Endworlds - Nicholas Read [22]
Stuffing packages into the pockets of his oversized black jacket he resumed his trek upriver, leaving the raided stall behind. As it turned out it was a good thing he had eaten well.
Directly in front of him was a flashing, flickering conflict, a battle bizarre and incomprehensible raging in full fury before his eyes.
A dozen or so individuals ranging from slightly younger than himself up to their late teens ranged around a writhing monstrosity. The peculiarly high-collared long black and brown coats they wore were adorned with a variety of metal tags and clips. Gaping at them, he was unable to identify the material. It looked like leather, it might have been plastic, but for all he knew it could have been woven wrought iron.
The weapons they wielded were no more recognizable. None was larger than a typical pistol, though they were anything but typical in appearance. Handgrips and triggers he recognized somehow. Beyond those familiar fittings the various assemblages of dials, readouts, cones and antennae might as well have been garnered piecemeal from some obscure electronics clearance.
Several of the weapons fired explosive shells or tent-sized nets of razor wire. Others laid down streams of focused flame or beams of coherent light. One appeared to do nothing more than distort the air in front of its muzzle.
Every bit of this exotic ordnance was being brought to bear on a two-story tall mass of writhing tentacular gelatin. Within the semi-transparent shell of quivering protoplasm he could discern several eyes and at least one, possibly two fanged maws. All drifted about like berries in aspic, occasionally rising near the surface, sometimes retreating for safety deeper into the molded slime of which they were a part.
Each time a shot from one of the darting, dodging youths harrying it struck home, the creature let out an unearthly reverberant howl that sounded like a pack of monstrous hounds baying in the distance.
The entire shocking tableaux was being played out in the center of the river, in the pouring rain, as if the water beneath the combatants was as solid and stable as the pavement on which he was standing.
Absorbed in this infernal curiosity, the amnesiac boy in baggy clothes momentarily forgot his own travails, forgot the ache and anxiety that filled him, forgot that he had forgotten.
Annihilating light and bone-shaking sound clashed in the center of the river, no doubt interpreted by those who might overhear it as lightning and thunder. Though burst after burst from their weapons struck home, the attackers’ weapons were having little effect on the gelatinous life form in their midst.
As he looked on, a pair of its pulpy tentacles snatched up a teen too slow to dodge and ripped him in half without fanfare or hesitation. For an instant the boy’s final despairing cry rose above the rain and the clash of battle. Then it was gone, whipped away by the storm even before the torn halves of his body were flung away to sink into the water.
Grim-faced, his equally youthful comrades redoubled their assault.
Their intent was clear. Throughout the course of the fight it was evident that the creature was struggling to leave the river and move to dry land. Clustering the bulk of their forces before it, they strove with increasing fire to block the monster’s approach and herd it toward the youth whose weapon appeared to shimmer the air. Clearly, preventing the creature from reaching the shore was all-important.
The young spectator in soggy oversized attire unexpectedly found himself rooting for them to succeed. Especially as it was his side of the river the seemingly invulnerable creature was lurching toward.
For the first time since he had taken notice of the otherworldly confrontation and stopped to watch, one of the frantic combatants took notice of him.
“Run!” Looking back over her shoulder, the girl shouted over her high collar. “Get out of there, kid!”
He might have complied, except not knowing where he was, he could think of no safe