Iron Angels

by Eric Flint

  She rolled her eyes. “Use a sock. Rip or cut some of your clothing. I don’t care. Gag him, now.” Lali glared at the khâu, then at Carlos. “You’re about to pay for your sins. The nâga will feast upon your honey.”

  Carlos’s eyes filled with terror.

  Lali smirked. To think, the FBI agents came so close to finding her in the apartment when they came looking for her. The stupid simpering neighbor of hers had unwittingly distracted them. She had Carlos stuffed into the hatchback of her Yaris—parked a block away in an underground garage of another apartment building.

  “Lali.” Rao emerged from his antechamber, his voice boomed from above her. She spun.

  Rao stood above them all, resplendent in a lavish crimson robe. Under it he wore his leather with all the shiny metal. The chain about his neck gleamed. He spread his arms as if embracing the world.

  “Khâu, attend to your duties. The enemy is near, but so is the nâga. We will soon witness the greatest portal ever opened and the greatest of nâga.” Rao lowered his arms with a flourish.

  The bright lights inside the building extinguished, replaced by soft red light from sporadically placed bulbs. Rao must be controlling the light show with a foot switch or some app on his smartphone. This likely impressed the khâu, but Lali thought the theatrics a little ho-hum.

  The khâu chanted.

  Rao tossed a sack from his perch, which burst upon smacking the sacrificial slab, scattering powder everywhere.

  Lali had no idea what that was for, but—

  Chapter 41

  Jasper frantically searched for a catalyst—the thermite wouldn’t be thermite without it, just another pile of chemicals. He emptied a crate of its contents and layered the wooden container with the necessary components, save for the catalyst. He pushed the crate into the open area, narrowly escaping the gaze of a cultist above. He heard a woman’s voice. It could have been that of the waitress, Lali, whom they’d searched for at the apartment earlier, but with the echoes it was hard to tell. Hopefully, her voice would distract the cultists from catching him roaming about.

  The catalyst was not in the room with the rest of the components—the cult was that smart at least, so why was he still searching there?

  The second room searched contained mainly survivalist gear, but he ransacked the room, and behold—a container typically used for cooking oil held the proper catalyst for kicking the thermite into gear.

  Jasper attached the container to his extra gear pack, slung the shotgun over his other shoulder, and pushed the crate. The cultists above remained turned away from where he’d be moving the crate and faced inward—he guessed in the direction of Steve and Carlos, and the area of sacrifice.

  He considered using his shotgun as a distraction. But one slug wouldn’t cause enough damage. Thermite, however, would wreak destruction on the building, requiring the cult’s attentions.

  He put his back into pushing the crate toward one of the giant vats on this level of the building. If there were anything in the vat, it’d cause quite a mess when the thermite ate the metal.

  A voice boomed from above: “Lali.” A few seconds later the booming voice added: “Khâu, attend to your duties. The enemy is near, but so is the nâga. We will soon witness the greatest portal ever opened and the greatest of nâga.”

  Must be the cult’s leader.

  The bright lights dimmed, replaced by the glow of red. Perfect. The cult couldn’t be making this easier for him. However, that also indicated the time was near and both Steve’s and Carlos’s minutes were numbered.

  Chanting fired back up, and for a moment, he pictured the scene as a modern Temple of Doom. He grinned. Temple. She’d likely have a hand in making this a temple of destruction before the evening ended. Say whatever else you would about the woman, she could be tough as nails.

  Humming. No, thrumming reverberated down through the metal as Jasper pushed the crate full of chemicals toward the vat. His breathing labored under the load of his pack, shotgun, and the effort of shoving the crate. At least the chanting and dim lights covered his approach—unless these cultists possessed cat vision or night vision goggles.

  A few seconds later, the vat filled his vision, and up close, appeared much larger. He jammed the crate up against the vat, positioning the wood container so not only would the thermite eat the vat, but a support structure for some of the metal walkways surrounding the vat. Once ignited, the thermite’s odds of pulling down a good part of the metal structures on this side of the building were excellent. The reaction was far enough away, if he’d gauged the volume of the cultists’ conversations properly, that Steve and Carlos, as well as Temple and the team, wouldn’t be affected. But the echoes and size of the building was deceptive. No time remained for anything else, any other plan.

  He dropped the pack off his shoulder, removed the container with the catalyst and twisted off the cap. He grabbed his pack, put it back on his shoulder. Next, he pulled the lid off the crate and stepped back.

  Jasper paused, and lifted the open container.

  “Here goes—”

  He tossed the open container into the crate.

  The thermite reacted immediately as the catalyst sloshed from the container and into the stratified layers of chemicals in the crate.

  Intense heat radiated, pushing Jasper back, while he shielded his face and turned away, wincing—

  —two cultists ran toward him.

  The heat behind him intensified, hot against his back—even through the Kevlar vest and still-damp garments. Shouts and clamoring echoed from above, fighting with the sizzling and roar of the thermite consuming all the metal it contacted.

  Jasper pulled the shotgun off his shoulder and aimed the barrel at the cultists closing on him. They showed no hint of hesitation or slowing.

  No warning shots. He squeezed the trigger, but unlike the Glock trigger’s slack, the Remington shotgun’s trigger had none, and the bang surprised him—a good thing.

  The midsection of the cultist on the left blossomed red from the slug. The man’s eyes widened—

  —Jasper racked the shotgun and loosed another shot.

  The cultist fell, bleeding profusely from his ravaged midsection.

  The second cultist skidded to a halt, but fell on his ass and scrambled backward, kicking his feet and flailing with his arms, attempting purchase on the cement flooring.

  Jasper bit his lip. Was this man still a threat? Not by the standard Bureau deadly force policy. If the man were armed and scrambling for cover in order to kill, yes—Jasper closed on the man, getting within ten feet before—

  —the cultist rolled over on his stomach, got his feet under him and attempted to run. Jasper leaped and grabbed the man by his legs, pulling him back down. He would have preferred cuffing, but he had no time. “Sorry about this—” Jasper rammed the man’s head with the butt of the shotgun. The man went limp, but still breathed and had a pulse. At least he wasn’t dead, unlike the other man who—

  A wall of heat crushed Jasper. The metal support structure and walkways burned and melted from the thermite. Creaking metal, fatigued and failing, crashed to the floor. The vat, surprisingly, had not yet given way.

  The thermite reaction plumed at an angle, like a tilted roman candle. The vat’s side weakened and ruptured.

  The vat’s contents remained a mystery, but regardless, his proximity demanded a little more distance in case of a random explosion. He took small steps back, morbidly curious as to what results would come about from lighting off the thermite.

  Liquid poured onto the thermite. A petrochemical like gasoline only added to the mess. The explosive capability rested in fumes if present, but he smelled no overwhelming gas vapors near the vat.

  The thermite reaction brightened. The vat collapsed. Jasper backed away. His training hit him—training he’d received more than a decade earlier while in the Marine Corps.

  He spun and ran for the hallway.

  Not a lot of liquid spilled from the vat, but p
ipes—many pipes fed into the vat—and with little liquid fuel, vapors existed in the pipes—

  Jasper dove for the doorway, with no idea what might occur—explosion or collapse or both.

  Heat touched his back as he slid through the doorway. The angle at which he landed, coupled with the momentum, rolled him on his back.

  The blast concussed—an ear-crushing but mercifully short-duration wooooof, as if all the air in the building had been sucked through a hole in the roof. The fireball puffed and expanded as it escaped the wrecked vat and filled the upper reaches of the hangar-height building.

  “Holy shit.” Jasper shielded his scrunched eyes reflexively and winced.

  Screams cut through the din.

  A deep wooosh, like wind through a pipe surrounded him and likely most of the pipes running through the plant.

  “Oh my God, what I have done?” Jasper shielded himself completely in the room, shutting the door, but the sounds of destruction remained. He hoped he hadn’t killed Temple and Penny and all the Völundr’s Hammer folks.

  The burning fluids and vapors within the pipes whooshed and when they ran out of room, no longer allowed expansion—

  Twisting, crumpling metal crashed beyond the door he hid behind. High pitched whirs and thunks from bursting pipes flung debris—Jasper did not need to see the destruction to understand what happened out there. His eardrums rang and a high-pitched tone rang in both ears.

  The red light in the room extinguished. He flicked on his Surefire flashlight. Metal clanks and groans pierced the crack beneath the door.

  The wall before him buckled and gave way.

  He rolled over and covered his head, attempting to gather himself into a ball.

  Arms, legs, back, and head ached.

  * * *

  The building shuddered. Metal creaked and groaned. Heat filtered through the empty spaces. A fireball erupted, followed by an ear-shattering blast and a sucking whooosh.

  Temple’s knees buckled. Penny winced. The men with them covered their ears, pained expressions on their faces.

  “What did Jasper do?” Temple hissed at Penny, who shrugged.

  “He didn’t tell me his plan, but wow, what a distraction.”

  There was no way Jasper had survived that, no way. Temple’s body shook. Anger mixed with fear and sadness. “Should never have let him go off on his own,” she muttered.

  “You think words over a radio would have persuaded him?” Penny asked.

  “No.” Temple keyed the radio, “Jasper, you okay? Jasper, say something. Grunt. Anything.” She released the key, and waited. Nothing. Nothing. Damn. Damn. Damn.

  “Now is the time,” Penny said. “We’re all here—well, you know—”

  “Yeah, I know.” Temple took a deep breath. Her team had merged with Penny’s, ready to surge forward when Jasper’s distraction came through.

  “I’m going to keep trying him,” Temple said. “Penny, go to his last known position, please.”

  Penny sighed. “But what about my father? We know his condition and we don’t have time for—”

  “Please,” Temple pleaded. She had thought Penny had shown more than a passing interest in Jasper, but who was she kidding—of course blood would be thicker in this case, right?

  “I’ll go,” Penny said, “I just hope he hasn’t brought down the entire building on us.”

  She glanced around, as did Temple, both assessing the damage, and possible future damage from the weakening metal surrounding them.

  Temple keyed the radio once Penny had moved off from the main group. Nothing.

  “All right,” Temple addressed the group, “let’s go. We have to hit these bastards hard.”

  She tried one more time to reach Jasper on the radio, but released the radio’s mic key and stared upward, mouthing, “Oh, my God.”

  A Nephilim swirled about above them, and descended as a line of cultists armed with all manner of weapons had taken positions above them. A storm erupted, a storm of screams and the booms and crackles of firearms.

  * * *

  Drips smattered Jasper’s face, lukewarm, but a steady tap, tap, tap.

  He opened his eyes, red light oozed through, likely from somewhere beyond the room since the wall had collapsed. His arms were under him, so he pushed up—

  —but couldn’t. He twisted his head, but met resistance. Trapped. Beneath what? The thermite and mini-explosions from the fumes and vapors attempting to vent had brought down quite a bit of the metal scaffolding and platforms then. He moved his legs and arms. Relief. Nothing beyond simple aches. Lucky.

  His radio crackled. “Jasper. This is Temple. You okay?”

  The mike head was at his shoulder, but he couldn’t reach the damn thing. His arms ached; everything ached. He couldn’t answer Temple. Damn.

  “Jasper, answer. Please.” Temple’s desperation came through in her transmission. “Jasper. Whatever you did worked—but I think I see a Nephilim up above. The ritual—”

  The radio cut out.

  Metal moved above him and to his left side.

  He wriggled. The cultists must have come for him.

  The red light brightened, but burning white light replaced the red. A flashlight bore down on him.

  “Jasper,” a gruff, but definitely feminine voice said.

  Not cultists. Penny.

  “How bad?” Jasper asked, unsure of how loud he’d asked the question. The ringing in his ears was maddening.

  Another piece of metal or debris or whatever lifted off him, and his breaths grew easier.

  “There you go. Can you move?” Penny reached for him with one of her strong hands.

  “Yeah, but how bad is everything else?” Jasper grasped Penny’s hand and the woman displayed her strength, yanking him free. Jasper winced and grabbed his side, hissing in a breath.

  “Your side is scalded,” Penny said, “ooh, and your face, well, let’s just say one side resembles my father’s.” She shook her head. “I imagine yours’ll heal.”

  “I don’t care, did I kill any friendlies and how bad is the building?”

  “Still standing, though you managed to take out a few of those cultists, but we need to go. Can you stand on your own?” Penny released him.

  Jasper wobbled and staggered. He glanced about for his shotgun, but couldn’t see where the weapon rested. His pack was crushed against him. It was wet—a water bottle had probably busted.

  “Steve and Carlos?” Jasper staggered to a wall and propped himself up.

  “Up there,” Penny motioned with her head. “Temple, along with the others are engaging the remaining cultists, but having a hard time getting onto the platform where my father and Carlos are tied up.”

  “The sacrifice? I mean, the ritual?”

  “You haven’t been out of the action long, the fireball happened only a couple of minutes ago. Temple sent me back to help you when whatever damn thing you did flared. Did you expect the sort of reaction you got?” Penny stood in the doorway. “You’ve blocked that way quite well.” The blonde woman pointed behind Jasper, where the thermite continued burning, despite bringing down half the building’s interior.

  “I didn’t expect the fireball or the amount of destruction.” Jasper took a deep breath, the air a sickly mixture of cordite, burnt flesh, copper, and the strange ozone. He glanced at the ceiling. Smoke roiled and turned along the ceiling, white and black and gray, but tinged with crimson. “Shit. I think one of the Nephilim is up there. We have to get to your father and Carlos. Now.”

  Penny grabbed his arm and pulled him through the doorway with him to rejoin Temple.

  Chapter 42

  Lali struggled to her feet. The blast had blown her sideways and against a rail. She touched her side and winced. She might have a broken rib or two.

  The stench of burning flesh and chemicals brought the contents of her stomach into the back of her throat, hot and bitter.

  Rao stood triumphant upon a raised metal dais standing between the opening por
tal and the two sacrifices. The explosion hadn’t touched the area at all. Some of Rao’s plan had gone sideways when half of the khâu perished in the blast. Bodies had flown. Metal crashed. The intense heat melted everything in close proximity. Lali had never witnessed such destruction before.

  The portal flexed. Rao had constructed an iron pane atop where he believed the other world touched upon earth. The iron appeared to melt, but didn’t run. Lines etched into the metal, as if an instant irising doorway appeared.

  A head emerged, the metal stretched across the snout. The mouth opened, ingesting the iron sheet as if imbibing an iron milkshake until none remained. The nâga turned bright red, like that of the thick blood coming from an artery.

  Rao stepped before the great beast, arms outstretched.

  In response, the beast coiled, like a snake ready to strike, but instead reeled. Two thick legs staggered and the head waggled as if in pain. So, Rao had been correct about the metal he wore beneath the robes.

  Rao shrugged off the robe and reached for the beast. He took one step and touched the nâga. A squeal further deafened Lali, as if the blast hadn’t been enough.

  The nâga leaped into the air. Lali glanced up. Another nâga swirled about, deep orange and a little smaller than the one just through the portal. They had similar appearances, but the smaller one’s ragged appearance gave the impression it had been put through the wringer, while the bright red nâga grew in size.

  Rao laughed and watched the two nâga above him. The smaller one reeled, as if confused or hurt. The two nâga were fully aware of each other, or so it appeared to Lali. Shrieks and squeals intertwined, piercing her eardrums. She glanced at Rao—he laughed, arms outstretched, facing the portal.

  Lali held her side and moved for the portal. Rao couldn’t handle the power. She ignored the nâga above, at least tried to, and descended the stairs toward Rao.

  A shriek filled the air. Lali started and sucked in a quick breath. Directly overhead, the two nâga danced, as if two rhythmic gymnasts twirled their ribbons, one orange, one red, around one another in an intricate choreographed routine. The movements mesmerized her.