She bit her lip to stave off her panic and tasted coppery blood. Words tore through her mind, and Karen realized it was a prayer.
Her pace picking up, she stumbled deeper into the former shopping center, catching a glimpse of another graffiti message. A skull. But there was something strange about the image. Where the teeth should be, there was a pattern of parallel lines of varying widths. Beneath the row of alternating thick and thin bars, she made out a series of numbers. Understanding flooded her scared face. The skull’s jaw was a barcode.
Karen remembered seeing this barcode skull on the news a few years back. Knew the deeper significance of the symbol.
Oh God, this couldn’t be happening to her.
She shook with panic as she yelled, “What the hell do you want from me?”
There was no answer. Instead wheels rippled over the stone floor, and two men in hoodies shot from the darkness on skateboards. The urban monks cut off Karen's escape, forcing her to retrace her steps.
A third hoodie stepped into the ragged patch of moonlight behind her, blocking the concourse. He was decked out in a spray-painter's mask—Darth Vader aiming for street cred.
Karen let out a choked scream when she spotted the long, curved knife in the hooded tagger’s hand.
The figure took another step toward her.
Karen snapped, adrenaline and fear propelling her into motion. She whirled around and broke into a run. She had almost reached the escalators when an invisible force stopped her dead in her tracks and whipped her back, sending her flying.
For a moment, she was airborne. Then she hit the ground hard, the world spinning around her. Stunned, she craned her neck upward, expecting to see hooded faces leering down at her. But she was…alone.
There was no trace of a human presence.
Her breath clouded in the air before her and she shivered. The temperature must’ve dropped by at least ten degrees. She crawled back to her feet and inspected her shirt. The strange collision had shredded the fabric. The skin beneath the torn blouse was mottled by a series of black burn marks, sensitive to the touch. Adrenaline was keeping the pain at bay, but Karen knew it wouldn’t last.
What was happening here?
Karen turned and saw that the hoodies had returned. They loomed in the near distance, outlined in the pale moonlight, a ring of wraiths barring her escape. Why had they given up the chase? Had they tired of this horrible game? And what had tripped her in such a violent manner?
A chilling whisper interrupted her racing thoughts.
“Death is only the beginning.”
Her heart pounding in a deafening drumbeat, she tilted her gaze toward the ceiling. She could feel her face twisting with horror, her lips distorting into a scream.
A vaguely human form hung upside down from the mall ceiling, suspended like a spider.
With a guttural shriek, the apparition launched toward Karen, bony hands hurtling toward her throat.
Karen screamed.
Chapter Three
Talon was a man without a home. He constantly traveled the globe, devoted to his personal quest of keeping mankind safe from occult enemies. Before signing up for the dark missions that now defined his life, he’d been a Delta Operator and his work had kept him on the go in a similar fashion. In a way, this had always been his reality. His calling.
After dealing with Espinoza, the question was where he should head next. The world was his oyster nowadays. Every month, Casca transferred $25,000 into his bank account, payment for services rendered. The military had taken care of his needs for the last ten years, and Casca was fulfilling the same role now—albeit at a higher income bracket. Talon didn’t obsess about material wealth; he never would’ve become a professional soldier if money were that important to him. Nevertheless, he appreciated the freedom to go wherever he damned pleased.
For a moment he considered San Francisco. Staying close to Casca for when duty would call again might be a smart move. But San Francisco was filled with memories of Michelle, and he was just managing to put a little distance between his past and the present. Instead he decided to book a flight to Sarasota, where his old Army buddy Rob had embarked on a promising career in law enforcement.
The next day, Talon arrived in Florida and checked in at his hotel. Rob had invited him for dinner that night, and he was a little bit nervous about spending time with Rob’s wife and four-year-old son. He had originally figured they would grab some drinks the way they had back in the old days, but Rob wanted him to meet his clan. Talon couldn’t show up at his friend’s house empty-handed, so he proceeded to stop off at the local Toys “R” Us before dinner. Walking into the store, he was confronted with a new challenge: what to get a kid in 2015? He settled on a couple of Star Wars action figures.
Ringing Rob’s doorbell, Talon felt more nervous than he had when facing down the army of thugs in Mexico City. He could hit a moving target at 1000 yards but this social gathering was making him break into a sweat – he’d been out of the game too long. A dinner with Rob’s family should’ve been the most normal activity in the world, but over the last few months Talon’s definition of normal had irrevocably changed. His nerves calmed slightly the moment the door opened and Rob smiled at him. The sandy-haired baby-face clashed with the 220-pound frame, which now leaned in to give him a hearty bro hug.
“Man, it’s great to see you. Come on in.”
Stepping into Rob’s home, meeting his lovely wife Maria and his adorable kid, felt surreal. After months of wearing his armor, it was difficult for Talon to just sit down and fall back into the rhythm of civilian life. His friends had no idea about the occult war he was waging nowadays, but Rob knew first-hand the challenges returning soldiers faced. Thankfully, Maria turned out to be a delightful hostess and the kid was thrilled about the present. Two beers and a shot of Jack finally took the edge off the social gathering, and after dinner Talon and Rob relaxed in the living room while they watched the kid give the action figures a workout.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Rob told him.
“Someone has to keep the galaxy safe.”
Rob offered him another beer, and Talon popped it open.
“Thanks.”
They sipped in silence for a moment.
“Look at you,” Talon said. “You got it all. The wife, the kid, the picket fence. Who would’ve thought that crazy punk I met ten years ago would ever grow up?”
“Hey, I’m not that grown up. I got tickets to the Metallica concert next month.”
Talon grinned. They had bonded over their love of the hard rock back in the Army. Two wild kids ready to protect the world and make a difference. In their own way, they were still doing so.
In the days that followed, Talon and Rob tried to hit up every watering hole in town while reminiscing about the past. During the day while Rob was at work, Talon visited Siesta Key beach for long walks and even longer swims. The Gulf of Mexico was warm, the salt water soothing his injury. While he sliced through the bobbing waves with powerful strokes, the ocean stinging his eyes and the sun beating down on him, he let his thoughts wander. For a moment, the horrors seemed far away. The natural beauty of this tropical paradise didn’t seem to allow for the existence of demonic villainy. Talon knew it was an illusion, but he welcomed it anyway.
He also couldn’t help but notice the tanned, bikini-clad beauties who filled the beach at all times of the day. The week he spent with Kristin in Norway had reminded him that he was still a man with needs. Even though his heart would always belong to Michelle, he could allow himself to draw momentary comfort in the arms of another.
After a week of the lazy life, he returned to his hotel one day to find a message on his cellphone. Casca had left instructions to check out a few Internet links he’d forwarded to Talon’s email account. Judging from the urgent tone in the billionaire’s voice, the lull in the fighting was over.
Chapter Four
As soon as Talon finished listening to Casca’s message, he checked his email and clic
ked the links in question. They routed him to three videos hosted on a website that showcased material too edgy and dangerous for YouTube.
Talon played the first video. A skull and crossbones image flickered against a black background, and Talon noticed that the skull’s teeth had been replaced with a barcode. A beat later, a shot of a parked Mercedes filled the screen. Three guys decked out in faceless hoodies sporting crowbars and baseball bats closed in on the luxury car and went medieval on the vehicle. The car alarm wailed. The sheer aggression on display was raw and real and in your face. Metal twisted, glass spiderwebbed. Canisters of spray paint hissed, streaks of color bleeding over the luxury vehicle, leaving behind crude graffiti of pentagrams and inverted crosses.
The camera zoomed in on the Mercedes and revealed a screaming driver cuffed to his steering wheel. One hoodie liberally sprayed him with lighter fluid while another tossed a match into the car, igniting the driver. The bone-chilling screams of the human torch echoed.
Part of Talon wanted nothing more in the world than to kill the video. But he forced himself to endure it to the bitter end. Casca had sent him the link for a reason. He needed to know who his new enemy was.
The next video showed variations on the same barbaric theme. A group of ratty skater punks circled two terrified men dressed in expensive suits. They projected an air of wealth and power, and Talon thought they looked like they might be bankers or lawyers. The hoodies destroyed their cell phones, Rolex watches, and tablets before turning their attention toward the well-heeled professionals themselves. The video spared no details as aluminum bats connected with the hapless victims. Pitiful pleas for mercy alternated with grunts of pain.
Talon was a battle-hardened killer, but torture and cruelty sickened him. His greatest fear, while serving as an Operator, had been to be captured by an enemy intent on making his exit from this world as unpleasant as possible. In his mind, war should be a life and death battle between two professional soldiers; torture was the domain of psychopaths and cowards. Too bad the world rarely lived up to his ideals.
In the final video, hoodies had invaded a lush property. An attractive couple was dragged toward a luxury pool that glittered in their home’s lights. Their hands were cuffed behind their backs, and Talon knew with a growing sense of dread where this was headed. The man was shouting, rage twisting his features, while the woman was crying and shaking with terror. No one heard their pleas as the home invaders tossed the couple into the deep end of the pool. Splashing water gave way to desperate gasps for air, foam erupting from lips unwilling to accept death. Talon’s phone suddenly chirped with an incoming text, mercifully providing an excuse to turn off the horror show.
Did you check out the links?
Instead of answering the text, Talon called Casca on Skype. The billionaire appeared on his laptop. Somehow his benefactor managed to exude wealth and sophistication even through his webcam. His classically handsome features and sense of style seemed more suited for a male model than an occult expert. Like himself, Simon Casca had been marked by the dark forces at an early age when a cult invaded his home and murdered his sister. Before the cultists could finish him off, the FBI had arrived on the scene and saved his life. Who knew how Casca would’ve turned out if not for his past tragedy? He probably would be living the high life, dating models without a care in the world. To be fair, Casca did maintain a front as a rich playboy, but there was a gravity behind the mask, a sense of mission that they shared in common.
Both Talon and Casca had declared war on the forces of darkness. So far they’d won their battles, but the war was still young.
“What the hell did you just make me look at?” Talon asked.
“I’m sorry, Sergeant. But you need to know what you might be up against.”
“These videos weren’t taken recently. Looks like they were uploaded a few years back,” Talon pointed out.
“That’s correct,” Casca confirmed. “During the recession of 2008, a group of skaters, runaways, and anarchists committed acts of terror across the Midwest, which soon turned violent. The barcode skull became the identifying symbol of this satanic death cult, which mostly targeted members of the one-percent. Psychologists and sociologists deemed it a social manifestation of economic inequality.”
“I call it a freak show. Making a boatload of cash is bad, but killing people is okay?” Talon shook his head. Another example of fanatics leading willing sheep to the slaughter, he thought grimly. Would mankind ever learn to tune out the dark siren call of extremist ideology?
“Did the cops catch these monsters?” Talon asked.
“Fortunately, yes. It all came to a head when their leader, Robert Schiller, nicknamed “the Reaper” by the press, gathered the most fanatical members of the group and went on a shooting spree at the Regional National Mall in Ampton, Ohio. He and his followers murdered twenty-five people that day before the authorities took them out.”
“Someone deserves a medal,” Talon said through gritted teeth. He was shaking with rage. The sadistic torture videos had worked him up, raising the memories of Michelle’s horrific death video once more. Not only had these bastards tortured innocents, but they’d been proud of it, too, had wanted to show it off for the world to see.
Talon typed Schiller’s name into his laptop’s search engine and a haunting face appeared. Talon immediately understood why the press had nicknamed Schiller the Reaper. The mass murderer staring back at him was bald, his neck and chest covered in satanic tattoos with the barcode skull taking center stage on his throat. Skin stretched tightly over his gaunt, emaciated features, the bones sharply outlined—a skull wearing the mask of a man. Body shots revealed Schiller to be six foot-four, bone-thin without a gram of body-fat on his ropy frame.“So why are we looking at the work of a deceased cult leader?”
“It appears that Schiller’s work has inspired a copycat cult. There have been reports of four new kidnapping cases in Ampton, Ohio over the course of the last week that bear the MO of the Reaper gang. Same graffiti signature, similar high-income targets, crime scenes characterized by acts of vandalism.”
“Schiller’s freak show is back on,” said Talon.
“I’m afraid so. The police haven’t found any bodies, but it’s probably just a matter of time.”
Talon sighed. “I guess the vacation is over.”
“I’m sorry, Sergeant.”
“No worries. I was getting bored out here anyway. Beach, babes, and sun just can’t compete with demons and killer cults.”
“Nice to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.” Casca’s grew more serious as he added, ”Be careful out there. We don’t know yet what we’re dealing with.”
Casca’s words illustrated a problem Talon faced every time he tracked down an occult lead or investigated a paranormal case. Many of the cultists they hunted turned out to be dabblers, amateurs like Espinoza who believed they could conjure evil forces but were a long way from achieving their goals. But sometimes the horror was real. Talon wouldn’t know what he was up against until he was right smack in the middle of it.
He touched the pentacle pendant that had saved him back in San Francisco and in Arizona. His guns and knives were great against mortal enemies but pretty much useless against a true agent of darkness. Was this copycat cult just a group of psychos who lacked the imagination to come up with their own freak show? Or were they tapping into the darkness, the ancient, primal force of black magic that had fueled Zagan, Amon, and Rezok’s evil? Was he about to step into some black magic shitstorm?
There was only one way to find out.
Talon met Casca’s gaze and said, ”When do I leave?”
Chapter Five
Talon’s plane touched down twelve hours later in Ampton, Ohio. As always, he was traveling light, and within a half an hour of landing, he was navigating the foggy roads in his black BMW rental car. His first stop would be a local Best Western, where Casca had booked a room for him. He didn’t plan to waste any time. After the long,
relaxing week in Florida, he was hungry for action.
He located his room and found a metal case waiting for him on the freshly made bed. From experience he knew that Casca’s little care package would be filled with kit. He tapped in the proper combination and the case snapped open, revealing a Glock, Ka-Bar knife, night-vison goggles, a Heckler & Koch machine pistol, and multiple magazines of ammo. He loaded the Glock, strapped on the knife and decided to seek out the copycat cult’s last crime scene. The authorities had found the Porsche of a missing couple in a nearby park, about a mile away from where he was staying.
Geared up, Talon left the hotel.
It was around six when he set foot in the scenic playground. Red shadows bled over the playsets and trees. For the most part the park was sparsely populated. A couple of families kept watchful eyes on their children and shot Talon suspicious glances. He couldn’t blame them after what had happened here. The kids almost seemed to sense that a terrible tragedy had befallen the place. Their play seemed muted, lacking the laughter and shouts one commonly associated with children and parks. Perhaps the cold weather accounted for their lethargic behavior; a chill was settling over the area, after all. Having been spoilt by Mexico and Florida weather, Ohio’s brisk days felt unpleasantly cold. Though they paled in comparison with the snowy conditions he’d encountered back in Norway.
The police had done a decent job washing away the vandalism, but they hadn’t quite succeeded in erasing all signs of the vicious attack. It didn’t take long for Talon’s eyes to find the graffiti the cult had left behind. The barcode skull on the cement wall that ringed the parking lot was faded, the result of multiple attempts to scrub it off by the authorities, but a person who knew what they were searching for wouldn’t have any trouble spotting it.
Wary glances continued to follow him. Ignoring the attention, Talon continued to search the area. His behavior would be deemed suspicious by some of the wary parents but hopefully wouldn’t warrant a call to the police. The plan was to scan the park without overstaying his welcome.
Occult Assassin: The Complete Series (Books 1-6) Page 35
