The Orphan Army (33 page)

“Up here, they have guards,” Milo said as he began fiddling with the lock, “but from what I can see, they don't care much about good locks.”

“Would there be much need for that with them?” asked Evangelyne. “Could there be crime in a society with a hive mind?”

Milo shook his head. “Probably not. This lock is so lame it's like they put it here to keep accidents from happening rather than for real security.”

“How lame is it?”

Milo smiled at her and tugged on the door. There was a single sharp click and it swung open.

“Pretty lame.”

They grinned at each other for a moment. Two conspirators whispering in the dark.

“Milo,” Evangelyne said quietly, “I'm sorry for the way I treated you.”

“It's cool.”

“No,” she said, “it's not. I . . . I've never been around human kids before. Not ever. I spent my whole life with the Nightsiders, and even then it was mostly with my mother, my grandmother, and my aunts, and some of them are—
were
—very old. Kids like Oakenayl and Mook spend even more time alone than me. Oakenayl sometimes spends a whole year standing in a forest.”

“Like Treebeard?”

“Who?”

“From
The Lord of the Rings.
He's a big tree guy.”

“I suppose, though I don't know that book. I've only read a few books written by the people of the sun. Most of what I read are grimoires and ancient tomes. Even some scrolls. Histories of the Nightsiders. Magic. Lore about the lycanthropes and other shape-shifters.” She sighed. “I don't know how to be a kid.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes it's overrated.”

“No,” she said. “I don't think so. I saw you with your friend Shark when I was watching the camp the other night. You were being young together, not trying to be grown-ups.”

“I guess.”

“I . . . don't know how to do that.”

Milo laughed. “Stick with me. I'm pretty sure I'm going to be immature my whole life.” He paused. “However long that is.”

She touched his arm. “If we get out of this . . . maybe we can be friends?”

“Aren't we friends now?” he asked.

The question seemed to startle her. “I don't . . . know.”

“Well, I think we are, and I swear on a stack of Bibles that I will never, ever try to conjure with your name.”

“You're not going to let me forget that, are you?”

“Probably not.”

She punched him on the arm.

“Ow,” he said.

Then Evangelyne stiffened. She sniffed the air, and a look of mingled fear and anger twisted her features. She gripped Milo's wrist.

“He's close,” she said.

“How close?” asked Milo, reaching for his slingshot.

And a deep and ugly voice said, “Too close.”

They looked up.

The Huntsman stood there, just inside the door, massive, powerful, and infinitely dangerous.

With a smile that twisted his face into a mask of hideous joy, he reached for them.

M
ilo and Evangelyne both tried to shove each other out of the way as the Huntsman grabbed for them. The resulting double shove knocked them both aside and the grabbing hand missed.

The Huntsman laughed.

Somehow that made it worse for Milo. It reminded him how twisted this killer was. In the past, when he was a human serial killer, the Huntsman had enjoyed the chase as much as the actual murder. It meant that the victim had more time to be afraid. More time to despair. It was a strange and appalling way for a person's mind to turn rancid.

Milo fell onto his back and kicked up with both feet, knocking the grasping hand aside. Evangelyne rolled sideways and midroll stopped being a girl and became the wolf again. She snarled and scrambled to four feet, then lunged up at the Huntsman.

Her attack was lightning fast, and it knocked the man a full step back into the adjoining room; the Huntsman clubbed at the wolf with the stump of his left wrist. Evangelyne yelped and crashed to the floor. The mutant raised his good fist to smash down on her. Milo got to his knees and fired his slingshot. The stone hit the Huntsman on the shoulder of the raised arm. It did no real harm except that it spoiled the blow, and the Huntsman's fist struck the floor instead.

That hurt. He hissed in pain and kicked at Milo, missing only because Milo flung himself flat on his back, then twisted into a sideways roll as he fished out more stones. He came up to a kneeling position, fired two stones and hit the Huntsman both times. Once in the chest and once on the cheek.

Green and red blood flowed from the wound, and for some reason, the two colors would not blend, as if somehow the alien and human blood refused to accept that they flowed through the same veins.

Evangelyne came at the Huntsman again, nipping at his legs, trying to damage a tendon in order to drop him, but he kicked out and knocked her back.

Even so, the werewolf's attack drove him back into the other room. Milo raced forward and dove inside, finding himself in a chamber that was forty feet across and twice as high. The walls were lined with exotic machines that were much more sophisticated than anything Milo had so far seen. Central to the room was a device that was the size of a troop truck. It had a bucket-shaped body and a big glass dome to which all manner of pipes, wires, and hoses were attached. The glass was opaque with condensation, but a pale blue-white light emanated from inside. The smell in this room was incredibly bad; it was worse, if that was possible, than anything he'd smelled so far. Milo gagged as he stepped inside.

The Huntsman was fighting with Evangelyne near the glass-domed machine. Milo fired another stone and another and another; then he fished for one more and came up with his lucky black stone. He grinned. This one had always found its mark. Every single time.

He fitted it, aimed, fired.

The stone flew like a black blur toward the Huntsman's right eye.

And the mutant
caught it
.

He snatched it out of the air like it was a slow line drive by a weak batter. The Huntsman glanced at the stone, snorted, and tossed it away.

“You'll have to be a lot better than that, boy,” said the Huntsman.

“Let me try,” snapped Milo as he dug into his pouch again. His scrabbling fingers found nothing.

Not so much as a pebble.

“I'm out!” he yelled to Evangelyne, but she was already in motion. The wolf snarled as she leaped past Milo to try for the Huntsman's throat.

The powerful mutant stepped into the lunge and clamped his hand around Evangelyne's throat. The wolf yipped in pain and surprise and
hung
there, feet working, nails clawing at the creature's armored body.

The Huntsman pulled her close and studied her with great interest.

“I was right,” he murmured as if speaking to himself. “A werewolf. An actual werewolf.”

He laughed.

“Let her go,” demanded Milo. “Don't hurt her.”

“Hurt her? Now, why would I do something like that? This little pup is worth far more to me alive. She reeks of magic. I thought so when we fought at the bayou.” He tapped Evangelyne on the snout with his stump. “It's worth even this to keep her alive for a long, long time.”

Evangelyne slashed at him with her nails, trying to do enough damage to make him let her go. Milo dug his knife out of his pocket and flicked it open. It was a small utility lock-blade knife with a two-inch blade. It looked and felt pitifully small in his hand. Even so, he began circling the Huntsman, looking for an opening. The killer smiled and turned with Milo, keeping Evangelyne between them.

“How'd you do it? Stow away on my ship?”

Milo shrugged and didn't answer.

“Stowed away,” said the Huntsman, nodding to himself. “You probably thought it was something brave. Why take the risk? You're from that camp we burned. Your people were squirrely and weak. A bunch of mice hiding from the big, bad cat.”

He shook Evangelyne, making her yelp in pain. She kept clawing at him, at his clothes and weapons. A pistol tore loose from a shredded holster and clattered to the floor. The Huntsman didn't even bother to look at it. Other gear popped off, and he ignored it all.

“And this lot. The Nightsiders. Oh, don't look so surprised. I've known about the supernatural world since I was a boy. Why do you think I destroyed their shrine and took that stone? I've spent my life searching for proof that they existed. Now . . . now imagine how disappointed I am. We burned them, you know. Our ships found their covens and grottos, their caves and fens, and we
burned them.
That does it. Oh yes. Fire purifies.”

He shook her again. She was getting weaker, though she kept trying to slash at him. Milo could tell that she wanted to slash open the pouch with the Heart of Darkness, but she was getting too weak. Her nails had ripped his gear to rags. For his part, the Huntsman didn't seem to care.

“Let her go!” begged Milo.

“No. Between you and me, boy, I expected the Nightsiders to be pretty fearsome. I wanted them to be, you know? Vampires and werewolves? I wanted them to be like gods. Instead . . . Ah well.” He shook his head sadly. “But . . . even though they disappoint me, what they represent does not. You see, they
prove
that magic is real. Their very existence is my key to the secrets of countless centuries of magical knowledge. It is
my
pathway to becoming a
god
.”

Y
ou're freaking nuts,” said Milo, gripping his knife in his fist. “You know that?”

The smile on the Huntsman's face grew wider. “Oh, I know that very well. I know the scope and dimension of my madness. Just as I know that madness and genius are two sides of the same coin. Did
you
know
that
? Madness is not a weakness, boy. It is proof that a mind is too vast for the organic cage in which it is trapped. It is proof that the mind has unlocked a treasure trove of vast potential. So . . . yes, I know that I'm insane. I embrace it. And I will use that power and marry it to the infinite power of magic.”

The knife seemed so tiny, so useless. He let his arm fall to his side, the knife hanging in slack fingers. Milo wanted to run away and hide from this. He'd glimpsed enough of this creature's memories to know that the Huntsman truly believed what he was saying. That's how deep his insanity went.

Miles and miles deep into the black well of his soul. To a place into which no light has ever shone.

“The black jewel is the key to my immortality,” continued the Huntsman. “When the Swarm took me, I was already becoming something more than human. They thought they were making me into their weapon, but . . .” He paused to chuckle. “You've been in my head, boy, so I think we both know how that turned out. They shared their secrets with me, thinking that I would be another mindless part of the hive. If anyone ever needed proof as to why they've become a stagnant race, that's it. They made me into something that now they don't understand.”

He looked intently at Milo.

“Do you know that before they merged with my mind, they had no true understanding of evil? It was only an abstract concept to them. They understand it now. And more than that, do you know that they have never once, not in their millions of years, experienced the emotion of fear? Amazing. Now . . . Oh, yes, Milo. They know what fear is.”

He pulled Evangelyne so close that she could have bitten him if she wasn't drifting on the edge of unconsciousness.

“And they fear
me
!”

Milo saw his black stone on the floor. He began edging slowly toward it. If he could get off one more shot from this distance, maybe he could stun the monster. A shot to the eye, the temple . . .

“You see this machine?” said the Huntsman. “This is the heart of their ship. That's why I came here. This is a birthing processor. As the queens lay their eggs, they pass through this machine. Every single one of them. And as they do, they are exposed to something very special. Come look at it. No—leave that stone where it is, boy, and do as I say. Do it or I'll snap her neck right now.”