The Anomaly (Scarrett & Kramer Book 2)

by Neil Carstairs

  “Stay back to back,” he shouted into her ear. “If you see things that need shooting you have a one-eighty degree arc of fire. Yes?”

  “Yes!” The wind snatched the word from Kramer’s lips and tossed it into the maelstrom.

  Geordie seemed satisfied as he turned and rested against her. Kramer put the MP5A to her shoulder. Any sand wraith or storm goblin that came near her would get a gut full of lead. The movement of the storm disoriented her. Every moment the world seemed to tilt, the sky dark and the ground light before a flicker of lightning reversed the image, and she saw the sun as a faded tennis ball, and the land at her feet vanished.

  The first beast came for her. It lumbered out of nothing, forming from the grit and dust that filled her vision. She saw a lantern jaw with curved tusks above a squat body. Kramer put two bursts into its abdomen, and the thing disintegrated. She felt Geordie shoot, the recoil a staccato beat against her shoulders. Shadow figures danced across her vision. The storm seemed to form a face that snarled at her. She fired at it and swore she saw it laugh as the winds danced it away.

  The ground shook. The curtain of sand rose, and Kramer’s knees weakened. A rank of goblins faced her. Their bodies seethed with rock and stone that ground its way into body parts and weapons. More appeared. A second rank and then a third that sucked the sand from the sky and left just particles that drifted like threads across Kramer’s vision.

  “Jo?” Geordie’s voice crackled in her ear.

  “I see them,” she said.

  A beat began, the ranks of goblins stamping upon the ground, thump-thump-thump. The sound and the impact travelled through Kramer and made her teeth rattle. With each stamping motion, the goblins advanced half a yard and the circle they formed tightened until the individual beasts pressed shoulder-to-shoulder. Grinding rock added to the noise they made. The tight ranks began to merge. Limb fused with limb and body with body. Kramer saw two heads become one, the features morphing as eyes and mouth joined. The goblins grew together, and the ranks became a solid wall that rose higher and higher as it tightened like a noose around Kramer and Geordie.

  Geordie opened fire in a long, raking burst. Kramer risked a glance over her shoulder and saw he had made no impression on the wall that faced him. When Kramer faced front, she saw him. The Guardian stood with his back to her, facing the goblin wall that was now only a dozen or so yards away. Kramer nudged Geordie to get his attention.

  “I see him,” Geordie said. He shuffled alongside her, still looking in the opposite direction. She saw him glance at the Guardian. “What’s he doing?”

  “Just standing there.”

  “Well he better get a move on and do something, or we’re toast.”

  The Guardian drew his short sword and turned. He walked towards them and stopped within arm’s reach. Kramer expected him to speak but instead, he turned again, and this time ran at the nearest section of the goblin wall. It separated, individual figures emerging to fight the Guardian. He cut the first one down. The second he defended a blow from an axe before driving his weapon through the goblin’s bulbous face. The Guardian moved faster than the eye could see. His sword blade hummed as it swept through the air. Each time it stuck a rocky figure Kramer saw a bright flash of light. The wall began to collapse but as it did the winds increased again, and the sand and rock rose in a twisting mass.

  Geordie fired as two goblins ran at him. They broke apart. Kramer shot at another one that came between her and the Guardian. All the time the sand storm gathered in strength and intensity. Kramer stumbled on the broken limb of a goblin as it died at her feet. A curtain of dust and debris fell between her and Geordie. She reached for him and found only the face of one of the beasts. Its mouth opened to take her hand, the rough teeth already scraping at her flesh before she snatched it clear. She shoved the muzzle of her MP5A into the thing’s right eye and fired. As it broke apart the goblin engulfed her. Kramer fell, the remains of the stone creature taking her down. She fought the engulfing mass, kicking her way clear and coming to her feet as the storm began to dissipate again.

  She saw Geordie, his face bloody, stumble towards her. The storm settled once more into lines of nightmare creatures made from rock and sand. Kramer saw two-headed wolves, winged-lions and the hulking humanoid shapes of sand wraiths and storm goblins. She switched magazines of her gun without thought. The Guardian came to them. He put his hand on Kramer’s shoulder, and she sank down on one knee. He left her there and did the same to Geordie. Side-by-side Kramer and Geordie watched as the Guardian reversed his hold on the sword, so the blade pointed down. He walked away from them. Stopped. He lifted the sword high above his head and held it there for what felt like an eternity.

  And then the point of the sword plunged towards the ground.

  ***

  Congrave’s hotel overlooked Regent’s Park and boasted one of the best restaurants in London. He dined there enough to be on first name terms with the maitre d’. Now, as he booked in for a one night stay, he wondered if this would be his last as head of the Department of Environmental Security. Key card in hand he followed his bodyguard Ed to the bank of lifts. Ed stood behind Congrave, a six-foot tall imposing presence with the wide shoulders of a man who’d gained a half blue at Oxford for rowing.

  A bellboy offered to take his overnight bag, but Congrave declined. The paperwork inside needed to stay with either Congrave or Ed. He couldn’t even trust the hotel employee to have it in hand for just a few minutes. They travelled up to the third floor. Ed stepped out of the lift first, checking left and right before nodding the all clear to Congrave. A quick glance at the room number direction arrows turned Congrave left. When he reached his room, he swiped the lock open and allowed Ed in to clear the single room and en-suite bathroom. Ed came out a moment later.

  “All good,” he said.

  “I’ll probably head down to the bar in an hour or so. A colleague from the Home Office will be dropping by. He’s fully vetted.”

  “So you don‘t think you’ll need me tonight?”

  “I’ve got my panic alarm,” Congrave said. He patted his waist where he’d clipped the unit to his belt. “Have the usual arrangements been made with the Met?”

  “Armed officers are stationed nearby,” Ed said.

  “Then we should be good. You can get off and visit your sister. How’s her little boy doing now?”

  “Much better. The doctors think they’ve finally got on top of the virus and there should be no long-term issues.”

  “Good. And their au pair?”

  “Still with them,” Ed said, with a grin. Not quite thirty and still single Ed spent more time at his sister’s house since the recruitment of a Swedish girl as an au pair to Ed’s two nieces than he had in the previous five years.

  “Try not to stare at her too much this time.”

  Ed laughed. “I can’t promise anything.”

  Congrave entered his room as Ed disappeared to head south of the river. Alone, Congrave loosened his tie and sat on the bed to take off his shoes. With the attack on Sheddlestone just a few hours old the source of the crate had still not been thoroughly verified. The courier company said it arrived at their depot in Exeter unannounced. They were paid cash, the sender’s address turned out to be fake, and the CCTV cover of their offices came up blank for the time the crate’s owner was on the premises. Add in the fact that no-one could recall what the sender looked like made Congrave and his staff suspect a certain war goddess to be behind the event.

  He made a cup of coffee, switched on the television and let the hour until his colleague in the Home Office arrived fade away. He found a half-decent programme on the History Channel about the Second World War. Congrave’s degree was in history, and he still couldn’t quite work out how he found his way to working for the Secret Intelligence Service and then the paranormal wing under the disguise of the D.E.S. One reason, he suspected, was the death of Mary Osgood. If things had turned out differently, then Congrave knew he would most likely have
ended up in the Foreign Office, married to Mary and father of a brood of little Congrave’s. But Mary died under the wheels of an articulated lorry as she cycled to work one dark winter morning and Congrave had thrown himself into his career.

  He sighed, finished his coffee and disagreed with the talking head on the History Channel as to Hitler’s false belief in the occult. “It’s all real,” Congrave said to the television. “You can dismiss it as hocus pocus if you like, but if you’d seen some of the things I’ve seen you wouldn’t be wearing that sanctimonious look on your face.”

  Congrave washed his cup and made use of the bathroom, put on his shoes and straightened his tie before putting his briefcase into the room’s safe. After a quick check on his reflection in the mirror he left the room. He passed a dozen or so rooms on his way to the pair of lifts. As Congrave reached them, one set of doors slid open and a woman stepped out. She carried three bags, all with designer brand names and the best in jewellery and perfume that money could buy. Congrave couldn’t help but label her. It came from a lifetime in the security services. Wealthy, divorced (possibly widowed), with money and time to spend it. Her dark hair spilled in waves down her shoulders, and Congrave’s initial guess at her age floundered at her smooth complexion and curvaceous figure. Money could buy a lot of things, but only good genes could buy her skin and body tone. The woman smiled at him, and Congrave responded as any gentleman would with a polite ‘good evening’.

  Which is when she stumbled as the heel of her left shoe gave way. Her cry of shock made Congrave react. He caught her elbow and steadied her enough for the woman to put down her shopping and balance on him for a moment.

  “Thank you,” she said in a husky voice that heightened Congrave’s interest.

  “Glad I could help,” he said.

  She hopped for a moment, still under his guidance, and discarded first the broken shoe and then her good one. Now that she could stand upright, and without the heels, Congrave found he looked down on an attractive woman of undefinable age. She wore Chanel scent, Dolce and Gabbana clothes and a black onyx and diamond teardrop pendant that drew his eyes to the slope of her breasts.

  “Moira,” she said and held out one, slim hand.

  “Douglas.”

  “If you hadn’t been here I think I would have done some serious damage to my ankle.”

  “As I said, only too glad to help.”

  Moira retrieved shoes and shopping. “Would you mind one last favour? My room is just down here. Could you open it for me while I carry all this?”

  “Of course.”

  Congrave took the proffered key card and led her to her room. He swiped and pushed the door open, stepping inside so he wasn’t in the way as she squeezed passed with shoes and shopping bags in hand. Her body brushed up against his, hips and breasts making firm contact. Congrave had a moment to wonder if that was a deliberate act. Divorced or widowed, looking for a man in similar circumstances or maybe a married man out for some extra-curricular fun. She dropped bags and shoes onto the bed and turned to face him with hands on hips.

  “So, now you’re in my room would you like a drink from the mini-bar?”

  “I’m afraid I will have to decline, I have someone waiting for me downstairs.”

  “She must be a very special woman,” Moira said, taking a step towards him that swept her hips from side to side.

  “Actually, a dusty old man who I used to work with many years ago.”

  “So you prefer men?”

  “Not in the way you’re thinking.” Congrave still held the door open but Moira came close enough to reach out and pushed the door from his grasp. It closed with a slow, hydraulic clunk.

  He stared at her, the dark eyes regarding him with a mix of amusement and desire. An alarm bell began ringing in his head. Never be alone with someone you can’t identify. As he reached for the door handle, she put the palm of her hand on his chest.

  The world exploded. Light and pain flashed through Congrave’s body. He fell back and slid across the wall, Moira following him as if they were glued together. She pushed, and he had no resistance as he fell onto her bed. She took her hand away. The pain vanished but left in its place a void that Congrave struggled to fill. All energy had drained from him. His empty lungs struggled to find a breath. The room seemed to contract on them, darken and change.

  The war goddess.

  She mounted the bed beside him, her hands running across his body in a way that made Congrave think of sex until she retrieved his panic alarm and tossed it onto the floor. Her fingers continued their search. She found his mobile phone and discarded that. Fountain pen, wristwatch and the eternity ring Mary bought him all those years ago. All fell to the thick pile of the carpet.

  “I thought you were going to be a challenge,” she said as her nails scraped along his jaw and down to his neck.

  Congrave regained his breath. He didn’t rise to her bait. He stayed silent and stared at her. Moira’s lips curled into a close resemblance of a smile.

  “A child could have caught you.” Moira pulled on his tie, loosening the knot enough to slide it from his neck. She undid the top button of his shirt. “Are you not going to speak to me?”

  He closed his eyes as she leant close. Her hot breath scorched his skin.

  “Don’t worry about fighting back. You won’t get a chance.”

  Congrave lay still. She still knelt beside him. He cracked his eyelids open enough to know where her head and neck were. And she was close enough to be circling the palm of one hand across his stomach. His panic alarm lay on the floor next to the bed. He wouldn’t know exactly where until he went over the edge. He hoped he would get enough time to trigger it.

  “I need you for something,” Moira said.

  Congrave hit her. The goddess rocked back in shock as he rolled off the bed. He hit the floor hard. The panic alarm lay nearby. He reached out to it and a cloven hoof slammed down onto the carpet. Congrave snatched his hand back an instant before it was crushed. He looked up at the body of a man with the legs of a goat.

  Moira came off the bed and her iron hard fingers dug into Congrave’s face as she twisted it towards her. “I forgot to mention we weren’t alone, didn’t I? When your bodyguards disappear they are out of sight. When mine disappear they are stood right next to you.”

  Pain came again, transmitting through Moira’s fingers and into Congrave’s body. Vomit filled his mouth and he spat it out onto the carpet. When they came to investigate this, he hoped they could get DNA from the yellow-green pool of liquid.

  Moira stared at him in disgust. “Are you the man I’m looking for?”

  “You tell me,” Congrave said through his pain.

  “I will,” she said. “But first I will have to test you.”

  Congrave watched her rise. She seemed taller, her body slimming down as she grew. His eyes widened in shock as the woman filled the room. She seemed to expand, her dark hair writhing as it spread out around her like a blanket. Dark tendrils laced his vision, some from the pain of his hand and others from the spores that leaked from Moira’s body. The room grew cold. It felt as if night had fallen.

  A wind blew through the trees. Congrave tried to stand, but the half-man-half-goat thing pushed him down. Clouds parted, and moonlight illuminated a woodland clearing. Moira coalesced before him, wearing a dark cape and nothing else.

  “Welcome to my home,” she said. “And welcome to your end.”

  ***

  Light exploded from the sword as it cut into earth and sand. Kramer saw a fork of lightning flick upwards. She smelt ozone, and an instant later felt the shockwave of the weapon’s impact roll beneath her knee. Another light formed and this one rose up around the Guardian. It rolled and twisted, expanding out in the shape of a doughnut. Static charges reached out. Sand lifted into the air. Kramer’s hair rose, and sharp pinpricks of electric shocks fluttered across her face and hands. The doughnut rolled closer, filled with the snaking shape of plasma as it gained in strength and int
ensity.

  She couldn’t move. An unseen hand held her in place as she lost sight of the Guardian, her vision now full of the blue-white light of the energy storm. She closed her eyes as it came within arm’s length. Her vision became a swathe of red as the light penetrated her eyelids. Heat enveloped her. Not the searing heat she expected but a quick blast like opening the door of an oven. Then it moved on, and she opened her eyes and turned.

  The doughnut moved faster now, rolling on to engulf the wall of creatures. For a moment Kramer hoped they would be blasted back to their native state. Her heart sank when they remained untouched like her and Geordie. But then she saw a shimmer in the air, something like a heat haze but closer. It danced across the landscape, one moment near invisible the next an opaque sheet of darkness.

  Now the hand released her. Kramer stood. Shafts of darkness reached up into the sky and when they fell, they came down like curtains across the stage of a theatre. Kramer felt Geordie beside her, a reassuring presence as the darkness closed in on them. She felt his hand search for hers and she grasped it. A final piece of the shadowed jigsaw fell into place, and the darkness rushed in on them like a living thing. Kramer heard screaming as the ground lifted up around her feet in a vortex of sand. A force struck her. Kramer lost contact with Geordie, the world spinning around her as she fell. She hit hard ground, the impact driving the air from her lungs. The screaming returned, louder now. Kramer lifted her head and looked around.

  Blue sky. Grass, trees, a church and a pub. The village.

  And she saw the scientists and investigators running as wraiths and goblins spilled through the rent in the universe made by the Guardian. Hundreds of them, scenting warm blood and easy prey.

  A rock spear split a middle-aged man in half. A club battered a young army captain into a bloody heap. A stone sword decapitated a thirty-something brunette. Kramer saw Tom as he backed away from a hybrid lion. He clawed at his sidearm, but fear lost him any coordination he may have had. Kramer saw the lion tense, stone muscles bunching to leap. She rolled, swung her MP5A up and put a burst into the lion’s ribcage. It splintered apart, rock and dust erupting in a mini-tornado before falling to the asphalt road.