C17 Chapter Seventeen

One by one, they came through after him. Some of them crossed the Veil without incident. A few reacted just as Flynn had, overcome by their emotions, and needed a few minutes to find their equilibrium. Childers, one of the new men from First Squad, was violently sick when he came through, vomiting repeatedly for the better part of five minutes, but some salt tablets and a few gulps of water from his canteen settled him and Cade allowed him to stay with the unit.

All in all, it was better than Cade anticipated. He gave them a few minutes to get used to the reality around them, knowing from personal experience how disconcerting it could be and then got them organized into position to move out.

Nightfall was a few hours away and he wanted to have them in a secure position before then. All sorts of creatures roamed the Beyond after dark and the men from Echo didn’t need to waste their time or energy fighting any foe other than the Chiang Shih. By setting up a defensive position in the ruins that he and Flynn had located on their previous journey, they would be able to stay low and avoid the roaming denizens of the dark while at the same time planning their campaign against the Chiang Shih in the valley below.

They headed out, moving in single file down the path until they reached the wider street below. They stopped for a moment to light the gasoline torches that they’d brought along with them. Cade wasn’t thrilled with the fact that the flames would also serve as a beacon, revealing their presence to anyone who might be watching, but he’d been unable to come up with any other way, short of using a flamethrower, to get such a large group through the gauntlet posed by the vegetation around them. The torches would burn longer than the flares they used previously and wouldn’t be as noticeable as the curtain of fire a flamethrower would create. And they should serve nicely to keep the creeping vines away from their route until they reached the far side of town.

As they walked Cade noted that something about the landscape around them was different.

There was color here, where no color should be.

Not just in his men, which was to be expected, for the living were always brighter than anything else on the other side of the Veil, but in all that he looked at, from the subtle hues of brown working their way through the dirt beneath his feet to the streaks of green and black that ran through the carpet of vegetation spread out before them.

It was as if the living world was somehow leaking into the Beyond.

What the hell was going on?

The last few days had been filled with their share of surprises. First his conversation with Logan, quickly followed by his discovery that Gabrielle was still lingering on in some sort of suspended state of existence and that everything Logan had told him about the Adversary and his plans for Gabrielle might be true. Then he received the mysterious package from Father Martin, which had led them to the church, the portal, and the current mission into the Beyond.

Something deep in his gut told him that the two groups of events were somehow linked together, that what had happened to Gabrielle was in some way connected to the events involving Father Martin, but he couldn’t make sense of it all, couldn’t find the forest for the trees. He needed some time to sit back and think about it, work it through in his head, but time was luxury he just didn’t have.

They left the remains of the town behind without incident and continued their march. It took them another hour to climb through the hilly country just beyond, finally reaching the particular ridgeline selected as their staging area just before nightfall.

Cade had the men scout the surrounding area, making certain that they were alone. Once they had returned and given the all-clear, he had them set up three guard posts in a triangle formation around the camp, each one about fifty yards away from the center. That would give them enough warning if something managed to breach the perimeter.

An uncomfortable incident occurred just after they settled into camp, when the men broke out their rations. Like most modern military units, the Templars used MREs, or Meals Ready to Eat, individual packaged meals with a self-contained heating device inside. Each man had several MREs with them in their packs. But every package that they opened turned out to be spoiled, filled with maggots and other unidentifiable insects. They also stank to high heaven, as if the food inside had been spoiled for days, which should have been impossible since all of the packages were of recent manufacture and were sealed tightly up until the moment the troops opened them. Only the crackers and drink mix were still edible.

It was a disturbing reminder of where they were and several of them men crossed themselves and said a short prayer as the information was passed around. More than one refused to touch the crackers or the drink mix, and Cade knew that this was going to be a much larger problem come the morning when they needed food to keep their energy levels up in order to accomplish their goals.

Still wondering what to do about it, Cade moved off to a quiet corner and tried to get some sleep.

He stands alone in the center of the street, in a town that has no name. He has been here before, more than once, but each time the resolution is different, as if the events about to transpire are ordained by the random chance found on a giant spinning wheel, a cosmic wheel of fortune, and not by the actions he is about to take or has taken before.

He knows from previous experience that, just a few blocks beyond this one the town suddenly ends, becoming a great plain of nothingness, the landscape an artist’s canvas that stands untouched, unwanted.

This town has become the center of his universe.

Around him, the blackened buildings sag in crumbling heaps, testimony to his previous visits. He wonders what the town will look like a few weeks from now, when the confrontation about to take place has been enacted and re-enacted and reenacted again, until even these ragged shells stand no more. Will the road, like the buildings, be twisted and torn?

He does not know.

He turns his attention back to the present, for even after all this time, he might learn something new that could lead him to his opponent’s true identity.

The sky is growing dark, though night is still hours away. Dark grey storm clouds laced with green-and-silver lightning are rolling in from the horizon, like horses running hard to reach the town’s limits before the fated confrontation begins. The air is heavy with impending rain and the electrical tension of the coming storm. In the slowly fading afternoon light the shadows around him stretch and move. He learned early on that they can have a life of their own.

He avoids them now.

The sound of booted feet striking the pavement catches his attention, and he knows he has exhausted his time here. He turns to face the length of the street before him, just in time to see his foe emerge from the crumbled ruins at its end, just as he has emerged each and every time they have encountered one another in this place. It is as if his enemy is always here, silently waiting with infinite patience for him to make his appearance.

Pain shoots across his face and through his hands, phantoms of the true sensation that had once coursed through his flesh, from their first meeting in another time and place. Knowing it will not last, he waits the few seconds for the pain to fade. Idly, he wonders, not for the first time, if the pain is caused by his foe or by his own recollection of the suffering he once endured at the enemy’s hands.

He smiles grimly as the pain fades.

A chill wind suddenly rises, stirring the hairs on the back of his neck, and in that wind, he is certain he can hear the soft, sibilant whispers of a thousand lost souls, each and every one crying out to him to provide solace and sanctuary.

The voices act as a physical force, pushing him forward from behind, and before he knows it he is striding urgently down the street. His hands clench into fists as he is enveloped with the desire to tear his foe limb from limb with his bare hands. So great is his anger that it makes him forget the other weapons at his disposal in this strange half-state of reality.

The Adversary simply stands in the middle of the street, waiting. His features are hidden in the darkness of the hooded cloak that he wears over his form in this place, but his mocking laughter echoes clearly off the deserted buildings and carries easily in the silence.

The insult only adds fuel to Cade’s rage.

Just as he draws closer, the scene shifts, wavers, the way a mirage will shimmy in the heat rising from the pavement. For a second it regains its form and in that moment Cade has the opportunity to glimpse the surprise in the other’s face, then everything dissolves around him in a dizzying spiral of shifting patterns and unidentified shapes.

Cade came awake with a gasp, the now-familiar dream putting his heartrate into overdrive.

But this time, he noticed something different.

Amidst the ruins surrounding the Adversary, Cade saw vegetation that looked surprisingly like that which had covered the town they passed through earlier that afternoon.