The Damned

by L. A. Banks

  “He’s in deep meditation,” Marlene said quietly. “Do not break his concentration, or we’ll die.”

  Damali nodded as she stared at the cold puffs of breaths expelled by the warm bodies around her. Lips were blue; frost had begun to form on people’s eyebrows, turning hair white and skin gray. “We have to get out from under the shield and generate heat,” she said quietly.

  Carlos nodded but didn’t turn, however, his slight movements made all eyes instantly land on him.

  Fear was etched in frigid relief within all expressions. Damali knew what they were thinking; it was a silent scream at the forefront of everyone’s mind. How long would this hold? How long would they be entombed? How long could their bodies withstand the elements before freezing, subzero temperatures killed them? … As the bodies dropped, and the days passed, would the worst of human starvation turn them into the beasts they all fought, making them hunger for human flesh to stop the pain?

  She calmly crossed her legs where she sat and placed both hands together and closed her eyes. She envisioned an orb of red heat between her palms. Slowly her body began to warm and she offered the gift of heat to the others, becoming one with the elements. She was controlled fire. Her family was warmth, love, hope, joy; all that she had she would gladly share. She was sunlight and fresh air. She was a child of the universe…. She was melting snow; she was spring, and dawn, and new rivers that flowed over the golden dome to offer Tibetan valleys the first element, the basis of woman—water.

  They sat that way for hours through the night. Her back to Carlos on one side of the dome; his back to hers on the other. Large chunks of snow fell away in thunderous echoes, sliding over the golden circumference, opening the top to new dawn.

  Carlos didn’t move until enough of the snow had melted away from the edges of the protective enclosure. Everyone understood that soft walls could still pose a danger. No one moved until they heard Rider’s “All clear.” She and Carlos both opened their eyes, stood up at the same time, and craned their necks to a sound in the distance that even Big Mike hadn’t heard.

  “Choppers in the distance,” Carlos said, stepping up higher in the snow and shielding his eyes to the sun.

  “They’ve picked up our locator beacons,” Damali said, facing the direction Carlos stared, watching the new day’s light. She glanced at him and kept her words private. “You were awesome.”

  He glanced at her. “You weren’t too bad yourself,” he said, returning his gaze to the horizon. “Good teamwork. Woulda frozen to death without you.” He looked at her for a moment. “I couldn’t have done it all alone.”

  She nodded and kept her gaze toward the approaching choppers. “Neither could I have. Remind me to thank you properly, later.”

  The team stared at General Quai Lou in total disbelief. Damali and Carlos glanced at the two Black Hawk helicopters idling in the distance. Heavy guns were trained on their team; nervous eyes watched for a sign of resistance. Itchy fingers rested against triggers.

  “You have destroyed the breeder female our agency was most concerned about. Therefore, it is time for you to go back to the U.S. and to leave China.”

  Carlos and Damali shared a glance.

  “There’s another one still out there. The male,” Damali said, trying to keep her tone civil.

  “We are aware of that, but after the potential reckless endangerment to the natural environment … an avalanche almost reached a village. If this had been Beijing, it would have been disastrous. The female is destroyed; the vortexes that Dr. Zeitloff described should be sealed.”

  “Your weapons caused the avalanche,” Carlos protested in a low, threatening tone. “Monk Lin tried to warn you. Up here, conventional weapons wouldn’t work. The only reason you aren’t picking body parts out of the snow is because of the Naksong’s teachings.”

  “Yeah, you need to recognize,” Damali said curtly, her eyes sweeping her team and recounting heads to reassure herself that everyone was still there.

  The general placed his hands behind his back. “Your service has been invaluable and most appreciated. The demoness that has been terrorizing our region and spreading infection is no more. The male is on the move and headed back to where you are from. We will assist you in visas, equipment, and reentry into your own country, and wish you well.” He turned away, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. His officers dropped rope ladders and there was no more discussion to be had.

  “You believe this shit?” Berkfield said, trudging forward.

  “Yeah, I do,” Carlos said and spat. “That’s why I hate working for the government.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Once the choppers touched down in Lhasa, it was obvious to them all. No one was fooled by the general’s cocky display; the U.S. arm of the world organization had obviously levied serious pressure to reacquire its own force.

  Marines stood at attention. Two heavily decorated men stepped forward, nodded to General Quai Lou, and approached the Guardian squad.

  “I’m General McHenry,” the first man said, his hard hazel eyes scouring the group. “This is General Swainkoff,” he added, gesturing toward the silent man with a steel gray stare. “You’ve been briefed. We have a situation.”

  The team looked at the huge military plane before them and shared glances of concern.

  “You suit up on the plane. We have weaponry you’ll need. Military-reinforced Humvees will pick you up at LAX, and our drivers will take you wherever you need to go to quell the disturbance.”

  “What disturbance?” Damali asked, thrusting her chin up as Carlos folded his arms in defiance.

  “The gates of Hell have literally opened up, ma’am,” General McHenry said; then he and General Swainkoff turned, received a salute from their line, and walked up the steps of the plane.

  Carlos leaned forward, his gaze sweeping the marines that never blinked on the team’s flank. “Number one, I don’t like being in the air at night any more than you do, but if what they say is true, and Highway 405 and the 10 are blocked with multicar pileups and bodies, plus the 110, the 105, and the 101 are all fucked up, I don’t see any other way in, except for side streets, which are treacherous.” He looked at Damali for confirmation and support. Receiving her nod, he pressed on. “Number two; if downtown L.A. is already burning, it seems a little late. Whatever was there has come and gone, most likely. We’ve gotta chopper in using Black Hawks, then we’ll do this the old-fashioned way, on foot.”

  “Yeah, but the problem is,” Shabazz said, “we don’t know exactly what we’re looking for. We know it’s the Chairman, but how do you find that rat bastard? Lilith was our only way to draw him out when she made a grab for Carlos.” Shabazz’s cool glare held all eyes.

  “We’ve got one serious demon down, one more to go,” Damali said. “It’s—”

  “We’ve got two more to go, baby,” Carlos said, his gaze raking the team geared in black fatigues and strapped to the hilt with weapons.

  “Two?” she said, dropping her voice to pull the team in closer, never leaving Carlos’s gaze. “Talk to me.”

  “Why do you think I blocked your slice at the Chairman’s throat?”

  Bodies eased back discreetly. Looks of concern rippled down the flight bench. Carlos’s eyes darkened.

  “You kill him first, and The Book of the Damned will open inside the one from Level Seven, and he’ll have access to everything in it. You think what the generals told us about was the actual Armageddon?” Carlos shook his head. “This ain’t shit. This is practice, a warm-up session for them.”

  “Then, what do you propose?” Damali said. She kept her gaze focused on Carlos’s eyes.

  “We have to do a simultaneous hit and make a grab for the book. Both of them have to be in the same location at the same time to pull it off.”

  “That’s the point, dude,” Rider said, blowing out a hard breath. “Damali isn’t in phase, so there’s no draw. You make the males battle nuts, but we still don’t own a target location.
”

  “Wait a minute,” Damali said, still holding Carlos’s gaze. “When the Chairman attacked, he said something about things coming full circle.”

  “I hear you, and he said he’d meet me in Hell, where I was born,” Carlos said, shaking his head. “But this ain’t the time to take a squad to a subterranean level, baby.”

  “Word,” Big Mike said, pounding several fists. “Suicide.”

  Damali’s gaze drifted toward the window, manipulating the puzzle pieces in her mind. “That’s not where you were born,” she said, her voice distant. “At least not to his empire.”

  Carlos stared at her.

  “Where were you born, Carlos?” Damali said, her voice an urgent murmur. “Where did you receive the turn bite?”

  Carlos absently rubbed the side of his neck. A shiver of memory made the invisible tattoo over the wound burn. “In the woods … when I handed off money to Nuit.”

  Damali nodded. “But it wasn’t Nuit’s bite. It was the Chairman’s that created the discrepancy with supernatural law. Right?” Her eyes scanned the group. “That’s a power center for him and for you, because he turned you instantly, didn’t observe the dead-three-nights rule.”

  “Well, it’s gotta be a lucky place for hombre,” Jose said with a nervous smile. “One small technicality and our brother would have been locked down for life.”

  “That’s a very dangerous place,” Carlos said quietly. “You might stand a better chance underground.”

  Damali stared at him until he lifted his gaze. “I know that place brings back white knuckles for you, but I’ve gotchure back out there.”

  He stared at her. The team passed nervous glances. “You don’t want to face him out there.”

  “We did the chamber and have been to every dark Level, except Seven,” she said calmly, holding the line. “We can do the woods topside.”

  Carlos shook his head. “This ain’t like before.”

  “Why not?” Damali asked, her voice calm but firm as she covered Carlos’s hand with her own. “We’ll smoke the bastard, trust me. Just tell me what he looks like?”

  Carlos’s eyes darkened until tiny slivers of silver could be seen within them. “That’s just the problem. He looks like me.”

  The military cargo plane had to touch down in LAX because of size, but the team didn’t care if it landed on an accident-blocked highway, just as long as it wasn’t in the air. Several hours from Lhasa, after a brief refueling stop in Manila, twenty-some hours in flight, and almost forty-eight hours with no sleep, the team was nearly ill from inhaling fumes. Pure adrenaline kept them from passing out as they flew from day into night, thirteen hours behind where they’d been, as though flying back in time.

  But the moment the aircraft circled the area and started its descent under a sky lit by a full moon, they all pressed their noses to the windows. Billowing black smoke raged from tall buildings. Unmoving fire trucks flashed red lights, and sat abandoned. Cars were smashed and twisted around poles or crunched upon each other. Bodies lay strewn in piles, littering the streets like tiny specs of paper. Damali covered her mouth, unable to fathom mobs of people moving in masses like frightened herds of sheep, a large glob of humanity running one way and then shifting in another direction as something unseen chased them.

  “The airport, like the city, is under martial law,” General McHenry said over the intercom. “The moment we touch down, we’ll cover your team and you head for the Black Hawks.”

  “Roger,” Rider whispered as they got closer to the ground.

  The team stared in shock as large were-demons materialized, and they saw what the crowds were running from. Huge beasts stood atop piles of bodies, feasting, lifting their ugly heads occasionally to snarl at each other as they fed. Black shadows darted in and out of bodies, turning frightened civilians on each other in sudden, random acts of violence.

  Carlos closed his eyes and lowered his head as he saw a woman fleeing with her baby suddenly drop the flailing infant and stomp it.

  “Oh, Jesus,” Marlene said, cringing and jerking her sight away from the window. She began rocking. “Now, if ever before, this is a good time for the Twenty-third.”

  “The Covenant should be here,” Big Mike said quietly, wiping his eyes.

  “They’re where they should be,” Damali whispered. “Holding the line in vigil … just like Monk Lin had to stay in Lhasa.”

  “You think Mei’s family made it out, if people in the town turned, or anything else came up over there?” Rider said quietly, his line of vision glued to the window as the plane touched down, bounced over bodies, and sucked several fleeing victims into the engines.

  “Yeah,” Damali said, breathing hard. She stood as the plane screeched to a stop. “We pray. We get out. We do this. Gotta stop the madness.”

  Carlos stood slowly. He looked at the marines around them. “You all are just babies, no more than eighteen. Probably never jaywalked in your lives, let alone dropped a body or disobeyed a direct order.” Carlos took the safety off his weapon and his eyes met confused, disoriented stares. “When your generals and the pilots come out, if their eyes are black—shoot ’em.”

  The marines were on their feet in seconds, their guns leveled at Carlos. But when the doors to the cockpit blew open and black, glowing eyes stared at them, the Guardian team’s sharpshooters did the honors. Rider and Shabazz opened fire in neat, calm, coordinated trigger pulls. Green gook splattered. Two young marines upchucked; all were frozen for two seconds past too late where they stood.

  “Mar had you covered in here,” Damali said. “She set a prayer barrier for all present. Those guys up front, nonbelievers. You saw for yourselves, the weapons help, but ain’t your first line of defense.” She nodded at Dan, Shabazz, and Berkfield. “Pull ’em out.”

  They extracted their dog tags, showing a Star of David, a crescent, and a cross.

  “J.L., you got a Buddha on you?”

  J.L. nodded and whipped out his dog tags.

  Damali’s eyes raked each enlisted man. “It doesn’t matter which faith, as long as the foundation is about the Most High, the divine. If you believe and haven’t already been contaminated, you won’t be possessed. If you’re not possessed, you’ve got a fighting chance and can use the conventional weapons to fend off whatever might try to eat you. But don’t hold up any of these if you’ve been bullshitting about having faith. Fangs will take your throat.” She spun and looked at Marlene. “Before those helicopter pilots take us up, make sure those boys are straight, Mar. That’s all we need is for a chopper to go down. Blowing Harpies out the air will be bad enough.”

  Damali’s lungs felt like they were on fire as she dashed across the runway to the waiting choppers. She took the lead, clearing the way, mowing down anything that lunged or slithered in their path. Carlos had the rear; Mike, Shabazz, and Rider kept flanks clear, while J.L., Jose, Berkfield, and Dan made body shields to protect the team’s newbies.

  Marlene prayed faster than Damali ever saw her pray, splashing young frightened foreheads with water and oil, and scattering sea salts and herbs on chopper floors, where they were crushed under steel-toed army boots.

  The first chopper lifted, tilted, and swayed as something unseen adhered to its side.

  “Mike, underneath!” Damali shouted, leaning out the door as the helicopter in front of them dangerously tipped.

  Rider hooked his harness to a side rail, leaned out, took dead aim, and splattered a Harpie so the chopper could right itself. Shabazz got two more headed for the blades, splattering vile demon innards on the roof and window. Mike saluted and leaned back. The second chopper went airborne as an approaching jumbo jet took a nosedive, burst into flames, and sent fuselage down the runway they’d just vacated.

  The team members glanced at one another; the pilots glimpsed out the window and then never looked back.

  Carlos sat immobilized. What they’d witnessed from the plane was brought to them in full sense-around-sound so close to the action in a
chopper. L.A. International was lit with military machine-gun fire, sending red-and-blue streaks through the complex. Smoke was pouring out of every building orifice, windows were smashed, glass was everywhere. If this was the airport, East L.A. was gonna bring him to tears.

  His mind kept going over the same thought like a broken record: the people—and the babies, children, dear God.

  Storefronts had been looted and torched. Houses reduced to rubble. Streets were impassable. They saw it all from the air. Churches and mosques and temples were on fire—hallowed ground kept out demons, but there was more than one way to get to food … smoke it out. Carlos closed his eyes and slowly leaned back against the seat, his ears soaking in the shrill screams and mayhem as the chopper blades kept a steady beat in the smoke-darkened sky.

  Every sense in him told him Damali was right. The Chairman came here to pick a fight. Right in his own backyard. Just like he’d brought the pain to the Chairman. Fair exchange was no robbery. He’d desecrated the Chairman’s black hole on Level Six, now the Chairman was back to return the favor.

  The most horrifying part of it all was he’d actually helped the bastard do it. When he’d been taken over, before the black separation within himself, he’d turned Hell out. Now it needed somewhere to live. L.A. was a perfect place. There was no such thing as homeland security. If there was bullshit going down, anywhere on the planet, you could run, but you couldn’t hide … taking out one cell at a time, one level at a time, was futile.

  Carlos opened his eyes as he felt the sting on his neck turn into a throb, then an ache, and then a wet stabbing pain. He looked at his bloodied hand, glanced at the trees below, and signaled to the pilots to touch down in the small clearing that began it all.

  “Your neck is bleeding,” Damali shouted over the choppers.

  “Douse it!” Rider hollered, his eyes frantically going from Carlos’s gaping wound to Marlene.

  “It’s an old scar,” Carlos said. “Just chickens coming home to roost.” He waved Marlene off and winced, and then jumped down as the Neteru tattoo heated, sizzled, and sealed the old vampire bite.