by T S Paul
The FBI’s Washington Arsenal building was next door to the garage. A huge fence backed up by a ten-foot wall surrounded the building. Following the Demon War, it was judged that local agents needed access to weapons heavier than automatics and shotguns. Too many Senators and other politicos remembered the street fighting and deaths caused by the incursion in California. Much of the southern part of the state was still, even now, ten years later, totally devastated.
Because the building housed weapons, there were double and triple the guards usually found on government buildings. Jack’s identification, badge, and orders were checked and rechecked. His new command vehicle was checked as well.
“Drive straight and turn right at the yellow pole. No unnecessary stopping. You will be met at the doors. Do you understand?” The agent in charge of security was one of the largest men in government service Jack had ever seen. He was way outside of what Director Hoover thought was standard for most agents.
Jack swallowed before answering, “Yes, sir. I’m supposed to pick up a special package here. Do they have it?”
The big man almost growled at Jack. “Drive straight and turn at the yellow pole. Understand?”
Jack nodded. Best to not see what getting ripped in half feels like.
The armory looked even bigger close-up. The walls were buttressed and looked fortress-like. Turning at the yellow pole as instructed, Jack found himself in front of two enormous steel-banded doors. A lone worker dressed in coveralls, stood in front of them waving at him to pull forward.
“Stop right there.” The man pointed to lines painted on the concrete. “Present your document. Stay in the car.”
Carefully, Jack passed his orders as instructed out the window.
The name on the suit was Pell. He took the offered page and carefully studied every line and signature. “You’re late.”
Jack gasped. “What? I just got my orders today!”
Pell looked at Jack over his glasses and smiled. “When you picked up the car from Charles did you come straight here?”
Jack blushed. He felt the heat rising up from his neck all the way to his forehead. This man knew. “Uh, no, sir. I didn’t.”
“Here’s a tip for you, Agent Dalton. Someone is always watching. Keep that in mind, and you may survive in your mission. When the door opens, pull inside.” Pell turned and entered the building through a small door on the side.
They knew he had taken the van for a spin before coming here. Jack didn’t remember seeing anyone, but he took the lesson to heart for the future. There was a loud creaking noise, and the metal doors in front of him swung outward. Clicking on the headlights, Jack drove into the dark portal of the building.
Boxes, boxes, and more boxes were all he could see. His new van fit nicely in the empty space inside the building, but Jack could see it was meant for a bob-truck or one of the newer army M35 trucks. What the guys on the reservation called a half-ton truck. That style of truck is what he thought he might have gotten for this assignment. When the army was issued the newer M35s, they surplused out the older M135s to federal agencies. Getting a newer delivery van was sweet compared to one of those monsters.
“Agent Dalton, welcome to Candyland for gun nuts. We have everything in here.” Pell held the door open as Jack climbed out.
“Can I pick and choose or are you assigning me weapons?” Jack asked.
Pell gave him a shrewd look. “A little of both I believe. Your boss told us to fit you outright. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Jack picked his way through the stacks of boxes following Pell. He tried to read the letters and numbers stamped on them as he walked. The smaller man mumbled as they walked.
“We get it all in here. Rifles, shotguns, pistols of multiple sizes. We’ve got a few pretty nice automatics as well as weapons seized by the OSS and the ATU. To the big boys in the Capitol Building, it made no sense to have more than one arsenal in town. Less efficient is the words they used. As a result, we have this mess. And more every week.” Pell patted a few boxes as they walked.
“What happens to the surplus?” Jack asked.
“Scrap metal or surplus. We can’t sell frontline weapons to civilians, but police along Highway Six-Sixty-Six have picked up a few. Nobody’s seen a Demon since fifty-six, but you just never know now do you?” Pell answered him.
“Can they be killed by regular bullets? I thought we needed special silver and herbs to do the job?” Jack asked.
Pell stopped and looked back at Jack. “You’ve been reading. Good. You’re gonna need that information. Demons can be killed with massive amounts of firepower, but it takes a great deal. Silver and salt are the most common ammo, but silver, salt, and herbs are another option. One of my predecessors came up with the best round. Too bad we don’t use it anymore.”
“Why not?” Jack asked.
“Not many Demons around. Plus, if you shoot a human with one of them he might die.” Pell replied as he stopped in front of a wooden door. “This is it.”
“If someone shoots you with a gun, you’re going to die. What kind of crazy is that?” Jack stated.
Pell snorted, “You are aware of the concept of spalling?”
Jack nodded, “Sure. It’s what happens when a hollow-point bullet enters the body. It flattens as it hits and scatters shards through the body causing damage. We’re one of the few countries to use them.”
“Exactly. But the type of loads we used to issue for paranormals contained salt, silver, herbs, and shards of wood. The combination of that along with the slug itself can damage too much of the body.” Pell replied as he unlocked the door and opened it.
“What kind of wood?” Jack asked.
“Oak, ash, and thorn. Folklore has those three as the most Magical. Trust me when I say if you hit a Vampire with one of those ... he’s down for the count. Very effective at close range. Let me show you what we put together for you.” Pell stepped inside and hit the lights.
“Oh, my,” Jack uttered as the lights came up. A large table stood in the center of the room. A very wide variety of weapons were arrayed upon it.
“We tried to think outside of the norm for you, Agent. We have both the new and the old version of the crossbow. Shotguns will do the job, and certain capture and control gear. You will be on your own for the most part. If you can’t bring them in successfully, you will have to put them down. Trust me when I say that many of those THINGS out there don’t go easily.” Pell had a flash of hatred cross his face for a moment.
“Did you serve?” Jack asked.
“Forty-three to fifty-six. I was in the thick of it from California to what used to be Western Germany. My unit was wiped out fighting the last of the Horde in Death Valley. I hung up my hat and went to work for the Bureau. Less stress working here. Always keep a weapon close at hand.” Pell grimaced in memory and casually stroked one of the long rifles on the table.
“Death Valley was the site of one of the last battles with the Horde. Indians native to the area captured several Imps during the earlier battles and were using them as servants. Very much like a parable of keeping a wild animal in your house, they rose up and ate the natives. Troops were sent in to end the decade-long incursion,” Pell continued to caress the rifle.
“What’s that one?” Jack motioned to the rifle Pell was fondling.
“Mosin-Nagant. This one is configured as a sniper rifle. It comes to us from the Russians. One of the most heavily made guns pre-Demon War in that country. It’s not the only Russian weapon we have here. There is an AK-47 as well as a reconfigured Thompson prepared for you. All of the firearms take silver rounds.” Pell remarked.
“What about area denial weapons? Can I get a few of those?” Jack asked Mr. Pell.
“Explosives are harder for us to provide to you. There is the potential for unintended casualties with them. We have a few grenades and something new the British Special Service came up with. They call it an incapacitant, a stun weapon. It works on humans but is untested, by us, on para
normals,” Pell replied.
Jack thought for a moment. “Can I have any of those? It might come as a surprise to my enemies since it’s so new.”
“We’ll have to install a small explosive locker in the floor so these cannot be reached by civilians. Is that satisfactory?” Pell instructed.
“Will it add too much extra weight to the back?”
“It shouldn’t, regardless, we can use the extra space. This way we can give you more of explosive bolts for the crossbow.” Pell picked up a clipboard and made a few notes. Finishing he held out his hand. “Keys?”
Jack handed them over to Pell who barely glanced at them as he made more notes on the clipboard.
Pell looked up at Jack, “Come with me. You have a room full of paperwork to fill out. My boys will take care of getting you loaded up. Is there anything else you think you need?”
“Handcuffs, camping gear, flashlights, maybe a stove with a coffee pot, do I need to buy that stuff myself?” Jack asked.
“No. We’ve got you covered. It’s part of the package we have. You’re getting Were-proof cuffs, one of the reasons you have paperwork. They make them out of a steel-silver alloy now. Your supervisor made the arrangements. Paperwork calls.” Pell pointed toward a distant door.
And what paperwork it was. Jack spent more than three hours signing form after form. At times it felt as if he was signing away his first born and grandchildren at the same time. When he made that comment out loud, the attendant smiled. “You missed one packet there. All of this is necessary, Agent. If for any reason you shoot and kill an innocent, there needs to be accountability. Trust me when I say most FBI agents aren’t armed with bazookas and Russian class-three weapons. This is for your protection as well.”
“If you say so.” Jack signed the last couple of pages and slid them over to the man.
“It’s not me, but those that pay me. I believe those same people pay you as well.” He looked at the final packet with a smile. “Excellent, Mr. Pell should have your vehicle stocked and loaded by now. Good luck in your new position, Agent. Please do come again.”
Jack almost told the man to stuff it but realized quickly where else was he to get silver ammo and exploding rockets. “I will. Thank you.”
The black and yellow van was sitting in the same place but was now nosed forward toward the door. Mr. Pell stood next to it wiping the engine cowling.
“Is it all done?” Jack asked.
“Of course. Take a look,” Pell tossed Jack his keys back.
Peeking in the driver’s side door, Jack could see both a shotgun and one of the pistols mounted with easy reach in the front. A wire mesh wall now separated the front from the rear compartment. Jack frowned as he pulled on it.
“The wireless needed an antenna system. We’re full service here. It does double duty to protect what we loaded you with as well.” Pell answered before Jack could ask.
Jack could only nod as he opened the rear and looked inside. A collapsible cot sat folded to one side along with a small wooden chair. Lockers and weapons mounts had been added to both sides of the interior walls. Two small safes and a weapons locker took up the passenger side. He could see camping supplies and cookware carefully stored away. The driver’s side had the radio as well as places for clothing and food. It resembled a modern chuck wagon he told Mr. Pell.
“That’s it exactly. You will be on your own out there, and if you don’t carry it with you, you might not be able to find it. The standard ammo you can either buy or requisition from any of the field offices. If you need special supplies, call us and request it be sent. You and only you will be allowed to pick up the items from the office we send them to. This gives you the authorization. Keep it safe.” Pell handed Jack a new wallet and several keys. “Codes for the safes are in that wallet. Please memorize them.”
“Is that it then?” Jack asked.
“From us. You received a message from the main office.” Pell reached into his coverall and handed over a folded sheet of paper.
The note read “Bladenboro, North Carolina, and good luck.” It was unsigned, but only one person knew where Jack was supposed to be that day. Pulling out a map, he studied the new interstate system. Interstate Ninety-Five was new. Really new. The roads it was built upon were former toll roads that interconnected their way down the entire eastern seaboard to Florida.
From a military standpoint, it made a great deal of sense to be able to send troops anywhere, at any time easily. The only issue was many of the toll roads were still there, and it was going to be really expensive to get to Fayetteville before heading to Bladenboro.
Jack pulled out the petty cash envelope and was halfway through the process of counting when it came to him. He palmed his head and muttered a stupid line from television about tomato juice. How dumb could he be? He was a federal agent. No tolls would be needed.
According to the map, Bladenboro was only six-hundred miles or so from the Capitol, but the road zigged as much as it zagged. It was going to take at least a day to get there.
“This thing is a gas guzzler,” Jack muttered to himself as he filled up for the second time. The FBI may have modified the van, but they didn’t replace the in-cab fuel tank. It only held sixteen gallons and burned it up in a hurry.
Eyeing the location of the tank, he could only nod. A few other truck models had a tank directly in the rear, just off the bumper. It wasn’t unusual for one of those to explode on contact during an accident.
He was more than halfway there, but it was slow going. The map claimed he was only a few miles outside of Smithfield but he hadn’t seen many cars along this stretch of road, and it was getting dark.
As he paid for gas, he asked the old timer behind the register, “This is Interstate Ninety-Five isn’t it?”
“That’s what they tell me. The state came through here a few years ago changing the road signs and informing folks of the new plans. Of course, this stretch here has to wait a few years for upgrades. Where are you headed?” The older man asked Jack.
“Bladenboro, North Carolina. This is the first time I’ve ever gone this way,” Jack answered.
The old man tilted his head and looked out the window at Jack’s car. “You hunting the monster?”
Jack started, “What monster?”
“Don’t try to josh a josher, young fella. I was there in forty-six when the demons charged the line. You’re after the monster aren’t you?” The old man stood up from his stool and looked Jack right in the eye.
His entire life Jack had been told to respect his elders and this situation was no different. “Yes, sir. What do you know about it?”
“Just that it’s supposed to be dead. Something was out there in the woods and streams killing animals for no reason back in Fifty-four. Almost every hunter in the state went to Bladenboro trying to bag whatever the hell it was. It was killing farm animals left and right. Folks were locking their kids up at night. Two good old boys from one the farms there claimed to have caught a record bobcat in one of their traps. The pictures taken showed a record-sized critter, but folks around here are more of the “see it now” sort. Nobody really trusted those boys.” The old man spoke as he gazed out the window.
“Did the killings stop?” Jack asked. He wondered why, if they caught this thing years ago, he was being sent there now.
“For a while they did. But I hear tell it either wasn’t dead, or momma is here looking for revenge,” the old man commented.
“Five years later? I don’t know, monsters aren’t people. They don’t bide their time.” Jack pulled out a notebook and wrote what the man was saying. Better to get what facts he could for now.
“Son, I was in Death Valley and saw things set against the night sky that would curl your hair. Demons are unforgiving. If they catch you, they will either kill you or eat you. Sometimes both. You should turn that fancy rig around and go back where you came from. Safer that way.” The old man looked away from the windows.
“If I do that, it becomes s
omeone else’s problem. It’s my job to fix it the first time.” Jack remarked to the former soldier.
The old man snorted. “Self-righteousness can get you killed, boy. Do you even have holy protection?”
Jack looked at him questioningly, “huh?”
“Stupid child. Here, take mine. I want it back mind you. This was given to me by a priest at the mission of San Juan Capistrano just before the Horde took it.” The old man removed a shiny bird-shaped amulet from his neck and handed it to Jack.
Looking closer, Jack could see it was intricately designed with a Latin prayer intertwined with feathers and bird features. “You should keep it. This is a work of art.”
“You’re about to do battle with forces of evil, boy. Use it and when it’s over, come see me. We can swap stories and tell some lies. No one should do battle without something to protect them.”
Jack knew better to argue with an old soldier. Carefully he slipped it around his neck. “I’ll bring it back.”
“Of course you will. Now get moving. Take State Eighty-Seven to Tarheel, then Four-Ten straight into Bladenboro. You can’t miss it. Be careful. Demons are tricky.”
Jack stopped at the first roadside campground he came to. If the forces of darkness wanted a battle, he needed to get rest first. The cot supplied by the armory crew was hard and way too low to the floor, but to someone not used to long-distance driving, it was heaven.
Bladenboro wasn’t a very memorable place. Lots of pine trees and cotton fields dotted either side of the highway. A faint smell of turpentine in the air told the story of what industry was here.
A loud horn shook Jack out of his thoughts making him concentrate on the road. On his side of the highway, there wasn’t a car to be seen. Cars seemed to be leaving town in droves. The left side was bumper to bumper the whole way. More than one person blared the horn to tell him to turn around.
