Rage

by Doug Burbey

  "I can kill you and take them. I don't really have an issue doing that. It might make it easier. Two idiots out here killed and no licenses anywhere. Hmm, I like that idea." She made to unsheathe her sword.

  "No, no," they both wailed digging under their robes and a minute later two ID's lay at her feet. With a sigh of disgust, thinking the idea of killing them really might be a better one, she stooped and picked them up.

  "Thank you, you'll be glad this happened in the long run. Now is there anything else I should know about before I let you leave with your lives? Anything you heard?" She tapped the sword in her hand as she glared at both of them.

  "No really. It was just a job, something to keep people aware," the blond wailed. "Don't take our licenses, we won't be able to even learn until we get them back."

  Remember, knowledge is the only way to combat ignorance.

  "Do you two know why you can summon demons?" She kept her voice mild, curious as to what they would say.

  "Sure," the brunet said holding his sleeve to his bleeding nose. "We can open the portal and we control the demon we summon through the portal. You have to be really strong to control the bigger demons but the little ones are slaved to you."

  You know, maybe I should just kill them and save the world from them reproducing.

  The thought lightened her mood a bit but their words still made her stomach clench.

  Kayter dropped into a crouch, ID's in one hand, the sword in the other, looking at them.

  "That isn't exactly how it works. Would you like to know, or should I just kill you now?"

  They both paled even more, an impressive feat given how pale they already were.

  "Tell us… yes, please." They said voices overlapping.

  "Portals take two sides to open, one here and one there, and the drone demons aren't smart enough or powerful enough to open the portal on the other side. That means there is another demon there, holding it and they can send through anything they want. Now because you are both very minorly gifted," she ignored their pouts, "you can only create a very small portal. That means the drones are the only ones that can come through; besides they are attracted to portal energies anyhow. But on the other side, the demon holding it open is smarter and more powerful and if that portal is open long enough, they can make it bigger." Both boys had wide eyes at this point.

  "They taught you to close it quickly, right?" They nodded looking at her. "Well, that is because if the demon on other side has time to gather resources he can make it wide enough to send anything through. And drones are only controllable because they seek another mind to control theirs. The rest of the demons?" Her smile, sharp with no humor, spread across her face. "Those demons will bind you, break you, and keep you alive until they have moved through all the demons they want, to then kill everything and everyone. And I mean once they are here, why should they go back? Because trust me, no one, not even master level mages can control another sentient demon. The drones, they aren't sentient - the rest, they have their own plans for us and none of those plans involve us living."

  "Oh gods," the whispered words were laced with horror and understanding.

  "Exactly. I'm not sure what this government agency is planning but I can tell you a lot of people would die. And it would all be your fault."

  "We didn't know. Really. They spun a good story, telling us people were getting complacent and we needed to make sure they didn't forget, so we would never be weak again. I mean we don't want to cause people to die."

  "Fine, I'll make you a deal." She snapped her sheathed sword back onto her back and pulled out her phone snapping pictures of their licenses. Then she tossed them at their feet. "I'll let you keep these. But if you hear anything, and I do mean anything, going down or wanting portals open, you call me." She pulled out a card, a number nothing else. It was a VoIP number, not easily traceable, but it would route to her fast enough. "Leave a message if I don't answer. And if I ever run into you calling demons up, I'll let you summon it, let it eat you, then I'll kill it."

  She meant every word and she could tell from the paleness on their faces they knew she did.

  With that she rose and walked off, leaving the two idiots sitting there and hopefully thinking about their life choices.

  Chapter 8 - Demons Attack

  In the two years since he'd retired, Declan fell into a routine that provided some structure and social interaction. He performed daily perimeter security checks, making sure he checked for tampering around the cameras and sensors, where the animals walked, and how long it would take someone to walk from each point to reach his house. Declan had no immediate threat against him that he knew of but the better safe than sorry adage had merit. After a month or two, he had decided he needed some human interaction after all. He wasn't looking for a girlfriend or wife by any stretch of the imagination, but he missed the social aspect of life he had back in his uniform days. For that he hung out in the Veterans of Foreign Wars hall a couple nights a week.

  He pulled his truck into the parking lot of the Jennings's VFW. He saw a few familiar cars and one or two that he didn't recognize. He glanced at his watch.

  Sweet, still happy hour.

  Declan jumped out of his truck, locking it by habit, and headed towards the large, single story, white wood building with the largest flagpole in the town proudly displayed out front.

  He buzzed in at the door. After a short pause, the door clicked open, and he walked in. It took a minute to sign the membership visit log then he beelined for the bar. He'd paid the lifetime membership fee years ago without blinking. To join you had to have fought in a foreign war and the Blood War counted even if they fought on their own soil. Auxiliary membership was given to the dependents of those who fought in that war.

  Declan did a quick look to see if anybody was here tonight that he would be able to tolerate. As luck would have it, at the corner table in his customary spot, sat a local pick-up warrior from the Blood War. A civilian marksman who survived to tell the tale. It made him a local hero. To Declan, Andrew Cabello was just a friend he could be comfortable around. When the war broke out Andrew worked as an optical engineer developing advanced camera imagery for satellites, pretty high-end engineering stuff. In his spare time, he was an Appleseed civilian firearms instructor. He specialized in long-distance shooting and instructing kids on firearms safety. When the war broke out he became a volunteer add-on civilian fighter. He developed an affinity for the Barrett .50 caliber rifle, becoming an extremely effective sniper.

  Warfare had changed its tactics when fighting demon hordes but one thing never changed, even demon leaders tended to stand out and killing them was a good thing. With his weapon of choice, Andrew would single out the horde subgroup leaders, or heavy weapons operators, for special long-range attention. He may not have killed demons by the thousands but he made every shot count. Since meeting each other in Jennings they would often talk about sports, politics, the Food Network, shooting, world events or just nothing at all. What neither ever seemed to talk about was the war. By unspoken agreement, they both decided to leave those discussions behind.

  Declan crossed the room toward the well-worn polished wooden bar, glancing over at Casey the bartender and nodded. Without a word, Casey grabbed a sixteen-ounce glass and starting pulling a beer from the Yuengling tap as Declan made his way over to the corner table.

  "How’s it going, shithead?" Declan asked Andrew as he pulled up a chair and sat down.

  "Pretty good. Get your new apple tree row planted?"

  "Yup. I've now become a farmer. Well, at least enough to keep my agricultural credit on the property."

  "Oh yeah, need to keep that Maryland taxman off your ass. They couldn't snap up that sweet bonus that you got after the war but they sure as hell will get that property tax from you, won't they? You being landed gentry and all now."

  "You can count on that, Cabello. You still doing those technical reviews for the new optical sights from Bushnell?"

  "Oh yeah. T
hey keep sending me the prototype sights and I do my assessment then give an engineering review. I let them publish the review and in return, I get to keep the hardware if I liked it."

  "You know, if you're overloaded on that free high-end glass I can always take some off your hand."

  "Sorry, Declan. This is quality stuff. You'd break such pretty kit inside of twenty minutes trying to mount it to that stupid, ugly assed carbine you like to shoot."

  "Hey now, I always take care of the pretty things and yes, my Vulture carbine may be ugly, but she's my kind of special ugly."

  As both of them chuckled at the standard good-natured insulting ritual, Declan paused for a moment as Casey came up to the table.

  "You two loafers going to order anything? Or are you just going suck up space here sitting? Your burger is on the way Andrew, but I'll grab you a new beer in as soon Kenner manages to decipher the complexity of a ten-item menu."

  "I'll just have some nachos with extra loafing on the side."

  "All right, Kenner. So, it's your normal order then." Casey laughed as he turned and left to go enter in the order behind the bar.

  "Who’s the new guy over there?" Declan nodding his head to the clean-cut thirty-something in a dark polo shirt and jeans sitting at the corner of the bar facing the door.

  Why does he look like he is watching everyone just a little too much?

  "Beats me. I asked Casey when I came in. The guy said his name was Chad and signed in with a Springfield D.C. chapter membership card. Smells like a Fed to me."

  "Well, he's a bit off the beaten track. But shit, I'm not local so who am I to judge?"

  "Hell, Declan, you're local now. Shit, you own more of the land around here than most of the old-timers."

  "Ahh, just a small spread to keep me busy in my sunset days. You know that."

  “Yeah, yeah. Mr. Kenner the gentleman farmer who doesn't know shit one about farming."

  "Shhhhh, don't say that too loud. You'll ruin my rep."

  "Yeah right. Apple orchard. Um huh. Last I checked, a man did not need a gun range with pop up targets for growing apples."

  "Bite me, Cabello. I'm a hobbyist shooter and I like apple pies. Therefore, apples are needed."

  "Speaking of which, Declan, I'm thinking of swinging your way Saturday afternoon. The security desk receptionist at my office finally caved."

  "Really? Outstanding, Andrew. The cute blond?"

  "That's her. She's never done any shooting and I was thinking of taking her out to your range to do some long gun shooting if that's OK. I can set out the primed reactive targets at your place and I figured her first time should be a big bang event."

  "Not a problem at all. Just text me and I'll key the gate for you. You know the way." Declan lowered his voice a little, his voice halting and asks. "You bringing out the Bear?"

  Andrews' face seemed to freeze for a second. Declan wondering if he crossed a line. "The Bear… Naw. She needs to stay asleep. Hopefully forever."

  "Sorry, didn't mean to… Yeah. Sorry."

  "Hey, no problem brother. For your clear violation of man code, I declare your sentence." Andrew said as he motioned to Casey for another round and pointed at Declan with a hand motion of writing a check signaling to put it on Declan's tab.

  Declan noted that the smile accompanying the gesture was more forced than normal for the always friendly Andrew. He immediately regretted bringing up The Bear. The Bear was the name Andrew had given to his sniper rifle that he still had stowed away somewhere ever since the war. Its devastation against demon horde leaders was still legendary in this part of the state. But there were stories, never spoken in Andrews' presence, of how he provided long-range mercy to his fellow fighters when the demons overcame them. Declan understood how that weighed on someone's soul. It was a wound that never healed in a person's mind. Both Andrew and Declan carried that same, and very deep, wound.

  What the fuck was I thinking? Damn, dick move Kenner.

  Declan quickly changed the subject. "You still toting that .38 Sig around as a carry piece?"

  "Yeah. Why? You still on your never-ending quest for the perfect carry piece?"

  "Yeah, I guess. I have my Springfield Trophy Match 1911 out in my truck now but I'm still not sold on using it as my full-time carry piece. I just can't seem to find something that I'm as comfortable with shooting as I am with the Vulture. But the last time Donahue came over to my place for shooting, he threatened to take an angle grinder to her, due to his offense at its inelegance."

  "Donahue? Oh yeah, Greg, that ex-Air Force Pave Hawk helicopter pilot, with a propensity for cutting down treetops that you used to run with during the war. Well damn, you can't exactly conceal that monstrosity in your pants. Besides, those things are just too damn heavy even for a carbine and I have no need to shoot loads that hot. I have not once been attacked by an elephant. Well, not lately. Ok, maybe a pink elephant last Saturday night after drinking that crap Derick claimed was moonshine. Besides, Greg was right, the Vulture has to be the ugliest weapon man has ever created."

  Laughing, as Andrew continued to explain his complicated theory on how Derick must be stealing radioactive waste water and mixing it with pine tar to create his evil beverages, Declan noticed that the polo shirt newbie was still paying way more attention to the people in the bar than he should be.

  Something just isn't right about this guy.

  Declan had just begun to stand up to go have a chat with the guy when Casey arrived with his food and a new beer.

  "Here you go, Kenner, one order of nachos. Sorry, we're out of your order of extra loafing by the way. Would you care to substitute that with a side of lollygagging instead?"

  Chuckling, Declan replied, "Sure Casey, but I would like my lollygagging a solid medium rare, please."

  Putting his thoughts about the strange behavior of the newcomer aside, Declan dug into his nachos and beer and continued his debate with Andrew on the merits and flaws of various absurd items to use as concealed carry weapons. Declan was pretty sure they had this conversation three weeks ago. Neither seemed to care either way if they did. Besides, no one sells chainsaw hand axes anyway.

  Declan pulled up the collar of his fleece jacket as he exited the bar about ninety minutes later and started walking across the parking lot to his truck. Warm food in his stomach, some good conversation, and a slight buzz filled the need for human interaction.

  Hold on. Is that actual buzzing? Not just my ears?

  For a moment Declan thought he may be hearing things but then it started. His senses began to sharpen. He could feel the old reemergence of his magically enhanced battle awareness trying to take hold.

  No, no, no! Declan screamed to his own mind. Not again.

  Turning rapidly, he looked for the source of the noise triggering his physical reaction that he fought to repress. A catalog of old memories, shoved deep into the recesses of his mind, quickly attached itself to the noise and presented itself as a known threat.

  Drone. Demon drone. It can't be.

  With this realization, he no longer had an option of fighting for control against himself to prevent summoning the battle awareness. His body demanded that he survive, His heightened senses fed his mind with an overlay of his surroundings only visible in his mind but prodding his reflexes without conscious thought.

  Declan turned towards the source of buzzing noise and confirmed what his mind already told him. Looking up towards the top of the VFW hall, a squat four-legged, insect-winged demon drone was watching him. The size of a small dog with the general appearance of a great big grey maggot with wings, it glared back at him. A row of protruding black eyes, starting at its small jagged mouth, ran all the way to its blunted tail. During the war, these drones were used as advance scouts for demon sub horde leaders. The demon leaders apparently used some form of an empathic link to see with the drone's eyes and provide direction to the otherwise largely unintelligent larva.

  Unintelligent. Controlled. It's not alone then. And now I'm sta
ring right at it so whatever is controlling it knows that I've seen it’s scout. Fuck.

  Keeping his eyes on the drone, he let his battle senses feed him with hyper-awareness that almost seemed to slow time around him as his mind raced. He began to back slowly toward his truck.

  Truck about 25 feet behind me. The 1911 is in the center armrest counsel. Magazine is loaded but there's no chambered round. Doors locked. Truck keys in left jacket pocket. Folding five-inch serrated lock blade hooked to belt behind right hip.

  Continuing to step backward, Declan watched the drone track his movement with coal black eyes and flutter its insectoid wings. That generated the humming sounds again.

  Truck now 22 feet behind me. Doors still locked. No way to get to the gun. Move my left hand towards truck keys in left jacket pocket. Move right hand towards knife hooked to belt behind my hip.

  The drone began to squat its four segmented legs in a movement Declan recognized as a precursor to jumping forward to launch itself either at him or into flight.

  Truck now 19 feet behind me. Almost have the truck keys. I have the knife hooked to my belt. I must turn my back on the threat to make it to the truck. There's not enough time to get the gun.

  The drone surged forward in a rapid downward arc from the roof towards him. The combat details of the drone snapped into his head. Not efficient in horde combat. When engaged in combat they stab with their front two legs or bite with the sharp protrusions from the softball-sized mouth. Neither attack is efficient against standard body armor.

  Except I'm not wearing any damn body armor right now!

  Declan pulled from his memories as he tracked the fast moving drone about to hit him square in his chest.

  He dropped to one knee and pivoted, driving the five-inch blade directly under the chin of the drone. Letting the forward momentum of the demon drag the blade across its underbelly as it tore open the soft rubbery flesh before the knife caught and was pulled, wet with blood, out of his hand.

  Yeah, you don't have any armor either fucker.