“Captain?” asked the soldier from before.
“The plan is the same, Dempsey. We need to get to the cafeteria and see if our intel on the hostages is accurate before Brooks blows the place.” Kane then led them quickly down the second-floor corridor, hoping they wouldn’t be delayed again.
Boy, was he wrong.
They made it halfway down the hall before a group of ten militants rounded the corner in front of them, cutting them off. Gunfire erupted instantly from the opposing force, but fortunately, Kane’s team was quicker.
All five Rangers opened up with everything they had, firing a sustained burst into the assailants. They all went dry, unleashing a dizzying amount of lead down the tight confines. Just like in a low budget action movie, all five men expelled their empty magazines at once, slamming new ones home as they moved.
The end of the second-floor hallway was a crimson nightmare. Nothing stirred, except for the flowing blood from the fresh bullet wounds in the dead. The wall behind them was torn to pieces, showing daylight through it in some spots. A quick getaway if needed, Kane thought, strategizing a back door out. Punch through the wall with another grenade and jump down the ten or so feet to the overgrown grass below. Like landing on a pillow…in a blender.
Kane moved ahead, peeking around the corner to his right and down the stairs, back towards the main hall of the first floor. Nothing. He sounded the all clear and moved.
As soon as his boot hit the first blood-soaked stair, he slipped and fell on his ass, losing his M4. He unceremoniously slid down the concrete steps like a slip-n-slide from hell.
Halfway down the twenty-foot staircase, two men stepped into view with looks of complete surprise on their faces. I guess they didn’t expect to see a Special Forces soldier sliding on his rear in a river of blood.
Before they could get their Soviet-made Kalashnikovs up, Kane drew his M9 Beretta and put two holes in each of the men’s chests. He finished his stair-slide in true Kane fashion, continuing ass first into the adjacent wall. Thankfully there weren’t any more mercs waiting for him.
“Damn, Captain. Nice moves!” Dempsey cheered helping him up again. He handed Kane his dropped M4 and immediately took up a defensive posture. Kane liked Dempsey, a light-hearted man, but a Ranger through-and-through.
Kane grunted as he stood, “How many more men can they have?” It was a rhetorical question, one that was answered with more gunfire.
This time, the volley came from farther back down the hall, near the door they originally came through.
“Aw, shit. Run! Make for the lunch room and don’t stop until you smell the tacos!” Kane barked, running as fast as he could in his bulky armor.
After the quick sprint, they arrived at the cafeteria, bursting through the metal doors, not having time for stealth. They entered guns up, finding only death. There were bodies everywhere, and from the looks of it, they’d been here a while.
8
Colombia
“Good God,” Dempsey said, turning pale.
Kane saw the man stop in his tracks. “Dempsey… Dempsey!” he shouted, but the man didn’t react. He was dead to the world, not being able to take his eyes off the carnage that was the hostages.
He grabbed the stunned man’s arm, shaking him awake. “Dempsey, you’re with me. Frost, take Manning and Navarro and barricade the damn door. Go!”
Dempsey snapped out of whatever mental funk he was in and took up a defensive position to the left of Kane. They guarded the lifeless room from this end, while the other three men did what they could to keep the security force out.
Kane keyed his tactical throat mic, “Brooks, you copy? Hostages are a no-go. Blow the factory ASAP and rendezvous at the LZ for extraction.”
A long second of silence and then, “Copy that Captain, charges set. We’re on our way.”
He turned to the others, “Okay gentlemen, let’s find another way out of this butcher shop, shall we?” With the steel doors successfully blocked they hurried through the mess of rotting corpses to the opposite side of the room, looking for a back door.
They entered the cafeteria’s kitchen, making their way to the exit to the loading dock. Dempsey reached for the door first, grabbed the knob and threw it open, M4 at the ready. He was greeted with a burst of fire, killing him and wounding Frost.
Frost got off a couple lucky shots, killing the hostile, before falling to the ground clutching his shoulder. Navarro rushed to the downed men, while Manning held position by the door, weapon up, finger on the trigger.
“Damnit, sir,” Navarro cursed. “Dempsey is down and Frost took a round to the shoulder and is bleeding heavily.”
All Kane could do was just stare at Dempsey’s lifeless form. The man had been beside him since this shit started and now was gone.
“Captain?” Navarro asked, looking up to him. Kane shook his head, clearing it some. “Do what you can for Frost’s wound. We’re leaving in thirty.” Kane stepped over to Dempsey’s body, never looking into his still eyes, and collected his extra magazines and dog tags. He knew men died doing this, but he really lamented not getting Dempsey home alive to his family.
“Sir, the rear is clear,” Manning said kneeling near the door, weapon pointed through the opening. He was the old-dog of the team and nothing seemed to bother him.
“Frost?” Kane asked looking to the injured man.
“Fine, Captain. Well, better than the alternative, Sir. We’ll worry about it when we’re in the air.”
“Can you fight?” Kane asked.
“M4 is a no-go, shoulder won’t hold the weight, but I’m not useless either,” Frost said, drawing his sidearm.
Kane smiled, “Never said you were.”
He and Frost knew each other from their earliest days in the army. They were the same age and became quick friends, having loads in common. They loved the same music and re-watched the same movies over and over together in their downtime.
The biggest difference between the two men wasn’t their abilities. They were both on even playing ground in that respect. It was Frost’s temper and his occasional lack of respect for his superiors that held him back from advancing any further. It’s the reason why Frost worked for Kane, instead of him leading his own unit.
The four men exited the kitchen, entering the outside loading dock area, ducking left and taking a ramp that descended the raised platform. Once on ground level, they hurried to the thickly wooded area directly behind the school.
“Brooks, you clear?” Kane asked while on the move.
“Yes, sir,” chirped a reply. “We’re fifty yards into the overgrowth waiting on your arrival.”
Kane knew the others could hear the transmission and responded by double-timing it into the trees. Kane and Frost were the last ones in when the shit hit the fan.
An explosion ripped through the air and sent both men flying into a tree. When Kane hit he felt something crack in his back, instantly losing feeling in his legs.
“Damnit!” He swore, trying to block out the pain.
“Jeremy…”
Kane looked to his left and saw Frost lying in a pool of blood, the left side of his face was burned and shredded. How the man was still alive and conscious was beyond him.
“Stay back! Get…to cover!” Kane shouted back to the others, his voice cutting out. He leaned up against a tree, pointing his weapon back the way he came.
Through blurred eyes and over a smoldering crater, Kane saw a man emerge from the rear exit pulling the pin on another grenade. A second man, standing beside the first, had already opened fire on his position with his AK47. Most likely the jerk-off responsible for the first blast, Kane thought through the pain and nausea.
He did his best to aim and sent a few controlled bursts towards the new threat. Fortunately, he hit the man attempting to throw the now live explosive. The man dropped to the concrete and the heave turned into a less threatening vertical lob. The grenade landed next to the man’s unsuspecting partner. With no time to r
eact, the shooter was instantly pureed by the blast and now very, very dead.
Before the detonation, Kane lost consciousness from the trauma he suffered to his back and head, blacking out. He awoke three days later in a military hospital where he would miraculously recover from a broken back and fractured skull.
Unfortunately for Captain Jeremy Kane, he had permanent nerve damage in his back and was forced out of the active service despite a clean bill of health eight months later. The army just didn’t want to take a chance.
That’s when the Company came calling. They offered him a job and got him back out in the field where he belonged, puttin’ a hurtin’ on the people who deserved it.
Frost wasn’t so lucky and had multiple surgeries to fix the massive damage to his face. His left arm was scorched down to his fingers and he broke his leg in three spots.
Kane tried to stay in contact with his friend, but Frost eventually disappeared and hadn’t been heard from since.
The last conversation he had with Frost ended badly and his former partner ended up blaming him for his maiming and subsequent discharge from the service. Unfortunately, Kane knew the man was one to hold grudges and he suspected that this wouldn’t be the last time he’d see his vengeful teammate.
9
Hotel Dolores Alba Chichen
Chichen Itza, Yucatan, Mexico
“No, we didn’t see anything that looked like it could be hiding a secret entrance. But, it’s not like we could walk up to the ruins and poke around without somebody noticing. We’ll know more, later on, tonight.”
“And what happens if you don’t find what you’re looking for?” asks the caller.
“I’m not sure,” I honestly reply. “I guess we’ll figure that out when the time comes.”
“Look, son,” Dad says, giving me his concerned, fatherly voice now. “Maybe it’s time you put this whole thing on the backburner for a while. You’re driving yourself crazy looking for anything that even remotely resembles a tie to the Atlanteans. You’re headed for a nervous breakdown at this rate.”
Too late, I think.
“I’m fine, Dad.” A lie and he knows it. “I’ll call you when we get back to the hotel tonight and fill you in with whatever we find out, okay?” We hang up and I toss my phone onto my bed, falling face first into my pillow. I go over every single scenario I can think of if this doesn’t go as planned. Not once do I attempt to devise a plan if it works out. Do I really have that little faith in what I’m looking for here, or am I just being a pessimist and seeing the glass as half empty?
Still face down in my pillow, I hear the door to the bathroom open, the sounds of wet bare feet slapping against tile flooring, stopping beside me. The bed dips and leans as I’m joined by another person. Please don’t be Kane. Which it shouldn’t be, he’s napping next door.
I’m then mounted from behind by a pair of smooth, soft legs, which have climbed themselves onto my back, straddling across my hips. I lift my head to look up at my visitor but stop when two strong, yet gentle hands start rubbing out the kinks in my neck and shoulders. My brain instantly turns to mush and I fall directly back into my pillow as I moan with sheer delight.
“Fan, Hank!” Nicole curses. “You need to start getting this done regularly. Your back feels like the world’s largest mogul run.”
“Shut up…and push…harder,” I mumble into the surprisingly soft pillow. But, it came out like I was practicing underwater Yiddish.
“Ow! Damnit!” I yell as a hand yanks my head up, gripping my hair.
“What was that?” The hand yanks harder.
“Ow! Nothing! Let go!” I cry as she drops my head back down to the bed with a laugh.
“Get up crybaby. We are meeting Kane for dinner to go over tonight’s tour.”
I turn my head just as Nicole’s naked form reenters the bathroom, shutting the door. I smile broadly at the view and then frown at the sight of the door now blocking it. Groaning, I turn over and grab my phone, checking the time.
6:30 PM
We aren’t due to arrive back at the park until after closing time, around nine o’clock, so we have plenty of time to relax and eat. The diner here has a couple of really good local items that have grown on me the last two days since we first checked it.
I unwillingly get up from the bed, actually feeling a lot better than when I first tried to suffocate myself in my pillow. Man, she has magic hands, I think as I rub my neck and roll my shoulders.
Standing in front of the dresser mirror, I remove my shirt and apply a fresh coat of deodorant. I give myself a look, noticing a lot of new scars that weren’t there a year ago. Hell, they weren’t there four months ago.
I slip off my shorts from earlier today and into a pair of black cargo pants. My Kilimanjaro Tours t-shirt, depicting a rhino on the front, fresh from the racks at Disney’s Animal Kingdom, is next. “I wonder if he’s related to Rhonar?” I ask myself, recalling the Minotaur-like beast we killed while in the Atlantean underworld.
“What?” Nicole asks from the bathroom, obviously hearing me speak.
“Nothing,” I answer. “It’s nothing.”
I glance back down to my shirt one more time, the hair on my arms standing up. Just the thought of the dead city under the desert in Africa gets my heart pumping. The muscles in my back tense up and I start to sweat, as my breathing quickens. My eyes dance a little and I quickly become lightheaded and lose my balance, stumbling a little.
“Hank?”
I turn to see Nicole, fully clothed in her normal, less-flashy attire, with an obvious look of concern on her face. She sees the fear in my eyes and rushes to my side as I experience, for the first time in my life, and as my father just predicted…a full-fledged panic attack.
Isla de Jaina, Campeche, Mexico
The boom of distant thunder echoed across the water, reaching land shortly after. It signified the end of a storm that had just ripped through the western shore of the Yucatan Peninsula.
Seeing it coming, Frost quickly and purposely packed up and left an hour before it arrived, shortening his raid on the treasure trove.
The storm dumped thousands of gallons of water on the area including Isla de Jaina, which was hit the hardest due to its location just off shore. The wind whistled through the expeditions dig site, churning up the debris left from the morning’s activities. Everything was doused, including the ash-laden land.
The shake of equipment rattled throughout the research tent arousing its occupant. As the low rumble resonated through the camp, it finally startled awake the unconscious form of the woman who had collapsed atop a cot earlier that morning.
“Huh?” A surprised moan sounded from one of the tents, shortly followed by a shout of pain. “What the—arrr!” Olivia Dubois grabbed her head and winced, fresh pain shooting through her skull. Through foggy vision, she looked down at her hand, seeing a hint of fresh blood on top of the dried blood from earlier. Seeing it, she instantly remembered what happened.
Olivia stood on wobbly legs, using her work bench as a crutch, getting her bearings. She was still in the research tent, except it wasn’t in the same condition it was earlier. Her examination table for one was a mess, papers flung everywhere, as was her cot.
She saw a splotch of dried blood in the center of where she had just been. Great, she thought. She was about to touch her head again but decided it was best left alone, not wanting another pain filled zing. Plus, Lord knows what kind of infection she could have given herself.
Carefully, she shuffled towards the tent’s entrance, head spinning. She turned the doorknob and stepped through, careful not to trip over the raised threshold.
The first thing Olivia noticed was that the lighting was off, the sun was in a different spot. She looked up, confirming her presumption. It was, in fact, lower in the western sky.
I must have been out for a couple hours.
Curious, she looked down at her watch for the exact time and saw it read four o’clock. “Okay, more than a c
ouple hours,” she grumbled aloud.
Olivia had, in fact, been unconscious for almost six hours, close to a normal work day for most. Must have hit my head hard, she thought. I wonder where—
Her thought was cut off when she noticed something past her watch, on the ground directly beneath her. A stray sneaker laid not six inches from her own foot. Then, she saw another shoe, a foot from that one, and then a shirt, and then pants.
After seeing what must have been the ninth or tenth set of sodden, jumbled clothing, Olivia experienced a mental lightning bolt. She was hit with the memory of what happened to the people these clothes belonged too. The mornings past events slammed into her like a tidal wave.
She recounted the advancing darkness that consumed everyone, spreading like wildfire through the camp. She looked back down at the sneaker that was buried in the black mud beneath her feet—wait a second, black mud? She thought, confused. The ground here was a deep brown, but not black.
She lifted her own foot noticing her shoe was also covered in the same black substance. She lowered it back down and saw she was standing in a shallow black puddle of muck and realized what it was. It’s not mud. It’s wet ash. It was the soaked remains of the man who had been desperately seeking her help.
“Gah!” Olivia screamed in fright, hopping out of the puddle, shaking her feet, trying hysterically to get the stuff off. After recognizing the gunk wasn’t coming off, she tried to slip out of her shoes but then thought better of it. Traipsing around in her bare feet with Bob and Phil between her toes, didn’t sound like anything she would ever want to experience.
Regardless of what she thought, she could feel that her feet were wet. Some of the black-water had infiltrated her shoes via the mesh-like material on the toes of her running shoes.
She gasped again, thinking the worst, but realized something. The ash-muck wasn’t eating away at her feet. Why isn’t it killing me? Not that I’m complaining or anything. She wasn’t sure what the difference was, but maybe it had to do something with the water mixed into it. Is it diluted?
Mayan Darkness (A Hank Boyd Adventure Book 2) (The Hank Boyd Adventures) Page 5