Brooklyn Knight (34 page)

“But,” interrupted Knight, his breathing nearly under his control once more, “it was enough to guide you here.”

“It was. They beseeched the Heavens for such as me, and I came to them. Now, not enough of you truly believe in anything to light the way of my coming, but it matters not. Once the stone is returned to Memak’tori, that will be light enough. My Bakur puppet has welcomed me in. When his city is whole once more, I shall reap your souls by the billions.”

Knight, sweat pouring down his forehead, the taste of blood still foul in his mouth, took a long, deep breath. Gulping it down, he twisted the ring newly restored to his hand, then hissed;

“Well then, I guess we’d better remove your puppet before you can help him recover his stone.”

And, so saying, the professor threw up his hands and released the spirit of Detective James Dollins, which had been hiding within him for so long, sending it directly into the A’ademir!

On the burning plains of Fort Drum, firefighters emptied their hoses and released their chemical foam at the shambling horror still lighting the night sky. The monstrosity had been reduced in both size and power by their continual bombardment, but not to the point where anyone felt it might be dealt with safely. A helicopter rigged with a tremendous scoop had successfully dumped thousands of gallons of water from a nearby lake twice upon the blazing behemoth, only to then be blasted from the night sky.

“It appears we’re having an effect, sir.”

Staring through his binoculars, Major General Harris agreed with his subordinate’s estimation of the battle, but he was in no way satisfied. The commander was convinced the only reason for the limited progress they had made thus far against the burning thing was that it was in no way concerned with their struggle. Its only concern seemed to be the capture of the Dream Stone, and its
single-minded aggression in that area kept it too focused on its prize to mount more than the occasional defense.

“But it’s too damn little, and it may end up being too damn late.” Lowering his binoculars, Harris shouted, “What’s the word on those bombs? Are they even anywhere nearby yet?”

“Yes, sir,” answered a lieutenant with one ear pressed firmly against a headset. “They’ve just reported in with the airfield. They’re already in our airspace, and they’ve got the target sighted.” The officer stopped speaking for a moment, obviously listening once more, then added;

“They estimate sixty seconds to target.”

All eyes in the command center turned toward the battlefield. All duties were forgotten for the moment, all hope pouring out toward the pair of unseen bombers everyone present knew were somewhere in the dark sky above them.

“Fifty-five seconds …”

Once used for dropping explosive or fiery payloads on enemy troops, they had been converted decades earlier for use in combating forest fires in the mountains of upstate New York.

“Fifty seconds …”

Outfitted with warheads that released an oxygen-smothering foam, the airships once thought to have been rendered useless by the advancing technology of war had gained a new lease on life by becoming engines of mercy. Bulky, and ponderously slow, they were completely unfit for the wars of the modern world but perfectly suited for combating the fires that ravaged it. They did possess one glaring defect, however, considering the use to which they were about to be put.

“Forty-five seconds …”

They were hideously noisy.

“Sir!” shouted Klein, a frightening thought suddenly filling his mind. “Can you hear bombers, their engines, I mean? Can you
hear them coming?” When Harris admitted that he could, the FBI man added;

“Do you think that thing can hear them?”

“Forty seconds …”

Instantly understanding Klein’s implication, the major general turned to his second-in-command, barking orders. The fort’s tanks and cannons, silent for so long during the battle, were now all to open fire upon the blazing monster once again.

“Thirty-five seconds …”

From some two score points around the battlefield, from far-off cannon emplacements as well as from tanks scattered all about the area, shells began to rain down on the burning monstrosity.

“Thirty seconds …”

As before, the continual explosions had little effect on the oddly lumbering creature—

“Twenty-five seconds …”

But they did manage to capture its attention once more.

“Fifteen seconds …”

So heavy was the sudden fire that the single-minded beast could not help but notice. Its primitive mind enraged, the horror turned from its pursuit of the truck holding the Dream Stone, directing its heated fury against the shells flooding the air, tearing up the ground beneath it, their explosions sending worrisome ripples through its less-than-substantial form.

“Ten seconds …”

Harris clamped his teeth fast against each other, grinding them in cold fury as the blazing shambler turned its power anew against his men and machines. Searing blasts of intense flame tore through the night once more, exploding tanks, disintegrating men.

“How many more,” wondered Harris, watching his troops being burned to cinders, a part of his mind agonizing over each death
while the rest of it maintained the calm every still-living member of his command desperately needed from him.

“Five seconds …”

Two more Abrams were destroyed in a furious blast spewed forth from the near-formless mass.

“Four …”

Shells exploding all about it, tremendous hunks of the Earth being launched through its ever-changing shape, the thing lashed out in a dozen directions at once, the single volley obliterating five more of the great war machines and their crews.

“Three …”

And then, suddenly the burning terror returned its attention to the Dream Stone. Perhaps its primitive instincts had redirected it; perhaps its target was reaching the boundaries of its ability to track it. Whatever the case, the monstrosity’s attention fell away completely from the continual barrage chipping away at its form, preparing one final, massive release of power.

“Two …”

Its pseudoarms raised on high, the telltale glow signaling another energy release began to build. Unerringly pointing through the darkness at the fleeing vehicle, the horror prepared its last assault—

“One!”

And then, the landscape burst in an explosion of scorching white and flying cinders.

The Bakur thing, caught completely off-guard, had been splattered—knocked end over end by Knight’s assault. Yes, the puppet had been aware of the instance earlier when the spirit of Dollins had entered the professor’s body. It had realized the wraith meant to add its strength to Knight’s abilities, but it had seen no reason to worry over the fact. One human plus one ghost meant simply the power of two human souls turned against it.

Such feeble odds did not concern a power as overwhelming as that of the A’ademir.

Walking stiffly across the cemetery lawn to where Bakur’s steaming body lay, Knight offered several mental prayers pleading that the puppet had been destroyed. The professor had thrown all his remaining tricks into one final basket, a desperate gamble that had left him with barely the strength to stand. If he had not triumphed by that point, he feared he would never be able to do so. Nudging the body before him with his foot, he croaked;

“Well, are you dead, you miserable bastard?”

“Oh, that shell is quite dead.”

Groaning internally, Knight turned as quickly as he could to confront the unexpected form of Dr. Ashur Ungari. Dropping his chin to his chest in weary exasperation, the professor whispered;

“Oh, damn the fools who plague me so … what are you doing here?”

“Nothing, I am afraid, my old friend, of which I think you are going to approve.”

Knight’s shoulders sagged heavily, dropping as far as they could without actually leaving their sockets. If only he knew what Agent Klein was thinking. If he knew the Dream Stone was safe, that bit of knowledge might have given him the hope to go on. But the FBI man’s thoughts, along with those of all the others present that day when Knight had spiked their water, had completely ceased within his head half a day earlier.

Now the professor stared at the approaching Ungari, unable to comprehend what the doctor was doing there in the cemetery, cut off from all sources of information. Helpless and alone. And worse, as best his senses could tell, the archaeologist was not under the control of the A’ademir as his assistant had been—was not merely another extension of the extradimensional plunderer’s will.

But
, wondered Knight,
if he’s not, then why is he here in Green-Wood? And why, if not controlled by the A’ademir, does he stink of the damn thing’s power?

“Both excellent questions, Piers. But,” asked the doctor, “are you certain you would really like the answers?”

And at that moment, Knight froze in his tracks. He had said nothing, and yet Ungari had heard him, had heard his thoughts—
something even the Bakur puppet had not been able to do. Responding in a tired, defeated tone, the professor said;

“As greatly as I might fear whatever it is you have to say, I’m afraid that yes—I must hear it.”

“Very well,” answered the doctor, his smile somehow hard yet benevolent. “I will tell you all I know, that you might understand. First, allow me to congratulate your efforts. I never really thought any of you would be able to stop the—”

Ungari paused, fumbling for a word. After a moment, he finally shrugged, his smile widening as he admitted;

“The fiery beasts, there is no name for them. They are not native to our world. The A’ademir sent me a … how best to describe it? Ummm, a formula—yes. A recipe, as it were, for creating them. The one I sent upstate, to recover the Dream Stone, can you believe it? Destroyed by mere mortal troops.”

Knight’s heart surged.

The Dream Stone was safe.

Klein had upheld his part of the bargain. It was a miracle.

Now
, the professor’s brain hissed at him,
if we can only manufacture our own miracle …

“And the detective,” Ungari continued, seemingly oblivious to the effect of his news on Knight’s flagging spirit, “containing one of them. It just proves the indomitable will of the human soul, my friend.”

“How do you mean?”

The professor asked his question out of true curiosity. Yes, he meant to stall his former friend, needing every second he could to cobble together his fatigued strength. But yes again, a part of him realized that Ungari’s answer was of extreme importance. Something was going on Knight could not yet comprehend, but which he knew he desperately needed to understand.

“I know you’re stalling for time, but that is all right. You must come to see why I am doing as I am.”

“I say this in all honesty, Ashur,” Knight responded truthfully. “I certainly want to.”

“I know you do, and thus I shall explain. You destroyed Bakur with the combined power of this remarkable detective person—”

“Dollins.” When the doctor stared, uncomprehending, Knight explained, “His name was Jimmy Dollins.”

“Ahhh, I see, yes—of course. Your Mr. Dollins must have been a remarkable man. He had the assistance of your magical trinket, but still, in his dying moments to not try to flee, to go to his death willingly as long as he could take the beast with him, ahh, as I said, remarkable.”

Knight nodded his head in agreement, sucking down deep breaths one after another as he listened to the doctor. As Ungari continued, he almost seemed unaware of the professor’s presence. Returning to the subject of Dollins’ sacrifice, he said;

“This man, he saves all his fellows, and manages to contain the beast by sheer force of will. To do this, of course, he has to doom himself to an existence of roaming the world as a wraith. I send lightning to free my beast, thinking he will take this moment to pass on, and he manages to pull himself back together and contain my pet once more. Finally, he gives his soul over to you to destroy Bakur. Such nobility. And, it is for men like him that I do what I do.”

Hopelessly lost, not having the slightest idea what Ungari was talking about, the professor closed his eyes, pulling down one final deep breath at the same time to cleanse his system. Then, reopening his eyes, he asked;

“And what exactly is it you are doing?”

“Saving the world, of course. No, I misspeak. I am saving humanity.”

“From this A’ademir?”

“No, Piers—from itself.” When Knight showed no further comprehension, Ungari began again, using the tone he would if trying to explain geometry to a child.

“We have pushed this planet to the brink of our own extinction. While the politicians lie and wrangle over the facts of global warming, greedily searching for their own temporary benefits, they doom their children to famine, misery, and death.”

“Ashur—”

“Listen to me, Piers, old man: The facts are in; they are incontrovertible. The polar ice caps are disappearing. The deserts of the world are shifting. The Sahara is sweeping northward into Europe. In only thirty years it will be pushing its way through the Black Forest of Bavaria. The Sahara, extending into the heart of Germany—an incontrovertible fact. Do you not understand what this means? The human race is doomed, and there is nothing that can be done.”

“Surely—”

“Nothing, my friend. If all greenhouse emissions were ceased this very night, it would not be enough. There were only three billion people on the face of the planet in the 1960s. Now the number is spinning toward seven billion. Human beings give off carbon dioxide when they breathe. Piers, the collective governments of the world could agree to slaughter two-thirds of their populations and it would not help. Rotting bodies also give off carbon dioxide. No, it is too late now, my friend, for any solution other than my own.”

And then, in one frightening moment of clarity, Piers Knight suddenly understood what Ungari was trying to explain, and his blood froze within his veins.