The Last Line Series One

by David Elias Jenkins

  Usher peered through the rain at the vague shape of a large building.

  “You reckon that’s what it’s trying to conceal.”

  Santiago ran a hand through his sculpted black beard.

  “Yeah, I’d put money on it. What’s Punch doing now?”

  Usher scanned for the creature. It was crouched beside an abandoned car, perfectly still and watching a group of homeless people try to assemble a rain shelter out of polystyrene and bubble wrap.

  “Nothing, but he looks like a lion eying up a herd of gazelle.”

  “If he goes for one?”

  “They’re all male so they don’t fit his MO. If he goes for one it will just be for sport or hunger. Then we take him out.”

  Santiago brought out a strange looking baton launcher.

  “I could try netting him from here. It’s a bit out of range, but-”

  Usher reached out and gently pressed down the barrel of Santiago’s net gun.

  “I want to slot this prick as much as you do. But it’s the lair we want and whatever he’s hiding in it. We need to see where he goes.”

  A bulky shadow fell over them both. The square jaw of Brock, the final team member, loomed out of the dark. Rain dripped from his nose and he frowned down at them with a look of frightening grouchiness. Even his whisper was a rumbling bass. He was so broad that Usher and Santiago were actually quite glad of the shelter.

  “Why don’t I just go over and pick that little spook up by his throat? I mean, before we all get hypothermia. I could wring the water out of him.”

  Usher squeezed Brock’s brawny arm.

  “Still suffering pal? Why is it the bigger the man, the worse the man-flu?”

  Brock crouched down, snorted up a big mouthful of snot and then spat it on the ground. He shook his head.

  “I swear I’d rather fight the whole Unseelie Court than skulking about in this rain hawking up troll-jizz.”

  Charlie winked at him. “Always saw you as more of a swallower than a spitter, Brock. When it came to troll jizz.”

  “I’m a giver not a taker Charlie. You’ll see, if we ever end up cellmates.”

  Usher raised his hand to shut them up.

  “He’s moving boys. Let’s track him quiet and slow back to that lair of his.”

  Empire One huddled together and readied to follow the Unseelie wherever it led.

  The creature was rising up to a semi-crouch on its bizarre toady legs. Santiago was chewing nervously on a toothpick.

  “It leaving the scene or planning to pounce?”

  Usher shook his head.

  “I can’t tell.”

  The Unseelie was slowly moving out from behind the car, crawling on all fours closer to the group of homeless men. They were oblivious to his presence and busied themselves with the creation of their shelter. The creature stretched out its Nosferatu fingers and a grey tongue licked its lips.

  “Strommy…”

  “I got it.”

  Stromberg brought his rifle up and took aim through the dark.

  Empire One had a reputation within the STG and beyond as The Lucky Few. In part it was genuine compliment because they were the team that had experienced by far the most contacts with the Unseelie bestiary. They had captured, killed and driven back more abominations than the other teams put together. They had gained such a reputation that the Unseelie themselves knew them by name. The creatures of the other side hated and feared them, and had more than once tried to assassinate them personally. In part The Lucky Few was meant ironically, because if there was a Mexican standoff, an inescapable prison, an impossible choice or a virtual suicide mission, it was generally assumed that Empire One would find themselves slap-bang in the middle of it.

  Usher routinely had to make decisions like this one; save the homeless guy from becoming dinner by blowing cover, or stick to mission, observe and track only and find the creature’s lair as instructed.

  The Unseelie was leaning back, ready to pounce.

  Usher never took long over decisions like this.

  “Light him up.”

  Stromberg fired the grenade launcher fixed beneath his carbine. The flare arced up into the night, fizzing in the rain, and then landed a metre from the creature and its intended victim, showering sparks and illuminating the entire area.

  The moment was caught like a scene from a silent movie. In the strobe effect of the flickering flare, the creature spun and peered.

  Usher glared at it through the scope of his rifle.

  “Aaaannd there’s Punch.”

  The homeless prey just stood staring at the thing in front of it and then stepped back and fell into their makeshift shelter, sending cardboard boxes tumbling to the ground.

  The Unseelie was frozen for a moment like a really ugly rabbit in the headlights.

  A bleached face shaped like a crescent moon reflected a sickly green in the light from the flare. Its absurdly wide mouth was fixed in a jester’s grin and showed teeth that could only belong to a shark. Wide bloodshot eyes that screamed madness stared at Usher.

  Debruler had briefed them pre-mission that this being had stalked the underbelly of London for hundreds of years, earning the nickname Spring-heeled Jack. Empire One had taken one look at him and just called him Punch. Debruler had been deeply concerned at his reappearance in London’s dark alleyways.

  This thing hasn’t been seen for over a hundred years, Usher. I don’t know why it’s surfaced now but it’s not the only thing. There have been reports cropping up all over the Capital. Things not seen for generations. They’re getting stronger. Bolder. Like the are rallying to something.

  The Unseelie cocked its head and regarded them for a few moments and then sprang up on its froglike legs, grabbed the shocked homeless man by the collar and leaped across the waste ground in a series of terrific bounds.

  “Cover on!”

  “Moving!”

  Usher and the team launched after him, their human legs pistoling hard as they tried to keep up with the supernatural creature.

  They passed through the pool of light created by the fading flare, crossed over the embers of the oil drum fire and then plunged into the darkness of the rubble strewn waste ground. They activated the tactical lights on their carbines, scanning the night for a sign of the creature.

  Stromberg called out.

  “Ten o’clock! On the wall!!

  They trained their weapons and saw the Unseelie half way up an abandoned factory, stuck to the wall like an insect with his captive wriggling and squealing in one clawed hand. As soon as it saw them it leapt across twenty feet to a chimney stack and crawled down.

  “If you have a shot take it. Before he can harm the civvy.”

  Empire One had lost sight of the creature but followed the screams of its captive and soon found themselves standing before the derelict hospital Santiago had scouted as its potential lair. Usher scanned the building and located the nearest entrance.

  “Looks like you were right, Santiago.”

  Santiago slung his carbine and shouldered the net launcher.

  “Course I was. I’m the best scout from Timbuktu to how-do-you-do.”

  The team stacked up on the entrance and on Usher’s signal took the corridor.

  It was eerily deserted. A long passageway of cracked tiles and broken windows stretched out before them. The rain leaked to gather in dirty puddles on the floor.

  Charlie flicked his head left and right, covering the rear.

  “Where’d pretty-boy go?”

  Long wet footprints lined the floor and walls, left by the creature as it spiralled crazily through the hospital. Usher nodded at them.

  “Don’t need to be a tracker to follow this thing.”

  The team made their way tactically through the hospital, clearing rooms as they went. They descended a staircase away from the wards and into a series of laboratories and maintenance rooms. The place was crawling with rats and scaled in rust and rot. A foul stench hit them as they turned a cor
ner.

  Usher signalled a stop.

  “Smell that?”

  Stromberg nodded.

  “Unseelie. Dead stink.”

  Brock grunted and sniffed. His blocked nose rattled with mucous.

  “Can’t smell a fucking thing.”

  Usher grinned.

  “Lucky you, big fella. When in doubt?”

  Charlie drew his Soulblade.

  “Follow yer hooter.”

  The team crept further into the depths of the complex, carefully avoiding broken glass and rat shit. Apart from a steady drip drip from the ceiling there was no indication of what lay ahead. Soon they came to a set of swinging plastic doors marked Deliveries.

  Gripping weapons and controlling breathing, the team moved inside.

  Usher stood there taking in the scene in front of him. None of them were strangers to horror, it was their profession, but they were not immune to shock.

  The delivery warehouse was arranged like a sick artist’s tableau. Seven naked women stood in a rough circle around a central plinth. They faced outwards away from the plinth with arms raised and each holding something small between their clasped hands. They looked like an old witch’s coven trying to raise the devil. Usher almost called out to them until he realized they were dead.

  Stromberg’s jaw dropped. “Boss, I’m used to weird, but what the fuck?”

  Jeter appraised the situation with cold efficiency.

  “It seems we have located our missing women. And unfortunately, their offspring.”

  Usher felt a hot coal in the pit of his stomach.

  The women, local homeless and prostitutes, had been embalmed in some kind of shiny resin. They stood immobile and brittle, like toffee apples. Their bellies yawned wide, glistening dark and hollow. A single tether stretched from these chasms to their outstretched hands, where each of them held a foetus in various stages of development as if in offering.

  Usher felt as if the Unseelie were taunting him. To show him what they did to women and children was a sharp reminder of the loss of his own family so long ago. He felt the bile rise, his blood simmer and his eyes burned maroon. The residual feral magic in his blood that rose in times of stress had never truly faded.

  Brock spat on the floor in disgust.

  “Those sick fucks.”

  Charlie took a step towards them and nearly slipped on the floor slick with blood.

  “Poor girls. What the hell have they done to them?”

  Usher reached out and touched one of the women’s faces. The eyes were glassy and wide. The skin felt lacquered. He could hardly bring himself to look at the child in her hands. A glossy ball of flesh born into dark magic. Held up like a lantern to dazzle the seekers.

  “Like Debruler told us. They were used for a spell. This outward…presentation…of life…it masks the Unseelie. Hides this place from us. From people like Debruler and Ariel. And the psychics.”

  Jeter scanned the storage room with his carbine. He stooped like a clockwork soldier and zeroed in on something moving in the shadows.

  “Eleven o’clock. In the corner.”

  The team raised their weapons as one and squinted into the shadows. They turned on the tac-lights mounted on their carbines.

  The Unseelie was crouched there with its back to them. It was spasming and jerking, moving like a speeded up film. An unpleasant ripping sound was coming from it.

  Usher and Santiago slung their carbines and drew Tasers while the rest kept conventional weapons trained on the creature.

  Usher took a step forward. It had taken all his military discipline not to just slot the creature in the back of the head, as he had done to so many others, but he needed answers.

  “Hey Punch.”

  The creature froze as the tactical lights illuminated it and the laser sights skimmed across its body. It turned around with a string of flesh between its shark teeth and Usher realized what it had been doing. A man’s leg protruded from the shadows, shod in a battered old Doc Marten boot.

  Spring Heeled Jack looked as insane as a creature could be. Its huge bloodshot eyes were manic with suppressed laughter, but it was the laugh of a cracked mind.

  Up close Usher could see evidence that this being had not surfaced to stalk London’s streets for some time. It was dressed in layers of Victorian rags, patched and repaired many times.

  Its voice was surprisingly shrill.

  “Left behind guvnor.”

  Usher moved closer, trying to get in range for the Taser. The rest began to slowly encircle it, blocking its escape.

  “What’s left behind?”

  The Unseelie threw its long arms wide, filthy talons spattering blood on the walls.

  “Old Jack left to pick up the pieces. Tidy up these strumpets, quims out cluttering up the place. Fackin’ disgrace. Titties and little’uns on show.”

  Spring Heeled Jack pulled the stringy flesh of the homeless man’s calf from his teeth and held it up with a look of curiosity, as if he hadn’t realized he had been eating the man only a few moments before.

  “Place is a midden. Bit of spit and polish required, gents. Shan’t keep ya.”

  Charlie addressed the being through gritted teeth. His sights were steady on its chest.

  “This all your handiwork, Punch? You do this to these poor girls? You’re not long for this world, mate.”

  The creature seemed to have a moment of clarity, its wild eyes creeping over the advancing team.

  “What are you lot? All afternoonified in those fackin shiny clothes. Bunch of lickfinger Marys if you ask me. You’ll get no cock here, soldier.”

  Santiago frowned at the creature.

  “Charlie, what is that, ancient cockney? You’re gonna have to translate for the Hispanic.”

  “I think he’s questioning your orientation, mate. He’s a smidgen behind the times when it comes to attitudes.”

  Santiago shrugged as the creature picked more flesh from its teeth.

  “I’m not the one with man hanging out my mouth.”

  Usher and Santiago position themselves at six and nine to the creature. It tried to back up a little on all fours, but there was nowhere to go. Usher addressed it.

  “So you’ve been left behind. By what? What was here that was so important that you needed to kill these girls to try and hide it from us?”

  Spring Heeled Jack looked suddenly sad, his absurdly wide mouth curling down.

  “Don’t let this gigglemug fool ya. I got the morbs, don’t I? Left here all weeping in my cups. Gonna miss the Rez.”

  Usher was almost in range.

  “The rez?”

  Spring Heeled Jack suddenly pointed and spat fury at them.

  “The resurrection you fackin nonce!”

  Usher glanced askance around the room, at the strange plinth in the centre of the murdered girls and their babies.

  “That’s what this place was? You’re trying to summon something? Summon what?”

  “Her majesty of course. Her what will eat all your little’uns.”

  Usher’s blood ran cold with sudden realization.

  “The Bones? The Bones of Lilith were here? In London?”

  “Fack off.”

  “Where are they now?”

  Jack laughed to himself and stuck his long thumbs in his tatty gore-soaked waistcoat.

  “Safe from you afternooners. There are more hidey-holes in London town than you could imagine, matey. She ain’t here no more lads they got her tucked away safe. Thought I’d get me a nice little holiday out of it, but no, they leave old Jack behind to pick up the tits.”

  “Where, you blithering lunatic? Where is she? And where is Cornelius Fortune”

  Jack suddenly turned to Charlie, who kept his carbine aimed straight at him.

  “You! You sound like a good east end lad after me own heart. What do you think of me butcher’s shop? Look at them strumpets, all cleaned and gutted. Lovely bags o mystery they are. I always loved looking inside a woman, see how her clock ticks.
”

  Charlie gave it a contemptuous grin.

  “About to get yer clock punched, mate.”

  The Taser barbs hooked into the creature’s bleached skin and fifty thousand volts seared through the thin trailing wires into its flesh. Usher and Santiago let their weapons cycle for the five second rotation then activated them again.

  The Unseelie fell on its back and kicked like a beetle in the sun. Its wild grey hair smoked and from its mouth a peel of choking laughter. In between rotations it tried to get up but Usher and Santiago hit it with another blast. Finally it lay there shaking and spitting on the floor as Santiago unslung his baton launcher and fired and weighted net over the creature. It hissed and cursed but only wound itself tighter.

  Brock sighed and in his gravel voice spoke.

  “Time for bed Mr Punch.”

  Brock walked up and struck the thing square in the forehead. It switched off like a light and fell silent on the concrete.

  Usher breathed out, glad the foul killer was finally under control.

  “That’s the way to do it.”

  Usher sent his team to ensure the rest of the storage room was clear as he got on the comms to control. Before he could transmit, Jeter called him over.

  Usher rounded the palettes of medical supplies and saw Jeter standing at an open roller door. A truck was backed right up to it and on its trailer was a shipping crate.

  Jeter had a sheaf of torn papers in his hands.

  “Looks like this came off a ship at Felixstowe, Major. From Canada.”

  Usher slowly turned and looked at the plinth.

  That’s why the Unseelie are getting stronger, waking up.

  “The Bones of Lilith are in London, Jeter. They’re here.”

  The German nodded.

  “But not for long I’ll wager. The rate the background thaumaturgy in London is rising, they’ll be ready to rez her soon. Then we have an entirely different level of problem to deal with.”

  Usher peered into the empty container.

  The Unseelie had sneaked the thaumaturgic equivalent of a dirty bomb into London. They would not be unable to detonate it until Lilith herself could be restored to life and power. The Unseelie always seemed to be one step ahead, thought Usher. They had done since the Bloodmist operation. They were getting help from somewhere. No doubt.