by Mark Romang
The attempt at tricking her mind worked until she heard the squeaking sounds. A chorus of squeaks approached them. Oh, God, please don’t let it be bats. And then Emily felt a whoosh of air as hundreds of thousands of bats fluttered and flapped and cartwheeled through the passageway, using the tunnel as a conduit to reach their hunting grounds outside the cave.
The bats grazed her head and back and even bumped into her forehead, disheveling her hair. With her mouth closed, she screamed a noiseless shriek. Her body cringed almost continuously. Her heart juddered in her chest. She was terrified a rabid bat would bite them. With this many bats, some of them surely carried the rabies virus.
Emily wanted to ask Spencer if he was okay, but she didn’t want to open her mouth. And she didn’t want Spencer to have to open his mouth to answer her question. The swarm went on an on. Emily tucked her head as low as she could, her nose and lips brushed against the foul smelling bat guano. The fumes and the awful taste sent her gag reflex into overdrive.
For what seemed interminable minutes, the bat migration flew through the passageway just over their heads. The squeaks seemed to penetrate Emily’s head and mind, and she feared her sanity would fly off with the bats and never return. But just as she thought the nightmarish trial would never end, the last straggler flapped through. She heard no more squeaks. “Are you okay, Spencer?” The query gushed out her mouth in a hoarse voice she barely recognized.
“I’m okay, Mom. But I was right about the bat poop, wasn’t I?”
Emily exhaled. She must have been holding her breath as the bats flew overhead. “Yes, you were so right about that, Spence.” She crawled forward, hoping what they just went through was the worst they would face during their journey. But something told her the worst lay ahead.
Emily forced her mind to change topics. She tried to think positive, but reality darkened her thoughts. She wondered why Adam hadn’t been there to meet them inside the cave entrance. He’d been much closer to the cave from his position atop Harmony Meadow. He should’ve been there waiting for them. Something is holding him up.
Emily blinked back tears. Somewhere her Adam was in trouble. From where I’m at I can’t help him, God. But you can if you choose to. Behind her she heard Spencer whistling. The boy was so smart for his age, advanced in many ways. She tried to decipher the tune he whistled. She grinned. More tears rushed down her cheeks. Spencer whistled He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands. It was his favorite song. She’d taught it to him when he was three. Hardly a day went by when she didn’t catch him singing or whistling the song.
Her heart heavy, Emily almost didn’t feel the ground underneath her slope downward. She rose up on her elbows for a better viewpoint and shined her dying flashlight all around. It was then she realized they’d entered the big room she’d been telling Spencer about. Adam liked to call it the sanctuary room. He said it would make the perfect spot for an underground church. The room stretched to perhaps fifty feet by sixty feet, and the ceiling soared like a grand cathedral. Rows of stalagmites formed what looked like church pews on the cave floor. A stream rushed by one edge of the room.
“We’re here, Spencer. We made it.” She stood up and looked around for the gear Adam said he stashed here. The flashlight created more shadows than light. But then her eyes finally came to rest on a duffel bag and a strange looking lump tucked away under an outcropping that formed a ledge.
Emily hurried over to the ledge. Two canoe paddles rested on top of the ledge. She pulled out the duffel from underneath the ledge, and then removed the mystery object. The mystery object turned out to be the inflatable canoe. Emily pawed through the duffel bag and removed a lantern and an air pump. The pump used foot power to inflate objects. Emily guessed it would take several minutes, maybe even a half hour to inflate the canoe.
She turned her attention to the lantern. She needed to get it lit before her flashlight died completely. Emily reached into a pocket on her backpack and removed some matches. She turned the knob on the propane lantern. The gas hissed. She struck a match and held it inside the glass. The lantern lit and illuminated much of the room. Emily set the lantern down a safe distance away. Thank you, Lord, for guiding us here and giving us light. “What do you think of the room, Spence?” She watched Spencer twirl around and look up at ceiling far above their heads.
“It’s big, really big.”
Emily inserted the pump nozzle into the inflating chamber on the canoe. And then she started working the pump, pushing her right foot up and down to generate air. The canoe slowly started to fill up.
“That’s going to take a long time to fill up, Mom.”
“It may not take as long as you think, Spencer. Maybe your father will show up by the time we get it inflated.”
“I sure hope so. What do you think dad is doing?”
She had an idea what was keeping him, but didn’t want to say it. “I’m not sure. But he’ll show. Adam would never leave us to ourselves down here. I’m sure he’s on his way now.”
Spencer nodded. “Yeah, he’s coming. We just have to be patient, Mom.”
“That’s right, Spencer,” Emily replied, every cell in her body hoping her son was right about Adam. Emily shook her head defiantly and continued to pump air into the canoe. Faith and hope were all she had now. And it would have to be enough.
Chapter 24
From flat on his back, Adam Thorn slashed the flaming Eden sword back and forth at the three beasts lunging at his neck. But each time the growling hellhounds leapt deftly away from his strikes.
I have to get on my feet. I can’t win this battle from on my back. And yet he’d already tried several times without success. For that matter he couldn’t even sit up without exciting the hellhounds into a murderous lather.
Thorn studied the beasts as they paced just out of the Eden sword’s reach. The hellhounds’ menacing appearance chilled his spine. Each stood as tall as an Irish wolfhound, but each also possessed a musculature similar to a leopard or young lion. Their long fangs looked sharp enough to shred his flesh to bits in mere seconds. But it was their glowing silver eyes that riveted his attention. The silver orbs bore deeply into his soul and ripped at his sanity.
In a weird sort of way he’d never felt more alive. Maybe he felt this way because he was so close to death. Regardless the black night, the curdling fog and the steady drizzle, the scene before Thorn played out in remarkable clarity. It was as if he watched his last moments play out in slow motion on a hi-definition TV screen. He could sense his time on earth waning, could hear the ticking clock of mortality counting down. And yet somehow in this macabre setting, his dire circumstances confirmed to him that life was precious and beautiful, even when lived out at its ugliest and scariest moment.
Every once in a while the hellhounds would turn on each other and briefly skirmish. If he could, Thorn wanted to use one of these skirmishes to his advantage. Maybe he could get to his feet when they fought each other. Their infighting behavior made him wonder if the hellhounds operated like other dog packs, if a pecking order existed among them.
Thorn couldn’t tell if the hellhounds possessed a gender or not. But one of the beasts clearly exhibited alpha male behavior. It snapped at the other two; one in particular bore the brunt of the short attacks. Thorn thought it safe to assume this hellhound was dead last in the pecking order. And the discovery gave him an idea.
He had been waving the Eden sword back and forth so that the flames raked across all three hellhounds. But now he focused his strikes on the leader. The billowing, supernatural flame just missed igniting the hound’s ugly mug; instead the flame singed the tightly stretched skin over its distorted snout. The other two hellhounds surged forward as the leader fell back. Thorn delivered a backswing to drive them back.
He used the distance he gained to try to get to his feet. But the leader surged forward with fangs bared and prevented him from doing so. Thorn extended the Eden sword and drove the devil dog back. The demented canine snarled and snapped, i
ts gaping maw clamping open and shut like a steel trap. While it put on its fearsome show, Thorn carefully made it to a seated position.
Thorn counted his new position as a small victory. But the hellhounds sensed their prey was in a bind. Thorn knew the beasts would never allow him to get to his feet. And like a wolf pack that hadn’t eaten in days, the hellhounds closed in. Thorn had to go through with his unconventional plan, no matter that it seemed suicidal. The police helicopter flew its search grid closer to the ravine every minute and demanded he try something. I don’t know what else to do, Lord. Please make my plan work, he prayed.
Thorn inhaled and exhaled a deep breath to calm his nerves. And then he flopped down on his back in the grass. Immediately the alpha hellhound pounced. At the last moment, right before the hellhound would’ve landed on his stomach, Thorn pointed the Eden sword upward almost ninety degrees and held it still. The snarling hellhound fell directly onto the flaming blade tip, impaling itself through the stomach and chest. The beast yelped in agony. Silvery-black blood gushed out the wound, dousing Thorn’s legs. Fire engulfed the hellhound.
Still on his back, Thorn quickly rocked back onto his butt and placed his boots onto the burning hellhound. Thorn straightened his bent legs and launched the alpha hellhound backwards into his companions. The other two hellhounds tumbled like bowling pins but quickly popped back up and sniffed curiously at their flame-engulfed leader.
Thorn used the distraction to his advantage. He clambered to his feet, chest heaving and adrenaline coursing through his trembling body. The hellhounds snarled ferociously, fangs bared and ready to pierce his jugular. Thorn noticed one of the remaining two hellhounds had caught on fire. A small flame lapped at one haunch. Apparently it got too close to the one he stabbed.
Thorn assumed he couldn’t kill the hellhounds. They were eternal just like their demon counterparts. Gabriel told him when he first gave him the Eden sword back in Utah that plunging the flaming sword into a demon doesn’t kill them, instead it neutralizes them to where they cannot harm a human until the millennium reign ends.
But neutralizing the hellhounds is just as good as slaying them, Thorn thought as he swung the sword at his canine foes. The hellhounds danced away from his strikes, more wary now after their leader went down.
The drizzle increased and extinguished the fire burning the neutralized hellhound, but the rain couldn’t douse the Eden sword. Like the Olympic flame that never stopped burning during an Olympiad, the Eden sword only snuffed out if his faith wavered or if he pointed it down by his side. The sword burned at an insane temperature. His face and hands grew hot. Back in the Utah slot canyons he wore welding gloves when he fought the demons. He didn’t have such protection now.
The hellhounds lunged together in perfect sync. Thorn beat them back with a strike that just nicked one of them on the shoulder, opening a wound. The hellhound who’d been mistreated by the alpha male recognized his chance to move from dead last in the pecking order to first place. The hellhound turned on his wounded companion, latching onto its neck.
Thorn stepped forward and swung the Eden sword with all his strength. The flaming sword sliced through the melee, cutting off the head of the weakest hellhound. Its muscular body slumped into the grass, but its head remained latched onto the lone remaining hellhound. The two-headed hellhound lurched forward awkwardly, its balance affected.
“Now you’re the top dog. How does it feel? Much responsibility comes with your new title. Are you sure you’re ready for it?”
The lone hellhound snarled and charged Thorn, leaping into the moisture-laden air. Thorn pivoted on his left foot. The hellhound flew by, missing Thorn’s throat by mere inches. Thorn reached out and grabbed the hellhound’s hairless tail. The beast’s weight and hard-charging momentum nearly pulled Thorn’s shoulder from its socket, but he managed to hold on. The hellhound twisted in midair, its mouth gaping open, black tongue lolling to the side, fangs slashing like machetes. Thorn plunged the tip of the Eden sword into the hellhound’s mouth. The flaming tip burrowed into the canine’s gullet, ending the ordeal.
Thorn let go of the beast’s tail, and the hellhound dropped to the ground, no longer a threat. Breathing hard, Thorn looked down at his vanquished foe. Bright orange flames crackled from out the hellhound’s mouth and lapped at its nose. “That may be the worst case of heartburn I’ve ever seen,” Thorn mumbled under his breath.
He took a moment to decompress. His nerves were shot, and his spiking adrenaline had tanked suddenly, leaving him exhausted. Standing just below the ridgeline, he cocked his head and listened. The police helicopter flew ever closer. The sound from its rotors echoed off the hillsides. He imagined a blinding spotlight beaming from the chopper’s belly. I have to get to the cave before they see me. But posing an even greater threat to his freedom were the bloodhounds. They sounded as if they were approaching the ridgeline from the other side. If you could confuse their noses, Lord, I would really appreciate it.
Thorn turned to run for the cave but stopped in his tracks. His headlamp beam came to rest on a large demon blocking his path. The demon looked determined and wrathful. “You shouldn’t have killed my pets. Now I’m going to possess you.”
Chapter 25
Nikko Castellanos groaned and struggled to sit up. Every muscle in his body ached. He felt like a trash tuck had run over him several times. He lifted a hand to his mouth and touched his swollen lips. He held out his hand so his headlamp could illuminate it. Blood stained his fingers.
What happened to me?
He remembered standing under a tree to escape the drizzle. He’d been contemplating his next move when he felt something on his hip. And then the next thing he knew his muscles seized up and he hit the ground.
Castellanos felt along his limbs, exploring them for breaks. They all checked out, but he discovered his shoes were missing. What the…? Alarmed, he looked around for his Glock and his sniper rifle. But they were missing as well. He’d been assaulted. And he wondered if it was Thorn who did it. Perhaps the ex-SEAL circled around and caught him unawares. But then he remembered the phone call from Henrik Skymolt warning him about someone following him.
Maybe I’m being watched right now. Castellanos scanned the dark night in all directions. But he couldn’t see much. The fog had thickened. Likewise, the drizzle fell more insistently. Only Jack the Ripper could appreciate a gloomy night like this one.
Castellanos shook his head. He was in deep trouble. No food. No water. No shoes. No weapons. He’d been trained for survival situations. But those had been exercises. This was the real thing. For the first time doubt entered his mind. He might have to forgo hunting Thorn and return to George Wickam’s farmhouse. He could say he fell asleep at the wheel, and that he’d been thrown out of his car when it careened off the highway and down the hill.
He mulled over that option. It was a believable story. But he hated the thought of giving up on the millions Skymolt would pay him for taking out Thorn. He also didn’t want to face Skymolt’s goons should he fail to deliver.
Castellanos stood up. A decision faced him. He could continue his pursuit of Thorn and possibly die from exposure. Or he could give up and return to George Wickam’s farm and eventually face death at the hands of Skymolt’s goons. Neither option appealed to him.
Castellanos flinched when his satellite phone started ringing. He took off his small rucksack and hurriedly retrieved the phone. He pressed the talk button just after the third ring. “Hello?”
“Nikko, are you okay?”
“Henrik, is that you?”
“Yes, you fool. Who else would be calling you?”
“What do you want?”
“I want to give you some coordinates. Do you have your GPS unit handy?”
“Hold on a sec.” Castellanos rifled through the bag and pulled out the GPS device. “Okay, I got it.” He listened as Skymolt rattled off a longitude and latitude coordinate. He entered the location into his GPS.
“Do you have i
t entered yet?” Skymolt asked.
“Yes, what’s at this location?”
“You will find a cave there. Thorn is heading for it. If you hurry you can beat him there and set up an ambush.”
“You’re in Stockholm, Henrik. How can you possibly know this?”
“I know all kinds of things, Nikko. More than you can ever suspect. Now get going. Time is running out for you.”
Castellanos heard the line click dead. He stood there motionless, holding the phone to his ear. The night continued on its mysterious tack, growing more bizarre by the minute. He couldn’t begin to fathom how Skymolt acquired this information. And yet the phone call changed everything. He still had a chance to carry out the assassination. But how did Skymolt know about the cave? As far as Castellanos knew, Skymolt wasn’t a clairvoyant. He’s a fabulously wealthy land tycoon and nothing else.
Castellanos shrugged his shoulders and headed out, away from the protective tree branches and into the drizzle. He headed for the cave and a showdown with Thorn. Castellanos smiled. There was still a chance he would collect his millions. And that is all he could ask for.
Chapter 26
Inside the UH-1 Iroquois helicopter, Caleb Brennan sat on a bench opposite the starboard door. Agent Shank sat next to him on his right, and agent Loomis sat next to him on his left. All around them tough-looking men clothed in black Kevlar and wearing tactical helmets sat bunched together, gloved hands gripping their weapons. A sniper sat just inside each open door and waited for Thorn to reveal himself. Each sniper wore a five-point harness tethered to a safety ring in the floor.
Brennan swallowed over a lump. There is enough firepower in this helicopter to quell a minor coup, he thought.
The atmosphere in the tension-filled helicopter felt familiar. Brennan recalled his earlier years in the SEALS, when he hadn’t yet become an instructor. Sometimes they would fly to a mission site in a Blackhawk helicopter and deploy using a fast rope. Other times they would HALO jump out a C-130 at 30,000 feet. But each mission was geared toward stopping bad guys from harming helpless people. And it always felt great when the mission went according to plan and they eliminated a terrorist or a disturbed revolutionary. But this mission was different. They weren’t going after a bad guy. And it felt so wrong.