Battle Storm (The Battle Series Book 2)

by Mark Romang

  ****

  Maddix dished another scoop of pasta onto his plate. His mom cooked pasta everyday. She said he needed carbs to maintain his energy and weight, especially after his grueling swimming practices. He was so tired of the endless pasta dishes. But he was also a star athlete, hungry all the time, and consumed the starchy noodles anyway.

  Maddix felt eyes on him and looked up. His dad peered at him intently from behind dark-rimmed glasses. Dan Maddix smiled proudly and held up a stack of business envelopes. “Eight more universities want to offer you a scholarship, Andrew. You’re going to have to make your decision soon. You’re running out of time.”

  Maddix poured some marinara sauce over his pasta. I have to tell them. I can’t put it off any longer. He looked up at his dad, and then over at his mom. “I like swimming, but I don’t love it like you two do. I’m not sure I want to continue swimming.”

  “Andrew, have you lost your mind? You’re being offered full-ride scholarships to swim at some of the best schools in the nation. You’d be a fool to not continue your swimming,” his mom said gently yet firmly.

  Maddix threw his fork onto his plate. “Swimming competitively is your dream, not mine.”

  “So what is your dream then, Andrew?”

  Maddix looked at his dad. He tried to keep his voice calm and soft, but it came out high and angry sounding. “I want to serve my country. I want to be an elite soldier. I want to be a SEAL.”

  Dan Maddix glared at him. “Are you out of your mind, son. You could go to Stanford University for free, be a star swimmer, perhaps get invited for an Olympic tryout and serve your country that way. But instead you want to get yourself killed in the military. I can’t think of anything more foolish.”

  Maddix rolled his eyes. He knew they wouldn’t understand. “I can still swim if it’s so important to you. I can swim for the Naval Academy.”

  Belinda Maddix started crying. She buried her face into her napkin. His dad shot him a withering look. His gray eyes were sharper than daggers. “I forbid you to join the Navy, Andrew. You’re continuing your education. And that’s final. Understood?”

  Maddix stood up. “I’m going to be eighteen soon. You can’t tell me what to do.”

  Dan Maddix brooded stoically in his place at the head of the table. He didn’t look up. “If you join the Navy, you’re not welcome in this house, Andrew. We’ll have to part ways.”

  ****

  That was the last conversation he had with his parents. Maddix finished his senior year at high school while living with a friend. His parents didn’t attend his graduation ceremony. And one day after graduating he drove to a recruiting station and enlisted into the Navy.

  Thorn wiped at his eyes. He still hadn’t fully healed from the estrangement, didn’t know if he ever would. Yet he didn’t hate his parents. He couldn’t, not after he learned the secret they harbored for so long.

  The night he and Sara fled to New Zealand he discovered the true reason behind his parents disowning him. While at Caleb Brennan’s ranch, making preparations to disappear, Brennan handed him a DVD video made by his parents. Brennan told him to watch it before they left. On the DVD his teary-eyed parents confessed to knowing about the prophecy concerning him. Turns out they’d both been having dreams about his future for a long time, similar dreams where an angel appears and says their son will become a great man of war and lead a resistance against Satan and his demons.

  His parents went on to say they thought if they threatened to disown him for joining the Navy he wouldn’t go through with it. All they wanted to do was make sure the prophecy never came true. Near the end of the DVD they apologized, pled for forgiveness, and said they were praying for him night and day.

  I hope they’re praying for me right now, Thorn thought. I could sure use some divine assistance.

  Thorn pulled the Eden sword out of its scabbard. He looked at the etching on the blade for probably the hundredth time. He still couldn’t decipher it. There were odd looking symbols and letters in the etching he’d never seen before, and was sure no modern linguist or archaeolexicologist had ever come across either. Lord, why won’t you reveal what it says to me?

  Thorn placed his index finger near the last letter near the sword’s hilt. Hebrew is read from right to left. Thorn read the first three words, the only words he could translate. The rest of the etching was in some ancient code, and most likely encoded before the ancient Hebrew language was even developed. For that matter it could be written in a language uttered only by angles and the saints in heaven.

  Yahweh will gather…Yahweh will gather what? God could gather any number of things: people, animals, angels, demons, stars and moons, planets and galaxies, et cetera. The possibilities were endless. Frustration washed over Thorn. The etching baffled him.

  Having studied Hebrew in seminary long ago, Thorn knew the basics of the language. He also knew the structure of the Hebrew language can be tricky. In Hebrew, the order of the words in a sentence can be changed and still have the same meaning. Articles don’t have to be used before a singular noun, and Hebrew sentences don’t have to include verbs.

  Thorn assumed the numerals in the etching represented a word or a letter. But he still couldn’t untangle the cipher. The code went beyond his limited understanding and experience. He had a strong feeling the etching wasn’t meant to be read anyway, that its meaning was designed to remain hidden from human minds—a sacred mystery not to be revealed before the end of the age.

  Thorn started to put the sword back into its scabbard but stopped. He thought he heard something. Given his state of mind, he could have simply imagined it. The sound hadn’t been a footfall, or a scrape of foot against rock, or a sneeze or a cough or even a heavy respiration. He thought he heard a directive, a command in his head. “Dip the sword into the stream.”

  Although he often longed for it, and prayed for it to happen, Thorn had never heard an audible voice from God before. So as he thought over what just transpired, he concluded the directive—soft and barely more than a whisper, came from his own highly imaginative mind.

  Once more he was about to put the Eden sword back into its scabbard but stopped in mid action. “Dip the sword into the stream.”

  Anxious to meet up with Emily and Spencer, Thorn didn’t want to waste any more time. He needed to get going. But he was also intrigued by the mysterious directive, and found himself kneeling by the stream, sword poised above the gurgling water. He felt a little foolish as he looked at the stretch of water disappearing beneath the cave wall. Thorn shook his head. What can it hurt?

  He dipped the Eden sword into the water horizontally, submerging it completely. The fast-moving water bubbled and frothed like soup in a cauldron. Thorn’s dark eyes grew large as he watched the Eden sword start to glow and illuminate the cave stream. And then he heard a humming noise. The purring sound came from within the water.

  Thorn lifted the Eden sword out of the water. The sword quivered in his hands as if alive, and purred like a sleeping lion. He looked at the iron blade incredulously as the etching glowed; the Hebrew letters shined brightly like gold nuggets under a jeweler’s light and projected a blinding golden beam onto the cave ceiling.

  Thorn looked up at the ceiling, perhaps ten to twelve feet above his head. He felt a little like Indiana Jones as he held the sacred Eden sword in his hands. He stopped breathing as he looked up at the etching. The letters weren’t in Hebrew anymore. The letters were in English and they were no longer encoded. He read aloud.

  “Yahweh will gather his people when the pup of the rabid dog confesses.”

  Thorn whistled softly as he exhaled. So the etching did refer to the Rapture, and a timeframe for when it will transpire. Not a specific time, but a timeframe regardless. But the part about a rabid dog and its pup confessing didn’t make sense to him.

  Who is the rabid dog? Is the rabid dog an animal or a person? He finally knew what the etching said, but was still no closer to fathoming the Eden’s sword’s sign
ificance. He solved one puzzle only to have to solve another one. And just his luck, he was terrible at riddles. But then a light bulb turned on in his head, and the ambiguous meaning all at once crashed into his comprehension. My call sign in the military was Mad Dog. I’m the rabid dog! And Spencer is the pup! Now he knew why he fought demons. The darkest forces in the universe wanted to get at Spencer before he confessed his sins and became a believer. Satan wanted to delay the Rapture.

  Thorn broke into a trot down the corridor, intent on finding Emily and Spencer. They had no idea what stalked them, were clueless to the insidious evil tracking their movements. They needed protection. But a thudding blow collided with Thorn’s temple and sent him sprawling. He tumbled to the ground, barely conscious and his senses muddled. The Eden sword flew out his hand. The sword clattered off the lava slab floor. He reached for the weapon.

  Chapter 33

  A smashing blow to his fingers stopped Thorn from grasping the Eden sword. Searing pain shot up his wrist. Thorn opened his mouth wide. A throaty roar escaped his lips. And yet there was a benefit in his agony, a moment of beauty amidst the ugliness. The raw pain cleared his addled mind.

  Fight or flight instinct took over. In a split second he looked up and spotted a lone assailant standing over him. He knew in that instant the shooter had found him.

  Thorn grabbed his attacker’s ankle, and in one fluid motion hopped to his knees, bringing his free hand up to clamp against his foe’s knee. Thorn pulled his opponent’s ankle upward even as he rose to his own feet, shoving hard at his foe’s knee and executing a single-leg takedown.

  Thorn landed on top of his attacker. They scrambled for several seconds, rolling violently around on the bumpy cave floor, elbows flailing, hands grasping and raking flesh. Thorn threw an elbow at his attacker’s head but missed. They both jumped to their feet and faced each other.

  Thorn looked at a man roughly his own size, and noticed his opponent wore no shoes. The man assumed a martial arts fighting stance. He stood sideways to present a smaller target. His knees were slightly bent, hands up and ready to defend or strike. Thorn could tell his attacker was right-handed because he stood with his right leg to the back, his left leg forward.

  Thorn assumed a similar fighting stance and circled to his right away from his opponent’s dominant leg. But the man countered Thorn’s footwork by executing a spinning leg kick. Thorn tucked his head and took a half step backwards. The kick only grazed the crown of his head, but was still powerful enough to knock him sideways into the cave wall.

  Thorn pushed off the wall and leapt into the air, throwing a superman punch, his hand open to avoid injuring his knuckles. Thorn’s palm-heel struck the shooter in the forehead. Thorn followed through with his elbow, smashing nose cartilage. But in an eye blink Thorn’s opponent rotated his hips and hooked Thorn’s arm, flipping him over onto the ground with a judo throw.

  The bumpy cave floor bit into Thorn’s back. He rolled and sprung to his feet just in time to block a round kick with his left forearm. Thorn responded with an overhand right that just grazed his opponent’s chin. He followed up the right with a left uppercut that landed flush on the chin. The shooter staggered back. Thorn rushed forward. He paid for his eagerness. His opponent launched a front kick to Thorn’s solar plexus.

  Thorn doubled over, struggled to breathe. His foe unleased a punch barrage. His fists struck lightning fast and pummeled Thorn’s face like it was a speed bag. Stars twinkled in his eyes. Thorn couldn’t ever remember being hit this hard. Frustration poked holes in his resolve. He’d fought and overcome demons and hellhounds, but now another human, much frailer than his supernatural foes threatened to take him down. Thorn knew at that moment he was in a fight for his life. The shooter was obviously a martial arts master.

  Thorn had studied all the different martial arts and trained extensively in hand-to-hand combat while a SEAL, but he was not a black belt in any of the Asian combat systems, or for that matter, a brown belt. His foe easily overmatched him in technique and fought like a modern day ninja. I’m going to have to fight dirty and use street fighting techniques, Thorn thought. It’s my only chance. Fair play was out the window. Thorn was willing and ready to rip, stab, gouge, punch, bash and bite—whatever it took to stay alive and come out on top.

  Vulnerable points can be found all over the body, but most of them exist from the neck up. Carotid arteries, the windpipe, and spinal cord offer susceptible areas where he could launch a disabling attack.

  Thorn waded through the barrage on wobbly legs, his hands up to ward off the strikes coming from all angles. His brain rattled around in his head, yet he kept moving forward. If he wanted to see Emily and Spencer again he had to overcome this latest assault on his life.

  A spinning back fist made it through Thorn’s guard and loosened teeth, but he kept advancing, slowly backing his opponent up and trapping him against the cave wall. Thorn shot out his right hand and grasped the shooter’s collar, jerking him forward with brute strength he gained from farm work. Thorn added his left hand to the collar. More punches caromed off his head. But by now his face had become numb to pain.

  With both hands on his opponent’s collar, Thorn again jerked the man forward, but this time he lowered his head and head-butted his foe. Not once, not twice but three savage head-butts to the face. Thorn felt teeth collide with the crown of his head, felt a spray of blood on his scalp as his opponent’s nose shattered. Thorn shifted his grip, interlocking his hands around the back of the man’s head in a Muay Thai grip. He then pulled the man’s head down and brought his right knee up at the same time into his face. Three knee shots to the face and Thorn felt his opponent’s body collapse.

  Thorn released his Muay Thai grip. His opponent sagged against the cave wall. Not in a mood to grant mercy, Thorn inserted his thumbs into the shooter’s eye sockets and raked his thumbs sideways. Temporarily blind and woozy and presenting little resistance, Thorn grabbed the man’s left wrist. He then pivoted his hips and brought his right forearm down across the shooter’s left triceps, executing an arm bar takedown. The shooter slumped to the ground onto his face. Thorn sat down on the shooter’s shoulder and pulled the man’s arm backward, keeping the arm between his legs and forcing the wrist upward.

  Thorn arched his hips. The shooter’s arm hyperextended, and Thorn continued to pull back on the arm, generating bone-breaking torque. Thorn finally let go of the arm when he heard skin shredding and the pop of an elbow snapping. The shooter screamed. Thorn rolled off his opponent and stood up. His opponent tried to stand up as well. Thorn kicked him in the face and the man lost consciousness. The threat to his life finally over, Thorn looked around for the Eden sword. He spotted the sword a few feet away and snatched it up.

  His breath racing, Thorn walked over to the shooter and squatted down. He directed his headlamp onto the wounded man. His headlamp revealed black wavy hair. Thorn inhaled sharply. He’d seen this man before, he was sure of it. And he thought it was back in Felicity, Utah. The man had been sitting in a black Escalade. This man is a Skeptikos Alliance agent, he thought. There had been four of them. This one was the only one that didn’t die in the car crash.

  Light splashed onto the cave wall across from Thorn’s head. He stood up and whirled around. Another person, wearing a headlamp, entered the room. Thorn lifted the Eden sword.

  “Take it easy, Mad Dog. It’s just me, Coleton Webb.”

  Chapter 34

  “C-Dub, is that really you?” Thorn could hardly believe his eyes. The night grew more bizarre every minute.

  “It’s me in the flesh, buddy,” Webb said.

  Thorn lowered the Eden sword. “But what are you doing here? How did you find me?”

  Webb pointed at Nikko Castellanos. “I’ve been following your shadow. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner but he slipped away. And then I got a little lost in this cave. Man, there are tunnels everywhere in here.”

  Thorn smiled. He was glad to see Webb, his old SEAL buddy. He fel
t so alone fighting the hellhounds and the demons, and was glad to have another person on his side; especially one with Webb’s skillset, no matter that Webb had once betrayed him. He’d long ago forgiven him. It’s just that Thorn didn’t want to die alone. His chances of dying in the next few hours were high. And man wasn’t created to walk the darkest valleys of life alone. Humans need other humans for support. “Do you know this guy?” Thorn asked, directing his gaze at the man he just battled.

  “Yeah, his name is Nikko Castellanos. He’s been stalking you for five years, trying to collect on a multi-million dollar fee for taking you out. Caleb Brennan hired me to make sure he didn’t succeed.”

  Thorn dabbed at his bloody lips. “I think I’ve seen him before, maybe in Utah.”

  Webb walked up and stood by Thorn’s side. He looked down at Castellanos. The Skeptikos Alliance agent began to revive ever so slowly. He moaned and clutched his injured arm. “It’s possible, I guess. Castellanos is a Skeptikos Alliance agent and works for Henrik Skymolt. Skymolt hired him to kill you and Sara. I mean, Emily.”

  “You can call us by our real names. The secret is out,” Thorn said.

  Webb nodded. His headlamp beam moved up and down on the cave wall. “I can tell. There are cops everywhere. They’re swarming inside and outside this cave.”

  “I figured as much.” Thorn dug into his rucksack and removed three items: a small first aid kit, a t-shirt, and a pair of woolen socks. He ripped the t-shirt in half and tied a crude sling around Castellanos’ broken arm. He then bandaged the man’s shredded feet and put the thick socks onto his feet.”