Dragon Over Washington (The Third War Of The Bir Nibaru Gods) (25 page)

His phone rang.

“Yeah?”

“Thorpe, Andy. The professor had been attacked.”

“I know I hated most of my professors at college. Maybe it was a disgruntled student?” Thorpe asked.

“Roby, two NSA agents were in her office when someone broke in and attacked them. One of the agents suffered a concussion, the other is fine. However, the professor has internal injuries. She’s being treated in the Maryland University Medical Center.”

Thorpe stared at the wall of his cubicle, saying nothing. Maryland University was only a half-an-hour drive from where he sat now.

“Hey, you there? This thing is right in your league. The agents said he was very strong, as if he was on drugs. When the agents raised the alarm and security officers were rushing in, the assailant jumped out of the window and ran off. And we’re talking third floor here.”

Thorpe said nothing, his fingers whitening on the telephone’s handset.

“Well, she’s under guard now, twenty-four seven. I’ve talked to her. She said she’ll continue to work on the messages. She’s a fighter, the attack hadn’t damaged her disposition one bit.”

“Thanks for telling me, Andy.”

“No problem.”

Thorpe’s gaze always returned to the top of his blackboard. Every morning he updated the time count, the days till they reached the deadline in the message. Five weeks and six days left. Thorpe felt cold, seeing the amount of tracks in the satellite’s thermal images. The enemy, whoever or whatever it was, was preparing for the deadline’s expiration. Thorpe shook his head and returned to the images, trying to count the tracks, identify patterns and behavior. However fast he worked, he felt he wasn’t working fast enough.

Day 14 after Earth Barrier Breach.

Owego, Tioga County, New York State, United States. Sunday, 21:32.

Ellis sat in the diner, listening to the small radio perched on a shelf on the wall.

“That was Bob Dylan, folks. Someone, please get him one more cup of coffee. Before we go on, people, several words from our sponsor. Take the time to visit Holiday Inn, Endicott. The best prices and special weekend discounts. You won’t regret it! They’re waiting for you! Back to Owego, strange things seem to come the way of that small town sitting on the banks of the Susquehanna. First, they got hammered by a freak storm, and now motorcycle gangs seem to be roaming the streets. It’s a good thing some good Samaritans stopped them. Why did the police not interfere? Stay tuned to our ten o’clock news, and an interview with Robert E. Hardy, the Owego police department sheriff. This is Adam Coe, on WMRV, 105.7 on your FM dial. Stay tuned for -” The radio went off. Ellis looked around to see Susie near the radio.

Susie picked up a tray and headed towards her clients, pouring coffee and clearing away empty plates. She reached Ellis and poured her a cup of thick steaming chocolate.

“They always talk nonsense on the radio, sugar. Never listen to the radio,” Susie said.

“Yes, Susie,” Ellis said. She took the mug.

An hour later, Ellis joined several hundred of the townsfolk on East Beecher’s Hill, two miles northeast of Owego. The hill overlooked the maple-and-cedar-tree-strewn town. Ellis looked at the town, her hands in her pockets. Owego was splendid at night, its lights glowing softly along the roads, its trees and meadows clearly visible. Ellis looked towards the western side of town, but the cult’s compound was dark. She took her hands out of her pockets, rubbed them together to warm them, and jammed them back in. She felt cold. There were cheerful conversations all around her, the town’s people chatting amiably.

“What did you think of Mary’s famous potato recipe? Did she make you write it down?”

“Did she? Hah! She forced me to make it for last Thanksgiving. She actually called to see how it was coming along!”

“That is just like her. She’s a little nib-nose, isn’t she?”

“Yeah. Called me twice. Even offered to come over to watch over it, to make sure I got the right amount of ingredients.”

“The nerve! And what did you say?”

“I told her I can mind my own cooking, thank you very much.”

Ellis shook her head. She looked aimlessly at the people around when suddenly her eyes widened. She saw several policemen, unmistakable even at night with their dark blue uniforms and wide hats. Ellis saw the sheriff, a taller, older man with weather-worn features and a pipe at the corner of his mouth. He looked impatient.

Ellis turned her head. People were climbing up the hill in a procession, torches casting a flickering red and yellow light around them. The procession piled in, the people forming a wide circle around a large, dark object Ellis hadn’t seen earlier. The torches were thrust into the ground and the fluttering flames now illuminated the hill’s peak. Ellis saw the dark object was a roughly rectangular wooden stage, uneven stairs leading to its top from both sides.

Another procession was approaching. Ellis saw the bikers being led onto the hilltop, held up by cult members who walked on either side of them. There was a momentary silence as the bikers were walked towards the wooden stage and forced to kneel around it, their captors holding them tightly. The town’s people resumed talking among themselves.

A figure walked onto the hill. Ellis stared at it. It was a man, dressed in a long, gray gown with wide sleeves and a silvery belt. He wore a gray metal bull’s head mask that completely covered his face, and held a long, thin rod in his hand that was much taller than him. On top of the metallic rod was an oval circle, a small version of the Stormgod sign, including the pair of very long horns. When the townsfolk saw this man, they started to applaud. The applauding grew stronger as the masked figure mounted the stairs, stood at the edge of the platform, and turned to face the crowd. Ellis glanced sideways, seeing the policemen applauding just as enthusiastically as the rest of the people.

The figure on the platform raised his hands high, his rod reaching for the skies and the black storm cloud that was perpetually hanging over Owego. Ellis heard a low murmuring beneath the applause. The cult members, about a hundred strong, were chanting a single phrase, repeatedly, though Ellis couldn’t make it out. She recorded it for later analysis. Eventually, the figure lowered its arms. The applause and the chanting died down. The two women standing behind Ellis were busy talking without a care in the world.

“Did the guests like it?”

“Well, you know how it is. There’s always one who says he hates sweet potatoes. Won’t eat it to save his life. And then goes on raving about the casserole.”

“Who was it?”

“Bill’s brother. Don’t know why I bother inviting them over. I don’t recall ever being invited for Thanksgiving by them. No surprise there, really. With that skinny, little woman he married, off from Binghampton. Told him she was no good, several times, I did.”

“There’re some people meaner than a snake.”

“Yeah. The other guests liked it, though. Bill said I ought to make it every Thanksgiving. Make it into a tradition.”

“People of Owego! Hear me!” The figure on the platform cried out. Ellis started. It was Allan’s voice.

“We were given a sign! The Bir Nibaru Sign of the Stormgod to bear! We know what is about to happen, people of Owego! Some of us have seen it with our own eyes! We must preserve the sign, people of Owego! The sign will preserve us when the time comes, when the darkness comes to swallow us, when the winged hunger will hunt in the streets! We have seen it, people of Owego!” Allan stopped. Ellis thought he was looking straight at her. The mask he wore seemed to have lightning in its eyes.

“The Stormgod has seen fit to offer his pact to us, people of Owego! We must not throw his favor away from us! There will be no others who will be able to save us when the dark times come!” Allan lowered his head, obviously looking at the bikers.

“We must fight against those that seek to harm us, those that want to erase the sign! None must be allowed to come between us and the Stormgod, people of Owego!” Allan raised his rod.

“These are the opponents, people of Owego! They oppose the pact and they oppose the Stormgod. Thus, they oppose us!” Allan’s head moved, looking at the people gathered atop that hill.

“They have taken down the Stormgod’s sign, people of Owego! They smashed it to pieces! They smashed what you have worked hard for, everything you put into that sign! The Stormgod teaches us that we must be strong! Those that hurt the pact, the opponents, must be burnt lest we burn!” Allan’s voice rose.

“Those that break will be broken! Those that defile will be defiled! Those that oppose will be opposed! The storm watches us, people of Owego! We must show strength when strength is needed, people of Owego!” Allan stopped talking for a moment. Ellis thought he was looking closely at the small crowd gathered in front of him.

“They are the Akrabu! They are here. They are scorpions hiding among us. They scurry from the light, hiding in the dark recesses. But do not be mistaken! Do not take your eyes away from them! For when your back is turned, when your guard is down, they will strike at you!” The metal eyes seemed to stab at Ellis.” “Their poison will enter your veins! The Akrabu!”

“The Stormgod is not without mercy, people of Owego! The strong have no need to show their strength, only the weak! The Akrabu will be given a chance to embrace the Godfire! They will be given the choice to embrace the pact,” Allan said, after a long pause.

“The power of the Stormgod is undeniable! He can build and he can heal as surely as he can destroy and sunder!” Allan looked at the bikers. He leaned towards them, raising his metal rod. The bikers tried to move back, but their keepers held them.

“They who sought to destroy will create! They who sought to wound will heal! They who sought to undo will do! The storm can destroy, but it can also nourish the fields!” Allan shouted. He turned towards the center of the wooden stage, his burning rod held high.

“Behold! The Godfire!
Aliyan Baal Addar
! Behold the strength of the Stormgod!” Allan raised his rod and a beam of brilliant white light streaked down from the dark clouds towards the metal rod. The beam winked out a moment later, but the rod’s top was now engulfed by a white electrical blaze, a lightning bolt chained to the symbol on top of the rod. Allan lowered the rod so that the burning sign touched the wooden stage. There was a deafening explosion and a brilliant flash of light. Ellis raised her hand to shield her eyes. The flash seemed to come from above.

A great electrical discharge was now dancing on the platform, roaring and spreading a shower of brilliant sparks all over. Blue and white flickering light bathed the hill’s summit. Ellis, half blinded, thought that the flash of light had come from the black mass of clouds that was over the town. She squinted, looking up cautiously. It was difficult to be sure, but she thought the dense mass of dark clouds was writhing and getting lower as it was approaching the hill.

Allan stood in front of the inferno, his arms spread wide, his robes flying behind him in the winds blowing from the electric conflagration. Allan turned from the fire, his bull’s mask turned downwards, towards the bikers, as if he was a beast about to charge the prisoners. Ellis was expecting this. She watched on, stony faced. A biker was picked up, held by two sturdy, bare-chested workers, and stripped of his jacket, shirt and boots. The biker, struggling feebly, was carried to the platform and held a short distance from the earthbound lightning bolt, blue and white arcing trails of electricity dancing all over him. The biker’s clothes were thrown into the electric fire and were instantly incinerated. The biker remained standing, barefoot and shirtless, shaking, held by the cult members on either side, blue white sparks falling all around him.

“You have given your possessions to the Stormgod. You have sacrificed your earthly links to the storm. You have a chance, Akrabu. Do you accept the pact?” Allan thundered. The biker could only stare mesmerized at the flame hungering for him.

“Do you accept the pact? Will you bear the sign? Will you kneel down in front of the Stormgod?” Allan thundered again. The biker, a large, heavily tattooed man, watched the glowing tongues of electricity in front of him, some of which were almost touching him. Ellis saw that the hairs on the burly man’s chest were standing on end. The biker finally nodded once and slowly went down to his knees, bowing his head. Ellis saw that he was shaking.

Allan nodded to the men holding the biker and they strengthened their hold on him. Ellis closed her fists tightly. The flaming rod was brought close to the biker and then pressed against his chest. Tongues of electricity danced all around him and the biker screamed. The rod was taken away and the biker fell to his knees, enveloped by black smoke. It cleared away and Ellis saw the horned sign on his chest, silvery and sparkling in the light of the great electric fire. Allan leaned towards the biker.

“Say it! Say the holy name! Bear the name of the Stormgod!”

The biker said something Ellis couldn’t hear before he slumped.

Allan rose and turned towards the crowed.

“Rejoice! An Akrabu has changed his ways! He has been given the sign of the Stormgod! He has joined the Sign Bearers! He now bears the name of the Stormgod!” Allan shouted. The biker was led to the group of shirtless men. A cult member was talking to him, though it seemed to Ellis that the biker was in no condition to hear anything. She saw him shuddering, barely able to stand.

In less time than seemed possible, all the bikers, save one, stood up, bare-chested, to have the sign of the Stormgod branded on them. Now, only one remained, the blond leader. He had stood silent, not moving a muscle as his former compatriots were taken, one by one. Finally, his turn came. He did not struggle against those that tore his clothes away, throwing them into the raging, hungry electric inferno. His captors held him, the fire not far away.

Allan turned to him. The biker was massive, his muscles bulging and his arms and back tattooed with flame-belching motorcycles and snakes. He looked at the gray mask steadily, his blue eyes filled with hatred.

“You have given your possessions to the Stormgod. Do you accept the pact?” Allan asked. The man kept silent.

“Will you bow down before the god? Do you accept the pact? Will you bear the Name?” Allan thundered. The blond man watched the flames and then raised his eyes, meeting Allan’s gaze.

“I spit on you and your stupid god, retard!” the biker growled. Allan watched him for a moment, his metallic bull mask frozen, then he moved back and gestured. Three men, the gray sign on their chests, started pushing the man towards the white flame. The muscles on Ellis’s arms were taut. Her fists shook and she took a step forward. She looked around, seeing more than two hundred town folk around her and one hundred cult members surrounding the platform. She lowered her fists, her black eyes narrowed, and the dark scowl on her face was hidden by the night’s darkness.

The biker watched the electric tongues of fire roar in front of him. He paled, his blue eyes wide. He started to struggle and squirm. However, the men holding him were as big as he was and he could not free himself. Step by unwilling step, he was forced to approach the fire.