War Demons: An Urban Fantasy Thriller (The Prodigal Son Book 1)

by Russell Newquist

  “You’re too late, Michael! The ritual is almost complete. After that, I won’t need the amulet anymore!”

  Ignoring her, he kept his momentum going and moved past her, heading straight for the cauldron. He scooped the baseball bat off the ground and brought it up in a smooth motion. He swung like he needed to knock one out of the park. In the back of his mind, he heard his little league coach cheer.

  The wooden bat cracked as it struck the kettle’s supports, but it held together. The impact had the desired effect. The A-frame tottered for a moment, threatening to hold together, before finally collapsing. The cauldron dropped with it, tipping over and spilling its boiling contents across the roof. Michael jumped out of the way to keep it from washing over his feet.

  “No!” Abby yelled, horrified.

  The foul liquid ate grooves in the roof as it spread. The hiss reminded Michael of the bacon he cooked for breakfast every morning. The smell reminded him of the foulest cleaning chemicals the Army had ever forced him to use. The sickly green color reminded him of absinthe. The fumes burned his lungs. He didn’t know what they were, but he felt certain they couldn’t possibly be good for him.

  As the toxic concoction spread, it ate away the carefully placed symbology Abigail had drawn all over the rooftop. The aura that emanated over the rooftop began to crackle and pop. A few moments later, it dissipated altogether.

  “No!” This time it came out as a whimper.

  Michael took four long strides forward. He clasped her medallion firmly in his left hand. One hard yank snapped the chain and pulled it loose. She didn’t even try to stop him. He paused to glance at the intricate design. Then he dropped it at his feet.

  Michael lifted the bat over his head. He gave it a few twirls to build momentum. Abby shrieked in terror. He ignored her as he tensed for the final strike.

  The bat didn’t budge.

  Something strong twisted it out of his grip. He lifted his left arm in a block as he spun counterclockwise, jabbing his right hand where he expected his assailant to be. The sight of his target drew him up short.

  “Jim?” he whispered.

  “Daddy?” Abigail cried out tearfully behind him.

  Covington brought the bat around, hitting Michael in the chest with full force. He felt the crunch of ribs breaking. He collapsed to his knees, the wind knocked out of him. As he struggled to collect his breath he looked to the familiar face in confusion.

  The glowing yellow nose brought sudden clarity.

  “No…”

  Michael heard the dragon roar. A jet of hot flame shot over their heads. In that moment, he knew Peter had failed. The yellow-nosed demon that had once been his friend smirked at him, raising the Ruger revolver that he’d kept holstered on his ankle in life. The demon moved slowly, ever so slowly. Michael tried to capitalize on it, but he couldn’t bring himself to strike his friend.

  The click of the hammer rang through his ears as the possessed corpse of Jim Covington cocked it and prepared to kill him.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  The dragon launched straight up, carrying them above the low cloud cover. The dark storm clouds below blotted out the city lights. Peter saw a mixture of dark grays punctuated by occasional bursts of light as electrical activity convulsed along the storm. It looked like a watercolor. Above, it seemed that he could see every star in the sky.

  Peter couldn’t help but admire the beauty.

  The beast itself was beautiful, too, in a weird, deadly sort of way. Its appearance defied his expectations. For one thing, instead of scales, fur covered its back. Thick dark hair matted its body from the shoulders to its lower legs. It was hard to be certain in the moonlight, but it looked to Peter to be a deep green.

  Large quills poked out from amidst the fur. The shortest reached only a few inches. The largest of them neared two feet in length. The pointed ends were razor sharp, as Peter found by nicking himself once or twice on them.

  The head looked more like a snake’s head than the typical lizard-like dragon head in the fantasy stories Peter had grown up with. The nose came down like a viper’s, forming a kind of blunt triangle. The long, thin tongue forked at the end and flicked rapidly. Peter wondered if the beast smelled with its tongue the way a snake did.

  It wasn’t a particularly large dragon. The body was about the size of a large cow. Upon reflection he thought it was maybe a bit bigger than that. He didn’t spend enough time around cattle to be sure.

  The dragon stretched its neck to snap at him, reminding him of the dangerous game they played. He poked and dodged, moving a little further up its back. At the base of the creature’s neck, the fur gave way to scaly, snakelike skin, much more like he would have expected from a dragon.

  He slid up the neck and wrapped his arms and legs around the beast. That had the intended effect of maneuvering him well out of reach of the dragon’s head. But the smooth serpentine skin left him with a poor grip. The dragon knew it, too. It dropped into a sharp, sudden dive. It spun as it descended, jostling Peter as much as possible.

  He knew that the beast wanted to throw him from its back. He wasn’t sure he could prevent it. He held on for dear life as they plunged through the clouds again. Rain pounded at him. The wet loosened his grip on the slippery scales. The university rushed up at them.

  Peter knew the dragon would pull up at the last minute. Even so, he struggled to fight inertia and hold on. As his grip finally slipped from the sudden shock, he slid down the neck. With his right arm, he jabbed the Sword into the creature’s skin again. It didn’t penetrate far, but it stuck enough to give him a grip. The beast howled and screamed at him, snapping its jaws back at him again. It couldn’t reach, but the sight of snapping dragon jaws that close to his face scared him to the core.

  Suddenly, the snapping and hissing stopped. The flight path straightened. Something else had caught the beast’s attention. Peter raised his head as they dipped down through the clouds once more. The dark silhouette of the stadium grew rapidly ahead of them. His spirits rose. Michael must be having success if Abigail had summoned the dragon back for aid. Peter hunkered down to ride out the trip.

  The dragon entered a steep dive, using gravity to accelerate quickly. Wind whipped him around. Bitter cold bit into his fingers. Somehow he managed to keep his perch.

  A hundred yards out, the dragon spread its wings wide and reared back. He wrenched the sword out of the beast’s neck as they closed in on Abigail and Michael. He held his breath and tensed, waiting for the right moment to come. The serpent opened its jaws and inhaled. Peter felt gasses gurgling beneath him as the beast prepared for a belch of flame.

  He struck just as the beast began to exhale, driving the Sword down into the dragon’s back. He’d chosen the point carefully, right behind the beast’s shoulder blade. He knew from his jujitsu training that a human would have a nerve ending there, necessary to control the shoulder – and hence the arm. He hoped that magical creatures had somewhat normal anatomy.

  By the dragon’s reaction, Peter figured he’d guessed well. The front, right leg jerked hard upward and the dragon’s neck constricted. The dragon’s breath went high, searing empty air over his friend’s head.

  The beast, however, was done with its rider. It executed a sharp barrel roll, hoping to throw Peter from its back. But he’d expected something like that. He pulled the Sword loose and let go.

  He tucked his left shoulder forward as he fell, pulling the blade in his right arm across his body. The impact of concrete hit far harder than the cushy two and a half inch mats at the dojo, but he kept his form and tucked into a proper front roll. He completed four revolutions across the roof before he slowed to a reasonable speed. On the last, he let the momentum carry him smoothly to his feet.

  Faith lay atop a stone altar, bound in place with rope. Abigail cackled hysterically, apparently laughing at a joke that only she could get. Michael knelt before a dark figure, hyperventilating. Peter couldn’t make out the man’s face from behind, but he sa
w the pistol arm come up. Behind him, he heard the dragon roar as it turned, preparing for another pass.

  He ran like he’d never run in his life.

  Time slowed to a crawl around him as he pushed one foot in front of the other. The concrete roof rushed past underneath him. Rain beat down on him. It seemed like he felt every drop individually as they hit. Lightning arced across the sky. The thunder rolled in. The pistol inched higher.

  The silhouetted figure turned, retraining the pistol on Peter as he charged. Despite the disfiguring burn marks, the young Knight recognized the face of Jim Covington in the yellow glow of his nose. He pushed that out of his head and focused on his training. He found a firm stance before bringing the blade upward. The diagonal cut wasn’t pretty, but it struck true.

  The blade crackled with energy as it met flesh. Michael’s face went pale. The pistol dropped to the ground, still clasped firmly in Jim’s hand. Blood sprayed from the older man’s wrist. Something in the character of his eyes changed, as the yellow faded from his nose. He collapsed to the ground, wailing in agony.

  Peter rushed to Michael’s side. His friend still hyperventilated, forcing the air out. He tried to say something. Peter shushed him, trying to move him out of the path of the incoming dragon. Michael wouldn’t have it. He kept repeating the same syllable, “am,” over and over again. At last, he found enough air for one short breath.

  “Amulet!” he forced out, pointing at the ground.

  Abigail ran toward them. The dragon bore down upon them. Peter rolled to the side, as a lance of fire sprayed the space he’d occupied a heartbeat before. He sprang to his feet and sprinted forward again. But Abigail drew too close. He couldn’t close the gap. Refusing to allow despair to set in, he pushed himself to his limit.

  The primal, guttural scream drew them both up short. Peter did a double take when he saw the source. George stood to one side of Abigail, head thrust back, brandishing his hoe-saw high, wailing into the night sky like a berserk warrior. His head came down with the makeshift weapon. The fury in his eyes hit Abigail like a truck. She stared in horror as he struck the amulet with his hoe-saw.

  “No!”

  The amulet didn’t exactly shatter on impact. It was more like an explosion. The force of it blew George ten feet straight backward. Peter, Abigail, and Michael fell to the ground. Light spilled everywhere – purple, green, red and blue. There were shades he’d never seen before. Some of it expanded in all directions, like any explosion. Most of it swirled straight up into the air, through the clouds, and high into the sky.

  If it hadn’t knocked him flat on his back, Peter might have called it the prettiest fireworks show he’d ever seen. He was ready to bet that they’d seen it all the way in Atlanta.

  He rose quickly, but Michael beat him to his feet. He watched his friend scoop up the revolver, peeling the charred hand off of it. He stepped over to Abigail, still lying on the ground heaving and raised it to her temple. She sobbed at him, eyes wide in fear. Anger and pain battled across his face, vying for dominance.

  “Michael,” Peter called. When no response came, he shouted it again, louder. “Michael!”

  “She killed Katie, Peter. And Vickie. And those other girls.” His face grew calm as he slipped his finger across the trigger.

  “Katie forgives you, Michael.” The words came out softly this time. Michael faltered. “And she loves you. She told me to tell you.”

  His friend turned to face him.

  “What?” he asked, incredulous. He dropped the weapon and broke down in tears.

  Peter wanted to comfort his friend, but the dragon had other plans. The beast swooped around again, flaring its wings like a jet pilot deploying flaps. It slowed to a halt on the concrete roof and roared, blinking as it scanned the area. If Peter didn’t know better, he’d swear the beast had no idea where it was.

  Gabriel stepped forward, spraying the wyrm with his super soaker. To Peter’s surprise, it roared in pain. Steam rose everywhere the holy water touched it. It swatted at the Texan, knocking him to the ground, then sniffed twice and honed in on Faith.

  The beast lunged forward, snatching up the altar in its front claws. It tensed into a squat like a cat getting ready to pounce, then unfurled its wings and leapt into the air. The blue-haired girl screamed, still tied to the altar in the dragon’s grasp.

  Michael gaped as the beast sped away. Abigail wailed like an angry banshee as it abandoned her. Abrash cursed as he and other members of Task Force 13 closed in around them. Peter ignored it all. He spotted the group’s last Blackhawk as it circled the stadium.

  “Get me on that helicopter!” Peter called out to the colonel.

  Chapter Fifty

  “Kestrel 1, I need an emergency pickup on the roof!” Abrash radioed the order.

  A moment later, the Blackhawk swooped in above them and moved to a clear spot on the roof. Before it even settled in, Peter had hopped aboard. Abrash followed immediately, barking orders.

  “Don’t let that dragon out of your sight!”

  “Yes sir!” the pilot answered. The chopper went airborne again less than twenty seconds after landing. Peter and the colonel stood directly behind the pilots, watching out of the front windows.

  Abrash handed the young Knight a headset wired into the wall. Peter donned it and found rotor noise considerably reduced, relieving the ache in his ears. It also plugged him into the internal intercom system, and by extension the flight radios.

  “There!” Peter pointed, as he spotted the dragon in flight.

  “Hold on!” the pilot warned. As soon as they cleared the rooftop, he gunned the throttle. The helicopter accelerated quickly, but it still took a few moments to achieve top speed. The Blackhawk cruised along at over a hundred and eighty miles per hour. They gained on their prey.

  Then, unbelievably, the beast pulled ahead again. Abrash swore as he slammed an angry fist against the wall. The pilot pushed the throttle harder. The aircraft began to shake.

  “That thing’s getting away, Samuelson.”

  “This is all she’s got, Colonel. We’re already exceeding the maximum rated speed. I can’t give her anything more.”

  Abrash swore again and keyed his radio.

  “Camelot, this is Merlin. I need General Patterson at Shaw Air Force Base on the horn, and I need him now.”

  “Yes, sir,” came the swift reply.

  The remaining Apache swept into sight ahead of them. A moment later, the pilot checked in over the radio.

  “Merlin, this is Eagle 1. I have visual and am in weapons range. Request guidance, over.”

  “Copy, Eagle 1. Hold position and track for now.”

  The radio chirped again.

  “Merlin, I have General Patterson on the line.”

  “Patch him through, Camelot.”

  “This had better be good, Kevin. In case you hadn’t heard, there’s a crazy situation developing in Athens right now, and –”

  “I’m in Athens right now, General,” Abrash interrupted. “And I’ve got a priority homeland security override. Presidential authorization Delta-Delta-Epsilon-Zulu-Omega. Confirm.”

  The radio went silent. Then Patterson’s voice returned.

  “Authorization confirmed, Colonel. What the hell have you gotten yourself in the middle of, Kevin?”

  “Hell is just about the right word, General.”

  “I need more than that.

  “That’s all I can give you. It’s ten different kinds of classified.”

  “The hell it is. I’ve got command responsibility –”

  “This is Presidential level need-to-know, Bill. I can’t tell you.”

  They heard Patterson’s sigh loud and clear through the radio.

  “What do you need, Kevin?”

  “I’m tracking an unconventional airborne hostile eastbound over north Georgia airspace. Bogey is stealthy, armored, and armed to the teeth. It’s outrunning my helicopters. We need fast mover support, and we need it now. Armed with heat seekers, i
f you’ve got ‘em.”

  “Copy that. I’ve got a pair of F-16s heading your way. ETA 10 minutes.”

  “That’s not fast enough, General. We’ll lose it by then.”

  “I’ll tell them to hurry. Best I can do.”

  “Dammit. OK, have them hone in on us and then use visual to track it. Their radar won’t see it.”

  “Our radar sees everything.”

  “Not this, it won’t.”

  Hesitant silence hung over the radio.

  “Roger that, Kevin,” the reply finally came. “Good hunting.”

  “Thanks, General.”

  The general signed off. Abrash keyed his radio again.

  “Eagle 1, you are weapons free. Light that thing up.”

  “Yes sir!” the pilot responded.

  “Colonel, that dragon has a civilian hostage on board!” Peter reminded him.

  “That dragon has the firepower to wipe out a major US city,” Abrash responded. “I’m sorry about your girlfriend, but I can’t let that happen.”

  Peter let out a slow deep breath.

  “Colonel, just give me a –”

  Abrash cut him off.

  “It’s already pulling away, son. This bird can’t catch it. I have no choice.”

  Peter closed his eyes and said a silent prayer.

  “Merlin, I can’t get weapons lock. Going to manual control on guns.”

  The Apache let loose a burst from its main canons. Even from this distance, Peter could hear the rapid-fire pounding. The rounds went well wide of the target. The pilot adjusted before firing again. The shots passed closer this time but still missed.

  The dragon dipped and dived, sliding left and right, performing evasive maneuvers. A few more bursts rang forth from the Apache. Then they stopped.

  “Merlin, we are Winchester thirty mike-mike,” Kestrel 1 reported.

  “Kestrel 1, you are go for Hellfires.”

  “Colonel, I have no weapons lock. Say again, I have no weapons lock.”

  “Kestrel 1, you are go for manual control.”