by Graham Brown
“Because I saved his life.”
“Is there any chance he knows you’re on the run?”
Kate stared down at her hands and the dried orange blood from where the thorn had pricked her. “There’s no chance he doesn’t know,” she replied. “But unless you have some magic way of finding this guy, it’s all we have.”
Christian shook his head. There was no magic, only a long shot and even greater risk.
Chapter 19
Libyan Desert, North Africa
Tereza stared at the bullet hole in the gray concrete wall in front of her. These walls had once been manned by the Afrika Korps of the Nazi war machine. Bunkers from World War II littered the deserts of North Africa. Some, like this one, which Rommel himself commanded from, ran deep into the earth: fortified, cold, and dark. Perfect hiding spots for the Fallen when the sun took command of this side of the planet.
It was high noon above ground and Tereza and Akash could do nothing but wait. Zwana was still in the midst of his change, but the light was too much for him already.
Trapped, she thought. Trapped if anyone came.
She didn’t like this assignment, didn’t like being teamed with a half transformed wizard and a psychotic vampire who was too damaged to be trusted. They were below her on every level. But very dangerous.
Akash had a mind that flitted from madness to a blank state and then back. How he’d managed to avoid the blood lust she didn’t know. Zwana was much like him and it dawned on her that once Zwana was fully turned, these two would be natural allies.
Danger. Trapped with danger. The only way out was to find this weapon Drake had sent them after and maybe even kill these two with it.
Her lip curled with the thought and then a scream of agony rang out from another part of the abandoned bunker.
It was true they couldn’t go outside, but that didn’t mean others couldn’t be brought in.
She wandered back though corridors half-filled with sand and found a man being tortured by Akash. All through the day screams, cries, and pleading had come from the depths of the bunker, pried from men and women who were believed to have knowledge of this Dark Star. But none had spoken. And now their broken bodies littered this concrete coffin.
The last was an old man who had no idea what was in store for him when he indicated he had heard of the legend of the power of the rock.
“Why must you make them scream?” she said to Akash.
“It’s part of the process.”
“It’s annoying.”
The torturer just glared at her. The wizard replied. “The legend tells of an order who guard the Dark Star’s resting place. They trained their minds to be shut.”
She doubted this. Zwana was not far enough along in his transformation to understand his powers and Akash was a sadistic thug, little more than a Drone. More than likely the reason for all this torture was that they enjoyed bringing harm to these humans.
She crouched down and studied the old man. “Tell me what you know.”
His broken body was weak, but his mind remained strong.
“Tell me!”
She forced her will upon him. Prying into him, like nails into soft wood.
He began to squirm and twist and finally went still as if he’d become calm. The cement tomb went dead quiet once again.
Images came to light, but they were false fronts designed to hide his thoughts.
“I will let them begin again if you don’t speak,” she warned.
Finally a phrase came through that she could trust: The People of the Stone. The Guardians
“Are you part of the Church?”
No, much older, four thousand years older.
The man was hiding something. His eyes went to the blade in Akash’s hand. He wanted to die rather than give it up. He didn’t know where the stone was. Only one of them knew. One they called… the Watcher.
“Where is he?” she demanded.
The man shook his head.
She put her hands on his neck. “Tell me!”
The man squirmed and fought; he cursed and shouted in more agony than he’d been from Akash’s physical punishment.
Finally the details started to come forth. The Arabian Peninsula. An ocean of sand. A journey that began in the city of Muscat, in Oman. And ended…
“Where?” she demanded.
He tried to look a way, shutting his eyes.
She opened them with her thumbs. “Tell me and I’ll let you sleep!”
But he didn’t know where the stone was. Only those who were called Guardians knew. She saw a flash. An image of a man in Muscat. One they called… the Watcher.
She released the old man and left him to Akash. She would report to Drake, and once it got dark they would make her way to the nearest airport and charter a flight to Oman.
She climbed the stairs and found a spot near the entrance of the bunker, hoping she could get a signal there. She held out the satellite phone and waited. Nothing. She took another step toward the entrance, her feet sinking into the soft sand. It was no good. The walls and the overhang were too thick. It would have to wait for nightfall, eight hours away.
Suddenly there was more shouting from the depths of the bunker, but it wasn’t the old man. It was Zwana. ”Tereza!” he called out.
She ran back into the darkness, flew down the steps and found Zwana chained to the prisoner, drenched in human blood and stabbed in the stomach with a small knife.
“What have you done?” she cried. Though it was clear what he’d done. Like so many in the Half-Life he’d given into the calling of the blood. “You coward,” she sneered. “Just couldn’t resist.”
Zwana had fed off the man, that much was clear, but how had he been stabbed?
“It was Akash,” Zwana said. “He tricked me. He told me it would be good. It would ease the pain.”
“Where is he?”
The sound of heavy footsteps pounding the metal grates above them gave her the answer. Akash was racing from the deeper section of the bunker toward the exit.
Tereza left Zwana where he was and rushed up the stairs, chasing Akash toward the entrance. She sprinted down the tunnel after him. “Akash no!”
But he didn’t slow, he didn’t turn. He ran right out into the blazing daylight of high noon. She tried to stop at the last second and went to the ground, sliding though the sand. She stopped with half her body in the sun, feeling as if she’d caught fire. As quickly as she could, she scrambled back into the cavern and its deep, dark shade.
Akash kept running. He jumped into their 4x4 and started it.
Don’t, she willed him. Drake will torture you for this. He’ll take you to the edge of death a thousand times over before he kills you.
But Akash wasn’t listening. In fact, he probably couldn’t hear her anymore. He was half human again. It was obvious what he’d done. He’d drank the old man’s blood, drained it down as quickly as he could. It turned him human, allowing him to brave the sunlight. It wouldn’t last long but they were only fifty miles from Tripoli. He could make it if he drove like mad.
The four wheel drive truck roared off into the distance, leaving her and Zwana behind.
Why, she wondered, would do this? There could be only one reason. The timing proved it for her. Akash wanted the Dark Star for himself. He was going for it. Going to find the Watcher on his own.
Tereza ran back to check on Zwana, broke him loose and checked his wound. It wasn’t too deep. He’d live. They’d both live, at least until Drake heard about their failure.
“Is he insane?” Zwana asked.
“He’s always been insane,” she replied. “But he wants power of his own. Power to defeat anyone, even Drake.”
Zwana seemed to understand that. She was actually surprised it had been Akash who made the move and not Zwana himself. But Zwana was still mired in the Half-Life. He was feeling weaker not stronger. The lust for power came only when everything else had been stripped away.
“I saw it in his m
ind,” Zwana said. “He wanted me to join him. When I refused he stabbed me. He tried to kill me.”
“No,” she said. “He used you to distract me. But if he gets the Dark Star he might kill us all. And if Drake thinks we’ve failed we might die long before that.”
“What do we do?” Zwana asked.
“As soon as night falls we run.”
“Tripoli is a long way,” he said.
“With luck we’ll encounter someone on the road,” she said.
Zwana sat back, clutching his side in pain. He almost seemed to enjoy it. It wouldn’t last. The pain and the brief spurt of humanity would soon wear off. But it would leave him wanting more.
She turned toward the distant opening, the blazing white light of the desert lay beyond. Nightfall was still eight hours away. Akash would be in Oman by then.
Chapter 20
Prague, Czech Republic
The streets of Prague were quiet on a night with no moon. Under cover of this darkness, three Range Rovers left a secure garage and began to move north toward the ancient center of the city. On its surface, Prague looked clean and well kept. But it held secrets, one of which, Henrick thought, had festered in this city for far too long.
“Double check your armor,” he said, adjusting the Kevlar wrapped, titanium plate that covered his chest. “Make sure your rifles are powered.”
This was the new militarized army Henrick had envisioned. The new weapons he’d designed and the new tactics he’d personally devised would be tested in battle tonight. The batteries on his rifle showed a full charge. Of course he still carried a huge knife and, though it had been forbidden to the Ignis Purgata for years, a sidearm. He chose a Russian made pistol that fired hardened steel bullets and could even shoot underwater.
“Put on your helmets,” he said. “Switch to night vision.”
The angled helmets were pulled over the hunter’s heads shielding their eyes from direct contact with those of the demons. In tests with lesser members of the Fallen, this had given the hunters the ability to look into the faces of their enemy without being vulnerable to their mind games.
Henrick envisioned a whole army of these new soldiers, and he would lead them like the great generals of old.
One of the men pulled from his pocket a wooden crucifix on a thick black cord and went to sling it around his neck before grabbing his helmet.
“You won’t need that tonight,” Henrick said.
“But I always wear this.”
“Keep it under your tunic then,” Henrick said. “As a last resort perhaps.”
The man hesitated and then did as told. Minutes later they were in the oldest part of town, headed for an abandoned aqueduct from the fifteenth century which led to a series of tunnels, and deep within these tunnels, a chamber. The Chamber of Bones, as the demons called it.
Henrick turned to Aldo, who under a cocktail of drugs seemed stable for the moment. “Do you hear them?”
“They’re preparing to go out,” Aldo said. “You must hurry. They’re hungry. Agitated. And there are many of them.”
In the past, some hunters had waited for demons to feed before slaying them. Or had approached only in daylight when the demons had nowhere to run. Cowardice, Henrick thought. He and his men would attack in places no hunters would have dared venture before. They were now taking the fight directly to the enemy strongholds.
If his weapons were proved effective, if the body armor held against their foes and the system of filters and video screens repelled the demons telepathic powers, he would prove unstoppable. But most of all—even amid all the technology—if Aldo’s gift of hearing the damned could be trusted, then this was the beginning of the end for the Fallen.
The convoy pulled to a stop. “We can’t go any further. The entrance to the tunnel is up ahead.”
Henrick locked his helmet into place and took a second to get used to the view through the night vision scope. Having only one eye put him at a slight disadvantage, but no matter. He stepped out of the SUV and powered up his rifle. “Let the extermination begin!”
They moved into the forest. The crumbling aqueduct was barely visible for all the trees and weeds growing around it. “Fan out,” Henrick said. “It’s here. It’s close.”
“Here,” Aldo said, heading toward what looked like a pile of deadwood.
While two of the hunters cleared the entrance, Henrick fought to contain his adrenaline. “Can you feel the rush?” he said to Aldo.
“I feel only what they feel now,” he said. “Blood lust. They’re coming.”
Henrick singled out two of the hunters and pointed to Aldo, “Guard him with your lives.”
They nodded and the rest of the force marched into the tunnel and the subterranean darkness. From time to time a voice cracked the radio silence. It would state position and direction. Aside from that, no one spoke. Only the trickle of water and sound of their boots hitting the ground could be heard.
Suddenly, Henrick held up his fist. His soldiers stopped dead in their tracks. In the distance, through the night vision goggles, he could see movement. A group of figures were running their way.
Strange grunting noises like those of rooting animals preceded them, distorted by the acoustics of the tunnel.
“Steady,” Henrick said, crouching.
The figures rushing towards them were almost naked.
“I see two…four of them,” a voice whispered over the intercom. “Maybe five.”
Aldo had insisted he could hear at least fifty different voices from here. Henrick hadn’t given his crew that number, lest they question his sanity. “Steady.”
The wilding pack was closing in on them. Henrick counted seven and then eight of them. “Now!”
The Nova rifles came on instantly. The tunnel lit up with ten million watts of UV light, the charging demons covered their faces and screamed in hideous tones. The leading group stumbled down and fell to their knees and faces. They tried to crawl away. The second group fared little better, crying out and dropping down to the ground.
“Forward,” Henrick said.
His army moved in unison. Their lights blinding and burning the demons, who seemed to be aging before Henrick’s eyes. When three lights focused on the closest vampire it shriveled up like a wilting flower and caught fire. The others soon followed, but these fires were not like the Ignatorum. Instead of a blue white flame that burned hotter than a gas fire, these demons burned away slowly like charred paper. Turning to piles of ash and red embers.
Henrick hadn’t expected that, but it was merely interesting, not concerning. Dead was still dead.
They moved on and came to a curved wall that resembled the turret of a castle. Candles burned in recesses along its face, a row of skulls sat at the foot and everything was covered with centuries of wax. In a huge pit beneath the wall lay piles of human bones like nothing Henrick had ever seen on the outside. The bones of hundreds lay there.
“Aldo says they wait inside for the hunting party to return with victims,” Henrick explained. “If he’s right there are almost fifty of them in there, with only one way in or out.”
“Fifty?” one of his men replied in shock.
“Almost fifty,” Henrick corrected. “But their leader is the danger. He’s a crafty, powerful demon named Tyrian.”
All of the hunters knew who Tyrian was. He’d killed members of the Righteous Fire before. In fact, he’d nearly killed Henrick. Simon saved him by pulling him from the demon’s grasp and stabbing Tyrian with a bayonet.
The incident had cost Henrick time in recovery, but unlike Aldo his mind hadn’t been taken and so he was allowed to continue on in the order. And yet, the incident affected his stature in other ways. As Simon had saved him, Henrick always needed to show gratitude to the older man. It made Henrick appear the weaker of the two when, in fact, he was bolder and stronger. The thoughts burned like acid in his mind.
To hate a man for saving you, even Henrick understood how twisted that was.
&nbs
p; “You have us come for Tyrian on our first mission?” a hunter named Doros asked.
“I hear fear in your voice, Doros. Are you afraid?”
“I’ve killed these things all over the world,” Doros said. “But we fight one or two of them at a time, not fifty. Nor would I be stupid enough to lock myself in a small room with them while relying on weapons we’ve never tested before.”
“We just tested them,” Henrick insisted.
“On naked weaklings.”
“Sometimes a leap of faith is required,” Henrick said. “Today is one of those days.”
“We’ve found the entrance,” one of the men said. “It’s sealed from the inside.”
“Use the explosives.” Henrick ordered.
Explosives were placed and weapons checked one last time. Henrick gave the signal to blow the doorway.
The explosion blew the iron door off its frame and sent it flying into the chamber.
Henrick rushed in, his men right behind him. The gathering of hungry demons turned in shock, and then they charged.
These demons were cloaked in heavy leather armor, their bodies thicker and more powerful. But their eyes and faces were still vulnerable, and as the Nova rifles came on their assault was turned back.
“Use the spikes,” Henrick ordered. He tapped a switch on the side of his rifle and a barbed spike shot out, impaling the closest demon. His men did the same. Ten of the undead were quickly dispatched and burning. Some of the others raced for the door, but two of Henrick’s men stood their ground, Nova rifles turning night into day.
One of the larger nosferatu tackled Henrick, its clawed fingers trying to dig into his throat. An armored collar protected Henrick and it went for his heart next, but the sharpened nails of its hand raked uselessly across Henrick’s chest, unable to penetrate the breastplate.
Henrick managed to throw the demon off and then kicked it with his booted foot. The blow was strong, but not enough to injure such a creature.
A second switch on the rifle deployed a bayonet and Henrick jabbed with it, slicing the demon’s wrist. The protective arm came away from its face and the creature’s face took the full brunt of the Nova rifle’s power at point blank range. Its eyes turned red, like glowing lava, and then burst into flame. The vampire peeled back, smoke pouring from its eye sockets. It collapsed and began to burn.
