The Shield of Kuromori. Jason Rohan

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      ‘Hurry up!’

      The covered lorry rumbled along Honan Dori in low gear, heading east towards central Tokyo. Kenny Blackwood snatched at the outstretched hand and missed. He swore and started running at full pelt after the vehicle.

      Kiyomi leaned out over the tailgate and extended her arm further. ‘Not this again!’ she grumbled. ‘Move it!’

      Kenny lowered his head, pumped his fists and threw himself forward to catch the departing truck.

      ‘Oyama, yukkuri shiro!’ a man’s voice ordered from inside the canopy and the lorry stopped immediately. Kenny, caught by surprise, thwacked into the rear bumper and bounced on to the tarmac.

      ‘Ow. You could’ve warned me,’ he said, rubbing his bruised behind in the red glow of the brake lights.

      ‘Are you hurt?’ Kiyomi asked, jumping down and hauling him to his feet.

      ‘Only my pride,’ Kenny said. ‘Where are we going?’

      Kiyomi’s father, Harashima, peered out of the truck. ‘Kuromori-san, you’re holding us up. Get in and then talk.’

      Kenny climbed into the back and nodded in greeting to the fourteen men who were waiting inside. Their faces were familiar from when they had all fought together to stop a crazed attack against America’s West Coast barely two months ago. They were dressed in black, armed with automatic weapons and wore expressions of grim determination.

      The lorry picked up speed and Kenny found a space opposite Kiyomi. She leaned back, her eyes closed.

      Watching her, Kenny felt his heart skip. She was still beautiful, but the deep shadows under her eyes and the creases on her forehead worried him. They had met only recently, but so much had happened in such a short time that it felt longer, like they had been friends for years. Only something had changed. Something was wrong. Kenny could sense it, deep in his core, though he couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

      He lightly bumped the toe of his trainer against Kiyomi’s leather boot. Her almond eyes flicked open and she scowled at him.

      ‘What now?’

      ‘You’re looking really tired,’ he said.

      ‘Like, duh. Why do you think I’m trying to nap?’

      ‘No, I mean – Is everything OK with you? You haven’t been the same since . . .’

      ‘God, why does everyone keep going on about that?’ Kiyomi snapped. ‘Yes, I’m tired. Yes, I’m hacked off. Yes, I’m sick of everyone tiptoeing around me like I’m made of glass. Get over it, will you?’

      Harashima stood up, gripping a nylon strap for support in the swaying truck. A flash of concern crossed his face as he took in Kiyomi’s rant, but he set his jaw and addressed his men: ‘Not long ago, we fought together in Kashima to stop an atrocity. Akamatsu, fool that he was, sought to tip the balance through his control of the dragon Namazu.’

      Heads nodded and feet shuffled. The ripple of discomfort came as no surprise to Kenny. Many of the passengers in the truck had been injured that day, and some had buried friends.

      ‘But, with the help of Kuromori-san, champion of Inari, we succeeded.’ Harashima nodded towards Kenny, who smiled sheepishly. ‘However, before we set off for Kashima, we were exploring the sewers beneath Tokyo, hunting for the dragon’s lair.’

      ‘Yeah, that was your bright idea,’ Kiyomi muttered to Kenny. ‘Genius move.’

      ‘We know now that we were searching in the wrong place, but we did find something before we left,’ Harashima said. ‘Here.’ He handed out a thin dossier which each man flicked through and passed down the line.

      When the folder came to Kenny, Kiyomi leaned over to observe. It took a moment for Kenny to register what he was seeing – and then he fought the urge to be sick.

      ‘The first picture was taken back in July,’ Harashima said. ‘The others are more recent.’

      ‘Let me see that,’ Kiyomi said, taking the folder from Kenny’s limp fingers.

      ‘As far as we can tell, those are the remains of three men,’ Harashima continued. ‘Probably homeless, taking shelter in the outflow tunnels.’

      ‘But, sir,’ Kenny said, struggling with the words. ‘One of them . . . it looked like . . . he was bitten in half?’

      ‘That’s right.’

      ‘What could do that?’

      Harashima softened, seeing the revulsion on Kenny’s face. ‘There are many things, Kuromori-san, that live in darkness and feast on human flesh. You have met some of them already.’

      ‘And we’re going . . .?’

      ‘North to Kasukabe, to the Shutoken Gaigaku Hosuiro, the world’s largest drainage system, also known as the G-Cans Project.’

      Kenny knew he was going to regret the answer, but he had to ask. ‘Why are we going there?’

      ‘Because tonight the hunter becomes the hunted. A yokai has crossed the line and it is our sworn duty to stop it.’

      Kenny’s gaze swept round the back of the lorry. ‘No offence, sir, but do you have enough men for this?’

      Harashima smiled. ‘Of course, Kuromori-san. We have you.’

      Ninety minutes later, Kenny’s footsteps echoed in the narrow stairwell leading into the depths of the earth.

      The truck had pulled up at the entrance to the G-Cans Project and the chief engineer had greeted them. Harashima made the introductions and, while Kenny could only understand a few words of Japanese, he heard the name Sato mentioned. Kiyomi’s uncle was with the Japanese Secret Service; if anyone could get a group of armed men into a government facility with no questions asked, it would be him.

      ‘Oh, wow,’ Kenny said, looking out over the low concrete wall adjoining the stairs. ‘You’ve got to see this.’ He placed his hands on the damp stone and took in the view, while Kiyomi inched her way down. She was taking her time, moving with uncharacteristic reluctance. Kenny sympathised; after СКАЧАТЬ