Through the Fury to the Dawn (Action of Purpose Book 1)

by Stu Jones

  “I understand. I may be a boy, but I am also a great warrior. I am not afraid—Besides, Azolja will be with me.”

  “Tynuk…” Courtland began.

  “Mr. Courtland, we too have been called to serve the Great Spirit just as you have. It is not a matter for you to choose whether we are involved or not. The choice was made by the Spirit long before this planet was formed with dust and water. To obey the call, it is what we all must do.”

  Courtland looked at Kane, who shrugged and opened his arms. “Welcome then, we can use your help. But we need to go, like right now.”

  They nodded in silent agreement and, sneaking from the room, the four glided together down the hallway and out across the courtyard, mere shadows in the moonless night.

  They arrived at the truck, and Kane lowered the tailgate as the great beast crept silently into the bed. Tynuk opened the front gate to the compound with slight creaks, pushing it until it stuck open. The warrior boy jumped with stunning grace through the passenger side window of the truck. Courtland quickly searched a nearby shed and found a full fuel can, which he placed in the bed of the truck before climbing in.

  Kane gave one last nod to everyone, cranked the truck and mashed down on the gas. The truck took off, its tires spinning in the dirt. Shouting was heard all over the ranch as torcheslit and the sentrise rushed to the gate, but the Family was too late. The truck cruised away at speed through the silent black woods, carrying the four unlikely heroes ever closer to the shared destiny they had each been created for.

  DAY 40

  Molly awoke with a start, realizing immediately that she was still among the enemy. She kept her eyes closed and relaxed her body, wanting to continue giving the impression that she was still asleep. Her arms were tied behind her back and her feet bound together at the ankles. Her ears picked up every little sound within the complex, the laughter and jeering of the creeps outside the building, the faint hum of generators, and the consistent, desperate sobbing of a woman somewhere down in the courtyard. The night air was cool and smelled of rust, decay, and incense—or what smelled like incense. The smell, heavy in the room, was a fragrant, pungent smell, strong like a bitter musk. She cocked her head just a little to better sense what was going on around her.

  She dared not open her eyes. She tried to convince herself that none of this was happening. But it was. It was happening.

  Something jerked behind her. It scraped, and then, with a jarring sound, slammed down behind her, almost causing her to cry out.

  Molly squinted ever so slightly, trying to see the nature of the disturbance. She tilted her head to peek over her shoulder. There was a wooden desk behind her. A scream shattered the air, followed by more slamming and shaking of the desk.

  The air near the ceiling was thick with smoke, and a dim yellow bulb flickered through the haze. Out of the corner of her eye, Molly could make out a large, muscular bald male sitting at the desk. He had his eyes pinched shut and was grimacing and clawing as he slammed the desktop with his bare fists. He did not appear to breathe for what seemed like an eternity, as his body shook and his muscles bulged and pulsed in a wretched, alien manner. The man exhaled a smoky breath and opened his eyes wide, looking around the room with great interest.

  The man began speaking in low tones, conversing with himself. it started slow but grew faster, as the strange mumbled incantations spilled out in words that she didn’t understand. Sounding almost inhuman, the unusual language snapped and clicked off the man’s tongue with an ancient sharpness.

  Molly’s eyes were completely open now. She could no longer hide the absolute fear she felt toward her captor. She watched, her body frozen in stone as he continued the wild, rapid sounds with repetitive upward flicks of his head. And suddenly, Molly was completely overcome with the most dreadful sensation.

  He was summoning something.

  Kane saw the glow of the station on the horizon long before they’d gotten close to it—the small twinkling lights like dying stars against a sea of blackness. He cut the truck lights off and slowly rolled the last half-mile to the edge of the slope that overlooked the radio control station. Easing the truck to a stop, he put it in park and stopped the engine. The low hum of distant generators vibrated in the restless night. Kane stepped from the car and allowed the door to shut with a click as Courtland, Tynuk, and Azolja moved to meet him around the front of the vehicle. Sitting on his haunches, Kane observed the structure for a moment, noting the ocean on its rear side and a rubble-filled frontage road at the bottom of the hill.

  “Well, it doesn’t seem over fortified, other than the chain-link fence,” he said, as the rest of them crouched down in front of the truck. “They’ve definitely got some small arms, rifles, and handguns, but limited ammo.”

  Kane pointed at a large central area in the middle of the station with two tanker trucks parked in the center of it. “As soon as it starts, a lot of them will most likely hit that large courtyard there in a boil of mass confusion. These guys, they’ve got crazy going for them, but not order or cooperation, so expect chaos.”

  Kane paused and rubbed at his stubbled chin. “How do we capitalize on that? Do we have any weapons?” he asked, looking at Courtland.

  “Yeah, hang on a sec,” Courtland said, rising and carefully opening the passenger side door and then moving to the bed of the truck.

  Kane looked at the boy and his monstrous shaggy companion. “Tynuk, you will have to fight, maybe even kill people. Are you up for that?”

  Tynuk nodded, his eyse hard. “They will not be the first,” he said.

  As strange as the words seemed coming from a boy, something in the way the boy spoke led Kane to believe in his competence.

  “Right on, then,” Kane said, as Courtland rejoined them. “What do we have, big man?”

  “Here,” Courtland said handing the sawed-off shotgun over to Kane. “I found this near where you wrecked your motorcycle, but there’s no shells.”

  Kane felt inside his left cargo pocket and produced a single 00 buckshot shell, holding it up like his prized possession.

  “We got one shot. I’ll have to make it count,” he said, taking the shotgun from Courtland.

  Courtland held up the large, black, sword-like ant mandibles. “I believe I can make good use of these.”

  Kane looked back to Tynuk.

  The boy, sensing the question, touched at the pouches lashed to the cord around his waist. “I have what I need.”

  “Alright, I’ll keep this simple.” Kane took in a shallow breath. “We’re not well armed and we’re badly outnumbered, which means our greatest assets are surprise and violence of action. We’re going to hit ‘em and hit ‘em hard. We’ll start by sending the unmanned truck through the gate to breach it and draw their gunfire. There will be no stopping once that gate down.”

  Courtland and Tynuk nodded.

  “Tynuk, you and Azolja are responsible for the taking out the perimeter guards and the men with the long rifles on that building there. Can you see them?”

  Tynuk nodded.

  “They have to be down before we send the truck, which means you two will have to use stealth to get the jump on them. Can you guys handle that?”

  “We can.” Tynuk said, giving the great beast a pat on his flank.

  Kane looked at the wolfish beast as it shifted in its prone position and licked its lips, its silvery eyes piercing him in the quiet of the moment. It was a bold and predatory creature like nothing he had ever seen. He realized for the first time that it had not struck him as strange that they were all treating this giant beast as an intellectual presence, expected to follow a plan and execute a mission. He wanted to ask Tynuk about the reliability of his primal companion but hesitated.

  Eyeing the fearsome animal for a moment, Kane took note of its demeanor and presence, how it seemed to watch over them like a guardian angel. The creature returned Kane’s gaze, those silver eyes boring into him, and as they did he was overcome with the strangest of realizatio
ns: the beast understood their purpose, maybe even more than Kane himself did.

  Kane broke away from the animal’s stare and turned to Courtland.

  “My friend, you will be the primary distraction. Do whatever you can, but get their attention. Beyond that, defend yourselves and free any innocents that you come across, and if at all possible try to preserve those fuel tankers.”

  “And you?” Courtland said.

  “I’m going after Molly.”

  “That will take you to Malak. I’m sure of it,” Courtland said.

  “Their leader?”

  “Yes. Be cautious of him, Kane. He is a desperately evil man, and I believe he may already be consumed by by something sinister.”

  “Be that as it may, I think if we can down him, the rest may scatter. Just keep them off me until I can find him. I know it’s not much of a plan, but it’s all we’ve got.”

  The four sat in introspective silence for a few moments as the bitter ocean breeze whipped at their faces and clung to their skin. Kane looked out past the station compound and could see the slightest brightening on the horizon beyond the toxic ocean as day threatened to push back the night.

  Courtland leaned forward and put his arms around them. “May we find our strength in the Lord alone, may we show mercy where it is needed, and may we have the wisdom to overcome the adversaries of the Lord. For even when you are chased by those who seek your life, you are safe in the care of the Lord your God, secure in his treasure pouch. But the lives of your enemies will disappear like stones shot from a sling.”

  Raising his head, Kane looked up at his companions with the deepest sincerity. “Whatever happens, I want you to know how grateful I am for each of you in this. May we never back down—In the name of the God of heaven and for His sake.”

  Tynuk and his shadowy friend crept with uncanny patience toward the edge of the perimeter fence, moving as one presence. They paused, short of the chain link, and scanned for enemy activity. Seeing one patrol inside and off to the to the left, they moved to the fence and crouched. With a lightning fast movement, Azolja swiped the barrier with his paw, and the interlocking bands of metal came apart under the force of his razor-sharp claws. The beast pushed first through the gap and began running away to the left as Tynuk stepped through the gap behind him.

  The two sentries stopped and turned. A bearded man with long greasy hair spoke first. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Something hit the fence behind us,” he said as he ground his decaying teeth and pulled at his goatee.

  “You can’t handle your Z, man.”

  “Look, you idiot, right there!” He pointed behind them.

  The two stared with considerable effort as a great inky shadow moved forward, silvery eyes above the whitest of fangs. A chilling guttural growl came rolling in from the phantom presence as the thugs went for their weapons—but they were too late. Azolja leapt through the air, slamming the first thugin the chest with a swipe of his paw and sinking his fangs into the throat of the second. Gore sprayed across his dark mane as he shook the dying man by the neck. Dropping the lifeless body, he moved quickly to the other man, who was shaking and trying to cry out as he clutched at his flayed chest. He never had a chance to scream.

  Tynuk approached from the shadows as Azolja finished off the second of the two sentries. Tynuk patted the beast twice hard on his flank to signal that he was going ahead. The great beast tossed his head at the boy, a sign that he understood, his jowls foaming red with fresh blood.

  The boy moved noiselessly to the fire escape and ascended. Jumping and swinging, he made his way up and in a matter of seconds, had climbed to the top of the four-story building. Crouching low, he looked over the rim to survey the rooftop. Three men, all with assault rifles, stood watching over the station. They would be able to direct fire on anyone seen as a threat in the courtyard below.

  Reaching into the leather pouch he kept at his waist, he removed a rounded stone, blackened by fire and about the size of a golf ball. He rotated it between the fingers of his right hand and pulled a thin cord from his belt with his left.

  “May the Great Spirit guide my hand, and lend me his strength,” Tynuk murmured to himself.

  In an instant, he hurdled onto the roof and tucked his body into a forward roll. Utilizing his spinning forward momentum, Tynuk fired the stone from his hand and was up and running. The stone struck the far right sentry in the head, just behind his left ear, buckling his knees as his body dropped, folding against the ground. The thug on the left was on to the boy, spinning and unleashing a burst of automatic gunfire from his AK-47. Tynuk dashed to the right and back to the left, avoiding the spray with blinding movements and launching himself at the center goon, who was turning. Kicking hard with his right foot, he struck the sentry in the abdomen and pushed off in the direction of the shooter, planting both feet in the center of his chest. The man let loose a girlish scream and ripped off another burst of fire as he crashed through the fire escape and fell four stories to his death.

  Jumping up, Tynuk spun to his right as the last remaining shooter steadied his balance and began firing. Rising inside the man’s guard, the sound of automatic gunfire deafened his left ear as he vaulted upward off the bandit’s thigh and drove his knee under the man’s chin with a crack. The dazed man faltered and dropped the rifle as the boy landed with planned precision. He circled and readjusted his angle on the man, hands raised, palms open in a defensive position.

  Swearing, the unsuspecting thug was turning back into him as the boy leapt, stepping on his hip and up his back. Stretching the hidden cord between his hands, he lashed it fiercely around the thug’s neck, just the way grandfather taught him. Tucking his knees down onto the man’s shoulders and into either side of his head, the feral boy pulled his elbows into his body and straightened his back. The thug scrambled and gagged, clawing at the wire thin cord that sliced into his neck.

  Exhaling, the boy leaned into the choke as the man gurgled and dropped to his knees, digging the nails of his fingers into the flesh of his own neck. Tynuk rode the thug to the ground and released, rolling forward and into a crouched position. He watched as the dying sentry convulsed soundlessly for a long moment before the boy stood and made a fist that he pumped up and down in the air.

  The jig was up. The gunfire had alerted the whole camp. Tynuk rubbed his left ear, which was still ringing, and hissed through tightened lips. His execution of the three should have been much smoother. He was better than that, but it made no difference now. As he stood on the roof, he could hear the echo of gunfire and screams of confusion as the old truck made its rapid descent down the hillside toward the main gate of the control station.

  Dagen ran with steely determination across the courtyard, his military bearing showing in his command presence as the full-sized truck crashed through the main gate in a shower of sparks. Drawing a Sig P229 handgun from the back of his pants, he steadied himself and fired five rounds through the driver’s side front windshield. Gunfire erupted from all around him as the mass of armed thugs unleashed a hail of bullets upon the truck as it barreled forward. The windows and lights exploded, and the vehicle body became riddled with holes as the truck crashed into the side of the main structure.

  Dagen held his pistol at the low ready. “Stop! Cease-fire! Cease-fire!” he yelled at the crazed mass of armed bandits.

  The gunfire slowed as Dagen continued to chant. “Stop, you fools! There’s no one inside! It’s a diversion!” He yelled, pointing at the broken gate caused by the truck. “We’re under attack! Fill that gap and maintain security. I need men in that hole, now!”

  As the men began to move toward the battered gate, screams of terror broke out on the front most fringe of the group. The entire mass of seething people churned and changed directions, moving back toward him like a frightened school of fish. Dagen shouted for them to continue to the gate, but they did not. The mass of deranged thugs was separating, dissolving, fleeing some
thing.

  “Fight! We are under attack! Defend the station, you bastards!” he was yelling as he stormed toward the disturbance. Dagen had survived war, prison, and countless other atrocities in his life. He wasn’t afraid of any man. He grabbed hold of a blabbering goon as the man tried to push past him in a frenzy.

  “What? What is it?” he yelled, shaking the man, but the thug twisted free and continued to run in the opposite direction. Dagen pivoted and fired two rounds into the center of the man’s back, causing him to drop and slide across the ground.

  “All fucking cowards will be shot!”

  More gunfire tore from all directions at unknown threats as his men were cut down by their own comrades. In a fit of panic, they were shooting each other. It was madness. Cursing as he stomped forward, Dagen shoved his way through the center mass of confusion and panic. A primal roar stopped him midstep. Through a gap in the crowd, Dagen watched in disbelief as a fearsome black monster pounced from the shadows of a nearby building and tore a bandit’s head from his shoulders with a swipe of its massive paw. A fountain of gore sprayed from the man’s torso as it fell, clutching the trigger on the assault rifle and mowing down a swath of his comrades from the frenzied crowd.

  Dagen ducked low, his instinct to become a smaller target taking over. He tried to open his mouth, to organize his people and address the threat.

  What the fuck was that?

  “Hey… Get… I need…” he squawked. His brain flailed as he and tried to find the words that would bring order to the chaos. Screams filled the air, followed by more geysers of blood as sporadic gunfire punctuated the madness. All around him men writhed in pools of their own blood, guts, and feces.

  Something massive slammed into the chaotic group of bandits like a wrecking ball, swinging its massive bladed arms left and right and tossing their severed bodies through the air like so many torn rag dolls. Dagen took a step back as a dark giant waded through the seething masses toward him, slashing apart its foes and bellowing. Dagen took another step back, his legs refusing to move. The dark giant was repeating something to the crowd, over and over. Dagen’s face went slack as the realization hit him. Scripture. The giant was destroying the men in his path and spewing verse after verse of biblical scripture.