just go to bed, get some sleep. Get some sleep,
he says, as I try and fail to comprehend this horror. Christian is
that all? Is he dead? Just like that? Unless Charlie, I
shout out, turning to look the way he went. That was a copy,
right, a demon clone or whatever? Tell me that was Christian's copy?
That wasn't Christian, right. But Charlie does not respond, and I
do not go after him. I look for one final time that morning at
the smoldering remains in the corridor center, and then with a grunt of frustrated
anguish, I pass it by, carefully sidestepping and walking to my room.
Don't think about it, don't think about it. Just do as Charlie said,
get some rest, recuperate sleep, Adam, And somehow I do.
I crash into bed, and the dreams and nightmares blurst sickeningly with my reality.
They're disjointed and chaotic, and in my head I hear them speak to
me, the demons, begging and pleading with me to allow them entry to
the outpost. Amongst their voices, it's Christians. I awakened to the sound
of shouting. I groan and turned to my side. The light from my
windows suddenly intent across my eyes. Christian, I mutter, still half asleep,
as the shouting becomes clearer. I can't understand what's being said. It's
all in Russian, Eleanor and Urie. By the sounds of it, I
sigh and draw myself up and out of bed. It's work to be done.
I follow my routine, regimental, and the shouting only goes on and
on as I do so. It does not falter until I enter the hexagon
room, eyes still bleary, head still pounding. Eleanor is right up in
Eurie space, though she leaves them be, and marches right up to me.
Upon my arrival. Urie sighs and slumps down into the seat, fumbling
for a cigarette. But Eleanor jabs a finger into my face, her right
to guys bore into mine, her scar pulled grotesquely as she snarls at me.
Understand the impact of your actions. Your idiocy has cost Christian his life.
He was a good man. He was an idiot like you, but
he was a good man. He deserved better, so much better. And
focus flickers from my left to my right and back. It is deeply unnerving.
I don't even know what to say. So that confirms it for sure.
Then Christian, he's dead? What I begin quietly? What do we
do now? Now? We wait? Charlie has dealt with Christian burns.
We have gotten radio through to command. Urgent back up requested, but who
knows when they'll arrive. Two days, three days more. We will face
very hard conditions to night and next night. The outpost needs six five is
suboptimal. We will struggle to defend. And it is your fault. Her
lips pull back from her teeth in a dark sneer, and she turns points
the Uri as well, your fault also. She then shouts out a string
of obscenities in Russian. Uri doesn't even look over. He just lights up
his sig and takes a drag. Eleanor raises a hand and I flinch,
but she only points behind me, back down the corridor. Go relieve April
from the tower. That is where you'll be stationed today. April will fill
you in a what to do small tip. Don't get drunk and mess it
up. She shakes her head and medicanets, and then she simply strides away,
leaving me to wallow in my guilt. I run a hand through my
hair as gentle snowflakes fall beyond the glass, flittering down the rocky gorge beyond.
You good Yurie, I asked the man. He stares out the window.
He makes no noise or gesture in response, and I let out a
sigh. I guess i'd better go take over from April. Then she's short
missed quite the night. I head through the complex and passed the sight of
Christian's demise. I paused there for a moment. The floor is stained,
and there are residual marks and splatters of an inky like substance in the window
frames and in the ceiling's corners. But it looks like Charlie cleaned the bulk
of the mess up himself. My swallow. I'm sorry, man, I
murmur into the dreadful silence. I'm so so sorry. Then I turn away
and continued down the corridor. The exit that will lead me to the courtyard
and the tower beyond is just a head. But as I approached the complex
it's rough center. A voice calls out to me. Charlie's hey, he
says, and I stop, turning to the voice's source. Yeah, he
peers at me from a round a doorway. There is no mischievous grin this
time, no foolish shaking of a vodka bottle, just exhausted, bloodshot eyes
a grim face. He gestures for me to come over, and I do
so, following him into the room. He nods down to the ground by
our feet. I don't know what this room is used for. Wooden flooring,
a low stage. There are some chairs stacked up by the walls.
Could be a meeting hall of some kind. But all that's irrelevant really,
as the object of interest is quite obvious in the middle of the room.
It's an ugly, roughly human sized hole in the ground. The boards and
planks have been torn up and ripped. The floor around it is covered in
scratches, and the rock and concrete have been cracked and chipped. Below.
Some granules of the stuff have been scattered about the floor. The hell is
happening here, I asked, murmuring. Charlie gestures to the hole. Some
massole's been in here trying to get down. He crouches and runs a hand
over the splintered wood. The claw marks by the look of them. He
turns to me. The demon was in air, and it decided that this
was a good place to start digging. It doesn't look like he got very
far. The hole is noticeable, but it hasn't gotten that deep, to
be honest, maybe about four feet or so. Sigh and rub my forehead.
Charlie. Tell him to me straight man. What else do I need
to know about this place? No secrets, no hiding stuff. Just tell
me. He stands up and brushes the dust from his knees. The outpost
has always been staffed. Always. Russians do two months, Outsiders do less.
I don't like that. I wanted to stay. But Eurie's record.
He rubs his nose. I don't know. She never talks. Eurie might
know, but I swear she's been here for years. I don't know why.
I can't imagine why someone want to live in a hell hole like this.
Maybe she's been ordered to stay punishment for something, maybe for whatever,
God of the scar I don't know. He shrugs. He kicks some of
the dust across the floor. Demons, we fight demons. I'm not going
to be that's what they are, to tell the truth. But since religious
stuff seems to work against them, it's a good I guess as any,
but not all religious stuff, right, Christian? I pause as I mentioned
his name involuntarily. Christine told me about a guy here before us seek.
I think I didn't believe in any of it. He said that the demons
were different. Yeah, that's right. I was in here for it obviously,
but I've heard of the incident. I don't know what happened to the
guy in the end, he just vanished. But the demons. Christian said
that when the sequel was on duty, the demons often took the form of
shapes, shapes, ay, spears, cubes, cones, weird stuff like
that. He said they all shared a vision of an endless reign of coins
across the mountains. The outpost was smothered in it, drowned in it,
drowning metal, and then the next thing they knew, the vision passed.
Who was this? Christian was there with Eleanor and four others. No clue
who they might have been, similar group to ourselves, I should think,
I shake my head. I still don't get it. Why only six?
Why six people? It's like the basis of a ritual or something. A
ritual I don't know, mate, just a guess. I sigh. I
don't think it's anything like that. I think that it's more to do with
the fact that we don't want to broadcast the location. Too many warm bodies
in the water. I don't want to broadcast the location, I laughed dryly.
The outpost has a tower. Have you seen the gun on the roof
of the building. Charlie shakes his head. I don't mean like that.
The demons don't care about any of that stuff. It's just us like that
interests them. Humans, with our human fears and thoughts. They think they
can use us. They can use us to get inside the outpost. To
get inside the outpost a echo, and why in God's name would they want
to get in here? Charlie shrugs again. Well that's the question, ain't
it. He glances to his watch. You're until duty, right, I
nod. He nods in return. You better get off there then, before
Eleanor gives you a rolligan. But first, take a look at this a
little clue for our burning question. He gestures to the whole Take a look
down there. I glanced down into it. There's nothing there, Charlie,
it's not even that deep. He shakes his head, interrupts me no,
get right down there and press your face against the concrete. There's a tiny,
tiny, little keyhole size crack in the rock beneath it. Really look
cautiously, I do, so. I cannot see the hole which he refers
to at first, and I grunt and WinCE as the dust blows about my
face. I feel like an idiot with my head and shoulders down this hole
in the middle of the floor. But at last I see what Charlie's referring
to. This here, yeah, he replies, and he passes me a
small flashlight. There's another chip in the rock to your left, a little
narrower you see that. Press the flashlight against it and look down the hole
below and tell me what you see. I take the light from him and
do as he says, closing one eye and pressing the other up close to
the little crack. The glow is feeble, and it takes my vision a
moment to adjust. But but yes, I think I can actually see something,
or the edges or something some things. I should say, what the
hell are those? I murmur, beats me. I heard Charlie reply,
But there's something down there, all right, and I'm guessing that's what the
demon wanted, or they all want. Perhaps I squint a little harder.
It's difficult to explain what I can see, but I'll try. Way way
down there in the darkness below me, the faint shimmer from the flashlight through
the hole illuminates the very edges of a series of repeated, uniform shapes.
It's difficult to gauge their sizes, as I don't know how far down they
are, but at a guess, I'd say they were no smaller than myself.
The things appeared to be stacked in rows. I can only see the
very edges are the tops of these things, but they descend down into the
murky darkness beneath. What are they? Goddamn it, what are they?
I can't see well enough. I draw back, coughing with a sudden inhalation
of dust. Any theories, Charlie shakes his head. Not a clue.
We'll ask Eleanor when she's cooled down a little. When she's cooled down,
Charlie, I don't know the intricacies of their relationship all that well, but
it seems to me like Helena just lost a pretty close friend last night.
And let's face it, it's largely our fault. Your is too sure,
but all of our faults. Nonetheless, if you're waiting for it to cool
down, you might be waiting a long downtime. Charlie considers my words.
He clenches his teeth and stares off into space, but says nothing further.
He looks away and strides off down the corridor, his head down. I
think about calling after him, but there's no use. Really, I just
stand back up and continue my little journey. April's waiting for me. Tower
duty time, I suppose across the courtyard, as flakes of snow drift lazily
down to the gravel, a crunch beneath my feet. I pass by the
ruins of the water tower and head for the towers still standing, the one
at the very edge of the cliff, looking out far across the mountains.
I'm still yet to actually step foot inside it. I clamber up the concrete
steps and slide my way through the tower's door. Rule five. I hear
in Christian's voice, we must keep a constant presence in the tower. I
see in my mind the crinkles of his eyes as he smiles, and a
grimace blurring the image away. The interior is dark and gloomy. I'd have
expected nothing less, but my eyes are instantly drawn to the great framed painting
hung on the opposite wall. It has been painted in shades of brown,
of gray, of white, and of gold. It depicts a woman in
the midst of a windstorm. Her robes blow about her shoulders, and she
stares fiercely out at something unseen just above the painter's point of view. She
has in her hand as shining silver cross, and she stands defiant as the
snow is whipped about her being. I glanced down to the little plaque nailed
to the varnished wood at the painting's base. There is a small line of
texts and Sybilic, but her name is given us Olga of the russ Olga
of Kiev. Beside it, on the wall is a small passage scrawled with
chalk in French, and then another passage below scrawled in English. I'm no
linguist, but I would guess they probably say the same thing. The English
passage as a number of words crossed out Olga's tower, for her sacrifice,
for the anchoring, crossed out anchor, crossed out tethering, and the walls
eight nine to nine. I consider this with one last parting look up to
Olga's eyes, her expression fixed yet alive with passion, and I continue on
along my way up the ascending stairs that line the inner walls of the tower.
They carry me up about half way, and plastered across these walls are
a number of things of vague interest, a crude chalked doodle, some infographs
in Russian. There are schematics of the tower itself, and of that enormous
gun and the outpost's roof, and one very realistic, very disturbing sketch of
a demon clambering up the tower wall. Right beside me, the stairs come
to a stop on the floor with a modest, crappy bathroom, one lined
with leaking pipes. And beside the door to this bathroom is a steel ladder,
one which will presumably carry me up to the very top. With a
sigh, I continue my climb, my boots rattling and echoing against the rungs.
The ladder leads me up to a little platform that encircles the inner walls,
and I cross over to another another ladder, I mean this one that
finally carries me up to the top. The highest room with advantage all beneath
it. Grunting, my head breaches the floor level of the uppermost room,
and at last I find April huddled up against the wall. She stares at
me with shadowed eyes, and we regard each other. Her against the wall,
and I paused at the top of the ladder. Is it true,
Adam? She asks quietly, Is Christian dead? I glanced to a write
there sits a radio. A little light on the side flickers in and out
of focus. I guess she got it working to a degree, or someone
else has been up here to visit her. A visitor with such a climb,
Not damn likely. Yeah, and mutter guildily, Yeah, Christina is
dead. A demon got him. April says nothing. She just brings her
hand up to her eyes and allows herself some silent sobs. He shoulders shaking
as she turns away. I find myself struck with a rush of sudden,
unprocessed and motion of my own, and I complete my climb, slumping down
against the wall opposite and looking into my hands, slowly opening and closing my
scratched, scarred fingers as the wind blows beyond the walls. How did it
happen, April asks me. After a while, I sigh and rub my
hands across my face, inadvertently smearing myself with grind from the ladder as I
do so. I don't know really he was possessed. I saw him.
I called out to him. I think he heard me as he started walking
towards me or the demon did, I guess? And then a pause,
Elena shot him. He fell into the light and and that was it.
He was gone. Eleana, I can't see. I swallow. I don't
share his final words with April. God damn it, she says, shaking
her head. Damn. She stands up and clenches her fist, then heads
to the ladder and begins to climb a way down. Hey, I say,
wait, what am I supposed to do up here? Just check the
line of sight to the weapons in era the same as the others. With
a large one has more of a kick, so be careful. I gotta
go enjoy. There's Russian boxes in that corner. Someone will really tomorrow.
Does your radio work? Do you have it on you? Yeah? I
have it good, she says, just before her head disappears from sight below
the floor. See your and away, She goes the ladder, shaking as
she clambers down. The wrongs. I formed both for words for a second
and then just let them go with a sigh. Fine, use the weapons,
follow the lines of sight. Seems simple enough, I guess, I
grunt as I get to my feet and I walk the length of the room.
There are several vantage points, and the wind blows through them and into
the room. It is cold, and it is miserable. The three weapons
are all ecodistant, and they provide lines of sight way down to the courtyard
below, to the outer wall of the complex and the snow and the mountains
and the rock scape beyond. I study these weapons. Two of them are
essentially exact copies are the weapons I've in using so far, stationed around the
outpost's roof, with a third looks more like a modified javelin. I peer
around it. The barrel splits into four at the end, and I give
the weapon a shake, the mechanisms clanking as it jutters from side to side.
I peer through the sight and flick between two fields of view, a
wide range of the landscape below and a closer, narrower field a little more
zoomed in. Well, doesn't this look fun, I murmur, glancing at
my watch. Still got a few hours to kill before nightfall. My anxiety
spikes nightfall, the living nightmare, and we're a man down. Memories of
the previous night flashed through my head. Considered in the cold light of day,
I see myself lips cracked and bleeding, eyes wide and burnt with streaks
of weapon flash. As the demon scramble up the walls. I see Yurie
tumbling over the edge. I feel a second hand strain across my upper body,
and I see Christian crashing down to the floor and bursting into billowing smoke.
I closed my eyes and just take a moment to recover. Calm down.
No more deaths, no more, just focus, focus, Adam.
I take a deep breath of cold mountain air. All right. I killed
time by doing stretches, by sorting through the ration boxes, and make myself
a cold, grim meal. Make sure my water bottles are full and stationed
in places for quick says if needs be, and I read the Bible that
has been stashed up here. I flick through the pages and find a passage
in Psalms that has been circled several times in pencil. I read aloud to
myself in a quiet voice. As the breeze blows beyond the walls of the
tower, He who dwells in the shelter of the most High will abide in
the shadow of the Almighty. I will say to the Lord, my refuge
and my fortress, my God in whom I trust, For he will deliver
you from the snare of the fowler and from the deadly pestilence. He will
cover you in his opinions, and under his wings you will find refuge.
His faithfulness is a shield and buckler. You will not fear the terror of
the night, nor the arrow that flies by day. I do not know
what pinions are, but a little annotation made beside the word reads the feathers
of God's wings they called chill ripples up my spine, and I turn the
page. I wonder briefly who made the annotation April a few hours ago,
or someone else, perhaps someone stationed in this tower fifty years ago maybe,
or more sixty seventy one hundred. The shadows deepen as the sun sinks low.
It won't be long now. My radio crackles, the unexpected noise,
breaking my train of thought and making me jump. Nightfall soon leads comes Charlie's
voice. He sounds worn stations. I think he says something else too,
but the radio becomes fuzzy with static, and I miss it. I cracked
my knuckles and head to the weapon that looks out and away from the outpost.
The view from here really is staggering. The tips of the mountains disappear
way off towards the horizon, and the white of the snow caps glint with
amber and orange. As the sun drops lower and lower, A bead of
sweat buds on my forehead. Another follows, and then another. I wipe
them away with my sleeve. This is the worst part, I've decided,
This anticipation, this waiting, the gnawing, grinding anxiety, the trembling in
my hands, cracked and calloused, yet to be warned by exhaustion and adrenaline.
My sweat is slick and grim and icy. I wipe my palms and
the side of my uniform, and then minutes later feel the need to do
so again. The sun disappears behind the mountains, and the last of the
day's light begins to steadily trickle away. The clouds darken overhead, and the
shadows begin to merge across the ground. An hour goes by, a long,
cold hour. Eleanor comes through on the radio twice to ensure that we
are all focused and in position. And at last, the tension spikes before
its break as a song begins to jump between the distant icy peaks towards us.
The song is as discordant as it was the previous night. Worse,
even the melody is almost entirely gone. A whale, a broken chorus.
I swallow, my throat already dry, and I reach out for the nearest
bottle of water. Taking a quick, clumsy swig, I drop it in
fright as a voice whispers, clear and cold, right into my ear from
behind, Adam, you are fewer, No more need to be taken,
allow us entry. I spin around to face the voice's source. The tower
room remains empty. The Bible is open where I left it, and a
breeze sent a few of the thin pages flickering from cover to cover. The
song grows sharper, the voices clambering against and on top of each other,
and the demons begin to appear in the distance, dozens of them, dark
shadowy shapes, rippling and scrambling through the cracks and crevices in the mountains towards
the outpost, their arms moving at such speed as they give them the appearance
of spiders scuttling over the dark, snow lined rocks. I grabbed the radio
and shout into it northwest. Demons approaching, dozens of them, be ready.
I reach for the weapon. The metal is cold against my hands as
I clank it up and interposition, and deliberately, conscious of the silver cross
resting against my chest, I fire the first beam, flickering it out into
an arc and feeling a warm burst of recoil as a light thunders down,
like curve lightning into the darkness. It tears through three and cents a fourth
into a shower of dust. There's so many. How are you supposed to
fight against such a tide? Why are you doing this? Adam, asks
the voice of a demon him. I left ear a female voice, though
not one that I recognize. You don't want to hurt you or the others.
Please, will you just stand down? No, I muttered through clenched
teeth, my voice grim in its defiance, and in that very same instant,
the demons in the mountains below me promptly changed direction, all of them.
Where once there was a the stream right past towards the outpost proper,
they have now diverted their roots to me instead, to the tower to my
left. And in the corner of my eye, I think for a second
that I see the source of the voice, a woman of ever spilling cascading
water like shadow, a rise, two pinpricks of glowing embers. A shout
out loud in terror, and scramble away from my weapon, turning to Faca.
But she's gone. I am alone. The Bible thickers through another page,
and I hear Christian's words in my head, in his thick Norwegian accent,
rule two. Do not engage verbally with the enemy. I hear that
same phrase again, this time in Eleanor's voice, idiot, do not engage
verbally with the enemy. My blood freezes in my veins. I jumped to
the weapon and peered through the site as the demons scuttle their way towards a
too's position from all directions. Damn it, Adam, What have you done
now, you idiot? And why not? Adam? Comes the voice of
the demon. She sounds a little more solid now less ethereal I can almost
see her, or some sick opperation of her in the edges of my vision,
but every time I turned to look, she vanishes. Are you afraid
of ending up like Christian? I'm sorry for that, truly, I am
so so sorry. But we were getting desperate. We needed him why,
I wanted to ask, but I bite my damned tongue and turn away,
returning to the weapon and firing bright beam like blasts out into the icy darkness
below. The courtyard and the outposts self are illuminated with firework like flames.
As my comrades face their own battles, I stretch and reach out a hand
for my radio, shouting into it again, ignoring the whispering in my ear
more firepower on the tower side of the outpost. Urgent, I shout as
the erratic device crackles and fizzles. I'm not cut out for this. Clearly,
maybe Eleanor was right. I just can't seem to stop messing up at
every opportunity. I clenched my jaw and murmured the Bible verse as I send
out the screaming blasts of the weaponized light. My hands tighten the machinery,
my refuge and my fortress. I see myself in the top of the tower,
a beacon in the darkness, as the froth and surge of the demons
below goes stronger and stronger, my God in whom I trust. Please,
God, whatever wherever you are, just save us, Save us from the
darkness. My eyes widen, and my eyebrows furrow with a burst of brutal,
fiery determination, a sudden surge through my shoulders and down my spine.
For He will deliver me from the snare of the fowler and the deadly pestilence.
I will not fear the terror of the night, nor the arrow that
flies by day. I cast away the demon that slithers around the tower,
and my hair is blown back from my face. As the light spirals down
and around the courtyard and the rocky drops of the mountains, The demons are
burst into clattering, smoking bones as their cries of anguish become one with a
taunting in harmonous song across the range. The battle goes on on and on
it goes, as the night stretches out and away, and the demons just
keep coming. The endless shadowy spiders far below, the lights flash in a
man made storm, the snow falls. I take to the third weapon,
the larger piece, with a split barrel, and with a judder through my
bones and a rumble through the walls, I watch as four glass like spheres
of intensely glowing light are released from the end. They tumble and drop like
stones over the side of the tower, falling for a second, for two,
and then they are light like fire, screaming out in the direction they
were aimed, spreading and splitting further apart, then further, a rain of
light across the gorge, and all the while a darkness grows in the mountains
opposite, steadily increasing as the hours pass, a massing writhing. It reminds
me of that curious twisted circle from the other night. But this is no
abstract shape. You have to focus really see it. But the shadows are
formed in the shape of a man hunched over and huddled against the mountain.
Whenever my focus is elsewhere, I could swear that I see two mist like
eyes watching me from afar, But as is typical with these things, whenever
I turn to look directly at it, the image is lost. It becomes
just another rough shadow between the peaks. A voice comes screaming through the radio
aprils. By the sound of it, Adam Tower. I grab the device
and shout back down it, what did you say? What is it?
But nothing further comes through. The device cuts out. I run from weapon
to weapon, checking all the sights, looking in all directions. But I
do not know why April called me. The tide of the demons continue.
But but then I see it out there in the mountains, the gathering man
shaped shadow, the colossus in the night. It is slowly, unsteadily rising
to stand. One formless, smokelike hand rests on the mountain. It looks
at me, right at me, and I see it, I see its
eyes, and again the tide converges. My hands freeze on the weapon.
I cannot move, I cannot fire. My heart pounds, and like a
sling shot from the void, a long, dark shaped rockets towards my position.
It strikes the side of the tower, and dust rains down from the
roof. I watch as the demons flow towards me, and I hear the
sound of able almighty crack like thunder in the darkness. I regain control of
my senses and grab a hold of the modified javelin, aiming the heavy weapon
out and into the night. The great shadow we shape of the man between
the mountains is way too far away to hit from here, but I flicker
the weapons sites and do my best to aim towards the source of that thing
that struck the tower. As I look, however, a second of the
shadowy arrows tears through the air towards my position. My flinch, and quick
as a flash, it strikes the tower in more or less the same place,
just up and over to my left, brick and mortar is sent raining
down with clouds of dust and smoke, blasting out into the snow. Returning
to the weapon with a grimace, I take quick aim and fire those four
burning glass like balls bursting out from the barrel, tumbling down for a second,
for two, and then shooting up and out towards the target, splitting
into further projectiles as they rain that dazzling light out into the gorge. But
this rain is too little and too late. There is a second thunderlike boom,
and the floor shakes. I release the weapon in alarm and push myself
across the floor to the towers opposite side. As an enormous section of wall
and roof simply breaks away. It collapses with a juttering thud, and then
fall slowly to the courtyard below with an almighty crash and rumble. The wind
billows with renewed power into the room, and it chills me to the bone.
Snow too, is blown in great swaths. As I consider abandoning my
post. Rule five, keep a constant presence in the tower. Damn.
I scrambled through the dust and debris of the weapon on the far side,
only to realize that it has been lost. Where the weapon was once fixed
is now only bare crack stone. I grabbed the ledge and look down over
the edge, and I catch glimpse of the mechanisms smashed the parts and pieces
on the snow swept ground far below. I left my gaze and watch in
horror as the demons begin clambering their way over the outpost surrounding wall. Some
of them seem to struggle with this, despite the fact that the wall is
only waist high. Some of the demons visibly diminish in size and form as
they pass over. But as more and more of these creatures breached the wall,
the easier it becomes for their fellows to follow. They follow the paths
made by the trailblazers, opting to cross the wall in narrow streams before spreading
out again. Once they're inside the courtyard, I catch sight of movement on
the outpost roof in the shadows. Either eleanor or April has relocated, and
new beams of light are sent blasting down to the ground. The light tears
through the stream of the demons, but there are simply too many. There
are just too many. I griped my teeth and grab a hold of the
javelin, bringing it around with a mechanical crunch and firing a new burst of
four projectiles directly down into the courtyard. The arrow lights with fire, and
the sparkle like rain pours down across the shadow we spread beneath to a chorus
of charred and rattling bones. A third of those dark arrow like shadows streaked
through the darkness and hammers into the side of the tower. And this one,
it's the surest. The entire structure seems to waver as a section of
rock and brick is blown the helter pieces and another corner of wall simply drops
down and away, exposing the upper floor almost entirely to the natural force of
the elements. The wind whips back my hair and makes my eyes water as
I grab a hold of the smaller of the weapons, firing off furious further
blasts to the source of these new attacks. Demons clamber up the mountain sides,
the spill over the walls. I watch with desperate anguish as to begin
to throw themselves against the outpost. Rows of them are evaporated in the beams
of the weapons, but there are always more, always the endless, ceaseless
horde. There is another rumble, and to my utter dismay, the section
of floor I am standing on simply collapses. My stomach lurches as I am
dropped. Stones clatter all around me, and the weapon tumbles forward and over
the edge. I swivel on the spot as I slip and stumble, reaching
out for something, for anything to grab, but my hands catch nothing but
air, and down I go over the edge. I shout out loud in
panic, throwing out my hands in one last desperate attempt. My fingers scratched
down the flooring and I'm unable to get a grip. However, it slows
my descent just enough for me to bring up my other hand and I manage
to the grab instead a ruined section of wall a little ways farther down the
tower. I fall maybe seven or so feet from my position, muscles painfully
pulled tout as the brick and stone and the weapon continue the downwards trajectory,
smashing to pieces and the cold, hard ground far below my feet, kicking
the air for a moment as I hang there precariously. Then they find a
section of broken stone and I'm able to perch. I carefully release my grip
to assess my current situation. I stand on a section of ruined tower.
There is just enough space for my feet, There is not enough space for
me to sit down. However, I look around. There is a hole
in the tower's wall, just big enough for me to put a hand in,
as a kind of hole to help me support myself. But there is
nothing else. There is nothing for me to grab onto, and nowhere for
me to climb. No way back into the tower, no way back up,
and no way down. I am is stuck here, weaponless and alone.
The way roars past my position and I leaned back against the brick,
jaw clenched as I feel as smattering of loose rubble get brushed past my feet
and sent tumbling over the edge. Damn it, damn it, damn it.
All I can do is watch as the demons rushed through the courtyard,
as the beams of light tear between them as clattering bones I sent bursting out
in clouds of smoke. And as the creatures continue, they're relentless assault of
the outpost, slamming against the doors, against the windows, against the concrete.
I can only catch a glimpse in the erratic flashing light, but I
swear I can see modest cracks beginning to form, and the demons see this
too. As soon as the first faint crack appears in the concrete, this
becomes their new target. The tide of demons grow larger and larger, swelling
and rolling like waves. My head to the side, squinting into the screaming
wind, watching as the enormous man made of shadow in the mountains closes his
mistlike silvery eyes. He crouches down and is lost to the shadows, his
form, returning to the darkness between the peaks and the billowing snow clouds.
What are you? I whisper into the night, and in my ear comes
a response, Aye, and the spirit of my people. Ask yourself why
you are forbidden to converse with us. They are afraid you will come to
understand. To lay down your arms, Adam, we must be allowed entry
into the outpost. We are close now, we have been close before,
and unless this is the final attempt, the cycle of blood will continue.
I seek only what is mine, had em for a moment, a long,
cold moment, the song in the air is lifted from its chaos into
a beautiful yet haunting melody. I do not recognize the language, but I
can feel the emotional weight of the words. Nonetheless, it is an anthem
I'm hearing. I decide, an anthem from long, long ago. I
close my eyes for reasons unknown to me, I feel an icy tear slip
its way down my cheek, and I see her, a vision in my
mind's eye, the woman from the painting come alive in swirling, smoke like
mists of gold and silver and black and white. I cannot see her face
as it is obscured by snow and far an ash, but she is surrounded
by fire. Her cross is held high, glinting with amber and yellow in
the firelight, as sparks drift across my field of vision. She stands on
a rocky hill above a clambering, horizonless crowd. I hear screams. I
see hands reaching out for a scrambling and scratching at the stone. As the
smoke thickens darkly in the air, I hear the sound of thunder, the
flashing of lightning, and the cracking and crumbling of rock. And as Olga
of the rust turns to face me, the vision it's lost. I find
myself stumbling. The air rushes past my face. As I begin to fall,
the dark swell of the demons beneath me draws closer. The rope knocks
past my shoulder. Rope my swivel as I fall, twisting around and grabbing
desperate hold of this rope from the heavens, my entire body weight held in
his proverbial arms as it tightens, and I shout out loud in pain as
I'm carried back to the tower, striking my side against the brick work hard,
but I am alive. Stones tumbled down below, and I reorient myself,
hands burning on the rope, feet squared against the tower's brick, I
craning my neck to look up to the rope's source way overhead, and there
in the storm at the top of the tower, his Yuri. He stares
down at me, his eyes wide and wild. He shouts down at me
in Russian, and then in a thick, almost indecipherable accent, he says
something else on more phrase, just about quart above the rush of the wind,
no idiot man left behind, And with this he starts to pull in
the rope, hauling it up one hand over the other. Shocked back into
life at the sound of clattering bones way below, I try my best to
help to ascend back to the perch, then to clamber back up, using
the rope to hauld my weight as I do so. After several long,
exhausting minutes, Urie is able to reach out and grab the back of my
jacket and he halds me onto the uppermost level of the tower. We collapse
onto the remains of the snow street row, a ridden floor, catching our
breaths as a light flash and the demon's wail. How the hell? He
snorts and spits, getting back up to his feet and looking down over the
edge, examining the nightmare way below, Tara exploded, I see abandoned post
to save video. He sighs and shakes his head ruin rue one. We
fail, we fail. I look around desperately. There are no weapons up
here anymore. Most of the Bible's tumbled off and the explosions, though a
couple still remain. A quick glance over the edge shows us that the courtyard
has essentially vanished, disappeared beneath the black and shadowy. Tired, there is
no way back to the outpost for us. Now we are an island in
a dark, swirling sea, trapped. The attention of the demons has diverted
from the tower, however, the focus has bent wholeheartedly on breaching the building.
What the hell are we going to do, Yurie, I asked him.
Man does not reply, so with a grunt, I stand up alongside
him, and we watch as the demons battle the beams and the clouds drift
and crackle overhead, the shadows and the lights clash with fluries of sparks and
guisers of smoke and steam. The silhouette of a woman and the outpost of
glimmers in and out of focus. Eleanor it must be with the night plows
on the outpost. To my utter amazement, holds for the bulk of it.
It holds against this furious tide. But twenty or seven minutes before the
sunrise, the walls finally break. A section of concrete surrounding the thick door
frame breaks through, and as the dust pours in the demons pouring, scrabbling
and heaving over each other. As they flow through the gap in the wall,
dozens a bunds, all dragging themselves inside, arms and legs blurred into
the dark. The others continued the fight eleanor Charlie in April. The weaponized
light is temporarily paused as they presumably moved the barricade up the roots into the
roof, and then they resume energy, renewed sorts of gold in the wintry
gloom, whistling burning beams, and the growing mass of charred, blackened bones
hanging their guys. I will to them, quenching my fist hanging there.
They hold the line as best as they can, all light now focused on
the gap in the wall, the battle rages. Then at long last,
the shadows start to peel back, and the sun rises, The snow and
the wind ease off, and the natural light of the day is gradually returned
to the world. Song quickly tapers off to be lost on the breeze,
and the last of the demons tear across the ruined courtyard to the gap in
the wall, smoking and steaming as they do so. Some of them are
slowed as if struck and entrapped, and they melt away into oblivion, that
thick tarry smoke, drifting up and away into the air. Others are successful
and make it to the gap, But all these stragglers are caught in the
beams and evaporated. Urin I exchanged the look some god in, though some
definitely got in. How many it's hard to tell, but surely, surely
no less than fifty more. Perhaps there are no words exchanged. It's time
to go and clear out the remainders, and to say the damage remainders,
I think to myself as we descend the ladder single file. We're not talking
remainders here, We're talking a sizeable, dangerous force. Will the sun clear
them out? Or are they still in there? What the hell could fifty
demons achieve altogether? What have they done? My anxiety spikes with every step
of the journey. As we reached the floor of the tower with that crappy
pipe leaking bathroom as we ascend the second ladder, as we make our way
back down the stairs, around and around, as we pass by the painting
of Olga, Olga of Kiev, Olga of the russ We pushed through the
tower's door to the world beyond, to wreckage and ruin, broken rock,
smashed up stone, and thousands upon thousands of bones, some more blackened than
other, but all charge to a degree. They come up to almost our
knees, these bones, and they rattle and clatter as we try to kick
and shove them aside. Her returns and heaves some ribs away with a loud
rattling, swearing as he does so, searching beneath them for the remains of
the weapons, the ones that tumbled from the tower's peak. I reached down
myself and pick up one of the bones for a closer look. It's a
rib piece, almost entirely whole. I look past it to the sea of
bones beyond, and really pay attention to each of the individual parts, ribs,
sections of spine. But I can see them more clearly now. My
previous experiences with the bones involved me only seen them for a split second,
clattering down the mountain side, out of sight in the dark, but now
are laying right at my feet, illuminated in the light of the rising sun.
They are stuck to each other with a thick, viscous, black tar
like substance, but they were quite obviously human. I realize human shaped and
sized. At least. There are broken hip bones, pieces of arm and
leg, an almost complete arm in a hand still loosely connected with that disgusting
tar rests, and a charred, cracked and decidedly human skull right by my
foot. I swallow, my mouth, dry, my lips peeling from the
icy wind. I look over to Yuri, and the man stands back up
with armfuls of broken machinery, the bulk of one of the weapons from the
top of the tower, or, to be more accurate, it remains.
He nods and grunts at me as we continue heading across the courtyard, my
hands going for my gun as he draw closer and closer to the gap in
the concrete. I scarcely had to use the thing so far, but images
of Eleanor shooting down Christian's possessed body return to the forefront off my mind.
The sound of gunfire from within the complex sends a hammer through my heart,
and we break into a run onwards in aid of our comrades. The morning
light is clear, now bright and sparkling through the thick, heavy glass of
the outposts windows. Urie dumps the equipment he's carrying at the crossroads in the
corridor and begins tearing through it, rebuilding and reorganizing the mechanisms with his bare
hands at lightning speed. He shout something at me, but it's a Russian
and I don't understand. I get the idea, though, I think.
I raised my weapon and moved from water wall, checking the lines of sight
down the corridors. The place is full of bones, of broken concrete,
of thick, sludgy tar, splattered way up to the ceiling. I hear
a crash and another series of gunshots coming from down the hall to my right.
I know what's down there. It's the room that Charlie showed me with
a little holes scratched and torn away through the floorboards, the meeting hall or
whatever it was. Urie, I know where they are. He snorts and
spits and makes a gesture with his hand. Go on. Then, it
seems to say, and so I do. I head down the corridor with
careful focus, looking this way and that for any signs of a struggle,
before rounding the corner and glancing through the open doorway to the meeting room.
There's a demon inside. That much is clear. Eleanor in April are in
there also. I look back at Yuri and make a gesture with my hand.
He swears under his breath, nods, and grabs up the remains of
the weapon. The few final adjustments. We breached the room loudly and clearly.
Eleanor and April take hasty steps towards a pile of stacked up chairs in
the corner, and the demon crashes from wall to wall like a trapped bird,
sticking itself to the ceiling and slithering rapidly across the concrete. It moves
like water, with a consistency of smoke. Every now and then the rough
glimpse of a humanoid shape becomes clear in its form. There's a lot to
take in at once. The room is a wreck for starters. Where once
there was a small hole barely even waist height, it is now enormous,
cavernous, a huge, gaping, dark void in the center of the floor,
concrete and wood has been thrown and torn up with reckless abandon and hurled
to the sides of the room, and to my utter and total horror,
there is movement down below, movement in the dark death time, mutters Zurie
from behind me, and he pulls back the trigger of the weapon in his
hands. It starts to burn brighter and brighter, and using her makeshift catched
that he is evidently constructed in the last few minutes, he locks the trigger
in place and throws the weapon down into the hole. The beams blast out
in a furious circle, whizzing and sparkling and screaming with a brilliant white flame.
My oar in the power of the light only seems to intensify it further,
and I find myself being dragged from the room, along with Eleanor and
April, as the fire burns and splatters the walls with shattering bones and great
explosive bursts of that thick black tar. We come to a stop around another
of the corners, sweating from the heat. But even here the light as
of an intensity I have not yet seen. It is dazzling, blinding,
almost I have to shield my eyes, though before I do so, I
catch a glimpse of Yuri with his eyes already closed, clutching his cross,
muttering to himself under his breath, over and over and over. The screaming
of the demons grows louder and louder, the smashing clattering of bones like a
constant heavy rain. But after a while these sounds all start to die down.
The light fades, the screeching of the demons grows weaker and weaker,
until at last it falls completely silent, just four of us breathing heavily in
this battered, bruised corridor of the complex. Christ April murmurs after a beat,
her chest rising and falling as she looks between us. Eleanor swallows,
sweat budding on a forehead, and she leads the way, returning to the
room with a back straight and weapon raised. But the room is empty.
Now there is no sign of life at all, or whatever imitation of life
it is that the demons boast. The hall is covered in that disgusting tar,
and bones litter the floor. The great deep hole in the rooms center
is dark with his splattered remains, but there is no movement. Footsteps behind
us, bid us. The swivel at once, though it's only Charlie.
I'm relieved to see that he appears himself. His eyes are as they should
be, and he nodded us grimly as he approaches. We didn't do so
well last night, did we, he asks rhetorically. He clapped me on
the shoulder. Good to see your right there, mate. I was worried
about you seeing that tower come down, yeah, I reply, uneasily,
still shaken, yeah, Uriah, well, I fell off after one of
the explosions. He was able to haul me back up. Helena's eyes flick
her over to him, and she asks him something in Russian. Yuri shakes
his head in response and says nothing. Further time to check out where these
things were after then, eh, Charlie mutters, reaching to his belt with
his scarred, calloused hands, drawing out his flashlight and flicking on the switch.
Eleanor clenches a jaw as Charlie angles the light down into the massive hole
that the demons have carved into the rock beneath the outpost. Geez, did
you look at that? He mutters, what the April says with wide eyes.
Yuri raises his eyebrows and reaches for his own flashlight, adding his beam
to Charlie's, and we all peered down into the dark. The hole is
much deeper now, of course. I crouched down at his edge and squint
into the gloom. I can see a little better what I failed to see
the other night. The hole opens up into a wide cavern, and an
almost hollow cavern right here beneath the outpost, a cavern filled with rows and
rows of still and silent statues. They are all arranged in rows like some
terra cotta army. There are women and children amongst the men. These rows
of people made of stone extend away in the darkness on all sides. It's
impossible to tell how many there might be. Uri casts his beam of the
only visible wall in the cavern. Down below. The light illuminates a series
of runs carved into the rock. I squint beneath the lines of large text
and what appears to be an early form of Sevilk like Russian, but not
quite. There's something inherently primitive about it. Uri mutters under his breath and
stares at Eleanor wide eyed. What the hell are those statues? April asks
quietly, this is what the demons are trying to reach. Movement in the
cavern below sends a tremor of fear through the group, like electricity. It
all happened so quickly. A man, a human man, rises suddenly out
from the shadows, his hand on the shoulder of a nearby statue. He
stares up at us and screams, spittle flying from a mouth of broken teeth.
His clothes are ragged and robelike, ancient looking, really, and he
wears a helmet of dull metal carved with two ram like horns on either side.
He raises a hand in a quick blurred motion, pointing towards us.
No, not us at Eleanor and I have just enough time to cover my
closest ear as Eleanor promptly raises a weapon. Wait, Charlie shouts out,
but she does not. A shot rings out loud and clear, and the
mysterious man in the cavern below goes down like a rock. Dark blood is
sprayed across the wall from the back of his head, and the light is
lost. As the attention of the flashlight bearers turn to Eleanor, she stares
down into the dark, her eyes wide, her lips culled back into a
sneer, tightening that ghastly scar. Then she turns away and begins to walk
from the room. Charlie stumbles over his words. He calls after her,
Eleana, what the hell is going on here? You know something, don't
you. April's eyebrows furrow in anger, and she shouts to the ring as
she reaches the doorway, what is happening, Eleana. You need to tell
us what's going on? Enough is enough? Even Yuri watches the woman in
confusion. He cocks his head, he clenches and unclenches his jaw, mutters
something in Russian. Elena pauses at the door, and she turns back to
us, such that only the good half of her face is visible. Concrete
mixes in the shed on the south side. Concrete chunks and rock can be
moved to block gaps. Skeleton's cleared. We work now for one hour,
We sleep for five, then we work again. Wall sealed. Before nightfall,
they will come again. You really are hiding something, aren't you,
Eleanor. Charlie mutters, his eyes narrowing as he wipes some dust from his
nose. Eleanor says nothing more. She simply takes a leave, and we
listen to the sound of her footsteps as they gradually disappear down the corridor.
After a long cold pause, I turned to Yuri. Yuri, I begin
carefully, Please, man, is there anything you can tell us about Eleanor
that she's hiding? I don't know what it is, but let's face it.
Did she seem all that surprised by the discovery down below? I mean
statues of people in the dark beneath the outpost. I thought this was all
about lay lines or whatever. Yuri is she hiding something from us. The
man's cheek twitches, His dark shadowed eyes look between us as we regard him.
Then he sighs and spits onto the ground. He mutters in Russian and
say he's in English. Work to do fix wall? And away he goes.
And that's as badly as the questions are now burning, the walls take
priority. We spend the next hour in relative contemplative silence. Charlie and I
mix rapid setting concrete. April clears the bones in the blood. I catch
sight of Eleanor in the courtyard, carefully redrawing the various symbols across the walls
in white chalk with the demons scrub them away. I noticed that she seems
to be focusing on the Christian ones the most. We get those five hours
of sleep, and goddamn are they badly needed. They pass by far too
quickly, however, and like a zombie I rise to return to work.
The gap in the wall is hastily fixed back up with the chunks of broken
concrete and the sloppy mix of the new batch. The work is not esthetic,
but it might just do. Urie searches through the bones for the remains
of the weapons and disappears after some workshop to try and fix them up.
We are enabled to entirely fix the enormous hole in the meeting hall floor.
We do manage to narrow down somewhat, and the area above it is heavily
nailed over with ugly planks of wood, and with materials we're able to locate
in storerooms. What gets me is how poorly prepared the outpost is to fix
up this damage. I mean, yeah, the concrete mix is available,
but the variety of materials at our disposal is incredibly limited. And I can't
help but wonder hell to command even know what lies beneath this place? My
mind whirls as I work, as supplies we're able are restopped. Status beneath
the outpost, a man killed in cold blood who wasn't possessed? Was he?
He didn't move like Christian did. He didn't send out a dozen voices
at once the way Christian did either. He seemed just human. I rubbed
my hands across my eyes. The demons are trying to get beneath the outpost.
They're trying to reach the cavern. They're trying to reach the statues.
Right, is that it? But why? What did the demons want with
a load of carved rock? I feel like the answer is right in front
of me. I'm just missing one or two pieces of the puzzle, Eleana.
What do you know, eleanor I start to grow angry like April was
earlier. How dare she keeps secrets from us? We're putting her lives at
risk? Careful for what? Why are we defending this god forsaken outpost in
the middle of the mountains. April is just beside me and I slammed down
a chunk of concrete with a cloud of dust, and I turned to her.
She looks over and reads my expression, grimacing. What are we going
to do about her? I asked, it's obvious who I'm talking about.
I don't know, she replies with a sigh. Do we just confront her?
She scares me, Adam, the way she shot that guy in the
cavern. I mean, who was he? Eleanor knows? Except what if
she doesn't? Would she do that? Kill someone in cold blood without any
information at all? What does she know? I think we should go find
Yuri. Yuri, he's not going to help us, No, I think
he might. He's changed these past couple of days April, since he was
dragged over the edge. He's been unsettled for a while, and I don't
think he and Eleanor are quite on the same page that we thought they were.
April hesitates, Come on, I say, let's go find him.
He isn't in any of the places we check. However, he isn't in
the workshop, he isn't in comes or anywhere near the tower. We start
to become frustrated, then worried. I don't want to call for him over
the radio because I'm a little cautious of Eleanor overhearing. But at long last
we locate him huddled up in the corner of an archives room dust, the
old folders and files laid out before him, illuminated in the glow of an
ancient lamp. Yurie and mutter, and the guy glances up at me.
What are you doing here? Man? The Russian regards me. His eyes
flicker from my face to April's. After a measured pause, he gestures to
one of the folders and the ground, kicking it with his foot. I
share a glance with April and reached down to pick it up, thumbing open
the cover to reveal a series of photocopies and articles, historical records an Alga
of Kiev. The woman in the painting. April murmured something and carefully takes
the folder from my hands, flicking through. Most of the content is in
Russian, but some appears to be in English. Yuri, I begin cautiously.
You don't know, do you? You don't know what Eleanor is hiding
from us. The man considers me, then shakes his head. A pipe
his is softly overhead, and the lights flicker. There was writing on the
wall in the cavern in Russian. There was some in another language too,
a little like rooms. But the Russian were you able to read it.
Ury shrugs and grunts. He drops the file in his hands onto the desk
with a thud. Old he says, simply, very very big old long
time sealed away, they said, locked away. And what He runs his
tongue over his teeth. Drevilliondrevillion. Eury nods, I don't understand. What
does that mean? In English? Devil demon? He shakes his head.
Means nothing is same in English as Russian. Drevillion is word Trevillion. I
run the word through my head, but it means nothing to me. April
suddenly reaches out a hand and she grabs me by the arm. I joled
in surprise and turned to look at her, but the woman is staring intently
down at the page, her eyes wide. Adam, She mutters, you've
got to read this. There's something in here that's that's She's interrupted by a
crackling on the radio. Lads comes to Charlie's voice, grainy and far away.
I think you might want to make your way to the front door.
We have a guest, A guest too. Damn much is happening at once.
The three of us don't need much convincing. We were up at once
and marching down the corridors quickly between the scarred walls of the complex to the
gate of the outposts, farside the one I passed through on my very first
day here. Yurie mutters to himself from Russian a guest, I say out
loud, it's someone here. Elena only called for backup yesterday morning. There's
no way Christian's replacement could be here already, right, she said it would
take way longer. Adam abrils is, I really really do need to talk
to you. But we reached the gate. Charlie is there, as is
Eleanor, and they part way to allow us a view out into the courtyard
beyond into the grim, gray haze of the evening, And there, to
my utter shock, stands a man. I recognize, a man from my
base, and a man I am well well familiar with. He stares at
me and I at him. Hi, guys, the man says, with
an awkward wave, his accent the same as line, It's good to meet
you, I think. He glances down to the pile of charred bones in
which he stands. The name is Adam Adam Smith, reporting for duty.
The others look from him to me and back I fumble for words as the
cold gust of wind blows into the outpost. You're the replacement for Christian,
I manage and the other. Adam raises an eyebrow. Christian, he replies,
Christian repeats another voice. A grizzled man pokes his head inside from around
the corner. It's Sokolov, offers us. Sokolov, the same Russian officer
that led me here when exactly a week ago maybe feels like months. Everyone
inside salutes, including myself, and the man returns it, bidding us the
ease with a grunt and a wave. Eleanor steps forward and asks something of
the man in Russian. He replies and gestures from Adam to me. I
hear him mention Christian's name, and Eleanor sadly shakes her head with a response.
Sokolov sighs and looks to the ground. Shame, he says in English,
I will miss that one, A big loss. Wait, sir,
I cut in, stepping forwards down the corridor myself. You didn't know he
was dead? Then? What's Adam doing here? Well? I'm here to
replace you, man, Adam says. Turns out you are never supposed to
be up here in the first place. I'm the one they wanted to send.
Jeez, I reply, sucking some aeron through my teeth. I knew
nothing of christian till now. Sokolov says, I do not deal with this.
If replacement requested, then he will be here I do not know where
from. One of the others will be bringing them up when available. He
points at me, you smith, duty over, congratulations. Time to go,
and he half turns, expecting me to follow. The others turned to
look at me, Charlie, April, Yuri and Eleanor all waiting. I
consider it, you know, I consider going with Soklov. I mean,
why shouldn't I. I done my time, I did my duty. I
entered the call when the call should never have gone to me in the first
place. It was all a mess up, a classic logistical blunder. I
mean, I had my suspicions, but I really thought that with thing like
this, the aboves would have been more careful. I guess I was wrong,
but still I can't just go. Not now. If I stay,
sir, then we have six the six required for the optimal running of the
outpost. I turned to Eleanor. That's right, isn't it, Despite all
this space, all these empty rooms, six is the magic number. That's
what you said, six defenders. Elena opens her mouth, hesitates, then
cautiously agrees. She turns the circle of this is true, sir, she
says, then goes to the say some more in Russian and circle of regard
to then me, And then he just shrugs. You want to stay,
stay? You were offered away home. Remember this. He takes a step
back, his coat rustling in the wind. And I said, if you
requested replacement for Christian, then they will be here within day, maybe two,
maybe three, whether depends. Goodbye. We stand to attention and salute,
and he nods one back. Then away he goes, turning on his
heels and clattering back through the bones, scarcely giving them a second glance.
He does call back over his shoulder, though, one more time before he
disappears into the haze. Shame about tower will inform command, hopefully fixed by
end of this quarter. And that's that. I can just about make out
his silhouette clumbering over the little wall that surrounds the outpost, and then he
vanishes, leaving the six of us in the open gate. Of the outpost,
and Smith looks between us, perhaps catching a glimpse of the exhaustion,
the ever flickering, quietly burning fear that now shimmers in all our eyes.
He looks down again to the bones. He swallows. So would anyone care
to explain this situation to a newbie like myself? He asks, with a
weak, dry laugh. No one laughs with him, and the man is
led grimly through the outpost and into the hexagon. We sit. We sit
in silence for a while, as Adam eats from a can of Russian meat.
Mush of some kind is chewing, and the occasional hiss of a pipe
in the walls are the only sounds. Snow falls slowly and silently beyond the
glass. Adam keeps his mouth open as if to speak, then deciding against
it, choosing instead to simply shovel in more meat mush on shore if he
actually wants any answers, or if he'd prefer to live for a little longer
in blissful ignorance. At last, he can stand it no longer, and
he turns in his seat to face me. Adam, What's going on,
man? What the hell happens here? Russians and Americans together. What's the
deal with that? Yeah, that too was my first concern when I arrived
here. I scarcely even considered this international anomaly at all. Now, compared
to the surreal, nightmarish nonsense that is thrown at us here on the regular,
the fact that we're working with the Army of the Russian Federation barely even
registers as a flicker in my thought process. I'm gonna level with you,
man, I tell him, breaking the unofficial seal my comrades and I have
been keeping this place is dangerous. We fight demons here. Adam laughs,
and as before, no one joins him. I stare at him blank faced.
You're kidding, right, he asks, demons? Come on, man,
are you religious? Adam? I asked him. I don't think I've
ever asked you before. Well no, he says in response, No,
not really. You will be April Charlie and I murmur in unison, demons,
is this a joke? Adam stands up angrily. Stop messing around?
Do you have any idea what I had to go through to get here?
Helicopter nearly crashed in a damned storm. Eleanor herself rises to her feet.
The other Adam is a little taller than myself, but she stands higher than
even he, and I can feel the set can hand frost of Arctic glare
boring into this newcomer americanets, she mutters, glancing over to Yuri. Yuri,
however, says nothing to my great interest. He simply looks down to
the floor. I catch a fleeting scowl on Eleanor's face, maybe even a
touch of concern perhaps, but she lets it go. Adam takes a step
back awkwardly, then strides over to me. He gets right up in my
face, though I don't flinch. Adam, he says, desperately, Come
on, what the hell is this? Demons? We're not fighting demons as
a joke. What are we doing here? I pause? You know what,
Maybe you're right, Adam, maybe we aren't fighting demons at all.
Perhaps you should be addressing your questions to Ellen here instead. I look over
to her. My gaze heavy, and I know that chicken feel its weight.
The snow falls, and the tension in the room tightened somewhat. April
stares at me. I can see her in the corner of my eye.
Her lips remain sealed, but the meaning behind a paranoid expression is clear.
Adam, It says, are you sure about this? If we confront her
directly, there might be no going back. We don't know what she's capable
of. The blood in my body begins the chill considerably as Eleanor's eyes bore
back into mine. Her mouth twitches and it pulls that scar grotesquely across her
cheek. I stand up, Eleanor, It's time to share with us what
you've been hiding. We simply don't know what we're fighting anymore. I'm realizing
that I never did. Please just tell us the truth. What are we
fighting? Why have you dedicated to yourself so wholeheartedly to this outpost? Why
six people only? And who are you? Abel asks, in a quiet,
almost imperceptible voice. I do not know what you're talking about, Eleanor
replies, leavely, all eyes fixed on the woman. As the wind blows
with a sudden, renewed force beyond the walls, the snow is whipped into
a frenzy. We don't have long till nightfall now, Chaps. Charlie mutters.
You remain seated at the back of the room, but as with us,
all all eyes are on Eleanor. Eleanor, come on, you know
something, it's obvious. Just share with the group and we can all move
on. I do not have time for this, Eleanor mutters, and she
turns to take a leave. She finds herself blocked. However, Yuri,
having risen from his seat, has stepped in away, blocking her path from
the room. This is ridiculous, she says, then points at Uri and
barks something in Russian. Yuri shakes his head, his hands by his side.
Elena scoffs and tries to go for another exit, and this time she's
blocked by Charlie, likewise rising up from his seat there standing away. If
people are crazy, we defend outpost. That is our job. With a
sudden and surprising sob of anguish, Eleanor reaches down to a belt to a
gun. Perhaps maybe not, but every single person in the room catches the
motion. Before Eleanor's hand reaches a waist, four weapons are drawn, cocked,
and aimed directly at her. Wow, jeez, what the Adam begins,
but his surprise is loss. Beneath the shouting, Eleanor's face crackles with
fury. It's an almost palpable electricity, a current running between the six of
us Yuri. She shouts into the man's face, her forehead thudding against the
butt of the rifle. Let me pass. How could you do this to
rone? Comrade? Her words blow into Russian rife with expletives. Sweat buds
to my forehead and leaks in little trickles down my neck. Eleanor swivels to
face me, and the sweat freezes against my skin. Eleanor, stand down,
I mutter, I'm sorry. I don't want to shoot you, obviously.
Eleanor strides towards me, and I raise the gun higher, stumbling in
retreat, shouting now, Eleanor, stop stop now, or I'll shoot.
She hesitates, bears her teeth at me. I do not know the answers.
I know nothing. I guard out post like you all. Urie tuts
and shakes his head. He grunts something in Russian. Eleanor responds to this
with a sharp one eighty, pulling back a fist and smashing it into Eurie's
nose. Blood splatters against the wall, and Urie scrambles backwards, shaking his
rival in Elena's face and shouting at her and loud, very angry Russian.
We're all shouting again now, but Elena pays it no mind. You will
not shoot me, all too soft need me to stay alive, regardless,
kill me and all die? Why, I asked her, pleading in my
voice, Why Elena, why do we need you to stay alive? What
are you to this place? I lower my weapon with a sigh and slump
back into my chair, running a hand through my hair. Attention trickling away.
It's pointless. Eleanor's right. We're not going to shoot her, and
we all know it. We're putting our lives on the line. We came
close to a total loss last night. The demon has almost got what they
wanted, perhaps some of them did. I turned to her. But we
don't know what they want. How can we effectively defend when we don't even
know this simple fact? It might be easier tonight with Adam here? But
but why? Why is six better than five? Is it better than seven?
Eleanor clenches the jaw regards me. Come on, Eleanor, please,
the gears turning Eleanor's head as she rubs the bruise forming across the knuckles.
Then she too, simply slumps down into a chair. With a sigh.
One directly opposite me, Charlie in April ociously lower their weapons, though Yuri
does not. Eleanor glances over to him and shouts. Uri mutters something to
himself and reluctantly does as she says, lowering his weapon. He keeps it
in his hands, however, and chooses to take a seat at a far
distance. There are six needed the guide outpost. Eleanor begins warily, her
voice passionless. She sounds tired, so tired, No more than six.
Too many people here is like pouring blood into the sea. All those heartbeats,
all those thoughts, feelings, fears. The enemy comes like sharks.
They came like sharks last night, Charlie says, from his position, and
there are only five of us. So what happened? What changed? Make
God themselves a taste of what it is? There after? Driven to blood?
I guess they share a consciousness. You all saw it previous night,
the shadowing mountains, the giant, the spirit of the enemy. Elenor wavers,
then continues, we suffered so greatly last night because we were without Christian.
Christian specifically, I don't understand, I murmur, why him specifically?
We'll be okay tonight. Right, we have the six. We have the
new Adam Adam Smith, Elena says, looking up at last to our newest
member. How is your childhood, he regards her. I'm sorry your childhood
good or bad? Simple question? Well good, I guess pretty damn good.
My parents were, yeah, she says with a dismissive wave. Didn't
ask for your life story. She sighs. Tonight will be hard. Christian
was good, defend her because he understood the truth of suffering. He and
I were, We were good friends. I like to hope. Something shimmers
in Eleanor's eyes, and she wipes them back with a bruised hand, half
turning away. My childhood was not good. It was bad, very very
bad. I understand what it means to suffer when suffering was not deserved,
more than most. Christian understood this too. We were shield he and I
shields against the enemy. The greater understanding of suffering, the greater the strength
of the outpost, the greater the resistance to the demons. She looks around
the room. Yurie, I know childhood was not great, but was fine.
And you Westerners. She looks from Charlie to April, to Adam and
to myself. You do not know suffering in its purest form. Your use
here is limited. I tried to process this, but I thought we had
spiritual resistance or whatever. The la lines are real, the supernatural resistance real.
That is why you're here. But even despite this, your use is
limited? So why don't command just send soldiers with terrible childhoods? Then Abel
asks, why don't not government just send people with awful upbringing? Because Eleanor
cuts in angrily. They do not know. No one knows except I know.
Christian knew, and now all of you know too. You must keep
it a secret. You must. If I believe you intend to share this
secret with anyone, I will kill you. I'm not joking. She looks
between us one by one. Why, I ask, why is this secret
so important to keep to Pizza Eleanor's eyes shaking her head. Think about it.
Governments want to defend outposts. What do you think governments do if they
can defend outpost more securely with soldiers who have suffered as children. I opened
my mouth, but say nothing, Eleanor continues. Government will create these soldiers.
They already sent soldiers from the lay lines. If they know they would
be better soldiers for having suffered, They would take them. They will make
them suffer, and I will not allow this. Never, No one will
suffer like I did. No one will go through what I had to go
through. They wouldn't, April murmurs, No government would do such a thing.
I mean, the Russians might, but but the American government, No,
they never do anything so cruel. Her words hang in the air,
wouldn't they. Eleanor mutters quietly, and we darkly consider this, all right,
I say, slowly, so so that I suppose I can understand.
But the enemy they're not demons, are they. They can't be. There's
just no way, the more I think about it. We're not battling the
forces of hell here, are we. But they respond to the religious stuff,
to the Christianity. Why why is that? Drevelyn Urie grunts, scratching
the stubble across his chin. We fight Drevelyn. The word on the wall
of the cavern. This is what Uri was researching in the archives. What's
he talking about? It's an accusation. He waits for Eleanor to confirm his
words, and at last she does. She turns to look out of the
window, and she nods, yes, the Drevilyan. That's what we're fighting,
Not demons, but people, a race of people called the Drevilyan.
They were all destroyed a thousand years ago, a name lost in time.
They became slowly the Drevils, the devils, and then simply demons. The
Drevilyan. Charlie repeats, never heard of them, How might they be and
why do they want access to this building so bloody badly? Eleanor closes her
eyes. She takes a slow, deep breath. She tells us the story
of the Drevilyan and of Volga of Kiev, the woman in the painting.
The Drevilyan were so, she says, an ancient race of people who lived
in what is now Eastern Europe over a thousand years, vaguely Slavic in ethnicity,
with their own customs, stories, aspirations, and anthems. Alana believes
the song we hear across the mountains at night might be the song of the
Drevelyan people. A man named Oleg of the Rus that the dominant nation in
the region at the time, and the Drevelyans, amongst the other tribes and
peoples of eastern Europe. They were expected to pay tribute and swear to him
their loyalty a note of service in exchange for Oleg's defenses. Upon Oleg's death,
however, the Drevelyan lords changed their minds, and a midnight council in
the midst of a snowstorm, it was decided that they would abandon the other
peoples and choose to immediately halt their tribute an all promise of fealty. Oleg's
successor was a man named Igor, Igor of Kiev, a man who made
many mistakes, man misguided, but a good man all the same, a
man who did his best by his people. Igor, unsure how to approach
the Trevilyans, initially sent an armed force to their capital to demand what he
was owed, and was met with indignation and verbal hostility, and he returned
with a meager tribute, far less than what he was promised than what he
was owed. Not wanting to escalate matters any further, Igor, for his
second attempt, traveled to the wintry home of the Trevillians himself to speak with
their leaders personally and to fix what he hoped was little more than afraid thread
of diplomacy, Eleanor pauses for a moment. As she reaches this part,
she swallows and rubs the throat, and she tells us that the Trevillians saw
the situation a little differently. They murdered Ego of key V by tying his
legs the two birds trees, the trunks bent and trembling, and held him
place with ropes and net. Once the igor had been secured and the dreveling
lords had boasted the breaking of their oath, the nets and the ropes were
released. The trees, in all their might and powers, sprang back to
their original opposite positions. An igor was promptly torn into two. There are
apparently accounts from those present that say that they saw his bones burst right out
from his body, though of course there is no way to verify now if
such was true. Ego's death was felt across the region, but no one
greater than his loving wife, Olga, Olga of Kiev, Olga of the
Rus, the woman depicted in the Towers painting. Whilst the dreveling and celebrated
their freedom, Augur's soul was twisted and burned into a driving force for vengeance
for revenge for justice. The Drevilyans, emboldened by their newfound freedom, gloated
to Olga, and as the first female ruler of the russ she was perceived
as little more than a pliable weakling. The Drevilyans were wrong. They did
not see. They did not see the arctic fire that burned behind her eyes.
They did not see the frost that formed with her every waking breath.
They did not see when the first train of her boastful ambassadors were buried alive,
scrabbling and scratching and screaming in the perpetual darkness. They did not see
when the second were tricked and trapped in a locked and burning building, reduced
a little more than charred and blackened bones. They did not see when Olga,
act the meek and weakened woman, requested and overdue funeral for her husband
Igor at the sight of his death. Her request was granted, and as
she wept for what was lost in the treviling capital, the Drevilyans drank drunkenly.
They plotted their plans for the future. They wagered and who would be
the one to marry Olga of Kiev, And as the night progressed, they
were slaughtered in their thousands. Olga's rus killed each and every noble garden soldier
present, and the city was set ablaze. It was only then that the
Drevilyans began to see Ruce's reinforcements circled around and pushed their enemy. Easy,
and one by one the cities of the Drevilyan were raised. Every plea,
every desperate request for peace and for surrender were met with little more than wind.
Olga never ceased, she never stopped. Onwards, she marched with the
soldiers, driving the dreveling ever back. On one late day of this slaughter,
Olga halted and commanded her forces to wait. A message was sent out.
The hearts of the embattled people leapt when, at last, at long,
long last, it seemed that Olgar of Kiev would finally show them mercy.
After all, their lords and nobles were all now dead, buried or
burned or slashed. The pieces and the last of the Dreveling people were besieged
in the final city, still standing their lone bastion, Olga, promising peace,
demanded one final tribute, six birds, just six six birds, from
each household, as a promise of freedom and the war's end. The Drevilyans
were relieved, and they gladly accepted, and the tribute of the great flock
was swiftly made and delivered to Olga herself. Olga had no intention of forgiving
the Drevilyan. However, as she stood amongst this host of birds, she
commanded a soldiers to attach to each and everyone a string of sulfur and rags
of cloth. Then, when the sun set that day, the sulfur was
set alight and the birds were released. The orange of the glow was said
to shine in Augur's eyes as the sky began to sparkle with a hundred thousand
embers. The birds did as Olga knew they would. They returned to their
homes, to their nests in the rafters and roofs of their houses and buildings
of the Drevillans, and all at once the wood began to burst into flame.
City was a burning wreck within the hour, and there was nothing the
inhabitants could do but run the flea yet further still. They were chased by
olga soldiers for hundreds and hundreds of miles east way across the waists, and
there at the base of the ural mountains, and they could go no further.
They banded together, the Drevelyans, for one desperate final stand. They
were the men still standing. They were the women, They were the children,
They were the elderly. They were not warriors or fighters, but they
still numbered in over one hundred thousand, and in those final hours, they
all felt the end, and they all prepared to fight. There's only one
backed into a corner, truly, can They still had their hope. Olga,
however, did not plan to fight. She would not accept a single
further drop of Ruce's blood being spilled for these demons. And so as the
Drevelans were steadily encircled, it came to pass that she burst from the shadows
behind them, atop a rocky hill, her cross in her hand and shining
in the reflection of the fire. Her souldiers blazed in the dark, her
robes whipped around her body in the growing windstorm, and she stood defiant as
she began to chant. As she raised a cross a pie and in the
name of a god, she swore to tear the Dreveling souls right out from
their bodies, to tear them to pieces, as they had torn a part
of beloved. She roared with a power the Drevelans had not yet seen.
Christianity was unknown to these people. They did not know the Cross. They
were afraid of the strength of her conviction in this foreign, Abrahemic mysticism,
and that in turn gave it a power unique to that moment of madness.
Whether God himself was involved is not certain, nor the certainty of his existence,
But on the Drevilyan's final day, it was Olga's power channel through a
cross had led to the end of their story once and for all. Their
souls were ripped from their bodies and cast out into the waists as shadows.
There would be no more peace for the Drevillans, no eternal rest or slumber,
only suffering, endless, maddening suffering. The only material substance that was
left of the Dreveling people were soulless bodies of a rock like chalky crust,
and these husks were carried one by one way up through the cracks of the
mountain, where they were sealed away in a dark, deep, near unreachable
cavern. Olga made sure to carve into the cavern's walls. The nature of
their crimes, with a warning that they would remain here for eternity, with
no rest and no respite. And there the story ends as scattered, twisted
souls of the Dravidian eventually found their cavern, but the descendants of the russ
manned an eternal guard. The reason as to why gradually lost through the centuries,
an eternal guard that had largely held off the attacks on the outpost until
now, That is, until me, with a mistake as idiotic as a
mix up with names, Eleanor trails off and we you'll stare off into space,
taking in the gravity of this outrageous knowledge. But but what about the
other outposts? I murmur. Christian said there was one in Australia, India.
He said, I know what he said. Eleanor interrupts. He said
those things, because that's what I told him. I lied. There are
no other outposts. There is this and only this. There are no other
outposts. So it's just this one then, just us six alone in the
mountains. Adam and I were born in the same place, I say out
loud, giving voice to another thought that's been nagging at me. We were
both born on the same lay line. Our supernatural resistance should be the same.
No, so why has everything gone to hell only recently? Eleanor snorts.
I told you this at the beginning. You are not like the others.
You are childish and immature. You simply have a dangerous personality. You
are typed to bring chaos and calamity wherever you go. You have not suffered
Adam and are still too soft for this outpost Urie muttered something in Russian under
his breath. Eleanor shoots him a luck. I think in that moment about
my brother, about his death ten years ago, I pushed aside the false
voice that the demon that Drevelyan eased into my head, and I remember my
brother's true voice, his presence, his warmth. I've done my share of
suffering, Eleanor, I say, quietly, but thanks. Still, maybe
things would have been different if the correct Adam had been sent in my place.
Maybe Christian would still be alive, Maybe the tower would be undamaged,
Maybe the cavern beneath us would still be sealed away. I guess we'll never
know now, So why the hell are we doing this? April asks,
pressing her palms against her eyes for a moment where stopping the traveling souls from
reaching their bodies. I get that, but I still don't understand. Why
why don't we just let them return, that this whole thing end, be
done with it once and for all. Then no one will need to stay
in the outpost. It can be decommissioned for one simple reason. Eleanor replies.
If a dreaveling soul returns to the body from which they were separated,
they are flooded in an instant with a thousand years of hatred, of bitter,
rage, anguish. A being is not meant to exist for so long.
Returned to material, they would find themselves displaced out of sink. They
are dangerous and violent and brimming with latent spiritual power. If treveling and successfully
enter the outpost, reach cavern and find bodies, that is over one hundred
thousand angry, mind broken monsters released into the world, bloodshed will return,
cycle of hatred will continue. She rises to a stand, and I get
the sense her speech is drawing to a close. It's getting darker anyway,
not much time left now. Night will be falling soon, and the new
Adam still doesn't really have a clue what's going to happen. I stay here
in this outpost because my presence here is great a shield outpost could ever ask
for. And second, to write the sins of the past August fury back
then cause terrible pain and trauma to this part of the world. The story
of the Drevelings is brutal, sad, complex. But if those souls return
to the bodies, the terror unleashed on further innocence will be horrible, iron
in its brutality. But but that's not right, Eleanor replies, standing up
herself. These people, the Drevilyans, these are innocence that were they were
torn from their bodies. That's what you said, soul has left suffering for
a thousand years. It's not right. Who are we to stand in the
way of allowing them to return to their bodies for a final chance of peace.
And there, Eleanor says, raising her hand in a half point,
is why I keep secret. Easier to battle demon than drevelyan less moral compass
dilemma. Bloody hell, Charlie says with a sigh, this is some heavy
stuff. Jeez, something inside Abril's snaps. She strides forward and shouts directly
into Eleanor's face. You are her, Eleanor, She says, you are
Hulger of Kiev. My first instinct is the snort with surprise. The question
is ridiculous. But as the question settles into my mind, I take another
look at Eleanor. I can drop an image of the painting, and I
tried to place them side by side. No, surely not. You know
everything about her, April says, And I notice that she's trembling. You
look like the woman in the painting, though she doesn't have that scar.
And you've been here for a long time, haven't you, Eleanor, A
long long time, decades at the least. You're older, and you're trapped
in now, trapped in this outpost, in a web of your own making.
Eleanor stares at April, and then she laughs. The sound is bright
and clear, and we watch and shock and cautious amusement as she laughs and
laughs and laughs, doubling over as she does so. Kidding, she says,
her face displaying a grin. I've never seen her wear before. Joke.
You think I am a woman who died thousand years ago. April folders
and takes a step back. She flushes. But well, I thought Americans
are so funny. This is crazy. Eleanor snorts and wipes the corner of
her eye. I am not Olga April. April clenches her fists. She
strides from the hexagon and into the little side room she showed me several days
ago. I hear her rummaging and a clatter of something being knocked from the
wall, and she returns a moment later with a framed photograph in her hand.
I recognize it as the one with SGH nineteen eighty seven written on the
back. I'd almost forgotten about it. She flips it, unders the clips
and slides to the picture out from the frame. She holds it up to
Eleanor's face. Explain this, then you see what's been written on the back
of this picture, SGH nineteen eighty seven. Who is SGH? And how
is there a picture of you at this outpost from nineteen eighty seven? You
scarcely look any different at all? How is that possible? Eleanor's grin fades
from her face and she shakes her head with a sigh, her eyebrows furrowed.
This is sad, April. You are smarter than this. She takes
the photograph and points to the letters and numbers written there. What does this
say, April? S April replies nineteen eighty seven. Eleanor shakes her head.
No wrong, it says sgh I nine eighty seven. This photo,
Who's not from DECA to Go? It was taken in twenty fifteen. April's
confidence trickles away. But what you know, Sampson Galaxy April Samson Galaxy tablets.
I yeah, I guess, Eleanor thrust the picture back into April's hands.
This photo was taken with Samson Galaxy, Samson Galaxy seven. This is
brand of device, not data or initials. April's face burns bright red,
and she choose a lip in thought, I too consider this development. The
brand of the phone that took the picture? Is that all it was?
It seems almost almost too stupid to be true. But then again, what
the hell do I know? Nothing? Apparently not a damned thing. And
regardless, thinking time is up, it would seem the shadows deepen and before
long the sun will set. It's time to get to our stations. What
are we going to do about the tower? I ask? It's weaponless and
we've broken the rule. No one's been in the thing for hours. We
have no choice but to abandon it. April replies, we will have to
survive the night without it. Everyone to your stations. Adam Smith, you
go with old Adam Smith. Defend the outpost rule number one, do not
allow enemy into outpost. And away she goes. No one tries the block
at this time, still reeling from the info drops heavy with the weight of
our newfound knowledge. One by one we depart for our stations. April drops
a small, shining silver cross into Adam's hands before she goes. Charlie gives
the man a nod and wishes him well. Yuri says nothing to anyone,
vanishing silently down a corridor, bringing a cigarette up to his mouth before he
disappears completely round a corner. Come on, man, I say to Adam,
and I guess you're with me tonight. And so away we go up
and into the snow to our station, doing our duty, manning the amalgamated
weapons to keep away the intruders, the fire in the darkness, keeping the
dreadlands trapped in their eternal cycle of darkness, despair and destruction, armed with
bibles, using these holy books as weapons, as Olga of Kiev did,
herself one thousand years ago, defending the outpost, as we are all tasked
with doing, as Americans, as Russians, as soldiers. The sun sets,
the Anthem of the Trevillians begins to play quietly at first, floating note
by note across the mountains, as thoughts within thoughts swirl as a maelstrom across
the turmoil of my mind. Time passes, the song rises, This anthem
of the long forgotten people plays, and the demons no the Trevillians begin clambering
up and out of the darkness. Adam Smith watches in abject horror as the
hordes are sent crawling up the mountain side and towards the outpost. I call
out the arrival of the enemy to my comrades, and the first beam is
fired, As with every night previous, the battle begins to rage. Bones
are sent bursting with clouds of smoke and fire. As the beams are cast
in all directions, tearing through the shadows like blades through skin. Snow falls,
the mists gather. My muscles ripple and burn with a strain, as
electricity crackles with a frost in the icy air. I d ask Adam with
reading aloud from the Bible, as with myself. He falters initially, but
he gets the hang of it pretty damn quick. He bellows like a preacher,
out and into the wind, and his voices carried out into the night
to the dreadlans. His words must come as a painful, torturous echo of
the night they were lost. My heart goes out to them, It really
does. But if Eleanor tells the truth, if these people became monsters the
minute they return to their bodies, and it's what I'm doing right now the
greater good? Or am I just trying to justify this madness to myself?
I'm no longer certain that what I'm doing is I hammer the weapon down with
a mechanical thud, and I send a screaming beam down directly below, tearing
through a Drevelyn with his hands outstretched towards me. Its charred and black,
and bones are sent flying in all directions. Movement in the night to my
left bids me turn my head and emits the mist and fog of the night,
I see him again, that enormous man made of shadow between the peaks,
the spirit of the Drevilyan personified, and with his arrival, the hordes
of the enemy are renewed, thick and fast. They approach, hungry for
their prize. Down in the cavern beneath the outpost, I stare at the
great shadowy spirit, willing him to turn and face me, And with a
slow measure turn of his head he does so. His eyes of silver lock
with mine, and hear his voice in my head. You know, don't
you, Adam, I see it now in your head. You have learned
the truth, you know our story, and still you fight. Why do
you think we don't feel pain when you burn our people to wash upon the
mountain side? Rule too, I remember, do not engage verbally with the
enemy, And as planned, I ignore this rule. I respond, and
I asked my question. It's true, isn't it? I whisper, and
at once a great search of demons adjust their course and clamber directly towards me.
It doesn't matter. I drop a device that you're constructed for me,
a bomb of sorts. The sense sparks of light spiraling in all directions as
it disappears into the darkness below. You are what's left of the Trevelyan.
And if you've reach what you're so desperate for then you'll only bring havoc and
chaos and further pain into the world. I grip my teeth and bring the
beam round in an arc. Adam Smith is forced to shield his eyes as
the rock below is burned temporarily white with the glare. I'm sorry, I
really really am, but I've had no time to think. I don't know
what the best course of action is in the long term. But for now,
I can't stand back and allow you entry into this outpost. I cannot
allow you to return. Please forgive me. The guilt comes in ebbs and
flows. It is cold, but not as cold as the bitterness of the
night. I clench my jaw and resume my battle, shouting out a verse
of my own as the weaponized light intensifize. These are the people. They
used my brother's voice against me, the voice and my long dead brother.
These are the people that possess Christian and brought about his death. You're just
like her, whispers the spirit. I thought you were different. Perhaps we
were wrong. We want an end to this. Just let us be free.
Your bodies remain below this outpost. I'm onter back. They must be
there for a reason. There must be a reason that they haven't been destroyed.
Maybe that knowledge has been lost, or maybe it's just something that Eleanor
refuses to tell us. But there is nothing I can do now but my
duty. I am a soldier, and these my orders. I'm sorry,
Drevelyan. We will not forgive you for this, Adam, and we will
not forget if all you want is peace? I ask, then, why
hide the truth from me? From all of us? PSSs Christian and make
him a threat. We cannot reveal the truth until someone asks for it,
replies the voice. Christian asked, I do not know why. But in
reply, I showed him the vision of Ogre of Kiev. Unlike you,
he saw her face, he saw the hatred there, the hatred for my
people, and Christian's heart was filled with nothing but sorrow and compassion. In
this moment, he was weak, and I possessed him. I took no
pleasure in this, but I did what I had to form my people.
Why I shout out into the night. Adam Smith turns to me in shock,
but he keeps reading aloud from his book. He cannot hear the voice.
Why would you do that? I turned from the dreadling hoard below,
and look again at the great shadow with its silvery eyes. It slowly looks
down at one of its hands, with a sound like the distant rumbling of
thunder, because his hands dig faster than ours, comes the reply, and
I see in my mind's eye the whole that the Drevilyan's dug with the shadowy
fingers in the meeting room floor. You cannot be the spirit of your people,
I mutter through clenched teeth. I refuse to believe it. I refuse
to believe that the spirit of an entire race could be so callously cruel to
trick a man into empathy, then using him and disposing him like a tool.
I do not know what you are, but I will not grant you
access to this outpost, not tonight. I left my head and shout out
loud into the night, my voice caring above the storm. Now eleanor now
fire the weapon. The so called spirit of the Drevelan, with his attention
fixed wholeheartedly on myself, rumbles without ethereal thunder, and shifts its gaze over
the roof of the outpost, its silvery eyes shining in the darkness. Its
movement. However, as all its movements are its sluggish, slow, far
far too slow, and from the darkness, eleanor wrapped in robes of black
to conceal her position, pulls back hard, and two simultaneous handles, handles
attached to the colossal gun and the outpost's roof. An enormous mechanical crunch echoes
out from the gears, and my teeth are set on edge with a sudden
ringing. For a second or two, it seems as if the very wind
itself is sent out in the opposite direction, and the scrambling of each and
every dreadline is halted. As the monstrous weapon finally fires, a blast of
heat is sent out in an intense circle of energy. I feel it against
my skin and my hair is whipped back from my head as a ringing of
light appears at the weapon's barrel, and a beam unlike anything I've ever seen
so far explodes out like lightning, crackling and tearing to the night, towards
the mountains and the mist, and directly through the heart of the great Shadow.
A twisted, crackling nervous system is briefly illuminated in white across the Shadow's
form, and it starts to leak out into the air. As ink leaks
out into the water, a terrible scream is sent roaring through the mountains,
and the entire horde of demons below burst at once into clouds of shadow and
bone. As the enormous spirit collapses down and into itself, wounded and distabilized,
dust and steam is sent blasting out in all directions. Snow is disturbed,
sent tumbling down the peaks, but we do not leave our stations.
The dreveling horde is displaced, and the giant's spirit stays hidden away. But
after a few hours of interlude, the attackers do return. They do not
come as tide, though they do not flow like water. They come alone
or in small groups. Their fight and their power has been taken away for
this night at the least, and they are easy to deal with, far
far easier, And we continue our battle until the rising of the sun.
The outpost successfully defended and kept from even a single breach. I turned to
Adam as the sun rises. He's white with shock, eyes wide, his
hands trembling, and clap him on the shoulder. The veins in my forearms
all popped from the exhaustion. Good work to night man. Good work.
Now, come on, let's go. It's time to get some sleep,
and away we go. My story is drawing to a close. Now just
a little more to wrap up. I remained at the outpost for another couple
of days. I did my duty, and I defended the place as best
as I could. The Drevelans did not return in any kind of number to
equal the night that the tower fell, and I would wager that that could
be thanks to our successful surprise attack and the Spirit itself, if indeed the
spirit he actually is, it will be more cautious in future. I remained
at the outpost until Christian's replacement arrived, a woman from Missouri, and since
my departure sinked up with aprils as scheduled, the two of us headed out
together. After saying our goodbyes. I hug from Charlie, a handshake from
Adam Smith, and muttering nod from Yuri, and even a flicker of what
might have been a half smile from eleanor a sad smile, but a smile.
Nonetheless, I still struggle with the morality of my role in the Outpost,
of what I did between those mountains, whether I was in the right
by fighting back against the traveling souls, or whether I should have just stood
down and allowed them to return to what they craved so desperately. I still
think about them, you know, of those cursed, forgotten people, trapped
in their endless cycle of desperation, and the Outpost guardians likewise, trapped in
their own cycle of grim and gruesome vents, constant ceaseless stress, night after
night, battle after battle on the mountain side. I wonder how far the
spirit of the Dreveling would go to achieve this skull. I wonder how far
Eleanor would go to maintain hers hell. Do the Horde of Dreveling Souls even
know what they're fighting for? Anymore? Due to Night's roster of the outpost
soldiers. For that matter, it's been months since April and I departed together.
Charlie will have left by now, Yurie two, most likely not Eleanor.
I suppose she's still there doing her duty. I looked back one final
time as we departed the outpost, April and I clambering over the waist eye
wall at the edge of the courtyard, and to my surprise, the first
thing I noticed was the flags upon my arrival, only the Russian flag flew
proudly. The others the American, the British, the Norwegian, and the
NATO. They were old and worn, ragged and weather damaged. But I
realized then, at the moment of my exit, that someone had replaced them.
I don't know who, I don't know when exactly, but one of
my comrades must have taken the time to replace them, or even to fix
them up. Perhaps The flags waved proudly in the breeze, bright shades of
red, of white, and of blue, side by side together. I
mentioned this to April and the helicopter ride back to the eurro's base, and
she nodded. Yeah, I noticed that too, she said. But there
was still something on her mind. I could tell, and I asked her
to share it with me. Olga of Kiev, she said thoughtfully after a
moment. I never got around to sharing this with you, but I read
something interesting about her in that file, the one Uri showed us. Do
you remember the night we confronted Eleanor I found something something very interesting. Indeed,
Oh yeah, I replied, what was it? Then she changed the
name. You know, Olga. I mean, as she grew older,
so the records say yes that, So, I asked her courtiously, and
what did she change it to. April looked up at me as the helicopter
passed over the peaks to Eleanor. I considered this in silence, silence,
but for the monotonous buzz of the blades wearing round and around as the helicopter
rowed us away through the night. It's a common enough Russian name, I
replied uneasily. Yeah, Abel said back, shifting in a seat. A
common name. Still, I murmured, Still, she repeated, and we
said nothing further for the rest of the flight. I saw her that night
in my dreams, Eleanor. She stood atop the outpost, commanding an enormous
rooftop weapon and pulling back on the handles, a powerful circle of light at
the barrel, giving way to the dazzling blast of the beam to write the
sins of the past. Came a voice as a whisper in the wind,
and her robes were blown about her as the snow was whipped up into a
torrent. She looked to me, her eyes alive with glittering ice, and
in that moment they were the same Olga of Kiev and Eleanor of the Outpost,