Coyle and Fang: Curse of Shadows (Coyle and Fang Adventure Series Book 1)

by Robert Adauto III

  Table of Contents

  Coyle and Fang: Curse of Shadows (Coyle and Fang Adventure Series, #1)

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Epilogue

  Coyle and Fang

  Book one: Curse of Shadows

  By

  Robert Adauto III

  Edited by Amanda Bidnall

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictionally.

  The story takes place in historical San Francisco, 1892. For the purposes of the story, I have added fantasy and engineering elements which would be out of place in the real world given the time period.

  Chapter 1

  Military vault Archangel

  Clark’s Point

  San Francisco, April 1892

  “The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry,” quoted Drake as he stuffed a wad of chew into his lip.

  “What’s that?” asked Gerrick, leaning down. His eight-foot, heavily-muscled frame was built like a freight train. Most ogrek were hairless, covered in tribal tattoos, and faithful to their employers, making them easy second in commands for special missions.

  “Mail Pouch chewing tobacco,” Drake said. “It’s out of West Virginia. Want some?”

  “Not that.” Gerrick waved his hand. “What was it you said?”

  “Ah, that.” Drake folded the paper pouch and stuffed it into his pocket. “That was Robert Burns, a Scottish poet. Talking about things going wrong. It popped into my head just now, but it seems apropos.”

  Gerrick squinted at Drake.

  “It means appropriate given the situation,” Drake said while he chewed.

  “Like something might go wrong?”

  Drake nodded his head and spit a line of tobacco juice.

  “Let’s hope not. Tonight’s not the night for things going wrong,” Gerrick said.

  “Amen to that.”

  There were twenty-four mercenaries in all, each of them armed with a bowie knife, carbine rifles and the combat skills to use them with efficiency. But no amount of muscle, armor, or weapons could prevent fate from dropping in. And it always did, unannounced and uninvited. But, as with all mercenaries, when there was a risk, there was a reward—and their pay tonight was more than enough to drive a man or ogrek to the edge of the abyss.

  Their job was simple: break into a secret military storage warehouse, secure a very dangerous asset and get her out to the next objective.

  Very simple. But not easy.

  Drake was the perfect man for the job. He was one to plan very carefully and prepare for everything. He was given free rein to choose who, and how many, to take on this mission. The suggested number was ten, but he opted for twenty-four. Twice the number of the guards. He still felt as if he needed more.

  Rain gushed from the night sky and drenched the mercenaries as they hid among abandoned storehouses and studied the scene with a careful eye. Their target warehouse was just ahead, a faded blue shadow through the torrential downpour. There were two sentries posted at the wrought-iron gate, but the rest were invisible. This was typical for a high-priority, top-secret installation. If a dozen guards were plainly seen on a regular basis, everyone would know it was a high-priority, top-secret installation. Best to pretend it was merely private property owned by the United States government. No trespassing. Move along.

  Drake had received word that the veteran warehouse guards had been given a week off and replaced with fresh-faced, knock-kneed twigs, making them much easier to take down. After scouting the guard’s locations, Drake nodded. Gerrick gave the signal, and they advanced as a single unit: swift, silent and deadly.

  They met and overpowered every guard before anyone could raise an alarm. One by one, their limp bodies were tossed over the railing into the frigid waters of the San Francisco Bay with slit throats. Within moments, the mercenaries arrived at the gate and used forged keys to gain entry. The iron gates swung wide, and the men poured inside like water through a levee.

  An automaton sentry waited just outside the main entrance, shielded from the rain by a canvas tarp. It was a simple, human-shaped mechanical apparatus with one purpose: to either grant access inside, or sound an alarm that would bring half of the US Army upon them. It swiveled to life and turned its small, circular head toward the group. A line of small bulbs on its head served as eyes. Its stainless-steel body pockmarked from exposure to the sun and briny ocean air. Three thin, multi-jointed arms hovered over various switches and buttons on a lighted control panel.

  “Access key?” a mechanical male voice asked politely through a small rectangular speaker.

  “Archangel,” Drake said. He spat a line of brown chew before he wiped his face with the back of his glove. Twenty-five years of chasing Comanche through the scrub and sun had made his skin leathery and worn. His time in the desert had also worn away his patience. He sighed and glared at the machine.

  There were a series of mechanical clicks and taps before it replied, “Access granted.”

  Its thin metal hand pulled a switch, and the armed men filed through the armor-plated double doors. A string of electric lights flicked on, and Drake glanced at a similar automaton sentry on the inside. Its shiny dome was powered off. He’d been assured the indoor sentry would not be an issue. He blinked and let his eyes adjust to the new light.

  The warehouse was wide and tall and filled with endless rows of stacked wooden crates of all sizes. Most of the crates bore the symbol of the Templars painted in black. An occasional stray rat scampered through the man-made terrain, and by all appearances, it looked just like any other waterfront warehouse at Clark’s Point. But many of these warehouses were secretly owned by the government, and this particular one was especially “under the black”; so top secret most of the generals of the US had no knowledge of what lay therein.

  Gerrick tapped the black symbol on one of the crates. “A dagger with a snake wrapped around it. Interesting.”

  Drake grunted. “Templars of the Unseen Path. A bunch of righteous characters trying to keep evil away.”

  “Why are the symbols crossed out?”

  “These Templar jokers started something they couldn’t control, so the government took over.”

  “Archangel was the passcode. Is that her code name as well?” Gerrick asked. The two had worked numerous jobs together, and Drake was patient enough for Gerrick’s incessant curiosity.

  “No, that was the name of the program they were running. Project Archangel,” Drake explained. “Ever read Frankenstein by Mary Shelley?”

  “I-I don’t read,”
Gerrick said. He quickly added, “Not my thing.”

  “Well, it’s about a scientist who made a monster, and this here warehouse is full of monsters made by scientists.”

  “And you think this asset we’re picking up will help us?” Gerrick asked, wiping rainwater off his bald head.

  “Pretty sure we’re not asking,” Drake said. He studied a blueprint for a few moments. “This one is the most dangerous of the bunch, so we’ll need to be careful.”

  Drake gazed at the various paths lining the paper and shook the water off his Stetson before making a decision.

  “She’s down on the left here,” he said, and the men followed him deeper through the winding maze of crates and barrels. There was a heavy metallic snap! and they paused.

  “Front door locked?” Gerrick asked.

  “Astute,” was all Drake said, and spit his chew. He scratched at the grayed stubble on his jaw and kept walking.

  “Will we need a password to get out? Or will the first one work?” Gerrick asked. His voice was a tad higher than normal as he looked behind him.

  “We’ll be fine,” Drake said. “Let’s get to the target and get the hell out of here.”

  They finally arrived at rows of boxes, each separated by heavy wooden beams embedded with curious, glowing orange gems. Gerrick drew close and squinted.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Drake hissed.

  “What are they?”

  “Aurorium. Harmless to us but a formidable hindrance to what’s inside these boxes. Kind of like barbed wire on a cattle fence. Except this stuff keeps these creatures weak enough that they won’t cause anyone trouble,” Drake said.

  They gazed down the long corridor of iron boxes separated by glowing orange dots. Each box rose in height to their shoulders and was wide as an arm span with a padlocked hatch for access. Drake covered his nose and mouth. The odor of bodily excretions, mixed with a strange musk, flooded the air.

  Whispers and guttural voices, low growls and snuffling echoed through the cavernous space as they arrived at a cage marked Fang-0120. Gerrick and the others stared at the dark slits of the cages, expecting inhuman claws to reach out at them. The hardened mercenaries kept a wary eye out and their rifles ready.

  “Are those slits for air?” Gerrick asked, rubbing his nose.

  “No, they’re for administering pain compliance,” Drake said. With a grunt, he dropped his pack and pulled out a white metal rod with an aurorium tip. He twisted the rod and pulled it out to its full length.

  “Here, take this.” Drake handed the rod to Gerrick. “Shove it in there.”

  Gerrick glanced at Drake before jabbing the glowing end inside. A piercing shriek made him jump back. The ogrek shot toward Drake with something close to stark terror.

  “She sounds like a woman,” Gerrick said. “Not a vampire.”

  “And what are vampires supposed to sound like?” Drake squinted at Gerrick before he turned to the cage and rapped his knuckles against it.

  “You awake now? Good. Allow me an introduction. My name is Drake and I’m in charge of this little operation.” He thumbed towards the ogrek. “And this here’s Gerrick. You are ...?”

  There was a rush of panicked breathing before a weak answer came back.

  “Fang.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Fang.” He tipped his hat. “The boys and I have heard so much about you. Now, I have some questions. Have you heard of The Curse of Shadows?”

  “Yes,” Fang whispered in pain.

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.” Her British accent was clipped yet somehow attractive given the situation. Gerrick squinted through the narrow opening but there was nothing to see but inky darkness.

  “Well, a couple of guys stole it. Maybe you know their names. Trevin and Moreci?”

  “I know them,” she hissed.

  “I was tasked with finding this book, and I think you might have an interest in finding them. But just so we’re absolutely sure, can you tell me what the book is all about?” he asked.

  There was a long pause before she responded. “It’s a very old, very rare book created in the nether-realm. It curses people into monsters. They tried to use something similar on me, but... it didn’t work properly.”

  “Sounds about right,” Drake said. He looked around. “Then let’s get this association between us straightened out. You work for us, and we don’t kill you, understand? If you hop out of place, we will kill you. If you try to change our plans, we will kill you. If you look at Gerrick’s neck the wrong way, we will kill you.”

  Gerrick frowned and rubbed his neck.

  Drake pulled out an aurorium bullet and turned the glowing end in front of her.

  “See this? Forty-five-caliber aurorium shell. Pretty sure this’ll put a good-sized dent in you. And they gave us a few between the twenty-four of us. Are we clear?”

  “Crystal.”

  “And the matter’s settled. Gentlemen,” he said, and pointed to a corner. “We’ll need those iron rods to move her cage out.” Four heavily muscled men moved to obey.

  Drake and Gerrick stepped away as the men tugged the cage out into the open space. The space around them awakened with grunts and snarls as the men dragged iron across concrete.

  Gerrick shot a look at Drake. “This is all real, isn’t it? These are real vampires?”

  “Not all of them,” Drake said. “There’s more preternatural beings here than just vampires. Hell, if you want just vampires, go to the Sierra Madre del Sur, Mexico. Vampires up to your damn eyeballs. Up here? Well, they want a little of this and that. The US military’s a finicky bunch.”

  “How old is she?” Gerrick rubbed his neck again.

  “She looks young. Maybe early twenties?” Drake squinted at the lights. “But, of course, she’s a vampire, and I hear she’s been around a few hundred years.”

  “So what’s going to happen to her afterward?” Gerrick asked.

  “We don’t care,” Drake said, directing the men to the lift points. “I’m supposed to hand the book and her over to the buyer, and after that, it’s up to them. Maybe they’ll make her into a house pet or something. Who knows?”

  The men eased the cage out when a sudden, violent jolt from inside made them drop it. The others readied their weapons at the growing unrest around them. Drake shouted and got them back to on task. With wary glances, they moved closer as the vampire within growled low and deep.

  “How are we supposed to control her?” Gerrick asked, staring at the iron box.

  “She’s kept feral until needed. Molded by the best technicians, scientists and psychologists. See this?” Drake pulled out a small wind-up music box. He turned the crank, and a soft melody chimed. The change in behavior was instant, and the malicious sounds turned to soft, comforting whispers.

  “She likes music?”

  “Music hath charms to soothe the savage beast.” Drake winked. “William Congreve. Curious, isn’t it? That’s all she is. Another beast that God gave man to dominate. And a woman, at that. All of these, every one of them, raised and created to be weapons of war and covert operations. Now, this one here is quite the clever one and supposedly the most dangerous of them all, but she’ll do just fine with us in control.” He pointed to the orange gem at the end of the rod. “The aurorium is about the only thing that can kill her. Who knew the rarest of minerals, with the same energy properties as a bolt of lightning, would be deadly to vampires and her ilk. Here, give me that.”

  He pulled the rod out of Gerrick’s hands and shoved it into the cage until her screams were long and bloodcurdling.

  “See? Just a beast, tamed under the thumb of God’s superior creation.” Drake tapped his chest. “Let’s go.”

  The murmurings from the other cages grew into growls and shouts. The men ignored the unnatural clamor. Some of the creatures stretched out, trying to grasp at them as they journeyed down the rows. Some hands were massive and covered with coarse hair. Others were unnaturally thin with open sores and r
otting skin. Still others had thick, scaly flesh and webbed hands.

  The mercenaries carried their prize through the maze with haste and assumed confidence. Some of the men tried to glimpse their captured prey, hoping to see what a real vampire looked like—not knowing they would witness a vampire’s fury before the night was over.

  “Ain’t nobody here seen one of these?” Drake asked the men who peered into the dark cage. No one responded. “There’s an old wives’ tale that says if you spot a vampire, that means it’s been hunting you.” He laughed. “But tonight, we’re the hunters. We got this, comprende?” Drake nodded, and a few responded with nods of their own, though their nervous eyes told otherwise.

  Arrived at the doors, the sentry automaton blinked on and swiveled its head around to face them.

  “Access key?” it asked.

  “Archangel,” Drake said with a huff.

  “Password not recognized,” it said. “Should we try again, or should I activate the alarm?”

  “I said the password is Archangel,” Drake repeated.

  “Password is not recognized,” the metal sentry repeated. “Should we try again, or would activating the alarm be a suitable alternative? You have fifty-five seconds to decide before the defaulted alarm is raised.”

  “I said the password is Archangel, you metal twit!”

  “You have fifty seconds to try again.”

  “If you don’t get this right, we’ll have the First Infantry on our asses,” Gerrick added.

  Drake rubbed his face hard and took his hat off to wipe the sweat from his brow.

  “There’s only so much incompetence I’m going to tolerate,” Drake sighed. “That’s the damn password.”

  “Obviously it isn’t,” said Fang. “Good thing I know what it is.”

  Everyone shared a glance as slim hands slipped out and casually rested through the opening. Thin scars lay in haphazard streaks across fair skin. Her fingernails appeared normal, though dirty and chipped. Not the eagle’s claws he was told to watch for. Drake squinted into the cage. He pulled the strap of his carbine closer.

  “You have thirty seconds to try again,” the sentry said as roars and howling echoed through the cavernous building.

  “You don’t appear to be feral,” he said to Fang.