by Kenny Soward
Contents
In The Previous Episode...
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
What's Next?
Acknowledgements
Notes About Locale
About The Author
Other Books by Kenny Soward
In the last episode of Galefire…
Lonnie, a runner for the Eighth Street Gang of Cincinnati, OH, drops a bloody cleanup job to support his gang after a drug deal gone bad.
For the first time, they expect Lonnie to fight and kill for them.
During the ensuing firefight, Lonnie kills monsters and humans alike and argues with the volatile members of the group, the entire incident igniting memories inside his brain. Soon after, he realizes his memories have been in the control of the gang’s leader, a tall girl with an ash-white mohawk named Selix who puts him in a spell-like state called icing.
Lonnie runs another job for the gang, and the past surfaces hard and fast, leaving him struggling to find his identity while providing hints at his true powers, something called runecraft. He's resentful of the icing and desperately wants to recall the memories of his wife and child who abandoned him three years ago because of his drug use. To make matters worse, Lonnie experiences a series of dragon visions which he thinks tie everything together. They might just be his saving grace.
By the time Lonnie returns from the job, he’s determined to regain his memories and avoid drawing the gang’s ire at the same time. At the back door of their old apartment building, gunshots coming from inside catch him off guard. Determined to be brave, he enters and finds the members of his gang, Elsa, Ingrid, and Crash, severely injured. In an emotional moment, Elsa charges Lonnie with saving Selix and Lonnie rushes off to do just that. Upstairs in the hallway Lonnie stumbles across the gang’s lieutenant, the Brit, with his skull bashed in. Worried their rivals have already gotten to Selix, he bursts into her room only to find she chased off their enemies with her strange brand of magic and a .44 revolver.
According to Selix, they are being hunted by a powerful sorcerer, and she assures Lonnie there is a good reason for icing his memories.
Lonnie wants to leave town but Selix wants to stay and fight. They salvage the gang, gather some weapons and ammo, and draw their battle lines at Rose Park. Lonnie fashions Selix a strange aluminum-framed suit with the things he’d picked up from the hardware store, and Lonnie learns more of the truth as they prepare for an all-out assault by their enemies.
In a revelation just before the battle, Lonnie comes to understand the gang isn’t from Earth but from Hell itself, and Selix tells Lonnie they only escaped Hell to keep Lonnie safe. Lonnie isn’t sure he believes her. To drive him away (and protect him) Selix tells him that the wife and child he remembers on Earth were actually inventions she’d “magicked” into his head.
They argue and Lonnie storms off determined to leave the gang for good. He stumbles across a hoarbeast in the alley and fights it. After defeating the hoarbeast, Lonnie willingly draws upon a vision to get to the final truth. He was the one who ordered them to cross from Hell to Earth. He was the one who ordered Selix to subdue his memories so someone named Makare could not track them across the Universe.
It was all him.
With that knowledge Lonnie leaps into the raging battle and plays a key role in the gang’s final victory. It comes at a cost though as Lonnie is crushed beneath a car that becomes engulfed in Selix’s galefire.
The enemy defeated for now, the gang has a quick talk and decides to split up to draw off any pursuit. The goal is to meet up at the old Roebling Bridge.
But before we find out what happens to our hunted and injured friends, there’s someone else about to fight for her life.
Chapter 1
Bess pulled her Dodge Charger into a backstreet that divided many of the old, opulent homes of Riverside. She parked beneath a willow tree so the branches draped over the hood of the car. She hit the ignition button, and the engine gave a throaty rumble and fell dead.
“We’re here.”
Bess popped the trunk, shed her seat belt, and got out, easing her door closed. Anderson did the same. They circled around to the back of the Charger. Bess lifted the lid and peered at what she'd brought.
“Wow,” Anderson said, eyes roaming over the array of weaponry displayed across the bed.
“Standard issue,” Bess replied, reaching in and opening a case holding three MP5 assault rifles. “I’m assuming you can handle these?”
Anderson bent over the trunk, peering inside. His hands hesitated over one of the MP5s in Bess’s collection, but then reached instead for couple handguns resting in their molded nooks on the far right. “Going to be close quarters in there. I'll be better off with these.” Anderson hooked holsters onto his belt and tucked the guns into them.
Bess nodded, hefted a backpack filled with extra gear, and shrugged into it. She picked a compact MP5 submachine gun from its locks and screwed on its suppressor. With the subsonic rounds, Bess would be a silent killer. Her normal carry weapons were holstered. A pistol tucked at her hip, several explosive vials of holy water straight from the Vatican in a side pouch, her favorite razor sharp carbon steel dagger, and some other surprises she liked to keep on hand.
She checked her MP5, locked in a magazine, and loaded a round. Packed a couple extra magazines into an inner pocket of her jacket, although she seldom needed more than one. Then she hooked the weapon’s strap over her shoulder and allowed it to rest on her hip with the barrel pointed at the ground. “You’ve been briefed I assume?”
Bess hadn’t been thrilled about picking Anderson up at the last minute. She didn’t know the guy from Adam, and she hated working with a partner. But it wasn’t up to her who they assigned. No, that was all Eminence Command Central. The ECC. Sometimes they got the bright idea to send her a sidekick. Usually a newbie, or someone with low academy grades who needed to earn redemption points.
Didn’t mean she had to like it.
Anderson nodded, pulling up his pants. His hands were nervous, fidgety. They knocked against the bulky guns, which protruded from his belt. He didn’t seem comfortable with weapons. Didn’t seem comfortable at all. Why had they stuck her with a logistics guy?
He said, “Yeah, a whorchal named Krag. Real nasty bastard. That’s all they told me. I figure I’ll let you lead—”
Bess stepped forward and grabbed Anderson by the front of his shirt. She put her face two inches from his, lips drawing back from her teeth. “Damn right you’ll let me lead. And you’ll be damn careful to keep your guns pointed away from me. Maybe don't even draw them unless I tell you. Maybe just stay in the car because you don’t look like you can handle a God blessed thing.”
A spark of
fear mixed with anger lit Anderson’s eyes. He jerked. “No, I got this. I’ve raided. Just not with a…” Anderson’s eyes flashed away.
Bess stepped back, fist curled and ready to smash him in the face. Better than smoking him with her MP5. No, that would get a reprimand. “Just not raided with a black woman. Right?”
Realization dawned on Anderson's face. His hands flew up, and he appeared genuinely apologetic. “No, no. I didn’t mean it that way. I like black people. I mean, you’re fine. Not that you would be anything less than fine. I meant that I’ve never been on a monster hunt this huge before. I’m nervous is all.”
“Fine,” Bess said, letting it slide. A bell chimed in the back of her mind. They were wasting time. She had to focus. “Just keep quiet and do exactly as I say.”
“Okay.” Anderson stopped his apologizing and drew one of the Glocks, holding it in a two-fisted grip. He didn’t handle it too terribly. His hands weren’t shaking anymore. That was a good thing. “I’m ready.”
Bess gave him what she hoped was a skeptical look. She needed this guy to be frosty, and if being a bitch to him got him there quicker, so be it. “I hope so. Because if you’re not, you’re going to die fast. And I don’t need that shit on my record.” When Anderson didn’t reply except for a sober nod, Bess continued. “This whorchal is one of the most dangerous creatures you’ll ever meet. You’ll know him when you see him. Big, tall, blond sucker who looks like he walked out of a Third Reich monster movie. Chances are you won’t see him coming, but lucky for us we’ll get to practice on his lackeys first."
“Got it. We'll warm up with less menacing monsters before moving on to the boss monster. Just like Triton D. Any word on what those other monsters might be?”
Bess wanted to shake her head at the video game reference. Wanted to shake Anderson. “Last report says he travels with at least two human familiars. One’s a guy they call Jedi. The other one, Kluga holds much closer to him, so I don't have a description. Both are considered armed and dangerous. There’s evidence he has a ghoulkine or two in thrall and an assortment of hoarbeasts. It isn’t a lot to go on, but we'll deal with it. Always do. ECC said they’re having trouble with intel lately. Network infiltrations. But you knew that, right?”
“Yeah, I knew.”
Bess gestured with her rifle. “Everything is mixed rounds. Silvershard, ultraviolet, and some new stuff. Should work well on anything you hit. But you gotta hit them first. Got that?”
“Yeah.”
She handed him a tiny ear piece and activated one for herself. “Say something.”
Anderson stuck the piece in his ear and fidgeted with it. “Base to Red Leader. Base to Red Leader. Over.”
Bess heard him fine through the hi-def speaker. “Okay. Time to pray.”
“Oh, right.” Anderson re-holstered his weapon and held out his hand.
Bess raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Oh, I usually hold hands when I pray with someone. You don’t?”
“No, I don’t.”
Anderson stepped back, giving Bess a quick nod.
Bess sighed, closed her eyes, and tried to find her center. She leaned forward over the nest of weapons and rounds, damn near a thousand, and rested her fingers on the lip of the trunk. She whispered her normal prayer, the one she used before any monster hunt. “Lord Jesus, please protect and guide me on this dangerous mission, for I am but a lamb entering the den of wolves and I shall forever need Your protection.”
“We don’t pray together?”
Bess ignored Anderson, tilting her head further in concentration, her voice taking on a more intense tone. “While I’m not as perfect as Your love for me, I seek only to serve and obey You, to protect others who’ve not yet found You so they may at least have a chance for salvation before this world ends. Before they breathe their dying breath. I give myself to You, O Lord, to do with as You will. Let me be Your sword with which to strike down Your enemies and bring vengeance to those who invade Your Eden. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”
“Amen.”
Bess kissed her fingers and touched the cross affixed to the underside of the trunk’s lid before turning to Anderson. “I don’t do group prayer.” Not entirely true. She often prayed with her father. And at church. But mostly her discussions with the Lord were private, between her and her savior alone. Definitely not with Anderson.
“Oh, no problem.”
“Let’s go.”
Bess eased the trunk shut and stalked the driveway between the yards. Small plots. Room enough for kids to horse around and dads to grill out. The real opulence was in the homes themselves. The oldest in Covington, many of them dating back to the founding of Greater Cincinnati, solid brick buildings that had worn a dozen roofs and housed generations of families. Bess had done her research and knew a handful had even been donated to the city tour, made into museums by owners who no longer found such decadence quaint anymore. These homes had walls of wood and old plaster, not the drywall you could put a hammer through so easily these days.
Important to note such things when you’re about to fight a whorchal.
Whorchals. The real version of vampires. Worse than anything in the movies. At least the traditional vamps had a hint of romanticism attached to them. But not whorchals. No, these were beasts with super human strength and teeth that could tear four inches of flesh from you in a second.
Their target was a red brick home on the corner. Fenced in yard and shielded from prying eyes by a line of privacy trees.
“What’s the plan?” Anderson was right on her heels, boots crunching on the gravel, vinyl outfit squeaking with ten kinds of noise.
Bess allowed her gun to hang loose at her hip while she searched the top of the fence through the thick trees. She snickered. “It’s simple. I'll move in and take this whorchal. You'll try to keep up.”
Anderson nodded and mimicked her stance halfheartedly. “Got it.”
Bess grabbed the top of the fence and pulled herself over the shrubs, hugging her elbows close so she didn’t get caught on branches, and landed on both feet in the grass. Aside from Anderson’s noisy attempts to climb, everything else was silent. There were no dogs, no vicious, snarling mouths seeking their throats. But Bess expected as much. Whorchals excelled at the element of surprise. They seldom used extensive security measures. Why go through all that when it was more fun to unnerve their prey with eerie silence?
“A little help.”
Bess rolled her eyes and backed up, offering her arm as Anderson unlatched himself from the branch that had caught his jacket. He toppled free and Bess had to hold him up so he wouldn’t fall on the well-manicured turf.
“Thanks,” Anderson said as he drew his gun again and eyed the big mansion.
Bess clamped off a sarcastic retort. As much as Anderson was a wrench in her plans, she was stuck with him, and she had to make sure he took part in the raid without getting either one of them killed. It would be a test of her skills as a trainer and leader.
There was a demand for more operatives in the field as fade rippers swarmed from the Fade in greater numbers. So, this was important work. She needed to rise to the occasion, to be better in God’s eyes. To not disappoint the ECC, her father, or her savior.
She studied the mansion’s squarish backside. Curtained windows. A small deck in the back with a grill Bess suspected was hardly ever used. Whorchals didn’t partake in such activities although their familiars might. It was to affect the appearance of normalcy, a front to cover the horrors inside.
Bess scanned the red brick but saw no easy way up. She’d normally scale the wall and enter through one of the higher windows, but with Anderson in tow, they’d have to take an easier route. The back door. Bess crouched low and climbed the short steps of the deck, stopping just in front of the door. She studied the deadbolt and the brass-plated lock beneath the knob. She shot Anderson a warning. “I’m serious about staying behind me. No tailgating, got it?”
“Yeah, got it. So, you have lock
picks or—?”
Bess fired two shots, one into the deadbolt and one between the doorknob and the doorjamb, stepped back, and lunged forward, kicking the door with the flat of her boot.
“Shit,” Anderson said as the door flew inward.
Chapter 2
Bess didn’t wait. She was inside, the nose of her MP5 whipping through the kitchen, pausing at the dark corners until her senses told her nothing lurked.
Bess scanned to the right, past a hallway, to settle on the kitchen’s pantry door. She closed her eyes, allowed her mind to fall into a meditative state, whispering, “Show me, Lord.”
Her godsight extended into the pantry, searching with invisible hands through the darkness. Her faith, a radar for detecting evil. It was something she’d picked up as a teen, an unexplainable power she no longer questioned.
The hair on the back of her neck rose.
There were things in the pantry. Dark, malicious spots waiting for her to pass so they could attack. Thoughts of violence radiated from behind the door.
It was like looking into a box of tumors.
She registered Anderson creeping into the kitchen and sliding over to the sink.
Bess lowered the nose of her weapon and reached inside her jacket, pulling out an oblong shape that fit in her palm. She pursed her lips and took three steps across the tile floor. There was no way to hide her approach and, frankly, she didn’t care. She flicked a tab on the object and grabbed the doorknob with her left hand. In one motion, she threw open the door and tossed the object inside, jerking the door shut even as she fell away.
In that brief moment between tossing the object and the door slamming, Bess caught the furtive, off guard movements of several things crouched in the enlarged pantry. A grunt. The flash of yellow eyes. Massive shoulders cringing to lunge.
The grenade exploded in a squelch of sound. Bess imagined silver shards flying in every direction, followed by a flash of ultraviolet light for those beasties sensitive to such things. Finally, crystallized holy water ripping through tough hide like slivers of glass.The wood shuddered but did not bow or break. Clipped yips sounded (one of them was Anderson’s) and then died just as fast. The stench of burnt hair wafted over them from beneath the door.