The Crossover by Larry Kollar Page A

Freddy called “yellow jackets”—darted back and forth, knowing an intruder was near their nest, but not finding him. He reached out with his mind and spoke to the wasps.

    Hunter cursed and nearly dropped his gun, slapping his hand. But the yellow jacket was already circling his head.
    Terry Lewis broke and ran. “I’m allergic!” he yelled, dashing ahead. “I’ll see you at the car!” Moments later, two more wasps found their marks: BJ’s left leg, behind the knee; the back of Sam’s neck.
    “Move, move!” Hunter snarled, jabbing Freddy with the gun. They all ran, BJ limping, until the wasps were left behind. “We’re almost there. Are you allergic too?”
    “No. Just hurts.” BJ rubbed the back of his leg. Sam shook his head.
    “Good. Our hostage got lucky, I guess. We’re almost there anyway.”
    They turned into an office parking lot. “Where’s Terry?” asked Sam.
    “Our tires!” BJ spat a curse and ran to the car. “His friend musta cut ‘em! All four!”
    Hunter hooked an arm around Freddy’s neck, then held the gun to his head. “That’s it!” he yelled. “Show yourself, or your friend is dead!”
    “Behind you.”
    Hunter spun around, using Freddy as a pivot, to face a man taller and broader even than his beefy friends. The sword he carried looked deadly.
    “I cede to you the right to shed first blood,” said Chelinn. “But Hell shall take what is left of you soon after.”
    “Nice dress-up,” said Hunter. He turned the gun on Chelinn and fired.
    Chelinn winced and scowled. “No blood was drawn. But Death does not require the shedding of blood. That is all the warning I give you.”
    Hunter released Freddy, but kept the gun on him, and stepped to one side. “For a world where magic is all but stamped out, you’re a rather powerful sorcerer. How did I miss you?”
    Chelinn raised one eyebrow, but showed no other sign of surprise, then smirked. “Perhaps you did not.”
    “Another world, then? Which? And why are you here?”
    “I would rather not say which, until I know your intentions better. As for why? We are here quite by accident. And what of you?”
    “I am The Hunter. It is my sworn duty to root out the use of magic, wherever that duty calls me.” He smirked in return. “This posting has been somewhat soft, these last few centuries. But perhaps once I deal with you, I can start on your world.”
    “My world has taken its first steps on a path that shall lead to the end we see in this one. With or without you, magic will be but a memory in a millennium. But why involve yourself in such a sordid enterprise? Scheming to kill hundreds of innocents for whom magic is but a fantasy?”
    Hunter spat. “Those fools long for the return of magic. If they are left to search unchecked, they may rediscover the door. I put the last true witches to the fire on this world… and a few, I admit, who were not witches, but no matter. As for your world? From the looks of your weapons, you are still mired in the Bronze Age!”
    “We can work iron, what little we have. And although the lives of innocents are of no matter to you, is it no matter that while you have one of my people, I have one of yours?”
    “I will let this one go. If you surrender yourself to me.”
    “Me? I have your oaf. You have my oaf. I would think oaf for oaf would be fair trade, no?”
    “My oaf has served his purpose. His fate now matters little to me.”
    “Hey!” BJ and Sam said together. “Terry’s our kin, he matters to us!” They both drew pistols, and pointed them at Hunter.
    “Hey there!” Sam called past Hunter to Chelinn. “Big hombre! If we turn your friend loose, you promise to let my cousin go?”
    “Of course.”
    “Let him go, Hunter,” said BJ, aiming at Hunter’s head.
    Hunter did not turn or even glance back at his former companions. “Your threats are hardly worth dismissing, let alone considering. Leave us.”
    BJ pulled the trigger, frowned, then stepped closer and shot