Part 44 (1/2)

”The snow's getting thicker,” Marvin muttered, hunched over the steering wheel of the fire truck. Thick gobs of white mashed into the winds.h.i.+eld almost as fast as the wipers could clear it, and it was hard to manage the big rig on the slippery roads. His brow creased with the strain of driving. He wore his fire-fighter's gear as if it was armor, and he was going into battle. He did not dare glance over at Maia. The fire chief was staring straight ahead with a look that could challenge the sun. He held his Halligan bar across his lap like a battle axe. The Halligan was a tool for prying open doors. It was a length of steel with a tapered spike and blade at one end, and a short claw at the other. Marvin had seen Maia use the tool on locked doors before. He wondered what it would be like to use such an instrument on a human skull or any available orifices. That thought made him suppress an evil smile. It wasn't wise to be smiling around Maia when he was in one of his moods.

There were only five of them in the pump truck, all dressed in their regular gear, and searching for their fallen comrades. Maia knew that Death had somehow gotten the best of them. Now, it was his responsibility to unf.u.c.k the mess. He made it a point to stay away from any washrooms mirrors before he rallied his troops. He did not need any messages or threats to know what was at stake. He knew.

Maia knew big time.

He decided in taking out the pump truck, a ma.s.sive red machine with all of the traditional equipment fire-fighters needed for a wide range of fire fighting and rescue tasks. He took this over the other because of the fire monitora deck gun capable of blasting out fifteen litres of water per second or up to thirty bars of pressure. That was enough to tear up cobble stone streets under a sustained onslaught. It was certainly enough to break bones. Maia once witnessed an industrial water jet cutter cut through eight inches of rock, and while he would have loved to have gotten the city to purchase such a device, there was no real means to justify it. The images of what such a device could do to bare flesh entertained his mind for weeks. But he had the water cannon on the roof of his truck, and that would suffice if they needed it. The truck carried a full tank of two thousand litres of water. It would be enough to stun even Death if Maia saw the chance to use it.

Squinting, Marvin took his foot off the gas and gently applied the brake.

”What the f.u.c.k do you think you're doing?” Maia asked in a calm but dangerous voice. It frightened the s.h.i.+t out of Marvin. He put his foot back down on the accelerator, and the pump truck picked up speed in the growing blizzard and darkness. For a single terrifying instant, he had a vision of his chief burying the pick end of his Halligan into one of his eye sockets. Saunders, Edwards and Northman, sitting quietly in the back and thankful to be behind the chief, remained quiet.

Maia went back to looking out at the road. They were heading north off the main highways now, heading into the great wilderness of Northern British Columbia. It was just the place where if someone wanted to get lost, it could easily be achieved. Maia wondered how many had lost their lives in the surroundings timberlands and mountains in years gone past. He wondered how the coming War would change the landscape. It would be changed. He would be right there with a napalm rack on his back and a flas.h.i.+ng nozzle in his hands. That thought calmed him, so he kept right on thinking it.

The red machine sliced through the white arcs of snow that had collected on the highway. There was no traffic on the stretch of road, and the snow piled up. The fire truck had no real trouble going through, but it was the black ice that was proving to be tricky. Marvin hoped there would not be any sudden stops anytime soon. If there was, he would be at the wheel of a very large piece of machinery sliding out of control.

Onwards they drove, moving through the death of the day and not impressed with the coming of the dark. It would be difficult to hunt in the dark. The fire trucks lights flicked on, and the snow began to flash into both the headlights and winds.h.i.+eld like chunky comets.

”Slow down.” Maia ordered after a while. He was leaning to his left. His arm came up pointing. ”What's that on your side?”

His crew looked. Although the snow had covered up the tracks and partially filled the gap in the snow bank, when the car left the road, it left behind the wake of a rocket. When Marvin realized what it was he was looking at, he stopped the machine. The Minions peered through the gloom and saw the path the car made before the tree stopped its flight. Even in the gloom of the falling night, it was an impressive wreck.

”You stay on the wheel,” Maia ordered Marvin. The chief then glanced back at the other three. ”You all come with me. Keep your eyes open.”

Maia briefly met the impa.s.sive gaze of Grey Northman. The man had said nothing since the fire station, and for that, Maia was both relieved and suspicious. He did not trust the grey one. There was something about the Minion he just did not like. He did not want to be any more careful around his Minions than he routinely had to be. They were pyromaniacs after all, but his gut cautioned him about Northman.

Doors popped open, and the Minions disembarked their pumper, dressed in their heavy Nomex fire coats marked in bright stripes of battle yellow. They carried axes. No one wore their helmets, wearing black ski masks instead. They fell in behind Maia, wary of their chief's Halligan. Silently moving through the snow in their heavy boots, slogging ahead as the snow came up to their knees.

The snow covered most of the blood around the car, and the cold stifled the smell like one great outdoor freezer keeping meat. The interior of the car was still a mess despite snow having blown in through the broken windows, covering the four headless corpses. Maia stood back for a moment and simply took in the scene. The other three Minions gathered around the demolished vehicle with their axes at the ready. After a moment, Maia stepped forward and stuck his head in through the pa.s.senger side window. He could tell Peters and Bull from their body sizes and clothes. He gazed up at the gore coating the ceiling of the car. Behind his ski mask, his mouth cut into a grimace of disgust. All dead. Without even a fight, he guessed. It made him sick.

Maia straightened up and beheld the car once more. ”f.u.c.kin' Angel of Death,” he muttered clear enough for his Minions to hear. ”I told you stupid b.a.s.t.a.r.ds to be careful. Should've chiselled the words into your G.o.dd.a.m.n foreheads.”

The Minions surrounding the car could see what had been done to their companions. A sense of dread, awe and perverse excitement rippled through them. They had been afraid of missing out on the fun of torturing Death while they waited for the End to arrive. They had been extremely resentful of not being selected to take care of Death, dangerously jealous of not being in Maia's finer graces to have been a.s.signed the task of finding the Boatman and whisking him away. Now, it would seem they would have their chance after all. And the reality of their brethren's demise was just as freezing as the temperatures of the great north. Whatever resentment they might have felt had evaporated.

This was Death they were hunting.

The f.u.c.king Grim Reaper himself.

He would not go lightly.

And there would be casualties.

Maia broke the cold silence surrounding them.

”Alright then, motherf.u.c.ker,” he quietly swore at the headless foursome in the car wreck. Maia had f.u.c.ked with the best in the past and won. He would do so again. ”Alright.”

He turned and locked gazes with the ski-masked Grey Northman standing on the other side of the car.

”What?” Maia demanded of the Minion. Northman did not reply. He merely stood with the snow coating his Nomex coat, slowly coloring him white. He held his axe two handed across his pelvis.

”You got something to say, f.u.c.ker, you say it now!” Maia roared at the figure. Saunders and Edwards glanced uneasily at each other. They had heard this tone from their chief before. It was usually before he did something incredibly violent. They had long sensed their leader's dislike for the newcomer, and perhaps now was the just the ignition needed for the chief to do something about that dislike.

”Or you just going to stand there in the f.u.c.kin' snow?”

Northman kept right on staring at the fire chief.

Livid, Maia brought his Halligan up like a spear, and moved to circle the car.

At the same time, Marvin sounded the horn on the fire pumper.

The sudden blare of the red beast froze Maia in the snow. Edwards and Saunders both whirled about in the direction of the horn. Northman kept his attention on the Minion fire chief. The three Minions that were looking could see what Marvin could see in his rear-view mirrors.

There was a car approaching.

Chapter 59.

Stickman took long and deep breaths, trying to fight the wave of nausea threatening to empty the contents of his stomach. Lucy explained what she was going to do, and he listened with a smile. h.e.l.l, he even nodded his understanding when she asked for it. And then, she went and did exactly what she said she was going to do.

Stickman's sunbird went into warp speed.

There was no other way to describe it, and yet, wasn't there supposed to be like G-forces or something like that? He didn't feel any sensation of being pushed back into his seat although the streaking lights outside of the moving car did bring on the stomach sickness. Day faded rapidly. He felt he was going to barf at any time, and his throat started to hitch.

”Oh, no,” he heard Lucy say, and then the car was slowing down.

There was a fire truck in the middle of the road.

Stickman slammed on the brakes. The car slid. He kept his hands on the wheel, and somehow the tires found purchase. It would stop long before it kissed the a.s.s of the red behemoth taking up the road and filling up the Stickman's winds.h.i.+eld. In truth, it didn't bother the Stickman much, colliding with a fire truck. If one had to slam into a vehicle, it might as well be a First Responder unit. The sunbird slowed to a stop not five feet from the rear b.u.mper of the fire truck.

The Stickman opened the door on his side, dropped out onto the cold pavement on his hands and knees, and vomited. Repeatedly.

And on the final retch, the one where his stomach felt as if it should throw out his kidneys, liver and any other organ handy, Stickman moaned and let his forehead touch the black snow covered asphalt. His only concern in the world right then was not lying down in his own pool of puke.

”Oh, Jeezus Christ,” the Stickman moaned into the frigid wind and was thankful for it. ”Oh, Joseph and Mary... Lord tunderin Jeezus... Murphy.”

He felt hands on his shoulders and knew instinctively it was his angel Lucy. G.o.d bless her heart. He wanted to say exactly that, but instead, pushed himself away from the contents of his stomach on the highway. He rolled over onto his back, blinked and saw the concern on Lucy's face above him. That caused him to smile.

But only for a moment.