A World Darkly (Wrath of the Old Gods Book 3)

by John Triptych

  “Authentication is Bravo Bravo Zulu One, over” Fred said. “We have a possible enemy contact at Lovelace. Our own squad in Hillsboro is not answering our calls, over.”

  “Okay, Opie Four, stay on the air. You are the only OP that we are in contact with. Can you confirm size and make of enemy units, over?”

  “We lack long range optics and nightvision, but Lovelace confirmed to us that main Aztec body is on the move, heading towards us,” Fred said. “Request reinforcements and immediate fire support, over.”

  Tyrone’s jaw dropped as he saw a fellow soldier running towards them on Interstate 35. “Holy sheeit! I think I can see Stratton… yeah it’s him alright, he’s running towards us!”

  Fred jumped up as he ran over to his side while carrying the radio. “What?”

  “Look,” Tyrone said as he pointed to the highway at the south of the building.

  Fred didn’t have a pair of binoculars so he squinted at first, but it was now obvious that Tyrone was right. Coming up from the highway was Specialist Hank Stratton, he was a former star running back in high school before he joined up several years ago. He had been part of their squad and was assigned with the lieutenant and the rest of the team over in Hillsboro. They could see that he had only one boot on and his combat uniform was torn up in several places. Stratton wasn’t wearing a helmet and there was some blood on his buzz cut. He had a wild look on his face as he ran towards them as fast as he could.

  Tyrone waived at him. “Stratton, over here! We’re over here!”

  Stratton gave them a quick glance before continuing his sprint down the highway. He didn’t even slow down as he kept up the relentless pace. The swirling fog moved in and he was soon lost from their view.

  Tyrone just shook his head. “What in the hell happened? He saw me. Why didn’t he run over to us?”

  Fred keyed in the radio receiver again. It was clear that Stratton must have chickened out. He wasn’t sure if that guy was going to make it to Dallas or not since it was a long way off. No way could he run all the way there, not with one boot on. “Dallas HQ, we need to report that Hillsboro might be overrun, repeat, Hillsboro is believed to be overrun, over.”

  A different voice on the radio soon answered them. “Roger that, Opie Four. You have been transferred over to Divisional HQ. Can you confirm your grid coordinates, over?”

  Fred crouched down and looked at the tactical map. He quickly gave the grid coordinates and then repeated it just to make sure. “We estimate that the enemy could be here any minute now, over.”

  “Roger that,” the voice on the radio said. “Alamo is in play, stay on the air and report as soon as you detect enemy contact. Your orders are to continue to transmit as long as you can and report exact position of main enemy body. Please acknowledge, over.”

  “Mission order acknowledged, over,” Fred said before taking his thumb off the receiver key. “Alamo is in play? What in the hell’s that mean?”

  Tyrone shrugged as he kept looking. “I’ve got no idea. You’re from Texas, aren’t you? What’s the meaning of Alamo to you?”

  “I don’t see a big deal, I mean it’s just a true story about brave Texans holed up in a fort against the Mexicans before we became a state. They were outnumbered like a hundred to one and they didn’t surrender. The ol’ boys from Texas all died and became heroes. That’s pretty much it.”

  “So it’s just about sacrifice then? Does that mean that maybe the Alamo would be like Dallas or something?”

  “Dallas ain’t no fort, it’s a city.”

  Tyrone put down the binoculars and looked at him with wide eyes. “Oh my god.”

  Fred was still confused. “What is it?”

  Tyrone hands started to tremble as he held onto the binoculars. “Alamo! They’re gonna nuke this whole area!”

  Fred’s jaw dropped. “No way, are you kidding me?”

  “Think about it! I’ve seen a number of trucks when we deployed down here with those yellow nuke markings on them,” Tyrone said. “They must have seeded this place with nukes. I heard from Sergeant Smith that the corps of engineers was making all sorts of digs in this whole area!”

  Fred started to look around frantically. “I don’t like this, Ty. You’re scaring me, dude.”

  Tyrone quickly ran over to where his gear was stacked up, then he started rummaging through his bags as he sat down behind the wall.

  Fred just looked at him. He had a growing sense of fear and confusion. “What are you doing, Ty?”

  Tyrone quickly unfolded his CBRN suit and began to wear it over his field uniform. Fred quickly realized his partner was putting on a special protective outerwear in an event of a chemical or nuclear attack. He quickly ran over, opened his own pack and began putting it on as well. Within a few minutes, both men had gotten into their suits and were putting on their oversized boots when the radio began squawking again.

  “Opie Four, what’s your sitrep, over?” the voice on the radio said.

  Fred ran back over to the radio as he carried his gloves and mask. He gestured at Tyrone to use his binoculars again. The thin black man from Georgia had already put his gloves on and just needed to put his mask over his face, but instead he grabbed the binoculars that were lying on the ground as he looked out from the roof again. In less than a second, he made an audible gasp before ducking behind the wall of the roof again.

  “Ty, what is it? I need a sitrep,” Fred said.

  Tyrone was shaking like a leaf. “T-they’re here,” he whispered.

  Fred didn’t get it. “What do you mean they’re here?”

  Tyrone’s voice was like a squeal of a cornered mouse. “T-they’re all around us. The Aztecs.”

  Fred inhaled deeply as a feeling of terror rolled down his spine. They were going to die. The one thought that came to his mind was the advice of his grandfather. If you’re gonna die, then take as many of the enemy with you. That was when he slowly and deliberately picked up the radio receiver and keyed it in. “Dallas HQ, we’re surrounded. Request all ordinance to be dropped or detonated on us, over.” Then he repeated their grid coordinates.

  The reply on the radio was terse. “Acknowledged, Opie Four. Stand by for Alamo detonation. Suggest you hunker down, over.”

  Tyrone whimpered as he placed the gas mask over his face. Fred didn’t bother to put his own mask on as he felt that he was going to die no matter what. They could hear chants in a strange language in the parking lot down below. Fred slowly picked up his rifle and checked to make sure it was loaded.

  And then all hell broke loose.

  The constant squawking on the radio must have attracted them. Within minutes, a swarm of Aztec warriors, hard, painted men dressed in traditional loincloths and feathered headdresses, climbed up to the overhang and then started to hurdle the wall of the roof. Fred saw them first and began firing as the first Aztec warrior bounded over the divider. Tyrone also made a grab for his rifle as both men began to engage the unceasing swarm of warriors that tried to climb their way up to them. Fred was able to bring down over a half dozen of them before switching to semi-automatic fire in an effort to conserve his ammunition. The Aztec men they were facing seemed to be in some sort of weird trance as they moved slowly and advanced on them with their macuahuitls, an Aztec sword made out of wood with embedded obsidian blades along its sides.

  In less than two minutes, they were both able to bring down three dozen assailants. They covered each other’s backs as the horde down below had apparently wavered and no other warriors attempted to climb up on the roof. At that moment, something fell out of the sky and landed less than twenty yards away. As both Fred and Tyrone looked out over the roof, they saw that it was some sort of bomb, sticking out of the ground just at the edge of the highway.

  “Opie Four, are you still there?” the voice on the radio said.

  Both of them looked at each other. It was clear that the warhead was either dropped or launched from an artillery piece. But it hadn’t detonated. Alamo was a nuke
and it had proved to be useless.

  Then things got even worse.

  A creature straight out of myth suddenly leapt onto the roof. At first glance, it looked like a pale, naked woman wearing a metallic skirt. Its face was that of a fanged skull, with blank sockets that resembled an empty void of death, its long hair hung like black curtains over its flaccid breasts. The monster’s skeletal body was just bones over dead flesh while its hands ended in razor sharp black claws. They called it the tzitzimitl, the dreaded Aztec demon from the stars.

  Fred screamed as he began firing on it, but all he did was make the monster even angrier as it advanced towards them. The rifle rounds seemed to either pass right through the creature or did no visible damage to its gaunt body.

  Tyrone had had enough. He dropped his rifle and sprinted to the other end of the rooftop before making a jump for it. As he landed on the concrete parking lot, he twisted his ankle. There were a few Aztec warriors that were yards away. They saw him but they didn’t seem to care as they slowly made their way towards the city in the north. Tyrone grimaced as he stood up and started limping to a small building that housed the automated teller machine. He had seen an old sedan in the garage and he had hotwired it two days before, just in case he needed a getaway car. The Humvee was on the other side of the parking lot and it was surrounded by Aztec warriors, so this was the safer bet.

  As he made it to the outskirts of the parking lot, something round landed just in front of him with a moist thud. The night obscured what it was, so Tyrone limped closer for a better look. As he got to within a few feet he cried out in sheer terror. It was Fred’s head. The mouth was contorted in a silent scream and his eyes had been gouged out. A pool of blood had begun to form around it.

  Tyrone made it into the garage as he got into the driver’s seat of the sedan. His hands were shaking as he connected the ignition wires together. Several Aztec warriors slowly advanced towards him. The seconds seemed like hours as he kept fumbling with the wires. When he instinctively looked up, an Aztec warrior smashed the window glass right beside him with a wooden club, just as the car started up. The glassy-eyed warrior tried to pull him through the broken window, but Tyrone stepped on the accelerator and the sedan lurched forward. He drove the car into the parking lot now teeming with Aztecs. Another warrior tried to climb onto the hood of the car, but Tyrone stepped on the brakes at the last second and the Aztec was thrown off. A half dozen more of the enemy tried to rush the sedan but it plowed right through them and sped off into the highway. As the car headed towards the outskirts of Dallas, Tyrone didn’t look back.

  2. Reflections in the Flames

  Arizona

  When his neighbor suggested that he join them in moving into a bigger house, Brian said no. That was more than eight months ago, when the panic started and everyone was leaving the city. Now it looked like he was the only one left in the mobile home park. With so many abandoned houses in Phoenix, all the other people that once lived with him either moved into one of the wealthier digs, or they just decided to go away for good. He spent most of the day breaking into every single building and residence in the area, hoping to find a little food to keep him going. Whenever he found booze it was a cause for celebration. If it was a sizable cache, he would try to down a bottle before bringing the rest back to his mobile home. As the days went by, he was starting to find less and less stuff. He still had a half dozen bottles of the good stuff and several cases of beer he took from what was left of a liquor store, but now he figured it was best to ration his stash. Who knew how many days he had left before everything either went back to normal, or he would be dead.

  He wasn’t sure of the exact time, but the sun had already gone down a few hours ago by the time he woke up. Brian was so used to drinking, he hardly had any hangovers anymore, it was just one drunken binge after another. Every time he regained consciousness, he figured it was time for another drink.

  The streetlamps had already gone out months ago, so he was fumbling in the darkness as he stumbled out of the front door. The moon above gave some illumination, but he was surrounded by shadows and he could barely make out any details. As he blinked his eyes, he noticed the large mound in front of him. At least he remembered to gather all the flammable junk before he passed out a few hours before. That was a good thing because the wind had picked up and he felt an icy chill cascading throughout his body.

  With trembling hands, he was able to take the lighter out of his sweater pocket and he started to light the debris pile. When the fire instantly started and began to pick up in intensity, he realized he must have already poured the kerosene on it before his afternoon binge. So it looked like he didn’t forget after all. It wasn’t like the night before when he forgot about everything and just had to drink in the cold darkness with an old blanket wrapped around him. Even though the alcohol ultimately warmed him up, he woke up with a terrible cough the next day.

  As the roaring flames began to intensify, the current of heat drifted in waves and he smiled as his body finally warmed up. Brian walked back into his mobile home but he kept the front door open so the heat would drift inside. He liked to just sit by the door so he dragged his old, beaten up easy chair until it was just facing the doorway. All he had left was gin and even though he hated drinking it, it was better than nothing. Brian sat down on the padded chair, opened the bottle and took a few sips. A part of him figured it might be more practical to move into another, much bigger house with a fireplace, but he preferred to just stay put. He had heard stories from drifters who came by, that those people who took over the larger homes in places like Scottsdale were ultimately found massacred in them. Brian figured that if he stayed put in his own house, then no one would bother him. No one ever did. Perhaps it was because his own neighborhood was run down and poor to begin with, but he never encountered any looters or bandits. He figured that if anyone was so foolish as to squat in one of the wealthier neighborhoods, then they would be a prime target for robbers. The best way to survive this ordeal was to stay beneath the radar, he figured.

  He didn’t get a whole lot of news since power had gone out of the city months ago. The last piece of information he got was from a group of former soldiers who had deserted their post in the south. He was walking along the highway with a sack of goods that he took from a house and they noticed him as they rode by in their Humvee. Brian thought they were going to shoot him, but instead they traded some of their military rations for two bottles of booze. Brian didn’t really want to give it to them but he figured it was better to let bygones be bygones, so he gave them a couple of the cheap stuff. Just before they left, they told him the Aztec gods were on their way. The soldiers said they fought in a battle right at the border, just north of the Mexican town of Nogales and so many of them had died that they felt it was pointless to keep on fighting. They said that Tucson would probably be next and it was better for him to head north, like them. Even though they offered him a ride, Brian just gave them a toothy grin and politely declined, so they took off. That was over two weeks ago, so he figured those Aztec demons would have already conquered Tucson, meaning they could be here any day now.

  Brian noticed a chilly draft coming from the inside of the house, near the back portion. He grunted and slowly got up from his chair as he carried the bottle with him. As he peered into the darkened, compact living room, he noticed part of the opposite wall had collapsed. That was when he remembered that he had tried to start a bonfire in the house about a month ago when the weather started to turn chilly. He was too drunk to realize that the back shelf wasn’t a fireplace so he ended up wasting a keg of beer trying to put the fire out. He had been meaning to board up some plywood where the fire had torn a hole in the wall, but he always put it off for another day. Brian started cursing as he flopped back into the chair. He was hoping he would remember what to do about that hole when he would wake up the next day.

  A shrill, cawing noise woke him up from his stupor. He noticed that the fire had died down a bit, but
it still cast a goodly yellowish light across the trailer park. The cawing noise continued. It sounded like a bird or something.

  Brian slowly got up as he realized that the bottle he was holding was empty. As he tried to move back into the house, he tripped on the front steps of the door and fell backwards, the back of his head hitting the gravel driveway. For a brief moment he just lay there as he cradled his throbbing head. The pain was pretty intense but he wasn’t sure if it was the fall that hurt him or whether it was the onset of a hangover. After a few minutes he sat up, facing the bonfire as he rubbed the back of his head.

  That was when he saw a raven perched on the roof above his doorway. So that was where the cawing noises came from.

  Brian’s voice was like a raw grumble. “Get outta there, you dumb bird! See what you made me do? You made me get up and so I goddamn fell, you stupid animal!”

  The black bird started at him for bit before tilting its head and glancing around robotically. It hardly seemed to notice him.

  Brian remembered that he once had a slingshot when he was a kid and he used to shoot birds out of the sky with it. It was a pity that the only gun he found when he was rummaging through houses didn’t have any bullets. He was tempted to go back into the house and get the gun, but it was pointless without any ammunition. That was when the odor hit him. He hadn’t taken a bath since God knows when, but he didn’t want to keep sitting on the dirt so he slowly pulled himself up.

  “Bravo, and here I was thinking that you were too drunk to get up,” a voice said.

  Brian looked around nervously. “What? Who’s there?”

  The voice sounded old but high-pitched. “Heads up, I’m right above you.”

  Brian looked up, but all he could see was the raven. He pointed at it. “You? Were you talking to me?”

  The black bird looked at him. Its eyes seemed to glow in the dark. “Who else would I be talking to?”

  Brian shrieked as he took a few steps backwards, but he quickly came forward as soon as his back nearly touched the leaping flames coming from the bonfire in front of his house.