by Lincoln Cole
Haatim let out a sigh, sick to his stomach, with all hope ripped out of him.
“We’re low on fuel. And I won’t be able to fight this wind.”
“We have to find her.”
“I know,” Dominick said. “But we can’t stay out here right now. We can come back first thing in the morning and search for her.”
“Search for her body, you mean,” Haatim said.
Though Dominick said not a word, his expression said exactly what he meant. He turned the helicopter around, and they flew toward the city. The wind and snow gave them a bumpy ride, but Haatim barely noticed it. He’d never imagined he could feel so devastated.
“How could she be gone?”
“The Council,” Frieda said. “We need to get back there.”
“What happened?” Dominick asked. “Is the Council all right?”
Frieda didn’t respond but just stared out through the window.
Epilogue
Dominick flew the helicopter back to the hotel. Wrecked, it looked like the center of a war zone. Not too far from the truth. Various sections of the building blazed or smoldered, and an entire wing of it had cracked open like a clam shell.
The fence remained intact except for a few sections that someone had cut through. It looked like the building had power, but only minimal and, probably, that came from a backup generator. The bodies of the mercenaries they had hired over the last several months to keep them safe lay littered around the guard posts.
Somewhere inside the building, an alarm blared in useless warning of an attack.
Haatim, in the copilot’s chair next to him, looked exhausted and beaten down. Frieda still just sat and stared through the window in the back, her expression unreadable while she surveyed the devastation.
Dominick had radioed ahead multiple times to try and raise a response. He had prayed that someone might have survived the attack, but so far, no answer had manifested. He landed the helicopter, and they stared at the demolished hotel for a few minutes.
“We need to check,” Frieda said.
“You know what we’ll find,” Dominick said. “Maybe, we should just go.”
“We need to know for sure.”
He let out a deep breath. The storm didn’t seem as bad here, but it still snowed heavily. With the engines off, they climbed out of the helicopter and headed toward the wrecked building to search for survivors.
An endless sea of bodies waited outside, murdered and left out in the snow. He hated leaving them like this and knew they would need to gather them in the morning, once the storm had moved through.
Frieda followed him into the main lobby, and Haatim wandered around the side of the building. Dominick thought to stop him but decided to let him go on his own. Probably, the guy just needed a few minutes to wrap his head around it all.
They all did.
Dominick went upstairs. Many of the Council had died in the firefight, but many more had only been wounded and then summarily executed. He moved through the building into the sections not on fire and looked through all the rooms in which the Council members had stayed.
Some had been executed in their sleep. Others had tried to fight back and escape, but they all lay dead.
He found Frieda down in the lobby. She looked devastated and hardly able to stand. Was it from the blood loss, the exhaustion, or the emotions of seeing her entire life’s work and her friends and family all dead around her?
Probably all three.
“Six Hunters left in the world,” she said. “Counting you. I’m the last Council member.”
“I’m not done searching,” Dominick said. “I’ve only accounted for ten.”
Frieda looked at him, her expression one of sheer devastation. “Do you think you’ll find any more?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “How was this possible?”
She could only shake her head in response.
Dominick couldn’t believe the sheer destruction of what had taken place. Whoever had planned this, had been incredibly thorough. He’d known many of these people his entire life and had thought the Council could never be brought down, let alone so quickly and efficiently.
“This is insane,” he said.
“I know,” Frieda said. “We lost everything.”
“We have a lot of funerals coming up.”
“Those will need to wait,” Frieda said. “This isn’t over.”
“You think Nida will come back?”
“I know she will. Whatever she’s planned, this is just the beginning.”
“What do we do now?” Dominick asked.
“Rebuild. Call in every favor owed. Find every friend we can. Prepare for what’s coming.”
“And what is that?”
Frieda looked at him and sighed. “War,” she said.
Dominick looked at the ruins around them, smoldering in the snow.
“It isn’t coming,” he said. “It’s here already.”
***
Haatim found his father’s car on the south side of the building, near where the explosion had taken out a huge section of the hotel. The door leading inside hung open, and a ramp led down into a storage room, where he found the bodies of several soldiers scattered.
Some killed by the impact of the explosion and others filled with bullet holes. A few small fires still burned in the area, filling it with smoke that poured out of cracks in the ceiling.
He stood there, listening to the crackling of the flames and trying to come to terms with everything. So many people dead. Unfathomable. Only just introduced into this world, and already, it had turned on its head.
Abigail gone. Too difficult to process. Even with how much he’d worried about her possible execution these last months, he’d never imagined what it might feel like to lose her.
The worst part about it was that he’d never, in fact, had her. Different from anyone he’d ever met, he cared more for her than he’d believed he could care for any human being. Too late to tell her, he realized just how much she meant to him.
Now she’d gone, and he stood alone in the world.
A noise came from further in the room. A dragging sound. Haatim looked around. A pistol rested against the wall. He picked it up and edged his way through the dim space, searching for whatever had made the sound.
He came upon it around the corner, tucked behind machinery. His father struggled to drag himself across the floor with one arm, and his other shoulder hung twisted and broken. Though bloody and weary, his eyes flashed when he saw Haatim standing in front of him.
“My son,” he said, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He smiled. “Thank God, you’re here.”
Haatim stared at him, feeling a mounting rage in the pit of his stomach. “You did this,” he said.
Aram’s smile faded. “I tried to stop this—”
“It’s your fault. You got them killed. You got them all killed.”
The words spilled out, and he took a menacing step toward his father. His hand squeezed the grip of the gun, and his father seemed to notice it for the first time.
“Haatim, please … think this through.”
“I am.” He raised the gun. Never in his life had he felt such fury. Could he pull the trigger and take his father’s life? He wanted to.
And, his father deserved it. After everything that had happened, he shouldn’t be the only one allowed to survive. Moreover, if he shot him now, it would look like just one more dead body. No one would ever know what he had done, and it would serve to balance the scales.
Justice.
“You got her killed.”
“Haatim, please.”
Haatim hesitated, struggling to decide whether or not to pull the trigger.
End of Book II
Lincoln Cole
About the Author
Lincoln Cole is a Columbus-based author who enjoys traveling and has visited many different parts of the world, including Australia and Cambodia, but always returns home to his pugamonster, Lut
her, and wife. His love for writing was kindled at an early age through the works of Isaac Asimov and Stephen King, and he enjoys telling stories to anyone who will listen.
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Coming Soon
Lost in the Shadows
Prequel to Raven’s Peak
Prologue
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
Father Paladina knelt under the stairs, eyes closed and struggling to control his breathing. Each gasp sounded like the cracking of a tree branch, and he couldn’t contain the occasional sob as terror coursed through his veins.
“I can smell you, priest. I know you are in here.”
The voice was coming from upstairs in the kitchen. He hadn’t had time to close the door to the basement when he came in, and he couldn’t remember if it was open before or not. He should have been able to remember, but right now if felt like his mind wouldn’t work.
He couldn’t remember ever being so terrified in his entire life. He held his rosary between his fingers and pressed it against his lips, praying as hard as he could for the strength. He knew he was going to die, and the only thing he prayed for was the strength to die well.
After all, right now it wasn’t only his life at stake: his everlasting soul was as well.
“Are you in here?” the man—if he was still a man—asked from somewhere upstairs. Father Paladina heard a squeaking sound as a door was opened. This was followed by silence, and then another squeak as the door was closed.
Footsteps creaked over his head, slowly shifting from board to board across the kitchen floor. Niccolo Paladina felt his tense muscles throbbing in pain as he crouched down, aching and tight. It felt like he’d been hiding forever, but it had been less than a minute.
“Maybe you’re down here,” the man said, and the closeness of his voice nearly drew a gasp from the hiding priest.
He was just overhead now, at the top of the stairs. The man began humming to himself as he took his first step down. Father Paladina winced as dust fell down on his head.
Another step, the sound of the boot on the stairs like a nail in the priest’s coffin. He kept on coming, humming a tuneless hum, until the father could see the boots in front of his face.
“Priest? I can feel you down here, priest. Why are you hiding? You know I’ll find you.”
Niccolo could feel himself trembling and he knew the man was right.
He shouldn’t have come out here alone. He shouldn’t have left the car and Father Reynolds. It was the middle of the night, he was alone, and something was very, very wrong.
It had stopped raining, but that was little consolation. At least the rain had dulled the sound and everything didn’t sound so…crisp. His breathing, his slight movements, the way the rosary clipped against his teeth as it rattled.
It was over. He was going to die. He should at least face it like a man.
A man of God.
He forced his legs to move and stand up, stepping out from under the stairs to confront his pursuer. It was dark in the basement and everything was in shadows, but he could see the man’s face.
A scar ran from his ear down his cheek to his jawline. He had a scrabbly brown beard but it didn’t hit it at all. He was wearing a red trucker hat and overalls, but that wasn’t what caught the Priest’s attention. He couldn’t see past the man’s eyes, the way they were dull and dead, empty.
“There you are,” the man said, grinning and baring his teeth. He looked more feral than anything. “Ready to meet your maker?”
Father Paladina opened his mouth to speak, to pray, but no sounds would come out. His voice had abandoned him, the words he’d practiced for years caught in his throat.
“What? Cat got your tongue?” the man asked, stepping closer to him and still grinning his insane grin.
“Vile abomination, you don’t belong here. By the power of Christ I compel you,” the priest muttered, taking a step back. He held up his rosary, hand still shaking. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
The man stopped moving forward, his grin fading. “You compel me?”
Father Paladina was emboldened, feeling the power of God coursing through him. It was having an effect, the power, the prayers, and his faith. They were holding the demon at bay.
“You do not belong here. Return from whence you came. Through the power of Christ, I demand that you leave this place.”
A long moment passed, the only sound the Priest’s breathing. He held his rosary forth, hand unwavering and back tall. They stared at each other, locked in place as the seconds ticked by.
“Silly priest,” the man said finally, his grin returning. “Don’t you know you have no power here?”
The man reached up and grabbed the rosary in Father Paladina’s hand. There was a sizzling sound, as though something was burning, and the priest could feel it heating up.
He watched in horror as the man stepped closer, pressing the cross to his forehead. It burned where it touched, and the man started laughing a wild and maniacal laugh.
Father Paladina released his grip on the cross and jerked back in disgust and horror. The man let it fall to the floor, and there it lay.
“How does it feel?” the man asked, stepping closer to Father Paladina. He was still grinning that sick and toothy grin. “How does it feel to know you are truly alone?”
He reached forward, grabbing the priest around the throat and squeezing. His grip was like iron, crushing down on his windpipe.
“How does it feel to know your Creator has abandoned you?”
Also in 2017
The Finale to World on Fire
Raven’s Rise
Another Series to Check Out
Graveyard of Empires
Sector 4 – Tellus
Alaina Naylor
1
Thunder rumbled outside the soccer stadium: a deep roar as storm clouds gathered in strength, the prelude to a ferocious storm.
Alaina absently twirled her father’s curly auburn hair between her fingers, glancing around at the gathered crowd with poorly hidden trepidation. The five-year-old girl was perched high atop her father’s shoulders and held a good vantage of the rally, but it also made her stick out above the masses. So many people; so many, many bodies, all clustered together with nary inches of separation.
The soccer venue was immense, holding well over a hundred twenty thousand fans for a sunny afternoon match, but there weren’t any games scheduled for today; instead, a raised dais sat on the central circle of the field, silent and empty, waiting amidst the sea of curious onlookers.
The stadium was filled well past capacity for today’s event: people were clustered as close together as possible, butting up against the sides of the stage and threatening to spill atop it. The seats were being ignored by all but the weariest of onlookers.
Excitement was in the air; people stood in aisles ad on plastic seats, jockeying with futility for better positions. A gentle din of murmuring hung in the air: whispers on the wind, a million insignificant conversations.
It was cloudy—it was always cloudy this far inland—and warm today. Little Alaina let out an exaggerated yawn, stretching her arms to the sky the same way her mom always did in the mornings. She would rather be playing tag with her brother Tommy or dressing dolls with her sister’s Jessie and Eva than sitting here waiting for the rally to start.
She would much rather be back in bed, nestled close with Mr. Snuggles, her bunny rabbit, listening to the pitter-patter of rain. But father woke them up early and told them that they had to get dressed right away before he brought them here. He was as happy and excited as she had e
ver seen him.
He didn’t tell them why, only that it was important. That it would change the world. All of the worlds, even. Alaina didn’t see how or why that should matter. Her world wasn’t that big and consisted of family and friends and bunnies.
Right now she was just bored from sitting around and hoped it would sprinkle soon. It looked like it was going to, and felt like it was going to, but as yet the sky hadn’t opened up.
“How long must they keep us waiting?” Kate Naylor—Alaina’s mother—asked. She was a willowy woman, dressed in a loose fitting pink blouse with blue pants. Her brown hair was tied in a bun with a few loose strands fluttering against her cheeks. It was windy.
Her eyes were smeared with hastily applied makeup, something she described as a raccoon. Alaina didn’t know what a raccoon was, but her mom didn’t seem to like them very much.
There hadn’t been time for her to do a complete job. Carl, her father, had rushed them out half-dressed and bleary eyed while it was still dark. They finished waking up and dressing in the car. Tommy had forgotten his drawers and Alaina her right shoe—another detail for which mom was mad at dad. Alaina didn’t actually mind not having both shoes: it just meant she got to be carried while her older siblings had to walk.
“Not much longer,” Carl answered. A repeated sentiment they all heard many times that morning. “It won’t be much longer now.”
“This is a hazardous gathering if ever there was one,” Kate replied, her voice bitter.
“It’s not as if—”
“How are we supposed to get out if something happens? What if someone starts a panic? The children will be trampled.”
“Nothing is going to happen,” Carl said.
Kate narrowed her eyes at him. “These people are fostering a rebellion,” she said quietly. “Something is going to happen, and I want no part in it.”
“I’m hungry,” Alaina said, yawning again and resting her little chin on her father’s head. He reached up with his left hand and squeezed her arm. His right stayed on her leg, keeping her firmly in place atop his shoulders.
“Won’t be much longer,” Carl repeated. “And then we’ll all go to the Sunny Side for breakfast. How’s that sound?”