Something was rifling around.
It was difficult to determine where the sounds were coming from, but the dimmest light suddenly came on, showing the way as its glow spilled out through the crack of an open door up ahead.
Nathaniel raised his hand and the team stopped. Pointing forward, he signaled for Elena to go.
She obeyed, stepping quickly yet silently up to the door. Peeking in through the sliver she recognized it as a break room, the faint light coming from a refrigerator door that was wide open.
There in front of it was a large man – more fat than muscular – digging around several containers of red liquid with unidentifiable chunks of something floating inside the grotesque broth.
Elena brought the stone up to her mouth and her breath caused the symbols to glow before she tossed it, sparking, to the man’s feet. He peered down as the glows raced off to form a pentacle.
“Exorcizamus,” she whispered as he tried to escape, but stumbled and fell over himself. Shortly after, the trap was sprung and the symbol clamped around the demon.
He was about to call out to the others, but when he tried no sound came out of his mouth; the air around him churning.
“I don't think so,” said Nathaniel who had pushed the door open and stepped inside. His arm was out, symbols whirling around his fingertips.
“Muting charm? Good choice,” Elena said with a smile, watching as the demon poured out of his vessel, singed by lightning. The roiling black smoke sank into the ground, sizzling as the creature was yanked back to Hell. His freed host wavered for a moment, dazed and confused by where he was and who these strange people were. A short time later he collapsed, unconscious, to the floor.
They didn't have long to revel in their victory, sounds of a struggle coming up from behind. Turning, the two of them saw blasts of ice and fire flying across the room, along with loud grunts and punches.
Nathaniel quickly cast another muting spell around the area, just as Mikhail was thrown through two rows of cubicles. Though they couldn't hear him careening toward them – his massive body crumpling the partition walls as he went – they could certainly see a lot of hurt heading their way. Leaping out of the way as he flew past, the both of them hit the floor hard while Mikhail put a serious dent in the wall.
Nathaniel was the first to get up off the carpet. Gulping hard, the largest man he had ever seen was coming their way. He tipped his head to one side in awe, wondering how anybody had the genetics to get that huge, while Elena stood beside him, hands glowing brightly red.
“Well shit,” he said, “this should be fun.”
Back up on the second floor, Gold Squadron wasted no time finding the action.
Eldrolf forced a demon off her, slashing across his chest; she was bruised heavily, hair matted with wet blood. As her target staggered into a copy machine, she took advantage of the opportunity and rushed at him, ripping through frail his neck with her iron fortified bite.
As he gurgled and collapsed, she removed a silver dagger that had been jabbed between her ribs, spitting across the demon’s vacant eyes. Closing her own, she took in a deep breath before racing to join Brynolf, locked in close combat with another demon.
Gabriel was advancing on the third demon, who had holed himself up in a nearby office. His suppressed Sig was drawn and aiming, waiting for the smallest hint of demon to pop its way around the –
Bang!
An iron bullet whisked through the air and entered the demon’s shoulder, exploding with powdered iron and flesh. He fell backward, gravely injured, but not before throwing a dagger Gabriel's way.
He turned sharply to avoid the incoming blade, but was a fraction of a second too slow. It tore through Gabriel's side and blood spurted onto the carpet. “That ain't normal,” he mumbled while slumping down onto his knees. More blood continued to gush out of the wound. “Hey cupcake…” he called out to Eldrolf, hoping that she could hear him over their own scuffle. “I’m gonna need ya to break out the confervo. Kinda flowin’ like the Tennessee over here.” His vision began to blur and a ringing developed in his ears.
Eldrolf heard his words, rushing to his side where she removed a tiny emerald vial from a thigh mounted satchel. Popping the cork with a claw, she tossed a quick look over her shoulder.
Brynolf was there, still fighting. After a furious barrage of claws and teeth, he let out a deep grunt that was followed a wet thump. The demon had fallen to the ground a headless heap.
Eldrolf returned attention to Gabriel, pouring the thick liquid over his wound. It fizzed and frothed, Brynolf staggering over to help Gabriel off the ground as the wound closed up.
Taking a few short seconds to collect themselves, the three of them proceeded to the rendezvous point, double checking their surroundings as they went just in case any stragglers lurking in the shadows. Thankfully, it seemed like the way was clear and the trio entered the stairwell without incident. However, there were no sights nor sounds from Blue Squadron.
“I hope they're comin’ soon,” Gabriel said impatiently. Tapping his comm, he spoke urgently.“ Blue squad, come in. This is Gold Leader and we’re at the rendezvous with no sign of ya, over.” He jerked his head up the dark stairwell toward the third and final level, then back toward his squad.
He damn near shit himself, Nathaniel and his team were there standing next to him, arriving without a sound.
“Jesus Christ, Nate!” Gabriel whispered forcefully, his weapon already drawn and aiming. “I nearly blew your head clean off!”
Nathaniel wiggled his fingers and his voice started to waver in and out of silence. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Mute spell was still active. Surprised actually, considering most of my defensive spells don't last too long.” He looked to Mikhail, who was nursing his shoulder. “And we've had our fill of heads blowing up, haven't we big guy? A well placed punch after blasting some ice spells is quite eye opening.”
Gabriel was still breathing heavily, though he did manage a relieving chuckle. “Yeah, but shit… anyway, is everyone accounted for and in one piece?”
“Barely,” said Mikhail and Eldrolf at the same time.
“Well,”Gabriel continued. “Get yourselves pulled together; we’re heading up. Remember, the primary target is the Director’s office and we’re to copy the data off the computer if we can, otherwise just snag the unit and …”
There was a loud bang from downstairs, like a door getting knocked off its hinges and falling to the floor. The sounds of many shuffling feet followed, growing much louder as they seemed to fill the lower floor.
“What the hell’s that?” Gabriel asked, glancing to Elena who was furthest down the stairs.
She walked downstairs, spells at the ready, but quickly rushed back up. The look on her face was pale.
“Zombies!” she exclaimed. “A lot of them!”
Gabriel’s eyes widened. He spun around and dashed up the stairs while issuing orders. “Change of plans everyone. Grab the computer and then head out. Fuck the demons and this goddamn clearing.”
Pitiless, the dead followed.
Both squads raced to the top and into the upper level, fighting through any resistance that came their way.
Bullets flew into flesh.
Spells froze and burned.
Remorseless, the dead still followed.
The teams continued their advance, until at last the double wood doors of the Director’s office loomed ahead. The door was locked, but that wasn't about to stop them.
Nathaniel and Gabriel strode up to the doors, the mage holding out his hand. There was a piercing whine before the entrance shattered.
And dead still followed, now spilling into the third floor like an undead tide.
“Squad, Nate and I are in. Jump out of here now…” Gabriel said, falling into a pained stutter as he watched Mikhail get seized by the front of the advancing line of zombies.
Their shredded hands, thin and bony, ripped through his uniform and the skin underneath as if it were only
paper. Their blunt teeth were no different, finding no satisfaction in their hunger for flesh and brains. Without the aid of a muting spell, his deep cries of agony were near enough to drive Gabriel to tears.
Nathaniel rushed inside as Elena teleported to safety with the two werewolves, Gabriel falling in behind him, firing his pistol.
The computer they were after sat on an ornate desk, Nathaniel the first to reach it. All of this effort was for such a small and glossy laptop. However, the data it supposedly contained – about some demon named Dajjal’s planned movements across Europe – better have been worth it.
Gabriel continued to shoot, effortlessly dropping magazine after magazine without pause. He frowned as the last one clicked into place; for every one zombie that fell, it was replaced by three more.
“Brother, I'm gonna be out of ammo pretty damn quick. Care to lend a helping pair of hands?”
Nathaniel moved over to Gabriel's side, handing him the laptop. “I got this, if you care to prep the getaway car?”
Gabriel nodded, pulling out another transportation stone. “Key’s in the ignition my man.”
Nathaniel closed his eyes and held out his arms to both sides. As the sigils around his hands twirled, a low rumble coursed through the walls, shaking the floor.
The zombies continued their advance, the vibrations doing little to slow down their already clunking steps.
But that wasn't Nathaniel's intent.
The walls cracked and split open like some great fissure, the ceiling too, filling the room with dust and debris. The rumble became a roar as everything lurched, then collapsed – metal beams, pieces of wallboard, and everything else blasted through the horde, tearing them to shreds.
A second later, Gabriel threw down the stone, placing a hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder before they both vanished with a rush of air and a boom.
SNOW WAS TUMBLING gently across the brightening sky, gray motes becoming white in a delicate dance of wonder. It was a picture perfect sight, reminiscent of those lingering childhood memories of pristine Christmas mornings that, despite the cold, could make you feel warm inside. Considering that the twenty-fourth of December was now upon them, perhaps it was an indication of success yet to come and with the tasks Gage, Adrienne, and Marcus had ahead, it was certainly the least they could hope for; the most being Joey’s smiling face by their side. That would be, for the three of them, the best gift to receive.
The streets of the quaint market town of Knaresborough were blanketed in white, no less resembling a Christmas card than the rest of the gleaming landscape.
Suddenly, an arrestingly loud bang shattered the silence along High Street, sending a meandering cat into fits before it bolted down the sidewalk with a disapproving wail, its tiny paw prints marring the crisp snow. Out of the nippy air, an old Renault hatchback shifted randomly from solid to invisible and back again, the red bucket of bolts held together by rust and muck. It was moving along at a fair clip though, far faster than any normal car would be driving down those roads. That was because this particular jalopy was a Journeyman cab and its driver had poured all of his funding into quickness instead of comfort. That wasn’t uncommon, as ninety-nine percent of the other cabbies focused on the same thing. The registration fees imposed by the Order on enchanted vehicles was outlandish, so the faster they could turn a fare, the more cash they could make.
The three riders, who had been more than eager to reach their destination, didn't have to wait much longer. The subcompact whipped over to the right, tearing onto Market Place before blowing straight past a police station. Apparently, the policemen that were standing outside the building remained unaware of the red bullet as it sped by, breaking at least a half dozen traffic laws in the process. They happened to look up briefly from their morning coffee and chats just after it fully materialized, skidding loudly to a halt on the icy pavement.
Promptly, the passenger door flung open, creaking, and Adrienne emerged hastily with her legs wobbling – not from the slippery ground, but the nauseating voyage from the west coast. Helping Marcus get out of the back seat, the two of them scurried to collect their belongings before Gage lumbered across the back seat and finally spilled out into the frigid air. Handing him his messenger bag, Adrienne turned to pay to the driver, but the door was already closing.
“Well, alrighty then!” she shouted as it slammed shut and vehicle tore away, vanishing once more into the fluttering snow. “How the hell do they get paid any way?” she asked, not knowing that the number of passengers plus distance travelled was automatically tracked and submitted daily to a local JM office. Her face scrunched itself up like a wadded ball of paper as she directed her pent up displeasure at Marcus.
“Now don't you be looking at me that way,” he pleaded, lifting up his briefcase like a makeshift shield.
“Well, you did lie to me,” she snarled.
“I most certainly did not!” he asserted, looking irked as he lowered the case.
“It may be a little bumpy,” she said mockingly. “Isn't that what you told me?”
His eyes shifted. “Well… yes. See! I told you straight up that it would be a rough ride. It's not my fault you haven't ridden in one before and didn’t know the magnitude.”
“Magnitude?” she said back to him, quite unapologetically loud. “Marcus, potholes are one thing, surfing the Grand Canyon on the back of a rabid bull is another. We just did a whole bunch of the latter and oh, you forgot to mention that my guts would be on the menu for breakfast. Tasty.”
“Gage's ridden in a JM cab, too, and he didn't say anything different.” Marcus was sheepish, trying to shift some blame off himself. He pointed an inked hand over toward the hangry fellow.
“You’re gonna graduate from a douche canoe to a douche craft carrier if you ain’t careful M. Don't be pulling me into this shit.” Gage raised an eyebrow and began smacking his lips. “At least not until I get the taste of my own kidneys outta my mouth.”
Marcus returned his stare to Adrienne. This time his big, shiny eyes managed to calm her down like some puppy – just a little bit. Luckily for him, the view of nearby castle ruins and a steep, wooded valley beyond helped sweep away any lingering frustration.
“Wow, that's gorgeous,” Adrienne observed, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. The sound of clanking daggers, falling books, and way-too-many other things tumbled out from inside.
“She's a light packer, eh?” Marcus whispered sideways to Gage, catching his ‘let's get on with it’ expression. “The meeting point is pretty close by,” he continued, averting his eyes. “Dax and Brandon should already be at the pub.”
“I know man,” Gage said casually, though Marcus could detect his brooding mood. They fell in behind Adrienne, following her onto the historic Norman grounds and over to a nearby overlook. “I'm just itching to get this rescue underway,” he said, walking up to Ady's side.
“You know that goes for me too,” Marcus said as he took up on the other side of her, “in a big way…”
His voice dropped off as they enjoyed the serene view, locked arm in arm as family. Powdery trees rose up on the western hills while traditional Yorkshire stone houses stood like cliffs to the east. Between them, a rough and cobbled street ran along the glassy river Nidd, bathed in warm light beneath a large stone viaduct that spanned its chilly waters.
Adrienne focused on the elegant bridge, a steam train gliding across its four arches, she pointed over in that general direction. “Isn’t this the area where that prophetess lived, Southill or something?”
Marcus perked up at the mention of lore, something to escape into if only briefly.
Gage let loose a grumble to express his levels of happiness. “I’ve never taken much stock in fortune tellin’,” he said pointedly.
“It is all pretty subjective,” Marcus agreed, “most predictions conveniently ‘discovered’ after the events they are about. Got to love that twenty-twenty hindsight, though I wish we had it for what’s coming up later. To answer yo
ur question Ady, I do think this is the area, but admittedly I’m not too familiar with her story, or the lore from around here. If I recall correctly, my early divination lectures did mention a Mother Shipton, so I assume that could be her.”
“Or some bat-shit crazy lady,” Gage tossed in, still groaning.
Adrienne nodded despite Gage, the name sounding familiar. “I thought so.”
A gentle but sharp wind glided across their faces, reminding the group that this wasn't a holiday. They still had things to attend to, so turning, the trio made their way back across the castle grounds onto an extremely narrow sidewalk. They passed by a closed cafe and some shops to either side of the one-way street. Before long, the team rounded a corner and were met by the tan brick of Kennedy’s, one of fifteen public houses spread across the town. This one was unique though – a Journeyman watering hole.
“See,” Marcus said to Gage, stepping up to the building’s black door and grabbing hold, “not far at all.”
With a quick tug, Marcus ushered them inside. The air became thicker, though the large room they entered was still welcoming. It was clean and dim, a large mirror behind the counter reflecting a vast canvas of liquor bottles and draught beers, while a deep-seated smell of the contents of many glasses, held by many hands, lingered from the night before.
“You see that?” an Irish voice cut the silence from a neighboring room. “Something like it would be perfect for the Trickster.”
A loud sigh followed as Marcus set his case down in a plump chair, its buttons and color reminiscent of a ripe berry.
“No, for the tenth time Brandon,” said another, deeper voice. “I don't think that'd work at all for the Tank.”
Marcus smiled when he came into the room and saw the familiar faces of Journeymen Brandon Byrne and Dax “Hammer” Wallace, both doubled over looking at a really ugly – if you don't know about antiques – chair.
“Chloe has great taste!” Brandon said, Hammer biting his lip so hard it was surprising no blood trickled out.
The Devil's Highway (Journeyman Book 4) Page 7