The Storm of Garmr

by Bo Luellen

  She remembered her conversation with Richard about Hyde’s transformation into a Nephilim and decided to try to throw the agent off, “Yeah, it sounds more like some Bram Stoker vampire fairy tale story than it does some angel. Were there any Brotherhood survivors that you could question?”

  The pheromones were working in his system, causing him to break out into a sweat, “The surviving nurse said three cultists rappelled out the hole, carrying one that was burned and wounded. We have combed every surrounding street camera, but they disappeared. We think there might be a third player in the game. They might have taken Jekyll, or maybe the cult got him out another entrance.”

  Shoshannah gave a sympathetic look, “Oh, my. It sounds like quite the job on your hands. If anyone can wrangle those pesky cultists, it’s my cowboy.”

  He smiled like a schoolboy, “I don’t know about that, but I’m tryin’. I almost forgot! Control told me to make you an offer in exchange for helping us with a consultation before you left Oklahoma.”

  Shoshannah winced, “Did he now? Just what was he going to use to persuade me?”

  John pulled out his phone, “Adam Frankenstein was spotted in New York on November 7th. Control is offering to use AEGIS resources to help track him down before he finds you. That and your usual thirty thousand dollar compensation.”

  She mulled it over. That’s nothing compared to the five million Richard Enfield just paid me. Still, I could use the help tracking down that psycho before he finds the Clervals. If I refuse, it will make Control suspicious. Fuck! I just want out of this state! All my oversensitive nose can smell is cow shit!

  Shoshannah gave him a wink, “I think Control knows how much I adore you and that I can’t seem to say no. It’s not fair.”

  John’s intoxicated smile beamed, “You don’t know how happy that makes me.”

  She leaned back away from his embrace, “Tell me what I can do to help.”

  The Texan looked dejected, “Last night an Oklahoma State Trooper pulled over an eighteen-wheeler when it blew past a weigh station on the Indian Nation Turnpike. The dash-cam from the Trooper’s car caught the stop. Here, let me show you.”

  John pulled a tablet from his briefcase, set it up, facing her, then hit play. The video showed a tall trooper walking up alongside the semi, as cars passed on the highway. As the officer got out and walked up to speak to the driver, the red and blue lights of the cruiser flashed against the silver double doors of the trailer. A few seconds later, the trooper followed the trucker to the back of the trailer and watched him open it. As the doors swung free, the muzzle flash of several automatic weapons sizzled in the air, riddling the lawman with holes. The driver quickly shut the doors, locked them, leaned down, spoke something into the dead man’s radio, dragged the body into the ditch, turned the cruiser’s lights off, and then drove the semi away.

  John hit a few buttons on the tablet, “The driver seemed to know a thing or two about police procedures, but didn’t seem to care about being recorded on the dash camera. He radioed in a 10-7, indicating that the trooper was going on a break. The man’s body wasn’t discovered for several hours. We did manage to enhance the video, and we found something interesting.”

  A single isolated picture popped up on the screen. The flash of the automatic weapons illuminated the contents of the trailer. The shooter had on black tactical gear, and a Crimson Brotherhood symbol was in red on his arm. Shoshannah’s equipment from the secret laboratory in the Great Swamp lined the walls. It was bound together on several pallets with heavy straps. Her stomach tightened, and she used all her control not to smash the restaurant’s table in half. In the back, she saw a man tied up and sitting against her gas-powered generators. The person had on scrubs that bore the logo of the Queens General Center Hospital. She had been present at every birth that the Clervals had for two hundred years. She watched them grow up, marry, have their own kids, and die. Despite the blurry image, she knew her family.

  She gripped the edge of the table as John continued, “You know this kind of equipment looks an awful lot like what you use, and that fella has a striking resemblance to your friend, Jagger Clerval.”

  She felt like exploding, “It does look like my equipment, but it would be useless to them. As you know, my method might be duplicated, but without my blood, it is worthless.”

  He wiped his wet forehead, “You know that is exactly what I told Control. I said, “Those machines would be as worthless as a sidesaddle on a sow without Shoshannah’s blood.” That is unless Doctor Frankenstein has risen from the grave and given the Crimson Brotherhood his original formula.”

  She lingered on his last words, “Doubtful, especially since he was cremated by Captain Walton and his crew.”

  John reached out a hand across the table, “I’ll call Control and let him know you are willing to work with us in a joint effort. I’ll check to see if we have any leads on Adam while I’m at it. Don’t you worry none. We’ll get Jagger back for you.”

  She forced a smile, “My knight.”

  He winked at her, pulled out his phone, and walked outside. As the potbellied waiter came with their food, she snapped a one-foot piece of the hardwood table off with her right hand. The young man stopped in his tracks and slowly started walking backward.

  She chunked the broken piece across the table, knocking over John’s coffee. I’m a fool! Richard didn’t just want a new golem, he was after the secret to re-animation. Jagger could be threatened into walking them through the process if they had leverage over him, like if they had his family. Still, without my blood...

  John appeared in a hurry and announced, “Good news, darlin’! The Montana base just got a hit in Sperry, Oklahoma. My car’s parked right outside.”

  She slid out of the booth and stood up close enough for another dose of her pheromones, “That’s nice, but we’re taking my car.”

  Tulsa, Oklahoma – Wednesday, November 14th, 2018 – 12:01 p.m. CST

  Her 500 horsepower engine pushed the redline as she weaved through the lunch hour traffic. The stress caused the pheromones’ effect to diminish, and John was holding onto his four-point harness like a terrified child on a roller coaster ride. People honked as she passed within inches of sideswiping them and continually had to hit the breaks to avoid plowing into the back of cars.

  John’s hat disappeared into the backseat as she found another pocket and accelerated, “Look, I’m not trying to tell you how to drive, but this ain’t healthy for anyone. You’re gonna kill somebody, namely me!”

  She smacked the pale-skinned Texan in the arm to get his attention, “Exactly how did you get this Sperry lead?”

  Hamilton’s head jerked sharply to one side from a fast lane change. “A gas station attendant took a selfie. The photo caught the license tag of the truck used to transport Jagger and your equipment. He posted it to Facebook. Our Agency database has algorithms that are set up to filter social media, so we caught it. Jesus Christ! Slow down!”

  She gripped the steering wheel with a seething anger at the abduction of Jagger. “Not while they have Jagger, and if you throw up in my car, you’re walking. IGOR, map it out and activate the boosters.”

  A pair of exhaust ports mechanically extended on each end of the hood, causing John to squirm. “Now wait just a Goddamn minute!”

  An Australian voice announced, “I advise discarding the passenger. His weight will cause a drag on our acceleration. Shall I activate the passenger side ejection seat? There is still a 12% chance of survival at this speed.”

  The Texan looked around to find the source of the speaker, “You shall do no such thing!”

  The windows to the car tinted to a dark black, and a heads up display map appeared on the front windshield, “Relax, he’s kidding, mostly.”

  John hung onto the harness with all his might and screamed over the engine, roar, “Oh, Jesus, help me!”

  A real-time satellite display showed all the moving cars on the road ahead of her. A projected three-dimensiona
l red line formed on the highway in front of them, giving an optimal route. John jumped, as the blinking red “10” appeared over his passenger side window, with the words, “Nitrous Oxide Injection Countdown,” just above it.

  Her speedometer hit 165 mph, as the Australian voice bellowed, “10…9…8”

  John screamed out, “Shoshannah, what the fuck is this thing?”

  The countdown continued, “7…6…5”

  She drove down the centerline between two semi-trucks, as they blared on their horns, “Don’t piss either!”

  The numbers ticked off, “4…3…2”

  He drove his boots to the floor, “Oh, my God!”

  The AI finished, “…1…ignition.”

  Everything around her seemed to slow down as her mutative adrenaline kicked in, causing her reflexes to triple. IGOR kept inputting new data on her screen, causing her to make quick reactive corrections. After a few minutes of hair-raising speeds over 235 miles per hour, they finally came to their first turn into Sperry.

  She looked over at the Agent, who’s eyes were scanning the high tech dashboard of the Charger, I’ve got to be careful what I show John, but Jagger is in trouble. If they knew I was hiding Dr. Zorka, all bets would be off.

  A few moments later, they were pulling into the parking lot of Sally’s Country Store. She got out and looked around, while John staggered out of the passenger seat and threw up his lunch onto the white chat gravel. She walked upwind and looked over the few cars that were parked at the gas station. As the Texan found his feet and leaned on Whim to catch his breath, she noticed that there were a few pickup trucks that assaulted her enhanced nose with pungent horse manure.

  She held her nose and squeaked out, “How long ago was the photo caught by your analysts?”

  John leaned back, took a deep breath, then replied, “Well, data tag showed the picture was uploaded early this morning at around 8:00 a.m., but that doesn’t tell us when it was taken. Hell, the attendant that took it is probably still on duty.”

  Shoshannah marched towards the front door, “Well, let’s ask him.”

  The pair burst into the old corner store, and a small band of elderly farmers and ranchers looked up from the collection of wooden booths. The grey-haired truck driver in his seventies gave her a wink and twirled a toothpick in his mouth. She turned up a lip at the waft of Copenhagen and whiskey coming from his breath.

  She looked over at the kid behind the counter and asked, “Is that him?”

  John wiped his perspiring face with a blue handkerchief, “Yep. One Aydan Maynard. Montana says he is a high school dropout and been workin’ here since he was fifteen.

  She looked back at the collection of retirees who were ogling her backside, “His ambitions knows no bounds.”

  Aydan was in his late teens with so much acne it made his face look like raw hamburger. He had his face stuck in an Amazing Spiderman comic book and gripped a half-empty bottle of Code Red Mountain Dew. He was almost too skinny and had a mop of brown hair covering his face.

  She sauntered over to the desk and leaned on it enough to cause her breasts to press outward. Shoshannah waited, but the kid didn’t seem to notice her. Looking at John with frustration, she hooked her index finger over the top of the magazine and pulled it down.

  He started to protest, and then saw her cleavage, “Uhhh… Welcome to Sally’s.”

  She held his gaze and let her pheromones do their thing, as John held his AEGIS badge, “Howdy, Son. I’m Agent Hamilton, and this is… Agent … Smith.” She winced at the horrible name he had given her, “I was wonderin’ if you could tell me what time you took this picture.”

  The young man’s eye’s stayed on Shoshannah, “Huh?”

  John waved his hand in front of Aydan’s face breaking the trance, “Welcome back to earth. Didn’t you know it’s rude to stare?” Before he could muster an answer, John held up the photo, “Now, we were wondering if you could tell me when you took this picture?”

  The kid looked at the photo and replied, “Last Thursday around noon. Why? Hey, how did you get that?”

  John pocketed the phone, “Can you tell me which way that truck went?”

  Aydan shrugged, “They sat in the east end of the parking lot for the better part of twenty minutes. The driver came in and got something to drink. He said they were waiting for someone. We have truckers stop and sleep all the time, so I said it was okay. I went to take a piss, and when I came back, they were gone.”

  Shoshannah captured his attention again, “That’s remarkable for you to remember something like that in such detail. You impress me so much.”

  She ran her hand down his cheek, as his eyes glazed over, “W-well, uh… I uh… I remembered because the guy had a tattoo on his arm. It looked a lot like that Crimson Brotherhood symbol. I didn’t want to call the cops because I was afraid the cult would get me.”

  Holding his face with her hand, she pulled him close, “Now, why would anyone want to hurt a hair on that lovely head? If you tell me where they went, I promise to keep it a secret. Just between the two of us.”

  Aydan’s eyes dilated from the high level of pheromones he was inhaling, “They left without me seeing them. Honest.”

  She let go of his face, as John sighed, “At least we know it’s the Brotherhood.”

  She turned around to the table full of grey-haired spectators, “We knew that already. That kid has his head in his phone or daydreaming about some fantasy world. No, what we need is someone who can’t help but put their nose in other people’s business.”

  Shoshannah made eye contact with the tobacco-chewing admirer and left John at the counter. Boldly striding in between a cacophony of catcalls and whistles, she marched up to the overweight trucker. He turned around in the booth and gave her another one of his winks.

  She tilted her hips to one side and gave a playful look, “Don’t I recognize you? You look really familiar.”

  The old man snorted and replied, “Honey, if we had met before, you’d never forget it.”

  The crowd of grey-haired retirees snickered, as she leaned down and rubbed the back of her hand against his wrinkled cheekbone. She let her shirt dangle down and gave the redneck an eyeful of her braless body. His mouth went slack, and her unique essence went to work.

  She pulled his face up and forced his eyes away from her bosom, “Hi, there. Now, let’s see. I might remember you from last Thursday at around noon. Were you here?”

  The chemically hexed trucker nodded yes, and she smiled. “Oh, that is delicious news. Maybe you saw my truck of a friend that was here to meet me. It was an eighteen-wheeler. The driver came in to get something to drink and asked Aydan if they could park for a while.”

  The man’s eyes were utterly glazed. “Y-yes, I recall.”

  She drew her finger around his face, “Of course you do. You’re so observant and strong. You’re a hawk. Did you see my friend drive off?”

  He nodded lethargically. “Yeah, a black SUV showed up, and the two drivers talked. Then they both headed off west on Lake Road towards Skiatook Lake.”

  She left the old man in a haze, barged out of the pack of onlookers, and told John. “Who said chivalry was dead. Get in the car.”

  The Texan looked perplexed at the dumbfounded elderly men, “Yes, ma’am.”

  Within a few moments, they were back on the road, but going significantly slower. As they passed by open pasture and cattle land, the air filled her nose with a mixture of horrid odors. She refused to put perfume under her nose in fear she might miss something critical.

  Her mouth watered, as she felt the urge to vomit come over her, What I do for family.

  After a few miles, a green dot appeared on the passenger side windshield and startled John, “What in the devil?”

  Shoshannah knew IGOR was onto something and drove closer to where the indicator blinked. As they approached, the green dot tracked around the windshield until it was on John’s passenger side. He whistled, and rolled down his window. Just
beyond the ditch was a newly installed metal fence that was the only entrance to a sixty-acre pasture land that was filled with over thirty head of cattle. Stretching along the cold grass and cow pies were the deep set of tracks from an 18 wheeler. The tire marks led from the gate and disappeared into a thick tree line.

  John gave a broad grin, “Well, looky there!”

  Shoshannah checked her rearview mirror to make sure no one else was on the road, “How does a tractor-trailer drive straight into thick woods and vanish?”

  He took out his phone and replied, “Drive up a ways and find a place to camp out. I’m calling in Clay.”

  Sperry, Oklahoma – Wednesday, November 14th, 2018 – 6:00 p.m. CST

  Shoshannah Feinstein’s eyes were changing along with the setting sun to illuminate the dark woods in front of them. Clay Wapashaw had been leading her and John for the last 15 minutes through the dense Oklahoma brush. Hamilton swung his suppressed MP5/10 submachine gun from left to right, as he scanned the surrounding foliage with a pair of thermal night vision goggles. In stark contrast to the highly equipped agents, she only wore a pair of cargo pants and a grey shirt.

  The Dakota Sioux stopped them just outside the fence line to the property where the truck tire tracks had been spotted. Clay slung his Remington 700 sniper rifle onto his back and pulled out a pair of wire cutters from his leg pocket. The Native American carefully examined each wire for booby traps before snipping.

  As he worked, John pulled out a Colt 1911 and held it out to Shoshannah, “Take this. You might not need it, but it could come in handy in a pinch.”

  She pushed the gun back at him, “I hate guns. I’ve seen what kind of things are done to people at the point of a firearm. I’ve never used one, and I never will.” Shoshannah changed to a southern accent, “If y’all get into trouble, just fire that in the air, and I’ll come ah runnin’.”

  He holstered the weapon and replied, “Fine. Have it your way.”

  Clay’s graying braided hair swung in the air as he ducked through the opening he made in the barbwire fence. Shoshannah and John followed him, and the group moved silently across the pasture towards the point where the truck disappeared into the trees. As they inched along, she heard the sound of several canines howling in chorus just inside the woods. Clay held up a fist, and the trio stopped and squatted motionless in the cold pasture. The mournful howling continued, as the sounds seemed to spread out. The cool Oklahoma breeze tossed her long, curly black hair in chaotic directions as the last of the sun disappeared behind the horizon.