by Evan Currie
*****
“What the ever loving F-?”
The fat man in the cheap suit cringed back from the coroner as the smell of copper tainted air hit his nostrils, a faint hint of rot already starting to make itself known.
“Jesus, Captain, this place is a shitshow,” he growled, brushing his hands on his jacket as though he’d actually touched something that might have clung to his flesh.
“Shut it, Blakely,” The other man said as he rounded the front of the car and looked over the scene. He pointed at one of the officers, getting their attention, “Sarrow!”
“Yes, Sir?” The young man asked, rushing over.
“What’s the situation?” Captain Mackland demanded.
“Well, Cap, you’d have to ask the Sarge or Lieutenant for all the details,” Sarrow answered, “Sarge got the call cause of who was reported, and the Lieutenant arrived right after, backing him up.”
Blakely snorted, rolling his eyes.
“I’m asking you, Son.”
“Right, well,” Sarrow nodded down the alley, “couple guys were reported as looking pretty freaked out and yelling in a middle eastern sounding language, which was why the Sarge got the call. He arrived on scene, they were pretty agitated he said, but he got them calmed down of sorts. The Lieutenant went down the alley, and that’s kinda when the sh-… er, the crap hit the fan, Sir.”
“I can see that,” Mackland said dryly as another coroner’s assistant walked by with more body parts for the meat wagon. “What about the perps?”
“Sarge is staying close to him, he’s just letting them talk, I think. Keeps whispering back and forth with the L.T,” Sarrow said, “Dunno know what they’re talking about, cept I’m pretty sure they and the Sarge repeated the word ISIS a few times.”
“Fucking terrorist bastards,” Blakely snarled, eyes sweeping the pair sitting against the wall, “What ain’t they cuffed?”
“Don’t know,” Sarrow shrugged, “Following the Lieutenant and Sarge’s lead on that one.”
“Fuck those two,” Blakely pulled a couple pairs of cuffs from the car, quickly turning and stalking across the sidewalk to where the pair were standing. He grabbed one by the shoulder before anyone even noticed him approach, “On the ground! Hands behind your back!”
The fast burst of violence took everyone by surprise, but what came next made it look like a friendly exchange of words.
*****
Texas
The phone rang as Alexander Hale leaned back against the couch, the pressure of his wife’s weight pushing comfortably against him while they watched a movie on the flat screen.
“Don’t answer it,” Debra groaned.
Alex winced, “Sorry, hun, have to. I recognize the ringtone.”
He groaned himself, reaching across the edge of the couch with as little movement as possible, and flicked the phone on with his thumb.
“Hale.” He grunted into the device.
“Turn on the news.”
Alex felt a chill at those words, because he knew they boded nothing good. Wordlessly, he reached for the remote and hit pause on the movie before switching over to the news network. The devastation on the screen caused him to shift upright, pushing Debra off him. She didn’t notice, however, because her jaw had dropped and her eyes were just as pinned to the screen as his.
“God,” He croaked out, “Is that New York?”
“Got it one,” Colonel Emily Pierce confirmed. “We don’t know the story yet, but just before it happened we had a hit on a database search for ISIS members out of that precinct.”
“What? That’s nowhere near where any of them went missing…”
“We know, and it’s not the first incident either. We’ve had two other hits, both outside the country in places with spotty intel so we weren’t sure… looks like whoever is doing this dropped off Tibetan separatists in Bejing, and we think some missing militia types that vanished from Oklahoma wound up in Tehran.”
Alex swore under his breath, “They’re trying to kick off world war three.”
“Or worse,” Emily agreed, “That’s pretty much what the brass is thinking. We need you in New York.”
“I’m on my way.” Alex said, “I’ll call you when I’m en-route.”
He disconnected and hugged Debra, kissing her deeply.
“I have to go,” He said.
“I know,” She smiled wanly, eyes still flicking to the screen. “Be careful.”
“Hey, it’s me.”
She glared at him for the bad joke, and Alex held up his hands.
“Sorry, I’ll be careful,” He promised, giving her another quick kiss before he got off the couch and crossed out of the living room, heading for the kitchen and the door to the garage where his gear was located.
Desert cammies were his preferred combat dress, along with a bucket and ruby lens shooter’s glasses. He wore civilian boots, though, as they were just as tough and a hell of a lot more comfortable than anything he’d every been issued on active duty. After suiting up, Alex belted on his FiveseveN Magnum and a few extra magazines. He didn’t know if it would be of much value, experience told him that most of the changed were less than likely to be overly vulnerable to even much higher calibers than what his pistol packed.
If it came to that, though, the former Marine would do what he’d always done best.
Improvise, adapt, and overcome.
He stepped out into the fenced off backyard, looking up at the clear blue sky as he clipped the satellite phone to his belt and made sure it was connected to the induction transceiver in his helmet.
Then he just looked up into the sky and, in a flash of motion, vanished from the suburban backyard and into the sky faster than the eye could hope to track.
Time to get to work.
Chapter One
New York, New York
Ahmed groaned as he twitched, then shifted, and fell to the sidewalk. He rolled over, barely able to move, and looked at the glass he’d been practically embedded in.
Probably lucky it wasn’t plate, He thought as he slowly tested all his limbs, pleased and surprised to find that everything seemed intact and operational.
The street they had been on was a warzone. There was just no other way to describe it. He could see the smoking wrecks of police and city vehicles, some overturned and some just splayed across the street like children’s toys amid the rubble.
Rubble? He blinked, clearing dust from his eyes. Where’d that come fr… oh.
His eyes were drawn to the building he’d had the two suspects sitting against, or what was left of it. Ahmed’s brain was still reeling, unable to quite put together what had happened, as he couldn’t see to work any of it out.
What the hell happened? He thought in confusion. I know they weren’t wearing suicide vests, I looked. Was there a bomb in the building?
As the ringing in his ears began to fade, Ahmed stumbled through the debris, catching himself on a car. He could feel more than hear the beat of chopper blades overhead, and turned to look up at the news chopper that was orbiting overhead.
How is it, Ahmed wondered, That the reporters always beat emergency responders to the scene, anyway?
It seemed like an unwritten rule of the universe, somehow, that the people he least wanted to deal with were always the first people on scene. He would honestly rather deal with the criminals than reporters most of the time, even the ones who were friendly to the police were more trouble than they were worth in his opinion.
I must have a concussion, Ahmed thought in a moment of realization as his mind snapped back from where it had wandered off too. Need to focus.
Ahmed cast about, wondering where his gun was, but as it wasn’t in his hand or his holster he expected it was under some of the debris in the area and in that case he wasn’t finding it anytime soon anyway. He mentally cursed that loss, the thought of the reams of paperwork he’d be filing out causing his brain to wander again before he pulled it back to the present with a determi
ned force of will.
Where are the others? He asked himself, trying to keep his focus in place as he picked his way between wrecked cars and chunks of cement as he crossed the street and began to look for survivors.
An unearthly howl sent shivers down his spine and rose a bead of cold sweat across Ahmed’s skin as he twisted around to seek the source, now wishing more than ever that he had his gun, and not just because of the paperwork.
The sound echoed down the concrete canyons of the city streets, making it impossible to determine where it had come from, but every instinct in Ahmed’s soul told him that he needed either a weapon, a place to hide, or to run for his life.
It might have been the concussion speaking, but he’d never been one for running or hiding anyway, so he scrambled across the debris field toward the closest police vehicle. His hearing was coming back, and now he could hear screaming over the howl and the sound of the chopper blades.
Every muscle in his body screamed at him as Ahmed wrenched open the door of an upside down cruiser, crawling in to where the shotgun was still braced between the front seats. He pulled it free and hit the trunk release with his other hand before crawling back out.
The chunk sound of the pump action working soothed his nerves like few things ever hand, Ahmed tilting the weapon so he could watch the first of the twelve gage cartridges sliding into the breach as he pushed the pump forward again.
“Who’s out there!?” He called, now feeling a lot better as he backed his way around the car to where the trunk had fallen open, scattering material around the ground under it.
Ahmed slowly turned around, listening through the ringing for any sign that someone had heard him. He could still hear distant screaming, but couldn’t manage to pinpoint a direction over the disorientation he was experiencing.
Dropping to one knee, Ahmed grabbed a box of shells from where it had half spilled across the road, and a shooters carry bag he was very happy to see. The box of shells thunked down on the bumper of the upended vehicle as he slung the shotgun and quickly unzipped the bag, pulling the M4 from within.
The compact assault rifle had four loaded magazines along with it, one of which quickly found itself seated in the receiver before he racked the bolt to load a round into the chamber. The remaining mags were stuffed in his pockets as he looked around for the source of the sound.
“hey!” He called, “Anyone out there?”
Ahmed shifted the M4 to one arm, working his free finger into his ear as he tried to quiet the ringing that was making him sick to his stomach and seriously messing with his equilibrium. It did little good, and he found himself unconsciously leaning on the upended car for support as he slowly eyed the streets around him.
“I don’t feel so good,” He groaned, coughing slightly before spitting pink tinged phlegm to the ground.
The unearthly howl brought him upright, off the car, with the rifle butt slamming into his shoulder as he looked around desperately through the red-dot sight for a target, any target. The dust in the air was still roiling, curls of wind blowing it actively into mini-tornadoes and other patterns. He couldn’t see any sign of others through it, something that was starting to penetrate into his muddled brain.
Normally, he wouldn’t even touch a gun in his condition, or he hoped he wouldn’t. Firearms and head trauma weren’t a good mix, but at the moment he didn’t give a damn. Ahmed just hoped that wasn’t the head injury talking.
He was shuddering, shivering, unable to stop it. Ahmed couldn’t figure out if it was fear or blood loss, and honestly was betting on both.
The ringing was reduced enough that he could hear the sound of horns honking in the distance, along with screams and crying and shouting. He turned slowly, peering through the swirling dust as he tried to get an idea where the sounds were coming from.
The howl reverberated around him again, causing Ahmed to jerk about in a circle as he searched for the source with the rifle barrel leading the way. He ignored the stab of pain that tore through his head just behind his eyes, but slumped against the overturned cop car a moment later as he felt all the adrenaline fueled energy just want to pour out of him.
“I’ve got to be hallucinating,” He mumbled, setting the rifle on the underside of the overturned car and pushing it deliberately away from him. A man who was hearing things wasn’t a man who should be wielding a rifle in a populated city of all places.
A splatter and a thud caused him to jerk upright, wetness spattering across his face as Ahmed’s eyes opened wide as he saw a bloodied head of his Lieutenant right in front of him, blank eyes staring at him. Instinct took over, hallucinations be damned, the rifle practically flying back into his hand as he backed away from the car and looked up.
The image he saw seared into his brain as his finger tightened on the trigger by reflex. The M4 carbine barked loudly as Ahmed fell back, trying to stay on his feet amid the debris and his brain rebelling against what he was seeing.
It was a dark image of a fallen angel that flew over him, black wings that appeared to be alight with fire, and an honest to goodness flaming sword in his hand. Ahmed wasn’t actually all that religious, but he couldn’t help mumbling prayer as he worked his way through the rifle’s magazine as fast as the weapon would cycle.
The creature, he refused to call it an angel of any sort, howled again in that bone chilling tone that had driven him near to panic earlier and now finished the job. It was calmly hovering there, wings beating slowly in a way that didn’t seem like they could possibly be generating enough lift to do what he was seeing.
Ahmed felt his heart near stop as the thing turned slowly in his direction, lifting the flaming sword into the air and calling out in Arabic.
By the order of Allah the great, Burn Infidel!
“Screw you,” Ahmed snarled as he fired the M4 dry to little effect. He’d heard the same bullshit from extremists of all stripes, only the name they used for God ever seemed to change. It was familiar territory, at least compared to the rest of what he was seeing around him, he chose to live in the familiar and pulled another mag from his pocket as the empty one clattered to the ground at his feet.
The creature screamed, the sound reverberating through the air as the magazine slammed home with a familiar and comforting chunk sound.
He reacquired the target smoothly, his body operating on experiential memory now rather than conscious thought. It was just as well, as his brain was gibbering at the madness while his body just went about the job at hand.
The creature screamed again, and suddenly dove in his direction as Ahmed opened fire and started backpeddling for his life. He stumbled, tripping over something he didn’t see, and fell to his ass as the creature came rushing in his direction at high speed.
Ahmed opened fire, again, shots sounding wild but somehow he knew he was keeping the muzzle mostly on target despite how little effect it seemed to be having. As the weapon clicked open on an empty chamber, Ahmed took one last look at the charging creature and closed his eyes reflectively as he waited for the inevitable.
An explosion of air slammed him back hard against the ground, and a distance crash made him blink and open his eyes again.
The evil angel creature was gone, the air all around him was clear of dust… and twenty feet above, floating in the air, was a man in Marine desert cammies, floating there in its place shaking his fist like he’d just punched a brick wall.
*****
“Are you getting this, Ray?”
The pale cameraman nodded as he leaned hallway out of the chopper, framing the shot below as the new helicopter followed the flying… thing as best it could. The streets below them were a disaster area, and the creature or whatever it was was doing it’s level best to add to that.
“I hope they’re running enough of a delay to edit this,” Raymond Smith said as he watched the thing fly down and grab up someone, kicking and screaming. Neither of those actions last long, blood and limbs falling to the ground as the creature flew on, “beca
use the FCC is going to lose their shit if this is going out live.”
Across the chopper, Jack Mills snarled as he covered his mic with one hand, “Well they sure as hell will if you go cursing like that over the air.”
“Sorry,” Ray said, grimacing as he got a particularly good shot of the remains. “I’m really not dealing with this well.”
“Suck it up,” Jack told him, “We’re the only chopper in the air, and this is ratings gold!”
Raymond shot his erstwhile ‘boss’ an incredulous look, “Did it not occur to you that there’s a reason why we’re alone up here? City airspace was locked down three minutes ago!”
“The network will cover the fines,” Jack said waving off the complaint.
“Fines!? I’m worried about that,” Raymond jabbed his finger in the direction he had the camera aimed. “In case it missed your notice, whatever the hell that thing is, it can fly!”
“Relax, it’s focused on the ground, we’re fine.”
Raymond grumbled, aiming the camera at the thing that was flitting between the streets below, electing to leave it be. He’d made his objections, hopefully that would keep him out of a lock-up in the event that the police or military took serious exception to the network chopper covering the scene despite the order to lock down.
With his focus back on the scene, he noted that the creature was not turning its attention on a lone officer who was standing damn near at ground zero.
Poor bastard doesn’t have a clue what’s coming. Look up!
His silent rejoinder had as much chance of being heard as if he’d actually yelled, unfortunately, and there was nothing more he could do but watch. The scene unfolded live for the worldwide audience as the poor bastard was surprised by a decapitated head coming from the sky.
No blaming him for that.
Raymond almost cheered as the cop reacted almost without hesitation, the recognizable profile of an AR-15 lineage weapon flashing below them, the sound of the reports swallowed by the din of the chopper and the general emergency around them. The shots continued, however, as the cop backpedaled and finally tripped and fell.
