Read Online Maxie’s Demon by Michael Scott Rohan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael Scott Rohan
Tags: Science-Fiction
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direction. And there wasn’t a soul to be seen on board.
Now at this point, of course, the sensibleman gets going, and God knows I’d had plenty of practice only last night. But the moment I tried to move there was a noise like a hippo on heat, and the muck slurped lovingly around my nice new trainers, and I almost fell face down in the clag. I caught my balance, then wished I hadn’t. The mud might be safer. There were figures leaping ashore, dimly seen; there were shouts. Any minute now there’dbe the helicopter with the searchlight, and the megaphone bellowing, ‘Armed police!’ They were running straight towards me.
But the sound of thoseshouts – not nice, respectable cop shouts, not even the Drug Squad. More like Manchester United fans – then suddenly I was covered in mud splatters and the stampede was parting around me and trampling past. Half-seen shapes, dim as ghosts but all toosolid, in weird, patchy getups and streaming hair, waving ill-defined objects that glinted with dull menace.
Definitely United.
Fallon’s jaw was still dropping, and who could blame him? They
moved
. But his hand was already pulling out of his coat, and it certainly wasn’t empty, and there was movement in the boat. I was right in the line of fire – wasn’t I always? My knees knocked and I shrankinwards, wishing I could imitate a Flatlander – or the famous Oozelum bird.
The machine-pistol levelled right at the leading figure. But in the fragment of a breath between the aim and the firing he had somehow covered the ground between. There was a cutting flash and a wild yell, some word I didn’t catch, and something went up in the air. The pistol jerked and flickered red and yellow snaketongues, but downwards, at random, whipping up the marsh. Fallon wasn’t in a position to aim. In fact he’d rather lost his head altogether. The rest of him did a neat little jig step and fell in a gangling heap. The figures jostled around it and reached the boat.
Gorge rising, I heard that cry again, and then there was a shot, not the pistol’s popping or the rifle’s crisp crack, dull and heavy-sounding.Somebody screamed, abruptly cut off by a very nasty thudding, but I hardly noticed. This time I had heard the word they were crying, I could hear it again, drawn out, impossibly wild and bloodthirsty. They were all shouting it.
‘
Maaaxieee!
’ roareda rough male voice, as metal rang on metal with a shattering sound.
‘
Que viva Maxieeee!
’ That was a woman’s voice. Something heavy splashed over theside. There was a burst of happy laughter.
‘
Maxie! Maxie hoch! Hoch!
’ Air hissed out of something with a punctured squeal.
‘
Que muera!
’
‘
A morte! A vittoria! Viva Maxissime!
’
And those were only the ones I could make out. Beating seven types of whatever out of the dope boys, and shouting my name.
Of course I was just standing there all this time, enjoying the night air, naturally. All thistime, I decided afterwards, must have been about ten seconds, maybe fifteen at best. I think I coped pretty well, allowing for shock. I didn’t waste time having heart attacks or losing sphincter control or anything like that. No, I had one foot free and was literally taking my first step for flight when I realised everything had suddenly gone very still.
There was a hissing, deflating sound,and from about the same direction a faint bubbling moan that tailed away into nothing. Some way off in the marsh there were frenzied squelching noises, and in a brief glimmer on a muddy pool I glimpsed three figures splashing incontinently through it, making pretty good time for their bulk. Definitely it wasn’t Ahwaz’s day.
Or maybeit was; he’d got a good start. Like I said, not at all stupid.
That was when I realised I was still holding the envelope.
And then the shadowy crew came flowing back off the inflatable and splattering back through the marsh again. Right at me. They were around me before my foot hit the ground, or
Now at this point, of course, the sensibleman gets going, and God knows I’d had plenty of practice only last night. But the moment I tried to move there was a noise like a hippo on heat, and the muck slurped lovingly around my nice new trainers, and I almost fell face down in the clag. I caught my balance, then wished I hadn’t. The mud might be safer. There were figures leaping ashore, dimly seen; there were shouts. Any minute now there’dbe the helicopter with the searchlight, and the megaphone bellowing, ‘Armed police!’ They were running straight towards me.
But the sound of thoseshouts – not nice, respectable cop shouts, not even the Drug Squad. More like Manchester United fans – then suddenly I was covered in mud splatters and the stampede was parting around me and trampling past. Half-seen shapes, dim as ghosts but all toosolid, in weird, patchy getups and streaming hair, waving ill-defined objects that glinted with dull menace.
Definitely United.
Fallon’s jaw was still dropping, and who could blame him? They
moved
. But his hand was already pulling out of his coat, and it certainly wasn’t empty, and there was movement in the boat. I was right in the line of fire – wasn’t I always? My knees knocked and I shrankinwards, wishing I could imitate a Flatlander – or the famous Oozelum bird.
The machine-pistol levelled right at the leading figure. But in the fragment of a breath between the aim and the firing he had somehow covered the ground between. There was a cutting flash and a wild yell, some word I didn’t catch, and something went up in the air. The pistol jerked and flickered red and yellow snaketongues, but downwards, at random, whipping up the marsh. Fallon wasn’t in a position to aim. In fact he’d rather lost his head altogether. The rest of him did a neat little jig step and fell in a gangling heap. The figures jostled around it and reached the boat.
Gorge rising, I heard that cry again, and then there was a shot, not the pistol’s popping or the rifle’s crisp crack, dull and heavy-sounding.Somebody screamed, abruptly cut off by a very nasty thudding, but I hardly noticed. This time I had heard the word they were crying, I could hear it again, drawn out, impossibly wild and bloodthirsty. They were all shouting it.
‘
Maaaxieee!
’ roareda rough male voice, as metal rang on metal with a shattering sound.
‘
Que viva Maxieeee!
’ That was a woman’s voice. Something heavy splashed over theside. There was a burst of happy laughter.
‘
Maxie! Maxie hoch! Hoch!
’ Air hissed out of something with a punctured squeal.
‘
Que muera!
’
‘
A morte! A vittoria! Viva Maxissime!
’
And those were only the ones I could make out. Beating seven types of whatever out of the dope boys, and shouting my name.
Of course I was just standing there all this time, enjoying the night air, naturally. All thistime, I decided afterwards, must have been about ten seconds, maybe fifteen at best. I think I coped pretty well, allowing for shock. I didn’t waste time having heart attacks or losing sphincter control or anything like that. No, I had one foot free and was literally taking my first step for flight when I realised everything had suddenly gone very still.
There was a hissing, deflating sound,and from about the same direction a faint bubbling moan that tailed away into nothing. Some way off in the marsh there were frenzied squelching noises, and in a brief glimmer on a muddy pool I glimpsed three figures splashing incontinently through it, making pretty good time for their bulk. Definitely it wasn’t Ahwaz’s day.
Or maybeit was; he’d got a good start. Like I said, not at all stupid.
That was when I realised I was still holding the envelope.
And then the shadowy crew came flowing back off the inflatable and splattering back through the marsh again. Right at me. They were around me before my foot hit the ground, or
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