The Age of Odin - James Lovegrove [153]
In one corner there were several bodies lined up head to toe, under blankets.
"And that lot aren't going anywhere," I remarked.
"Alas, no. Them I can do nothing further for."
"Heimdall? What about him? Any change?"
"See for yourself."
Asgard's gatekeeper lay with a bandage round his head covering wadding on both ears. He was so still, he could almost have been one of the nearby corpses. His chest moved up and down lightly, infrequently.
"The trauma is as much to his mind as his ears," said Frigga. "Sensory overload on an unimaginable scale. He ought to recover, but when, how soon - who can say?"
"And you?" I asked. "How are you bearing up?"
"I have never been so tired."
"I mean about Odin. Losing your husband."
"You are kind to worry, but I cannot think about that right now. Cannot afford to. I must be strong, for all our sakes. My own concerns must wait. Besides, I am accustomed to bereavement. It's become almost a way of life for me."
"I'm finishing this," I told her firmly. "I'm seeing it through right to the bitter end. For Odin. I owe it to him. If it wasn't for him I wouldn't be alive. He died saving me."
"That's my husband," she said. "That's him through and through."
"I just wanted you to know that."
"I'm grateful. And I wish you luck, Gid." Doubt clouded her wan, genial features. "I fear, though..."
I stopped her. "Uh-uh. None of that."
She stiffened, understanding, steeling herself. "Of course. There is always hope."
"That's the spirit," I said. "Always hope."
Because, I thought, when you're completely fucked, when your back's to the abyss and the hordes of Hell are closing in, when everything's stacked against you and you're down to the last dregs of your strength - hope is the only real weapon you've got.
Sixty-Four
The frost giants started their next round of assault not long after. They opted to go for the breaches again, charging at them in dense packs, flying-wedge formations, putting everything into it, hoping that sheer weight of numbers would carry the day. They threw themselves through the jagged gaps, often tripping over one another in their urgency and haste. We used grenades to hold them back, but they just kept on coming, some with half an arm blown off, others with their armour shattered and blood pouring from dozens of wounds, all undeterred. There was fire in their bellies. They were unstoppable. They waded among us, lashing out with their handweapons, taking bullets until they could no longer stand upright. Even when brought to their knees they refused to give up. Issgeisls and tomahawks swung and swung until the hands holding them were too weak to maintain their grip.
A Valkyrie copped it right in front of me. She was reloading her pistol when a frost giant reared up behind her. I didn't have a clear shot or I would have taken him out. The frostie clamped his hands either side of the Valkyrie's head. Whole chunks of him were missing. It wasn't clear how he could still be alive. Yet he was, and he still had enough strength in him to crush the Valkyrie's skull. She kicked out, raked his arms with her fingernails, but it was no use. The frost giant pressed his palms together, and her head was distended, impacting to a red-and-yellow pulp.
I emptied a whole magazine from my Minimi into the fucker's heart. It wouldn't bring the Valkyrie back, but it did make me feel a whole lot better.
Snow began to fall. The overcast sky had grown so dark grey it was almost black, and a first vague flurry of flakes became, in no time, a thick deluge. Snow fell on mangled frost giant corpses, and settled. Snow fell on Aesir and Vanir as they fought, and settled. Snow fell on soldiers firing guns and throwing grenades, and settled. Soon we were all whitened, hoary with snow, and the only real way of telling Asgardian