Scandinavian Heartstrings, in Drop D.

Chapter 8.10 Bloodfest III

Skwisgaar sat with his arms crossed glaring out the window of the limousine as it passed through the suburban neighbourhoods.

"Is there anything you want to, arhhh, talk about?" Charles asked, noting the lead guitarist's unusually messy face.

"Nos."

"Are you sure?"

"Ja... Nej... Jag vet inte." Skwisgaar crossed his arms tighter.

Charles sighed. Skwisgaar had switched to Swedish which meant he was closed tight like a clam and prying at him would achieve nothing. "Well then, I need to finish this phone call."

Charles drew his dethphone from his suit jacket pocket and dialled Roy Cornickelson, head of Crystal Mountain Records. "Roy, hi, sorry about that. Yes ...yes... yes, I understand but that's the problem...." Skwisgaar glanced sideways at his manager. Typical robot, talking business at a time like this. "Ah-huh. Yes, well, as I said, things have been a bit, arrh, hectic our end..." Hectic? Is that what you call the rhythm guitarist having a psychotic break, or something, and absconding to hang with a group of weirdos while the lead guitarist collapses from exhaustion? Oh, and now Dethklok was down a member. Hectic seemed an understatement; this was fucking chaos. "...so I just don't see us making the extended deadline.... Yes, twice extended, I know, however..."

Skwisgaar scowled, his mouth twisting with contempt. This was the expectation, to keep pumping out music on command like trained dogs. He didn't work for the label, the label worked for him! He was the talent and without him they would have nothing. He would have to remind them of that. Skwisgaar reached over and forcibly yanked the phone from Charles's hand.

"Roy, you wills gets it when we feels like givings it to yous so," Skwisgaar's face turned gradually more sour as he listened to Roy's grievances, "Well maybes some tings am more importants dan de fuckings album!" He hung up and threw the phone on the seat next to Charles.

"Jesus Christ, Skwisgaar!" Charles put his head in both hands.

"Nos! Fucks Roy and fucks de label! I don't cares no mores. Dey takes an' takes an' takes and we always gots to give! Whats about us?" He crossed his arms again and stared at his knees like a sulking child.

Charles rubbed his eyes under his glasses; obviously the billions of dollars they got in return had slipped Skwisgaar's mind. "Look, Roy has been very lenient and-" His phone rang again, "Oh, for fuck's sake!" Skwisgaar raised an eyebrow at Charles as he hardly ever swore. Charles kept his thumb and forefinger on his scrunched up eyelids as he answered "Roy, look," He paused then brought his head up sharply as all colour drained from his face. It wasn't Roy, it was Three-Fourty-Two. Charles squared his shoulders "Secure the Rabbit and wait for back up. ETA, twelve minutes." He hung up.

The sudden change in his manager's conduct threw Skwisgaar from his moodiness. Charles pushed a button to his right and the glass sheet between the driver and them wound down. "Turn around. Scramble the Dethkopter and transmit our co-ordinates to it. Prepare for manoeuvre D-K-25." He barked at the driver.

"Yes, Sire." The driving hood slammed the brakes and rounded the vehicle with surprising elegance considering the tonne of spikes and armour plating. Skwisgaar braced himself against the ceiling as they did a 180-degree about-face.

"Skwisgaar!" Charles assumed a demeanour of total control, "You do not leave this car. No matter what. Do you understand?"

"What de fucks ams-"

"Do you understand?!"

"Fucks. Okays." Skwisgaar yielded to the authoritative voice.

"Good." Charles took a deep breath as the rumble of the Dethkopter was heard on the horizon. "Now fasten your seat belt and hang on tight."

***

Toki looked out over the crowd and could almost taste the salty air of the Polish gulf. The screams, violence, panic, confusion; it was happening all over again. His eyes darted franticly for Emily, but it was impossible to find her in the squirming crowd. He turned to Thunderhorse, each of their faces were etched with fear. After all of Thunderhorse's tough talk, they were only a fledgling band and a fan attack was the furthest thing from their minds.

"Quicks!" Toki threw down his guitar, "Intos the box!" He pointed to the shipping container. Thunderhorse moved swiftly inside the green room and began sliding the lock bolts into place. Toki stood just outside the main door and scanned the crowd for Emily again. She was out there, somewhere. Maybe hiding, maybe running, either way she was frightened and powerless. If something were to happen to her, Toki would never forgive himself. He had to save her.

Toki put a hand on either side of the heavy metal doors, "Don'ts you guys leaves dis box." His eyes were steeled with conviction, "I'ms going to finds Emily." The band gave him the 'don't-you-do-what-you're-about-to-do' look as Toki slammed the large metal doors shut and slipped the lock bolt into place from the outside. He could faintly hear Norman's frantic yells and banging as he dashed into the heaving sea of screams.

***

Trees bowed, bicycles slid into garage doors and lawn furniture rolled like tumble weeds as the great, whirling behemoth of the Dethkopter aligned itself with the suburban street and came down dangerously low. The floating fortress chugged on in front of the car and slowly opened the hatch to its great, cavernous belly. Sparks flew as the lowered gangplank bounced and scrapped along the asphalt.

Skwisgaar's skin flushed cold as the limousine gained speed to meet it. He looked to Charles who wore the face of a sea captain; calm, detached and controlled. Charles leaned forward to observe the scene through the windscreen and Skwisgaar copied him just as the Kopter's huge, rear spotlights clunked on. The light pierced Skwisgaar's eyes and he was forced to press them shut. With his vision lost, he could feel every bump in the road, the downward pressure from the blades, even his own blood pulsing through his limbs. He straightened his back, dug his fingers deep into the upholstery and braced for impact. The Kopter slowed, the limo engine revved, more sparks flew and with a great scrape of metal on metal they were inside. The vehicle came to an abrupt stop in the cargo hold and the guitarist finally took a breath. His fingers were locked stiff in their position.

Charles unbuckled himself as a hood ran over to open the limo door for him. He stepped out into the cargo bay, a vision of perfect authority. "Do you have a lock on Toki?"

Skwisgaar's curiosity piqued at the mention of Toki. What did that little dildo have to do with this? Had he gone too far with Roy and the label was trying to pull some shit? What would they possibly want with Toki, a now ex-bandmember? He unbuckled himself and poked his head out of the door to listen.

"Not yet, sire. Three-forty-two is locating the young lord now. It seems the situation has worsened." The officer hood followed his supreme commander.

"Is it them?" Charles's asked as he surveyed the hooded soldiers moving into formation.

"It's hard to say, sire, but it seems consistent with their previous attacks."

Skwisgaar's yellow eyebrows furrowed. What situation? What attacks? Who did Charles mean by 'them'? He looked nervously at the military hoods lined up along the edge of the Kopter's opening, donned in all their best tactical gear.

"We're approaching the restaurant district now." The officer hood said, repeating what the navigation crew had said into his earpiece. Skwisgaar stepped out of the Limo and stood holding the top of the door. They were returning to the festival to get Toki, but with soldiers.

"Alpha squad, deploy!" Charles said with a wave of his hand, "Don't let them disappear into the alleyways!"

Skwisgaar watched the first two rows of soldiers rush forward, coiled rope in hand, and dive backwards over the edge. The only situation that required this level of response was... his heart froze as the burning cold sensation of Polish snow rippled across his shoulders.