Judgement Night: Bureau 13 Book 1

by Nick Pollota

  “Describe,” I ordered Mindy since she was looking in the correct direction.

  “Four times original size,” she grunted. “Tusks have been added, along with a chest full of tentacles, an elongated snout and ice.”

  “Ice?” I echoed.

  Raul nodded, sweat glistening on his muscular chest. “Lake is freezing. Fast.”

  “Well, do something about it!”

  He scowled. “Without my books and wand?”

  A chill touched my skin and nobody had to tell me that the ice was getting closer. Momentarily it occurred to me that any onlookers would probably discount this whole thing as a movie, or a hallucination, as I would have only a few short years ago. Life was strange that way. But then, working for the Bureau was even stranger. Just ask Admiral Presley of our Space Defense Fleet.

  “Michael, whatever you're doing, hurry it along!” I shouted.

  “Sorry,” the priest sighed, pocketing the Bible. “Didn't work.”

  “Exorcism?” Raul guessed, through clenched teeth.

  “Yep.”

  A chattering burst of machine gun fire from the shore told me George was in action. I only hoped he had armor-piercing rounds, or something fancy in the belt. I had already tried simple lead to no effect.

  “Here it comes!” Mindy shouted, and the boat jerked to a stop.

  In a crackling wave, the entire surface of the lake solid ice. At first glance, it appeared relatively thin, but the thickness was visibly increasing by the second. Which gave me an idea. I checked and everybody was wearing sneakers. Raul's were orange with purple lightning bolts and blinking lights, but what the hey.

  “Run for it!” I yelled, leaping from the rowboat and scampering cross the ice towards the swimming platform. At the very least, the wooden assembly would give us a stable base to fight from.

  “Tunafish!” Raul cried once more, but it wasn't necessary. We were facing in the opposite direction and making time. The ice was smooth as glass and none of us were any too damn nimble, except for Mindy, who was gliding along with her usual ninja grace.

  But a few feet away from the platform, Mindy cursed, dropped to her knees and hit the ice with a karate chop. It splintered to pieces, but quickly froze solid again.

  “What?” I demanded, stopping alongside her.

  She pointed. Swimming just below the surface was a human figure. The ice blurred the face, but I could tell it was Jessica. The beautiful telepath must have been trying to sneak up behind the creature when winter hit. The expression on her face told me there wasn't much time. A dozen plans went through my mind and I chose the fastest.

  Pulling the .357, I blew a fast series of holes forming a rough circle. On cue, Mindy hit the ice with a closed fist and this time it cracked into tiny bobbing fragments. We pulled Jessica free and I slung the wet girl over my shoulder. With Mindy's help, we reached the platform. Dry wood sure felt good. As I gave the shivering Jess my shirt, I saw that Bozo Boy was even bigger, had four wings and two heads.

  Madre mia, when would this thing stop growing? Silently I offered anybody paying attention my eternal soul for one loaded bazooka. There were no takers. Not surprising. Wasn't much of a soul.

  Standing on the edge of the platform, Donaher had his pocket Bible open and was doing the Latin routine once more. I figured a blessing to help protect us from evil.

  “Amen,” he said pulling a tiny vial from inside his shirt and pouring the contents into the lake.

  Holy water?

  Instantly, a section of ice melted and a spiderweb of cracks exploded outward to spread across the lake with lightning speed. The chunks dissolved and as the open water reached Big Icky, its clawed hooves burst into flame and the dinghy disappeared. Howling and shrieking, the nightmarish thing flapped its way into the sky.

  Arcing over us, a lance of fire reached out from shore to hose the beast from claws to horn. Keening in what sounded like real pain, the monster seriously beat wings and headed for the distant clouds.

  “Its going to come back,” Jessica warned, fingertips resting on temples.

  “So swim for shore!” Mindy cried, diving into the water.

  Pausing at the edge of the platform, Raul gave me a consoling look before he also dove. It was appreciated. Might have been only ten meters to shore, but I am perhaps the worst swimmer in North America since Rod “The Rock” Kinnison.

  “Send the boat!” I suggested when Father Donaher pushed me from behind. I went under with a splash, and after a short eternity came to the surface blowing water out of my nose. Frantically dog paddling for the shore, I wondered what the penance was for killing a priest.

  I sighed with relief when land was under my sneakers, and stumbling from the cold water I joined the rest of my team waiting impatiently on the grass. Then the seven of us sprinted for the log cabin where all of our stuff was kept. Or rather, everything we took on vacation. Our motor home and heavy weapons were parked safe in town some thirty miles away. Might as well have been on the moon.

  Gathering on the porch, we kept a watchful scan on the sky.

  “Run, or make a stand?” Richard asked, breathing hard. His red speedo had shrunk in the water to a shocking size, his right hand clenched at his side, feeling for a wizard wand not there.

  Good question. Our jeep could easily hold the lot of us and boasted a top speed of sixty. However, its open sides offered us no protection, the road was laughable and the Winged Wonder could probably do sixty in its sleep.

  Cracking open my exhausted weapon, I dropped the spent brass and slide in a speedloader of fresh rounds.

  “Cabin,” I decided.

  Piling inside, we barricaded the doors with furniture, then closed and locked the wooden shutters and the windows. This was accomplished without conversation. We've done this sort of stuff before. But our next step was not so obvious.

  “Council,” I ordered, and they gathered around. “Summary. It resembles every nasty thing in the world combined, likes water and ice, dislikes fire and holy water.”

  “And it lies,” Jessica added, tucking a pert breast back into the bikini top it had inadvertently popped out of while she ran. Feeling my face flush, I did my best to ignore the action.

  “So it's demonic in nature,” Mindy said eagerly, her eyes starting to brighten with the prospect of battle. “That's a start at least. Dick, Raul, did you recognize it?”

  Both of the wizards shook heads. I knew how much they wished for their gear and once again I cursed myself for making the mages leave the stuff behind. But it was well known that if you don't sit on them occasionally, wizards would do nothing all day but play with their wands. No joke intended.

  “Jessica, any chance of doing a Mind Blast?” I asked hopefully.

  The lady psychic stared. “Against that behemoth? No way.”

  “Father?”

  Over by the porch, Donaher let the window curtain drop back into place. “Sorry, Ed, did my best already.”

  True enough. Evil clerics might have more destructive spells than a Catholic priest, but they sure weren't the kind of folk you really wanted to pal around with. Or turn your back on.

  “Okay,” I said, biting a lip. “Then its physical weapons.” Pulling out my .357 Magnum I checked the load. It was a combo load, two cold iron, two silver, and two steel-jacketed hollow point bullets. Damn.

  “The thing doesn't like fire, so I'll light the fireplace,” Jessica offered, moving across the living room. Defense was always her best talent.

  “And the oven,” Mindy reminded, flipping her sword through the air. “Hey, isn't there kerosene in the basement?”

  I smiled. “Way to go, killer. There's a couple of ten gallon cans in storage.”

  Shouting a war whoop, Mindy sheathed her blade and disappeared down the stairs. Personally, I was pleased by her reaction. I knew the martial artist would have preferred to go hand-to-hand with the creature. But there are times when even her deadly fists and indestructible sword just won't do the job required.
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  “We'll need soap powder and a funnel,” Richard said, dashing into the kitchen. The mage knew exactly what we were doing. This was a recipe everybody had memorized. Basic Monster Fighting, Chapter One.

  “There are soda bottles on the porch,” Raul offered, “And some sheets that can be cut into fuses.”

  Filling a bucket with water, I told him not to bother. “Go assist Mindy with the kerosene. I have a plan, and we may get out of this yet. George, how many rounds remaining?”

  “Fifty-seven,” George replied from his position by the door, not bothering to count the length of linked shells dangling from his ungainly weapon. “Steel-tipped, armor-piercng.”

  “Save ‘em.”

  “Check.”

  A click-clack sounded from the bedroom and out walked Donaher holding a pump-action 12-gauge shotgun. The antique was not ours, it had come with the cabin.

  “Ten shells,” he announced. “Double-ought buck.”

  Better and better. As the group got busy, I surveyed the cabin and tried to outline my battle plan. The exterior consisted of hundred year old oak logs cemented into place. The interior walls were lined with antique brick, the floor made of modern concrete. Wood beams thick as a Volvo supported the ceiling, and the roof itself was butt-braced slate, capable of carrying a winter's accumulated snowfall. I may have goofed on not letting the crew bring their toys along, but I sure wasn't stupid enough to bunk us in a place that would crumble at the first sign of trouble.

  With the good Father's help, we shoved the bookcases in front of the windows and blocked the door with the big sofa bed. Yeah, perfect, if we can just finish in time we might stand a chance.

  Just then, a tremendous thump sounded on the roof, the whole building gave a mighty creak and the windows shattered. Aw crap. Peeking through a shutter, I saw a couple of scaly lengths, thick as tree trunks, blocking the exit.

  “Something is coiled about the place, trying to crush us,” I announced as a rain of dust fell from the rafters and the cabin groaned. “Most likely Laughing Boy has polymorphed again.”

  “Thanks for the news flash,” Mindy snorted, returning with the kerosene cans from the basement.

  The containers sloshed full and Raul hauled them to the kitchen. While I kept guard with the Magnum, Mindy held the funnel steady so that Richard could pour laundry soap into the metal fuel containers. Styrofoam worked better, but we didn't have time to dice disposable coffee cups.

  Father Donaher worked the pump on the shotgun, chambering a round. “Following the basic rules on demons, the beasty probably can not enter this dwelling without our permission. However, there is nothing to prevent it from crushing the place to ruins and then snacking on us like organic trail mix.”

  “Oh, shut up and do a prayer,” Richard snapped, screwing the cap onto the finished can, placing it next to the other. For some reason, wizards get rather testy when their lives depend on non-magical solutions. The big sissies.

  Solemnly Donaher crossed himself and lowered his head. “Lord, please don't let us die.”

  “Amen!” everybody chorused.

  In a thunder of splintering wood, the porch collapsed. I took that as the cue to move.

  “Michael, nine o'clock at the door,” I shouted, and the priest took a position to the left of the jamb, his shotgun at the ready. “Raul, flip over the kitchen table. Jess, six o'clock with the cans. George, behind the table. Anybody got a Magic Marker?”

  With a flourish, Richard pulled a felt-tip pen out of thin air and handed it to me. A magic marker, ha. I said thanks and ordered him to the living room with everybody else. As the skinny man raced to obey, it occurred to me how odd it felt giving orders to a person who had been in the Bureau so much longer than me. But over the years, the chief decided I was a natural leader. Especially in combat situations. I didn't consider myself smarter than Richard, just meaner and faster. Guess that amounted to the same thing.

  Drawing a mark on the door, I stepped to the broken window and cocked the hammer on the .357 Magnum.

  “This is gonna be tight, people!” I shouted over the groaning of the rafter beams. A crack appeared in the slate roof and a clutter of stones fell from the fireplace. “Ready? Three. Two. One, go!”

  Crossing my fingers in a primitive luck ceremony, I emptied my Magnum at the snake body which was bending and cracking the woodwork on the window. The bullets merely ricocheted off the scales. But the muscular lengths instinctively tightened to block any escape attempt. Which meant the rest of its body would be shifting a bit to allow the contraction. Exactly what I was counting on.

  “Now!” I cried, pointing at Donaher.

  His shotgun booming a gaping hole appeared in the wooden door.

  “Jess, go!”

  As if reading my thoughts, the telepath hopped on the couch, lowered the two cans through the hole and placed them atop the coil just below the jagged opening.

  “Scat!” I commanded, and they ran for the imagined safety of the living room. Soon as they were clear, I crouched behind the upturned table and hit George on the leg. In a stuttering roar, the M60 cut loose, tracing a line of holes through the sofa, the door and the cans beyond.

  For almost a full second I thought the trick wouldn't work. Then the world exploded in flame as those twin ten-gallon Molotov cocktails outside did their favorite thing. The sofa, door and table offered us some protection from the blast, but the heat flash bellowed into the kitchen to cook the air from our lungs and we fell to our knees coughing. Lord, I would never be mean to a French fry again.

  Above the noise of the detonation, we could hear a hideous screaming that wassailed and wailed. Violently, the cabin shook to its foundation, a roof beam cracked, the fireplace collapsed and then everything went terribly still.

  Smoke was pouring into the kitchen, making it impossible to breathe. But that was no problem. We simply scampered through the gaping ruin of the porch and onto the lawn. The sight of the giant thing flapping into the horizon was more beautiful than any sunset I could remember.

  “Well look at that,” Richard muttered, crossing his arms. “I wonder why the kerosene is sticking to it so well?”

  Sword in hand, Mindy smiled. “I added a tube of epoxy glue to the Molotovs as an added bonus.”

  Shifting position, George shouldered his ungainly machine gun to rest the stock on a hip. “Where the heck did you get epoxy from?”

  “My purse,” she replied, “Its perfect for repairing broken fingernails.”

  “Its secret girl stuff,” Jessica explained.

  We had a shaky laugh at that, and started slapping shoulders in triumphant. But the victory celebration was unexpectedly cut short when our Bureau wristwatches began beeping the emergency recall signal.

  TWO

  Everybody glanced at a wrist, even Jessica, who had been swimming. Our watches were standard Bureau issue. The nifty devices were a combination watch and cell phone, 56k modem, VCR remote control and calculator that were proofed against shock, water, magnetism, fire, ethereal bombardment hard radiation, and toxic chemical chocolate fudge. Don't ask. Plus, they could be set to explode. Switzerland would have given a fortune for the design. Seiko tried once a year to steal them.

  With a flip of my wrist, I turned the thing off. Okay, so there was an important message from headquarters waiting for us in the van. First we had a fire to extinguish. Luckily, the majority of the flames had departed along with our uninvited guest so it only took some brief work with garden hose to extinguish the blaze. None of our camping gear was damaged, just smelly with smoke. However, there was another problem. The garage had been reduced to a pile of smashed timbers and our jeep was gone.

  Nudging an empty window frame with a tan toe, Richard sighed. “Apparently the creature ate it as an appetizer.”

  “Good thing it was a rental,” Mindy noted, turning over a section of plywood to expose the cement flooring. “Ed, you get full coverage?”

  “Of course.”

  “Whew.”
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br />   George hitched his belt. “Guess we walk to town.”

  “Fifty miles?” Raul asked incredulously. “Get real.”

  “Faith, it's just a healthy stretch of the legs,” Donaher said, primly stroking his bushy moustache.

  The mage scowled. “You walk, I'll fly.”

  As I glanced over the battlefield of our vacation home, ideas came and went like riffling cards. Then finally, a winner. Yeah, that ought to do fine.

  “Perhaps there is an alternative,” I announced, thoughtfully rubbing my chin.

  “Yes,” Jessica said, her palms flat against her temples, eyes tightly closed. “They are not home, but it is there.”

  Expectantly, the team turned to look at the telepath. They had seen this routine many times before.

  “Explain, please,” Richard asked politely.

  “Down the road about twenty miles is the Hayes place,” I stated, sounding annoyed. Wish she would stop answering my questions before I ask them. “Bill and Louisa. They own a couple of four-by-four trucks and a cargo jeep.”

  “Sounds perfect. Want me to go steal the jeep?” Mindy asked, standing and dusting off her hands.

  In silent fury, Father Donaher stared at the woman and her smile wilted fast.

  “Er ... that is, should I commandeer the vehicle as is my legal right as a federal law enforcement agent for the United States of America?”

  The priest nodded. “Better.”

  “Don't go naked,” I warned.

  She winked. “Never.”

  Disappearing into the cabin, Mindy returned in a minute sporting camouflage-pattern pants and shirt, with a belt slung over her shoulder, a dozen kitchen knives of various lengths shoved through the leather, making a crude bandoleer.

  “Holler if you need help,” George said, checking the feed on his M60. The ammunition belt was pitifully short, only a handful of rounds still dangling in view.

  “Check,” she announced settling the glittering strap about her shoulders. “On my way.”

  Dashing across the road, Mindy stepped into the bushes and was gone. Stoically, we returned to the salvage operation. Searching through the wreckage, Richard found a pile of tools and appropriated a crowbar. He then sharpened the end to a razor point on a small grinding wheel. Raul chose a double-headed axe, carefully wrapping sticky electrical tape about the handle for a sure grip. Jessica cobbled together a few more Molotov cocktails, in glass bottles this time. Donaher still had his shotgun with a pocketful of shells, and I had my trusty S&W .357 Magnum containing four mixed rounds. There had once been a chain saw in a toolbox near the woodpile, but that disappeared along with the porch. Too bad.