Tortured Spirits

by Gregory Lamberson

  Russel reached for his phone. “You got it.”

  An explosion shook the palace.

  Jake and Andre emerged from the forest on their horses and slowed the animals to a stop.

  The rear of the palace appeared less than a mile ahead. A fireball rose from the wing on the left side. The sky flickered with light, then the third floor of the château’s middle section exploded debris into the air. A third explosion occurred just short of the right-hand wing, the resulting fireball hurling military vehicles aside like toys.

  Above the roof, a helicopter came into view, trailing smoke. With its nose pointed down, the helicopter descended at a forty-five-degree angle. Its blades struck the earth and pitched the machine sideways at the ground, creating yet another explosion.

  Jake and Andre looked at each other. Then hundreds of zonbies ran past them.

  Grabbing the reins of his horse, Jake kicked his steed forward. “Yah!”

  Russel helped Malvado to his feet and Maxime shook his head while chalky dust swirled around them.

  “Are you all right?” Russel said.

  “It will take more than mortar fire to unnerve me,” Malvado said.

  The sounds of machine gun fire seemed to come from every direction at once.

  A voice came over the radio. “This is General Buteau. Come in!”

  Russel grabbed the microphone. “What’s your status?”

  “It’s over. It’s all over. There’re too many of them, and they have firepower like I’ve never seen before. The palace is on fire. Evacuate. Evacuate!”

  Dead silence.

  “Father, look!” Maxime pointed at the TV.

  Malvado raised his gaze to the monitor in time to see a statue of himself in a village square topple. Outside, an explosion roared.

  “Only Mambo Catoute can protect us from these zonbies,” Malvado said. “We have to get to the Church of the Black Snake.”

  Russel whipped out his cell phone and struck a button. “I need two armored cars out front to transport President Malvado to a safe location. I don’t care if all hell is breaking loose!”

  Jake rode his horse just behind the zonbies, careful not to trample any of them. Andre rode alongside him, raising his ATAC in one hand like a knight holding a lance.

  The line of running zonbies stretched a quarter of a mile wide. Scores of soldiers wearing red berets came running around the corners on both sides of the palace.

  They’re terrified, Jake thought.

  The zonbies didn’t even slow as they fired their machine guns, mowing down the oncoming soldiers with little resistance.

  The perfect fighting machines.

  Jake’s throat constricted as a wall of dark souls rose from the scattered bodies and faded. He had never seen so many souls at once.

  Russel led Malvado down the palace corridor, with Maxime bringing up the rear. All three men held Glocks.

  “What about your wives?” Russel said.

  “To hell with them,” Malvado said.

  “And your mistress?”

  Malvado considered the question with an expression of regret. “Perhaps another time …”

  “They’re all wearing black snake tattoos. There’s a good chance they’ll be executed.”

  Malvado shrugged. “Casualties of war. I’ll just have to find younger wives and an even younger mistress.”

  A prince among men, Russel thought.

  They heard machine gun fire inside the palace, followed by screams. As they neared the grand stairway, Russel raised his left hand, signaling Malvado and Maxime to stop.

  Two shadows moved along the wall ahead, then two figures carrying high-tech machine guns. Filthy creatures with sunken eyes and tight, leathery flesh the color of a rotting fish.

  Russel aimed his Glock with both hands and squeezed off two shots, dropping the corpses. Peering over the stairway, he reached forward and retrieved one of the machine guns, which he examined. Then he chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?” Maxime said.

  Russel tossed the machine gun to Maxime, who studied it with admiration.

  “This is a big part of your problem,” Russel said to Malvado. “That’s the ATAC 3000, the most sophisticated machine gun ever developed. The firm that created and manufactured it shut down a few months ago, making these very rare limited editions. One of them outputs as much firepower as ten conventional weapons. No wonder they were able to take down your choppers; the pilots had no idea they were in danger flying so low.”

  “But how did these rebels get their hands on them?”

  “Good question. If I had to guess, I’d say Louider’s Black Hand. In the end, everyone’s turned against you, even your own slaves. Come on, Max. Let’s you and me carve up some turkeys.”

  Jake and Andre galloped their horses along the side of the palace’s left wing in the midst of the zonbie platoon. The flares in the sky had become more infrequent, and the explosions around the palace had been replaced with layers of deafening machine gun fire. Jake prayed Maria was safe. He had no idea where she was being kept.

  A trio of soldiers broke their cover behind some bushes and fled across the side lawn.

  An ATAC fired, cutting them in half and spilling their guts across the green grass.

  Russel and Maxime unleashed their firepower as they ran down the stairway, blasting zonbies off their feet, then annihilating their skulls as they passed them. Malvado ran behind them. In the great hall, the three men rushed to the entrance.

  Russel glimpsed two Humvees idling in the driveway below. “Let’s go.”

  They ran outside and down the cement steps. Fires raged all around them in the palace, the gardens, and the trees.

  A soldier jumped out of the first Humvee and opened the back door. Malvado slid across the seat, followed by Maxime.

  “Take them to the Church of the Black Snake,” Russel said to the waiting soldier.

  “What about you, William?” Malvado said.

  “I’ll be right behind you in the second vehicle.”

  The soldier closed the door and returned to the front seat. The Humvee rolled forward, then gained speed.

  Russel strode over to the driver of the second Humvee. “Follow them.”

  The second Humvee pulled away from the curb, and Russel crossed the lawn to the helicopter that had transported himself, Mambo Catoute, Maxime, and Maria from the Ministry of Defense earlier. Boarding the empty helicopter, he climbed into the cockpit and examined the flight controls.

  Jake watched two Humvees speed away from the palace and Russel get into the helicopter. “You follow your man,” he said to Andre. “I’ll follow mine.”

  “Right.” Andre faced the army of zonbies. “Anyone who wants a piece of Malvado, follow me!”

  Jake kicked his horse forward and raced for the helicopter. As he galloped around the aircraft, he glimpsed half the zonbies running after Andre on his horse and half of them streaming into the palace. He felt sorry for anyone they found. Hopping off his horse, he drew his Glock and climbed into the open bay of the gunship.

  Russel activated the helicopter’s rotors. He had flown his share of whirlybirds in his life, and this one appeared no different than the others.

  Clicking a series of toggle switches, he recoiled when a figure slumped into the copilot’s seat. A Caucasian man with a bandaged stump for a left arm.

  Helman.

  Jake leveled his Glock at Russel. “Going somewhere?”

  Russel raised his hands. “You could say that.”

  “Where are you off to?”

  “Depends on how far the fuel will take me. Haiti. Jamaica. Hell, I’ll settle for Cuba, if necessary.”

  Jake grunted. “Someplace will always take in a mercenary like you, right?”

  “I have a wide skill set, and my business is built on relationships.”

  “And knowing when to check out.”

  “It goes with the territory. I should have seen the handwriting on the wall as soon as you showed up.�
�

  “You just exploit one third-rate country after another, don’t you?”

  “I go where I’m needed.”

  “Kill the engine.”

  Russel clicked the toggles back into place and powered down the engine. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to come with me?”

  Jake shook his head. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “My staying here doesn’t serve any purpose. What are you going to do? Arrest me? Execute me? Come on. Those would both be empty gestures. I’m a facilitator, not a despot. You and I are both pragmatic men.”

  “You cut off my hand.”

  “I admit I got carried away. It happens when a man like you or me spends too much time with people like these.”

  Jake didn’t like the turn the conversation had taken. “Where’s Maria?”

  A flicker of a smile flashed across Russel’s lips. “Mambo Catoute’s got her in the basement of the Church of the Black Snake. She’s fine—or at least she was when I left her there.”

  “Did you touch her?”

  “No.” He pointed at the pressure pad over his eye. “But look at what she did to me. I bet she’s wild in bed. Forget I said that.”

  “I’d love to sit and chat with you, but I’m in kind of a—”

  Russel kicked the Glock out of Jake’s hand and caught the weapon.

  Using his stump, Jake slammed Russel’s gun hand against the rear partition of the cockpit, and the Glock fired. Jake punched Russel’s chin and heard the man’s teeth shatter. Russel’s face turned beet red.

  Jake slammed Russel’s gun hand against the partition again and jerked his own arm back, using his stump to force the Glock from Russel’s hand. The gun clattered on the floor.

  Confined in the cockpit, neither Jake nor Russel could engage in full body contact. Since he was certain Russel knew several martial arts, this came as a relief. But Jake also knew that with one hand missing, he had to take the man down fast or not at all.

  He punched Russel in the nose and felt cartilage crunching beneath his knuckles.

  Grimacing, Russel seized Jake’s head in both of his hands and jerked him forward, delivering a head butt that caused red spots to flash before Jake’s eye and in his brain. Russel delivered a kick to Jake’s solar plexus that sent him sprawling over his seat, groaning.

  Russel reached for the fallen Glock, but Jake drove his heel into the man’s hand. This time Russel cried out.

  Jake jammed his left elbow into Russel’s lower back, forcing the man to stand erect and arch his back, abandoning the Glock. Jake snaked his right arm behind Russel’s back and over his shoulder. Cupping Russel’s chin, he slammed the man’s head against the controls again and again.

  Russel groped at Jake’s face, and Jake turned his head away. Russel clawed at Jake’s left eye and gasped when it popped out of his skull. Jake caught the glass eye in his right hand, then shoved it through Russel’s broken teeth. Russel opened his mouth wider to scream, and the glass eye rolled over his tongue and down the back of his throat like a ball in the side pocket of a pool table. Russel gulped the glass eye, his own visible eye bulging in its socket.

  Jake forced his stump against Russel’s throat. Gripping his left forearm with his right hand, he pressed his arm against Russel’s Adam’s apple, crushing it against the glass eye he felt but could not see. Russel’s fingers danced in the air, and his body spasmed. Clenching his teeth, Jake put all his weight on his arm, crushing the man’s windpipe. Russel’s body shook, and his hands dropped at his sides. Jake finally released his grip when he realized he might break his own arm.

  Black energy rose from Russel’s corpse, and Jake scooped up the Glock from the floor.

  THIRTY-SIX

  In the middle seat of the Humvee, Malvado grimaced. A flare in the night sky silhouetted the Church of the Black Snake as they approached it. How had two Americans—one of them a woman—caused so much damage?

  The Humvee ground to a halt, and the soldiers opened the doors and climbed out. Maxime examined his ATAC. The second Humvee pulled up, and eight soldiers poured out.

  “I don’t see Russel,” Maxime said in a sarcastic tone.

  “I saw him going for the helicopter,” one of the soldiers from the second Humvee said.

  Malvado glanced at the sky but saw no helicopter.

  “It serves you right for allowing a foreigner in your inner circle,” Maxime said.

  Malvado slapped Maxime across the face. “You will not speak to me like that.”

  Maxime glared at his father. “Your empire is collapsing around you.”

  Malvado stepped closer to his son. “Pray it holds up, because you’re nothing without it.”

  In the distance, silhouetted in the moonlight, an army of one hundred zonbies raced toward them.

  The living soldiers looked to Malvado for orders.

  “Sergeant, park these vehicles bumper to bumper, perpendicular to the church, so you can use them for cover.”

  The sergeant saluted and repeated Malvado’s orders to two of his men, who rearranged Humvees.

  With the Humvees parked according to Malvado’s directions, the twelve soldiers took up positions behind them. The zonbies had cut the distance between them in half. A wall of machine gun fire assaulted the vehicles, with such power that the enormous trucks shook, but the armor plating and bulletproof glass held up.

  “Shoot them in the heads!” Malvado said.

  With a look of disgust, Maxime took up position between the Humvees and fired his ATAC.

  Malvado watched with pride as the heads of half a dozen zonbies exploded and their falling bodies caused zonbies behind them to pile up.

  Maxime fired a grenade at the pile, and body parts rained down.

  “Someone’s leading them on horseback,” the sergeant said.

  “Give me those.” Malvado snatched the sergeant’s night vision binoculars. On the left side, a white-haired man rode a horse among the zonbies. “Maxime, Santiago’s out there! Shoot! Shoot them all!”

  Maxime raised his ATAC to his shoulder and scanned the advancing horde. “I don’t see him.”

  Malvado looked through the binoculars again. Maxime was right: Andre had dismounted his horse. Or he’s been killed. Malvado handed the binoculars back to the sergeant. “Finish them off.”

  Even as Malvado ran up the stairs and through the church entrance, one of the Humvees exploded behind him. The orange fireball threw the vehicle into the air and dismembered the nearest soldiers. He didn’t look to see if his son had survived.

  Andre dismounted his horse when he saw the machine gun fire cutting down the zonbies ahead of him. He recognized the muzzle flash and the sound of an ATAC machine gun.

  A grenade exploded in the middle of the zonbie force, casting body parts and sawdust in all directions. Several more zonbies staggered around on fire.

  Crouching behind a tree, Andre loaded a grenade onto his own weapon, raised the stock to his shoulder, and sited a familiar figure.

  Maxime Malvado.

  Lowering his scope, he fired the grenade under the Humvee. The resulting explosion flipped the Humvee over and decimated half the number of soldiers. The remaining zonbies charged forward, weapons firing. Smoke enveloped the other Humvee and machine guns fired. Silence followed.

  The smoke cleared and Andre moved forward. Zonbies and soldiers lay motionless on the ground, arms and legs strewn about in a random pattern. Seeing no sign of Maxime, Andre concluded the upside-down Humvee had crushed him. A single zonbie rolled over onto its back. Its legs had been blown off, and sawdust poured out of its midsection.

  Free its soul.

  Meeting the creature’s pitiful eyes, Andre aimed his ATAC at the zonbie’s forehead and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. Discarding the weapon, he drew his Glock and finished the job. The zonbie turned still.

  Andre ran into the church, which had not existed when he had been a free man. Running along a balcony that overlooked a cathedral, he spotted a la
rge figure in a royal-blue uniform heading for a doorway below. “Malvado!”

  The figure turned.

  Andre gripped the Glock in both hands, aimed, and fired three times. None of the shots hit the mark, and Malvado disappeared in the doorway.

  Andre ran to an opening in the balcony, down the wooden stairs, then across the floor. Reaching the doorway through which Malvado had escaped, he gazed down at stairs that curved beneath the floor he had just covered. As he stepped forward, he heard a whistling sound, then felt his chest turn numb. The gun fell from his hands and clattered down the stairs.

  Malvado stepped out from behind the doorway, gripping the hilt of the sword he had just buried in Andre’s chest. He wrenched the blade free of Andre’s shattered ribs, and blood gushed out of the long wound.

  Andre swayed on his feet. “Malvado …”

  Setting his left hand on Andre’s right shoulder, Malvado drove his sword through Andre’s belly.

  Andre’s body turned rigid and he shut his eyes. Unable to move, he sucked in his breath. When he opened his eyes, Malvado’s sweaty face filled his view.

  “Pavot is mine.”

  Then Malvado pulled the sword out and stepped back, and Andre felt himself tumbling forward.

  Maria recoiled at the sound of machine gun fire.

  “That’s right outside,” Pharah said. “It sounds farther away because we’re underground.”

  “Somebody give me a gun.”

  Jorge pulled a .38 from his belt and passed it to Maria, who popped the cylinder open.

  “Old school,” she said, snapping the cylinder shut with a flick of her wrist. “You got any more ammo for this six-shooter?”

  “Oui.” Jorge took a box out of his pocket.

  “I wish you’d brought a speed loader.”

  “I’ll remember that next time I help overthrow a government.”

  An explosion roared in the distance, and everyone in the chamber looked at the ceiling.