Hunters Rise (Echo Team Book 1)

by Joseph Hutton

  Duncan should have expected it, but the realization that most of the rumors about his new commanding officer might just be true left him almost breathless. He slumped against the nearest wall, his thoughts in turmoil. He’d only been with the unit a few days, and already he’d been forced to deal with sorcerers, revenants, and a commanding officer who’d seemingly turned his back on the Lord. It was almost too much to take.

  Still, he had little choice. The Preceptor had agreed to his reassignment for a reason and he’d do his best to live up to his superior’s expectations.

  Yet as he walked off to his quarters, he was unable to banish either his growing sense of discomfort or the feeling of Cade’s teeth clamped tight on the fleshy part of his arm.

  Later that night, Riley shook Cade awake.

  “We’ve got trouble,” he said, his expression grim.

  Cade nodded and ordered him to assemble the rest of Echo Team’s sergeants in a conference room for an immediate meeting.

  When he arrived, Cade joined them at the table, and said simply, “Talk to me.”

  As usual, Flynn did the briefing. “About thirty minutes ago, we received a call from Father Joseph Burns, pastor of St. Margaret’s in Broward Township. Burns is one of our local contacts. He was working late in his office at the rear of the church when a noise out front caught his attention. Concerned about vandalism, he wandered into the sanctuary to find someone standing before the altar and staring in fascination at the cross above it.

  “Father Burns called out to the intruder, asking him what he wanted. At the sound of the priest’s voice, the figure spun around and charged. At which point the good father got the fright of his life. The priest kept his wits about him and managed to outmaneuver the intruder, trapping him in the sacristy to the right of the altar. He took these with his digital camera,” said Flynn, passing a folder across the table to Cade.

  Inside were a series of photographs, obviously printed out on a home computer. Even so, they told the tale quite eloquently.

  Shot through a small window in the door leading to the sacristy, the photos were of a man who’d obviously been dead for several months. His hair had fallen out in clumps, exposing skin covered with a thin patina of mold. One eye stared at the camera; the other was nothing more than a gaping socket. The series of photos showed him pounding on the window glass with what was left of his right hand, the bones of the fourth and fifth fingers clearly visible. Small bits of flesh were left on the glass in one image.

  “We’ve had a few other scattered reports intercepted through the police bands. Mysterious shapes glimpsed roaming through the woods, children being frightened by a stranger looking in through the windows, that sort of thing. I’m willing to bet they were all caused by the same individual.”

  After glancing at the photos, Cade passed them to the rest of his assembled men, letting them each take a good, long look. He stared off into space for several long moments while they did so, lost in thought, then said, “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

  Cade emerged from the manor house twenty minutes later to find a Blackhawk helicopter warming up on the front lawn. The vehicle’s exterior was painted in dark colors and had neither identification nor insignia. Riley stood by the open door, his superior’s Kevlar vest and communications rig in one hand.

  Crossing the lawn, Cade ducked under the rotating blades and took the items from his sergeant. He slipped into the vest, pulled the straps tight, then climbed aboard, finding a seat next to Flynn. Riley wasted no time in following him inside. He flashed a hand signal to the pilot, and the chopper lifted off into the darkness of the evening sky before the sergeant had finished settling into a seat on the other side of the aircraft next to Duncan. Cade pulled on the communications rig and jacked into the panel above his head. Keying the mike, he asked, “How are we doing?”

  Flynn had his laptop open, his fingers dancing across the keyboard as he monitored external traffic through the communications net, and didn’t look up from the screen as he replied. “We’re good. I’ve touched base with Father Burns. His guest is still locked up tight in the sacristy.”

  Cade nodded his understanding and turned to look out the still-open door. The Blackhawk was moving quickly through the night, following the Ohio River as it made its way north. Clouds could be seen on the horizon, but for the moment the weather was fine, and visibility was good. At their current rate of speed, he estimated it would be about a ten-minute journey to Broward Township.

  They passed the short trip in silence. Like Cade, most of the men were thinking about a resurrected Knight trapped like a rat in a small room, his body literally falling apart around him. It was not a comforting image.

  Leaving the river behind, the pilot cut across country at treetop level. It was only a moment or two before the white spire of a church steeple could be seen in the distance. The church was set at the edge of town on a large stretch of property surrounded by a thick grove of elms. It was far enough away from the rest of the community that they ran little risk of being seen, so Cade had the pilot set down momentarily on the back lawn. Cade and his men quickly disembarked, and the pilot took the chopper back up again to wait high overhead for their signal.

  As the four Knights approached, the rear door of the rectory opened, silhouetting the man standing there, waiting for them.

  “Father Burns?” Cade asked, extending his hand. “Commander Williams.”

  “Thank God you’ve arrived, Commander. This way please.” The priest looked askance at the weapons the men carried, but he made no comment about their presence as he led them through the rectory and into the church proper.

  “It’s been quiet in there for the last fifteen minutes,” Burns said, indicating the door of the sacristy with his hand.

  Cade stepped up and peered inside.

  The room was small; a set of floor-to-ceiling cabinets stood opposite a waist-high counter containing a sink, with wooden cupboard bolted to the wall above it.

  Against the far wall crouched the revenant. It was holding a purple stole, obviously taken from the pile of vestments that littered the floor in front of the open cabinets. Intent on its prize, the creature didn’t appear to notice him.

  Cade stepped away from the window and looked at the others. “Okay. I want standard entry procedure. Flynn, you’ve got the door. Riley, you’re with me. Duncan, I want you on overwatch. If it gets by us, it will be up to you to stop it.”

  Cade removed his gun and handed it to Father Burns. “Hold this for me, will ya?”

  The elderly priest accepted it uneasily. “Aren’t you going to need this?” he asked.

  “No,” Cade replied, as he pulled two flash bangs off his belt. “We need to take this thing alive, if you can call it that.” He turned to Riley. “When Flynn opens the door, I’ll toss the flash bangs. I want you to follow with two more. Hopefully, they’ll be enough to bring the thing down. As soon as they go off, we rush in and secure it.”

  Commonly used by law enforcement groups worldwide, the flash bangs were designed to emit a blinding light while at the same time punishing the eardrums with a loud crack. Cade had always pictured it as being caught between a thunderclap and a lightning bolt. The assault on the senses was enough to send most suspects to their knees, their senses reeling. He hoped it would have the same effect on the revenant.

  “If we get in there and things go to shit, don’t hesitate to take it down.”

  “Roger that,” said Riley.

  “We ready?”

  The other three men nodded.

  “All right then, let’s do it.”

  As the priest moved deeper into the nave so that he was well out of the way, the other four men got into position. Cade and Riley on the right-hand side of the door, Flynn in front of it, key in hand. Duncan stood several feet back, his gun pointed directly ahead in case the creature somehow got past the others.

  Cade counted it down on his fingers — one, two, three. On four, Flynn slid the key smoo
thly into the lock, gave it a sharp twist, and pulled the door partially open, giving the others time to toss their flash bangs into the room, before slamming it shut once more.

  This was the dangerous moment, with the door unlocked and all of them looking away so that the pulsing light of the devices wouldn’t blind them. If the revenant chose that moment to charge the door…

  But it did not.

  The flash bangs went off, then Cade and Riley were rushing inside, Flynn at their heels.

  A few moments later they stepped back out of the sacristy carrying the revenant between them, its hands and feet secured with Zip-ties and the purple stole it had been holding doubling as a gag. Cade received his weapon from the grateful Father Burns, while Riley called the chopper in for the extraction.

  The priest watched from the rectory door as the Templars crossed the lawn, tossed their captive into the back of the newly-arrived helicopter, and lifted off without a backward glance.

  Once back at the commandery, Cade left Flynn in charge of the prisoner’s relocation. He needed some time alone to try and marshal his thoughts; things were happening quickly and he hadn’t had nearly enough time to consider the implications of it all.

  After informing the captain of the guard where he would be, he set off on a long walk around the commandery grounds.

  He puzzled over the information his team had uncovered so far. There were gaping holes in it, but he thought he was beginning to see a form to it, a sense of a pattern appearing out of the chaos.

  He had yet to determine how the Enemy was learning the locations of the commanderies, however, and that set him to thinking about the idea that there was a mole in the Order. Despite the Preceptor’s suspicions, he had yet to see anything that might confirm that idea. There was more than one way to uncover the Order’s existence.

  Which brought him to the issue of the revenants. Obviously, the former Templars would know the location of the Order’s hideaways. It was reasonable to think that the Enemy was resurrecting the dead in order to question them, to learn as much about the Order and its various sites as possible. That also might explain some of the haphazardness to the individual attacks. Obviously crisscrossing the Atlantic region wasn’t the most effective way to assault the Order, but if they were forced to attack only the sites revealed to them in this fashion, they’d have little choice in the selection process.

  Yet that didn’t seem right to Cade. It was cumbersome, for one. And it certainly didn’t guarantee success. From what he’d seen so far, their enemy had been well organized and pulled of its operations with skill and expertise. A foe like that wouldn’t rely on the random chance that it might learn something from a half-crazed revenant.

  Full circle again; back to the mole. Cade couldn’t ignore the fact that somehow the Enemy had learned about Ravensgate. Enough that it had been able to penetrate the defenses and slaughter every soldier stationed there, without leaving behind a single witness or physical clue for anyone to work with.

  That implied inside knowledge, as the Preceptor had suggested.

  Frustrated and knowing his lack of understanding about the Enemy’s objective was probably coloring his ability to make sense of the details in front of him, Cade decided it was time to see if they could learn anything from the man they’d captured in Broward.

  Turning toward the manor house, he headed back in that direction with a determined stride and a fresh sense of expectation.

  Chapter Thirteen

  They spent the rest of that day and the majority of the next wading through database after database in an effort to correlate the scant leads they had against lists of known enemies of the Order. The initial threat assessment had come back with over four hundred groups or individuals who had reason to want to harm the Order, from rival religious groups to magickal societies that openly worshipped the devil. From there they had begun the process of correlating the list of names with other known facts, such as the ability to raise a revenant, proximity to the locations of the attacks, and any connection they could find with the number nine.

  By early evening, they still had way too many possibilities to contend with. It was going to be a long night.

  They needed more information, more details to help narrow the search.

  The hoped-for forensic results came back from Ravensgate late the next day, but ultimately proved unhelpful, confirming only what they already knew; that some person or persons unknown had assaulted the compound, murdered everyone on the grounds without the use of modern weaponry, then disappeared back into the night without a trace.

  The team was getting frustrated, the long hours of research without anything to show for it wearing at their nerves.

  They needed something else to happen if they were going to make any progress.

  In the early hours of their third day at Folkenberg, something did.

  Just after 3 a.m., Captain Stanton sent word that the Broadmoor Commandery in upstate New York had just been attacked. This time, with the troops on full alert, they were able to repel the attackers after a fierce firefight. According to the base commander, they had a lot of information for Commander Williams.

  The plane was fueled and the team’s equipment loaded. With thanks to Captain Stanton and his men, Echo Team departed just as the sun was coming up over the horizon.

  A car and driver was waiting for them when they arrived in Syracuse just over an hour and a half later. They passed the ride in silence, not wanting to talk about the investigation in front of a stranger, fellow Templar or not, the suspicion of an inside ally still prominent in their thoughts.

  They were met at the gate by the acting commander, Major Barnes, who led them onto the property and explained what his men had encountered during the battle the evening before. He told a harrowing tale of a wall of fog that enveloped the grounds, of spectral creatures that hunted in its depths. He told of their frantic efforts to throw back the invaders, only to be beaten time and time again. He summed things up with a look of disgust. “By the time it was over, we had thirty-five men dead, sixty-seven wounded. And all we have to show for our efforts is a single corpse.”

  Cade gave the man his full attention. “One of theirs?”

  “Yeah. Somebody made a lucky shot, it seems. We’re not sure why, but shortly after he was killed the fog dissipated, and the attack faded away to nothing.”

  Cade felt his excitement growing. “Let’s have a look at that body.”

  The corpse had been left where it had fallen, some hundred yards away from the entry in the open grass. The man had been in his early thirties, with long black hair and a well-kept beard. He was dressed in a thick robe complete with a hood, something that looked like it belonged in the Middle Ages, beneath which he wore a T-shirt and jeans. The bullet wound in his chest told the rest of the story.

  But it was the signet ring on his left hand that drew Cade’s attention.

  A ring with a skeletal snake chasing its own tail surrounding the number nine.

  Known as the Ouroboros, the snake symbolized many things in many cultures: the circular nature of life, the cyclical power of the universe, the idea that all things are renewed through entropy and decay.

  He had no idea what the nine represented, but at least he now understood why Winston had been focused on the number.

  Cade knew that he was looking at his first concrete clue to the attackers’ identities.

  Assuming that the dead man had been the sorcerer who had summoned the ghostly fog, it seemed logical to guess that his death had banished the creatures back to their own realm of existence.

  Around them, Barnes’s men were hard at work collecting the bodies of the dead, both those that had perished at the hands of the Enemy and those that had risen again only to be sent on to their final rest by their fellow Knights. It was a gruesome sight, one that filled Cade with unease, for he knew that he could have been investigating another deserted commandery if Barnes’s troops had not succeeded in repelling the assault. The thought pr
ompted a question.

  Turning back to the major, Cade asked, “Any idea what their objective was?”

  “We’re not entirely certain. As near as I can tell, the attack was a diversion, designed to hide whatever it was that they were doing in the cemetery. We found a block and tackle set up over a grave, but we haven’t had time to look into it further yet.”

  “Show me,” said Cade.

  Barnes led them across the property and into the cemetery. It was a large one, with graves dating back more than one hundred years, yet the one they finally stopped at was no more than a few months old. The inscription read simply JULIUS SPENCER. The coffin had been dug out of the grave and its lid torn open, but the body of the former Knight remained resting peacefully inside. The aforementioned block and tackle lay discarded in the grass a few feet away. Unlike the scene at Templeton, with its many desecrated graves, here only this particular one had been disturbed.

  As Riley questioned the locals for more details, Cade stepped away from the others and used his Sight to survey the scene around him

  With it he could see that the graveyard existed in the Beyond, just as it did here, but that was where the similarity ended. In the real world, the graveyard was a well-manicured place of respect and remembrance. In the Beyond, it was a wild, desolate locale.

  The grass was overgrown, knee high in most places, obscuring many of the gravestones. The stones themselves were cracked and worn, the writing on their surfaces obscured by overgrowths of fungi and mold. The trees, in the real world lush and healthy, were disease-ridden hulks in the Beyond, their leafless branches stretching down almost to the ground, their skeletal forms stark against the grey sky. Off to his left, the brooding form of the manor house stood watch in the distance.

  A flicker of motion caught his eye.

  When he turned to find it, he saw a shadowy figure standing out among the gravestones. Before he could get a good look, the figure moved off, disappearing from view among the markers.