Doc and Affinity were also roused, while Jak was directing J.B. and Mildred to pull back into the central camp area.
‘Dark night, we’re sitting targets if we do that,’ J.B. said, ignoring the irony of his curse.
‘I think not,’ Affinity said in a low tone. ‘They never use blasters, only knives. And they always work in close. It’s their trademark, if you will.’
They fell into silence, straining every fiber to catch the slightest sound made by their attackers. There was nothing. The Nightcrawlers had also fallen silent, as still as though they weren’t there, waiting for their prey to crack first.
It was a war of nerves. The companions scanned the darkness, all but Jak able to detect nothing.
‘Still where they were,’ he whispered. ‘Can smell them…but we move, then they, too.’
‘Could try to fire on them again,’ J.B. murmured. ‘A quick burst of spray’n’pray might catch them before they can move.’
‘Yeah, and in the noise and confusion they get to move out of position. At least this way we know where they are. Let them make the first move,’ Ryan replied.
They stood still—as still as their opponents. The silence beyond the camp became oppressive and time slowed so that every breath seemed to take a day to draw.
Then it happened. The faintest of noises, and Jak yelled, ‘They come!’
Before the companions had a chance to ready themselves, the Nightcrawlers were upon them. Their camou made them seem like indistinct shadows that moved across the lesser darkness, having no shape or form beyond an amorphous black mass that broke into pieces and reconstituted into different shapes when on the verge of the camp.
Jak had slipped knives to Krysty and Mildred, as they knew that their blasters would be ineffective. The razor-honed, leaf-bladed knives the albino youth used so well would still be deadly in the hands of the less-skilled women. J.B. had his Tekna, and Affinity and Doc had both unsheathed their blades.
The combat was silent. Even when the companions landed blows upon their enemies, they made no sound, as though they either controlled with a will of iron the reflex to shout, or they’d had their tongues ripped out by the root. It could have been either, but it had the same effect regardless. It was as though the companions were fighting phantoms that had no feelings and were invincible.
But definitely human. They stank of the body paint, and they were slippery with sweat and also with blood where the blades caught them. Slippery not just from their own blood. With the dark lenses over their eyes, they were almost impossible to pin down visually, and it was difficult to tell where their blows were coming from. Ryan winced as a blade sliced at his upper arm. Jak caught the point of one under the eye. He ignored it and struck home with a blow before his opponent had a chance to adjust balance, knowing that he had hit home when he heard an involuntary expellation of air. He was just thankful that the cut was under his eye. Above, and the running blood would have made vision difficult.
Krysty and Mildred were faring well. Although they couldn’t see their opponents clearly, both women were wearing dark clothing that made their body movements harder to discern in the black of the night, and so were able to dodge the blades with ease. They also landed a few body blows that took a toll on their opponents.
Doc thrust and parried with his sword, grinning maniacally, as though enjoying the combat. Particularly when he felt one thrust penetrate into flesh deeply enough to stick. His opponent slumped noiselessly to the ground.
They had no idea how long they fought, or how well they were doing. It seemed as though their opponents were endless…and yet the Nightcrawlers were used to fighting opponents of a lesser mettle and were shocked at the skills of those they now tangled with—so much so that they began to withdraw. Because they were losing? Because they had suffered casualties? It was impossible to tell. The only thing for sure was that they melted into the darkness as smoothly as they had first materialized.
It was some time before the companions and Affinity could relax in any way. They expected the Nightcrawlers to come at them as soon as they showed any sign of weakness. But as time crept on, it became apparent that their opponents had withdrawn from the fray. Comparing notes, they were sure that at least one of the Nightcrawlers had been badly wounded—the warrior skewered by Doc—and that two or three others had also taken heavy blows. For themselves, there were only a few cuts and bruises that Mildred could easily tend to when the sun came up.
Which was also when they expected to recover the wounded or chilled. And yet, when the light did break, there was no sign of any of their opponents. Doc was certain his opponent was chilled. If so, they had taken the corpse with them.
Apart from a few dark patches of blood on the floor of the camp, and some splashes on the nearest clumps of foliage, there was no sign of disturbance. Nothing to indicate that they had been attacked.
As though it had never happened.
Chapter Seven
The sec party stood back in cover when they heard the noises from the woods. There were four of them, and they were all dressed in the same white robes as Affinity. Using the dense woodlands as shelter, they stepped into shadow and waited as the sounds grew nearer.
‘Mark, do you think that they are Nightcrawlers?’ asked the youngest. Barely out of his teens, the clean-shaven Philo had only escaped from Atlantis a few months before and was keen to prove himself. Despite this, he could feel tremors on his right leg as the strangers approached.
‘Idiot, have you ever heard a Crawler make so much noise, even when they thought there was nobody around to hear them? They know we have sec patrols now, and they would be ever more vigilant,’ Mark snapped in a low whisper. He was nearing thirty and had been in Memphis for more than five years. He had several family members in his bid to escape, and was filled with a burning desire for revenge against the regime of Atlantis. That had driven him to rise rapidly to head of sec for Memphis. Not that there was a lot of competition. He sometimes felt—particularly at times like this—that he was almost fighting alone.
Philo stayed silent, although he felt slighted. What other explanation could there be other than that the approaching strangers were Crawlers? Those who had returned on the previous day had spoken of those they encountered as being strong fighters, but not garbed as was the norm for Crawlers. Perhaps this was a change in tactics by the men of Atlantis to counter the measures shown by Memphis. After all, who else could it be in these woodlands?
The sec party stayed silent, letting the strangers come to them. There was a low undertone of voices and the sounds of their progress were clearly audible. These Crawlers—if indeed they were—made no attempt to conceal themselves.
Mark showed himself to the others long enough to mutely direct his men into position for an ambush. He had determined the direction of the approaching party and wanted to make sure they were surrounded. Crawlers were tricky, slippery fighters. His men were probably outnumbered from the sound of it, and there was every chance that they would be outfought. But he was a great believer in the element of surprise.
He had little idea that in this instance it would be himself on the receiving end of such a shock.
As the four sec men adopted their new positions, and readied themselves for attack, Philo tried to calm himself by concentrating on picking out the words spoken by the approaching party. His guts were churning with fear and he supposed that to try to decipher their conversation would act as a distraction from his fear.
They were far enough away for the talk to be little more than a low buzz, but within a few seconds he had adjusted to the volume and could pick out a few words.
‘…the methods of destruction, and the tactics involved, are sometimes schematic of an