Infernal: Emergence

by Ricky Fleet

  “You wait here,” Mother ordered Drake in the outer chamber.

  “But, I…”

  “Here, I said!” she shrieked and he conceded with a childish snort.

  Stepping into the room, the six spread out around the stone monument with Mother at Malachi’s head. She thanked Krauss for his service and he smiled and bowed before leaving the chamber. A smaller, but no less impressive mirror similar to the one from his dream leaned against a wall and Malachi was filled with gut wrenching dread.

  “Spit on me, boy, and I will cut off your lips and tear your tongue out, do you understand?” Mother said, staring down.

  Malachi nodded slowly, trying to control the violent tremors of fear and she peeled away the tape.

  “What is this place?”

  “I think you know,” Mother stroked his face with a leathery hand, “You have been shown a similar room. In here we talk to those who listen.”

  “It’s the mirror, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. It once belonged to one of our earlier supporters; Countess Elizabeth Báthory. You may have called her ‘The Blood Countess’. She was a visionary who was imprisoned unjustly by cowards who couldn’t comprehend her noble aims. What difference do the lives of a few hundred commoners make when compared to the possibility of immortality?”

  “As long as there are people like me, you will always face resistance to your evil,” Malachi declared.

  “With your death, there will be no more people like you,” she informed the young man, “Your existence is only made possible by the culmination of a series of unique events. The chances of it happening again are infinitesimal.”

  “You’re out of your fucking mind,” Malachi sighed and lay still, resigned to his fate. His life had been filled with heartache and perpetual dread every time his head lay on the pillow. He was beyond exhausted with it all.

  Reaching in to her robe, she pulled a sickle shaped blade out and closed her eyes, “My masters, it is I, Ursula Creighton. I implore you to answer me.”

  Nothing happened at first, so she continued.

  “Xazuxal, Mordreth Jord, mighty generals of the underworld, I beseech you. We bring you an offering; a mortal with the blood of the divine flowing in his veins!”

  The candle flames wavered, stirred by an unseen presence. The unblemished surface of the mirror rippled and a malevolent voice rebounded in the chamber.

  “Why do you disturb me?” It gurgled, undulations playing on the reflective glass.

  “I offer you the life of this man, Malachi. He is a shroud walker and sworn enemy to all that we stand for!”

  “Truly?” It asked, and a face peered out, but different to the one in Malachi’s dreams. Long snouted, with rows of nightmarish fangs snapping hungrily, it studied the young man on the altar.

  “Yes, my lord. We offer him to you to further show our loyalty.”

  “He is familiar to me, this whelp. Ahhh,” It sighed in recognition, “Berumozun sent him the vision to test his compassion.”

  “Yes, my lord. He failed the test and now pays the price.”

  “I can smell the goodness in him,” It snarled, “Finish it quickly, I want to taste his soul!”

  “As you wish, my lord,” Ursula nodded and raised the knife overhead.

  “No!” cried the young priestess, shucking off the robe to reveal twin fully automatic Glock 17 pistols in her hands and a vest filled with blocks of C4 plastic explosive.

  The crazed woman, shot a withering glare her way and the knife plunged down in slow motion. Raising the guns, she let off short bursts of fire and the bullets tore through the old woman’s arms, practically severing them except for some tendons and ligaments.

  “Kill him!” ordered the being furiously.

  Swinging one arm to her left, she squeezed the trigger and a network of holes appeared in the surface. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces, sending the entity back to its own dark realm with a howl of denial.

  “Mother!” cried out Drake, rushing into the room and a hail of gunfire.

  Chips of stone pelted his face and he ducked back into the antechamber out of danger. The stranger swept the room with one arm, firing the last bullets and ignoring the risk of ricochets. With her free hand she released the chains and pulled Malachi to cover behind the solid stone altar. Landing awkwardly, he winded himself and lay writhing as his shocked lungs tried to draw in oxygen.

  “Stay down,” she shouted, reloading.

  Malachi wanted to reply that he wasn’t able to stand but the words were locked inside his paralysed diaphragm.

  Now that he was safe, she managed to pick off two of the council before they bolted through the door. The lead tore through their robes and bodies, coating the walls in fresh blood.

  “Kill them?” grunted Krauss.

  “Yes, kill them both now!” Drake shrieked, “I need to get mother to safety.”

  “You take one step inside this fucking room and I press the button on my vest. I will bring this whole building down on your heads!” she called out.

  Sounds of frantic escape from the other council members carried through as well as the deep bass of Krauss as he spoke to his boss. Her ears rung from the confined gunfire, but she knew they would be discussing pulling back and taking them in the main lobby. She smiled down at Malachi as the heavy boots ran away.

  “You’re nearly safe, backup is coming.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  The serenity of the night was shattered by the shouts of the guards as the faint sound of gunfire reached Michael from inside the asylum. Half of the patrolling guards ran back into the building and the ones that remained took cover by the stolen emergency vehicles parked at the entrance.

  Taking advantage of the confusion, Michael called out, “Now!”

  They all knew their role and half of the group laid down suppressing fire on the sniper’s window and crouched guards. Legacy and three of his men broke cover and ran full pelt for the ditch. One of the four was stopped dead in his tracks and pitched backwards as a hole punched cleanly through his chest, swatting him to the floor.

  “Shit! Stay down!” Jacob shouted. The sniper was taking a risk by not seeking cover, but knowing the fanaticism of the opposition it wasn’t surprising. With the angle of fire, they would need a lucky shot to have a chance at taking him down.

  Michael watched as a man fell screaming to the ground, thick slivers of wood piercing his chest from the bullet which had drilled straight through the trunk he had sheltered behind.

  “Spread out and stay mobile or he will pick us off one by one,” Michael yelled and they started to scatter, diving into any small depressions they could find. During a lull in the shooting, he jumped up and ran to the ditch, landing beside Legacy.

  “Do you have any flashbangs?”

  “Two and one frag.”

  “On my mark, light up the night. It’ll mess with his scope for a few seconds and may give us a window to get to the side of the building.”

  Dirt kicked up from the automatic fire which raked the muddy bank, pinning them down. Another loud crack preceded a gurgled scream which faded away as the victim died.

  Michael shouted into the night, “Jacob, take four men and flank the east wing. Go in via the fire escape if you can and flush him out.”

  “You got it!” came his reply.

  Legacy nodded to his men; all three twisted the pin on their respective armament and lobbed them. The two flashbangs arced towards the open grounds and the fragmentation grenade landed amongst the guards sheltering by the vehicles. A dull crump went off a split second before the twin cracks of the flashbangs banished the darkness with brilliant light. Flames climbed into the sky from a ruptured fuel tank and the police car flipped over before landing on one of the soldiers, crushing his upper body and head. The remaining guards bolted for the entrance, unsure if the group possessed any more explosives. Muzzles flashed from the ground floor windows, the soldiers inside covering their retreating brothers in arms.


  “They made it!” Desmond shouted after seeing Jacob and his team disappear inside the building.

  From the western wing, a low whine gained in pitch as an engine increased power. It was the unmistakable drone of a helicopter powering up.

  “They are on the run!” Michael allowed himself a sliver of hope that they may succeed. With each escaping aircraft the enemy force would be weaker; the security detail minding each council member leaving with them.

  Desmond and another man started to strafe the sniper position with gunfire, then ducked out of sight while Michael and Legacy’s position did the same. No return fire came from the upper window; only those on the ground floor still resisted while their bosses escaped. A piercing whistle caught his attention and Jacob waved from the third floor, running a hand across his throat to show they had neutralised the target.

  “Sniper down, prepare to move up!” Michael called.

  The heavy pressure of rotor blades disturbed the air as the first helicopter made off, beacons flashing. It was quickly joined by another and the men who had moved west opened fire on the flying transports. Sparks jumped from the fuselage and the pilots made evasive manoeuvres, dropping away and using the western woodland as cover.

  “Leave them, we need to keep the ones inside occupied!” Michael shouted.

  ****

  “How many mags do you have left?” Jacob asked Zeeks, the only man standing after the shootout with the sniper.

  “Two, you?”

  “Half. Shit!” Jacob replied, slapping the magazine home.

  “Da rifle?”

  “He sabotaged it before we killed him,” Jacob sighed, “All that’s left is his sidearm.”

  “What da plan, man?”

  “We push down and flank the men on the ground floor, try and flush them out of the western wing,” Jacob explained, pocketing the three spare magazines of pistol ammo.

  Stepping out into the hallway, bullets ricocheted from the floor and walls. A round took Jacob in the left shoulder and he fell to the floor. Zeeks dragged him with one hand while unleashing a whole magazine down the wing to cover their retreat. None of the bullets found their mark, but the enemy ducked into the rooms on either side of the corridor out of sight.

  “I guess dey da ones doin’ the flushin’” shouted the Jamaican, “How bad?”

  Jacob felt inside and the blood was spurting from the wound, soaking his hand. Zeeks loosed off a few rounds around the doorframe to keep the approaching men on their guard.

  “They hit the artery.”

  “Fuck, we need to get you out of here, man.” Zeeks tried to lift Jacob by his good arm until he pushed it away.

  “No, there’s too much at stake and I won’t make it anyway.” Jacob chambered a fresh round into the pistol, grimacing in agony, “I’ll cover you while you get down the fire escape.”

  “Don’t be a fucking wiseass.”

  “You’ve done enough, my friend. You have given us all a chance,” Jacob said solemnly, “Now go!”

  The suddenness of the counterattack took the three guards by surprise as they cautiously moved between doorways, closing the distance. Jacob was firing before he left the room and the puncture wounds blew soft padding from the walls. The next bullet took the closest man in the face, blowing a hole out of the side of his head. Zeeks didn’t need any urging and he bolted for the staircase.

  “You won’t win, you bastards!” Jacob shouted, running down the corridor and firing indiscriminately.

  A chunk of plaster caused his foot to skid and he went down hard, sliding along the filthy tiled floor. The second man was aiming at chest height and his finger instinctively pulled the trigger, but the bullets cut through the air two feet above the intended target. Jacob fired four rounds in quick succession and they entered his groin and abdomen before erupting from the upper back and coating the ceiling red. Jacob cried out as the gun was shot from his hand, shattering several fingers.

  “Don’t fucking move!” snarled the third mercenary, alternating the sight between the injured man and the open stairwell.

  “I know you are only following orders,” Jacob said to the mercenary, “I need you to know, I forgive you.”

  “Shove your fucking forgiveness up your ass. You murdered my friends, and as soon as I’m done with you I’m going to find your pussy mate and bleed him.”

  “I’m ready,” Jacob smiled, closing his eyes, “Do it.”

  “You think it’s going to be that easy? I’m going to shoot your balls off, then your dick, and finally your…” was all he managed.

  Zeeks ran down the hallway, firing off single shots that tore the man’s internal organs to shreds. With one final cough of blood, his finger went into spasm on the trigger. The bullet punched into Jacobs chest below the ribcage and rebounded from the solid floor, back into his body.

  “Brudda!”

  Jacob couldn’t reply. His lungs were quickly filling with blood from the catastrophic damage and he could only reach out a warm, thankful hand to the gangster. By coming back into the fray, he had spared his new friend the indignity of being brutally executed by the evil soldier. Grasping the hand, Zeeks cradled Jacob’s head as the darkness settled over him.

  “Sleep now, soldier,” Zeeks whispered, holding Jacob tight.

  Radios crackled into life from the bodies of the men as he faded away, “Sniper team, report… Sniper recon team, report... Fuck!”

  ****

  “Got to go,” said Krauss, shielding his boss from the gunfire.

  “But mother,” Drake sobbed, throwing the radio and kneeling by her side.

  “Gone.”

  Her face was harsh, even in death. Instead of the muscles relaxing, her face contorted in a malicious scowl but the vacant eyes confirmed her passing. She would be taking her rightful place alongside everyone who had the courage to dedicate themselves to the cause. Drake stood up and tried to shake Krauss in his anguish, but he was like a tree trunk, solid and immovable.

  “I want Malachi dead! I want that fucking whore who shot mother dead! I want anyone they have ever talked to dead!” Drake stamped his feet like a petulant child.

  “Five men left. Not today,” said the big man, shaking his misshapen head slowly.

  “Sir, all other parties are at a safe distance, recommend you evac too. They are moving on our position.”

  A stray bullet shattered a glass lamp within inches of Drake’s head and he ducked down with a squeal. Krauss nodded to the guard and hauled the body of Ursula onto his massive shoulder. Pushing Drake ahead, they quickly distanced themselves from the main lobby. The ragged stumps of her arms left a wet trail in their wake and the rear guard stepped carefully as they followed, treating the blood as if it were sacred. Reaching the exit to the open grounds at the rear, Krauss held Drake back while two of the remaining soldiers checked ahead.

  “How the fuck did she infiltrate the inner circle?” Drake lifted his mother’s head and shouted at the dead face, “How could you not sense what she was?”

  “Dead.”

  “I know she’s dead, you moron!” Drake screamed at his bodyguard.

  “Sorry, sir,” Krauss said, lowering his head in shame.

  Drake sighed and patted the man on the rock solid back. His earlier outpouring of grief was more to do with the insufferable delay to their plans than compassion for the dead woman who had given birth to him.

  “No, I’m the one in the wrong. You have always been loyal to me and it will be rewarded, I promise.”

  One of the soldiers came running back, “Sir, we are clear. They have entered the main lobby and aren’t making any attempt to engage us from the western corner.”

  “Of course not, they have what they want,” Drake said, grinding his teeth, “Him.”

  “Come,” said Krauss, guiding him into the turbulence of the helicopter blades.

  Climbing into the Bell Huey luxury transport, Drake dialled a familiar number and closed his eyes. “It’s me… No, I’ll explain late
r… Proceed and call me as soon as it’s done. If we can’t kill him yet, at least we can kill his spirit.”

  The chopper dipped its nose and sped away, leaving the decaying asylum behind for the last time. It was compromised now, and all the malevolent power they had spent centuries attaining would bleed from the walls like a wounded beast. Within months it would be just another crumbling relic of bygone times. What a waste.

  ****

  “Is that a real bomb vest?” Malachi asked the fearsome looking brunette.

  “Yes,” she replied, pistols still aiming at the antechamber.

  The sounds of battle had been going on for nearly half an hour; the chatter of machine guns and at least once, the vibration of an explosive detonation. For the past five minutes the exchanges had diminished to the point of silence and she finally lowered the guns.

  “Would you have blown yourself up?”

  “Yes,” she replied without hesitation.

  Malachi felt sick inside, but at least it would have been better than the alternative, “Thank you for saving my life. I’m Malachi.”

  “I know,” she said sternly, looking down at him.

  “And you are?”

  “Amaris.”

  “Who are these people?” Malachi asked, chancing a look around the altar and seeing the two sprawled bodies.

  “I can’t tell you. The people I work for will explain everything if we get out of here in one piece.”

  “Fuck me,” Malachi said, exasperated, “They can’t tell me, you can’t tell me. How do I know you aren’t just as bad as they are?”

  “Don’t sulk, you sound like a child,” Amaris replied, face softening, “And we aren’t as evil as these bastards. They are the bad guys; we are the good guys. That’s all you need to know right now.”