War Of The Four Worlds

by Michael Anderle

  “Our orders have changed.” The SF cleared his throat. “I’ve been ordered to escort you to the motor pool, Mr. Brownstone.”

  “Let’s get going, then.”

  James closed the door of the small Air Force truck and stepped outside. The airman inside remained at the wheel, casting confused glances at the Catholic church in the distance. James had given him directions, but he hadn’t explained exactly where he was going.

  Yeah, I decided I needed to go to church in the middle of the day. Deal with it.

  James made his way down the stone path leading to the church. The doors stood open, and he narrowed his eyes. It would be naïve to expect that no one would loot during a mass evacuation, but there were certain desecrations he wouldn’t tolerate. He would need to get any looters outside first, so he didn’t contribute to the disrespect of the Ultimate Big Man.

  The fire left James as he stepped through the entrance hall into the sanctuary. Near the front, Father McCartney knelt in front of the cross, his hands clasped in prayer.

  “I didn’t expect anyone to be here,” James announced. “Especially you. I just thought I should come to pay my respects.”

  Father McCartney didn’t react for several seconds. He finally stood and crossed himself before turning around. “The National Guard will be coming to pick me up in a few hours. I gave them a rather impassioned speech about spending a few more hours in the church I’ve served most of my life before its possible destruction.”

  James nodded. “And the kids?”

  “They have all been evacuated to Sacramento, along with the orphanage staff and a few volunteers from the parish who are helping to look after them. Fortunately, your generous donations have allowed me to build up an emergency fund, which is helpful in this…emergency.” The priest smiled, looking at the altar. “It’s good to know that in dark times, people haven’t forsaken the lessons of our Lord. Even if I have no church to come back to, I’ll reflect on this experience, knowing that when they were tested, the men and women of the parish did the right thing.”

  James took a deep breath and slowly let it out. The government might have their secrets and their laws, but God’s laws were greater.

  “You’ll be able to come back to this place,” James rumbled. “I’m gonna make sure of that. That’s why I’m still around.”

  Father McCartney nodded slightly, his gaze locked on the other man. He didn’t say anything for a long, quiet moment before finally asking, “It’s not a lost artifact, is it?”

  James shook his head. “It’s my fault. My people. They’re evil, Father. They live to kill and destroy. Even if I run, they’ll follow, and they’ll kill everyone in their way, so I have to stand and fight. It’s the only way. I have to end this sh…” He sucked in a breath. He needed to remember where he was. “I have to end this.”

  “No one is completely evil. They’ve just been denied the light of the Lord and fallen into darkness.”

  James couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t think this is a situation where a few brave missionaries would help, Father. I wish we could talk to them, but the only language they know is violence. The alien who is coming has already killed a lot of people on Oriceran.”

  Father McCartney offered James a wan smile. “The Church doesn’t call for pacifism. It calls for Just War. Remember that even Saint Michael the Archangel had to fight when he and the loyal angels defeated Lucifer and those who would turn against the Lord.”

  His expression turned grave. “You’re right. Sometimes force is the only language evil understands. I will pray for you, James. I will pray for us all, but I also know you, and I know if wicked men, alien or otherwise, would harm the innocent, you will stand against them, and you will show them the power of a man who has kept his faith. If any mortal can save this city, you can.” He smiled and knelt in front of the altar. “Now let us pray.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Trey continued down the highway in his F-350, sparing an occasional glance at Zoe. He had been counting on no one trying to stop anyone from entering the city. Several abandoned cars lay on the opposite side of the median, and it had been hours since he had shared the road toward LA with another vehicle. The traffic in the opposite direction remained heavy, but it was moving at a decent rate. He’d seen a lot worse in his life.

  Must be a lot of people taking planes or portals out of town. Don’t know if that’s smarter or dumber, but at least they ain’t dumbasses enough to drive back toward town. Like me.

  “Shit,” Trey muttered.

  A military roadblock complete with an armored eight-wheel Stryker vehicle with a heavy machine gun barred his passage. A half-dozen soldiers with rifles at the ready stood behind stripped barricades covered in reflectors.

  When they say martial law and mandatory evacuation, they mean it.

  Zoe raised a concerned eyebrow.

  Trey looked at Zoe. “I’ve got this. Don’t worry.”

  Zoe smiled. “You’re sure you don’t want me to cast another tracking spell in case she’s moved?”

  Trey shook his head. “Nah. Once you did that first one and let me know she was in the general area of her neighborhood, I knew she was at her house. We just got to get there is all, and that’ll require more chatting than ass-kicking.”

  Trey rolled down his window and a soldier approached the car, rifle in hand. “Good morning.” He offered the man a charming smile and flipped the mental switch to Smooth Trey.

  “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to turn around,” the soldier explained. He nodded up the road. “Just drive over the median and head back. The mandatory evacuation order remains in place.”

  “You see, here’s the problem,” Trey responded. “My grandmother is still in town. She got missed during one of the sweeps, and I need to pull her out because she’s not gonna leave without a relative grabbing her. She’s a stubborn old goat.”

  “I’m sure your grandmother is fine, sir.” The soldier pointed up the road. “So please turn around.” A few of the other soldiers frowned.

  “Let me lay it out for you, brother.” Trey pointed with his thumb at Zoe. “This fine woman right here? She’s a witch.”

  Zoe offered them a wave and a soft smile.

  “Um, okay, sir.” The soldier frowned, his gaze flicking to the heavy gun of the armored vehicle. “That doesn’t change anything. You still need to turn around.”

  Damn. He thinks Zoe’s gonna turn him into a frog or some shit. I could use that, but I don’t think that’s the way to go. Nah, this guy doesn’t look comfortable, especially when I mentioned my grandmother.

  “You’re not understanding me,” Trey explained. “She’s a witch, and she’s tracked my grandmother to a specific place in the city with magic. I need to get in there and pick my nana up.” He gave the soldier a wide grin. “By the way, I’m Trey Garfield with the Brownstone Agency. I can handle myself in there if I run into any trouble.”

  The soldier looked hesitant. “Sir, this isn’t about protecting you from a few stray criminals. It’s about the artifact. Trust me, I don’t even want to be here right now. They’re saying it could do anything from blow up a building to blow up the entire city.”

  Trey nodded. “I feel you, brother. But that’s the thing, you see what I’m saying? If I turn around and leave, knowing, thanks to magic, that my nana is in that city, and she ends up dead because of some big magical bomb? Well, now, I wouldn’t get a good night’s sleep for the rest of my life. So why don’t you let me through? I’m not planning to stay. I’m going right to where she is and grabbing her, and then we’re getting the hell out of here. No death wish here for my girlfriend and me. I promise.”

  The soldier sighed. “Wait here a moment.” He turned and jogged over to the front passenger side of the Stryker. The door opened, and he began talking and gesticulating to the officer inside.

  Come on. You know you want to let me do this. I don’t want to have to run a military blockade to save my nana.

  Zoe
rested her hands in her lap. “I’ll support whatever you intend to do, but what is your plan should they refuse?”

  “We’ll drive up a few miles and then drive off the side of the highway or something. Good thing this bad boy has four-wheel drive.” Trey patted the dashboard. “We’ll get there somehow.”

  The soldier nodded to the officer and turned around. He waved and yelled something to a few other soldiers, but Trey couldn’t make it out.

  Trey frowned. “Ain’t sure if a quick conversation is a good thing or bad thing, but they don’t look like they’re gonna ventilate us.”

  “Always a good thing.”

  “Shit, yeah.”

  The soldier didn’t return to Trey’s truck. He and the other men grabbed the barricades and moved them out of the way. The armored vehicle pulled forward to provide more space.

  Trey waited for the soldiers to clear out and gesture him through their new opening. He slowly accelerated and waved.

  “Thanks, y’all. I appreciate it.”

  Trey hopped out of his truck in front of his grandmother’s house. Charlyce had been right. Numbers had been painted in white on the front window to indicate the people expected: one, the number found alive: zero, and the number found dead: zero.

  Zoe stepped out the opposite side, a cool wind ruffling her maroon dress. Her breath caught as she surveyed the empty area. “You can almost feel the desperation.”

  A few discarded wrappers blew up the sidewalk past Trey, and a beer can rolled up the street.

  It’s like a ghost town already.

  Gunfire cracked in the distance, a reminder that the city wasn’t empty. Helicopters and military planes flew overhead. Down the street, a covered military truck rumbled past.

  Trey and Zoe had passed a few military trucks and armored vehicles on the way to his grandmother’s house, but the military vehicles only slowed and let them past without any trouble. He wasn’t sure if they checked his license plates and realized he was a Brownstone Agency Bounty hunter or if the officer from the roadblock had passed his request on.

  Trey didn’t care about the exact reason. He wasn’t going to question his good fortune.

  Huh. Ain’t seen any cops, though. I wonder if they’re mostly gone now too?

  Trey marched up to the front door and knocked loudly. There was no response.

  He threw open the door and stomped inside. “Yo, Nana, you in here? I ain’t playing right now. I’m risking getting me and my girlfriend’s ass nuked for this.”

  Zoe sauntered into the house, a slightly amused look on her face. Trey was glad someone was having a good time.

  At least we know Nana’s alive, thanks to Zoe.

  “Nana!” Trey bellowed. “If you don’t hurry up, I’m gonna have to start tearing this place up to find you.”

  “Hush now, boy,” Nana Garfield shouted back, her voice muffled. “Don’t you dare.”

  Trey furrowed his brow and looked around. “Where you at?”

  A closet door opened and the old woman crept out, cane in one hand, phone in another.

  “Why you in there?” Trey asked, frowning.

  “Because I heard someone coming, and I thought it might be the soldiers to come to take me away from here again.” Nana Garfield sighed before smiling at Zoe. “Hello, dear.”

  “Hello,” Zoe responded softly.

  Trey pointed to the open door. “Let’s go. You’re lucky you ain’t already been blown up, hiding in here and lying to Auntie Charlyce. You should be ashamed of yourself. How is that being a good Christian?”

  Zoe headed to the porch, content to leave them to solve their family matter without outside interference.

  Nana Garfield brandished her cane. “I told you already, boy. I want to die in this house. If I run, what do I have waiting for me? All my memories will go up with this place.”

  Trey scoffed. “What do you have waiting for you? Are you shitting me now?”

  “Watch your mouth, boy.” Nana Garfield glared at him.

  Trey shook his head and pointed at himself. “This is just a place. Just things. I’m still here. Charlyce is still here, and according to your doctor, you’re gonna still be here for a few years yet, and you’re getting all up in your head and ready to die because of a house? That’s crazy.” He scoffed and threw up his hand. “And you know it’s crazy. I drove my ass all the way here from Vegas and risked getting shot by some soldiers to come pick you up.”

  Nana Garfield’s expression hardened. “I’m staying.”

  “We can do this one of two ways,” Trey explained. “It’s just like when I grab a bounty. We can do it the easy way, and you come along all nice and quiet, or we can do this the hard way, and I drag you kicking and screaming, because I’m not gonna risk leaving you to die. Too many people in my life have gone away, and I refuse to let another one do it because she's stubborn.”

  His grandmother sighed and looked down. She had teared up. “But what if my house does get blown up?”

  “As long as the family that loves you is around, all the houses in the world mean nothing.” Trey extended his hand. “Now, come on, Nana. We need to get out of LA before it’s too late.”

  Zoe delicately cleared her throat and stepped inside. “Trey, I would suggest she stay for a few minutes.”

  “You women are gonna be the death of me.” Trey groaned and turned around. “Why?”

  “Because there are some rather hard-looking men who just pulled up one house down, and they are now eyeing your truck. They were eyeing me.”

  Trey scoffed. “What’s the damned point of having martial law if you can’t even keep a few looters under control?” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled on his enchanted gloves. “I’ll be right back, Nana. You don’t need to see this.”

  The old woman replied with a shallow nod, fear in her eyes. “You be careful, Trey.”

  Trey headed toward the porch and grabbed the door handle. “The guys I take down for my job are way tougher than some punk looters. I’ll be fine.” He slammed the door behind him, more annoyed with the looters for messing up his rescue of his grandmother than anything else.

  Zoe was right. Six tattooed toughs piled out of a pickup one house down. Trey was pretty sure at least one of them was an ex-Demon General.

  Never get a skull tattoo when you join a gang. It makes it hard if you leave, Mr. Skull Tattoo.

  A few had guns tucked in their waistbands.

  “Do you need gentlemen need assistance?” Trey called.

  The six men sneered and spread out in a rough line. They swaggered toward Trey like they owned the neighborhood.

  Look at you motherfuckers. You’re the kings of an empty kingdom that might get blown up. You stupid motherfuckers should be mugging refugees in Sacramento or some shit.

  “Get the fuck out of here,” Mr. Skull Tattoo replied, scratching his butt. “This is our neighborhood, dickwad.”

  “Nah,” Trey replied. “I used to live around here, and this is my nana’s house. I ain’t recognize any of you motherfuckers, so I figure it’s more my neighborhood than yours.”

  Mr. Skull Tattoo laughed. “You’re not getting it, dipshit. We ain’t saying we live here. We’re saying we’re using it for our little shopping trip. Brownstone and his bitches have kept this neighborhood locked up, so you know what I think? I think there’s all sorts of shit lying around, because people here have gotten used to the Granite Ghost protecting them. But he ain’t here now, is he?”

  Trey shook his head. “I think looting when the military’s running around shooting looters and a big bomb might go off is pretty damned stupid. That’s what I think.” He pointed to a drone in the sky. “Military’s probably already coming.”

  Mr. Skull Tattoo’s smile faltered for a moment. “Fuck the military. We ain’t had them stop us yet.”

  “And were you right under a drone before?”

  “Fuck you.” Mr. Skull Tattoo flipped Trey off. “You ain’t nothing, bitch. Get the fuck out of here b
efore we decide to fuck you up.”

  Trey scratched his cheek. “So, here’s how it’s gonna go, motherfuckers.” He pointed at the house. “This is my nana’s house, and if it don’t get blown up by some magic bomb, she needs to come back to it, so you need to sit your ugly asses in your truck and get the hell out of here, or you’re gonna have to deal with me.”

  Mr. Skull Tattoo squared his shoulders. “And who the fuck are you? You think you’re big shit because you’ve got some fancy suit on? I’ll fuck you up, accountant boy.”

  I wonder if the big man gets pissed when people don’t recognize him? It’s fucking annoying.

  “’Accountant boy?’ What motherfucking accountant wears sweet-ass threads like this? I’m Trey Garfield of the Brownstone Agency, motherfucker.” Trey raised his fists. “And you bitches are so pathetic that if you were bounties, I wouldn’t even bother with you myself. I’d send one of our new guys to pick you up. Maybe we should get some interns from the local high school for pieces of trash like you.”

  Mr. Skull Tattoo nodded to his friends and slammed his fist into his palm. “Don’t kill him, boys. I want him to lie there, all battered and busted up, as we rip that old piece-of-shit house apart.”

  “Some fuckers learn easily,” Trey intoned. “Others need the lesson smashed into their motherfucking skulls.” He sprinted forward and brought back his fist.

  The looters swarmed him in a half-circle. Trey threw a punch into the face of a thug on his right, and the blow sent the man flying backward. His friends gawked in surprise, or perhaps fear, after the sickening crunch accompanying the attack.

  Trey didn’t pause to gloat. His elbow strike cracked the ribs of another man. Two quick jabs disoriented another two thugs and sent them stumbling back. A final jump-kick ended with another man hitting the ground and smashing his head into the sidewalk.

  The lone unwounded looter, Mr. Skull Tattoo, went for his gun. Trey grabbed his arm and bent it back until it snapped. The man howled in pain.