Satanic Armageddon

by Guy N Smith

  The boar had not moved away in the opposite direction as Mayo had anticipated. It was still there by the trees but now its head was uplifted and it was staring in his direction. It was creepy, a shiver ran up his spine. In effect he was trapped up in this tree. And how the hell did it know he was up here, it couldn't have scented him from that distance? It was most certainly watching him.

  The creature remained motionless for several minutes and then it moved downhill in his direction. Slow, steady steps, heading directly for the tree in which he was perched. And all the time its head was uplifted, its hair-shrouded eyes glistening in the moonlight. Then it halted, barely twenty yards from him, its tail flicking from side to side. It's very presence, it's posture, was threatening like some supernatural power had sent it to find him. And to kill him!

  An ally of Zinovsky's, a four-footed devil sent by the Dark Powers?

  ‘Don't be so bloody stupid!’ Mayo spoke aloud in an attempt to restore his confidence. He eased the .38 out of his pocket. Oh, God, how he wished that he had a rifle, a heavy .308. Yet his target was now somewhat nearer, his handgun might do the trick. He steadied it on his uplifted left arm, his proposed target needed to be above a front leg and just below the shoulder to achieve a heart shot. Move sideways, you bastard! It remained stationary just like it sensed his intention.

  Somewhere in the far distance he heard the screaming of sirens. Fire engines. Doubtless the blaze had been seen and reported. Good luck, chaps, just prevent it from spreading down here.

  A chest shot then if he was unable to obtain a side target. Or wait a little longer? He took a trigger pressure and just as he squeezed the boar leaped to one side with a speed which belied its size. Then it was bolting in the opposite direction. Seconds later it had vanished back into the wood.

  Fuck it! Mayo ejected the spent shell. Well, at least he had got rid of the bastard! For the moment he would remain up here in safety, he was not going to take any risks.

  The report from the shot seemed to echo across the hills for ages before it died away. Sirens were still wailing over yonder. And then he heard the sound of an approaching car on the road below.

  It was some minutes before it came into view, creeping along slowly, the occupants obviously looking for their destination. It was without lights, the moon was bright enough for the driver to see the road. Mayo recognised it as a Ford Kuga Titanium X.

  Zinovsky had arrived, the final confrontation was imminent. Mayo remained in his tree seat. If they came up here looking for him then the advantage was his. This time he would ensure that his aim was true.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘Pull over and park under those trees,’ it was the first time Zinovsky had spoken since Richardson had bumped the grassy verge several miles back.

  The driver swung the wheel over, eased the car into a space beneath some silver birch trees where it was screened from any passing motorists, not that there were likely to be any at this hour. He switched off the engine.

  ‘Get out and don't slam the doors.’ Richardson and the balaclava-clad backseat passenger obeyed. Zinovsky was already walking back in the direction of that remote white-washed cottage. He would doubtless reveal his plans when they were in sight of it.

  Richardson's mouth was dry, his legs seemed scarcely able to keep up with his companions. He knew only too well that he was the fall guy now; he had a price to pay for allowing Mayo access to the armoury resulting in the failure of the bombs to explode back in Lichfield. There should have been mutilated corpses littering the front of a cathedral and around the marketplace. Instead the carnival had progressed with just the closure of one street and the death of a suicide bomber.

  The trio surveyed the Jones's home from beneath a tree at the foot of the driveway. The sky to the west was lit up by a fiery glow. More sirens wailed.

  ‘Our master has sent the fires of Hell to aid us in our quest,’ there was a note of undisguised triumph in Zinovsky's whisper. ‘It is a sign that we cannot fail. Now, Richardson, creep up and check if that building is occupied. We need to know if Mayo is in residence. If any of us have to die then it will be you! If he is in there then we must lure him out into the open. And that girl, who is the traitor to our cause, must also die. Slowly and painfully!

  Richardson knew that he had no choice other than to check that cottage. Zinovsky had insisted that he had accompanied them unarmed. If Mayo killed him, so long as he had lured him from his refuge, then he would have served his purpose and paid the ultimate price for his foolishness.

  ‘Get up there!’ Zinovsky gave him a push. ‘In all probability the place is locked up so observe through any windows where the curtains have not been closed or there is a gap. Listen for any movements or anything which might reveal Mayo's presence inside.’

  Richardson's mouth was dry as he walked up towards the dwelling. He kept to the shadows on the side of the driveway. Behind him his companions were virtually invisible beneath a roadside tree, primed for the appearance of Mayo. They would probably opt for a wounding shot if he showed himself, just to disable him. Then would come his grisly death, together with Gemma. Doubtless she would be raped.

  He reached the cottage, flattened himself against the wall, edged towards the nearest window. The curtains were closed. He shuffled on a couple more yards until he came to the front door. Dare he try the handle. Mayo might be waiting inside, ready to shoot whoever opened it.

  No, he dared not risk it. He came to the end of the front wall. There was a side window here, the curtains were not closed. Hesitantly, fearfully, he risked a peep inside. In the semi-darkness he recognised a bedroom, everything neat and tidy. Clearly the bed had not been slept in, the coverlet unruffled.

  He crept on, came to the rear of the building. A couple more windows afforded him a view of the interior. Once again there was no evidence of anybody. His cautious progress brought him back to the front. Dare he try the door handle? Arm outstretched, his back pressed against the wall, his shaking fingers closed over it. It did not move, the door was clearly locked. From the inside or outside? There was no way of telling. Unless Mayo was well hidden indoors then the cottage was unoccupied. If he had departed, then where had he gone? There was no sign of a vehicle so perhaps he had left the area, taken Gemma and her folks to an unknown place of safety. Richardson hoped so, for in that case it would avoid a confrontation.

  Keeping to the shadows he made his way back to where the others were stationed.

  ‘Well?’ Zinovsky's whisper demanded a report.

  ‘The place is empty. They’ve fled elsewhere.’

  A frustrated intake of breath. ‘They're not far away, I know. We'll have to search the wood up above.’

  In the distance they heard further wailings of sirens. The firefighters had summoned help. The smell of smoke was now stronger.

  ‘We'll get burned to cinders,’ Richardson made the first excuse that came into his fearful mind.

  ‘So will Mayo if he plans on hiding up there. He'll be forced to show himself.’

  ‘Something… something's moving up there,’ Richardson pointed. ‘On the edge of the wood!’ The trio stared. There was definitely a rustling of undergrowth and then a bulky, dark, furry animal emerged into a patch of moonlight.

  It was the wild boar. It had not fled from the smoky atmosphere; it moved cautiously, wary after the shot which had almost claimed its life.

  ‘Our master has answered my plea for help,’ there was undisguised triumph in Zinovsky's voice. ‘He has sent a fearsome creature to aid us in our search for Mayo. We must follow it, it will lead us to him! Keep your eye on it, Richardson, we are close behind you.’

  Which meant, Richardson concluded, that he was the fall guy. If Mayo was hiding out up here, he would take the first bullet whilst his companions dived for cover and returned the fire.

  He stuttered on ahead of them. Once he caught his foot in a protruding tree root and fell face-down. Behind him, Zinovsky cursed.

  The wild boar disappea
red in the shadows. They waited and heard it again. Strangely it was heading in the direction of the fire from which it had previously come. Now it embarked upon a wide circle, lumbered back in their direction but was clearly keeping well clear of them.

  ‘Strange,’ Zinovsky muttered, ‘either it does not want to go any nearer the fire or it has established that Mayo is not in this area.’

  The creature was some fifty yards to their left, visible briefly when it crossed a patch of moonlight, but mostly they only had the cracking and rustling of the undergrowth to determine its position.

  ‘The Dark Powers know best,’ Zinovsky muttered. ‘We can only follow in its wake, but right now the signs are that Mayo has fled from here.’

  Up in his tree rest, Mayo had glimpsed the trio entering the wood further down. They were too distant for him to risk opening fire. Again, he glimpsed the boar up ahead of them. It most certainly knew where he was hidden but it was not risking another shot. Had it adapted the role of a hound leading its followers to him?

  Now was the time to be vacating this eerie place whilst they were out of sight. As quietly as possible he descended to the ground. In the distance below he had witnessed Richardson checking the cottage, doubtless verifying that it was empty. In that case it would be the ideal place to take cover. His pursuers were unlikely to return there.

  He dropped down onto the slope and, taking advantage of every scrap of darkness, made it safely to the cottage. He unlocked the door, entered and secured it behind him. Now, once again, it was a waiting game only this time the advantage was his. He stationed himself by the curtained window, pulled the folds apart slightly so that he could see outside. He eased the sash so that it would be possible to open the window swiftly.

  Then, .38 in his hand, he sat and waited. This bizarre game of hide-and-seek was fast approaching its climax. Death awaited the losers.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The wild boar approached the tree in which Mayo had been hiding when he had shot at it, but this time it showed neither caution nor fear. Strangely it knew that he was no longer up there.

  It stood there on the fringe of the wood, motionless, head thrust forward, bathed in a pool of moonlight. It was watching the trio of humans on the slope below.

  Richardson was the first to become aware of the beast's presence, a stumble on the uneven ground had caused him to glance behind.

  He stared in shock amazement. Was this yet another twist in this bizarre nocturnal hunt for John Mayo and Gemma? There was no mistaking its aggressive stance. An attempt has been made on its life, it seethed with a desire for revenge on any human.

  ‘Look!’ His cry was little more than a hoarse whisper.

  The pair way below him, stopped, turned. Stared.

  ‘The creature sent by our master,’ Zinovsky breathed, ‘to hunt down Mayo and the girl if they are hiding out up there. But it should not be returning here. Maybe because of the fire up there. Perhaps the Dark One has sent that, too, flames direct from hell!’

  Richardson was staggering, he had twisted an ankle on the uneven ground. He tried to regain his balance, lost it and sprawled headlong. On his hands and knees, he attempted to rise.

  ‘Help me,’ he called out but there was no response from those below. They were invisible in the shadows.

  He sensed movements to his rear, a pounding followed by a kind of snorting.

  ‘What... oh, God, no!’

  It was that wild boar. It had come thundering down the slope and now stood only a couple of yards from him, tusks lowered menacingly.

  He was helpless, unable to flee. The beast's eyes were fixed upon him, glowing. Watching him. If only Zinovsky had not demanded that he accompanied them unarmed he could have shot at it close range.

  Bestial fury from hell itself. He managed a piercing scream and that was when the boar charged. Head lowered, its tusks gored into Richardson's abdomen, ripping his clothing and sinking deep into soft flesh. Blood sprayed; entrails were strewn all around. His bowels opened.

  Still alive, his screams weakening by the second, he writhed beneath the fearsome onslaught. Chewing and slurping, the boar fed hungrily.

  ‘It's got Richardson!’ Zinovsky grunted. ‘Something has gone wrong; it was sent by the Master to hunt down Mayo but now it seems that any humans are its prey!’

  Smoke billowed from their rear. The fire had swept down with unbelievable rabidity, devouring everything within its path. Only the cottage and the woodlands directly behind it were temporarily spared its ravages.

  Sirens screamed further along the road as another contingent of firefighters arrived. There was no way Zinovsky and his companions could return to their parked car. They were trapped between that fearsome boar and the advancing fire.

  Zinovsky offered up a silent plea to the Dark One. Save us, Master, from a terrible fate.

  From the front window of the cottage, John Mayo had witnessed Richardson's fate. One down and two to go. He knew only too well that the one he sought to destroy was somewhere out there in the close proximity to his own refuge. It seemed that the still breeze had changed the course of the fire. Now it blazed between that farm up the road and his own refuge. The area of woodland behind might now be spared, for the moment it was the only place of safety, albeit temporarily.

  Then in the moonlight, and only just visible through the drifting smoke, he glimpsed two figures scurrying uphill on the far side of the cottage. Like himself, Zinovsky and his henchman were seeking safety in the only area available to them.

  Mayo knew that he had to go out there. He had no choice. The cottage itself was no longer a place of safety. How far that fire would travel was anybody's guess. Zinovsky and his henchman would be somewhere in the wood. If he could come upon them then he would destroy the one who was rallying the forces of evil throughout Europe and the UK in an attempt to overthrow democracy.

  Unless they found him first. He had to embark upon a terrifying game of hide-and-seek with occult forces attempting to influence the outcome. It was the most fearsome challenge he had faced in all the years since he had been an agent of Counter Terrorism Command. A peaceful retirement with Gwenda over the past few years had been severely disrupted. If he was successful tonight then he promised himself that this would be his final mission.

  Another glance down the hillside towards the road below. Richardson's mutilated corpse was strewn on the ground but there was no sign of the boar. It had killed and fed, moved on. In which direction had it gone? Was it back up there in the woodlands, maybe following Zinovsky and his companion or had it fled elsewhere, away from the raging fire? Mayo had no way of knowing. His .38 was in his hand, primed for a shot if the occasion arose against either man or beast.

  He reached the fringe of the wood, crouched with his back to a tree, alert and listening. Over to the west, the sky reflected the flames of the moorland fire, a faint crackling as they devoured heather and gorse. There was neither sight nor sound of wildlife, fur and feather had long fled to safety elsewhere. Sirens no longer wailed, every emergency vehicle within a radius of several miles was already on the scene. Now that the wind direction had changed, the inferno would be on course for the massive slate quarries some distance away and would possibly burn itself out there where there was nothing inflammable to fuel it.

  All of which left John Mayo and those he hunted in the smoke-filled small wood. His eyes watered, it was almost impossible to see in the smoky darkness which even the moonlight struggled to penetrate. He made an effort not to cough and reveal his presence. Strangely it was bitterly cold, a sure sign that occult forces had also infiltrated this haven of sheer evil.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mayo crouched low, his back against a twisted oak tree. .38 in one hand, he clutched a handkerchief in the other, tried to stifle his coughing. He wiped his streaking eyes. Damn it, if only he could see further than a few yards through the drifting smoke.

  The distant crackling of the flames was constant, interspersed with loud 'whoo
shes' as the blaze moved on to more undergrowth.

  Then came another sound, much nearer and heavier. Something or somebody was heading his way no more than twenty yards from him. He raised his handgun, steadied it on his other arm. Another wipe of his eyes, a cough which he was unable to stifle. Man or beast?

  A brief gap in the swirling smoke allowed a shaft of moonlight to penetrate overhead branches, revealing a huge, dark, hairy shape almost invisible against its dark background.

  Shit, it was that wild boar again!

  John Mayo's finger rested on the trigger. If the animal advanced further, then a close-range shot was all that could save him. It would also alert Zinovsky and his colleague to his presence. A confrontation in these conditions was a tossup on who would live and who would die.

  The wild boar halted, pawed the ground. Its deep-sunk eyes were regarding him, doubtless recalling its most recent kill. It had already fed greedily; its stomach was full. Hunger would not determine its next move.

  Still watching him, his scent reminding it of its last narrow escape, that bullet screaming within inches of its body. Death was but a few yards away.

  Suddenly the beast turned with amazing rapidity for its bulk. Hooves kicked up the soft woodland soil and within seconds it had vanished into the smoky blackness.

  Mayo listened with no small amount of relief to its flight until it was heard no longer. It had tracked him, found him, and then realised that he was as capable of inflicting death on itself.

  Right now he had nothing to fear from it, his only threat came from the pair whom he was attempting to track.

  An eerie silence followed, just the crackling of the distant raging inferno. Damn it, he could not stand these stifling conditions much longer. He considered returning to the hillside beyond the cottage, maybe seeking refuge down by the winding river below. The thought of immersing his overheated body in fast flowing cold water was tempting.