Brothers in Stone (Stone Soldiers #2)

by Martin, C. E.

  “They’re asleep. Dreaming. Like your boyfriend over there. They don’t get lonely. Not like those of us still in the flesh.”

  PJ stepped closer. So close, Josie could smell his breath over the stench of his horrible aftershave. She stepped away again. “Do they even know they’re petrified?”

  “Some of them. We interrogated a few of them after they were turned. But most of them in here and the other rooms have no idea-”

  “Other rooms?” Josie interrupted, turning to face PJ. “What other rooms? How many are there?”

  PJ mentally admonished himself for his slipup. “That’s classified. You’ll have to ask the Colonel.”

  The Colonel. Josie suddenly remembered. She needed to report in what Jimmy had told her in his dream state. “Speaking of which, I need to report in.”

  “Maybe we could catch a drink after?” PJ asked, again leering at her.

  “I’m not old enough to drink,” Josie said. She turned and walked away swiftly. She could feel PJ’s eyes on her as she left the room—no doubt staring at her rear. Such a creep.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Colonel Mark Kenslir read slowly over the file in his hands, concentrating on each and every word, methodically. His words. Words he’d typed up himself, over the years. Before his recent bout of partial amnesia.

  Kenslir was seated in his fifteenth floor office, piles of file folders on his massive oak desk. The office walls were lined with mahogany panels, medals, decorations and even weapons hanging on plaques. The entire south wall of the twenty foot by twenty-five foot office was made of floor to ceiling windows that allowed a view of Florida that stretched out to the horizon, beyond the Keys.

  Kenslir finished the report, then set it on a small stack to his right, on his massive oak desk. Only thirty more to go. At least he’d only had to regenerate half his brain.

  A knock came at the door.

  “Come in,” Kenslir said, putting the next file on the desk in front of him. Instead of opening it, he grabbed a fresh danish off the large plate of pastries on the corner of his desk.

  Josie opened the door to the office, and walked in. Kenslir’s desk was to her left where she saw the Colonel eating his danish, watching her.

  “Colonel,” Josie said, closing the door behind her. She moved to one of the over-sized leather chairs in front of his desk and sat down, her back to the stunning view outside his windows.

  “What can I do for you?” Kenslir asked between bites of danish. His weird black-green eyes remained fixed on her, making Josie nervous.

  “I just finished speaking to Jimmy.”

  “Oh?” Kenslir said. He finished the last bite of danish, then pointed to the plate heaped with six more pastries. “Danish?”

  “No, no thank you,” Josie said. She was surprised the Colonel was eating the pastries so late in the day.

  Kenslir shrugged and picked up another danish. He noticed Josie looking at him strangely as he took another bite.

  “You don’t like danishes?” he asked.

  “No. I mean, yes. It’s just that I watch what I eat so I can stay in shape...”

  “I don’t really have that problem.”

  Josie thought about it. There he was, Colonel Mark Kenslir, born in 1928, with jet black hair, cut in a close flattop style, his skin wrinkle-free, tan and healthy, with thick muscles just visible beneath his flowered-print, short-sleeve shirt. He didn’t look a day over thirty. It was sickening.

  “Are you telling me you don’t have to worry about fat?” Josie asked, eyeing the danish Kenslir was wolfing down.

  “Part of my curses. It’s not just the haircut I’m stuck with. I don’t get fat.”

  Josie didn’t know whether to be shocked or angry. It explained why she never saw the Colonel in the gym. It made her a little angry, too. Being stuck with the same goofy hair cut he’d had in 1962 when he’d been cursed was one thing, but never having to work out and eating whatever he wanted was another.

  “What are you reading?” Josie asked, changing the subject, and tearing her eyes off the danishes.

  “Just going over some of my old reports. Refreshing my memory.”

  “I thought your memory was all back?” Josie asked, confused.

  “Most of it. But there are still a few bits here and there I need refreshing on.”

  The Colonel wasn’t so indestructible as she thought, Josie realized. He could eat anything he wanted, had been able to regenerate his heart and half his brain after his most recent death, but his memories were more difficult. It made him seem almost human.

  “You were going to tell me about Jimmy,” Kenslir said. “Was he able to come up with anything?”

  “He didn’t understand most of it. Images, and even languages he’s never seen or heard before. He said it reminded him of old sword and sorcery movies.”

  “Interesting. Anything more recent?”

  “There was something about being in a sarcophagus, filled with sea water. Some divers found him, and he killed them,” Josie said.

  “The Lady Jane Franklin,” Kenslir explained. “It was a research vessel working off the coast of Cuba. The entire crew was found murdered, hearts removed, about a month ago.”

  “Cuba?”

  “Yes, there are some ruins there, under the water. Old buildings and temples. They date back to the Antediluvian period.”

  “Antediluvian?” Josie asked, confused.

  “It’s the pre-Flood period in history.” Kenslir was surprised a graduate of a Catholic High School wouldn’t be familiar with the term.

  “Pre-Flood? As in Noah’s Flood?” Josie asked.

  “You haven’t gotten to that part of your studies here? There were a number of civilizations on the Earth, a long time ago, and they were wiped out by a global flood. Occasionally, the remains of those civilizations are found. Like the ones off the coast of Cuba.”

  “And the shapeshifter was down there? Wait—wasn’t the Flood thousands of years ago?” Josie was confused.

  “We don’t really know how long ago it was. But yes, it would appear that our shapeshifting giant was indeed from an era before recorded history.”

  “How could he have survived all that time?” Josie asked.

  “How could he have the power to steal memories and powers by eating hearts? Or the power to turn into a dragon?” Kenslir countered. “At least now we know he was trapped in those ruins, until the late crew of the Lady Jane released him.”

  Kenslir grabbed another danish, and sat back in his chair to eat it.

  “You seem relieved,” Josie said.

  “Well, yes. This means he was the only one.”

  “Only one?”

  Kenslir gulped down a bite of danish. “Imagine if we had a whole bunch of these Old Testament giants running around, murdering people. That would be problematic.”

  “Problematic? Didn’t he kill over a hundred people?” Surely the Colonel wasn’t that cold hearted, Josie thought. Then she remembered finding his heart, turned to stone in the desert. Maybe he was.

  “And now he’s downstairs, in a freezer, awaiting dissection,” Kenslir said. “Problem solved.”

  The door to the office suddenly swung open and Major Campbell rushed in.

  “Colonel!”

  Campbell was almost out of breath, as if he’d run to the office. He held a printout crumpled in one hand. The Colonel liked paper, not tablets. It was an annoying quirk the young-looking old man had.

  “Major Campbell?” Kenslir said in surprise, his mouth full of danish.

  “We’ve got another one!” Campbell said, panting and handing over the print out.

  Josie could see the sweat on Campbell’s forehead. He had been running—in his full dress uniform and polished shoes. Probably all the way from the command post three floors below them.

  Kenslir took the printout and read over it carefully. He set his half-finished danish down then wadded up the paper and threw it across the room. It landed in a small wire wastepaper baske
t by the windows.

  “What is it?” Josie asked.

  “Another case of missing hearts,” Kenslir said. “A diner full of them.”

  “How is that possible?”

  Kenslir looked to the Major. “Has anyone checked the freezer lately?”

  “It’s still there, sir. Doctor Crone confirmed it for me on my way up here.”

  Kenslir frowned at the implication. “Josie. I need you to go to Arizona right away.”

  Josie stood up. “Me, sir?”

  “I can’t go on this trip myself.”

  “Why not?” The hair on the back of Josie’s neck was standing up. She was getting that feeling again—that something was very, very wrong.

  “You’re going to hitch a ride with a ghost walker,” Kenslir said.

  CHAPTER SIX

  This was a floor of Argon Tower that Josie had not yet visited—the thirteenth floor. Like most of the other floors in the black glass building Detachment 1039 operated out of, the east side was completely sealed off. From the elevators, one could go west, then turn left or right.

  Major Campbell led Josie down a tiled hallway, past more security cameras hung from the ceiling then she had yet seen on any other floor.

  “Have you finished all your study material?” Campbell asked.

  “Not quite,” Josie answered. “I was just getting into parahuman studies this morning.”

  “So you know what a Ghost Walker is, right?”

  Josie swallowed nervously. The Army’s dry training manuals had provided surprisingly little detail on the topic of astral projection for intelligence gathering, unlike many of the other weird and fantastic elements of Detachment 1039's mission.

  Detachment 1039, the United States Military’s joint operational force for combating supernatural threats, world-wide, since 1947. The Detachment had a colorful history, most of which Josie wasn’t even cleared for yet. But she had gotten all the nuts and bolts of it from the materials she had been assigned to study.

  The Detachment was formed after World War II, under the direct supervision of General Frank D. Merrill. In 1947, acting under the strictest secrecy, the General had been tasked with creating a military unit capable of responding to supernatural threats. Detachment 1039.

  The Detachment was quickly tested, only a few years later, fighting the paranatural forces of Communist China, in the Korean Conflict. Colonel Kenslir had first seen his action there, when he was a very young West Point graduate.

  Since Korea, the Detachment had grown in size and complexity. Various incarnations of super soldiers had been recruited and trained over the years. All for the purpose of defending America. Among these super soldiers were the Ghost Walkers, who used astral projection to provide reconnaissance at distant sites around the world, undetected.

  The idea that someone could be watching her, unseen, at any time, anywhere, was unsettling to Josie.

  Major Campbell finally led Josie through an inconspicuous-looking office door, into a large room, facing west. Homestead Air Force Base could be seen through the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the west wall of the room. The pungent smell of incense hung in the air, and sitar music was playing.

  Josie was bewildered.

  “Josie!” PJ grinned. He stood up from the purple beanbag he’d been sitting on and gave her his regular, nasty grin as he looked her up and down.

  Beside PJ, sitting on a pink bean bag, was an older woman. She had short gray hair, with large, dreamcatcher hoop earrings. She wore frayed jeans, and an over-sized, tie-died shirt. Purple-lensed glasses sat on her nose, hiding piercing blue eyes. She appeared to be in her sixties, her face lined with faint wrinkles, her skin tanned by years of exposure to the sun.

  Josie looked around the room, cursing to herself that PJ was here. The room looked as though it had traveled through time from 1968. Peace signs, lava lamps, fish net curtains—there was more outdated, love-in furnishings in the room than Josie had seen in her entire life.

  The gray-haired lady stood up, and walked over toward Josie.

  “Aren’t you the prettiest little thing,” the woman said.

  Major Campbell nodded to the woman. “Daisy, this is Josie Winters. Colonel Kenslir wants her to go with you on this assignment.”

  “And so I have to suffer through PJ?” Daisy asked. “I prefer my regular telepath.”

  “Hey!” PJ said in mock indignation. “I’m right here!”

  “I know where you are,” Daisy said. “I think I could smell that horrible aftershave of yours from a mile away.”

  Josie tried not to laugh. She liked Daisy.

  “Report back to the Colonel when you’re done, Ms. Winters,” Major Campbell said. “We’ll be in the command center.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Daisy said, leading Josie over to the beanbags. There was a bright yellow beanbag waiting for Josie by Daisy’s and PJ’s.

  Campbell left the room as Daisy motioned for Josie to sit down.

  “Now don’t you fret, child,” Daisy said. “We’ll make sure your first time goes painlessly.”

  PJ began laughing.

  Daisy suddenly reached over and grabbed PJ’s earlobe, pinching it between two fingernails.

  “Ow!” PJ yelled.

  “Now, PJ, am I going to have to tell the Colonel how you act around his new recruit?” Daisy asked.

  PJ was nearly in tears as Daisy held on to his ear. “No, ma’am!”

  Daisy released PJ’s ear, and held a hand out for Josie. She grabbed one of PJ’s hands with her other. “Just close your eyes and relax, dear.”

  “Okay,” Josie said. She realized it was the first time she’d spoken since she’d entered the surreal room. She gently held Daisy’s hand and closed her eyes.

  ***

  Another day, another crime scene. Victor didn’t know how much more of this he could take. At least this time there were only five corpses.

  Victor was now standing in a small convenience store beside a highway, in a little town in the middle of nowhere. State Troopers had discovered the bodies in the morning, and Agent Keegan had told Victor they were less than twelve hours old.

  Keegan was currently arguing with said State Troopers, threatening to have them sent to Leavenworth if they didn’t immediately turn over the security recordings from the store’s cameras. Victor wondered if Keegan would finally meet her match and end up in jail herself, talking to the Troopers that way.

  At Victor’s feet lay a dead male, white, in his late twenties, with long, scraggly, brown-blonde hair, cut in an outdated mullet. He was wearing tattered blue jeans, cowboy boots, a sleeveless plaid shirt and a dirty baseball cap with the Caterpillar bulldozer logo across it.

  Victor opened the dead man’s wallet. He had been pretending to be a regular forensic examiner while Keegan argued with the Troopers. He’d watched the real techs enough times to know what to do. He even had a pair of their rubber gloves on.

  Cletus Ferguson, the I.D. in the wallet said. An Alabama driver’s license. Victor briefly wondered why Cletus was in Arizona.

  Keegan was finally done with the Troopers. Once again, the tiny blonde had bullied her way through a situation. She could have just waited for the rest of the FBI team to arrive, but Agent Keegan didn’t like waiting.

  The Troopers walked outside, remarking to each other just what they thought of Keegan.

  Keegan stormed over to Victor, actually stepping on the hand of another dead man, dressed like Cletus, but with a MOPAR ballcap on. Keegan didn’t really care about clues or evidence at this crime scene. The gaping chest wounds and removed hearts told her all she needed to know.

  “Well?” Keegan demanded, walking up to Victor. “Do it.”

  Victor sighed and pulled off the rubber glove from his right hand with his teeth. Then he touched the wallet of the dead man.

  Cletus Ferguson had been a drifter. He and his best friend, Pete, in the MOPAR hat, had been drifting from town to town, working a variety of odd jobs across the southwest for y
ears. They lived in their truck, spent most of their money on beers and women, and hadn’t amounted to much in life.

  Victor thumbed through the wallet—there was half of a thousand-dollar bill mixed in with the ones and fives. Victor pulled it out and rubbed it with his fingers.

  “Hey, Nancy Drew!” Keegan said, breaking Victor’s concentration. “Stop looking for clues and get me some answers. The corpse is down there.”

  Victor looked down at his feet, where Keegan was pointing, at the body of Cletus. He sighed and handed the wallet and the torn half of the thousand-dollar bill to Keegan, then crouched down beside the corpse.

  Keegan pitched the wallet and money onto the floor, and crossed her arms impatiently.

  As soon as Victor touched Cletus’ forehead, the visions swept over him. He saw Cletus and Pete, arguing over who was going to pay for beer in the back of the shop, when the bells over the front door rang. A stranger had entered.

  The two women behind the counter greeted the stranger, then started asking him what he was doing. That had gotten Cletus and Pete’s attention.

  The two rednecks walked up to the front of the store, past a man trying to decide which potato chips to buy, just in time to see the stranger lock the front doors of the store.

  “Whatchoo doing, man?” Pete asked.

  The stranger turned to face Pete. He was average looking, with brown hair, and brown eyes. Thin and pale.

  “I’m picking up a bite or two to eat,” the brown-haired man said.

  “No man,” Cletus had said. “Why’d you lock the door, dumbass?”

  The brown-haired man suddenly rammed his hand into Pete’s chest, piercing the dirty flannel shirt and Pete’s skin. Blood sprayed out as the brown-haired man’s hand plunged deep into Pete’s torso.

  “Guh!” Pete said, blood coming from his mouth. The man’s arm was buried to the elbow inside of Pete.

  “What the f-?” Cletus started to say. He was stopped when the man’s other hand rammed into his chest, tearing through his flesh on its way into Cletus’ ribcage.