by John Ringo
“Everywhere,” Barb said. “More than I’ve seen before. I think it has something to do with the traffic. But I dunno. This is all new to me.”
They pulled over after they got on Manufacturers Road and changed places.
“They call it a ‘Gift,’” Barb said as Kurt pulled out. “Capital and quotes. So far it’s just been a royal pain in the patootie.” She closed her eyes and concentrated on closing down and cloaking.
“What do they look like?” Kurt asked.
“Which?” Barb replied.
“Either? Both?”
“Angels look like a bad special effect,” Barb said. “Just sort of clouds of sparkly light. I’m not into science fiction, but I’ve watched a couple of Star Trek episodes. There was one where there was some sort of mist that sucked out people’s blood…?”
“Saw it, too,” Kurt said.
“Sort of like that but more sparkly and whiter,” Barb said. “Except, as it turns out, when they spread their wings. And even then the wings don’t really look like wings. More like gossamer strands of light with white stuff in between. Really bright gossamer strands. I’d never seen them do that before, but I haven’t had my Sight working in traffic before. Demons generally, to me, look snakelike or like black mist. Best I can say. Again, this is all new to me. I was told that angels can fly and demons can’t. Apparently you can sometimes see demons hitching rides on planes, since they need something to travel long distances.”
“You’re joking,” Kurt said.
“It’s what I was told,” Barb said. “I haven’t seen it, but I haven’t traveled on a plane since I got my sight except the Foundation one. And as you can guess, it wasn’t infested.”
“And here we are,” Kurt said, pulling up to the entrance to the school.
“Dang it,” Barb said. “I just got my Sight turned off. Now I have to open it up again.”
“I sort of wish I could see what you see,” Kurt said.
“No,” Barb replied. “You don’t. And…I don’t see anything.”
The entrance had de rigueur brick pillars and a large sign. The road curved around the main entry building. From the maps and satellite photos, they knew there were several buildings in the compound with a “quad” in the middle that was entirely enclosed.
“No demons?” Kurt asked.
“They’re generally associated with people,” Barb said. “I’ve never seen one schlepping down a street. And there’s a distinct lack of people here.”
The school was closed and there weren’t even any cars in the parking lot.
“So we get out and poke around?” Kurt said.
“There is never anything interesting in the front of a building,” Barb said. “Let’s take the road around.”
“Public road,” Kurt said. “No problems there.”
“Public?”
“It goes to a subdivision sort of behind the school,” Kurt said. “High-end condos.”
The road curved around the school, under a bridge and down to the river. Behind the school there were athletic fields, more buildings and a dock on the river.
“Good a place as any to start,” Barb said.
“Why couldn’t we have checked it out when the girls were around?” Kurt asked.
Lazarus suddenly lifted his head off of Janea’s chest and hissed.
“Familiar?” the young witch said, looking around the room. There were no apparent threats.
The cat stood up and hopped to the floor, then scratched at the door urgently. He had gotten up a few times before, mostly when the rest of the team was awake, to eat and use the catbox. But this was something different.
The witch let him out, then followed, more or less at a run, as the cat bounded down the stairs to the front door and started pawing at it frantically.
“I wish you could talk,” the witch said, opening the door.
The cat darted past the startled security guards and down to the road, turned right and started running.
“Should we follow him?” one of the guards asked. “I mean, we were told the cat was one of our protectees.”
“Cats such as that can look after themselves.”
They got out by a large concrete-block building that was apparently the support building for the athletics department. The bottom was mostly open, surrounded by chain-link, and appeared to hold the boats for the crew team.
“I’m seeing a distinct lack of goat’s blood,” Kurt pointed out.
“Ever see a building like this with a large fireplace?” Barb asked, pointing at a massive chimney. “I mean, one that was made after 1920?”
“And the significance of a chimney is…?” Kurt asked.
“Heck if I know,” Barb said. “But it’s odd. Burning the bodies?”
“And there’s a distinct lack of bodies,” Kurt pointed out. “We probably should have parked up by the school buildings. Any psychic read?”
“I wish you’d quit asking that,” Barb said. “I’ve got Sight. I’m not a psychic.” She paused and turned her head from side to side. “On the other hand…”
Kurt’s phone buzzed and he pulled it off his belt to check the message.
“What was the ‘on the other hand’…” Kurt asked, curiously.
“Something’s…happening,” Barb said. “I mean…I don’t know. Something. What, I’m not sure.”
“The reason I ask is the message,” Kurt said. “I set up a query to Headquarters on anything related to GPA. We don’t have Carnivore access, but cyber teams track certain open-source information on the Web. Mostly looking for predators, but they keep track of other stuff. And they picked up an indicator.”
“Which is?” Barb asked, trying to look over his shoulder at the phone.
“Apparently several open sites, Facebook mainly, are reporting that ‘GPA girls are skinny-dipping off McLellan Island.’ There are even photos being circulated, which was what triggered the alert. Technically, they’re child porn. Good thing I’m exempt from the statute or I’d be in violation of federal law just looking at this stuff. What are you getting?”
“Basically…I guess you’d call it the feeling you get right before a lightning strike,” Barb said. “This area is a current of energy as strong as the river, and something’s pulling at it. Something nearby, but I can’t tell even which direction. I’m not good at this. Where is McLellan Island?”
“Right there,” Kurt said, pointing to the apparently deserted island in the middle of the river. The bridge they’d gone under passed over the river and the island.
“Then that’s where it’s going down,” Barb said.
“What is going down?” Kurt asked. “More zombies?”
“I don’t know,” Barb replied. “But…my spidey senses are saying that it’s about time for you to run for the hills.”
“There are boats headed for McLellan Island,” Kurt said, pointing. “Looks like a waterborne flash mob situation.”
“Party on McLellan Island,” Barb said. “Figure that is going to be mostly males. And as the climax of the party, everybody gets turned into zombies.”
“If it’s GPA girls who are doing it, and we still don’t have a good read on how,” Kurt said.
“Then I guess it’s time I went and found out,” Barb said. “The question being, how do I get to the island?”
“Well, you can rappel off the bridge,” Kurt said. “If you’ve got rappelling gear. Or you can swim. I think you’d probably float okay…”
“Not in body armor, I wouldn’t,” Barb said. “We need a boat. Now if I just knew how to use one of those crew boats.”
“I guess I am going with you, then,” Kurt said.
“Like heck.”
“Do you know how to scull?” Kurt asked.
“No. Not one of my skillsets. I don’t even use a rowing machine to work out.”
“Then I’ll have to scull you over.”
“You know how to scull?” Barb asked, looking at him askance.
“I had a rowing sch
olarship,” Kurt said. “Doesn’t mean I’m gay. It’s not like it’s male gymnastics or something!”
“Seriously?” Barb asked. “You?”
“I’m a man of many parts,” Kurt said, looking at the chain and lock that secured the chain-link. “Just one problem. FBI agents, despite what you see on TV, are not routinely trained in picking locks. Got a pair of bolt cutters?”
“No,” Barb said, sighing. “But I’ve got something that will work. On the other hand, it’s practically blasphemy to use it.”
“Where?” Kurt asked.
“In my bag.”
Cats are sprinters, not long-distance runners like dogs. And while Lazarus didn’t really have a concept of distance, he did know he had a long way in cat miles to go. Which meant he needed a ride. One he could control.
Dean Jensen was, all things considered, a fairly nice and inoffensive fellow. He contributed both time and, when he had it, money to various causes. He liked animals. (That was about to change.) He did his duty as a steward of Earth by not littering, contributing to environmental awareness and, alas, riding a bike as his primary form of transportation.
It was simply bad luck that had him pedaling down East Third Street when Lazarus needed a convenient and controllable form of transportation.
Jensen’s first inkling that his evening was going awry was when claws sank into his back. He let out a rather girl-like scream and swerved so badly he nearly ran into traffic.
“What the hell?” he shouted as the claws climbed up his back. He started to pull over and was thoroughly raked for his troubles, the claws, which had now sunk into his neck, pulling him from side to side. They stopped when he was pedaling, so he just hunkered down and hoped for the best.
When he came to Hawthorne Street he started to make a turn and was clawed again. Clearly, whatever demon was on his back wanted him to go straight.
He kept pedaling. After a couple more rakes he pedaled faster.
“Nice setup,” Kurt said. “I’d wondered about what was in the bag.”
“This’ll cut it,” Barb said, drawing the katana.
“Okay, yeah,” Kurt said. “It will and, yeah, it is blasphemy.”
“And while you get the boat ready, I will start rigging up.”
“Just keep your weight centered,” Kurt said as Barb carefully boarded the quad scull. “I got the biggest boat I could manage on my own, but all that weight is going to be an issue.”
“I’m not fat,” Barb said. “And I have excellent balance.”
“It’s not your weight,” Kurt said. “It’s the body armor, rifle, pistol, sword and ammo that’s the issue.”
Barb carefully took a seat as Kurt pulled away from the dock.
“As soon as we hit the shore you are out of here,” Barb said, clipping a radio onto his belt. “I brought you a spare tac set. I’m on four-one-five-eight. It’s encrypt…Oh… drat.”
“What now?” Kurt asked.
“I really should have made this call before we pulled out,” she said. She reached for her phone and hit Send.
“Phoning a friend?” Kurt asked.
“Something like that,” Barb answered.
“Marquez.”
“I’m pretty sure whatever ‘it’ is is going down,” Barb said. “McLellan Island. Do not fall for feminine wiles. They’re Stepfords.”
“Now?”
“If you please,” Barb said. “The only way to get there is by boat or rappelling off the Veterans Bridge. Which would be pretty noticeable. When you get there, I’m on four-one-five-eight.”
“Four-one-five-eight, aye. Ten mikes. Out here.”
“Who was that?” Kurt asked.
“The mystic version of HRT,” Barb said.
“Is that who you’ve been secretly meeting with?” Kurt asked.
“Yep,” Barb said. “And I’m secretly glad they’re here. I think this is going to get real interesting.”
“We’ll have to insert off the Veterans Bridge,” Friar Mills said. Shaun Mills was redheaded and still somewhat prone to the anger management issues that his former demons had used to great effect. With a mis-set nose and scarred knuckles, he looked like what he had once been; a street hooligan and thug for the Irish mob. “Rather public. We’d best be activating a wee diversion.”
“I really had hoped not to have to use this,” Brother Marquez said, sending a text. “Get the team ready for abseil insertion.”
“Should be a lark.”
“Torquemada,” Brother JD “Homer” Hughes said. “That’s the code.”
“I sincerely hope that the Holy See can cover us on this,” Friar Jackob Okai said, pressing the detonator. In the distance there was a dull boom.
“They provided much of the funding for building the plant,” Brother Hughes replied. “What’s one Passat more or less?”
Sergeant Alex Teach looked up from his alana rus at the “all units” ping on his computer and shook his head.
The code 8000 was for an explosion. Location: the new Volkswagen plant. Secondary codes indicated possible terrorism. New codes started popping up, indicating that the explosion was in the finished vehicle parking area.
“Car bomb,” he said, stuffing the rest of the sandwich in his face and hitting the blue lights. “Ap a car p’anp. Gre’ph. There goes my night.”
“You’re going to have to go over the side,” Kurt said. “You can’t really land one of these things. Carefully.”
“Got it,” Barb said, counterbalancing to enter the water. It was only up to her hips. “Now git.”
“Hazmat,” Kurt muttered. “Hazmat. I need to provide some cover for this anyway. Not sure what to say.”
“Call Garson and tell him to keep everything away from McLellan Island.”
Kurt’s phone started beeping urgently and he pulled it out to look.
“That shouldn’t be too hard,” Kurt said. “There’s apparently been a terrorist attack at the VW plant. A car bomb. At a car plant. Everybody and their brother is headed that way.”
“Funny coincidence,” Barb said, wading ashore. “You probably should head up to the bridge just in case anyone bothers to pay attention to oddities on the island.”
“What if something happens to you?” Kurt asked.
Barb locked and loaded her AR-10, then did the same with her Heckler and Koch. 45.
“I’m what happens to other people, Kurt.”
CHAPTER TEN
Barb ghosted through the heavy brush of the island towards the eastern tip where they’d seen the boats gathering. The island was an Audubon preserve, based on the really clear “No Trespassing” signs. She felt oddly perturbed that, in addition to black magic, the girls were violating a nature preserve. All things considered, it was minor, but irritating nonetheless.
In the twilight she could see that a fire had been lit, and hoped that she wasn’t, for the second time, overreacting. The whole Lazarus thing was a good reminder that she might be a warrior of God but not a perfect one. This time, however, she could feel currents of power being used. Something mystic was happening on the island and it certainly didn’t feel godly.
Sliding up through the undergrowth, she used her Trijicon tactical scope to observe for just a moment. As advertised, the small clearing was filled with naked girls. They were not, however, skinny-dipping, but clearly engaged in some sort of ritual. The ritual appeared to be a complex dance, possibly on the lines of the Trilobular pattern. At the center of the pattern was a small stone altar surrounded by fire.
Circling the girls were a collection of mostly young men standing stiff and still. Barb, from her range, couldn’t tell if they were simply held-glamoured was the usual term-or had been soul-drained.
“Dei,” Barb whispered into her tac set.
“Go,” Marquez replied.
“Just west of the bridge,” Barb said. “You’ll see it from up there. The girls are the targets. Stepfords or something similar. High regen. Resistant to penetration…”
Bar
b was slammed forward by what felt like a lightning bolt right in the kidneys. The pain was blinding, but she rolled forward, then up, bringing the AR-10 up and targeting the figure in the darkness behind her. She gave the trigger a slight squeeze and was rewarded with a click.
“Capable of rendering your weapons useless,” Vartouhi said, raising her hand and sending another levin bolt at Barb.
Not even sure what she was doing, Barb raised her hand and deflected the bolt. Again she felt a surge like electricity. But it wasn’t, it was clearly mystic.
“That all you got, bitch?” Barb gasped. She felt as if she’d been pushed through an industrial wringer by the first bolt. But what didn’t kill you…
“No,” Vartouhi said, waving her hands and chanting.
“Try to get this to misfire,” Barb said, releasing her AR and drawing the katana.
Before Barb could move forward, Vartouhi made a drawing motion, and Barb felt as if someone was sucking the air out of her. For a moment.
“Oh, you are not,” Barb said, laughing. “You really think you can draw the ka of a Warrior of God?” She released the sword with one hand and held it out. “Lord, please send to me the power to explain to this foul sorceress the extreme and absolute error of her ways.”
Barb could feel the mystic channel that Vartouhi was using to pull at her ka. What she sent down the channel was a tithe of the full power of God, but it was more than enough.
Purity and godliness exploded into the soul of the sorceress, who let out a scream of pain and terror.
“Time to meet your demoness,” Barb said, stepping forward, sword upraised.
Vartouhi stumbled backwards into the brush. As Barb started tracking her, she heard more movement behind her. Turning around, she found out that the guys who had been gathered around the ritual had, in fact, already been turned. They were crashing through the brush toward her, eyes flat and dead in the firelight.
“Zombies,” Barb said, shaking her head. “This is going to get ugly.”