Battle Storm (The Battle Series Book 2)

by Mark Romang

  “He does. God hears everyone of our prayers. But God doesn’t always answer our prayers as fast as we like, or the way we want Him to.” Emily began paddling toward the bank. The water-swamped canoe barely floated and needed to be turned over and drained. She paddled the canoe up parallel with the bank. “I need you to get out, Spencer. Step up onto the bank. I’m going to flip the canoe and get the water out.”

  After Spencer hopped up onto the bank and scurried off to examine the glowworms, Emily took off her backpack and tossed it up onto the bank along with the paddles. She then hopped out into the placid water. The water came up to her hips. Her movement tipped the canoe over. Most of the water poured out. Emily dragged the inflatable canoe up onto the bank and finished draining it.

  She then rummaged through the backpack and pulled out fresh clothes for her and Spencer. The clothes were damp but better than the drenched ones they currently wore. “Spencer, come over here. We need to put on drier clothes.”

  Spencer trudged over to her. He held a glowworm in his cupped hands and studied it fiercely. The glowworm cast a bluish glow onto his face. It was an E.T. moment she didn’t want to interrupt. And despite the incredible trial they just endured, Emily smiled. She would cherish this moment forever.

  “Mom, glowworms look like maggots.”

  “That’s because they’re in their larval stage. They’ll eventually grow into flying insects and look like big mosquitos.” Emily held out pants and a long-sleeved shirt to Spencer. “Put the glowworm down and put these clothes on, okay?”

  Spencer put the glowworm down on the ground carefully, and then grabbed the clothes. He kicked off his waterlogged sneakers and stripped down. His skinny limbs shook as he pulled on his clothes. Emily did the same, frowning as she pulled on a pair of jeans. They were down to their last set of clothes already. Looking back in hindsight, they should have stashed gear in caches all over the cave. But they hadn’t, and now she had to make do.

  “Mom, can we stay here with the glowworms and wait for dad?”

  “We need to leave the cave, Spencer, build a fire and get warm. If we don’t we might get sick with hypothermia. And there isn’t any wood in here to build a fire.” Emily wondered if she could find any dry wood outside the cave. The drizzle coated everything not protected. And a fire would alert the searchers to their presence anyway. Their situation wasn’t good. But she had to follow the plan. Adam would expect her to. Outside the cave was their last rendezvous point. If Adam didn’t show up there they were on their own. And the plan didn’t make concessions for that. They were supposed to all be together as a family.

  Emily stuck her arms through her backpack loops. She grabbed up the canoe paddles and placed them into the canoe along with their wet clothes. “We have to go, Spence.”

  Spencer rolled his eyes. He’d finished dressing and cradled the glowworm in his hands again. “Okay, but can I take the glowworm with us?”

  “Sure you can. We’ll always have a light then.”

  Spencer beamed. “Then I better get another one. We’ll have even more light, and they won’t get lonely.”

  “Okay, but hurry up. You have fifteen seconds to get in the canoe,” Emily said, half-serious. She watched her only child scurry off to grab another glowworm. Lord, I trust you to work out the details. But please forgive me when my faith wavers. I’m so afraid.

  Chapter 37

  Adam Thorn blinked hard. He saw double. He looked to his left and saw Coleton Webb. And then he looked to his right and saw Coleton Webb. Many times in his life Thorn thought he’d come close to losing his mind, but never as much as now.

  Think this through. You know Coleton doesn’t have a twin. Despite a betrayal a little over five years ago, Webb was Thorn’s best friend. They were once SEAL teammates and spent more time together than a married couple, traveling the world and parachuting into foreign hotspots to take out terrorist leaders or rescue American hostages. They played hard, drank hard, and fought hard. There were no secrets between them. They were so close that Webb’s family had practically adopted him. Back then he ate Thanksgiving meals with them, opened presents on Christmas morning with them, and played pickup basketball with Webb’s three brothers.

  The Webb boys didn’t look much alike. Heights were different as well as their hair and eye colors. So Thorn knew he wasn’t looking at one of Coleton’s brothers. This could mean only one thing. One of them was a fraud, and quite possibly a…demon.

  Thorn pulled out the Eden sword and waved it in a threatening manner. Smoke rose from the blade tip just before it ignited into white-hot flames.

  “Hey, take it easy, Mad Dog. Don’t be hasty. I’ve seen what that sword can do,” the Webb on his right said, holding up his hands in surrender.

  Thorn looked at him suspiciously. This was the Webb who entered the cavern room first. Thorn looked back and forth, trying to spot an anomaly that could tip him off to which Webb was a fake. But it was as if he looked at identical twins.

  The last time Thorn saw Webb his friend had been ripped from working out at an MMA gym. Back then Webb looked like a Norse god with his bulging muscles and flowing blonde hair. But now both men appeared to be six-foot three and rangy; less than two-hundred pounds packed evenly onto wide-shouldered and narrow-hipped frames. Both had short blonde hair. Whisker stubble peppered their faces. Both men looked tired, a little worn down. Each wore camouflage hunting pants and a camouflage fleece jacket. A glowing headlamp gave them each a third eye. A sniper rifle hung from their shoulder, a side arm tucked into their waistband. Black Metallica t-shirts peeked out their unzipped jackets. Webb loved to listen to Metallica.

  “I don’t know what’s going on here, Mad Dog, but I swear I’m the real Coleton Webb,” the Webb who just entered the room said. “Caleb Brennan hired me to follow Nikko Castellanos and stop him from killing you. I tracked him into this cave and got turned around. It’s almost a miracle I even found you.”

  Thorn eyed the new arrival with even more suspicion. “The other Webb already said that.”

  The first Webb pointed to the new arrival. “I bet this guy is a demon, Mad Dog. Don’t listen to anything he says. You have to trust me. I’m your old frogman buddy.”

  The new arrival took a cautious step forward. “After all we’ve been though you can’t tell I’m the real deal. Come on, Mad Dog, look at me. I’m the same guy you went through Hell Week with. Remember how Caleb Brennan nearly killed us out on the beach, and how he made you do leg lifts and wet sandies for an entire day, all because you told him you hate jelly donuts. We went through Bud/S training together and then went through SQT training together. Then we were both assigned to SEAL Team 8. We went on some crazy missions, none crazier than when we explored that tunnel up in the Hindu Kush in Afghanistan. That was when you stepped on the land mine and lost your leg. It took forever for the medevac helicopter to come pick us up. I laid on your femoral artery for an hour trying to keep you from bleeding out. I begged you not to give up, to keep fighting. You actually died for a little bit, but then you came back. Surely you can tell it’s me, Coleton.”

  The first Webb interjected. “He’s neglecting to tell you how I betrayed you once. When I stole the Eden sword and tried to sell it to a sword collector in that abandoned warehouse in Las Vegas. The sword collector only appeared to be a man. It turned out he was a demon. We ended up fighting each other in that warehouse. After that we never talked again. I so regret my betrayal; only God knows how much. I hope you can forgive me someday, Mad Dog.”

  “You both look like C-Dub to me. And you both sound convincing,” Thorn said. Webb’s call sign in the SEALS was C-Dub. Thorn rarely called his friend by his birth name—Coleton, just as Webb rarely said Thorn’s real name—Andrew.

  Thorn didn’t know what to do. He didn’t have time to stand here and listen to reminiscing. He needed to catch up with Emily and Spencer. But he knew he would never be able to leave until he dealt with the demon. But before he could do that he had to figure out w
ho the real Webb was. And he needed to figure it out quickly. If he chose the wrong Webb he’d kill his best friend. He couldn’t bear the thought.

  The Eden sword raged, its hilt so hot he could barely hang on to it. A six-foot flame crackled and popped off the sword blade and lit up the dark cave. Shadows flickered and jumped off the jagged walls. Please reveal to me the real Webb, Lord. You know who the phony is. I know I’m missing something, I can feel it. But you aren’t fooled.

  Thorn eyed each Webb, appraised them one more time. And this time he finally spotted a difference between them: the Metallica t-shirt. The first Webb to enter the cave wore a Metallica shirt with the Reload album emblazoned on it. The second Webb to enter the cave wore a Metallica shirt with Ride the Lightning emblazoned on it. Having spent so much time with Webb back in the service, Thorn was forced to listen to a lot of Metallica. And he remembered how Webb loved the thrash-metal band’s early albums but hated their later stuff. He said they abandoned their roots to play more radio friendly songs. Webb especially hated the Reload album.

  I can’t imagine C-Dub wearing that Reload shirt, not after he complained so much about the album, Thorn thought just before pivoting on his prosthetic leg and slashing the Eden sword at the first Webb, the one wearing the Reload shirt. Thorn’s sword strike just missed disemboweling the faux Webb, who changed appearance in an eye blink. The flaming sword clanged off the cave wall, sending a fire plume lapping up the wall. Luckily the demon didn’t retaliate while Thorn fell off balance. Instead the demon stood there composed, as serene as a fallen angel can be.

  Chapter 38

  Thorn found himself looking at the biggest demon he’d ever faced, and the scariest. Long red hair flopped across its brow and obscured one eye. The other eye looked like a lump of coal and glared at Thorn. Cruelty and malice swam in the black orb. But what frightened Thorn more than the demon’s great height and musculature was the weapon held in his right hand. A large battle-axe glistened under the firelight cast from the Eden sword. Two deadly half-moon blades with a spike on top were affixed to a four-foot pole. The weapon looked like something a medieval executioner might use. Thorn wondered if he would feel any pain when the axe sliced through his neck and severed his head.

  “You chose wisely, Andrew. I’m impressed,” the demon said, his melodic voice both weighty and calculating.

  Thorn struggled to find his voice. His knees smacked together “Your taste in music gave you away, as well as your cologne. You smell like you were quarried from a sulfur mine.” Thorn watched the demon’s upper lip tilt into a sneer.

  “You give off a stench I find repulsive as well. It’s the smell of humans.”

  “Who are you, and what do you want from me?” Thorn asked, searching for a weakness to exploit, an opening to mount an attack. But he saw no weaknesses, only jaw-dropping power.

  “My name is Drakon, and I want your head. It will make a nice trophy. You have already vanquished demons who were once mighty archangels in heaven. Your legend is growing. You are a celebrity in both heaven and hell. I want to be the one who puts an end to your iconic status.”

  “I could care less about being a legend. I just want to be with my family. And you’re standing in my way.”

  Drakon lifted the battle-axe and held it with both hands. Eagerness flashed in his black orb. “Very well, Andrew. Let the battle begin.”

  Many things can go wrong in combat. Weapons can malfunction. Communication can break down. Indecision from those in command can cause an unrecoverable delay. But Thorn thought unpreparedness was the number one reason for a mission to fail. Not being ready cripples the cause. The enemy almost always does something unconventional or unexpected. You have to be ready for anything. That’s what makes SEALS so effective. When they rehearse a mission they practice for every conceivable scenario. But no matter the endless military stratagems drummed into Thorn’s head while a member of America’s most elite, he wasn’t ready for what the demon named Drakon did next.

  Drakon began to spin. And he picked up speed rapidly, the revolutions increasing until he became a blur. Wind entered the cave and the room they stood in, gusting in ever increasing intensity, growing from a gale-force wind to hurricane force in seconds. The Eden sword’s flame flickered and threatened to blow out. Thorn found it difficult to stand. The supernatural wind caused his cheeks to flutter, his eyes to scrunch up.

  Lord, help me to stand against my enemy, Thorn prayed. He thrust his sword at the spinning demon, but didn’t feel the flaming blade sink into anything. He performed the same desperate attack again and garnered the same result. Not only was he fighting an unearthly opponent humans are not supposed to be able to physically battle, Thorn also fought the wind. The great wind reminded him of the exorcism that took place at the church he briefly pastored back in Utah. During the exorcism a powerful wind entered the sanctuary and blew him up against a wall. He’d been unable to move.

  Thorn slashed at the wind the best he could, cognizant of the battle-axe in Drakon’s hands. He saw the deadly axe on occasion, glimpsed its twin blades spinning as one like a band saw. “I could sure use some help, C-Dub,” Thorn gasped.

  “I’d love to help, buddy, but I can’t see what you’re fighting.”

  “The manna is in my rucksack. It’s in a small pouch in the side pocket.”

  Drakon all at once stopped spinning. He came back into view. The large demon glanced over at Webb as he rifled through Thorn’s rucksack sitting on the ground next to Castellanos.

  “You’re good at spinning. Maybe you should take up figure skating. You might have to ditch the battle-axe, though,” Thorn said to his hulking opponent. He didn’t know why he kept smarting off to the demons. It wasn’t a wise tactic, yet he kept doing it for some reason. But then he wasn’t a normal person by a long stretch. He was a walking contradiction, an ex-Navy SEAL who once killed people in the name of liberty, an ex-pastor who tried to save lost people from the curse of sin, and then if that wasn’t peculiar enough he morphed into an international fugitive, a trash-talking, demon slayer. Weirdness personified.

  “Lay off the trash talk, Mad Dog. You’re only making him mad,” Webb said.

  “He was already mad when he entered the cave.”

  “And you’re making it worse,” Webb said as he pulled out the manna pouch from the rucksack.

  Thorn subtly moved his feet into a fencer’s stance—his right foot pointing forward and his back foot sideways, and launched another attack, thrusting the Eden sword tip at Drakon’s powerful chest, a chest covered by a breastplate forged from strange-looking metal. Thorn’s motion had been fluid and swift and nearly perfect, but Drakon nimbly leapt backward and away from Thorn’s strike. And then the red-haired beast counter-attacked.

  Drakon swung his battle-axe from side to side, whipping the heavy, cleaving weapon deftly and with little effort. Thorn squatted low, ducking under the swinging battle-axe. The head-splitting weapon whistled back and forth over his head, slamming into the cave walls and showering sparks onto the ground. Thorn timed Drakon’s swings and when the battle-axe reached its farthest point to his left, Thorn drove the Eden sword upward. The sword clanged off the demon’s collarbone, just missing Drakon’s head. Thorn leaped backwards before the battle-axe could slice into his torso.

  He noticed with satisfaction that Drakon’s long red locks had caught fire. The demon shrieked and began spinning again. The wind velocity grew more rapidly this time, and generated triple-digit speed almost instantly. Worse, the wind seemed to be directed only toward him. Thorn could barely stand; the hurricane wind nearly bent him in half. The wind pushed him backwards. His feet skittered across the cave floor. From within the wind’s vortex Thorn could hear Drakon shrieking curses. And though he couldn’t see it, Thorn knew the battle-axe swung back and forth without letup, intent on cleaving his flesh.

  As the wind blew him backwards, Thorn looked behind him. A trap loomed. Drakon was blowing him toward a cleft formed by intersecting cave walls,
funneling him into a natural coffin. Helpless to stop his slide, Thorn looked for Webb. Except for one time on a mountain top in Utah, Webb always had his back and routinely pulled him out of scrapes. When he spotted his friend he noticed Webb holding something. The object looked like a remote control device. Webb’s thumb worked a joystick.

  Lord, please quiet the wind. I can’t fight Drakon like this, Thorn pleaded as he struggled to stay upright. Not only was the wind propelling him backwards, it also blew the Eden sword’s flame backwards, nearly snuffing it out. But the holy flame refused to die; its heat mirrored the wind’s intensity and warmed his face, singing his eyebrows.

  Thorn looked behind him again, just in time to tense his body for impact into the cleft. He slammed into the human-sized fissure. His torso folded. He started to go down, but righted himself and extended the Eden sword defensively. The battle-axe crashed into the flaming blade with pulverizing force. The sword flew out of Thorn’s hands and clattered to the cave floor just far enough away he couldn’t retrieve it.

  Drakon crashed into him, pinning him fast. The wind died instantly, but the reprieve didn’t help. The big demon smothered him. Drakon’s foul-smelling flesh meshed with his. Thorn couldn’t budge, couldn’t fight his way out from the cleft. Evil overtook him, trapped him. Drakon’s dark nature, his sinful temperament pounded at his heart to come in and pillage his soul. You own my soul, Lord. You ransomed it. You’re stronger than Drakon. Don’t let him possess me.

  Thorn struggled to think. He knew dozens of ways to fight, but his mind wouldn’t focus properly. Panic held his cognition hostage, took it to a scary place and locked the door tight, barring it shut.

  Thorn shuddered. For a brief moment a vision overtook him and he saw the bearded man again, still praying. But then the vision left him as quickly as it appeared, leaving him alone to deal with Satan’s apprentice.