Battle Storm (The Battle Series Book 2)

by Mark Romang

  Thorn shook his head and raised the Eden sword. The police helicopter sounded extremely close, as did the bloodhounds. He had to get to the cave soon or he’d be caught. “You’re standing in my way. Step aside or go up in flames,” he said, hoping and praying God had his back.

  The demon took a half step forward. “You’re uncommonly brave but also foolish, Andrew. You have never fought a demon like me. There are actually legions of demons living inside me. I also have a unique ability that will prevent you from neutralizing me.”

  Thorn shook his head. “The Almighty God lives inside me. His Holy Spirit is living and breathing and active inside my soul. God trumps your power every time.”

  The demon leered confidently at him. “If you believe God will fight your battles you are a fool. He sits on His throne, aloof and uncaring. He gave up on mankind long ago. You will find this out if you raise your sword against me.”

  Thorn may have imagined it, but he could’ve sworn the Eden sword burned hotter at the demon’s words. The flame seemed to have extended from its typical six foot length to eight feet, its color changed from orange to glowing white. Its heat increased and warmed Thorn’s face. His right hand felt as if it were melting. God, you heard what this demon said. Take action and prove him wrong. Stir up your wrath once more like you did against Pharaoh in ancient Egypt.

  Thorn lunged forward, extended the Eden sword and aimed for the demon’s powerful chest. But the sword didn’t impale body armor and demon flesh. Instead it stabbed nothing but fog and mist. The demon simply vanished before his eyes.

  Thorn spun around. He knew his foe lurked somewhere close. He could smell the demon. Its brimstone cologne hung heavy in the moist air.

  Disappointment pounded against Thorn like heavy surf on a rocky beach. He had hoped to end the battle with his first strike. Time didn’t allow him an extended battle.

  The spiked balls of the flail reappeared first. They whipped rapidly in the air, deflecting the drizzle and spraying it in all directions. And then the demon reappeared to Thorn’s left. But though his body appeared three dimensional, there was no substance to it. The demon appeared as a hologram, and shimmered in and out of view.

  “How can you fight what you can’t see, Andrew?” the demon asked, and then disappeared once more before Thorn could respond.

  Bewildered, Thorn held his ground. He spun on his heels and peered all around for the demon. But like before, the fallen angel simply vanished before his eyes like a desert mirage. Thorn knew only a little about holograms and how they worked. Holography enables a light field to be recorded and then reconstructed when the light field is no longer existent. Mankind uses lenses or mirrors and diode lasers to shine images onto recording mediums, thus forming holograms. But Thorn didn’t think the demon used the same technique.

  Somehow he’s recording his image and then shining it off the drizzle and fog, he concluded. But how is he doing it? Thorn shook his head. It didn’t really matter how the demon vanished and reappeared. All that mattered was he get to the cave and find Emily and Spencer.

  Though he couldn’t see them, Thorn heard the spiked balls of the flail whistling as they whipped around in the air. The spiked balls would split his head open like a smashed pumpkin if they connected. He tried to pinpoint their location but failed.

  Thorn tried to remember which hand the demon used to hold the flail. He seemed to to think it was the left hand. So Thorn circled warily to his own left, moving like a defensive-minded boxer trying to avoid his opponent’s left hook. He held the Eden sword out front, hoping to parry the spiked balls. Thorn estimated the outstretched length of the medieval weapon to be around five feet. If he factored in another four to five feet for the demon’s long arms, the flail had a striking distance of almost ten feet.

  For a brief moment a vision flashed in Thorn’s mind. He saw the bearded man again. The bearded man still prayed intensely. For who or what Thorn couldn’t tell for sure, but he hoped the mystery man prayed for him. Heaven knows he needed all the prayers he could get.

  The demon hologram suddenly reappeared in front of Thorn, no more than six feet away. Thorn didn’t buy into the illusion. His sixth sense told him the demon stood behind him. Thorn spun around and advanced, waving the Eden sword back and forth, using both hands to swing it in a short compact motion.

  Thorn heard a clanging metallic sound and felt the spiked flail balls wrap around the Eden sword’s blade. Before he could react the demon yanked him off his feet. Thorn hit the ground hard but managed to roll off his left shoulder, completing an awkward somersault. He instinctively popped back up to his feet, realized the spiked balls had unwrapped themselves during his tumble, and swung the flaming sword at his invisible opponent.

  The sword slashed at the fog. Thorn felt the sword blade connect with something, heard the demon scream out in a multi-layered voice. Thorn swung once more in the direction of the anguished outcry. He felt the sword carom off something. Screams within screams pierced the night.

  A small flame hung in the air and lapped at the fog. The flame flickered and popped as the drizzle tried to douse it. Although Thorn still couldn’t see the demon, the levitating flame gave away its position. From the height and location of the flame, Thorn guessed he’d caught the demon’s long hair on fire.

  Thorn continued his assault, but a wicked shot to his right ankle interrupted his advance. The spiked balls and the chain wrapped around his ankle. Luckily it was his lower right leg that took the blow. The steel shaft of his prosthetic absorbed the heavy blow, but before Thorn could react he was once again yanked off his feet. He thudded onto the ground, felt his lungs expel air. And then his foe reeled him in. Thorn jounced along the ground and through the wet grass, helpless to stop the demon from spooling him in.

  For a second Thorn entertained taking off the prosthetic to escape. But it would take too long to remove it. And if he removed the prosthetic he would have to hop around on one leg. He couldn’t fight the demon that way. He’d lose for sure. Thorn made a last-ditch effort to drag his feet and stop his momentum. But his shoes couldn’t find purchase in the wet grass.

  Desperate, Thorn raised up his torso. The Eden sword came up with him. He swung the sword with a violent chopping motion. From over his head, the flaming sword came down like a guillotine blade. He felt the sword blade connect with what he guessed was the demon’s groin region. Another otherworldly scream filled the night. The demon ignited completely like dry wood soaked in lighter fluid; its outline became visible in the fog as flames engulfed it.

  Thorn struggled with the flail balls. He managed to get one of the spiked balls unwrapped from his prosthetic, and then moved onto the other one. As he worked he glanced up at the fiery demon. His heart skipped a beat. A snakelike mist curled out from the flames and the head region of the demon. The mist floated toward him. He turned his head; sure his evil foe was trying to possess him. “Jesus, protect me,” Thorn cried silently.

  Unable to loosen the remaining flail ball, Thorn chopped at its chain with the Eden sword, severing the spiked ball from the club in the demon’s hand.

  The serpentine mist coiled around him. Holding his breath for fear of inhaling the evil spirits, Thorn scrambled to his feet. He drew back the Eden sword and plunged it with all his strength into the pillar of fire and into what he thought was the demon’s chest.

  Still standing, the flame-engulfed demon lapsed into a violent seizure. Its limbs shook for several seconds, and then the beast toppled backward to the ground and didn’t move. Thorn gasped and sputtered as his lungs started working again. He bent down and withdrew the Eden sword from the neutralized demon.

  Thorn held the holy sword down by his thigh, its blade tip pointing to the ground. The flame sizzled out. Thorn scabbarded the sword. He then bent down and wriggled free from the last flail ball, cringing at the sight of long spikes. No sooner had he done so when a commotion came from the ridgeline. He turned to look and saw the bloodhounds spill over the ridge toward him,
baying intensely. A split second later, and almost in sync with the hard-charging bloodhounds, the police helicopter appeared over the trees. Shining like a giant, glowing eye from the chopper’s belly, a spotlight moved down and across the hillside.

  Thorn wasted no time. He turned and ran for the cave

  Chapter 29

  Caleb Brennan watched Special Agent Nick Loomis return to his seat from his talk with the police inspector. The gloomy look on his Loomis’ face told Brennan what he already knew. Adam Thorn, aka Andrew Maddix, would not be shown any mercy tonight.

  Loomis sat down next to Brennan. He said nothing for several seconds. And then Loomis cleared his throat. “You’re right. They intend to kill Maddix. I tried everything I could but my words fell on deaf ears. Barring a miracle, Maddix will not be taken alive.”

  “Thank you for trying, Nick,” Brennan mumbled. Despite his best efforts and resources, he’d failed to keep Andrew Maddix and Sara Kendall safe and hidden. And Brennan felt dead inside. Brennan had never married, never experienced the joy and challenges of raising children. Andrew Maddix and Sara Kendall were the closest he’d ever come to having a son or daughter. And now they were about to be taken away.

  Hopelessness washed over Brennan. And then anger welled up inside him. Anger at himself and anger at God boiled in his guts. His Irish temper threatened to erupt at any moment.

  Stay calm. You can’t think straight if you’re angry, Brennan told himself. To calm down he imagined he was back at his ranch. Besides hunting, he liked to go horseback riding in the backcountry. A game trail cut through his property and led to a scenic overlook. He often rode his horse to this secluded location. On a clear day he could see for miles at this spot. All around him unspoiled nature put on a spectacular display. Snow-capped peaks, verdant forest and a sparkling trout stream painted a tranquil scene. Eagles soared overhead in an impossibly blue sky that never ended. Brennan went there often to reflect. He went there now in his mind. But he didn’t find peace.

  Movement caught Brennan’s eye. He saw policemen all around him sit up straighter and become more attentive. They all seemed to be listening to something. Brennan looked toward the cockpit. The police inspector talked excitedly into his boom mike, giving them instructions. The policemen nearest Brennan looked out the starboard door from their seats. They all craned their heads.

  Brennan watched the sniper closely. He saw the marksman hunker down slightly, watched his cheek caress the gun stock more intimately, his shoulders relax, and his index finger release the safety and move into the trigger guard.

  Brennan felt the helicopter slow down and hover in place, affording the sniper a stable shooting platform. Brennan’s heart leapt in his chest. Maddix had been spotted. He had to do something quickly or Maddix would take a bullet to the head. But what can I do locked in these blasted handcuffs?

  Sweat poured off Brennan’s face. His heart pounded as fast as the helicopter rotors. His eyes locked onto the sniper. He watched the sharpshooter take a deep breath and move his finger a millimeter closer to the trigger. Brennan felt an invisible hand pushing at his back. And then he heard his own voice scream inside his head. Do something! Do it now!

  From his seat, Brennan launched himself at the sharpshooter. Like a linebacker lowering his helmet and colliding with a ball carrier, Brennan dove through the air and crashed into the sniper. The high-caliber rifle discharged, its booming report deafening in the helicopter’s close quarters. The sniper tumbled out the open door but was jerked to a sudden halt by the six-foot lanyard attached to his safety harness. Brennan’s momentum took him out the open door, past the dangling sharpshooter and into the black sky. His world flipped upside down. The ground rushed up at him.

  A smile creased Brennan’s face. SEALS always have each other’s back.

  But then he felt strong hands gripping his heels and pulling him back in. He dangled for a brief moment, but then was dragged back into the helicopter and across the cabin floor. And then angry policemen converged on top of him, pinning him fast.

  ****

  Less than five minutes had expired since Caleb Brennan’s desperate lunge. Every New Zealand policeman aboard the helicopter had fast-roped to the ground, including the police inspector. The law officers huddled around bushes at the ravine bottom. The bloodhounds lay in the grass and panted, some whined. A few bared their teeth and growled.

  “I’ve never seen them act this way,” their handler said, clearly befuddled. The tall man wore a headlamp and looked around at the surrounding terrain with squinting eyes. He couldn’t see much. The fog, thick as pea soup, cloaked the trees and hillsides “It’s like the dogs are afraid of something. They refuse to go into the cave opening. Animals can sense danger, you know. And they can sense evil. When humans can’t, they can.”

  The police inspector said, “And you’re sure you seen the perp enter the cave?”

  “Yes, sir, he went right behind those bushes. I never saw him come back out.”

  “Okay, it’s just as well. We probably don’t need the dogs anymore. It would be a nightmare taking them in there, anyway.”

  The dog handler nodded emphatically. “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  The police inspector—a rawboned man named Felix Kirk—turned and faced his men. Each AOS officer wore a ballistic vest and a Kevlar helmet with a headlamp. Each carried a Bushmaster M4 rifle. “Okay, men, you know what to do. We’re close, real close to catching our man. But I don’t need to tell you how dangerous Andrew Maddix is. There’s no telling what he’ll do when you corner him. If you have to, don’t hesitate to shoot. If someone has to die tonight it might as well be him and not you. Above all, keep your radio contact to a minimum or he’ll hear you. And not all of you can have your headlamp turned on. He’ll see you for sure.”

  One of the AOS officers spoke up. “Do we know where this cave empties out?”

  “We don’t. This cave doesn’t even show up on any topographical maps. That means it was undiscovered until tonight. I don’t need to tell you to be careful down there. It looks like a rabbit hole. But that isn’t a rabbit down there.”

  Chapter 30

  The stream flowing through the cave ran faster than Emily expected. The placid water turned into class 111 whitewater shortly after they shoved off. They presently traveled in an endless stretch of moderate rapids. The icy spray doused them almost continuously.

  Sitting in the stern, Emily paddled only on the canoe’s right side and used the goon stroke to keep the canoe under control. Amateur canoers make the mistake of switching back and forth, paddling from one side to the other needlessly.

  Emily didn’t worry too much about the whitewater. Her past experience as a world class kayaker gave her confidence she could handle the spirited water. This is nothing. I don’t even have to contend with gates. All she had to do was keep the canoe in the channel and away from the sharp lava boulders. Unfortunately the skin-shredding lava boulders were plentiful. They formed a gauntlet along the stream banks. And she knew more hid under the water and could easily tip or trap them.

  Emily glanced at Spencer hunkered down in the bow. More than the hazardous whitewater, she worried about Spencer. She could tell he was cold. His stooped back shivered. Had she known the water was this fast she would have packed a wetsuit for him.

  Mostly she worried Spencer might fall out. Although he could swim well for his young age—Adam had taken him out regularly to a pond on George Wickam’s sheep station to teach him how to swim—Spencer wasn’t skilled enough to survive for very long in the rapids. And she didn’t have a life vest or helmet for him either, another gaffe on her part. She couldn’t afford any more blunders if she hoped to exit the cave with her most treasured possession.

  But what do I do, and where do we go once we make it out of the cave? She had left that part of the plan for Adam to figure out. It once seemed like this day would never come, that they could simply live quiet lives on the sheep station forever. She’d grown to enjoy the simplic
ity of the farm life. The work was hard and long, but there was something rewarding about working the land and raising animals for money and food. If you take care of the land, the land will take care of you. George Wickam lived by this creed and repeated it out loud daily for anyone who would listen.

  Leaving the sheep station left a gaping hole in her heart. The cottage wasn’t much by western standards, but it was home. And the Wickams were delightful people she’d grown to cherish. But living on faith was all about trust. God had brought them here to New Zealand, and now He was taking them away. She told herself God’s ways were higher than mankind’s, but she wasn’t sure she wholly believed it. A part of her desperately wanted to stay in control. And she wanted to cling to Spencer with all her strength. Giving Spencer up and trusting God to take care of him was the most difficult thing imaginable. Yet more and more, she felt this is what was being asked of her.

  My faith is so weak, Lord. Help me believe your way is perfect for us. Forgive my unbelief.

  Emily peered ahead, struggled to examine the rapids’ character. The lantern didn’t give out as much light as she wanted. But she could see well enough to determine the water was bony. Bony water was kayaking lingo for a rapid filled with multiple obstacles, primarily rocks.

  Just ahead and beyond the bony water an undercut approached. “Duck down, Spencer. You’ll hit your head if you don’t.” Emily lay back in the canoe as they shot underneath the overhanging rock. They cleared the undercut by mere inches.

  Emily sat back up. She gauged the channel, read the water and noted the increase in gradient just before they entered the drop. She performed several correction strokes to turn the canoe to her offside. She needed to avoid a bastion of rocks perforating the water.