Apocalypse Soldier

by William Massa

  The apocalypse had arrived.

  The demon spun toward him, and Doyle snapped a fresh magazine into his submachine gun. His rounds struck the beast’s massive chest but did nothing to halt the slow, even steps. The muzzle flash of the spitting gun illuminated the advancing monster, revealing details that would haunt Doyle for as long as he’d live. Razor-sharp teeth gleamed in the monster’s open mouth, promising agony and death.

  The monster’s shadow engulfed him, canceling out the desert light streaming through the shattered skylights. At the same time, crackling static broke over his mike, a soundtrack that underscored the horror show. The officers outside the church were asking for an update.

  We’re being massacred by demons from hell, Doyle thought crazily. He wondered how that news would go over back at Langley. Part of him was almost relieved that he’d never have to fill out a report on this case.

  Body rigid with fear, Doyle stared up at the beast and waited for certain death. The creature was almost upon him when it paused, its black eyes fixed on something to the right. Doyle craned his neck and spotted the reason for the demon’s hesitation.

  A new yet familiar figure had arrived on the scene. It was the stranger who’d pulled him out of the burning cruiser. He was bare-chested now and armed with a machine gun in one hand, a large golden cross in the other.

  The man who’d saved Doyle’s life earlier that day raised his weapons and attacked the demon.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  THE CHAPEL HAD become a warzone. Bullets lashed the air as the SWAT team engaged the demon soldiers.

  Talon’s heart thudded in his ears as he sought cover behind the altar, intent on not getting caught in the crossfire. There was a blinding flash of light and an intensely loud bang. Talon shielded his eyes and pressed his hands against his ears, but he still went blind and deaf for a few seconds. Even when his senses started to work again, he could only make out vague shapes and strobelike flashes in the billowing clouds of smoke.

  At first it seemed that the SWAT guys were defeating the demon soldiers but appearances could be deceiving. Bullets might slow down these monsters, but Talon doubted they’d be sufficient to stop them. The demonic entities would protect their hosts. Only one weapon could truly destroy them, and that weapon was in Talon’s gore-smeared left hand—the crossblade.

  His suspicion was confirmed moments later when the demon soldiers rose back to their feet and returned fire. The stunned SWAT guys were caught off guard and proved to be no match for these possessed soldiers of the apocalypse.

  The team was being slaughtered. The time had come for Talon to join the fight. He scanned the chapel for Father Cabrera and Nicole, but they had vanished in the clouds of gas and human chaos. He hoped they were safe.

  As he sprung to his feet, he recalled Cabrera’s description of Nicole’s exorcism back at the hospital. The cross drove out the entity while the blade destroyed its physical manifestation. Normally this meant pressing the cross against the bare skin of the afflicted victim, since the goal was to avoid harming the innocent host. But these soldiers weren’t innocent. Talon would be able use the knife with lethal force.

  With this thought in mind, Talon lunged, his machine gun spitting cruel fire while his crossblade cut through the air. Warding off two demon soldiers with a spray of lead, he whirled toward a third and drew the crossblade across his torso. The demon’s body shook and contorted, the cross’s power in full effect. His mouth foamed as a black scorpion emerged from his lips. Before the demon could skitter away, Talon lanced the scorpion with the blade. It evaporated into thin air, the relic’s magic sending it back to whatever dark void it had crawled from.

  Talon barely slowed down as he spun around, repeating the same attack with the next two devil soldiers. The knife slashed the cultists and speared their supernatural parasites, while fire from his machine gun drove them back. As soon as the entities evacuated their hosts, the soldiers succumbed to the mortal wounds Talon had inflicted upon them.

  A force of nature, he continued to demolish the horde, one after another, until he fought his way to Amon. The apocalypse soldier loomed over Doyle, ready to strike at the FBI agent.

  Each one of these soldiers had returned from the war with a demon inside of them—a demon born from the horrors they’d faced and the hard decisions they’d made. Failing to overcome their darkness, they’d embraced it and chosen to become demons themselves. Talon had a demon too. It had been infecting his life ever since the darkness had claimed his Michelle. But he wouldn’t let this darkness consume him. He’d been given a rare opportunity most men never receive.

  A chance to face and slay his demon.

  Michelle’s face flashing in his mind, he emptied a magazine into Amon. The bullets ripped through the massive muscles with ferocious force and punched the monster back. Then Talon was upon him, the crossblade zeroing in on the fiend’s heart. All he needed to do was drive the knife home and wait for the parasite to burst forth.

  Amon was expecting the attack.

  A massive paw snapped around the hand holding the incoming crossblade and stopped it inches before it would’ve pierced his flesh. Retaliating, Amon lunged forward, burying gleaming razor-sharp teeth into Talon’s bare shoulder.

  Talon cried out and backed away, blood streaming from the bite wound. Amon glared at him, his inhuman teeth rimmed red. He bellowed and grabbed Talon, lifted him into the air like a ragdoll, and tossed him across the length of the chapel. He crashed into the altar with devastating force, the impact knocking the wind out of him and sending the AK-47 flying.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Amon rushing toward him with thundering steps like a nightmarish offensive tackle. He was somewhat slowed by the exorcism prayers but still powerful enough to destroy him upon impact.

  Forty feet separated the apocalypse soldier from Talon.

  Spent, part of him wanted to just stay put and await the inevitable but the memory of what this beast had done to Michelle spurred him on.

  Thirty feet.

  Talon picked himself up, a man of blood.

  Twenty feet.

  He climbed onto the altar.

  Ten feet.

  Stumbled erect on the altar, now towering over the incoming demon.

  Five feet.

  He discarded the AK-47 and closed both hands around the crossblade. Ready to face his maker, Talon leaped at the incoming monster as if he was stage diving at some heavy metal concert.

  He crashed into Amon, and the impact sent man and demon flying. As they rolled over the church floor, Talon brought up the blade and drove it deep into Amon’s gut. Before the monster could dig its teeth into him again, he rolled away, bolted to his feet in one smooth motion, and whirled, crossblade up…

  Just in time for the black scorpion to dig itself out of the knife-wound in Amon’s stomach. As the scorpion shot across the floor, Talon rammed the blade into it with a satisfying splat. The demonic insect dispersed into thin air, emitting a keening wail.

  Amon stumbled backward, hands clawing his bleeding gut. His transformation was already reversing, details obscured by the tendrils of smoke. One moment he was a monster, another he was merely a man who dreamt of being one.

  Realizing what was happening to him, Amon retreated into the roiling smoke. Talon picked himself up, every part of his body aching. Finally the smoke had cleared enough and he was able to spot Nicole and Cabrera. She was crouched over the the unconscious priest, keeping him close. Was the demon still inside of her? The answer would have to wait. Amon was getting away. Talon was about to run after him when the sound of a magazine being snapped into a machine gun gave him pause.

  He turned.

  Doyle raised his weapon and aimed it at Talon. For a moment he faced the FBI agent. Doyle was barely able to stay on his feet and his hand shook, but even a wounded shooter could do damage with a spray of lead. To Talon’s surprise, Doyle lowered the weapon and said, “Go and send that fucker to hell where he belongs.”
>
  Talon nodded, picked up an AK-47, and raced after Amon.

  ***

  A hawk circled above the monastery as Talon emerged from the chapel. The white-hot sun greeted him, and for a moment he stumbled on the sandy terrain. Between his chewed-up shoulder and the holes in his hands, he’d lost a lot of blood. But his feet kept taking one step after another, driven forward by the thought of vengeance. There was no sign of Amon, almost as if the desert had swallowed him whole, but the trail of blood told a different story. It led him down the dirt road toward the cultists’ vehicles. Up ahead, an engine revved and the Hummer jumped into motion.

  It didn’t get far. After less than a hundred feet, the Hummer veered off the road and slammed into a rocky outcropping. Smoke belched from the hood.

  Looks like I’m not the only one who’s messed up.

  Talon advanced carefully, not sure if Amon had a back-up firearm in the vehicle. As he drew closer, a hand reached out of the driver’s window and, sure enough, squeezed off a couple of rounds. The attack felt perfunctory and desperate. Each bullet missed him by a wide margin, kicking up the hard-packed ground. Amon’s aim was way off, which Talon hoped meant he must be succumbing to his wounds. He counted the shots, and once the magazine was empty, he continued his approach, AK-47 raised.

  As he drew closer, his enemy became visible. Amon was slumped behind the wheel, covered with blood that had turned his shirt the color of his dyed skin. He breathed shallowly, his black eyes peering out at the desert landscape. What did the man who dreamt of being a demon see during his hour of defeat? Between the boiling heat and the barren wasteland, maybe he could pretend to already be gazing out at the searing plains of hell.

  Hearing his approach, Amon tilted his head toward him. Compared to the monster he’d turned into briefly in the chapel, his old appearance felt pathetic and ridiculous in the bright sunlight, a cheap Halloween mask that failed to terrify. Above, a police helicopter circled, but Talon hoped Doyle had told them to not take a shot at him.

  “I know you don’t fear hell,” Talon said, ”but I wonder what awaits someone who has failed his dark masters.”

  Amon spat blood and said venomously, “I’ll say hello to your bitch when I get there.”

  Talon raised the AK-47.

  A heartbeat before he depressed the trigger, he recalled a quote from the Bible that he’d first heard when he was an altar boy, something that had always stuck with him: If anyone kills Cain, vengeance will be taken on him sevenfold.”

  He took no little pleasure in pumping seven rounds into Amon.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  TALON FACED MICHELLE’S grave as sheets of rain poured from dark clouds. She’d been buried just south of San Francisco in Colam, a town famous for its many cemeteries, and the distinction of having more dead residents than living souls.

  Talon lowered the wreath next to the tombstone and turned away. Today marked five months since his fiancée’s murder. He hoped that the death of one of her killers would bring her peace the way it had for him.

  Rain pelted his face as he walked toward the waiting Tesla Model X parked near the gates of the cemetery. He got in and took a seat next to Casca, who was keeping himself busy with his iPad. The billionaire looked up from whatever text he’d been perusing. “It’s raining something fierce out here.”

  “After Arizona, it’s a nice change of pace. So what are you reading?” Talon asked.

  “Actually some fascinating research on RVPs.”

  “RVPs?”

  “Radio voice phenomena. Research into receiving the voices of the deceased over the air.”

  “Sounds like perfect reading material while visiting a cemetery.”

  Casca grinned. The Tesla began to move, the rain-soaked landscape of tombstones flashing past their windows.

  “I just spoke with Father Cabrera, and it appears he’s doing better with each day. I’m surprised. Don’t Delta guys shoot to kill?”

  “We do.”

  With a shrug, Casca said, “Maybe it’s a miracle.”

  Talon had never believed in miracles, but neither had he put much credence in monsters and demons. In a world where the forces of darkness could walk among us, why couldn’t a miracle or two be possible?

  Casca extricated a familiar item from his suit jacket. The Sumerian pentagram amulet. “Oh, before I forget. Cabrera was nice enough to have the brotherhood return the amulet.” He handed it to Talon.

  After killing Amon, Talon had not returned to the chapel. He’d felt confident that Nicole was in control of her situation and knew that medical help was on the way. If he hung around, he’d risk being arrested. He didn’t plan on spending his remaining days in a jail cell while the forces of darkness waged their shadow war. He was needed in the field.

  As he took off on the Ducati, the police helicopter hovering above the chapel didn’t follow him. Doyle’s gratitude for having saved his life twice in the same day must’ve outweighed his professional curiosity. Perhaps their paths would cross again in the future, maybe this time as allies.

  “You got to be better about not leaving these items behind, Sergeant. Magical weapons don’t grow on trees.”

  “You’re never going to let me forget about the demon slayer blade, are you now? You try fighting a demonic cyborg with explosives going off all around you and see if you remember to pull the knife out of the bad guy.”

  Casca smiled. “My spies, who include a certain Detective Serrone, assure me it’s safe in some SFPD evidence locker. I’m working on getting it back.”

  “Good to hear. How is Nicole doing?” Talon asked.

  “She has decided to remain at the monastery for now,” Casca said. “To continue to learn about the darkness inside her. To become better at controlling it.”

  “Did Cabrera try to exorcise her demon?’

  “They did, but it isn’t working. When Nicole tapped into the entity’s power, it permanently fused with her. Every day she faces a new battle with the creature, a never-ending struggle over who will be in control. But she is also able to harness the demon’s abilities.”

  Talon considered this.

  “For now she’s found a way to conquer her darkness. I’ll be monitoring her progress.”

  “Keep me updated.”

  Casca arched an eyebrow. “How about you? How are you feeling?”

  “Like shit. I might have to take you up on that offer for some R&R days.”

  Casca was both surprised and pleased by his request.

  “I think they’re well deserved and long overdue. I still have Autumn’s number if you feel like spending some time in LA.”

  “Actually, I was thinking of visiting an old military buddy in New York City.”

  Talon smiled. A trip to Queens would be a good way to reconnect with his former life even if it was only for a short period.

  The ghostly cemetery receded and for a moment, death seemed far away. Talon knew all too well that the moment of peace wouldn’t last, but he’d enjoy the momentary lull until the fight began again.

  They’d won another battle, but the war against the darkness would go on.

  Maybe the apocalypse was coming.

  But it wasn’t going to be today.

  THE END

  MARK TALON RETURNS IN BOOK 3: SPIRIT BREAKER OUT NOW!

  The former Delta Force Operator must confront an evil psychic and the terrifying forces of the afterlife in his most heart-pounding adventure yet.

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  William Massa is a screenwriter (Return to House on Haunted Hill) and script consultant. He has lived in New York, Florida, Europe and now calls Los Angeles his home. William writes horror, science fiction and dark fantasy. Directing a movie one day is on William’s bucket list. More books are on the way.

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  Writing can be a solitary pursuit but rewriting can be a group effort. I strive to make each book better than the last and feedback is incredibly helpful. If you have notes, thoughts or comments about this book or want to contact me, feel free to email me at

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  Erin Elizabeth Long

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  Cover design by Jun Ares & William Massa

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  After a decade spent fighting the enemy abroad and keeping his country safe, Delta Force Operator MARK TALON is ready to settle down with the love of his life. But Talon’s world crumbles when his fiancée becomes the victim of a terrifying cult.