It was 11:12 am. Twelve hours before the eclipse. Someone, or something, had gotten impatient.
I almost tripped over one of the techs who was driving for Fred in the door. The kid had frozen up, looking at the sky. I admit I wanted to freeze up when I saw what he was looking at—a column of the absence of color rising into the sky. I grabbed the keys out of the tech’s hand and ran for the Tahoes.
“Mount up!” I shouted, unlocking the beast and sliding behind the wheel.
It had been a while since I’d driven anyone other than Diindiisi. I was grinning at the thought.
Flipping my radio to the team frequency, I watched the rest of the team mount up.
“I’ve got lead,” I said. “Break, break, Dispatch, this is Malone, we’re rolling to site.”
“Roger,” Dispatch replied.
I heard a clunk as someone mounted a machine gun on the roof of the Tahoe. We were breaking a few laws, but so were the other guys. We might need the firepower before we got on site, as well.
“Malone, Dispatch,” Dispatch called as we thundered out the gate, lights and sirens going. “Be advised, APD reports there are undead on the scene.”
“Roger. Type?” I asked.
“Zombies and unknown,” Dispatch replied.
“Roger.”
It was a short drive from where we were to the scene. The problem was, as always in Austin, traffic. Not that I blame people fleeing from a giant column of sepulchral black for taking up both sides of a six-lane street. I bulled through traffic, pulling to a stop in an apartment complex parking lot.
The irregular-shaped column rose into the sky, mocking us as we dismounted.
“Load heavy,” I said, grabbing extra ammo pouches. “Hiebert, Johnson, move all the spare ammo to your vehicles and follow. Singh, Dalma, Ozzie, Alfie, y’all are on vehicle detail.”
“You got a plan?” Fred asked.
“If it ain’t human, kill it,” I replied.
“Works for me,” he said.
There was a lot of ‘not human’ coming out of the column. Zombies are easy—you shoot ’em low and move. Don’t get caught in a pileup, or they’ll eat ya. The weird forms confused me for a bit—I was expecting a lot more Akkadian beasts, not something that fluttered on moth’s wings. Hells bells, this isn’t Point Pleasant, West Virginia, so no thank you, we don’t want a Mothman here. A long burst from a machine gun, and he was down for the count. Move on, ever closer to the column of night. Over the sounds of our weapons, I could occasionally hear short bursts of fire from all sides—some of it had to be Austin PD standing to, but I could hear enough shotguns and pistols that I knew there were average citizens in the mix as well, just like back in 1966, when Whitman took over the UT Tower.
“Dispatch, Malone,” I said when we reached the fence separating what had been Quarry Lake from the city proper.
The column followed the shoreline perfectly.
“Go for Dispatch.”
“ETA on backup?”
“Brute Squad and other elements are en route, eta thirty minutes,” Dispatch replied. “Jody states hold your position.”
“Negative,” I said, sighing. “We’ve beaten the first wave back. If we wait that long, we’ll be asshole deep in undead again.”
I took a bag of magazines and started replacing the empties from my pouches.
“Patching through Jody,” Dispatch said.
“Malone, this is Jody,” Jed shouted over the roar of the engines on one of the Black Hawks. “Do not enter the zone until we get there.”
“Malone to Jody. Negative. Say again, negative. We’ve got to close this before anything else comes through,” I replied.
Everyone else was ready—we had all the firepower, and the dwarves were shouldering truly massive packs of ammo and supplies. I could put this off, but as I’d told Jed, the longer we waited, the better the chance something would come out of there that we couldn’t handle.
“Damnit, Jesse, wait a minute…” Jed said in my earpiece as I stepped into the column. There was a moment of freefall, and then…
* * * * *
Epilogue
Fred led what was left of Malone element and his dwarves into the lakebed to look for any clues to what had happened to Jesse. I was watching them when the Black Hawks came thundering up and hovered. Ropes fell to the ground, and Jed’s Brute Squad fast-roped down near the Tahoes. I had put my fire team on overwatch while Fred was on a fool’s errand.
“Diindiisi? Where’s Jesse?” Jed asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied, looking at what had been a lake. “He started into the column, and it disappeared.”
“I told him to wait,” Jed said as a second set of Black Hawks repeated the dance.
“You wouldn’t have waited,” I replied. “He couldn’t wait either, you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” Jed replied as Fred led three figures in wetsuits out of the lakebed.
“These three idiots,” Fred said, pointing, “survived the casting. They claim to be human, not therianthropes. We shot the werewolves.”
“Why?” Hovis asked.
“Resisting,” Fred replied with a feral look. “Besides, if they were with this lot, their heads would probably have exploded anyway.”
“We don’t do things that way,” Jed started.
“The hell you don’t,” Fred replied. “I’ve read your reports. The werewolves tried to shift in sixty pounds of harness and tank they couldn’t get rid of. We shot them. Case closed.”
“Why did you do this?” I asked one of the three survivors.
“We were promised wealth and power upon the return of our Lord,” he said. “This was what was required of us.”
Fred gut-punched him, knocking him to the ground.
“He isn’t dead,” one of the two remaining survivors said. “His corpse was of no use to our Lord, or the Lord of Chaos. He is needed to remake the world.”
“Knowing Jesse, things aren’t going to work the way your Lord thinks they will,” I said, as members of Stewart’s team moved in and handcuffed the three in wetsuits.
“Diindiisi? You ok?” Jed asked.
“No,” I said coldly. “But I will be.”
# # # # #
About the Author
Born and raised in Texas, Lloyd A. Behm, II, has done a bit of everything—five years as a civilian contractor in Iraq, volunteer fireman, warehouseman, mortician’s assistant, newspaper opinion columnist, tech support, logistics coordinator, poet, and he has even driven a bus both stateside and abroad. A two-time graduate of Southwest Texas State University, much to the chagrin of both the Anthropology and History Departments, he now spend his days writing, painting miniatures, and watching his two cats perform kitty parkour.
Keep up to date with the latest from Lloyd and join the mailing list at:
https://dragonsskulltavern.wordpress.com/
* * * * *
The following is an
Excerpt from Book One of The Devil’s Gunman:
The Devil’s Gunman
___________________
Philip S. Bolger
Now Available from Blood Moon Press
eBook and Paperback
Excerpt from “The Devil’s Gunman:”
I eased the door open and braced for gunfire or a fireball.
I got neither. I swept the entryway with my rifle’s sights. Nothing more offensive than some high school photos glared back at me, and I didn’t hear anything running down the hallway or readying a weapon. There were no shouts from police or federal agents, either.
What I did hear, from the living room, was incessant chatter underscored by the occasional interjection of a laugh track. The chatter was accompanied by the soft peripheral glow of my television. Whoever had broken into my house was watching a sitcom.
“I’m unarmed,” a man’s voice rang out. “So put down the rifle, and let’s have a talk.”
“The fuck we will,” I shouted back. “You broke into my home!”
I moved down the hallway, keeping my rifle on the opening to the living room.
“That’s part of what we have to talk about,” the voice said. I peered around the corner and saw a young Caucasian man. His pale features and dyed blue hair did little to mask the malicious smirk on his face. He was dressed in an oxford shirt and slacks with a skinny tie, as though he couldn’t figure out if he wanted to look like he’d just joined a band or an investment firm. He wore a silver tie clip with a red blood drop on it.
I stood there with my rifle sights on his head.
“I’m here as a messenger,” he said and flashed his teeth. I saw pointed incisors. That was enough for me. “This is peaceful, Nicholas. No need to be violent.”
I lowered the rifle. I didn’t like the prick’s condescending tone; he sounded like he enjoyed the sound of his own voice. Those types were always eager to give up information.
“Okay, let’s talk. Who’s the message from?” I asked.
“I hold the honored post of Emissary of the Lyndale Coven,” he said politely, examining his nails. “We’ve taken a professional interest in you, and Coven leadership sent me.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked. “What for?”
“To dictate the terms of your surrender,” he said, locking eyes with me. His hands twitched, then curled slightly. I imagined him leaping off the couch and knocking me down. I fought the urge to bring the rifle to bear, keeping it at the low ready.
“Thought your kind needed an invite,” I said.
The man snarled.
“We both know who built this house. I have a standing invite. The coven master says that the Duke no longer wants you, so you’re fair game. Our agreement, which I have right here, has the details.”
He pulled a no-shit scroll out of his suit jacket and put it down on my coffee table. I glanced at it. The Lyndale Coven seemed to be under the impression that I belonged to them. I read the word “slave” once, and that was enough for me to decide I wasn’t interested.
“No dice,” I said.
“These terms are much more charitable than those the Coven Master wanted,” he said, warning in his voice. “Oath breakers aren’t normally given this kind of clemency.”
I didn’t have much idea what he meant about oath breakers, but I wasn’t going to play ball with this pompous fuck.
“Not charitable enough,” I said. “Why do you guys want me? Running out of blood from young clubgoers and runaways?”
The young vampire smiled again, flashing his teeth with what I’m sure he thought was menace.
“It’ll certainly improve our coven’s standings with the Duke if we prove we can clean up his loose ends. I’m sure you’ll make an excellent blood thrall. We’ll be taking a pint of blood every month, as—”
I raised the rifle and sighted in on his head. He sighed, and rolled his eyes.
“Look, you primitive ape, guns won’t—”
I fired three times, the rounds earth-shatteringly loud in such a tight place. He screamed in pain and terror as the holy rifle’s bullets tore through him, the wounds leaving bright blue caverns of light.
His screaming echoed in my head, so I kept shooting. I fired the rest of the magazine until there was nothing left but a corpse, riddled with holes and glowing softly, and me, standing there in my gunpowder-fueled catharsis.
I dropped the mag and slapped in a fresh one, savoring the sound of the bolt sliding forward and knowing that if the emissary had any friends, they too, would be introduced to the kinetic light of St. Joseph.
“Anyone else here? I got more.”
* * * * *
Get “The Devil’s Gunman” now at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07N1QF4MD.
Find out more about Philip S. Bolger and “The Devil’s Gunman” at:
https://chriskennedypublishing.com/philip-s-bolger/.
* * * * *
The following is an
Excerpt from Book One of The Fallen World:
This Fallen World
___________________
Christopher Woods
Available Now from Blood Moon Press
eBook, Paperback, and Audio
Excerpt from “This Fallen World:”
He placed a coin in front of me. I looked at it in surprise. It was a solid gold coin from the Old World. Probably worth ten thousand scripts now.
“This is a down payment,” Hale said. “You find her, you get another. Return her to me unharmed, you get three.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you, Agent,” he said softly.
I nodded.
He passed me a folder, and I opened it to see a picture of a pretty young red-haired woman. She appeared to be late teens or early twenties and that could be bad. This fallen world is hard on young beautiful people.
Warlords could swoop in with their troops and steal people at will. They were Warlords because the held the weapons or tech that gave them control over those around them.
There had been incidents for years. I had a great disdain for the term, Warlord. They were the ones who had found some advantage and abused it, for the most part.
There were a few good men, such as Wilderman, who held the reigns of fourteen city blocks. He provided protection to those who lived in his domain. He taxed his people but he also provided true protection.
Miles to the East, there was Joanna Kathrop. She held sixteen blocks and ruled with an iron fist. She had found a cache of weapons and provisions in her area several decades back. Her cadre of loyal soldiers backed her and she established her rule of that area.
There were others, both good and bad. The majority of them were bad. They ran single and double blocks. The Warlord that controlled the area where the Strike Zone was located wasn’t the worst, but he was far from the best.
I turned the page and found the sector that Hale and his daughter had lived.
“You were under Yamato?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, “he took down the Bishop a decade ago.”
“Yamato’s always been fair,” I said. “Did you take this to him?”
“He couldn’t help me,” he said. “She was traveling across the city.”
“What the hell was she doin’ travelin’?” I asked. “Was she in a caravan?”
The Caravans were the only semi-safe way to travel the city. You paid for your ticket, and the Caravans paid their tax to run through the Zones.
“She was going to the new College, set up by Kathrop, in a small Caravan run by a man named Drekk. He claims she never showed up for the last leg of the trip.”
“Drekk,” I spat the word out. “I’ve heard of Drekk. If you want to travel anywhere, you have to use the Accredited Caravans. You can’t use people like Drekk.”
His face fell. “We didn’t know about this until it was too late. We aren’t rich people, Mister Kade.”
I looked down at the coin still in my hand, and looked back to him with one eyebrow raised.
“The life savings of both my family and the family of Seran Yoto, her fiancée.”
“Poor would not be what I would call this, Hale,” I said. “There are people right in this room who won’t see this much wealth in ten lifetimes. You dwell inside the Scraper. You have running water and electricity. Don’t ever try to pass yourself off as the poor. It’s insulting.”
He nodded.
“Who set up the Caravan?”
“I set it up through a man in the Scraper. His name is Denton. He owns a supply store on the bottom floor.”
“Ok,” I said. “That’s where I’ll need to start. I’ll be there first thing in the morning.”
“But the Caravans don’t run at night.”
“Some people, it’s safer to leave alone, Hale. When you get back to the Scraper, tomorrow, I’ll have some answers for you.”
“How will you cross three zones tonight?”
“I’ll walk, Hale,” I said. “Corporate Agents can take care of themselves.”
“You haven�
��t been an Agent for twenty years.”
“You’re right, there.” I said, “I’m something else, now. I’ll see you tomorrow night at your Scraper.”
I stood and walked away from the booth. Jared was beside the bar, talking to several suits.
“Yo, Jared,” I said. “I’m on a job for a few days. Ya can fill the table if ya need to.”
“Be careful, Matt,” he said. “Last time Jenny took a week to get you patched up.”
“I’ll try, buddy.”
I had a feeling about this one. Things looked bad for Maddy Hale. Drekk wasn’t known to be trustworthy.
Life can be dangerous in this Fallen World.
* * * * *
Get “This Fallen World” now at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KHLG54J.
Find out more about Christopher Woods and “This Fallen World” at:
https://chriskennedypublishing.com/imprints-authors/christopher-woods/.
* * * * *
The following is an
Excerpt from Book One of The Darkness War:
Psi-Mechs, Inc.
___________________
Eric S. Brown
Available Now from Blood Moon Press
eBook and Paperback
Excerpt from “Psi-Mechs, Inc.:”
Ringer reached the bottom of the stairs and came straight at him. “Mr. Dubin?” Ringer asked.
Frank rose to his feet, offering his hand. “Ah, Detective Ringer, I must say it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Blood Moon Eclipse (The Shadow Lands Book 2) Page 24
