on the rig.
Metal crumpled around him and crunched, more glass shattered, and Dave felt the world slip sideways. Air bags exploded into the cabin, knocking Allen back. He cried out in surprise. They should have stunned Dave, but everything had slowed down again. Physics and consequence moved so impossibly slowly in his world that he was able to watch each of the safety bags fill up the interior of the vehicle as if they were party balloons being blown up by children. A fine white dust drifted off them with a dry, acrid chemical smell. He watched, fascinated, as the faces of the other men flinched involuntarily. The implacable Heath scrunched up his eyes and gritted his bright, perfectly straight teeth as his head turned away from the billowing white walls that came at him from all sides. It was as though he were watching it all happen on a small screen somewhere. The SUV started to tilt, and for half a second, stretching out over a small eternity, he was certain they were going over. Then the vehicle shuddered and bounced back to earth and stopped moving in any direction. As though hitting the play button on his phone or TV, the natural second-by-second progression of time resumed.
‘Cut him out,’ Heath yelled as the air bags deflated.
‘He’s pinned to the seat,’ Allen said. ‘No time for that.’
Dave heard another sick wet thud, and the other SEAL up front screamed before slumping forward, his skull split by a huge, ugly-looking throwing star.
Still bent over by the arrow shaft, Dave reached across Allen and tried the door, but it wouldn’t open. In a fit of frustration, he lashed out with a cramped side kick. The door buckled and boomed. ‘Watch your legs,’ he said, and Allen tucked them as far out of the way as he could. Another kick, harder this time, and the whole door flew off with a sound like a shotgun discharge, flying across the street, skimming the tarmac, and sending up a brief shower of sparks. He heard someone curse behind him. Heath. Dave stumbled out into the rain, climbing over Allen, disoriented and unbalanced. Tried to get his bearings when a fast, black blur slammed him back into the side of the Expedition.
He grunted as the impact drove the air out of him but he shook it off with surprising ease. It felt no worse than a heavy hit on the training bag back in his college football days.
A radio crackled somewhere, but Dave heard it as though the speaker were standing next to him.
‘Can’t get a clear line of fire.’
It was an unsettling auditory illusion.
Dave took in the dent he’d left in the side of the Expedition. The car looked as if it had come off a lot worse than he had. The side panel at the rear had buckled like a crushed beer can. But that might have been the original crash.
And then he saw it.
Another monster, similar in basic form to the Hunn and its leashed Fangr, but even taller, with an almost insectile appearance, recalling a giant mantis. It had a quiver full of javelin-sized arrows slung across its back, worn over a leather scale shirt that hung down to its knees. Presumably protecting its junk. A brace of axes and strings of iron throwing stars hung from the monster’s hips, held in place by a belt of leather discs embossed with metal studs. With its long-limbed gait, Dave could imagine it leaping at him like a demonic grasshopper.
‘I will feast on your loins,’ it said.
‘Wow, that’s not gay at all,’ Dave said, although mostly to himself.
Sliveen , he thought. This thing is called a Sliveen. Or maybe the Sliveen, and the surprise of knowing what it was followed close on the heels of his surprise at realising it had not spoken in English but he’d still understood it.
Dave put aside any disorientation, pushed off the side of the wrecked automobile and took up a fighting stance with his fists bunched in front of him, feeling completely ridiculous. Like he was shaping up to some drunk in the back bar at an Irish funeral. He had not been in a
Metal crumpled around him and crunched, more glass shattered, and Dave felt the world slip sideways. Air bags exploded into the cabin, knocking Allen back. He cried out in surprise. They should have stunned Dave, but everything had slowed down again. Physics and consequence moved so impossibly slowly in his world that he was able to watch each of the safety bags fill up the interior of the vehicle as if they were party balloons being blown up by children. A fine white dust drifted off them with a dry, acrid chemical smell. He watched, fascinated, as the faces of the other men flinched involuntarily. The implacable Heath scrunched up his eyes and gritted his bright, perfectly straight teeth as his head turned away from the billowing white walls that came at him from all sides. It was as though he were watching it all happen on a small screen somewhere. The SUV started to tilt, and for half a second, stretching out over a small eternity, he was certain they were going over. Then the vehicle shuddered and bounced back to earth and stopped moving in any direction. As though hitting the play button on his phone or TV, the natural second-by-second progression of time resumed.
‘Cut him out,’ Heath yelled as the air bags deflated.
‘He’s pinned to the seat,’ Allen said. ‘No time for that.’
Dave heard another sick wet thud, and the other SEAL up front screamed before slumping forward, his skull split by a huge, ugly-looking throwing star.
Still bent over by the arrow shaft, Dave reached across Allen and tried the door, but it wouldn’t open. In a fit of frustration, he lashed out with a cramped side kick. The door buckled and boomed. ‘Watch your legs,’ he said, and Allen tucked them as far out of the way as he could. Another kick, harder this time, and the whole door flew off with a sound like a shotgun discharge, flying across the street, skimming the tarmac, and sending up a brief shower of sparks. He heard someone curse behind him. Heath. Dave stumbled out into the rain, climbing over Allen, disoriented and unbalanced. Tried to get his bearings when a fast, black blur slammed him back into the side of the Expedition.
He grunted as the impact drove the air out of him but he shook it off with surprising ease. It felt no worse than a heavy hit on the training bag back in his college football days.
A radio crackled somewhere, but Dave heard it as though the speaker were standing next to him.
‘Can’t get a clear line of fire.’
It was an unsettling auditory illusion.
Dave took in the dent he’d left in the side of the Expedition. The car looked as if it had come off a lot worse than he had. The side panel at the rear had buckled like a crushed beer can. But that might have been the original crash.
And then he saw it.
Another monster, similar in basic form to the Hunn and its leashed Fangr, but even taller, with an almost insectile appearance, recalling a giant mantis. It had a quiver full of javelin-sized arrows slung across its back, worn over a leather scale shirt that hung down to its knees. Presumably protecting its junk. A brace of axes and strings of iron throwing stars hung from the monster’s hips, held in place by a belt of leather discs embossed with metal studs. With its long-limbed gait, Dave could imagine it leaping at him like a demonic grasshopper.
‘I will feast on your loins,’ it said.
‘Wow, that’s not gay at all,’ Dave said, although mostly to himself.
Sliveen , he thought. This thing is called a Sliveen. Or maybe the Sliveen, and the surprise of knowing what it was followed close on the heels of his surprise at realising it had not spoken in English but he’d still understood it.
Dave put aside any disorientation, pushed off the side of the wrecked automobile and took up a fighting stance with his fists bunched in front of him, feeling completely ridiculous. Like he was shaping up to some drunk in the back bar at an Irish funeral. He had not been in a
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