Rage

by Doug Burbey

Kayter didn't bother to pick up the menu, it never changed regardless of the state. She flipped her long multicolored braid off her shoulder and glanced at the waitress. "Hash browns, scattered, covered, brown, Texas melt, cheese grits, a pecan waffle, and water."

  "Sure thing, sweetie." The endearment rolled off Kayter even as she scanned the room, most of the occupants looking at her, lust or interest on their faces, but too old or too shy to do anything about it. She rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone, scrolling through her email to see if there was anything urgent that needed to be dealt with. Just because she had looks, boobs, and hips that seemed to check most guys boxes didn't mean she cared about any of that. But years of dealing with it had lowered her reaction down to an annoyance and if they didn't approach her she didn't care.

  Movement at the corner of her eye made her glance up and fight back a sigh as one of the other patrons in the diner made as if to slide across from her. With a swift move, she lifted her long leg and braced it on the back to the bench across from her.

  "Not interested," her voice flat as she met his eyes.

  The man, a trucker she guessed from the bloodshot eyes and the rig in the lot, flinched a bit as her mismatched eyes met his. One of her eyes shone a brilliant blue, the other a dark brown that pulled in the light. They made most people uncomfortable, the trucker reacted like most, averting his eyes and focusing on her boobs instead.

  He started to talk, addressing her tits, and Kayter sighed.

  I don't have the time or energy for this.

  "My eyes are up here," she snapped. He jerked his eyes up, red flushing up his cheeks. A decade ago might he have been a handsome man but time and long hours made him look haggard and old.

  But even if he had model looks, she wouldn't have been interested. A sex partner didn't appear on her to do list.

  "Let me say this clearly. I am not interested. I am not lonely. No, you can't buy me a drink. And no, I don't need any company. Now go away." Her voice remained flat and she never took her gaze away from him.

  Kayter watched the mental war going on by the expressions on his face and waited to see if ego or self-preservation would win. There were days she wished she looked like a haggle faced crone except that her looks were a weapon too, just like the rest of her.

  I really don't feel like putting him through a window but if he pushes it, I'll try not to kill him.

  "Bitch," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. She tensed for a moment but when he pulled out a billfold, threw a twenty down on his table and stalked out, she relaxed.

  The waitress came over with her plate, an odd look on her face. "Neat method for telling men to get lost." She set the plate down in front of Kayter, her lips half pursed and half smiling.

  Kayter snorted and went back to her food and her email. Incidents had been down, making her life boring lately, so she followed her normal route of hitting all the Ley crossings and checking to see that no one had tried opening anything. But the constant quiet gave her the willies, like all the hair on her body stood on end. When everything was this quiet it meant demons were planning something and that never indicated anything good.

  A 'breaking news' alert interrupted whatever mindless show played and she looked up, paying attention.

  "We are hearing there has been a rumored realm gate opened outside Baltimore. While at this time it seems to have been a small gate and no demons have been spotted, the very fact that there is possibly a gate open is cause for alarm. Is this a precursor to another invasion? The gate has reportedly already closed, but everyone is on high alert. Statements from both the local law enforcement and Federal ICER authorities claim this is yet another hoax."

  Kayter tuned out the rest of the information and pulled up the most direct route to Maryland and what RV parks were in that area. She ate with mechanical movements, needing the fuel, and glad the food tasted decent but she would have eaten it regardless.

  She glanced back up at the latest ad for male performance enhancements, non-FDA approved, that included a promise that your partner would not be disappointed. A shudder rippled through her body at the idea of ingesting anything that contained magic. You never knew how your body would react, especially if you were mixed blood. Most people never realized they were mixed blood until too late.

  Kayter mapped out her route, finished the food, and rose, tossing a twenty on the table. She nodded to the waitress as she headed to the restroom. Her RV had a bathroom but one you didn't have to clean always rated higher. Once done there, she headed to her RV.

  About fifteen feet away she paused, the smell of stale body sweat reaching her nose where that scent hadn't existed when she got out of the RV.

  Fuck. He can't take no for an answer.

  A quick debate about a gun versus a knife but if she killed him she'd have to deal with cops, and she didn't have time for that crap. Knife but only if he pulled a weapon.

  Shaking her body loose, she kept walking and pivoted towards him as he popped out from the shadow near her camper.

  "I knew you couldn't resist me. I'm sure a lonely little thing like you needs a man to give her some real loving."

  Kayter snorted. At five-ten, little didn't get applied to her often.

  "Are you stupid, or just that desperate? I'm sure if you took a shower and paid well, some prostitute would take your money."

  He puffed up and moved closer to her, hands clenched into fists. "I don't need to pay for sex. Women beg me for it."

  "Then go find them. I'm not interested." She faced him fully, hands at her side, and began the game of guessing his moves.

  First, he'd lunge at her and try to grapple her into a hug; then attempt a slap and then go for her hair to see if he could get leverage on her.

  When he moved, he followed her mental map step for step.

  Why are people so fucking predictable?

  In a fluid motion, she stepped far to his right, grabbed his arm when he went for the slap, moving with the motion as his other arm tried to grab her braid. With a twist of her body, she dislocated his shoulder even as he tried to regain his balance.

  "AIIEIEI," the scream echoed off the cars.

  "Please, quit whining. If I wanted, I could have snapped your elbow and I doubt your health insurance will cover it. Now go away. A good medic can pop that back in but if I don't see you fleeing in the next thirty seconds I'll shatter your knee. Good luck making a living driving after that."

  He looked at her eyes, wide, watery blue eyes dilated so much the blue formed a thin rim around his pupils. Whimpering, holding his shoulder tight to him, he stumbled away towards the rig on the other side of the lot.

  Men, always thinking with their dicks. I never saw dad act like that, or maybe he just didn't around me. So not worth the effort.

  With habit learned via painful lessons, she checked out the area around her vehicle, made sure her protective runes hadn't been touched, and that there were no unpleasant surprises. Other than the puddle of urine off to the side, nothing had been touched.

  A touch of her hand dispelled the ward and she climbed back into the driver's seat. Without looking she secured her pistol and made sure the sword would pull easily from where it rested. Another minute to type in the address in the GPS, and she pulled out of the Waffle House. Stomach satisfied and fueled for the drive to Jennings, Maryland.

  Chapter 4 - Rage Bubbles

  Declan tossed the spatula hard into the sink. Turned the heat off on the stove and shoved the pan to the side. He glanced at the mess he had created all over the counter.

  Why the hell is this so hard? Just making soft scrambled eggs. The foodies would be very disappointed.

  He tossed the pan into the sink and heard his empty coffee cup break when the pan hit it. Immediately regretting his lack of control, and the pointless abuse of his own property, over some improperly cooked scrambled eggs he reached over, forced himself to calm down. He lifted the pan out of the sink, dumped the remainder of the hardened eggs into the trash an
d walked back over to the sink where he pulled out the broken cup and washed out the pan.

  Smooth. Can you get your shit together long enough to finish breakfast? Crap, that was my 3rd Infantry Division coffee mug too. Now I'm going to have to go all the way down to Georgia just get a new one.

  Declan finished cleaning up the kitchen then headed into his living room/man cave. It was just a couple of comfortable leather recliners, a couch long enough to nap on, and an overly large flat screen TV with a matching extensive surround sound system. The only decoration on the wall was a five-foot by four-foot framed canvas map of the world with magnetic Ley lines and major cities depicted. Most people would find the map as stylish but Declan saw it as a reference tool to glance at while watching the headline news of world events.

  "Let's see what we got," Declan said to the empty room as he flicked on the television. He then moved quickly through the news channels. Finding nothing of interest he switched the channel over to the National Football League Network. Reruns of yesterday's games.

  "Seen that, know the score." Declan stopped his random flipping through the channels and tossed the remote onto the coffee table, then turned his back on the TV and headed towards the kitchen.

  "Fuck it. May as well make more coffee." As Declan walked away from his living room and headed back to his kitchen, the ubiquitous deep baritone of documentary narration caught his attention.

  "It was here at the intersection of Interstate 95 and 96 where 1st Brigade of the 1st Infantry Division took their last stand against the Detroit demon horde." The narrator began.

  Declan glanced back at the TV. The documentary showed stock footage taken after the battle, displaying burned wreckage from the mechanized brigade's Abrams main battle tanks and Bradley armored personnel carriers. All were arrayed in an eastward facing semicircle surrounding the highway interchange. The burned-out wreckage of the vehicles and remains of the desiccated corpses were clearly visible.

  "The last remaining unit of mighty Big Red One," the narrator continued "known as the Devil's Brigade, fought its final holding action here for the city of Detroit. The brigade’s sacrifice was total. As was common in the Demon War there were no known survivors. The soldiers who fought here are credited with buying the crucial time that allowed the remaining American forces of soldiers, hunters and pick-up troops to marshal thirty-five miles to the west. There they did what they could to stop the Detroit Horde from reaching the fortifications of the Chicago Sanctuary. While the United States government still will not acknowledge what unnatural force they use to eradicate the Detroit Horde near the city of Ypsilanti, it is known that the sacrifice of the Devil's Brigade here in the city bought the critical time needed to employ the still top-secret weapon used in the final battle."

  Declan willed his body to move and reached down grabbing the remote tightly and turned off the television. He noticed his hand shook slightly and dropped the remote immediately back onto the chair. His thinking turned hazy. He forced himself to achieve calm as he felt unfocused anger starting to push forward into his mind.

  There was no secret weapon. Just death. Yes, the Devil's Brigade bought us some time but it was never part of some grand plan. It was a coincidence. Our stopping that horde outside of Ypsilanti should have never been possible. I should have died there. I still think I did. Are Angels actually real?

  Declan felt his physical anxiety rise. He knew it was a psychosomatic response that he needed to control. These emotional triggers started bubbling to the surface of his mind and manifesting in physical anxiety. They seemed to becoming more and more frequent lately, kicked off by even more innocuous-seeming things.

  Yeah, I'll just grab a beer to chill out and get my shit under control. Damnit, just relax. There's nothing wrong. It's just a damn documentary. You've seen a thousand of them. Chill.

  A subtle, but distinctive, chiming sound emitted from a speaker in the corner of the room. Declan turned his head quickly towards his television and grabbed the remote from the table. He pressed the security menu button bringing up the system's graphic user interface. By habit, he looked quickly at the top right quad of the camera feed which showed the perimeter entry gate from the main road. He saw that it was empty and immediately looked to the left of the screen where it showed a grid layout map display of his property, broken into pre-designated sensor areas. The northwestern block was flashing red denoting the triggering of motion and heat activated sensors.

  Damn it, again? This is all I fucking need today.

  Declan set the remote control back onto the table then turned to head towards the front door.

  I told those Calkens brothers the fucking outer ring perimeter sensors needed to be adjusted tighter. Now I have to hike my ass out there to make more damn deer sensor filter settings adjustments.

  He thought about calling up the company foreman and telling them to get their ass out there and reset the sensors themselves but glanced up to look at the camera monitors for the grid momentarily. His eyes locked in on the image of a camouflaged soldier with a rifle moving forward onto his property and towards his house. A second soldier appeared in the field of view, shadowing the lead soldier's movements just a few meters behind. Looking back over to the security grid he noted that by the series of sensors now being tripped they were clearly heading straight towards the house.

  I knew this was going to happen one day, I don't know who these people are but I didn't survive this long just to be taken down by a couple of assholes, still pissed off about what they think they heard during my congressional testimony. I told those motherfuckers that when this shit was televised they were putting a target on my back for shit that people didn't understand.

  Declan yanked his entry closet hallway closet open and pressed a key code opening sequence on the gun safe inside. He pulled out an AR-15 and extra armor plate carrier harness he kept with the rifle. With movements born of old habits, he pulled the harness over his torso and snapped it in place. He took a thirty-round magazine from the front storage pocket and inserted it into the rifle. With a fluid motion, he pulled the charging handle back then released it, seating the first 5.56 round into its chamber as he moved to his front door.

  Declan was only vaguely aware of the warming sensation as his body temperature rose slightly preparing to react to the apparent threat approaching him. He moved through the front door slowly, sweeping the tree line in front of him then veered to the west, crouching slightly while assessing the extent of open field between his current position of cover and the tree line.

  Two-hundred and fifty meters of open area. Move fast. Move controlled. Look for targets. Stay low. Be prepared or be dead.

  He broke out in a steady jog with his rifle facing forward and pointing to the west where sensors had alerted to the soldiers moving towards the house. His eyes were continually searching for movement behind the trees as he made his way to the point he identified as his next position of cover and concealment. He pressed forward quickly to move out of this exposed danger area. Without drawing any gunfire, or sensing the approaching threats in his immediate vicinity, he reached the cover of the tree line. He dropped to a knee to observe and extend his senses as he felt his awareness rising but he was still unsure of the exact location of the threat. The action was automatic and done without conscious thought.

  Alright, I know you're out here. Where are you now?

  He pulled out his phone's interface to his home system and opened his security application. Glancing at the miniaturized sensor map screen, he noted the additional sensor activations coming from the west but now angling to the north.

  What the hell's wrong with you guys? You lost? Why are you angling away from the house now?

  Pushing down the urge driving him to rush forward directly to engage and destroy this threat, he forced his mind clear so that he could survey rest of sensors on the application map.

  Are you two a decoy team to draw me out? Clever, that's what I would do - draw me out of the fortified position
and bring me into the woods instead making of an all-out assault on the house.

  Declan scanned for other tripped sensors but found none.

  Is something wrong with sensor the grid? I know those bastards are out there. Maybe they are using some form of magical suppression to interfere with the sensors. But then why didn't other threat sensors alert to magical usage? This makes no sense. There's an assault threat right now. I know it. There is no other explanation. I need to take it out right now. At least I know where the first team is.

  His mind locked into battle thoughts, moving to intercept the enemy. You didn't dither in battle situations, you reacted or you died. With quick motions, he brought up a submenu in the security application and ordered his security system to drop the houses shuttered steel window and door barriers. The sound was solid and reassuring.

  Try cutting through those, bastards. I will take care of your decoy team then come back to finish the rest of you. I smell blood now and soon there will be more. You will all pay for your mistakes.

  He put his phone back into his pocket and raised his rifle to his shoulder and began to move forward in a slow crouch. Fully committed now to destroy the threat.

  Okay, time to do this.

  Declan let his senses reach out, listening for the sounds of shifting underbrush and focusing his eyes forward for a trace of movement or shifting shapes in front of him. Cracks from the snapping of fallen tree limbs rang out like bells in the woods. He knew his targets had to be only a few hundred meters to his front. Declan slid the fire selector of his rifle from safe to semi with his thumb and placed his index finger lightly over the trigger. He felt his focus sharpening, he had a threat and he would kill it. Anger at becoming a target now twisted and contorted into the heightened sense of battlefield awareness he had not felt in years. His persistent anxiety melted into a solid defined purpose. To conquer his enemy - to kill them and stand in their blood drove him forward.

  Yes, this threat will now feed my power. Blood will fuel my ability to protect my home.