Nightstalker Incorporated: The Nightstalkers, Book One

by Art DeForest

  My own kit consisted of a .45 Kimber 1911A1. It was a venerable old model, but it was reliable and threw big bullets. The bullets were hollow points with a frangible silver bead set into the hollow. I haven’t come across anything yet that wasn’t damaged at least a little by the combination. My blade was the trusty old K-Bar from my marine days. It was heavy, rugged and reliable. I didn’t typically carry around any of Smoke’s gadgets, but I had them in the glove compartment of the Mustang.

  I’d just dropped the empty mag out of my 1911 when Smoke came in carrying one of the Saigas. He smiled at me and pointed to a large aluminum cylinder that was attached to the end of the barrel. Apparently, he’d been working on the suppressor idea. I took off my earmuffs and approached as he laid the shotgun down on the shooters table and unloaded several mags from a satchel he was carrying.

  “Does it work?” I asked, gesturing to the foot long cylinder.

  “We’re about to find out.” He said as he seated a mag and pulled back the bolt to set a round in the chamber. He shouldered the weapon and kicked off the safety before putting a three round burst down range.

  It was still loud, but it wasn’t as loud. A sharp crack issued from the weapon as each round of silver BBs and double ought buckshot made its way out of the smoking barrel. It was much quieter than the loud boom I’d come to associate with the fully automatic shotguns.

  The rest of the team ambled over to watch the demonstration. Then of course, we all had to try it out. The weapon ended up getting a very thorough workout. It performed with the usual reliability of a Saiga. I wasn’t sure about the added length and weight added onto the end of the unit, but it was a start.

  By mutual consensus, we called it a day and decided to head out to Smitty’s for a post training day libation. Hard work and the smell of cordite had done wonders for my stress level, but I still had an itchy spot between my shoulder blades, like someone or something had its sights on me.

  4

  The moon was just peeking over the eastern horizon as a deep voice started chanting in a language that had died centuries ago. Its pale silver light revealed row after row of headstones and grave markers. The words took on a sinister edge as they rolled from his lips.

  His eye’s widened in glee as he felt the ancient power rise within him. It had been ages since he’d tried such a spell. He had been held captive for so long. He was a shade of himself with little power left when his tomb had cracked, destroying the enchantments binding him. He’d been forced to feed on the life force of rats and other vermin just to gain enough power to ooze out into the night.

  The days that followed had been torture. He’d hid during the day. The scorching desert sun forcing him to seek shelter in any crack or hole he could find. The vermin of those shadowed places sustained him as he continued to follow the trail of the artifact.

  That precious piece of gold had nearly cost him everything. He’d planned long in its creation. It would allow him to control any number of undead without sapping his personal power With it he would control the world. His undead armies would crush those of man, and their deaths would give him more fodder to increase the size of his horde. Eventually, all would serve him, willingly and alive or undead as his slave.

  His overwhelming arrogance made him incautious, however. Bitter self-recrimination tugged at him even now. He hadn’t dreamed that anyone was powerful enough to disrupt his plans. The power of his spell, however, had drawn the attention of the priesthood and his wards had been insufficient to stop the combined might of the priests and the emperor’s soldiers.

  Their timing had been perfect. They’d descended on him in a pack while his power was at it’s lowest ebb, drawn away by the nearly completed enchantment of the artifact. Nearly completed.

  They couldn’t kill him. He’d passed through that tattered veil long ago and returned with his soul safely hidden from man or god. The power of the priests was sufficient to entrap him, however. He was interred in a stone tomb, and the strongest of binding enchantments had been engraved onto all of its surfaces.

  In a final effort to keep him in place, the priests had used some of his own magic against him. They used it to change one of their number into a ghoul. The volunteer was set to guarding the tomb for eternity, its strength and paralyzing touch stopping any who would dare to enter the tomb from freeing him.

  The pain and thirst he felt as his power slowly drained over eons were a thousand times worse than crossing the great desert without water. Each second was exquisite agony as the final death tried to take him. Eventually, all that remained of his essence was a non-corporeal shade bound to this earth by a hidden reliquary containing his soul.

  The undead guard had done his job well. The aura of fear that surrounded them had kept grave robbers away, and those strong enough to overcome the fear succumbed to its attack. He’d long since given up hope that he would ever see freedom. His surprise had been complete when an explosion cracked the tomb.

  He refocused his attention back to the enchantment currently under way. The ground started to shake as the dead stirred to unlife. His power didn’t reach as far as it once had, but he still managed to raise a dozen zombies to his cause. He could tell that the rest of the graves within his sphere of influence were simply skeletons and while also subject to his will, had insufficient power to defeat his intended victims and were thus, left behind.

  The ground continued to shake as the creatures below, aided by his power, clawed their way to the surface. The earth over the graves bulged before the green sod cracked to reveal pale hands with torn nails, clawing their way to the surface. Arms and heads slowly appeared, covered in dirt and tattered clothing, his minions pulled themselves from their own graves.

  Eventually, they all stood before him, jaws slack and shoulders slumped. He could feel their hunger trying to drive them on a search for the living flesh needed to sate the unending hunger inside of them. “Patience my children” soothed Ahriman, as he turned to lead them to the waiting freight truck outside the gates of the cemetery. “Soon you will have all the flesh you desire.”

  As the zombies trailed after him, two of his undead soldiers stayed behind and concealed themselves once more underground. These were more powerful with magical powers of their own. They would prove useful as a reserve...or an ambush.

  ++++

  Something wasn’t right. I looked around Smitty’s and everything seemed fine. The Dreadnoughts were spread out across two tables in a corner close to the bar. Smitty himself was behind the bar. He was a grizzled old retired cop. He didn’t know about things that go bump in the night, but he’d seen his share of horror.

  I must have been brooding because Lori reached across the table and slugged me in the arm. “Hey,” she said. “You look like someone kicked your puppy.”

  Shaking my head a little, I looked up and took a swig of my beer. “Something’s not right,” I said, staring off into the distance. “Feels like something nasty is headed our way.”

  The smile dropped immediately from Lori’s face. “You gettin’ one of those gut feelings again?” she asked, as concern painted her face.

  Every once in awhile, I got these feelings deep down inside. Feelings that we were about to be dropped into a giant blender set on puree. It didn’t always happen before something bad, but I’d gotten the feeling often enough over the years that Lori learned to look for the signs and take it seriously when I did. My gut had saved our lives more than once.

  She sat up straight and stared at me hard. “Soon?” She asked.

  The feeling was suddenly blooming up inside of me tinged with a sense of urgency you got when someone shouted “Incoming!” right before the RPG hit your humvee. “Yeah,” I said. “Too soon.”

  I sat up straight, and my hand trailed to the grip of the .45 under my left arm as I looked around for the unknown threat. My guys went silent and on alert as they noticed my motion. Lori stood up and motioned over to Tommy. He was closest to the front door. “Check the front.”
She ordered curtly before turning her head to face Ray. “Ray, you check the back.”

  “What’s going on?” Said Smitty in a gruff voice from behind the bar.

  “Probably too much beer and not enough sleep,” I said reassuringly as the rest of the team stood up.

  Smitty wasn’t buying it. He had instincts of his own, and he’d seen us all make movements towards the various weapons we all carried. “Don’t mess up my bar Dale,” he said in a growling tone as he moved to a spot by the cash register where I know he kept his old service piece.

  I nodded in acknowledgment as my head seemed to turn of its own free will towards the swinging double doors that led to the back. Ray was about ten feet away from it when a pale form in a dirt encrusted suit from the ‘70’s came through the door and immediately attacked a guy sitting in a corner with his girlfriend. The scent of rot and decay filled the air as more zombies streamed through the door, looking for a snack.

  The guy’s girlfriend screamed and fell back over her chair in a desperate bid to get away from the gruesome sight of her boyfriend being eaten. Her head smacked the edge of a table, and she lay dazed on the floor. Ray altered course and made a sprint for the girl. His M&P .40 appeared in hand as he tried to save her. He was the only one who could get a clear shot as the rest of the bar’s patrons exploded in a riot of screaming and scrambling to get away from the creatures. I lost sight of him in the crowd, but the sharp crack of multiple shots told me he was putting his weapon to good use.

  “Lori, get everyone out and cover the front!” I yelled as I reached down and grabbed the pedestal base of the small table Lori and I had been sitting at. I pushed the table top out ahead of me, using it as an improvised shield. I knew it wasn’t going to be enough when I looked back to the fray and saw at least ten more zombies had entered the room.

  “Petey, John, we need bigger shields!” I yelled as I pulled my .45 and started looking for a clean shot. Petey and John tipped over a large rectangular table and picking it up, charged the small horde of undead.

  Containment was the priority here. If the zombies got out and started biting everybody in sight, we could find ourselves fighting an army of undead instead of a dozen. My guys were the best though, and they knew their jobs, even if they didn’t have their gear with them.

  Petey and John dropped their table a few feet short of monsters shuffling towards them. They quickly knelt behind it and drew their sidearms. Ray dragged the screaming girl back several feet and dropped her, using his M&P to keep the dead guys at bay as he did it. Money came up on my six with her gun already in hand, using me as her shield bearer. Feeling her in position, I re-holstered my piece and put both hands on the table and started forward. Jake and Tommy were set up similarly to Money and me, except Tommy hadn’t pulled a gun yet. They charged past Ray and the girl. Jake fended off zombies with his table while Tommy helped Ray drag the girl behind Petey and John.

  The room cleared of patrons, and my guys were able to open up. The laser sight on Money’s Beretta PS4 centered between the eyes of the zombie closest to us. A quick double tap took it down. My .45 could usually put down a zombie with one shot to the cranium, but with a 9mm it was best to use two rounds to make sure. I hoped she had spare clips.

  The loud explosion of a .357 magnum told me Petey had put his Python into play. We gave him a hard time about carrying the old revolver, but there was no doubt that when he made a clean headshot, the zombies were going down for good.

  Ray and Tommy got the girl to a safe place. Ray moved up between Petey and John. Tommy resumed his place behind Jake, putting a couple rounds into a female zombie dressed in what looked like something June Cleaver would have worn back in the day. Well, aside from the graveyard dirt, anyway.

  The infectious bite that turns anyone into a zombie makes them scary as hell, but in the supernatural world, they’re kind of the Homer Simpson of monsters. They come straight at you. Hunger drives all other thoughts from them. These guys were textbook at first. We fended them off with our makeshift shields and put several down in quick succession. Then something changed.

  The zombies seemed to hesitate for a second; then all their attention focused on me. What the hell?

  If it wasn’t for the fact that a half dozen zombies all decided at once that I looked delicious, I would have said that our tactical position had improved. Their unified movement in my direction let the rest of the team focus on their shooting. Of course, the table I was using seemed to shrink into insignificance as the mass of undead bodies drew nearer.

  Money dropped another zombie at the feet of its buddies with the final bullet in her magazine. “Shit,” She said as the slide locked back. The rest of the zombies kept moving forward as Money desperately clawed for a spare magazine. The lead zombie still standing, shuffled forward and promptly tripped over the body Money had just dropped in front of them. We had some falling domino action at that point as a zombie impacted hard on my improvised shield, knocking it to the side. I took an involuntary step back, and my foot came down on one of Money’s feet, sending us both crashing to the floor. Talk about a Keystone Cops moment. Sheesh!

  Of course, the moment Money’s ass connected with the barroom floor, the magazine she’d taken out to replace its empty companion, went flying out of her hand and went skittering underneath a stool that lay nearby.

  The zombie mob saw their opportunity and rushed forward...and promptly fell over their buddies already lying on the ground. This wasn’t exactly optimal for our situation as Money, and I were down there with them, and their heads had dropped out of the sightlines of the rest of my crew.

  I reared back with my right leg and put a size 11 steel-toed boot into the face of the nearest zombie as he tried to grab me. It didn’t do a lot of good because more hands were already trying to reach forward and pull me in. Piteous moans of hunger escaped them as they sought to bring anything living into their slavering maws.

  One zombie that seemed a little sprier than his fellows lunged forward suddenly and I felt the crushing pressure on my ankle as his browned and rotten teeth bit down on the leather upper of my boot.

  Panic took over for a moment as fear of becoming undead seized my mind. “Let go!” I shouted as I looked into the zombie’s milky undead gaze. The funny thing there was that he did it. His mouth went slack, and he just stared at me for a half a second. Then most of the contents of his skull sprayed out the back of his head as the whipcrack boom of a high-velocity round being expelled from a handgun, sounded behind me.

  Lori was reaching down with one hand to pull Money out of the way, so I could back up. Her other hand held the grip of her FN 5.7. The size of the rounds it shot was half the size of the rounds put out by my .45, but they made up for it with incredible velocity. The empty skull of the now still zombie proved that.

  Lori’s timely assistance allowed me to get clear in time for the rest of the crew to reacquire targets. In short order, the last of the undead stopped moving. Standing up, I looked around to make sure we were clear. I turned around and made eye contact with Lori, nodding my head in thanks. “Are we clear out front?” I asked

  “All clear.” She said with a concerned look on her face. “Several people with cell phones, though. Cops will be here any minute.” she finished.

  Nodding again, I pulled my own phone from my pocket. Amazingly enough, it still worked. I hit Alex’s number on my speed dial. “You the one doing all the shooting at Smitty’s he asked in a resigned tone.”

  “Yup, that would be us,” I said as I motioned for the crew to clear the rest of the building. “Somehow a load of zombies popped up and came storming into the bar from the back,” I said, doing a quick count of the bodies on the floor. “We’ve got twelve down and one dead civilian, who’s going to get hungry and start moving again real soon.”

  “Crap,” He said with quiet venom. “He doesn’t have any bullet holes in him, does he?”

  “No, we’ve avoided that so far,” I said as my ears picked up the fain
t sounds of approaching sirens. “I hear your boys coming. You should probably give ‘em a heads up.”

  “On it.” He said, followed by the click as he disconnected.

  “Okay boys and girls,” I said, pulling my .45 from its holster and laying it on a convenient table. “Weapons down and hands up. I don’t feel like getting shot by our boys in blue this evening.”

  There was a fairly loud clatter of hard steel implements of destruction being tossed down on various flat surfaces. We all raised our hands as we heard multiple police vehicles pull to the front of the building and cut their sirens. To my relief, they didn’t charge in with guns drawn and barking orders. I was guessing that they were going to secure the perimeter and wait for the big guns. It’s what I’d do.

  Thinking about it for a minute, I dialed up Alex once more. “Now what?” came a curt response by way of salutation. I could hear traffic noises in the background, so I assumed he was on the way.