The Beasts Of Valhalla

21

"Shit," Garth said when the others had finished nailing some kind of barricade over the door of our improvised holding pen and left.

"My sentiments exactly," I replied, removing my smoked glasses and looking around.

"Where the hell are we?"

"Your marvelous nose doesn't tell you?"

"A supermarket deli section?"

"Close. A cheese-processing shed."

Although it would be pitch dark to Garth, I could see quite well by the faint moonlight spilling in through vents left open under the corrugated steel eaves of the shed. There was a space heater. I plugged it in, and Garth, shivering, came over and squatted down next to the warming cherry glow.

"You want me to turn on the lights?" I asked.

"What's to see?"

"Three stainless-steel curdling vats and a lot of rubber hosing."

"It sounds depressing; you look at it."

"For now, it seems we're still the apples of Father's eye," I said as I began slowly making a circuit of the area, looking for a ladder-anything-that could get me up to one of the vents that looked to be at least eighteen feet overhead. "That situation may not last much longer. The Loges have got themselves some raw breeding stock; these people-and, presumably, the other communes, as well-send their babies to Father."

"Oh, Jesus," Garth murmured. "The sons-of-bitches are experimenting directly on humans."

"Yeah," I replied, completing my search of the shed and coming back to squat next to Garth. I'd found nothing. "How's your face?"

"It smarts. The edge of that big prick's hand is as hard as bone." "It is bone," I said. Now that I'd had time to think about it, I knew what I'd seen. "It's collagen."

"Collagen?"

"A while back some researchers at Harvard Medical School came up with a technique for growing bone, without rejection, virtually anywhere in the body."

"A bone graft?"

"It's not really a graft. They extract collagen from any bone, mix it with a few other nonorganic materials into a paste, then spread it over an area where they want new bone to grow. The paste has the effect of stimulating the surrounding cells into producing bone tissue. Siegfried Loge must give his Warriors' hands the collagen treatment when they complete their training. I'm sure it impresses the hell out of them."

"It impressed the hell out of my face. It sounds like Loge is still playing Sorscience."

"Yep. He's a real gamester, that one."

"You think Leviticus was told the real reason the Loges want us?"

"No. Leviticus is here because he's a member of the belief system, and they wouldn't tell him anything that would conflict with his beliefs. This place is sealed off. The only information they get is over the phone, and Siegfried Loge is on the other end of the line."

"Other Warriors will be coming to get us."

"Sure."

"You think it would do any good to try and reason with Leviticus, tell him what's really happening?"

"You tell me, Garth. You're the one who said he smelled of religious ecstasy. You think he's going to listen to two servants of Satan?"

"Sorry. Getting hit by bone-hand must have knocked my brains loose. Incidentally, I really hated to lose those back teeth; I just had a root canal job on that side."

"Feel like having a seizure? You can bang the door open."

"Hey, I wish I could. Unfortunately, I don't have any control over the damn things. We could be paste ourselves, smears under a Loge microscope, before I have another one."

"That's what I call a really comforting thought. How about if I tickle your feet?"

Garth laughed. "That would probably get me pissed at you, but it wouldn't bring on a seizure. Sorry, Mongo." He paused, looked down as I stuffed my glasses deep into the pocket in his robe. "What are you doing?"

"Putting my glasses in a safe place. I'm splitting."

"You walk through walls?"

I pulled Garth to his feet, guided him across the concrete floor to a position against one of the corrugated steel walls. "Look up."

"The vent? You've got to be kidding. Have you got suckers on your fingertips to go with your snake eyes?"

"I've got a strong brother. You're going to toss me up there."

Garth lowered his gaze, shook his head. "The hell I am. You're fucking crazy."

"You like the idea of ending up paste?"

"You'll end up paste now if you miss and fall back on this concrete. I can't see to catch you. Even if you do get up and through, it's still a twenty-foot drop to the ground."

"You seem to forget that you're talking to none other than Mongo the Magnificent. I used to do tougher shit than this for a living."

"Those were your circus days, and they were a long time ago."

"Squat, and cup your hands between your knees. I'll get a running start to work up a head of steam. You'll hear me coming. When you feel my foot hit your hands, it's launch time. Don't hold back on the horsepower."

"No. We'll bide our time, wait until we're picked up. There'll be other chances to make a break. This stunt's too dangerous."

"Come on, Garth," I said, pacing to the opposite side of the shed. "We're wasting time."

Garth sighed in resignation. "Mongo," he said quietly, "if you do get out of here, I want you to keep going. You can't get me out; they've got the door nailed shut."

"Thanks, Garth. That's what I was going to do, anyway. I'm glad you'll understand."

"I'm serious, Mongo. You have to take your glasses."

"I'm serious, Garth; squat!"

He did so, and I lit out across the shed. "Now!" I shouted as I leaped off the floor and planted my right foot in the pocket of his cupped hands.

Garth didn't hold back in the muscle department. Up, up, and away I went-as if I'd been shot out of a cannon. A split second after Garth threw me I knew that making the eighteen feet to the vent was not going to be a problem; catching hold of the edge of the wall on the way down after I'd banged into the roof was the problem. I twisted in the air, absorbed the force of impact against the tin roof with my right shoulder and hip. I bounced with a mighty clang that I hoped couldn't be heard too far away, stretched. My fingers caught the sharp edge of the wall, and I squeezed. My grip held, and my body banged into the corrugated steel.

"Mongo?!"

"Uh, just a tad too much exuberance there, brother," I managed to say as I gasped for breath.

"Mongo, I'm sorry! I was afraid- "

"I'm all right, Garth," I said quickly, looking down. Garth, stricken, was squinting up into the darkness, silver tears running down his cheeks. "Really; I'm not hurt. However, I think it only fair to warn you that the next time there's something like this to be done, you're the one who gets thrown."

"Anybody outside?" Garth asked as he wiped away the tears and shook his head with relief.

"I don't know; I haven't looked yet. Let's hope not."

"Look, you little smart-ass bastard," Garth said, looking up at me and shaking his fist, "you'd damn well better find a good way of getting down from there, because if you fall-or you get caught-I'm going to be very pissed. You hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I've got no more time to hang around here, brother. I'll drop in later to see how you're doing. Ciao."

Sucking in a deep breath, I flexed my shoulder muscles and pulled, at the same time swinging my right leg up. The heel caught, and I scrambled up and over the wall, hung down on the other side. At the moment the moon was obscured by clouds, making the green-robed dwarf hanging off the side of the commune's cheese-processing shed a bit less conspicuous; that was good. The raw metal edge was cutting through my palms, making them bleed and hurt like hell; that was bad.

For a few moments I considered taking the fast way down, dropping eighteen feet and taking my chances on a good break-roll. I thought better of it. Garth was right; the circus had been a long time ago, and there was a definite risk that I'd break more than I'd roll. Hanging first from one hand, then the other, I grabbed the hem of my spacious robe, used the material to cushion my palms. That took care of the pain and bleeding problems, but it made my grip on the edge considerably more tentative. The act was going to have to be speeded up.

Overhanging eaves prevented me from climbing up on the roof, which left me a choice of going to my left or right. I went right, swinging and sliding in the direction of another building which looked to have been built very close to the shed.

The muscles in my hands, arms, and shoulders were burning by the time I'd covered the twenty or so yards, but the trip had been worth it; in the narrow alleyway between the two buildings, the walls were no more than three feet apart. I went around the corner, crossed one hand over the other and flipped around so that I was hanging with my back against the corrugated steel wall of the cheese-processing shed.

I'd already lost one sandal; now I kicked off the other, stretched out my leg and planted one foot against the wall of the opposite building. Pressing hard with my shoulders against the shed wall, I firmly planted my other foot, then released my grip. With my body braced between the two walls, I easily "walked" down the narrow shaft to the ground.