Piercing the Veil: A Supernatural Occult Thriller

by Guy Riessen

  Derrick tumbled to the side, the hot barrel of his rifle burned his forearms as he rolled out from under the thing’s body as it slammed toward the ground.

  Sarah let the force of the creature’s momentum spin herself around, and kicking her feet out to the side, she brought up her right elbow into a sharp V-shape as she channeled all her energy into an elbow-strike to the thing’s neck. The sound of pulping cartilage and cracking bones was sickeningly similar to a dog ripping into a chicken carcass. Black blood fountained from the creature’s mouth.

  Derrick levered himself up again and pulled the rifle around as the first creature with the massive chest wound dragged itself closer.

  Sarah rolled and cocked her hips then smashed a knee-strike into the gray monstrosity’s temple twice as it tried to twist away from her grip. She twisted her arms through its limbs in a powerful lock.

  Derrick fired full-auto at the creature he’d already shot. Dirt kicked up at the monster’s feet, then tracked up its leg. Two shots separated the leg at the knee and then the hip. Another bullet ripped through the creature’s side and its torso began to dip and collapse with only its left side intact. As it tipped forward, a bullet struck its head, tearing through its skull and down into its neck. Its head was mostly vaporized, and its right shoulder and arm flew free of the rest of its body. The left side of the creature flopped to the ground and skidded to a stop in a cloud of dust.

  A keening roar rose from the pit.

  “Holy shit, this thing is strong!” Sarah shouted. She had its face pinned down against its chest. The crumpled muscle and sinew in its neck couldn’t lift its head, but its arms were slowly pulling Sarah’s away from her lock.

  “When I say so, you knock that motherfucker away and roll!” Howard said, as he sighted his rifle. “Now!”

  Sarah bunched and kicked the creature upright, and she rolled left. Unexpectedly back on its feet, the thing stumbled forward, and Howard’s rifle boomed twice, then twice again. Chest and head exploded backwards in a spray of gore, and the creature stumbled as the third and fourth shots hit both shoulders. Its arms pinwheeled six feet away from the gray’s body before landing on the ground, where the fingers scrabbled at the dust.

  Mary moved a quick circle around them, sighting down her own M4, looking for any other targets.

  “Yeah, Bro!” Howard slapped Derrick so hard on his back his respirator popped out of his mouth and into his lap. “You totally owned that thing!”

  Derrick let his body flop back down onto the dirt. Everything was still shaking. “Well, you know. I had a good teacher, even if he is an ass.”

  Sarah did a kick-up and dusted off her fatigues.

  Mary let her barrel dip toward the ground and joined the other three. “So, I counted two ‘damns’ and an ‘oh shit.’”

  Howard was shaking his head. “No way, dude. One of those was clearly a ‘darn.’ Sarah?”

  Sarah held up her hands, “Uh-uh. Not involved.” She bent over and retrieved her rifle, held it up and checked the sighting.

  “Fine. Whatever. That’s still two, Howard,” Mary said, her hand out.

  Derrick’s gaze was tracking back and forth between the two of them, a deepening frown creasing his forehead.

  Howard huffed, but dug in his pocket and slapped a five into her palm. “Happy?”

  “I will be once I’m eating my tacos at the taco truck, courtesy of Howard.”

  “You guys are asses.” Derrick let the rest of his breath out in a whoosh.

  The keening sound grew louder and a slopping noise like the sound of congealed gravy poured on a plate came from below the edge of the hole. The first tentacles, thick with human blood and slime shuddered up over the side and rolled in the dust, slapping the ground at the edge of the pit and writhing toward them.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  DERRICK POINTED TOWARD the writhing mass that slipped and slithered toward them from the edge of the pit.

  “Who the fuck is that?” Howard said.

  “Pretty sure that’s the Prime Entity, man.”

  “Not that thing. Over there, on the far side of the pit.”

  Opposite them, across the gaping hole, stood a black man, no shirt, covered in blood. Howard raised his rifle, then paused. “Sarah?”

  “Hold. I don’t think he’s a target. I think he’s a friendly, look.”

  The person had what looked to be one of the Sweep’s M4A1 rifles and was standing near the propane tank, firing into it.

  “Is he trying to commit suicide?” Mary asked.

  “Won’t work,” Sarah said, “Propane won’t blow just because you shoot the tank. It just leaks natural gas all over the place ... although ...”

  The man moved to the end of the capsule-shaped tank and fired four more shots into the tank. All the holes were on the side that was facing towards the pit.”

  Sarah pushed her fingers through her hair. “Propane’s heavier than air. Right now, it’s pouring out of that tank in an arc, straight down into the pit with the Prime. Looks like the fucker knows exactly what he’s doing.”

  “Is he a Sweep?”

  “Doesn’t look like it. No shirt. Pants are wrong too—they look more like old army fatigues, BDUs, or something. No shoes. Heck of an afro on that dude, too,” Howard said. He raised his rifle but didn’t sight. No red light. “He doesn’t have an AT device. Not a working one at least.”

  The man stepped to the edge of the pit and fired several more shots. Each one struck right next to a hole already in the tank, opening the way for gas to escape even more rapidly. Then, he ran off to the left, towards the house.

  “Hmmm,” Howard said.

  “I’ve got an endothermic grenade, Sarah,” Derrick said into the pause as they all stared toward where the man had run.

  Sarah turned toward him and raised an eyebrow, waiting for Derrick’s explanation.

  Howard took aim and fired several shots pushing back the probing tentacles rising from the pit.

  “Endothermics work by rapidly expanding hyper-compressed gas, right? So, drop one in that pit and the explosive expansion will mix the gas and air into a combustible slurry.”

  “Effectively forming a fuel-air bomb ... nice, Derrick,” Sarah said.

  Derrick jammed the butt of his M4A1 into the dirt and levered himself up to a standing position. Howard frowned at the use of the rifle, but held his tongue. Derrick reached around to the pouch with his endothermic canister. It was bigger and heavier than the thermite grenade because it had to have an immense amount of gas pressurized down nearly to a metallic state. When the small amount of explosive triggered, it would shatter the high-pressure canister and the metallic-gas would instantly expand to its gaseous state, radically freezing everything within its radius. The resulting pressure wave was like a small explosion but without the heat. Derrick held the canister out, ready to pull the pin.

  “Damn, check that out. Hold up, Derrick.”

  The man came back. He had a thick rope tied around a fifty-five-gallon drum and the ends of the rope over each shoulder, pulling the drum up off the ground. He was carrying it at a half-run.

  “If that’s diesel fuel, that must weigh close to four hundred pounds. It’s like one of those World’s Strongest Man competitions,” Howard said.

  The guy turned and lowered the drum by the edge of the pit. He screwed the cap off the top, then fired several rounds into the drum. The bullets ripped easily through both sides of the drum. He tipped the drum over on its side, fuel splashed out of the opening and the holes. Leaning over, the man rolled the drum into the pit.

  Wailing screams rose from the pit again and the tentacles yanked back down over the edge.

  The man grabbed the rope and ran back toward the house again.

  Mary spun and fired several shots into the black smoke behind them. A headless gray body stumbled out, arms swinging wildly. She fired a few more shots, taking off the arms.

  “There’s no doubt the guy knows what he’s doing. Knows diesel is
also not flammable unless heated or pressurized. Knows propane too,” Sarah said as the guy came back with another drum of diesel, punctured it and dumped it in as well.

  The guy stood near the edge of the pit, looking across at them. When the tentacles started to crawl their way up the side of the pit toward him, he tossed them a salute then turned and ran to the forest edge, where he vanished.

  “Guess that means we’re up?” Derrick said.

  Sarah nodded and pulled a thermite grenade from her belt pouch.

  “Toss your bad boy in, Derrick, then we run toward the house. I’ll throw from as far away as I can.”

  Derrick pulled the pin. “Ready?”

  Everyone nodded.

  Releasing the lever, Derrick threw the endothermic grenade into the pit. There was a low crack as Howard scooped Derrick up, tossed him over one shoulder, and they all ran like hell. Well, Derrick mostly bounced like hell.

  Sarah stopped and said, “Keep running, count to five, then drop. Take a deep breath push it all out but keep your mouths open. The force will be directed almost completely upwards, but all the air’s going to disappear for a bit before it comes crashing back. This is gonna be a hell of a boom.”

  Derrick craned his neck around and watched Sarah pull the pin, rear back into a classic pitcher’s stance, then throw. The grenade arced out until Derrick lost sight of it. Then Howard lowered him quickly to the ground and flopped down beside him, so they were both facing Sarah and the pit. Mary dropped down a half-second later.

  Howard opened his mouth and gave Derrick a thumbs-up. Derrick grinned with his mouth open wide.

  There was a burst of light so bright it lit the entire tree line like a giant camera-flash, a few milliseconds later came a boom so loud, and pressure wave so strong, they were literally shoved backwards along the ground.

  Then all the air disappeared. Derrick felt the tiny remnants of air in his lungs sucked out to fill the vacuum, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  DERRICK FELT HIS EARS pop from the pressure change as the air crashed back inward, and he opened his eyes. The metallic taste of copper was thick in the back of his throat. He lifted himself up on his elbows, leaned over and spat a mouthful of blood into the dirt. Hey, he realized, On the plus side, I’m breathing again, but crap my ears are ringing even with the active sound-dampening earpieces.

  “Hey, buddy,” came the dry croak from his right, “I think we made it?” There was a definite question in the tone.

  Derrick looked over, and Howard was pulling himself up and kneeling. Peeling thick sheets of black rubber and slime off his arms, Derrick let his eyes roam around the area. The pile of tires didn’t appear to be burning anymore, probably literally blown out by the explosion. The propane tank and the bleachers had vanished. The tree line looked about the same, but the white house was leaning away from the pit now, as if the upper floor wanted to move away but the foundation held the bottom floor in place. The pit had expanded somewhat in diameter and the sides were now sloped like a bomb crater.

  The blast had blown all the smoke completely away. A good thing because Derrick had no idea where his respirator was. He pulled it out of his mouth just before the explosion, but it wasn’t in his hand anymore. The air was murky with dust, but it was no longer nearly opaque with oily blackness.

  Sarah was lifting herself up from her prone position about twenty yards closer to the pit. She too, was pulling sheets of the black rubbery stuff off herself. In fact, Derrick looked at the ground, almost everywhere he looked there was slimy bits of what he realized wasn’t rubber but was actually thick fleshy tissue.

  “Feels a bit like raw calamari steak,” Howard said, standing upright. He pulled a piece from his shoulder and wiggled it back and forth.

  “I’m sure all y’all are in the mood for sushi now,” Mary quipped.

  “Not anymore,” Sarah said.

  “Now that I think about it, it looks like someone blew up a giant Michelin Man,” Howard said.

  “Michelin Man was white, H,” Derrick said.

  “Hey now, playing the race card?”

  Sarah was walking back toward them, loosening her shoulders and twisting her back. “Yeah, OK, kids, pull it together. We’re moving on. I think we can write off the Primary Entity.”

  “Yeah, dude got SWERV’d,” Derrick said, his laugh turning into a hacking cough as he pushed himself up onto his feet and balanced using his rifle as a cane.

  Sarah sighed, then said, “Commlinks still sound crackly, but decent.”

  “Hate to poop on the party,” Mary said, “but we don’t know how many of the Grays are remaining.”

  “And we have artifacts to find ... if they’re still here,” Sarah said.

  Sarah raised a fist toward the Sweeps moving through the abandoned cars, indicating the Primary Entity was cleared.

  “Anyone have any injuries?” Sarah asked.

  They all shook out their limbs, checking for blood, and responded negative.

  Derrick checked his pockets to make sure he had wire and sensors in case he needed them, and he blew into the small jack on the side of his Casio watch in a half-assed attempt to clear it of grit.

  “Well, then we move into the house and clear it. We’re looking to retrieve any of the artifacts. Kill the Grays. Incapacitate or kill the humans we cross, let Sweeps worry about clean-up when they follow.”

  “Everyone replace your magazine now. We want full loadout going in,” Howard said.

  Howard twisted the dial on the side of his QQTV box mounted on his rifle, the screen lit up. “Good to go,” Howard said.

  Derrick checked his own. “Mine too.” He reached into a belt pouch and withdrew another, slightly dented aluminum case. He tried to slide it onto the top rail which went over the rifle sight, but the rail was bent, and it couldn’t go on far enough to lock into place. “Dang it!”

  Sarah leaned in close to look. Even covered in gray rubbery chunks and slime, Derrick could still smell the hint of pineapple and mango from her shampoo. “Rail’s bent. So’s the lower rail, D. It’s going to be tough to get your box back off that one.”

  Derrick held the rifle up and looked underneath. He frowned.

  “We could swap ...” Sarah started then stopped as she saw her own top rail was now missing the right-side bar. “Uh, shit. We’re going to need lights on these rails too—from the looks of the house, there’s probably no power.”

  “Let me introduce you all to mankind’s greatest invention,” Derrick paused dramatically. “Duct tape,” he said as he pulled a roll of black tape out of his shoulder pouch. He pulled a length off and wrapped it around the upper rail and his Batdar sensor case. He then taped everyone’s small high-powered flashlight to whatever rail was the most structurally sound.

  “You know, he’s gotta have stock in 3M or something,” Sarah whispered to Mary.

  “I know, right?” Mary answered.

  “Hey, man, you know I can hear every word, even when you whisper. You’re wearing your earpieces,” Derrick said.

  Howard was twiddling the knobs on the side of his laser sight, then looking through the low-powered eyepiece. Finally, he shouldered the rifle and fired a shot. The top of the pine tree across the pit from them snipped off and fell to the forest floor.

  Derrick smiled, shrugged, and held his rifle out. Howard swung his own gun around to his back on its shoulder strap, then he aligned Derrick’s sights and handed it back to him.

  “Thanks, man,” Derrick said.

  “All right, let’s clear this place quickly. We’ve got to prevent anyone scampering off with our artifacts, and speed is our best chance. That said, play it safe. Don’t be reckless. Everyone check your AT set-up before we go in. We don’t want to shoot any good guys once the Sweeps are in there with us,” Sarah said as she pointed her own rifle at each team member in turn, noting the red light come on for each of them.

  They each verified their AT signal was working, then started to
ward the house in their standard formation. Howard first, then Derrick, Mary and Sarah bringing up the rear.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  THE SMOKE HAD CLEARED, blown out of the valley from the force of the explosion, and Derrick could see their surroundings. The house was ringed with tumbled stacks of crates and drums. Far to the left sat the wreckage of their helicopter. It was flipped onto its back and the tail section had split and rested at an odd angle to the rest of the body. The stubby wings with the tractor props were nowhere to be seen. Smoke was beginning to rise again from the engine cowling half-buried in the dirt.

  Although the explosion in the pit had blown most of the smoke away temporarily, a new pillar from the pile of still-burning tires rose skyward once again.

  Derrick looked at the two scanners taped to the racks on his rifle. He frowned and tapped the Batdar scanner. The screen flickered and lit up. Some of the pixels were dead, glowing bright red, but the scanned image was mostly clear, outlining his teammates as well as the crates nearest to where they stood. “Wooden crates,” Derrick said.

  Howard laughed. “Wooden, you say?” He rapped his knuckles against the clearly wooden crates. “What a great device you’ve got there, D. Technology is amazing, isn’t it?”

  “Laugh it up, Chuckles. It’s all fun and games until your stupid foot goes through a porch step.”

  Howard cleared his throat and said, “Yes, well. Anyway, let’s move up to the house before it collapses and takes its secrets with it.”

  Howard moved around each barrier stack, leading the group through the crates. Around the last one there were several dead bodies. All were human and three were missing heads, the ground beneath the severed stumps where their heads should be was pooled with blood.