The Storm of Garmr

by Bo Luellen

  Amanda looked up at a TV that was playing in the bar and tuned out the discussion at the table. The BBC news channel was silent, but the ticker banner at the bottom read, “Experts Say the Cthulhu Cult May Be Larger Than Initially Suspected. Oklahoma Governor Katherine Hill Challenged by Write-In Candidate Greyson Dunn.”

  She interrupted the conversation as she stared at the TV, “I’ve listened to the public call me a hero and a villain. Some say it was my ego that killed my husband. That I didn’t wait for the cops at the Preserve because I was too hungry for fame. My mother-in-law says I don’t deserve my kids because I put them in harm’s way. Maybe they’re right, and I might be just another monster like the Crimson Brotherhood.” Josh grabbed her hand and went to interject, but Amanda continued, “My faith has been challenged, and I’m desperately seeking a false god for answers. I’ve crossed an ocean in the hopes of speaking to a pagan deity, so I guess I’m not done being a hypocrite. If being a monster is what it’s going to take to kill a monster and get my kids back, I’m willing. So, Ian, what’s the first step on this quest?”

  Ian gave a nod of respect, “Weel said, lassie. Ah think hiking tae th’ Cullerlie Stanes wid be a guid wey tae connect ye tae th’ hielands. It wull shaw Cernunnos respect ‘n’ micht prepare ye fur annur vision.”

  She looked him in the eye and replied, “I’m ready.”

  The Scot bellowed, “Then we quest! a’m wi’ ye Amanda Lanyon!”

  Quinlynn threw his hands up, “She’s Ann Darrow, you lump! Do I need to make name tags?”

  Josh ignored the agent and nodded, “I agree with Ian. I think hiking is a good way of showing respect to the old ways. Besides, we need to get off the grid in case the Brotherhood tracks us down. An eight-day round-trip trek to the Stones would do the trick.”

  Quinlynn poured some scotch into his coffee and corrected, “No one is going to find us, and stop using “off the grid.” Do you even know what it takes to get someone “off the grid?”

  Josh looked weathered by his attitude, “The majority of my fortune and talents are in telecommunications. I had my people mask our cell phones and give us new phone numbers. I’m using a sat phone that is being monitored and scrambled by my IT department. My staff has issued all my travel arrangements from a dummy account.”

  Quinlynn ignored his spiked coffee, and swallowed from his flask of whiskey, “Nerd.”

  Stirling Castle, Scotland – Wednesday, November 7th, 2018 – 12:01 p.m. CST

  The sun was shining, but that did little to cut away the cold. Above them was Stirling Castle, sitting atop Castle Hill. Amanda’s small group of would-be questers sat at the bottom of the steep cliffs under the magnificent fortification. The grey stones of the castle looked down on her and gave a sense of meaning.

  Josh stood beside her and said, “These walls have been a guardian for Scotland and protected the farthest downstream crossing of the River Forth. It was one of the most important structures in Scotland’s history. It seems only right to begin here.”

  They sat in a field on the west side between the castle and Raploch Road and waited. Amanda watched the traffic buzz by as she sat on the new backpack she had purchased for the trip. Quinlynn had insisted on them leaving their cell phones at the hotel and walk to the castle to avoid any cab records.

  Quinlynn Roger leaned on a cane impatiently as he immersed himself in his disguise. The agent had on a grey suit, a false white beard, a bonnet, and a leather backpack. He flipped an umbrella upon his shoulder and patted his padded belly that made him look three stones heavier. She had to admit it was a good disguise, but it seemed to remind her a little too much of Henry Jones from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.

  Josh stood up and pointed towards the road, “There they are.”

  Walking across the green field were their two remaining party members. Ian was moving like a man half his age and size, and beaming a grin despite the cold. The Scot jammed a walking stick into the ground with each thunderous step. His bald head was covered by a Scottish cap, and his bright red beard matched his kilt.

  His companion was a slight man in his fifties who glided along the freezing grass with quick steps. He sported a full brown beard and black-rimmed glasses. Amanda had a hard time understanding the thick Scottish accent, but the two seemed to gibber away as they approached.

  The pair gasped for air when they arrived, and Josh gave the stranger a hug, “Peyton Greum, as I live and breathe! How the hell are you?”

  The scruffy-looking Scot replied, “A’ve bin guid, Josh. Tis bin mony years.”

  Josh turned to Amanda with his arm around Peyton, “This is Peyton Greum, a full Druid in the Line of Merlin and one of my mentors when I was coming up.”

  Ian nudged Peyton and pointed at Roger, “That’s Roger Quinlynn, th’ yankee secret agent ah tellt ye aboot back in toun.”

  Quinlynn pulled out his fake belly stuffing and threw it on the ground as he yelled: “God damnit!”

  On the B977 Road towards the Cullerlie Stone Circle, Scotland – Sunday, November 11th, 2018 – 8:41 p.m. BST

  It had been a chilly four day march along the back roads of the Scottish Highlands that Amanda hadn’t been mentally prepared for. Physically, she was in the shape of her life, but she quickly learned what being cold and wet can do to your resolve. To her surprise, Quinlynn proved to be a valued member of the team and kept them moving and well-fed.

  The company camped just outside of cities to avoid being seen and to help appease Cernunnos by observing the old ways. During the trip, Ian would occasionally pull out his bagpipes and play. To Amanda’s amazement, it actually helped her pick up her pace and made the group a little more energized. Not everyone was a fan, though. During day three, Ian was piping “The Green Hills of Tyrol” when Quinlynn pulled out his knife and threatened to stab Scot’s bagpipe bladder.

  Tonight, the group had made camp three hundred yards from the road while a storm brewed overhead. The five sat around a crackling fire that Roger built out of dried sticks and twigs that he collected along the way. She found joy in looking forward to the warmth of the flames and sharing a meal with her companions. Thankfully, Josh had packed a large canopy that they could take shelter under. As lightning flashed in the night sky, she turned her hotdog over in the flames and heard the tapping of the first few drops of rain on the overhead canvas. The sounds were soothing, and everyone seemed relaxed. Even Ian had finally made peace with Quinlynn after the pair had made their way through half a bottle of one of the Scot’s elderberry wines. It didn’t take long before the pair ran out of songs to sing, and they had retired to their respective tents.

  The bushy-bearded Peyton sat quietly, as he had been for most of the journey. She found him to be an observer and somewhat of an introvert. Of the four on the trip with her, he was the one she had spoken with the least.

  Josh had turned in early for bed after smoking a generous amount of weed. She didn’t feel like she could get high enough or drunk enough to find a way to relax. She felt a deep sense of guilt and anxiety over her children’s captivity. Nothing was going to make her rest easy until they were back with her.

  Peyton handed her a hotdog bun, “Th’morra ye git tae ask Cernunnos yer quaistion. Ian tellt me yer wee daughters hae bin kidnapped. Ye’r aff tae ask th’ Green Man whaur they’re bein’ held?”

  Amanda looked over at the furry face of the druid, grateful for the distraction, “It sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? Flying all the way to Scotland to ask some mythical pagan god for the address of a kidnapper.”

  Shaking his head, Peyton replied, “Lassie, fur someone wha is asking Cernunnos fur a favor, ye hae an odd wey o’ gaun aboot it.”

  Lanyon put her hotdog together and asked, “Let me guess, I should sacrifice a sheep, plant a tree, or dance in a circle naked? This god creature you call Cernunnos came to me while I was high on DMT and showed me a revelation. Since then, I’ve received no further enlightenment. I’d say I’ve done enough pagan rituals to get his
attention.”

  Another crash of lightning thundered overhead as the rain hit harder on the green canopy. Amanda took a bite of her hot dog and felt the numbness of the rhythmic sounds pulse in her brain. Out on the Highlands, the flashes lit up the hills and created a strobing effect all around.

  Over the downpour, the druid observed, “Mibbie if ye cam at Cernunnos wi’ respect ‘n’ humility...”

  A loud crack rang out, and Peyton’s blood splattered over her face. Amanda dropped her food and stumbled out of her chair. She felt the warmth of the hot liquid on her cheeks, as Peyton tilted back and fell to the damp ground with a heavy thud. The campfire light illuminated a single gaping hole in the side of his head, just above the temple. His eyes were open and staring at the raindrops, as water dripped into the unblinking sockets. The man’s right leg spasmed to the song of thunder in the night. In the flickering light of the tempest, she saw the silhouette of three people running towards her from the road. Amanda suddenly let out a scream.

  Quinlynn whipped open the brown tent flap and looked down at the deceased Peyton. Another sharp crack let out over the Highlands, as the canopy pole next to the agent’s greying head sparked from a ricocheting bullet. The man’s training took over and stifled the drink. He pitched forward into a roll and came up next to Amanda. He grabbed the right foot of Peyton and pulled the body across the wet ground. With a firm grip, he grabbed her neck and pulled her down behind the dead body for cover. He yelled something, but the shock she was in wouldn’t let the words in.

  She felt a sharp pain in her face as Quinlynn yelled, “Listen to me! I want you to run towards the tree line, and keep running!” The agent pulled out his Glock and fired a few rounds, “I can track you on that Fitbit! Find a place to hide and stay out of sight! I’ll hold them off and give you time! Go! Now!”

  She tried to move, but her limbs wouldn’t respond. After squeezing off a few more rounds, Roger picked her up by her jacket and pushed her out of camp towards the trees. The rain was slamming into her as she saw Quinlynn take two rounds into his back.

  He dropped to the ground and yelled at her, “Go!”

  Quinlynn rolled to his stomach and let loose with the rest of his magazine. In the night, she heard someone scream out in pain. She stumbled backward, as the campsite became alive with bullets. The tops of their tents shredded into fragmented pieces as the hills echoed with a mixture of thunder and automatic gunfire. She turned and ran blindly into the dark. Her heart pounded in her chest, as Amanda struggled to get further away from the campsite. Her pace slowed, and she found herself in the pitch black. The rain and overcast blacked out the moon and stars, leaving her alone, terrified, and blind. In seconds she was reduced to a slow walk with her hands probing out in front of her. The pops of gunshots still rang out behind her, and the faint sounds of a man screaming sent a panic attack into her chest. Amanda hyperventilated as she wailed in tears. Moving like a mummy fresh from its crypt, she shuffled forward in a petrified state. A single stroke of lightning brought a clap of thunder so loud, she thought she was shot. A stream of warm urine trickled down her leg as her mind began to collapse upon itself.

  Suddenly, the feel of something rough brushed against her fingers. Instinctively, Amanda withdrew her arm, and she held herself, too afraid to move. Another slash of lightning cut through the sky and revealed the mystery object was a tree. She hugged the large oak like a long lost friend. Another bolt revealed she had reached the forest edge, and she worked her way into the woods.

  After a few minutes, she physically gave out from the stress and grabbed hold of a Scots Pine for support. Amanda rested her head on its wet bark and tried to muster the strength to steady her mind. Her vision blurred as an explosion erupted part of a tree next to her. Green-yellow shards of wood splayed outward, and the center of the Birch was on fire from the blast. She was knocked sideways onto the wet ground, and her ears were ringing. Amanda looked around but saw only the jet blackness of the night. She looked down at the cracked and useless Fitbit that had been damaged in the fall.

  She ducked behind the trunk of the mighty oak and did her best to think clearly, Whoever is shooting at me has some kind of night vision. I’ve got to keep moving.

  Amanda crawled on her hands and knees for a few dozen yards, thankful the rain was masking her sounds. She stopped for a few seconds, listened to see if anyone was behind her, and then stood up and walked as fast as she could manage. Moving from tree to tree, and waiting for the brief illumination that the storm brought, she willed herself onward.

  Hours passed as she forced herself to stay in motion despite the chill. Her clothes were soaked completely. Amanda’s denim jeans had caused so much chafing that her inner thighs and her heels were bleeding. She had no idea where she was or how to reach a road.

  Weary and near exhaustion, she came across a downed tree that had a thick trunk. Amanda huddled under the rotting oak for some degree of shelter from the rain. She gathered up her legs in her arms and stayed there for what seemed like an eternity. Despite the pain from the cold, Amanda couldn’t help but nod off several times from sheer exhaustion. She startled awake as the bullet cracked the branch above her head. She launched out into the night while the thunder clapped in the sky, and the freezing rain danced to the tune of gunfire.

  Chapter 9: Richard VII

  Tulsa, Oklahoma – Friday, November 9th, 2018 – 7:01 p.m. CST

  Richard Enfield watched from the control booth as Brother Greyson Dunn gave his first appearance on the Eastland Worship Hour since being elected Governor of Oklahoma. It was the first time in history that Oklahoma’s Governor had been decided by a write-in vote. The numbers had been a landslide, and the polls closed at 73% for Dunn.

  The Governor-Elect stood at the dais and gave his acceptance speech, “We give praise to Jesus for this blessing to Oklahoma. Without Him, nothing would be possible. With His grace, Christians in the state stood up to both the minions of Cthulhu and the politicians who stood in our way. A new day is shining on the Christian State of Oklahoma, and God has been put in the driver’s seat. He is in control, and his flock is ready.”

  Applause and cheers came from the packed auditorium as the broadcast went out to homes and churches around the world. Brother Dunn had done the impossible and defeated both the Republican and Democratic political parties on a strictly religious platform. It had sent shockwaves all the way to Washington, as the hottest discussion topic on every news broadcast had been the implications of the upset.

  Dunn held up a hand to the sky, “Praise His name. Only one day after the election, the Tulsa Christian Crusaders were flooded with applications for membership. Eastland College has become a spiritual beacon for Christian pilgrims to visit and offer service to the Crusaders. Roses, crosses, and donations have been left on the front steps of our humble institution, with letters praising our work to secure the safety of the Sooner State. I’m overwhelmed with joy to announce to you, my dear brothers and sisters, that the National Rifle Association has declared their organization to be a Christian only membership. They have placed their trust in my leadership and voted me the President of the NRA. They have offered their services in arming and providing training to the over 100,000 Christians who have joined the Crusader ranks.”

  Thunderous applause burst out from the assembled crowd that occupied the college football stadium. “My fellow Christians, I won’t be alone in this struggle. I’ll have all of you on my side. I’ll have God on my side, and one more man that you all know. I would like you to welcome the leader of The Tulsa Christian Crusaders and your next Lieutenant Governor, Brother Richard Enfield!”

  The crowd roared in approval, as Richard triumphantly stood up from his chair and emerged from behind the stage curtains. The adoring congregation chanted his name as he gave Brother Greyson a hug and then stepped up to the podium. He adjusted his tie and gave a wink to his wife Teri, who was sober enough to blow him a kiss to him from the audience. Beside her were his two sons, Alfred an
d Chad, sitting stoically in their little suits. On the other side of his boys was Rose Cook, who was practiced in not giving away their secret relationship.

  Once the cheers died down, he announced, “The people have spoken, and they have said, ‘No more!’”

  After another round of applause swallowed up the stadium, “I’m so grateful to Brother Greyson’s belief in me and humbled by God’s mercy. He has turned me from a man of sin and fear into an instrument of purpose. It is that purpose which I will dedicate myself to. Governor Dunn and I have a great deal of planning to do before we take office on January 14th. Our goal is to initiate radical and immediate change, starting on day one. Until then, we maintain the safety of the people of Oklahoma despite the limitations imposed on us by the bureaucracy of the current Governor. People from all over the Mid-South have rallied to our side and pledged to help us. Because of that, I’m instituting a call to arms and expanding the reach of the Crusaders to include Texas, Arkansas, Missouri, and Kansas. Because of this, Eastland is renaming our protectors.”

  From behind Richard, the curtain fell away, revealing a large banner that read, “The United Christian Crusaders.”

  Cheers burst out and continued for several minutes, “For each church in those states that chooses to join the UCC, we will send supplies, equipment, money, and weapons to aid them in their efforts. For the first time, different Evangelical faiths will put aside their differences and come together as one peacekeeping initiative with one goal in mind, putting God first.”

  People were crying with spiritual joy all around at the news. “These branches will coordinate with Eastland’s headquarters, and a larger military-style ranking structure will be initiated. A UCC General will be named for each state, and he or she will be responsible for maintaining multiple points of defense against the Crimson Brotherhood. Now, it would be impossible for me to continue performing the duties of General for Oklahoma while operating as the Lieutenant Governor. So, tonight I will be announcing Oklahoma’s new General.”