Nameless Cult (Threads of Reality Book 1)

by Grey Durose

  He waited in the car for a couple of hours before he gave in to temptation and decided to take a coffee break. His eyes were feeling heavy and the only thing that stopped his mind from drifting was a combination of determination and discomfort from the bruising on his back. Cheese and pickle sandwiches and coffee did the trick and George felt revitalised for a while. It was already six o’clock and it would be light within a couple of hours.

  Just when it seemed the night would pass without incident, the lights in Jameson's home started to come on. It was half past seven in the morning and people had already begun to head off to work. George had been increasingly worried about being noticed by one of Jameson's neighbours. His worries were unfounded, as everyone was in too much of a hurry to get on with their lives to pay any attention to a man in a car on a dull, rainy morning.

  Jameson emerged from his Georgian terraced home; he looked flustered as he rushed down the steps to the street and looked around before getting in to his car, holding a newspaper over his head as a makeshift umbrella. Jameson was in his early sixties, hair mostly grey but immaculately trimmed and only partially receded, dressed in an expensive-looking, tailored suit and polished shoes. The only thing that was out of place was the slightly crooked, purple silk tie which revealed the haste with which he'd dressed himself.

  George started the car and waited for Jameson to do likewise, a few seconds later there was a screech as Jameson's polished, British racing green Jaguar pulled away in a hurry. George followed at a more sedate pace, making up the gap between them whenever he could, there was no need to be right on Jameson's tail.

  Jameson headed north for a while, easing through the traffic toward Belgravia, then turned off and made his way toward Belgrave Square. He came to a stop outside one of the many buildings that encircled a green. Jameson jumped out of the car and was greeted at the top of the stairs by a doorman in a security uniform, who welcomed him, nodded and held the door for him.

  George drove the car around and found himself somewhere to park some distance away, then made his way back to the fenced greenery opposite the building. George was pretty sure he'd identified the sect's lair but needed to be sure. He got out the compass and dangled it in front of his eye, it worked better at night than in the day and the sun was rising ever higher behind a curtain of grey cloud, but the glow coming from beneath the building was clearly indicating that the sect met in some sort of underground area. He waited there a while, as the members of the sect arrived in their cars and taxis. Once the eleven remaining members were in the building he was ready.

  George got out the Taser he'd packed in his bag and carefully hid it from view under the sleeve of his coat. The morning drizzle would make its use more hazardous but, as long as his target was dry, it ought to be safe. He emerged from the bushes and crossed the road, heading straight for the front entrance. As he reached the bottom step the door opened and the doorman appeared in the in front of him. 'Sorry, sir, this is a private club. Members only.' he explained in an estuary accent, holding up his hands in warning.

  'That's okay, I just wanted to drop something off for Sir Edward.' George continued to approach the doorman and stretched out his hand as if in greeting but instead fired the Taser in to the doorman's thigh. The doorman convulsed for a couple of seconds then fell backwards in to the room beyond. George casually followed in behind him and closed the door. He looked around, there were stairs leading up to the rest of the house, a security desk with a monitor, presumably connected to the video feed from cameras on the outside of the building. Four doors led out of the lobby, two on the left and two on the right of the centrally placed stairs. George grasped the doorman, dragged him across the marble tiles and stowed him behind the desk.

  The doorman was unconscious but he wouldn't be for long, George got out a roll of duct tape and tied and gagged him before inspecting the monitor. The monitor had several views of the front entrance to choose from and the footage was being recorded on to a hard-disk. George would be unidentifiable from the footage but his clothing wasn't. He sat down at the keyboard and disabled the anti-virus software on the computer, then opened an internet browser. Henry had designed a web page which would upload a virus on to any computer trying to sign in, the virus would then set about completely purging the system and, in this case, removing any evidence of George having entered the premises. It would be over in minutes and George left the computer to do its own thing.

  One of the rooms leading off from the lobby had to have a door leading to the stairway. He started with the left-hand door closest to the entrance. The room beyond was luxuriously decorated with antique furniture, heavy drapes and thick carpeting, George held up the compass and scanned the room, to no avail. The next room along in the lobby was a kitchen, it was large and sparklingly clean; other than a storage cupboard, there was no other obvious way out. The third room was the first of the right hand doors, tucked behind the staircase; it was a tastefully adorned study with wood panelling, book shelves and an antique desk. The carpet was well worn and may have been green or blue in its youth. When George held up the compass it revealed a doorway disguised as part of the wooden panelling. He approached the panel and examined it carefully, running his fingers along the raised woodwork. About halfway down, part of the carved decorations slid to one side, revealing a keyhole. George pulled out his picks and sprung the lock with a soft click.

  The door popped open a crack and George peeked through; there was a landing, then a narrow wooden staircase leading down in to a brightly lit, bare-brick room, though most of the room was still hidden. He opened the door slowly and crept nearer to the top of the stairs, quietly got down on to his stomach and slid in to position to view the rest of the room. Even the bulb hanging from the ceiling was bare, there was a heavy, red velvet curtain draped across the far side, in front of that was a desk and a small cupboard with a coffee percolator on top. A heavy-set security guard sat behind the desk, listening to a radio with his feet up, a cup of coffee in one hand and a thick novel in the other. His, black, wiry hair was shaved almost to stubble with a hairline that extended far down his furrowed brow, reducing his forehead to a small patch of pink skin.

  George stood up; this might be a little trickier, he thought. Killing cultists was one thing but the people they employed was quite another. George would have to get close enough to the guard to hit him with the Taser but without allowing him the opportunity to raise the alarm or arm himself. He checked the Taser had sufficient charge for another hit and began to descend, the wooden steps creaking under his feet.

  The guard sprang to his feet, looking a little uncomfortable at having been caught with his feet up. 'Excuse me, sir, this is a restricted area, only the senior members are allowed down here.' The guard insisted, in a slightly flustered, deep voice; a flush of embarrassment rising from below his collar.

  'I'm the new member. Didn't Sir Edward tell you to expect me?' he said with persuasive calm. George got to the bottom of the stairs and began to cross the floor towards the desk.

  'No, sir. He didn't. There's a very important meeting going on and I've strict orders to detain anyone trying to gain entry.' The guard reached for a Taser on his belt but George was already prepared and fired his before the guard could get it out of the holster. The pins hit him in the arm, penetrating his heavy wool uniform and sending him spinning and jolting to the ground. George trotted over and made sure the guard was securely bound and gagged before investigating what was behind the curtain.

  He pulled back the velvet dramatically, only to find an empty space with the same bare walls as the rest of the room, with a fairly plain, white-painted, wooden door to the right. He crept up to the door and placed his ear to the wood, there was no sound from the room so he tried the handle. The door opened to reveal some sort of basic cloakroom. There were twelve booths, separated by wooden partitions and with the same red velvet curtain offering a modicum privacy. Eleven of the booths were open and had clothing and shoes and other personal belo
ngings piled up carefully or hung from the wall. The twelfth booth was unused.

  In the middle of the room was a long, polished, wooden table, with heavily carved benches at either side. At the far end of the wall to his right, was an impressive wooden double-door, it was carved with all kinds of flora and fauna - from nature and legend - and the ridges of the carvings were brushed with delicate gold leaf. This has to be the entrance to the sect's main meeting room, he thought. He tried to listen at the door but its structure and close fitting had been designed to offer maximum sound-proofing. All he could hear were the merest of mumbles and the thumping of his own heart; the anxiety was returning. He checked the lock to make sure it wasn’t secured then took out his dagger and tucked it in his belt, drew the two silenced handguns from his bag and held them up, pointing at the ceiling. He took a deep breath and gave the doors a hard kick.

  The doors burst open, with the left one crashing against the back wall of the room. George rolled in to the room and bobbed up behind a curved row of seats, all but the rightmost of which were occupied by alarmed cultists dressed in familiar black silk. Beyond them was some sort of oval pit and at the far end was a dais, fronted by a carved stone balustrade which curved round and down along a short flight of steps. A voluptuous, black-haired, young woman was stood on the dais, her robes had been tailored to best reveal her curves and slashed up the left side from ankle to hip. Her skin was like ivory but her eyes glinted red.

  George didn't wait for introductions and began firing immediately. One gun at a time at first, picking his targets according to perceived threat. First to go were the police representative and the army General, both would have had some combat training. The rest began to scramble for cover heading in the direction of the dais. George stood up and felled Selina StClair-Woods with a bullet to the back of her head as she fled, teetering on expensive heels.

  The room filled with the sound of muffled gunfire and screaming but George was so focused on the task at hand he could barely hear any of it. He took down another three cultists as they ran but, by now, most were at the far end of the room gaining partial cover from the balustrade. George had used about ten rounds so far and only had a couple of rounds left in the gun he was using, he took the opportunity to pause and switch guns.

  A woman's voice came floating across the room; it was soft and smooth and strangely melodic: 'You've nothing to fear here, my brave warrior. We're not your enemies.' the voice oozed in silken tones that carried an upper-class accent which hinted at the sort of people who would have graced this sect of the cult.

  This perturbed George, not the words but the bizarre sense that part of his mind was willing to believe her. 'So, you're not a sect of vampire worshipping cultists then?' he replied, regaining his focus.

  The woman laughed, the delicate, rippling giggle of a young girl amused by a witticism. 'Is that what you think? I'm sorry to disappoint you but there's no such thing as vampires.'

  'Recent Experience tells me a different story.' he replied. George stood up as he spoke and noted the look on the cult leader's face, she was a little confused by what he'd said but it only threw her off her stride for a moment.

  'Put down your weapons and we can have a little chat about it. You look tired, perhaps you'd like to sleep. My bed is just through the door behind me.' She offered, her hand wafting gracefully at the covered doorway.

  To his surprise, George could feel a wave of fatigue washing over him, he wanted to raise his gun and get on with it but couldn't muster the energy. The woman locked his gaze with her dark red, alluring eyes and it seemed all George could see was the beauty of her perfect features; unblemished skin, full red lips and delicate little ears. He stood there motionless, for what seemed like only a moment, then suddenly he felt a tugging at the gun in one of his hands. George looked down at his hand; someone was trying to force the gun from his grip. As his vision cleared and the focus of his mind was restored, he realised it was Jameson.

  George tightened his grip on the gun and tried to pull it away, Jameson refused to let go and pushed his arm out to the side, gripping George by the throat with his right hand at the same time. Jameson appeared to be in good shape for his age but George was amazed by the sheer power of the grip tightening around his neck. He pulled up his left hand and squeezed the trigger on the other gun, sending a bullet in to the centre of Jameson's body. Jameson's grip round George's throat loosened for a moment, allowing him to grab a quick breath before the strength was renewed. Jameson's face was contorted with strain and there was a murderous look in his eyes. George had one more shot and needed to break free before he passed out, he pushed the gun up beneath Jameson's chin and fired a shot. Jameson's face went blank as a spray of pinkish matter exploded from the back of his head. He released his grip on George and took a couple of stuttering steps back before collapsing to the floor. His leg gave one last twitch before he expired.

  'Take him. NOW!' The vampire hissed at her remaining followers, pointing an improbably long fingernail at George. All the allure and promise in her voice had vanished.

  He responded by tucking the empty gun in to his belt and drawing his dagger. The cultists were clearly scared but had no choice but to obey their mistress's commands, all four moved reluctantly down the steps from the dais and began to spread out across the room.

  George aimed his handgun at the one remaining man in the group but, as he was about to pull the trigger, something hit him from the side, sending him sprawling to the floor. He glanced up and saw that one of the women was now standing over him. She'd made up the distance between them in the blinking of an eye, her hair was still catching up with her; ash blond locks billowing out to one side. George pulled around his weapon hand and fired at the woman, the bullet hit the wall on the far side of the room, passing through the air where his target had stood. He looked around but there was no time before the man arrived. George tried to get up but the cultist used his momentum to drive his knee in to George's side, knocking the wind out of him and sending him rolling across the floor. George extended his roll purposefully to gain some distance and used the momentum to roll back on to his feet. The man came at him again but George had time to let off a snap shot which hit him in his chest. He fell skidding to the floor a metre short of George's feet.

  The two other female cultists finally caught up with the action; George was about to fire when there was a sudden breeze and the third woman leapt on his back, clamping his arms against his body. The woman to his right approached with her fingers stretched out wide as her nails and finger tips began to transform into long, hooked claws. She took a swipe at him but he managed to swivel round, putting the woman on his back in the path of the claws. Her skin caught on the hooked talons, she screamed and let go of George as the claws pulled her down. George took advantage of the situation, quickly firing two shots in to each of them, one to the chest and one to the head.

  He looked around for the last woman, there was panic in her eyes now and she had no idea what to do, George would never discover just what kind of power she had - if any - as he aimed up and fired a shot that caught her straight between her grey eyes.

  George strode toward the dais, he put away his gun and looked straight at the vampire. 'Your turn.' He said.

  'With pleasure. Just one thing...' She started.

  As George stepped over the body of a man he'd shot earlier, he felt a hand grab him around the lower leg, tripping him. The man leapt to his feet and spat out a slug of lead. 'I haven't finished yet.' He snarled.

  'One guess what your power is.' George muttered, as he pushed on the floor with his encumbered hands. George got up to meet his attacker, armed with only his blade and the empty gun. The cultist came at him at full tilt, barrelling in to George at waist height. He found himself folding in half as he flew backwards, with his assailant attached to him. While they were still airborne, George stabbed his blade down in the cultist's spine, jabbing it between two vertebrae with an unpleasant scraping sensation. The two men la
nded heavily but the cultist was still holding on to him, George struggled to slip free but managed to get far enough to kick the cultist away. The man lay on the ground for a few moments, his arms pushing at the ground but his legs quite still, he'd been paralysed by the severing of his spinal cord and George decided to leave the blade where it was for the time being.

  'Come then, little man. I'm tired and I need to drink before I rest.' The creature teased. She stepped up on to the balustrade and gracefully jumped down to the floor below, her descent slowed as if she was cushioned by some invisible force. As she fell, her robes billowed around her thighs revealing the presence of a long scaly tail which had been hidden before. 'It seems we'll meet on an even footing. No guns, no knives, just you and I.' She said as she turned to meet him.

  'No guns, no blades, but I may still have a trick or two up my sleeve.' George replied.

  The vampire laughed. 'I do hope so, I like it when my food puts up a struggle. It always tastes so much better.'

  'I'm nobody's dinner.' George said. He raised his hand, pointing his forefinger at her and clenching his remaining fingers in to his palm. There was a whirring from his armpit and a blue electric crackle at the tip of his finger; a plume of flame shot forth and engulfed the cult leader’s upper torso. George kept his fingers clenched for a few seconds, following her as she tried to escape. The vampire's upper body was aflame, she screamed and hissed as the fire roared across her face, melting away her features and sending gobbets of black, smoking goo dripping to the floor.

  Her body jolted at the hip violently, the top half of her torso broke free and slumped to the ground, dissolving in to a pool of flaming fluid. George had expected the lower half of her body to follow, but instead it stood there, the tail twitching with displeasure. He wasted no time in turning the flames on her pelvis, passing the line of his finger up and down her legs. This time it was her tail that broke free, it slithered along the ground seeking salvation. George pursued it across the floor, cornering it near the steps, he let loose one last blast from his home-made inferno and watched as the last piece of her was destroyed. The essence which had held her together vanished in the smoke.