The Noah Reid Series: Books 1-3: The Noah Reid Action Thriller Series Boxset

by Wesley Robert Lowe

  5:30 a.m. Breakfast followed by meditation and chanting

  7:30 a.m. Chores, including gathering of water, tending their vegetable gardens and gathering foodstuffs from the forest

  9:30 a.m. Martial arts group exercises

  12:00 p.m. Lunch followed by Shaolin philosophical studies

  1:30 p.m. Individual martial arts instruction by Sigongs, while all other students watch and participate as necessary

  5:30 p.m. Dinner followed by evening prayers, chanting, mindful meditation and study

  9:00 p.m. Sleep

  It is 2:30 p.m. normally all the monks would be divided off, having their individual or small group instruction. But today is special and all the monks in the courtyard have gathered around to see two seventy-something-year-olds spar: Master Wu and Jingsha. Never in the history of Heaven has a disgraced monk returned and all are curious about Master Wu. Jingsha is a known commodity. He is heir to Sigong Zhang and his form is impeccable. Legend has it that before he left, Master Wu was considered Jingsha’s equal and some even thought that he was more accomplished. Decades ago, both were Sigong Zhang’s prize pupils. While this is not a fight per se, there is definitely more at stake than going through the daily exercises.

  If these men were in their twenties, this would undoubtedly be a dazzling display of power, precision, speed and agility. ‘What will be it like now?’ is the question on everyone’s mind.

  Jingsha stands firm like a tree firmly planted in soil, arms extended in front of him.

  Master Wu rushes toward him with arms circling like a propeller.

  At the last possible millisecond, Jingsha releases a kick with his left foot straight to the sky, knocking Master Wu’s arms harmlessly out of the way.

  With Jingsha’s left leg still in the air, Master Wu pivots and delivers a sideswipe with his right leg, sending Jingsha toward the floor, but the agile master quickly changes position to a squat.

  Master Wu approaches, springs and attacks Jingsha, delivering a series of left and right punches, turning his arms as the blows land for extra energy.

  Jingsha parries with a flurry of palm strikes and then squats again. This time he does not spring up but sweeps his leg under Master Wu’s.

  Master Wu falls forward onto his hands. He pushes off into the air for a handspring and lands on his feet.

  The normally staid group of monks is completely transfixed. While still not a raucous group like you’d find at a sporting event in America, the monks do enthusiastically cheer on Jingsha, the pride of Heaven.

  Jingsha strikes with his right fist, pushing off from chest level and building energy as he strikes Master Wu on the shoulders.

  It is followed by a double slap kick, left and right, followed by a pair of palm strikes, then hammer blows.

  A final flying double kick to Master Wu’s head finishes him off. Master Wu finds himself seated on the ground, panting.

  It was definitely not a battle of two old fogies but of sage, experienced veterans.

  Master Wu stands up. The two opponents face each other and bow.

  The hero of Heaven is victorious and the prodigal son was put in his place.

  That’s two for Heaven: Wangdan and Jingsha. That’s zero for the Outside World: Master Wu and Noah.

  ***

  This is King’s final gambit. He can no longer sustain the losses he’s had and this flight into the mountains is going to determine what happens next. He’s lost his people that were on the Tao Princess. He’s lost his helicopter and crew. Everything else is mortgaged to the hilt. Today, he will either go big or go home.

  The chopper he’s using is smaller than he’s accustomed to so that he might more easily maneuver between mountains and tight spaces―so it’s not a huge crew and cargo that he brings along. It’s around a three-hour ride from Hong Kong to a private airfield in Hongcun, a small town in China.

  Choosing Hongcun was a simple matter of deduction. From his father, he knew that Heaven was somewhere in the mountains. From the signal from Noah’s phone, he knows that his target is five hundred miles southwest of Shanghai. With these two pieces of information, the only reasonable possibility is the Huangshan “Yellow Mountain” range. The ancient city of Hongcun may be a place that Heaven’s monks have visited over the centuries. Perhaps there is someone there who might have heard something about this mysterious monastery.

  That doesn’t seem to be the case unfortunately. With tourism as a key driver of the town’s economy, souvenir shops, antique stores and teahouses abound. He visits every single shop but not one of the proprietors nor any of their employees has ever heard of the obscure monastery.

  That is, until he visits a small rice shop off the beaten tourist path where only the locals shop. This store has been in the family for three hundred years and is where the monks of Heaven come to buy rice and order goods that they themselves can’t produce. While the shopkeeper doesn’t know where Heaven is, he does know it’s within a three-day hike from the base of the Huangshan Mountain Range.

  This information is what King needs in order to take the next step. He now knows that he is probably between fifty and eighty miles away from Heaven. Not a huge distance to search for with a chopper, but the complex geographical nature of the mountain range and the thick mountain cloud cover makes it especially difficult to find.

  The air search is painstakingly slow and there are several false alarms. Tourists off the beaten track, rock formations that almost resemble quasi-temples, monks making sacred pilgrimages to any of the half dozen other monasteries in Huangshan... none of these are what King is trying to find.

  Suddenly, in the distance, is that smoke rising in the air?

  King taps the pilot on the shoulder and points to the direction of the thin gaseous vapors.

  He turns to address the men and holds up photos of Master Wu and Noah. “Remember what they look like. No survivors except for them.”

  While unsaid, it is unspoken that they will honor the Code of no weapons other than their bodies or traditional martial arts weapons. While every group has a few rebels, the Code is something that most Shaolin martial artists abide by. It is a matter of personal pride to defeat your opponent using just your body. Entering Heaven, where allegedly the greatest Shaolin artists in the world come from, they are anxious to demonstrate that they are as tough as anyone in the world.

  That said, King has a backup plan in case Plan A has a problem.

  ***

  While the occasional plane has been seen from a distance, no flying vehicle has ever come this close to Heaven before. The occasional plane that does make it to the general area dismisses it as uninteresting compared to the other elaborate temples in the Mountain Range. This isolation was part of the vision of the founders of Heaven. Yes, of course theirs is a monastery with traditional Chinese design. But it is not spectacular and certainly not worth the effort to visit by tourists.

  That’s why all of Heaven gathers as a chopper starts descending.

  Noah’s heart sinks as he sees combat-ready men looking at them from above. Visions of the AgustaWestland attacking the Tao Princess flood his mind.

  No good can come of this. Noah yells out as the chopper starts descending, “Get the Sigongs and the old Sifus out of here. And lock the doors. There’s going to be war.”

  To a man, all the monks refuse to go. All their lives, they have been preparing for a moment like this when an actual enemy will put the practice and training of martial arts into real use. No one, from the ten-year-old who has just joined to ninety-three-year-old Sigong Zhang, will be denied the opportunity to use the perfect form he has mastered in a real life situation. This will be a multi-generational battle of the Shaolin.

  The chopper lands and in the courtyard, eight of the fittest fighting men that have ever been produced get off. Personally trained by King, these men practice for up to ten hours a day. No prayers, no meditation, just physical honing of combat skills. As well as delivering lethal blows, their bodies are accust
omed to absorbing attacks that will kill another man. They are as eager to prove themselves masters of the Shaolin as the residents of Heaven are.

  The monks swarm King’s men.

  Rotating their arms like windmills, the blows land on King’s men with nary an effect.

  With bodies that are finely honed killing machines, King’s men launch a devastating counter attack.

  A hammer punch to a jaw followed by a kick to the groin that lifts one monk off the ground, followed by a palm strike that breaks his neck.

  Another monk launches into a flying kick at the head of his opponent. The kick lands hard but the thug laughs it off, smirking, “Is that all?” When the monk charges back, a pair of twisting fists pushes his nose into the back of his head.

  Another monk comes charging in with talons clawing. The claws land on King’s man, who with a powerful swipe of the forearm knocks the monk to the ground. He squats on the ground and delivers a relentless series of sharp quick strikes, alternating fists with palms.

  The monk buckles and starts bleeding as he feebly tries to back off. King’s man squats, then delivers a sidekick that ends the journey for the monk.

  In less than fifteen minutes, the monks are decimated by half their ranks, although they have almost eight times the number of King’s men.

  The monks display perfect form as they battle their opponents. Every one of the Five Traditional Forms is flawless―tiger, crane, snake, dragon and leopard―but they are losing exactly because of their training. Their approach is ethereal, mental, spiritual―they are not warriors. King’s men couldn’t care less about mindful meditation or “enhanced consciousness.” They are killers whose goal is to beat, dominate and destroy.

  Noah screams at the monks, “You are not monks. You are warriors! If you don’t start acting like warriors, then these guys are going to kill you all! Say it out loud, ‘I am a warrior!’”

  Hardly an inspirational speech, but exactly what the monks need to hear.

  “I am a warrior!” shout thirty transformed monks.

  “Say it again,” screams Noah.

  “I am a warrior!”

  The teaching of a lifetime is thrown out. Gone are the forms, the training and the spirituality.

  Do or die. Fight to the finish. They are not clichés but the mindset of the monks as they attack again. Forgetting the Shaolin, training is transformed to killer instinct.

  Iron fists attack the face.

  Iron hands attack the body.

  Iron legs kick the groin.

  King’s men are equal to the battle.

  Hands like the blades of knives slice at ribcages.

  Whole fully extended bodies leap in the air and descend upon opposing bodies, heads and legs.

  With muscles bulging, arms rotating like windmills gouge, claw and pull to the ground.

  Impeccably coordinated killing machines versus minds and bodies in perfect harmony.

  Gradually, minds relaxed and focused from a lifetime of meditation prevail against the animal killer instincts.

  The flaw in King’s training method reveals. King always says, “Attack the body and the spirit will die,” but the monks have been taught, “If the spirit holds fast, Earth will fall.”

  Another ten monks are dead but now so are all of King’s men.

  Time for Plan B.

  The helicopter rises twenty feet into the air. King stands at the chopper door holding a hose. He begins spraying a red liquid over the monks below―it is the fresh blood of a deer.

  He pulls the hose back inside, re-appears at the door and pushes three huge wooden crates into the air.

  The boxes fall to the ground and crack open. Five hundred snakes―rattlesnakes, asps, cobras, adders, anacondas―are all angry and hungry. Some of them haven’t eaten for three days, others for three weeks.

  Smelling blood, they start slithering directly toward the monks.

  Noah yells, “Get the weapons!”

  Noah leads them all in a two hundred yard dash to the training academy. Preserving the sanctity of all living things is the last thing on their minds. Kill or be killed.

  ***

  Standing at the side staring at the battle royal, Lisa is totally confused. Doesn’t he realize that doing this could kill me as well?

  Seeing the crates break and release the vipers heightens her worries. She recognizes some of the snakes that she helped breed to be especially vicious. Maybe he doesn’t know I’m here.

  She starts shouting and waving her arms in the air. “King, it’s me! Stop! I’m here.”

  Lisa’s not positive but she thinks she sees King looking at her then pulling himself away from sight back into the chopper.

  “Come on, Lisa,” calls Sam as he pulls on the Chinese doctor. She joins him in flight.

  ***

  The monks swarm into the training academy. They pull anything they can do battle with off the walls and out of storage bins—the Dao, the single-edged saber, Gun, the staff, Qiang, the spear and ‘King of Weapons,’ and Jian, the sword and ‘General of all Weapons.’

  The smell of the deer’s blood is so enticing that the snakes are just moments behind, gliding toward their hoped-for meal as quickly as the monks run.

  One serpent opens its mouth, baring its fangs. As it moves in to strike, a staff is forced into its mouth and down its tubular body.

  Other monks take sabers and swords and hack away at attacking snakes. This is not easy because a serpent’s skin is tougher than leather. Even repeated strong slices of the blades cannot completely penetrate the serpent bodies.

  With repeated blows from a razor-sharp blade bouncing off it, a python wraps around a monk, licking the blood of the deer. The monk tries to defend himself by sticking a Shaolin staff down its throat but the weapon snaps as easily as a toothpick. The monk screams but everyone is so busy with the hundreds of other scaly assailants that no one can save the defenseless monk.

  A venomous snake sinks its jaws into the bare arm of another monk. His Shaolin brother jumps to suck the poison out but another snakebites him on his head where the deer’s blood has congealed.

  Both men’s bodies begin to twitch and jerk violently.

  Another snake slithers up the robe of a young monk who is barely ten-years-old. The weaponless boy grabs the snake by its tail and flings it into the fireplace before running out of the room.

  The bulk of the deer’s blood landed on Noah. With the smell of snake and deer all over his body, a hundred snakes descend upon Noah. With a sword in each hand, he swings at them with frenzied energy, trying to fend them off.

  Noah decapitates some and others he slices in half. However, there are just too many of the damn vipers. The snakes are coming on faster than his powerful strokes and Noah backs away. He’s frantically waving his swords when he hears an unknown voice from within. Do the unexpected.

  Even though this advice is completely contrary to anything that makes sense, Noah decides to obey the order from the unseen. Hey, he’s dead meat if he keeps doing what he’s doing now so why not try something else?

  Don’t retreat. Press forward. That’s the stupidest thing that Noah can think of doing.

  He suddenly reverses direction and quickly advances five feet. With rapid lunges of the sword, he stabs an anaconda in the eye with one hand while decapitating three adders with one swing of the other.

  Another rapid surge forward. He slices the head of a cobra that had poised itself to strike and jumps on the body of a python. When the angry serpent’s head comes to bite, Noah quickly slices its head off, narrowly avoiding having its jaws feast on his ankle.

  Noah screams, “Where are Sam and Lisa?”

  “We’re here! Help,” cries Lisa. Sam brought her into the training academy to join the group. However, the snakes started chasing them and they’ve jumped up onto a long display table. Weaponless, they kick off the serpents that try to leap onto the tabletop. Sam’s legs are especially strong and snake after snake has its head crushed or is kicked a
way.

  Lisa trips on a snake that has snuck under her shoe and she falls off the table.

  She immediately has a constrictor start to coil itself around her screaming body with two vipers slithering quickly toward her.

  Wangdan leaps to Lisa, narrowly escaping the bites of adders, rattlesnakes, cobras and mambas.

  He quickly spears the two vipers but the spear shatters when he tries to impale the constrictor.

  Don’t think. Do!

  The constrictor’s mouth is about to close over Lisa’s leg when the lightning fast Wangdan reaches in and pulls its tongue. Startled and enraged, the constrictor releases its hold on Lisa and strikes at Wangdan.

  Lisa leaps back on the table and hides behind Sam. He saved me! She looks at Wangdan with emotions suddenly turning her insides out.

  The constrictor quickly wraps itself around Wangdan. The snake begins to squeeze. Tight... tighter... even tighter.

  Wangdan begins to rock back and forth. Although the snake is squeezing, it doesn’t quite understand what Wangdan is doing.

  With a strong twist, Wangdan is able to throw himself and the snake to the floor. The two start rolling. As they approach the wall, Wangdan pulls his head back, allowing the snake’s head to hit the wall first. That’s not much force, but it isn’t the extent of Wangdan’s plan.

  Wangdan snaps his head forward and his head hammers the snake’s head into the wall. The snake is disoriented for a moment but a moment is all that Wangdan needs. He quickly jerks his elbows away from his body, freeing his arms. With almost superhuman strength, he grabs both upper and lower parts of the snake’s jaws. He ferociously pulls the snake’s mouth apart, rendering the reptile’s jaws harmless.

  Despite the human casualties, the snakes are gradually overcome. Some are sliced; others are choked. Some are bashed with chairs.