The Black Bishop’s normally implacable face had changed to fury. He held up a hand and everyone in the circle cut themselves at the same time.
Blane could feel the power showering all around him, but the Black Bishop siphoned it before he could even grasp a morsel. Blane wondered who blew up the cathedral and thought it was a pity it hadn’t been twenty minutes ago.
Then the Black Bishop pointed at him and everything went dark.
Chapter Thirty Five
Two Thousand Feet Above Sea Level. Jenkies watched with glee as a great gout of flame and debris replaced the Black Bishop’s Cathedral. She’d waited until they’d gotten airborne before depressing the remote trigger. She hoped the Black Bishop had been inside. She hoped she was able to kill as many of those bastards as she could, especially because this was the last time she’d see the place.
She’d fought a good fight against a real and true enemy. But to continue her resistance movement would put too many people in harm’s way. Since Pam Donovan was discovered, there was no telling what the Black Bishop knew of their organization.
Frank had convinced her that their best chance lay with the 29th Fusiliers, which was where they were headed now.
Frank was pulling double duty. Not only was he flying the four seat Piper Cub, he was also controlling the Hunter which was twenty miles ahead and about to cross into the fog, as well as the Hunter which was flying beside them, armed with two Hellfire Missiles. The remote control for the UAVs sat on the passenger seat and was jacked into the plane’s grid.
She sat directly behind Frank.
Beside her sat Dieter, snoring softly.
She noticed the tension in Frank’s back.
“You’re worried about the fog, aren’t you?”
“It’s an unknown quantity. I made it through here once when I was assigned from Fort Irwin. But once Irwin went nuclear trying to get rid of their worm problem, there was no more reason to go back. All I know is that when you go through it makes you feel strange.”
“Strange in what way?”
“It’s hard to explain, really. Like a combination of the worst sickness you’ve ever had and electricity, I guess.”
“The worst sickness I’ve ever had? I had food poisoning once from a ‘cabra taco. I couldn’t leave the bathroom for two days. I couldn’t even get off the floor for the first day.”
“Serves you right for eating one of those damn things.”
She punched him lightly in the shoulder. “Thanks for your sympathy, boyfriend.”
“Sorry, just remembering how I was almost ‘cabra food.”
“But you managed to kill it.”
“Just. Okay, I’m blind right now on the first Hunter. It just entered the fog on an azimuth programmed to take it over an element of the 29th Fusiliers.”
“Will it make it through?”
He shrugged. “People seem to be able to make it through more or less. It’s the equipment that suffers.”
She looked out the window at the Hunter flying alongside. It was larger than she expected it to be. She’d always thought of UAVs like the remote controlled airplanes she’d seen people flying when she was a kid. The Hunter was half the size of the Piper Cub.
They remained silent for the next twenty minutes, the fog bank closer and closer.
It felt so strange leaving Palm Springs and her sister cities. She’d spent her entire life in the confines of the valley. She’d seen people come and go. She’d watched her parents be lured by the Black Bishop, only to die. She’d seen friends join the cutters never to be heard from again. She’d even met Frank there. She’d thought it was cute when he’d admitted to following her around. He seemed so earnest, so loyal, she couldn’t help but feel endearment for him.
But there was nothing to keep her there.
Everything that was good about the place was either gone or sitting in the seat in front of her.
She wondered what the future had in store for them.
She wondered if she and Frank would take it to the next level.
She wondered if she’d ever be able to go back and finish what she’d started.
Suddenly Frank said, “Here we go. Prepare to get sick.”
Then the fog swallowed them.
She caught glimpse of things in the clouds. Every once in a while she could see the ground. She could have sworn she saw a crashed UAV beneath them.
And then the bottom fell out of her stomach.
Chapter Thirty Six
Devil’s Garden Overpass. There were just so damn many of them. There were supposed to thirty but there were at least a hundred. How had intelligence cocked this up so badly? At least they’d been caught by surprise. By positioning the ambush so much farther south than usual, the first company of cutters on two eighteen wheelers had entered the kill zone totally unaware. Sergeant Foster had wanted to let more pass, but someone in first platoon, which had now been split so that the members were on both sides of the highway, had cooked off a round, alerting the cutter battalion to their location.
What had followed was a frenzy of machine gun fire as Hayes had opened up from the front with his Ma-Deuce, the thwacka thwacka thwacka sounds the thunder to the bullets lightning. Five monks went down right away, followed by the cutters surrounding them. Hayes barely had time to celebrate his first monk kills before he had to shift fire.
Split First squad created an interlocking field of fire where they were able to aim and fire and not allow anyone to escape. The two SAWs opened up from the sides with grazing fire back and forth. The rest of the squad fired their rounds one at a time, picking their targets, until eventually everyone who’d been riding the first two trailers was on the ground, dead.
Hayes adjusted fire on command and began to send his rounds towards the second and third trucks, but the cutters and monks had already dismounted and were using their rides as cover. He paused firing, waiting for a target to show itself.
First squad ceased firing as well.
Third and fourth squads were held in reserve.
The chaos from the last few moments had left an adrenaline dump in him that was making him shake. God, but he felt like the king of the world.
Time ticked by.
Then a shot was fired from the right side.
Then another.
Then another.
“God damn it, quit shooting,” Foster shouted through the radio.
Someone shouted back, “But we have skinnies in the wire, Sarge.”
Hayes strained to see what they were talking about, but couldn’t make out any enemy. He’d have seen a cutter or monk sneak up on them if they had.
Just then a member of the split first squad stood, aimed his rifle at the man beside him, and fired.
The other member of First Squad fell to the ground dead.
Hayes grabbed the handset. “Sarge, they’re shooting each other.”
“Cease fire. Cease fire, by damn!” came Foster’s voice over the net.
Hayes heard a sound from behind him. He turned just in time to see what looked like a hundred rattlesnakes on the overpass, with the nearest one barely a dozen feet away.
His heart shot into his throat as it quadrupled its beating.
He scrambled to turn the heavy weapon around. He had to move the weapon and the tripod so he could bring the barrel to bear. He wrestled it in place not a moment too soon. He opened fire, exploding the snakes, and sending chips of asphalt flying.
“Hayes, what the hell is going on?” Foster shouted.
Hayes ignored the call and kept firing. There seemed to be no end to the snakes. He spun and saw that they were coming from the other side of the bridge as well. He fired until he was empty, then reloaded and fired until he was empty. The barrel finally became too hot for him to fire through, but by then he’d killed the last of the snakes.
All the while Sergeant Foster had been yelling at him through the radio.
Hayes checked his ammo. He was bingo ammo. That’s okay. He’d had to use
it to protect himself. But the strangest thing was that he couldn’t find any evidence of the snakes. It was like he’d shot them to complete smithereens.
“Hayes, come in.”
He finally grabbed the handset. “Sorry, Sarge, I had to kill the snakes.”
“There were no snakes, Hayes.”
“But I saw them. They were coming after me.”
“It was magic, Hayes.”
“What?”
“The Monks wanted you to fire all your ammo. Do you have any left?”
“No. Oh, hell, Sarge. I fired it all.” He put his left hand to his forehead. “Sarge, I messed up real bad.”
Silence for a moment. Then he said, “Get over to the other side. Everyone’s dead. Find a weapon and get ready.”
Hayes stared down at his prosthetics and frowned.
“Did you hear me, Lance Corporal Hayes?”
“Yes, Sergeant. Moving, Sergeant.”
Hayes had thought he’d be static. He’d never anticipated being mobile. He grabbed the radio, and began to walk across the bridge. Then he broke into a jog and by the time he was at the other position, he was at a full run, grinning at an ability he’d once thought lost. But then his smile fell. Everyone was dead. They’d shot each other thinking they’d been infiltrated. He wondered how his platoon was going to fight this kind of magic?
Hayes found an M4, grabbed some extra ammo, and established a fighting position.
“Third Squad, prepare to deploy.”
“Third Squad, ready.”
Hayes could hear the sound of chanting coming from down the road. They were doing some new sorcery. Probably something terrible.
“Release the ‘cabra.”
Within seconds, twenty armored ‘cabra were scrambling down the almost sheer face of the high ground on the other side of the road. They hit the road, then ran full speed towards the hidden cutters.
Hayes kept his rifle on the area where they went. Soon he heard screams, followed by shrieks. This went on for a long moment, then stopped altogether.
Had the ‘cabra saved them?
Had they killed them all so soon?
A lone ‘cabra limped out from behind an eighteen wheeler. It began to head back to where the handlers were, but then suddenly found itself rising into the air, ten feet, twenty feet, thirty feet. Then it slammed into the earth at a hundred miles per hour.
Hayes couldn’t believe his eyes.
He knew without a shadow of a doubt that all of the ‘cabra were dead. Two and a half platoons gone, and half of the special weapons, and what did they have to show for it? They definitely wouldn’t be able to win a war of attrition. There were just too many of them.
As if to demonstrate this fact, the cutters and the monks left the shelter of their vehicle and began to march up the road towards them. Seven monks walked in front of the first group of twenty cutters. Five monks walked in front of the second group of thirty cutters. The groups walked side by side.
Hayes took aim on one of the monks nearest him and fired a round.
He knew he’d been dead on with his aim, but nothing happened.
He fired once more. Same result.
“Sarge, here they come and they have some sort of shield.”
“Remain in place.”
“But Sarge, did you hear me?”
“Remain in place and keep your head down.”
Hayes did as he was told, pressing his face into the dirt. But a few seconds later he raised his head again. Was he hearing things? It sounded like an engine from somewhere. An engine in the sky. Was it a plane? He searched the sky then saw two black dots against the backdrop of the fog. They came closer and closer, coming up on the cutters from the south.
Suddenly, the nearest aircraft fired two missiles.
Hayes watched as each one streaked towards a group.
Three seconds later they exploded, sending bodies flying and limbs ricocheting against the rock walls of the draw.
Hayes cheered as the UAV flew over. Behind it came a real plane, and as it passed, it rocked its wings from side to side.
“Fourth Squad, deploy screetchers.”
The tell-tale sound of the mosquito-killer-bee-hybrids suddenly filled the silence left in the wake of the explosions. There was a lot of blood below. Not only from the cutters, but from the bombs. Ten clouds of angry insects descended on the dead and dying.
Hayes watched for a moment, but had to turn away. He saw the aircraft and the UAV heading north toward Twentynine Palms. He told himself that later he’d buy that pilot a drink. He’d saved their asses as surely as the monks were about to kill them all.
Then Hayes looked south.
Somewhere beyond the fog was the Black Bishop. He’d been sending his forces north in an attempt to secure new areas. Perhaps it was time for the fusiliers to send their forces south. Wouldn’t that be a kick in the teeth?
Hayes leaned back, put his hands behind the back of his head, and stared at the sky, waiting for his next command. He’d proven himself worthy today, even if he had wasted all of their machine gun ammo shooting invisible snakes. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Most importantly, he’d proven that his prosthetics didn’t matter. He could be as good a marine as any of them… even Sergeant Foster.
Chapter Thirty Seven
Some Dark Hole of a Prison. A mirror was affixed to the concrete wall to the left of the locked steel door. He’d yet to use it and knew what they wanted of him. That he’d failed to kill the Black Bishop was such a heavy burden he could barely move. So instead, he stared at the floor, wondering how many children had passed through this room, how many of the stolen had come through here, only to be changed by the Black Bishop. He remembered how elated he’d felt as a child that he’d managed to survive, never being taken. But eventually he’d curated his own version of survivor’s guilt. What was it Mandy had told him when he’d approached her in the shade of the Mexican palm?
“This is what I wanted. I wanted them to take me.”
“But you were just a child,” he’d said.
“Destined to be a nothing just like my mother. Nothing in a world of nothing.”
“And here you’re something.”
Her face moved in a way that could only be a frown. “No, here I am also nothing. I am the least of them because I don’t want to lose my arms or my legs. My devotion is imperfect which means I am imperfect.”
“Do you regret it?”
The only answer he got was something so unexpected he still was working around it. “You’re such a klutz. It’s why people are always helping you. Why’d you have to be such a klutz?” And then she walked away.
Then he’d killed Rook and had refused to blow himself up so they’d stripped him down, removed the explosives, and then done something surgical to his face. It burned with pain, but it was a pain he could latch onto, a pain he could own, something to symbolize his failure.
Hey Blane.
Barry? Is that you?
Who else can make your brain tickle like me?
I thought you were on your way to a beach somewhere.
Can’t leave a man behind.
It’s hopeless. You might as well…
Not like I have anything better to do.
There was a pause.
Blane didn’t know what to say but he was suddenly warmed by the idea that he wasn’t alone.
Do we have a plan? he asked.
Frezzie wants to strap on her own bomb.
Blane chuckled. I bet she does. Don’t let her do it, though, okay?
Sebastian won’t let her, don’t worry.
Blane nodded as some of the weight lifted from his soul.
And Barry?
Yeah, what?
Sorry for everything.
Don’t worry about it.
And Barry?
Yeah, what?
Thank you.
This time it was Barry’s turn to pause. Finally he said, Sebastian’s going to keep fightin
g, so you do, too.
Blane continued to sit for a time. He wondered how many others out there knew that their world had been changed by some still unidentified creature. Knowing how things used to be almost made surviving worse. Had he been outside the hotel, he would have been just like everyone else, not knowing, not caring, blissfully believing that the eighty eight and the entity had always been a part of life and that chupacabras were the norm.
Then he remembered the explosion. Someone else was working against the Black Bishop. Someone capable of planting a bomb. He felt a spark of something at the thought of it. He’d felt like he’d been fighting the battle alone for so long… just him and The League. But now there was another. What was it that Barry had said? Every group who has a boot heel to their throat feels helpless right up until the point where they figure out where hope lives.
Is that what this was? Hope?
The numbness began to leave his face. They’d worked on him for hours, transforming him, changing him into something he’d yet to see. He refused to touch it. He didn’t want to know what they’d done.
But of course there was the mirror.
All he had to do was get to his feet and he’d find out.
Yep, it’s the knowing that made things worse.
“Why’d you have to be such a klutz?” he whispered in the voice of a little girl he’d once known.
Then he strode to the mirror to see what they’d started.
THE END
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The Red King
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The Serenity Strain
Immunity
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Hoodoopocalypse
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