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

by Russell Newquist

  “Colonel, the bandit is too fast. I can’t paint it with the laser. Request guidance, over.”

  “Dammit!” Abrash swore.

  They followed in silence, watching the dragon pull further away. Abrash seethed. Peter gripped the hilt of the Sword in a fit of nerves. He tried to will the helicopter faster, to no effect.

  “Kestrel 1, Eagle 1, this is Viper 1. We have you on scope, thirty seconds out. Can we get an update on that bogey?”

  “Viper 1, this is Merlin. Are you plugged into our ground control?”

  “Affirmative, Merlin.”

  “I’ll have my pilots send you a manual track update.”

  “Copy that, Merlin. It’s coming through now. Wanna tell us what we’re looking for?”

  “You’ll know it when you see it, Viper 1. Trust me.”

  “Oooh-kay, then.” The response carried an exaggerated midwestern accent.

  The fighter jets roared overhead, shaking the helicopter and piercing Peter’s eardrums. He watched as they closed in on the dragon ahead.

  “This is Viper 2. I have visual. Moving in closer – holy shit!”

  “Merlin, is that thing what I think it is?” Viper 1 added.

  “Affirmative, Viper 1. It is definitely what you think it is. You are weapons free. Say again, you are weapons free. Take it down hard.”

  “What about Faith?” Peter asked, desperately. The Colonel ignored him.

  The F-16s pushed through and buzzed past the dragon. It let loose a burst of fire as they flew by, but they were far too fast for it. The rounds flew harmlessly through empty air. The fighter jets circled back for another pass.

  “Viper 1, Fox Two.” The radio call signaled that the pilot had fired heat seeking missiles.

  “Viper 2, Fox Two.” His wingman matched the call with missiles of his own.

  In the movies, missiles take their time closing with aircraft, giving the pilots plenty of time for dramatic evasive maneuvers. In real life, they move far too fast for that. Abrash knew what was coming, and watched as the missiles closed in. Peter blinked and missed it.

  The missiles impacted a heartbeat apart, packing a one-two punch. In the nighttime sky, the bright explosion hurt his eyes. Peter closed them as he listened to the pilots whoop in excitement over the radio. A second later, their glee turned to awe.

  “Merlin, this is Viper 1. I see no damage. Say again, no damage.”

  Peter opened his eyes and confirmed the fighter pilot’s report. His stomach rose in his throat as he strained to see in the distance and darkness. He couldn’t find her.

  “Hit it again, Viper 1.”

  “No!” Peter cried.

  “Roger that,” came the reply over the radio.

  Peter watched as the F-16s lit their afterburners and looped around for a third pass. A moment later the calls came over the radio again.

  “Viper 1, Fox Two.”

  “Viper 2, Fox Two.”

  This time, Peter managed to keep his eyes open and watch the whole thing. Each aircraft fired two missiles this time. Once more, they exploded harmlessly.

  “Viper 1, Viper 2, this is...” he hesitated a moment before adopting his own radio handle on the spur of the moment. “Lancelot. Bogey should have a hostage. Can you get a visual?”

  “Roger, Lancelot. I have visual on the hostage.”

  “Is she harmed?”

  “I can’t tell, Lancelot.”

  “Hit it again,” Abrash ordered.

  “The weapons are doing nothing, Colonel.” Peter kept the last statement inside the chopper, not sending it over the radio. “All you’re doing is putting Faith at risk.”

  Abrash ignored him. The aircraft looped around again, closing in to fire.

  The dragon disappeared inside a cloud. They waited, but it never exited.

  “Merlin, this is Viper 1. I have lost visual. Repeat, I have lost visual.”

  “Viper 2 confirms. Bogey has disappeared.”

  Abrash swore and slammed his fist into the wall again.

  Peter lowered his head and prayed.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Michael let Peter focus on the dragon. He refused to take his eyes off of Abigail. He pulled himself together a bit faster than she did. He thanked his combat training for that. She still stared after the dragon, sobbing, as he tackled her around the waist again.

  She exhaled loudly as they collapsed to the ground together. Her struggle against hyperventilation helped as he wrapped up her hands, preventing her from getting any more spells off. He wrapped himself on top of her, forming a t-shape out of their bodies, and pinned her right arm underneath him. He wrapped her left up in a tight arm entanglement.

  It held – for a moment. Her superhuman strength broke through his leverage. She managed to lift his muscled bulk enough to give her room to maneuver. Once she had that, twisting free of the joint lock proved easy enough.

  With her right hand now free, she punched him in the ear. An ordinary girl her size wouldn’t have had enough leverage for the blow to matter much. Abigail’s strike sent waves of pressure pounding through his skull, blurring his vision and nauseating him.

  Abby rolled to her knees, trying to push to her feet again while he fought to stave off unconsciousness. When she turned her back, Michael seized his opportunity. Years of training had taught him to crawl right up behind her. He wrapped his arm around her neck, snaking his wrist under her chin. He clasped his hands together and cinched the choke hold down hard.

  She struggled against him, raising her arms against his, trying to free herself. She reached both hands against his forearm, prying it forward despite the death grip he maintained on his other hand. She couldn’t break him completely free. But he lost the choke, allowing her to breathe freely.

  That’s when Captain Long stepped forward. Task Force 13 soldiers flanked her on either side and moved in behind Michael. They trained their rifles tight on Abigail. She laughed in their faces.

  “Go ahead,” she told them. “Shoot me and take him out, too.” She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she started moving her hands, preparing the next spell.

  “Shoot us!” Michael yelled, staring Long directly in the eye.

  She shook her head and gestured for her men to lower their weapons.

  “What are you doing?” Michael shouted at her.

  Abigail threw back her head and laughed maniacally.

  That’s when Long punched her. Her fist caught Abby square in the jaw. She went limp in Michael’s arms, awake but groggy. The Captain gestured again and a pair of soldiers moved in with zip ties to bind Abby’s arms. Michael loosened his grip and let them take her.

  “That’s a hell of a right hook, Captain.”

  Long flashed him a grin. Then she looked past him, and her face turned dark.

  Michael followed her gaze, and his whole focus changed in a heartbeat. He rushed to Jim Covington’s side. He wormed out of his wet shirt as quickly as he could, applying it as a tourniquet on the bloody stump at his friend’s wrist.

  “Medic!” he called. He heard rapid footsteps approaching, but it wasn’t fast enough to suit him. “Medic!” he screamed again.

  “Forget it,” the old man rasped. “I’m dead already. That’s how the bloody demon got me in the first place.”

  The medic rushed in and took charge, putting Michael to use.

  “Get this going.” He handed Michael a fluid pack.

  Michael didn’t have to ask why. All Special Forces learned how to get an IV going. He followed instructions as Jim coughed, wheezed, and shook. Nothing seemed to help. It didn’t reassure Michael when the medic started cursing in Greek.

  “Talk to me, Doctor.”

  “It’s not good, son. He’s got massive burns, serious broken bones, and probably some major internal bleeding. He’s lost a lot of blood.” He directed Michael to apply pressure on the bloody stump. Jim screamed, spraying blood out with his breath. “It sounds like a punctured lung, but I can’t be sure.”

&n
bsp; Covington gasped and wheezed. Loukas fished through his gear again. When he found the oxygen tank, he slipped the mask over the old veteran’s face. The highly oxygenated air seemed to help. His breathing steadied, but only a little. Michael could see the light fading from his eyes.

  The doctor jabbed a needle in his heart, then slammed the plunger home, delivering its contents.

  “A stimulant,” he explained. “We’ve got to keep him going until we can repair the damage.”

  Covington’s eyes opened, and he reached for the oxygen mask.

  “No, don’t!” Loukas snapped at his patient. “Leave it on.” But James wouldn’t stop. He forced a hand up toward his face. “Restrain him!”

  Jim looked at Michael, his eyes pleading. The young man ignored the order, and his friend slipped the oxygen mask off his face.

  “Need to talk to my daughter,” he wheezed.

  Michael nodded at him. Captain Long signaled to the sergeants who guarded Abby, and started to move her. Abigail struggled, showing no interest in speaking to her father. Long didn’t seem to care. She forced the prisoner over anyway. Abby’s superhuman strength seemed to have faded. Michael guessed that the spell had worn off.

  Abigail looked at her father with disgust.

  “Will you die already, old man?” she asked him.

  “Soon enough,” he rasped at her. “Soon enough. It’s ok, Abby,” he whispered at her. “I forgive you. I always –” he coughed and sputtered. A moment later, his breath caught. “I always loved you best,” he finished.

  Her face went white. A single tear escaped her eye before rage erased it.

  “Liar,” she hissed. Then she spat at him.

  Captain Long led her away.

  Michael took up Jim’s good hand and wrapped it in both of his. He wished the rain would come back to hide the tears on his cheeks.

  “Find Beckman,” Jim forced the words out slowly, one at a time. “Find Beckman, after I’m gone. Tell him I said to use fifteen-eleven.”

  “What?” Michael asked.

  “He’ll know what it means.” Jim grabbed his arm with a surprising amount of strength for someone in his condition. His eyes conveyed the urgency. “Fifteen-eleven! You tell him that. Repeat it.”

  “Fifteen-eleven,” Michael told his dying friend. “I promise.”

  Jim nodded, visibly relaxing. His grip loosened, and then slipped away altogether. He took another raspy breath.

  “I wish you could have been my son, Michael. Like you were supposed to be.”

  “Me too,” Michael told his friend. “Give my love to Katie.”

  “I will,” Jim Covington answered with his last breath.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Everything had calmed down by the time Chief Moses and the Athens-Clarke police. Georgia State police didn’t lag far behind. The local FBI office sent a delegation, too. Of course, they tried to take credit for everything. Captain Long donned her Department of Homeland Security jacket and went down to meet them all.

  Michael stayed up top. He had no desire to talk to law enforcement – or anyone else. But that wasn’t the real reason. He refused to leave Jim Covington’s side. His classmates came and sat by him, silently. Task Force 13 had left a handful of soldiers to keep an eye on the rooftop. They gave him a wide berth to grieve.

  The stadium lights came back on when the National Guard arrived. They brought massive generators with them, the kind usually reserved for hurricanes, tornadoes, and other natural disasters. Michael wished they’d turn them back off. In the light, the blood and grime showed.

  On the plus side, the police kept the media away. They cordoned off the entire stadium. He could see the vans stationed on the Sanford Drive bridge. He couldn’t believe it had only been a week since O’Bryan had jumped off of that very same bridge. It felt like a lifetime. It almost felt like someone else’s lifetime.

  They still sat there when Kestrel 1 set back down on the roof. Evidently, Abrash didn’t relish a talk with civilian law enforcement, either. He seemed content to let Captain Long handle it. One look at Covington’s body convinced him to leave Michael alone as well. He hit up one of his soldiers for a status report. Michael knew he’d be debriefed in full later, but he silently thanked the Colonel for the reprieve.

  Peter trudged over and placed a hand on his shoulder. For a long while he left it at that. Then he knelt over the body, crossed himself, and said a short prayer. Michael recognized it as a common Catholic prayer for the deceased. He loved his friend for it, but that’s when the tears finally let loose.

  “He was the last family I had,” Michael told his friend. “And he loved me even when I didn’t deserve it.” Peter just sat with him in silence.

  Eventually, the paramedics finished with the merely wounded, and they came to collect the deceased. They gently loaded the old billionaire into a body bag and lifted him onto a stretcher. Michael, Peter, George, and Denzel followed as an honor guard, as they maneuvered first down the tight stairs of the skybox and then into an elevator.

  The team rode to ground level in silence. They exited into the stadium, following the stretcher out through the area normally reserved for players. A pair of soldiers walked before them, holding doors as they went through. Finally, they stepped onto the field. Captain Long’s voice brought them up short.

  “Ten hut!” she called out.

  Police, FBI, National Guard, and Task Force 13 members formed up between them and the ambulance. At the Captain’s command, they snapped to attention.

  “Present arms!”

  She caught Michael’s eye with the second command and winked. He gave her a silent nod of thanks in return as the assembled ranks raised their weapons in salute. The paramedics resumed their trek.

  After they loaded his friend into the ambulance, Captain Long released the assembly. Michael knew that most of the men had no idea who they were honoring or why, but he was grateful anyway.

  As the ambulance pulled away, Michael spotted Conor, Gabriel, and Stefan. Peter left to speak with them. Secret religious order of knighthood stuff, Michael supposed. Task Force 13 members picked off his classmates one by one, cornering them for debriefings. Long sidled up beside him.

  “Thank you,” he told her simply.

  “It wasn’t just for him, you know. It was for all of you. You did good.”

  He didn’t feel like they’d done well at all. But he chose the gracious route and accepted the comment in the spirit it was meant. He thanked her again.

  “If you change your mind and decide you want back in, you’re welcome in my unit any day, soldier.” She stuck a hand out. Michael took it. She had a firm grip. “Just so you know,” she finished.

  He nodded.

  “Where’s Abby?” he asked.

  “Let it go, Michael,” she answered.

  “I need to talk to her,” he insisted.

  She sighed at him and pointed toward an armored prison van.

  “Over there by the van,” she answered. “You’re lucky she’s still here. They’ve been arguing over jurisdiction for half an hour. They’re about to load her up.”

  “No surprise there. Who won?”

  “Who do you think? The feds always win jurisdiction disputes. Truth be told, I don’t think your friend Chief Lewis actually wanted her. I think he just wanted to piss off some Yankees.”

  Michael almost smiled. Almost.

  “That’s about right.”

  “You don’t have long. They’re about to haul her away.”

  His feet felt like they carried lead weights as he approached the van. In the distance, he saw a pair of burly men in black FBI windbreakers escorting the blonde heiress toward the same destination. He moved to intercept. He stopped within arm’s reach and sized her up.

  Unlike everyone else, she was mostly dry. The same magic she’d used to summon and control the storm had kept the rain off of her. But her robe was torn and ripped, and now stained in blood. Her arms showed bruises and scrapes, and it looked like t
wo fingernails had torn off. The spell that protected her had broken with the amulet. Even so, somehow she’d kept her hair perfect.

  Arrogance lit up her face. Her lips curled up in a genuine smile, and she walked with an easy grace born of a life of near-aristocratic luxury. The feds had bound her hands behind her back, but she still stood straight. Combined with a robe that clung to every curve, the effect served only to amplify her figure. She was beautiful. She always had been that.

  More like a hot mess, Michael told himself. The infinite depths of crazy showed through in her eyes. He wondered if it had always been there. It had to have been. Nobody goes crazy like that overnight. How had he never seen it before?

  “Can’t get enough of me, can you Michael?” she purred at him.

  “Just tell me why, Abby.”

  The smile vanished in an instant.

  “Because she didn’t deserve any of it,” she snapped.

  “That’s it?” he asked. “It’s really that simple?”

  “It should have all been mine. You should have been mine!”

  As quickly as it had come, the rage subsided. The maniacal grin returned. Her mood swings gave him whiplash. He shook his head as they led her off.

  Peter appeared out of nowhere and led him away. He couldn’t tell where they were heading. The adrenaline had finally all worn away. Shock was setting in. He didn’t care. He just wanted the night to be over.

  Peter sat him down somewhere firm. Paramedics appeared and looked him over. He barely felt them poking and prodding. Exhaustion finally took over and he fell into a deep sleep.

  Epilogue

  The air rang with the crack of rifles fired in unison. A second volley fired, and a third. After a moment, the sad warble of Taps filled in the silence. The crowd included millionaires and billionaires, CEOs and financiers, media stars, and politicians. A full ten percent of the Forbes 500 paid their respects, as well as eight members of Congress, and three Senators. The Vice President himself had delivered the eulogy.

  For this final act, place of precedence went elsewhere. Beside the casket stood a row of retired soldiers in perfectly pressed dress uniforms they hadn’t worn in decades. They stood as straight and proud as any young cadet, save for Corporal Steven Jacobs in his wheelchair.