Kevin’s truck took a round to the windshield and he called out contact. No one hit, but that sent us all into a tizzy. Guns up, pedals down, we barreled through the neighborhood we were in and got out of the kill zone. Windows went down, and we all started looking for muzzle flashes or something to return fire at. We don’t just shoot everywhere, despite that feeling good.
Angela saw movement on the driver’s side of our truck, and she called it out. I looked past Rich as he drove us out and saw two men and a woman wearing heavy winter clothes running through a fenced in yard carrying long guns. They weren’t shooting at us as I saw them, but one of the men stopped and looked over his shoulder. He raised his gun, and that was our cue.
The front truck and Angela opened fire on him all at once. He went down like his plug had been yanked as the fence they ran behind got chewed up by errant rounds. I grabbed our radio, and called for the QRF. Once we opened up the two others I saw started shooting back. Several rounds started coming back at us as we got further away, and I heard several smack into our vehicle. I didn’t have an angle to shoot, but those who did shot the best they could to buy us time to get out. We turned the corner into a deeper area of suburbs on the fringe of town and the city, and we moved to a hard point to regroup and possibly take cover while our reaction force got to us.
And that was it. The whole encounter ended by the time we realized it had begun. Well, the gunfight portion of it at least. When we stopped in the circular driveway of a particularly large home, Ethan called out for injuries, and I lost my mind when Angela said she was hit. The sound of her voice, man. Pitiful. A shadow of who she is. Was.
I got out and moved to her aid while Quan and Rich pulled security. Ethan came to us as I got her on the ground in the driveway and started to assess her. Blood was pouring out of her shoulder area near the armpit on the left hand side.
She was dead by the time we got her body armor off. Massive internal trauma caused by a single gunshot.
She died in a fucking driveway, man. In the cold, for no fucking reason. No last words, no melodramatic ending, just her saying, “I’m hit,” and an abrupt drop into shock, then death.
I wish I could say I got angry, and went on a terrifying warpath to avenge her, but all I could think about was telling Danny his mom died. The look on his face as I told him now both of his parents were gone. That he was alone. The last of his name, the last of his line.
The QRF reached us in less than 20 minutes, and they dismounted, and they hunted the people who killed her down. They surrendered without further incident, and they’re sitting in the maintenance garage on folding metal chairs, handcuffed with several very fucking angry people watching them. Judgment will be made on them in the next few days and I’m scared for that.
Kevin and James helped me put her body in the back of the truck for the ride home. I couldn’t bear the idea of her riding in the cold alone, so I sat in the bed of the pickup with her. I leaned against the back of the cab to avoid the wind, but I still froze. I’m still cold. The whole way home all I could think about was how the blood matted her hair, and how serene she looked in spite of that. How serene she was, despite all she had to do in this world to keep her life, and protect her son.
I kept seeing bits of Danny in her face, and realized that all along, her son looked as much like her, as he did her dad. Those thoughts didn’t make the idea of telling Danny Junior about his mother’s death any easier.
Bastion knew we’d had contact; word travels fast when the QRF goes out. I had the truck go straight to the clinic at the center of campus and the medical team helped me bring her inside after we wrapped her in a sheet. Dozens watched on, unsure of how to act. It’s been a long time since we lost someone, especially to violence.
After getting Angela’s body sorted out, I went immediately to Amanda, and told her what happened to her sister. Texas Eddie for some reason was there talking to her, and he hugged her in a way that told me there was more than a friendship at play. I said nothing about that, and after she gathered herself. Quan tracked down Danny Junior, and we told him.
More accurately, Amanda’s eyes told him. Danny walked into the room with a typical teenager’s bounce in his step, but the moment he saw the tears in his aunt’s eyes, that shit stopped. He started crying, and went to her. Neither of them said anything. At all. No words were exchanged for the entire time, until he let go of her, and turned to me.
Shit I was crying. I’m not ashamed to say it.
“How?” he asked me.
“Took a round in a random attack on the way to the Factory. She went quick,” I said back. “There was no suffering.” That was a lie. I lied to him.
He nodded and his lips got all fucked up like he was trying not to cry. I grabbed him and held him as tight as I could, and he grabbed me back and we stood like that, shaking with emotion for a good long time. Eventually we separated some.
“I’m sorry Danny. I’m so sorry.”
He blinked the tears away, and nodded. He went to the couch where Amanda sat beside Eddie and rested his dad’s rifle against the cushion before sitting down with her. He was wordless and I felt a little lost as to what I should do, or what I should say.
After a minute or two (felt like forever) the boy cleared his throat and looked up at me. Something inside him had changed. I could see it. Feel it.
“You were with my father when he was shot, right? At Moore’s gun store?”
“I was, yeah.”
“He died quickly like my mother?”
“Yeah. There was no suffering.”
“And today you were with my mom when she was shot?”
“Yeah, Danny, I was.”
He looked over at his aunt and fresh tears spilled down his face. He knotted his hands in his lap and Amanda put her arm around him. He sobbed and cried, and we all joined him, but after a minute of that, he coughed, cleared his throat once more and looked me straight in the face. I’ll never forget how angry he looked, how old he looked, or what he said to me.
“I don’t think I want you around anyone else in my family, Adrian.”
All I could manage was to nod, and leave the room. I had to respect his wishes.
During all of that we were able to get a message to the Factory to let the NVC people we had an incident. They understood without question. Our meeting has been postponed until December 3rd to allow time for us to grieve, bury Angela according to her family’s wishes, and to figure out what to do next.
I don’t think sleep is in the cards for me tonight. I volunteered to Abby and Hal to take the late night feedings for Gavin. I figured if I was going to be awake, guilt-ridden and loaded right to the gills with self loathing all night, I might as well make myself useful.
-Adrian
And now, a sample of Chris Philbrook's best selling urban fantasy novel:
TESSER
A Dragon Among Us
Prologue:
The Dream
I am flying.
I have done this before, many times, and it is joyous.
I feel the gusts buffet my body left and right, up and down. It isn't violent, though the wind is reckless. I feel the energy of the air lift me higher and higher through the cool mist of a thick cloud that clings to my face, and invigorates me. It is much like the first inhalation of the ocean's air after a long journey to the coast.
Far down below me I see green grass, lush treetops, and the grey pebbling of stones poking through the skin of the world. There is a single brown line of disturbed earth winding forward that I know to be a human road. I know this road. I have flown over it many times before, and I have walked it as well. It is familiar to me, but I cannot quite place where it has come from or where it is leading to.
It doesn't matter. I have eyes that see, ears that hear, and a nose that smells. In time, I will discover everything. When I flex my wings and dip below the clouds like a descending sparrow I can see that miles ahead the road ends at the tall wooden gate of a castle nestled at
op a hillock. Centered in the fortified wooden walls is a castle made of stone, mud, and timber. It is majestic when compared against the hovels in the mud surrounding it.
I think it is my castle, but I don't live there. It is mine in the same way that a King owns a dog. Or how a Queen owns a King.
My dream is almost over. I feel it like a blue dawn rising on the edge of a long night. It has been a good dream for the most part, though in life no matter how much the sun shines storms always appear now and again. It is natural, unstoppable; it is the way of the world. It is the way of my kind.
I sense that I have been dreaming this dream a very long time. More than a night, a week, or even a year. Centuries have passed, maybe a millennia since I last laid open eyes on the waking world. The castle I am soaring towards in my dream is certainly gone, buried underneath centuries of revolution and crumbled empires.
These thoughts do not cause me alarm. Nor do I fear what the world will be like when I open my eyes soon.
I am beyond mortal fears.
Those that wear two skins are but a nuisance to me.
My skin breaks the teeth of those that drink blood and stalk the night.
Were it not for the teachings and lineage of my kind, the Magi would be ordinary, and not the wielders of primordial might that they are.
Goblins, monsters, and fae are my kind, and they pay me the respect that is my due.
I am the bringer of death from high above.
I am the giver and shaper of life in so many forms.
I am the bringer of light that illuminates all darkness.
I am the stone that cannot be broken and the blade that cannot dull.
I am the legend your grandfathers were told about by their grandfathers.
My footsteps shake the ground like the marching of a hundred legions marching to war.
My heart beats as the thunder shakes the sky, and if this body does not suit me, I will change it and become whatever will thrive in the soil of the times I awake in.
I am Tesser, and I am a Dragon.
And as I arc my wings once more to soar above the clouds, my mind elevates me away from my slumber; my fear finally makes itself known. A question, a single nagging lost memory that I suddenly fear occurs to me.
Why did I allow myself to be pacified in sleep for so long?
Long slumbers are not my way.
Acquiescing is not my way.
I think I'll find out why I have slept so long, now that this dream, this long, long dream is over. And those that have seen to my sleep had best have had good reason for my time lost.
Because I am Tesser, and I am Dragon.
Chapter One
Abraham "Abe" Fellows
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Is that a car?
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Nah, it sounds too electric.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
God I hate technology.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Ha, God, that's a good one. I don't think Mr. Doyle would approve of me referring to God.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Why am I sitting in the coffee shop? Where is that infernal beeping coming from? Why does this latte taste like old chewed meat? Or is that a sock I taste?
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Oh Hell, that's my alarm clock. Coffee shop is just a dream. Oh hell it's bright out. Dammit my hand is asleep again. Fingers are number than ever. I'll be fumbling with this shut off button for five minutes now. That Indian asshole in the apartment above me is going to start screaming again.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
I'll cast a spell. I know that cantrip well enough, and my fingers can be as numb as they want.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
The young man sat up on the edge of his worn mattress and addressed the phone sitting on the milk crate he used as a bed stand. The air stirred slightly as Abe gathered his thoughts to cast the spell. There was some magic in the air here in his apartment, in his sanctum. On the mantle of the nonfunctional fireplace he'd organized semi-precious stones that had mystical powers, and there was always the scent of incense on the nose. Scents had power.
I'm ready. Abe gestured with his tingly, stiff fingers at the touch screen of his cell phone still sitting a couple of feet from his hands on the plastic crate. He slid his finger in the air and spoke a word laced with arcane power, "Commoveo."
Abe watched as the image on the phone glitched. The LCD screen didn't feel the touch of his spell in the same way it would've felt a finger made of flesh and blood. He sighed at his newest failed attempt to mix technology and magic. The tingling in his fingers had abated, but he couldn't abandon the spell.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Fucking thing. "Commoveo," he said again, sliding his fingers through the air, this time with more emphasis and focus. Abe felt a surge of energy come from somewhere and fill his word and fingers with a different tingle altogether.
The red button reacted. Jumped. It slid across the screen smoothly to the other side, silencing the horrid alarm.
BEEP! BE—
"What the hell?” Abe said aloud, running his hand through his thinning black hair. He looked down at his fingers, his palms, turning his hands over several times, trying to find the source of the sudden energy he'd somehow tapped into. He stood on creaky morning legs and looked about his apartment for something new. Possibly some creature or artifact that Mr. Doyle had perhaps slipped in while he was asleep.
But there was nothing. Just empty pizza boxes, clothes in need of a washer, and Magic the Gathering cards.
His phone elicited another electronic bleat, and Abe had a sudden pang of failure. But he was wrong. This was just the ringer. He picked the phone up with living, breathing fingers and looked at the caller ID on the screen. It read simply: Mr. Doyle.
Abe thumbed the answer button over and lifted it to his ear. "Mr. Doyle?"
An older British man's voice came back, "Abraham."
"Yes, Mr. Doyle? What can I do for you this morning?" Abe asked quickly. Mr. Doyle didn't like it when he hesitated. Mr. Doyle said men who wanted to learn the art of magic should always act with confidence.
There was a pause on Mr. Doyle's end. Is he at a loss for words? Has the apocalypse come?
"Abraham, I think you need to call in sick to work. Someone else will need to tend to your company's accounting today. In fact, you should phone them that you can no longer work for them. Something rather large is afoot in the world, and your time needs to be redirected to more appropriate tasks." Doyle sounded somewhere between ecstatic and horrified. Abe had never heard him speak in such a way.
How the hell will I pay rent? "How the hell will I pay rent Mr. Doyle? I can't afford to quit my job at the firm." Doyle was an accountant at a large law firm. Emotionally it was a dead end position, but financially it was a homerun. You'd never be able to tell that from the décor of his apartment though. Abe looked down sadly at the milk crate again.
"Abraham, I can afford for you to be in my employ. Many of my earlier years home in The United Kingdom were fiscally bountiful. I shall replace your salary in its entirety. Sack yourself via the telephone, and come to my brownstone immediately."
Abe smiled. This was what he wanted all along. He'd been an apprentice to the old British mage for nearly two years now, and all he'd learned were three minor spells and how to read ten ancient and long since dead languages. By this point, if the magic thing didn't work out all he had left was counting beans in a cubicle.
"Abraham, is this arrangement sufficient?"
Shit, I must've gone silent daydreaming again. "Yes, Mr. Doyle, my apologies. I was lost in thought. I wanted to tell you I was able to cast a cantrip a few minutes ago. It seemed far more powerful than anything I've ever done before. I think I'm getting the hang of it."
Doyle tsked several times, as a teacher might, "Dearest Abraham, something else is happening. Something large, and something that will certainly have rippling effects on the whole world, both mundane and magical.
Some of my most precious possessions in my study have begun to… awaken, shall I say. Clocks ticking, candles burning again, things of that sort. All roused by something or someone."
Abe started to wonder what that meant, but caught himself. Daydreaming was unbecoming for someone who wanted to master magic.
"I guess I'll quit and head over then," Abe said softly. I'll need to go in to get the stuff out of my cube.
"You guess? I suggest you stop guessing Mister Fellows and start being confident and assertive. I haven't lived as long as I have to waste my time on someone who guesses at things. Come over when you are ready. And please don’t forget to turn your alarm off." Doyle cut the call.
Abe let his hands settle in his lap. He looked around the room, wondering what had happened that made Mr. Doyle call and ask him to make such a huge change to his life.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
The beeping startled Abe, and he dropped the phone to the hardwood floor of his apartment. He reached down, picked up the smart phone, and laughed as he thumbed the snooze button permanently.
"How did he know my alarm wasn't off?"
Chapter Two
Tesser
I am buried in earth.
Tesser's body was immense. From the tip of his nose to the end of his tail he was nearly one hundred and fifty feet long, fully half the length of a modern football field. Right now he was coiled in tightly, wrapped up to be as small as was physically possible. Tesser had no idea what modern football was though. Not yet at least.
How did come to be here?
The earth holding Tesser's draconic body still was pressing down with enough force to crush coal into diamonds, but his ancient scaled skin held firm. Dragon flesh would not succumb to something so natural and primal. The mere presence of earth, no matter how crushing it may be, wasn't enough.
Adrian's Undead Diary (Book 9): The Dealer of Hope [Adrian's March, Part 1] Page 22