The Descent

He  was  not  muscular  the  way  an  athlete  or  bodybuilder  is.  But  the  flesh  on  him stretched  in ropy  plates.  It  seemed  to  have  grown  on  his  bones  out  of  need,  and  then grown some more, with little symmetry.  Ali stared  down at him.

His bulk and height and the silver bands  on  his  arms  evinced  pedigree  of  some  sort. He was imposing, as tall as most of the mercenaries,  even  majestic.  For  an  instant  she wondered if this barbaric deformity  might not be the Satan she was seeking.

The  mercenaries'  spotlights  fixed  his  details  for  all  to  see.  Ali  was  close  enough  to recognize him  as  a  warrior  simply  from  the  distribution  of  his  scars.  It  was  a  forensic fact  that  primitive  fighters  classically  presented  their  left  side  in  battle.  From  foot  to shoulder  this  barbarian's  left  hemisphere  showed  twice  the  old  injuries  as  his  right. His left  forearm  had  been  sliced  and  broken  from  parrying  blows.  The  calcific  growth sprouting  from  his  head  had  a  fluted  texture,  and  the  tip  of  one  horn  had  been snapped in battle.

In  his  right  hand  he  carried  a  samurai  sword  stolen  in  the  sixteenth  century.  With his  ferocious  eyes  and  earth-painted  skin,  he  could  have  been  one  of  the  terra-cotta statues  inside  the  fortress  keep.  A  demon  guarding  the  sanctum.  Then  he  spoke,  and it was London-accented. 'Will you beg, lad?' he  said  to  his  first  kill.  She  had  heard  this voice over  the radio. She had seen Ike's  eyes  grow wide at the remembrance  of him. Isaac shook the sand from  his  body  and  faced  the  fortress,  oblivious  to  his  enemies. He  searched  the  heights,  dragging  masses  of  air  in  through  his  nostrils  to  catch  a scent.  He  smelled  something.  Then  he  called  back  to  the  girl,  and  there   was   no question what was happening.

They  had stolen the beast's daughter. Now hell wanted her back.

Before the soldiers could pull their triggers, the trap  closed.  Isaac  leaped  on  the  first

soldier and snapped his neck.

The  main  raft  pitched  upward  and  dawdled  on  edge,  its  occupants  windmilling  into the black water.

More   lances   harpooned   up   through   the   raft   floors,   and   a   desperate    man machine-gunned his own feet.

Spotlights slewed. Strobes auto-activated.

Obsidian  hailed  down  on  hadals  and  humans  alike.  The  last  of  Walker's  outfit  faced their  own  weapons  here  and  there,  taken  from  their  dead  comrades  over  the  past months.  Those  who  could  figure  out  the  safety  mechanisms  and  triggers  wreaked  as much havoc on their own kind as on the soldiers. Many  simply used the rifles as clubs. The  three  soldiers  trapped  near  the  fortress  tried  for  the  doorway,  but  hadals pounced from  the  walls  and  blocked  their  way.  Backed  against  the  wall,  one  bellowed

'Remember the  Alamo!'  and  his  partner,  a  macho  from  Miami,  said,  'Fuck  the  Alamo, viva  la  Raza,'  and  nailed  him  through   his  brainpan.  The   third   soldier  shot  the gang-banger  on  principle,  then  sucked  the  barrel  and  triggered  his  last  round.  The hadals were  properly  impressed by  the suicides.

Out on the water,  the chain gun hosed  arcs  of  light  into  the  black  horizon.  When  the belt feed finally jammed, the lone last gunner grabbed  a  paddle  and  set  out  across  the sea.  In  the  silence  that  followed,  you  could  hear  his  dogged  flight,  stroke  by  stroke, like the beating of wings.

Inside  the  fortress,  Colonel  Walker  was  feasted  upon  alive.  They   didn't  bother cutting him down from the wall, but simply carved  pieces off while he raved  scripture.

High  in  the  honeycombed  fortress,  Ike  raced  in  search  of  Ali.  The  minute  he'd  heard the wild girl cry  out, he'd started  his race.  Still  dripping  water  from  his  hiding  place  at the edge of the sea, he sprinted up stairs and down corridors.

He  might  have  known  Ali  would  use  his  knife  to  free  the  others.  Of  course  a  nun wouldn't know when to let  well  enough  alone.  If  only  she  had  done  as  he'd  meant  and left the others hog-tied to their fates, her disappearance would have  been immaculate. This  storm  of  hadals  would  have  swept  through  like  a  summer  shower.  They  would have  had their washing  of  spears,  then  gone  on  and  left  Ike  hidden  with  Ali,  none  the wiser.  Instead  the  People  were  now  combing  this  cliff  structure,  hunting  for  their property,  that  feral  girl.  They  would  not  stop  until  they  got  what  they  wanted,  he knew, and that would include Ali now. One way  or another, that girl  would  betray  her, no matter  what kindness Ali had shown her.

He had to find Ali first, and take  it from there.