"Groovy."
We were dropped off at the little airport. The sun was gradually setting over the Georgia countryside and mosquitoes and little evil gnats swarmed over our bodies. The Hind was prepped, and we made our way toward it, carrying duffel bags and heavy cases. The airport manager sat in a lawn chair in front of his little rusted trailer, an old gray dog curled at his feet. He waved at us lazily.
I was at the rear of the group, lugging a heavy wooden crate filled with all manner of controlled destruction. The big guy always gets to carry the heavy stuff. Julie broke away from the others and stopped in my path.
"Owen, we need to talk for a second."
"Sure," I grunted as I set the crate on the ground.
"First off, I appreciate all of the hard work that you have done. And I really appreciate you risking your life to save me and the others. That was very brave."
"Look Julie, I'm sorry, but-" She cut me off.
"But what you did with Grant was over the line."
"You can stick up for your boyfriend all you want, but he left me behind. He left me to get killed by Darné." My cheeks flushed hotly in sudden anger. I wasn't about to be told that what I had done was wrong.
"I know. That wasn't right, but Earl will deal with it. Not you."
"Wait a second. You're mad because I stepped outside my authority, and not because I punched out your boyfriend?" I was confused.
"And you threw him into shark-infested waters, don't forget the shark part. Your temper will get you killed in this job. It only takes one stupid decision to get you or your team killed. You need to keep the emotions in check."
"Like you," I said pointedly.
"I guess." There was a long and uncomfortable pause. "Look, I just… I don't want you to get hurt. You seem to do that a lot already." She lightly touched my bruised and swollen face. Her fingertips were surprisingly gentle. "Damn. Franks really did give you a beating."
"I am sorry. I'm not sorry about hitting Grant or even the swimming with sharks part, but I'm really sorry about… you know. I don't want you mad at me." I took a deep breath. "I felt like I betrayed you, and that's what I'm sorry for."
"I'm fine, but I've got one request. Stay out of my business. What happens between me and Grant is between me and Grant. Not you, not Earl, not Milo, or Sam or anybody else who feels the need to harass me about it. I know how you guys see him, but I know him better than that. I'm sure he had a reason for what he did."
"Are you going to dump him?" I asked, suddenly hopeful. "Because he panicked and left me behind?"
"What did I just say?"
"Stay out of your business?"
"Right." She must have realized that her fingers were still on my cheek as she reflexively snatched them away. She lowered her voice to just barely over a whisper. "Owen, look… I know that… well, I know how you feel, and I-
"Brother of War Chief!" Skippy rumbled as he interrupted her. He was still covered from head to foot, the mirrored visor of his flight helmet was down, showing only my reflection. I was a little perturbed. Skip, you have lousy timing.
The pilot fell to his knees and bowed again, until his helmet hit the ground. "Hind is… she ready to fly… Noble One." His voice sounded like rocks being poured into a cement mixer. He sprang quickly to his feet.
"Noble One… no carry… he no carry." He made that horrible noise that represented his real name as he grabbed the handles of the heavy crate and bucked it up onto his knees. He clucked when I tried to take it from him. "Skip carry… Bring honor to tribe."
The black-garbed pilot waddled with the heavy load toward the waiting chopper. Julie's brown eyes were wide behind her glasses. I shrugged. It didn't make a lick of sense to me either.
"Noble One? What the hell? He's not your own personal porter, Owen," she said as she turned and stalked away. The moment was gone.
I took one last look at the sunset, swatted a mosquito, muttered something suitably profane, and followed Skippy, who was once again trying in vain to sing. It sounded particularly horrible when he tried to grumble-hum the sounds of the instruments.
"Hold pig steady… dum dum dum… ra ra ra… yeah. Pig. Pig! PIG!"
Chapter 12
That night I slept in my comfortable and familiar bed at the MHI compound. The barracks were clean and roach free. I passed out within minutes of getting home.
My dreams were confusing. I saw an enormous cargo plane take off from an airfield somewhere far in the bleak north. It was a giant, unfamiliar, four-engined monstrosity, bellowing smoke and noise. Inside, the plane was packed with boxes, cargo and even some recently butchered livestock. A man stood near the rear door of the huge cargo plane. He did not need to hold onto anything, despite the uneven vibrations and turbulence, and I knew that he would stand the entire long trip. Unmoving, arms folded, legs wide, thick fur cloak covering most of his features, black eyes staring unceasingly in the direction of his destination.
His face was a mass of black tattoos, giving the illusion of a leering skull. In my dream the ink on his skin moved.
I got back from Montgomery in time to catch most of the meeting. The dentist had fixed my two broken teeth. Half of my face was numb and tingly with Novocain and I could not help but poke at my cheeks to feel the weird pressure. They were using the conference room from my dream. All of the experienced Hunters were there, including Raymond Shackleford III himself. The few Newbies, who it had been felt were ready for action, were sitting around the huge wooden table. Holly Newcastle smiled and gave me a little wink as I tried to sneak in. I sat as far away from Grant as I could. Grant and his nose bandage studiously ignored me.
Julie was speaking. She stood at the head of the table to give her briefing. "Dr. Jonas Turley was considered one of the premier experts on the religion, art and history of the ancient civilizations of this continent. He wrote over twenty books on those subjects, and has done research and been a major part of archeological digs from Alaska to Argentina. I got to hear him speak once at in Birmingham. The man knew his stuff."
"So why did the bad guys go directly to his house and beat him and his wife to death? They tore apart all of his possessions looking for something, something important. I've got an idea as to what." She let slip a brief moment of pride as she made us wait for the answer. "While Pitt was bluffing that he was going to blow up the Antoine-Henri, Darné said that this Lord Machado had some sort of artifact and that he was going to take it to a Place of Power to use it. Dr. Turley had done a lot of research concerning ancient religious sites. His last book was about that very subject, and the word in the academic community was that his next paper was going to be an exhaustive catalog of sites and what their importance was. My theory is that the bad guys went to his house for information. They are looking for a particular place, this 'Place of Power,' so they can use their artifact."
"What does this artifact do?" the senior Shackleford asked.
"I'm the historian; ask the psychic." She pointed at me.
"I'm no psychic. I just have a strange old Jewish man that visits me in my dreams and takes me on wild and crazy adventures-hey, that sounds like a children's book."
"What does the artifact do?" repeated the head boss patiently.
"I don't really know. But I was told that the evil comes. The Cursed One will bring it. We stop it if we can, if not time will die."
"Time will die?"
"That's what the Old Man told me. I saw a storm coming. It brought Armageddon with it."
"I see. That would probably be bad. Carry on, Jules," Mr. Shackleford ordered.
Julie continued, "We need to figure out what this Place of Power is. Then we can get there first and set a trap."
"For seven Master vamps? How are we going to pull that off?" Sam asked. "We got any nuclear weapons stashed?"