The Junkyard Druid Box Set 2

by M. D. Massey

  “Da, you refer to battle at City Cemetery. We hear of this even in Moscow, no? News spreads fast among our kind.” She parked the car and reached for her door latch. “Come, we see vat mess has been made, investigate—perhaps Druid will discover what happened.”

  Sophia stepped out of the car and I followed, but only after calming my nerves with a druid breathing technique. As I exited the vehicle I took in the macabre tableau in its entirety, turning in a slow circle as I watched the clean-up crews do their thing. An odd mix of fae, vampires, ’thropes, and humans were working the scene, chasing down stray zombies and putting those victims who showed signs of turning out of their misery.

  Sophia Doroshenko grunted as she surveyed the scene, hands on her hips. “Fae living in nearby woods reported incident when started. Queen Maeve sent her people in, then called other factions when they realized was out of control. It took combined efforts of Fae, Pack, and Coven to keep outbreak from spreading to town.”

  I rubbed the stubble on my face with a rough, calloused hand. “Any survivors?”

  “Nyet. All here were infected or killed.”

  We stood there a few more seconds, taking it all in. “I take it The Circle didn’t get the memo?”

  “We contacted them and they send, how you say, ‘subcontractors’ to help with containment and clean up. Pfah! Cowards.”

  “Huh. I’ve tangled with them a few times, and I can tell you that The Cold Iron Circle doesn’t hire cowards. No, if they’re not here, it’s because they didn’t think it was worth their time and resources.” Or, someone called them off—someone high up in the chain of command. “C’mon, Sophia—let’s take a look around.”

  We walked the grounds, stopping occasionally to examine a corpse or gauge the state of the infected. There were two ways to cause a zombie outbreak. One was for a vampire to get sloppy with their feedings and leave a victim on the brink of death with a load of vyrus in their bloodstream. This could result in the victim becoming partially-turned, not fully becoming a vamp but instead transforming into one of the undead—either a revenant, ghoul, or zomb.

  The other way an outbreak could happen was through necromancy. I’d seen such an event before, but typically necromancers preferred to work with the dead rather than zombifying live victims. It took time for an infection to spread, regardless of the cause of the initial outbreak. After being bitten, symptoms would appear within hours, but for the average human with no magical immunity to the vyrus, they’d turn some twelve to sixteen hours later.

  However, it was clear that these deaders were very recently turned—dozens of them, scattered all across the campus. Most perplexing was that the zombies I examined were not just fresh; they were also still warm. Algor mortis, or the cooling of a body post mortem, generally resulted in a decrease in core temperature of one degree Celsius per hour. For these bodies to have not yet cooled, they must have been turned very, very recently.

  I pulled off a pair of rubber gloves, turning them inside out and wadding one up inside the other. “Sophia, what time did the initial outbreak happen according to the fae?”

  “Around four-thirty this afternoon.”

  I nodded, squatting over another deader corpse to gauge its temperature with the back of my hand. “Any family members call to find out where their loved ones are?”

  “Da, some. But apparently is common for employees to work late. We have contained situation, thus far. But soon, authorities will be involved. We should wrap this up quick, so fae magicians can cover up what happened.”

  I held a hand up, signaling that I wasn’t yet finished with my examination. To confirm my suspicions, I looked at the corpse in the magical spectrum, then reached out with my druid senses for a double confirmation. There it is—necromancy. I could both sense and see the dark magic, still hanging like a pall on the dead husk’s cells and tissues.

  The air exited my lungs in a heavy sigh as I stood. “This wasn’t an attack. It was a test.”

  Sophia snorted. “Test? Of what?”

  I shook my head. “Something we’ve not seen before, a combination of science and necromancy. From what I can tell, this is a new and highly virulent strain of the deader vyrus—one that can turn a victim within minutes instead of hours.”

  “Blyad! This is bad, Druid—very bad.”

  Triggering a cantrip, I created a small amount of fire that danced across the surfaces of my hands and fingers. I allowed it to burn until it singed the hair on my hands off, along with any trace of infection. Then, I turned to the tall blonde vampire, fixing her with hard, cold stare.

  “Tell them to burn it, Sophia—tell them to burn it all. Scorched earth response. Not a trace must be left, you understand?”

  “Will be hard to come up with cover story, but I vill pass request along.”

  “If anyone gives you any grief, tell them they’ll have to answer to The God-Killer. Now, I’m off to decon the hunter teams before one of them takes this shit home to their family.”

  On the way back from the hunters’ staging area, I saw Sophia arguing with a tall, thin, male fae. The mage looked as though he’d just stepped off the runway in Milan, decked as he was in Ralph Lauren from head to toe and lush, shoulder-length blonde hair. I decided to watch from a distance.

  “I know is causing panic!” the vampire groused. “Druid would not ask if were not of utmost importance. If infection spreads, vat vill happen then, feya? Hmm? Think queen gets panties in bunch now, wait until haf entire city of undead.”

  Huh, her accent gets thicker when she’s upset. Or nervous.

  Maeve’s mage crossed his arms and looked down his nose at Sophia, which was quite a challenge due to her similar height. “Still, I simply cannot level an entire human research facility. For one, the amount of magic it would require would drain our reserves for months. And second, the Queen would never allow it. Besides, I do not answer to the druid justiciar.”

  He said that last bit like he was referring to something he’d wiped off his shoe. We don’t have time for this shit. I shifted underneath my skin and closed the distance in a single breath, lifting the mage in the air with one hand clamped around his throat.

  “Maybe you didn’t get the memo, Legolas,” I growled as he clawed at my fingers in vain. “As far as you’re concerned, I am judge, jury, and motherfucking executioner to any supernatural, hunter, or magic-user who threatens to out the World Beneath to the mundanes. All you motherfuckers answer to me, because every last one of you are in my jurisdiction.”

  A female fae cleared her throat nearby, one who bore an uncanny resemblance to Sandra Bullock. “Ahem. That’s exactly what Andariel was trying to avoid. Surely you don’t think such an extreme act would serve to draw attention away from us, do you?”

  Still choking Andariel with one hand, I turned on Sandra Bullock’s twin. “And just what do you think will happen when that mutated strain of vyrus I found causes a mass outbreak? If you think the government will swoop in for an act of terror, just wait until they see World War Z going down in Dubya’s backyard. You haven’t seen heat like you’ll see if that happens, cupcake.”

  She tilted her head, then touched her fingertips to her temples.

  A fucking telepath. So, Maeve is using technomancers now. Hmph.

  After a few seconds, she nodded to the other fae who were standing close by. “The Queen agrees. Burn it to the ground.” Sandy turned to me with a polite smile. “And she asks that the God-Killer not break her mage’s neck.”

  I looked up. Legolas had passed out. I tossed him to a fae medical team. “Here.” Then, I walked off to help decontaminate more human hunters.

  “Damn, Colin. I figured you’d take our break-up hard, but that was uncalled for.”

  Bells was standing nearby, leaning against a blood-spattered Ford Taurus. Her arms were crossed and she was looking at me like I was the most pathetic son of a bitch in Texas.

  I tried to keep a straight face, but I couldn’t help but toss a little eye roll her way. �
��Seriously? You think I did that because I’m pissed that you broke up with me? I care about you, Bells, but I have bigger things to worry about right now than patching things up between us. So, why don’t you take your inflated ego and your pissy attitude somewhere else? Because right now, I honestly don't have the time or the patience to deal with you."

  Bells' face turned cherry red, and her eyes flashed a golden hue, but her voice was low and cold. "Oh, sure. Now that your ex is back, you can just kick me straight to the curb. That's fine, pendejo. I don't need someone as wishy-washy as you in my life, anyway."

  It was hard to see in the dim light, but with my enhanced eyes I could see the scales popping up on her chest and neck.

  "Careful now," I whispered. "You expose yourself in front of all these hunters, you're going to give the Circle carte blanche to declare you a dangerous supe so they can make your life hell. Don't throw away your career just because you're a little upset."

  “I already threw my career away—for you, tonto!” she replied. “Obviously, I made the wrong choice.”

  “You’re being childish, Bells. Just stop, alright? People are starting to stare.”

  “Me? Childish? Listen here, man-child. I—”

  “I don’t have time for this.” I flashed her the hand, spun on my heel, and walked off to find Sophia so she could give me a ride home.

  Bells was in full-on hissing and spitting mode behind me, her mouth going a mile a minute. “Don’t you walk away from me, pinche cabron! Te haré lamentar el día que me conociste, hijo de puta…”

  My second ex was still ranting and raving by the time I located Sophia Doroshenko. “Druid, your people skills never cease to impress,” she quipped.

  “Are you talking about the fae, or my ex-girlfriend?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “I—have a lot on my mind. Let’s get out of here before I cause an interspecies incident, alright? Besides, I don’t want to be anywhere near this place when the fae trigger that bomb spell.”

  5

  The explosion was all over the news the following morning. “Bombing in Bastrop” seemed to be the headline du jour, as “Terrorist Attack at a Medical Research Lab in Smithville” didn’t have quite the same ring to it. The fae had made it look like a terror bombing, using magic and the liberal application of fertilizer and diesel fuel to mimic a large-scale AMFO bomb. The authorities swallowed it, hook, line, and sinker, and now every alphabet-soup agency from the BATF to the DHS were investigating the incident.

  Of course, the story had already gone viral, and all the primetime and cable news networks had descended on our fair city to cover it. If it bleeds, it leads, I thought as I clicked off my news feed and shut my laptop.

  Despite being wired on caffeine, I’d crashed again soon after Sophia Doroshenko had dropped me off. Physically, I was almost back to my old self—Fomorian healing powers will do that for you. But mentally? I was still a wreck.

  No rest for the weary. With one crisis narrowly averted and more certainly to come, it was time to get to work finding the ringleaders behind the coming apocalypse.

  Unfortunately, when I woke up I discovered I didn’t have any decent clothes to wear—a minor concern when the fate of the world was at stake, but a concern nonetheless. Out of habit, I’d long ago taken to keeping all my spare clothing in my Craneskin Bag. It was fortunate I did, since it had saved my bacon a time or two during my jaunt through the apocalypse.

  However, that also meant I didn’t have a stitch of clothes to my name besides the Dickies pants and mechanic’s shirt I’d donned two days ago. I picked the shirt off the floor and sniffed it, recoiling at the overwhelming stench of stale body odor, gasoline, and brake fluid.

  This simply will not do.

  One thing was universal when it came to vamps and the Circle: they were well-connected. Those assholes had money, and they were prone to spend it. In tracking down the bastards who were about to fuck up this timeline, there were places I might have to go that would require me to not look like a homeless person. I needed to go shopping, stat—and that meant I needed to check in with Maureen.

  My beautiful half-fae friend and occasional trainer in the warrior arts was in the front office as usual, keeping the business humming along for me. Seeing her through the window working her ass off, I felt bad that she now had to do all the managerial stuff that Ed had used to do around here. But despite my own guilt, I was pretty sure she enjoyed it.

  Maybe it had something to do with fae and their penchant for counting money—I had no idea. That wasn’t a topic I cared to broach with Maureen, for obvious reasons. Another little detail complicating matters was that I couldn’t thank her directly, because that was a no-no when dealing with the fae. Lacking any polite alternative, I simply resolved to make frequent comments about what a great help she was and call it a day.

  I walked in the office and found my usual steaming-hot mocha waiting for me. How she did it, I’d never know, but it was damned skippy of her.

  “Mmm… good coffee,” I said as I took a sip.

  “Ye’ve been burnin’ the candle at both ends again, I see. And what happened ta yer hair? Did ye shift inta’ that great lout of an alter-ego and forget ta shift yer mop back agin?”

  While I was in the “Hellpocalypse,” as I often referred to it, Mickey had been cutting my hair. He did the same for all the boys, so I was familiar with his work and well aware that my hair looked a wreck. The man’s calling had definitely not been to be a barber.

  “That’s what I’m about to fix, Maureen, along with my wardrobe. I just need some cash to do it. How are we looking? Any of the cars sell yet that we brought back from auction?”

  She chuckled. “Cash is not yer concern at this point. Yer first month’s stipends came in and added a few zeroes to yer bank accounts.”

  “Um, how many zeroes?”

  “Enough ta keep this place afloat, and fer ya’ ta move outta that dump you call your living quarters.” She paused and looked at me askance. “You are goin’ ta move out, right?”

  “Not on your life. This junkyard is the only place I feel safe now.”

  “Aye, the wards and metal and such do well enough at keeping things out that don’t be needin’ entry. It’s enough to even make me a bit jumpy at times, even though I’m only half-fae.” She pointed the eraser end of a pencil at me. “But you’d do well ta remember that no young woman’s goin’ ta want to settle with a guy who won’t place a decent roof o’er her head.”

  I held my hands up. “Least of my worries right now, Maureen.” I looked around the office, scanning the counters and shelves. “Do you know where the checkbook is?”

  “’Course I know where it is. But ye don’t need it. I already paid you a salary and deposited it in yer account.”

  “I have a bank account?” I asked in all seriousness.

  “Yes, that’s somethin’ else I took care of for ye, ya’ big dumb lout. And yer also the sole owner and manager of yer very own consulting company, MacCumhaill, LLC. Thought it might draw a wee bit of attention, a junkyard getting large electronic deposits fer ‘consulting fees’ when the only thing ya’ seem to consult around here is those mutts.”

  She handed me a stack of business cards and a debit card with a PIN number written on a piece of masking tape on the back. I took a moment to examine the business cards. They were simple linen card stock with my name in a fancy font. Underneath my name she’d added the ambiguous title of “consultant,” the company name, and a phone number—Maureen’s line in the junkyard office.

  “These are nice. Well done on the name.”

  “I thought it fitting—and besides, there was no MacCumhaill in the books when I searched the state records online.”

  I tucked the cards in my pocket. “So, what do I consult about?”

  “Smart alecky responses and backhanded compliments, I’d assume. Cernunnos’ sakes, I’ve no idea. Make somethin’ up, why don’t ye? That was the whole point of making you a consult
ant in the first place. The druids have been doing it fer ages, mind you—’twas the original bullshit job.”

  “How about, oh, I dunno—security consulting?”

  Maureen rubbed her chin. “Hmm… it might work, at that. There’s probably some paperwork ta file with the state, but I’ll hire one of Maeve’s fixers to take care of it. Now, off with ye then. Go get that pile o’ brambles on yer head trimmed, and buy yerself some decent clothes fer a change.”

  I mock-saluted her. “Aye-aye, cap’n!”

  Maureen balled her slender, delicate fingers into a fist and shook it at me. “I’ll do somethin’ ta yer eye if ye don’t quit yammerin’ and let me finish this work.”

  Despite her threats, I walked around the counter and gave her a half-hug and kiss on the forehead. “I really missed you, you know that?”

  Maureen’s eyes were misty as I stood up. I pretended I didn’t notice. “What’re ye on about? Go on, get out of here so a woman can get her work done.”

  I waved the debit card at her as I exited the office. “Thanks for my allowance, Mom—don’t wait up!”

  I was pretty sure the door slamming behind me wasn’t the wind. Still, it was good to know that I was loved, to be reminded that I had friends looking out for me here in my own reality.

  Alright, Colin. Time to get this piddly-ass shopping trip out of the way so you can see to keeping those people safe, sound, and zombie-free.

  I was headed out the door of a custom boot shop in SoCo when I heard a familiar voice call my name.

  “McCool…”

  It was almost a whisper, but not quite. My senses were pretty damned sharp, both from my druid training and six months of living and dying by my instincts in the Hellpocalypse. After a moment’s vacillation, I zeroed in on the source and walked around the corner of the shop, into a narrow drainage alley that separated the store from its neighbor.