The two men sprinted toward the perimeter Task Force 13 had created. Vampiric constructs closed in around them, but the soldiers picked them off one by one, keeping the men safe. Gabriel and Stefan pulled them through into the group, closing the lines behind them.
“It’s closing in on us,” one of the soldiers called out.
“We need to fall back again,” Captain Long suggested.
“Negative!” Abrash ordered. “Stand your ground!”
“How do we even fight that thing?” Another soldier called out. But Abrash quickly drowned him out with a rapid-fire onslaught of new orders. He directed concentrated fire on the massive creature.
“It’s not working,” George noted to Denzel.
Michael could see what he meant. Each bullet sent a divot of clay flying, leaving pock marks on the monster, but the thing didn’t even seem to notice. Michael guessed it to be two dozen yards tall and still growing as creatures joined it.
“Get me some grenades on target!” the Colonel ordered.
A handful of the Task Force 13 soldiers had M-203 grenade launchers attached under their rifle barrels. The men adjusted their ranks to move them into position. They took careful aim and fired.
The 40mm M433 grenades soared across the field in heartbeats, sinking into the ectoplasm that made up the giant creature. Designed to penetrate steel armor, they took a moment to explode. Familiar with the deafening sound of exploding grenades, Michael covered his ears.
The blasts underwhelmed him. Instead of a wall of sound, a meek whomp greeted them. He watched the mega construct expand momentarily as it contained the blast. Then it sucked the goo back in and continued along its path of destruction. They felt the ground quake as it took a lumbering step toward them. The fire continued, ineffectively. One of the Apaches wheeled around to engage it. It proved a tactical mistake when the lumbering giant batted at it like King Kong. The pilot managed to recover before losing his helicopter, but it took him out of the fight momentarily.
Abrash issued orders, regrouping his soldiers. Then his orders degenerated into frantic shouts. Michael couldn’t make him out at first. Then the gunfire slowed. First one soldier then another simply stopped. Abrash kept shouting.
“Hold your fire! Hold your fire!”
“What do you think they’re doing, Denzel?” George asked.
He received no answer. He and Michael turned toward Denzel. Their friend had disappeared.
“Denzel?” George called. They heard the deep bellow of his voice and the whir of a chainsaw ahead of them. “Oh no!”
“Where’s he going?” Conor asked, incredulous.
He rushed off after their own giant, trying to catch him and bring him back to the safety of the group. But Denzel had a large head start. He’d penetrated into the mass of the magical army. Try as he might, Conor couldn’t get through.
Worse, he quickly found that he had trouble getting back. Stefan and Gabriel jumped into the fray, covering their friend as he fought his way toward them. They opened up a gap, and he moved through it at a full run.
“That fool’s going to get himself killed!” Conor declared.
“Maybe not,” Michael answered. “We need to buy him some time.”
“How do you suggest we do that?” the Irishman snapped.
“The eyes!” Michael called out. “Aim for the eyes!”
Abrash understood immediately.
“Do it!” he repeated the order. He barked more orders over his radio.
Dozens of rounds of NATO 5.56 caliber ammunition slammed into its face at once. Hundreds more followed. A stream of precision fired thirty millimeter rounds from the circling helicopters joined in. The merged creature clawed at its eyes in annoyance. It finally slowed, but still, it kept coming.
Then, inexplicably, the creature howled with rage and stopped dead in its tracks. It turned back and forth, swatting at something they couldn’t quite make out. The next noise it let out sounded more like a pathetic dog whining. Michael didn’t share the same sympathy he would have for a dog.
Its right leg buckled briefly underneath it, but it recovered quickly. Then it staggered to the left. It dropped its hands, swatting at its knees and shins. It stuttered around the field, taking baby steps in a small circle.
“Keep it up!” Abrash shouted.
He gave a hand signal and his troops resumed forward motion, slowly pressing in on it.
The leviathan stumbled again. This time, it didn’t recover. Its right leg buckled, bringing it down to a knee. A moment later, the left leg simply collapsed underneath it. The whole stadium shook as the beast fell like a giant timber.
Task Force 13 cleared a path through the remaining constructs and swarmed over to the wreckage. Bits and pieces of the ectoplasmic goo sprayed around them. Michael waded through it, pushing his way to the front. He arrived in time to see the giant give one last spasm. Then the spray stopped. Another giant rose over the corpse of the first, a smaller human one.
Covered in goo, Denzel turned to face the platoon. He held his chainsaw high in a salute and gave it three good revs of victory. The soldiers cheered him as he jumped down to rejoin them. George ran forward and gave his friend a messy hug. Michael staggered in and shook the gentle giant’s hand.
“I didn’t have a flamethrower handy,” the big man told him.
The skybox above them flashed. Purple, blue and green light spilled out into the stormy sky. Michael turned his gaze upward in time to see a large, dark shadow spread its wings and launch into the sky.
“Eagle 2, the dragon is airborne again. Stay alert,” Abrash radioed out.
The helicopters rushed back in, unleashing fire on the dragon. As before, their attack proved completely ineffective. But it didn’t take Michael long to realize that wasn’t the plan. The beast roared at them, shooting streams of fire at its assailants. When the helicopters turned tail and ran, the angry beast followed them out into the night sky.
“It’s time to take this fight upstairs,” Abrash ordered. They burst into the stadium and began the long climb up the tower.
Chapter Forty-Five
Peter was himself, yet not himself. He saw the accident as through the eyes of an observer, but he remembered every second from the passenger seat. The beaten up truck barreled over their tiny Toyota, trapping him and his sister inside. He watched the driver flee the scene on foot, staggering from the alcohol. He felt the white heat of the pain across his body, but he didn’t scream – not this time. Then he remembered his sister and let out a shout of agony.
~Blink~
The congregation sat in the small church, terrified. They held mass in the dark, lit only by tiny candles held by parishioners. The old Frenchman stood proud and strong, reading from the lectern. His words rang forth in Latin, clear and precise. “Dixitque Deus: Fiat lux.” And God said: let there be light.
Then there was light.
~Blink~
“Daddy!” The children bowled into him. Even at his size, they nearly knocked him over. He let out a huge smile as he tried to hug all of them at once. Then they did knock him down, dog piling on him. They wrestled around for a moment, all in good fun – until they broke the lamp.
Then their mother showed up. Seven children later and she still looked as beautiful as the day they’d met. Not quite as slender as she’d once been, but happier. Her blonde hair hung down past the small of her back. For a moment, the color struck him as odd, but he couldn’t say why. She scowled at them, pointing at the lamp.
“Hi honey, I’m home.” He flashed his best grin at her. A moment later she relented, smiling back at him.
~Blink~
He pushed out of the water and found his footing, then threw the man over his shoulder and ran for the shore. Every part of his being hurt, but that just made him run faster. He laid the man out on the dry land and began pumping his chest. A woman sobbed nearby.
~Blink~
The sounds of battle clamored around him. The army of angels struggled to ho
ld the dark forces at bay. They formed a solid dome around him, protecting him. Peter instinctively reached for his Sword, wanting to rush to their aid, but it wasn't there.
Of course it wasn't there. The new Knight had it now.
"Your time has passed, Peter."
He turned toward the voice. Saint Michael the Archangel, general of the Lord's army, stood before him, strong, proud, and weaponless.
"My Sword has passed to another."
"Am I dead?" Peter asked.
~Blink~
There was nothing. Then there was something. He couldn’t describe it; it just was. It felt like waking up on a bright Sunday morning after sleeping in late – warm and cozy and peaceful.
His wits started to collect around him, but everything seemed a little off. Nothing felt injured. In fact, he felt better than he had a few moments ago. Or had it been years? He couldn’t remember. Everything looked intact – his arms, his legs. But they didn’t look quite right. Nothing seemed quite the color it should be.
“Hello, Peter.”
He recognized that voice. It carried an ethereal quality that matched the shimmer of the girl. Peter blinked at the brightness that engulfed her as his eyes adjusted. It didn’t make any sense to him that his eyes would need to adjust in this place. But they did.
“Can you turn that thing down?” she asked him. “It’s awfully bright.”
“What thing?”
“The Sword.”
Now that she pointed it out, he easily identified it as the source of the light. He concentrated. The light faded, but only a bit. He tried again. This time the he brought things down to a manageable level. It was still bright, but no longer painfully so.
“Am I dead?” he asked, calmly.
“No,” she laughed at him.
He did know that voice.
“Good,” he answered.
“Are you afraid to die?” she asked him.
“No,” he answered truthfully. “But now isn’t exactly a convenient time for it.”
“It never is,” she scolded him gently.
“You,” he said, comprehension finally dawning on him.
“Yes, Peter. Once more, you’ve found yourself on the brink. And once, more it falls to me to send you back.”
Her form resolved slowly. He could make out the blonde hair and the blue eyes. He had been right. He had recognized the picture at the party.
“Katie,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “You’re Catherine Covington.”
“Yes,” she answered with a sad smile.
“But it’s always been you. In my dreams. Ever since the car accident. Long before I met the Covington family. Long before I ever saw your picture or knew who you were.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it was always me.”
“That’s a bit circular, isn’t it?”
“So is the world, isn’t it?”
Peter nodded, but he didn’t understand at all.
“My friends need me,” he told her simply.
“More than you know. Watch.”
He followed her gesture with his eyes and saw the conflict erupting around him. Michael struggled against the army of clay, fighting his way to the top of the stadium. His friend’s classmates surrounded the former soldier, trying to help him clear a path.
The dragon perched atop the sky suites, belching flame indiscriminately into the stands below. Abigail stood beside the beast, laughing. Faith lay on the concrete, bound in zip ties.
“Faith...” Peter whispered.
Katie placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Michael wants to kill my sister.”
“Yes,” he told her sadly.
“He needs help.”
He got the impression she didn’t mean for him to be an accomplice to murder.
“He’s drowning,” she confirmed. “I forgave them long ago. But he can’t forgive himself.”
“Even now that he knows it wasn’t his fault?”
“Especially now.”
Peter nodded again. This time he did understand.
“There’s more.” She pointed at the vision.
The chaos concentrated around the southern stands. Her arm led him elsewhere. A lonely figured trudged across the field, charred and disfigured. Peter squinted and the vision rearranged. It refused to come into focus, yet one feature caught his attention. The man’s nose glowed yellow.
“But...” he stuttered. The man didn’t look right. Peter squinted harder. Understanding dawned across his face. “I see,” he told her quietly. “Why am I here? I should be there.”
“The Archangel wants to know if you’re worthy.”
“I thought he just knew.”
“In the simple cases, he does. Your case isn’t simple.”
“I’m nineteen. It’s not like I’ve gotten up to a lot of trouble in my life.”
“That’s part of the problem. You haven’t faced enough trials yet. You need to pass a proper trial.”
“Only part?”
“He only tests those who face the darkest paths.”
“This seems pretty straightforward. Slay the dragon. Save the girl.”
“Did you really think this would be the end of it? Pick up a magic sword, slay the dragon, and then go back to life as normal?”
“I never planned to pick the thing up in the first place.”
“True Knights never do.”
“So I’m a true Knight then?”
“That’s what we’re here to find out.”
“What do I have to do?”
She beckoned for him to follow. He did. There was no ground beneath them, and no walls around them. There was nothing. Only a soft, white, dreamlike haze surrounded them. He lost track of time and distance as they walked through the featureless landscape.
Eventually, they stopped. A path of green grass lay before them, shimmering with an unreal hue. On either side, it dropped off into an empty black nothing, devoid of even the hazy mist.
“Follow the path,” she told him. “And when you come to a choice… choose.”
“What kind of choice?”
“I don’t know. The path is different for everyone.”
“What happens if I fail? Am I in danger?”
“The path of the righteous isn’t known for being safe.”
“Is that what I am? Righteous?”
“That depends on your choices.”
“I need to get back to my friends.”
“Then pass the test.”
“I see.”
He hesitated for a moment, and then stepped onto the path. Catherine called out to him one last time.
“Save them, Peter.”
“I don’t know if I can slay that dragon, even with the Sword.”
“I didn’t say slay the dragon. I said save them. They need you, Peter.”
Peter nodded and turned to face the path once more.
“Peter…”
He looked over his shoulder..
“Tell Michael that I love him. That I always loved him, and I always will. Tell him... tell him that there’s nothing to forgive.”
Her eyes pleaded with him in desperation.
“I will,” he told her.
Then she was simply gone. He turned and strode down the path.
Chapter Forty-Six
Michael burst out of the stairwell and onto the rooftop. His friends and Task Force 13 poured out behind him. The scene quickly degenerated into absolute mayhem. Had the constructs been normal people, they wouldn’t have even had to aim. They packed in so closely that nobody could move.
Tempted to let loose with a spray of fully automatic fire, Michael knew that nothing but head shots would do. Instead, he switched his M4 back to single shot mode and picked his targets one by one. Running out of ammo now would end the mission, plain and simple.
They expanded their perimeter inch by inch, fighting for every bit of territory. The bodies quickly piled up underneath them, forcing them to climb to progr
ess. They quickly learned to watch their footing as the constructs began to dissolve underneath them.
But the extra height gave Michael the visual he needed. He could see over the heads of the constructs around him and get the lay of the land. The dragon still dueled with helicopters over the field, thankfully. If it got bored of dogfighting and came back this way for another assault, it would all end in a heartbeat.
Off to the west, past the hordes, sat a stone altar. The blue hair identified the woman bound on top of it as Faith. Nearby, Abigail drew strange symbols on the concrete. The large shapes encompassed Faith and the altar, but they seemed centered around a large cauldron suspended above a fire by a spit supported by A-frames.
Michael shook his head. He supposed a real witch had to have a cauldron, didn’t she? He tried to make out what she used to draw her markings. He was certain it wasn’t chalk. He doubted it was innocent. He hoped it wasn’t blood.
“Make me an opening!” he called out, pointing.
Abrash shot him a quizzical look, then nodded in understanding. He called out orders over the radio. A handful of soldiers formed into a wedge and concentrated their fire. Michael fell into formation and joined his fire to theirs, pushing forward.
They fought and pushed, but the undead army seemed to sense their plan. Reinforcements flowed in almost as fast as they went down. They extended the wedge deeper and deeper into the enemy, but it was hard going. The chamber locked open on his rifle, indicating that it was empty. He swapped magazines and kept firing.
At last, a tiny breach formed. Michael focused on it, taking down a pair of not-vampires on either side, and then dove into the fray. Hands reached out for him, grasping at his arms, his legs, even his head and hair. The soldiers around him picked the undead off him one by one. He tried to tell himself that the blood and guts splattering him was all fake, a magical construct. It helped, but not much.
And then he was through. He sprinted forward, putting as much distance between himself and the mob as he could. Once he was out, they seemed to pay him little attention, returning instead to focus on Task Force 13. He welcomed their distraction.
“Abby!” he screamed.
War Demons: An Urban Fantasy Thriller (The Prodigal Son Book 1) Page 23