Apocalypse Soldier

by William Massa

  The nauseating smoke and gas fumes suggested they better get out of the car before the tank ruptured and turned the wreck into burning death trap. Talon tried to open the door to his right but it wouldn’t budge, the crash having warped the frame. A more extreme procedure would be in order. He twisted his body and cocked back his legs. Exhaling sharply, both limbs pistoned out full force out and smashed open the door. Ignoring the pain as glass fragments cut him, he climbed through the door.

  As expected, a battle scene right out of Iraq greeted him outside. The burning wreck of one cruiser painted the desert red while the other two crashed cars were pockmarked with bullet holes and scattered along the road. A phalanx of apocalypse soldiers were advancing toward the head of the convoy. Another cultist astride a black Ducati was headed for the overturned cruiser. The fiend machine-gunned any officer that stirred, felling the cops as they groggily struggled out of their cars.

  Rage coiled up Talon’s throat and galvanized him into action.

  Let’s see how this bastard would do in a fair fight.

  Moving fast, Talon leaned through the shattered passenger window and reached for Doyle’s shoulder holster. Never letting the approaching cultist out of his sight, his hand’s reached under the agent’s black suit jacket. His fingers were about snatch the pistol when Doyle stopped him, suddenly alert.

  Before Doyle could say something, Talon clamped his other hand over the agent’s mouth and jerked his head at the incoming cultist. “One of the bad guys is approaching, and he’s not taking any prisoners,” he whispered. “You want to live, let go of the gun.”

  The cultist was picking up his pace, clearly having spotted Talon.

  Doyle nodded slightly and released his hand, finally cooperating. About time.

  The cultist sighted down on Talon just as he liberated the Glock from its holster. He pulled away from the cruiser’s passenger side, the bullet meant for him sparking against the vehicle instead. In one fluid motion, the Glock came up and blasted lead at the soldier who was taking shots at him. The bullet struck the man in the forehead and snapped his head back. The soldier and the bike went down in a tangle of flesh and steel.

  Talon surged toward the dead enemy and added the soldier’s AK-47 to his arsenal.

  Up ahead, a van pulled alongside the lead cruiser. More soldiers emerged from the vehicle as Nicole darted from the car. She tried to make a run for it, but the soldiers intercepted her and she was whisked into the waiting van. At the same time, Talon realized that it was only a matter of seconds before the flames spreading across the overturned cruiser would ignite the gas tank and obliterate Doyle.

  He had to choose between leaving the man to die and letting Nicole get away.

  Mind made up, he began to pull Doyle out of the wreck. He was calm as he used both arms to liberate the FBI agent trapped inside. His muscles strained, the veins thickly outlined against his burnished skin. Sweat rolled down his face as he heaved.

  Stay focused, he ordered himself. Fear was a great motivator—as long as you didn’t let it paralyze you. If the car blew, he wouldn’t even know what hit him. If a cultist fired a lucky shot, he’d be dead and unable to complete his mission. End of story. Giving it any further thought was a waste of energy. Better to concentrate on saving Doyle.

  It took less than twenty seconds to rescue him, but time elongated while Talon struggled with the man’s weight. Fortunately the FBI agent was awake and cooperative, making the job somewhat easier.

  Once the man was clear of the smoking cruiser, Talon helped the still groggy FBI agent back to his feet. He was about to pull him away from the car when Doyle stopped him.

  “Wait! What about the driver?”

  Talon shook his head. “He’s gone.”

  There was a familiar dark flicker in Doyle’s eyes, one that had passed over Talon’s face all too often. It was never easy to lose a good man.

  Together they jumped into motion, Doyle’s gait growing more surefooted with each step until they were both running, trying to put distance between themselves and the cruiser. Not a moment too soon as the hungry flames licked over the gas tank and the vehicle erupted in a devastating fireball. The heat from the explosion singed their faces, and the shockwave sent them sprawling. Doyle moaned and cursed as he staggered.

  “Who the hell are you?” he asked.

  I’m the guy who is going to stop these fuckers, Talon thought. Out loud, he said, “I’m one of the good guys.”

  With these words, he turned back to the battlefield. The black van with Nicole inside was receding into the distance. He’d have to move fast if he hoped to catch up. He eyed the dead cultist’s black Ducati and a plan snapped into focus.

  Before Doyle could protest, he rushed toward bike. He righted the downed Ducati, freeing it from its lifeless rider. He fired up the engine, and a beat later he was roaring through the gauntlet of smoking police cruisers and murdered cops, homing in on the black van ahead like a laser-guided missile.

  The desert flashed past him, and he experienced a surreal sense of disconnection almost as if he’d stepped out of his body, reduced to a spectator and not an active participant in unfolding events. He was chasing after a group of devil worshipping soldiers to save a girl who was possessed by seven demons. This is what his life had turned into.

  A crazy nightmare.

  But were his years of fighting terrorists so different? Someone had to ward off the monsters so that rest of civilization could go on with their safe, normal lives. He’d never wanted this type of existence for himself. But the universe, God, the eternal cosmic chaos that sprang from the collision of light and darkness—call it what you will—had chosen it for him. He was a soldier; this was his war and he instinctively knew he’d be fighting it until the day he drew his final breath.

  The sound of the fast-approaching van ahead forced him back to the present. Not a moment too soon as the roof hatch popped open once again. Talon had anticipated the maneuver. His gun was already sighted on the shooter seconds before the man appeared. Talon’s slug took half the cultist’s face off, but unfortunately this guy was armed with a grenade—which he dropped inside the moving van.

  Talon’s pulse hitched and dread washed over him as the van erupted in a vortex of steel and flame. He braked hard, tires leaving skid marks in their wake. A twisted pile of burning metal now filled the road ahead. His stomach sank as the full horror hit him: his actions had resulted in the death of the woman he was supposed to protect.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE SEARED EXPANSE of desert flashed past Nicole’s window, marred by patches of cacti and pine. Somehow they managed to thrive despite the blistering conditions. Out here, it was survival of the fittest. The thought gave rise to a question: Was she strong enough to overcome the dark challenges that lay ahead? Would she bloom or wilt?

  Would she defeat the demons or be torn apart by them?

  She sat in the back of the lead cruiser as she pondered these questions, wondering how long she’d be able to hold on before the darkness fully consumed her. She sensed that the pendant’s protective magic was waning as the demonic power grew. The voices were becoming stronger.

  Her hand closed around the amulet.

  Take it off! the voices whispered. Release us.

  She wanted to obey the voices. Do their bidding. Give in to the darkness…

  But something stopped her. Nicole knew it was a force stronger than her own will. The magic of the pendant, she realized. It was helping her resist the darkness. In the same way the demons had stopped her from turning a gun on herself, the magic of the pendant was preventing her from removing the pentacle from her neck.

  She silently thanked Talon for the protective amulet. Without it…

  She stopped herself from finishing the thought. Experiencing her dread might make the demons even more brazen and insistent in their urgings.

  The police officer in the front passenger seat craned his neck toward her, triggering another wave of horror. Blood o
ozed from every orifice of the officer’s face, sheathing his quivering features. Words boomed from his rotting lips. “Aaaaare… Youuu… Aaalright?”

  That was how the entities inside her saw the world, and now they were making her view it that way too. Bleeding, festering flesh… sinew and bone barely holding together…

  Meat.

  Please, God, make it stop…

  A cry of horror worked its way up from inside of her, and she had to force it back from her lips. Her life had irrevocably changed within the last twenty-four hours, and there was no way she could go back. Her first possession had transformed her life, but the second one had shattered it. Everything she’d worked so hard to build… gone overnight She fought back the gloom of oncoming depression, recalling Cabrera’s warning that the demons fed on negative emotions…

  The sound of an explosion snapped her back to reality. Outside her window, the cruiser bringing up the rear—the one with Talon inside—flipped and crashed, signaling that the horror show was back on. As the smoke cleared, the convoy of doom jumped into view. Machinegun fire cut through the air and bullets punched into the cruisers. However, the cultists targeted only the tires of the lead vehicle.

  They want me alive, Nicole thought.

  Bullets rocked the vehicle and she held on to her seatbelt, bracing herself both physically and mentally for the inevitable impact. The engine wailed as the vehicle swerved and skittered before braking to a sharp halt. The cops sitting behind the plexiglass drew their firearms and rushed out only to be mown down in mid-stride. One man was whipped around by the hail of lead like a ragdoll and smashed face-first into her window, his bloody features leaving a dark smudge before disappearing from view.

  Is this nightmare ever going to end?

  …It will… an inhuman voice answered.

  …Give in to the darkness and turn your back on all this pain and madness…

  She wanted to get out of the car, but her limbs wouldn’t obey her command. Her hands were shaking and she clutched the pendant, hoping to draw strength from it, but the metal burned her skin.

  It’s already reacting to the darkness inside of me, she realized.

  A black van shot toward the cruiser, staccato bursts of fire announcing its arrival. The sight of the incoming vehicle jolted Nicole into action. She got out of the cruiser, legs once again moving under her own volition. Her only thought was to run as far as she could, as fast as she could, to put distance between herself and the cult.

  She didn’t get far.

  The van screeched to a tire-scorching stop and the door opened. Armed men emerged and before she knew it, rough hands had grabbed her and pulled her into the vehicle. She tried to fight them off, but the whispering voices of the seven demons welcomed the soldiers. These men weren’t her kidnappers but a future army to command.

  Once inside the van, the door slammed shut. The soldiers stayed close to her as the van began to move. For a moment she sat there, shivering, ringed by the masked soldiers. The men exchanged no words and barely stirred, as if frozen. They barely seemed human anymore. The sound of fighting and dying faded away as the van sped from the scene. Then Nicole heard something new: the roar of a motorcycle engine.

  Could it be Talon?

  Impossible, she’d seen the cruiser flip over. He was dead, or as good as.

  But who else would be trying to save her?

  Fool! hissed the voices in her head.

  The promise of renewed combat sparked the cultists to life. One man grabbed a grenade from his belt and flung open the roof hatch. As he stuck his head out, a gunshot echoed, and a beat later, the man dropped into the belly of the van, his face cratered. The grenade flew from his hand, the pin already pulled. The remaining soldiers alternately tried to grab it or kick it away, but there was no escape. Reality slowed as the grenade detonated. An instant later, Nicole found herself at the center of the maelstrom of disintegrating steel and roaring fire.

  ***

  Flames painted Talon’s face crimson as he approached the smoking wreck of the van that had become Nicole’s funeral pyre. The last remaining pick-up truck and the Hummer had stopped about a half a mile down the road. How many soldiers remained in Amon’s army at this point? He wasn’t keeping track of the body count, but with the destruction of the van, there couldn’t be more than a dozen men.

  Almost an even fight, Talon thought bleakly.

  But what was there left to fight for? The apocalypse soldier’s prize had gone up in flames.

  His gun had killed the soldier, which in turn led to the grenade going off. A quick reflex with catastrophic consequences, a series of chain events that couldn’t be undone. His boots crunched in the sand as he stepped off the asphalt and zeroed in on the skeletal wreck. No way Nicole could’ve survived.

  Talon had failed to save her. Another innocent, lost.

  He froze, breath hitching in his throat. He spotted movement from the ruined vehicle. How…?

  A shape emerged from the burning wreck of the van. A figure was approaching him in the desert like a mirage, closing in with preternatural grace. Nicole was walking straight toward him, unscathed by the explosion. Her jeans and T-shirt didn’t show even a smudge of soot, and her face was without a scratch.

  Impossible.

  He remembered what she’d told him earlier: Kill me now before it’s too late.

  He regarded her with a mixture of relief and terror. He was elated to see her alive but knew this wasn’t result of some miracle. The demons had protected her, using their dark magic to preserve the vessel that housed them.

  “Nicole?” he said. “I don’t believe it.”

  “That’s why you won’t win this fight,” Nicole said coolly as she brushed past him.

  “Who am I talking to now?” Talon asked as his fingers tightened around the AK-47. Even though he doubted a bullet could harm Nicole at this point, he was reassured by the machine gun’s weight.

  “I’m still in charge. Thanks to this.” She pointed at the Sumerian pentagram amulet draped around her slender neck. She inclined her head toward the approaching vehicles. “Time is running out. They’ll be here soon. We better get going.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  AS SOON AS the soldier stepped out of his hospital room, Father Cabrera began to pray for Nicole. He didn’t know exactly what the cultists planned to do with her, but he sensed it would make the massacre at his church pale in comparison.

  When he woke up the following morning, news reports of the murder of Ashley Rose greeted him. Cabrera’s stomach knotted and his mouth went dry. The twenty-two-year-old waitress had been found decapitated in her home, and her roommate Nicole Stivers missing. All the evidence at the scene suggested an occult connection to the terrible crime. There was no doubt in Cabrera’s mind that the cult was behind these atrocities.

  The next hours were filled with worry. Four years ago, Nicole had shown up at the steps of his church. There had been a haunted quality to her beauty, an edge borne out of the unholy trauma of her possession. But he’d immediately recognized strength in those sad features too, as well as a desire to move on. She’d decided that she wouldn’t live her life waiting for the past to catch up with her. That meant she needed to be prepared in case the beast returned and wanted to learn how to fight back. Cabrera had told her to return in a week and he’d teach her what he knew. And so he had. Over the course of their sessions, he had shared meditative techniques that would allow her to control her possession. Channel it. Possibly even defeat it.

  Would these ancient teachings work in a time of crisis? He didn’t know for sure. But their weekly meetings had empowered Nicole and rebuilt her confidence. Seeing her flourish had filled him with joy. She’d become like a daughter to him.

  The possibility that Nicole was now a prisoner of this cult pained him deeply. As long as there was hope that she might be with the soldier, he couldn’t give in to despair. He’d urged the man to take Nicole to the Monastery of the Holy Trinity in the desert. She’d
be safe there. The brotherhood would protect her. Had the soldier followed his advice? There was only one way to find out.

  Father Cabrera would have to travel to the monastery himself to make sure Nicole was safe. Over the protests of the nurses, he checked himself out of the hospital. Less than an hour later, he was on his way to the American-Mexican border.

  The unforgiving desert landscape flashed past the car windows. Dry winds blew tumbleweeds over the highway, while the clouds traveling above the horizon swirled and boiled. Father Cabrera muttered prayers under his breath as he steered his white Buick Le Sabre down the heat-cracked concrete.

  The prayers served a twofold purpose. They calmed his frayed nerves, relaxing him, while also preparing him mentally and spiritually for the fight ahead.

  The weight of the golden crossblade, which contained the bone fragments of the 9 saints, felt reassuring beneath his palm. The relic had been instrumental in defeating the demon eight years earlier and rested on the passenger seat within easy reach. He prayed its power wouldn’t fail him this time around.

  On the road for thirty minutes, his cell phone suddenly chirped. The call came from an unlisted number. A youthful, educated voice greeted him on the other end. The man didn’t offer a name but told him that he worked with the soldier, and he quickly brought Cabrera up to speed. Nicole’s soul was once more in danger, the demons having returned sevenfold. The soldier and Nicole were on their way to the monastery with the cult hot on their tail.

  Cabrera’s expression darkened at the news. He’d shown Nicole ways to stand up to one demon, not seven. How could they hope to defeat an entire legion of these entities? The mysterious caller had a plan, but it would require both Cabrera and the brotherhood. Facing seven demons at once was an impossible challenge, a hopeless endeavor doomed to failure. But someone had to try to stop these monsters.

  Someone had to save Nicole.