She rinsed her hand in the port’s ocean water and they continued on their way through the city.
Petersburg, Russia
Gene was shoveling manure like a fiend. He was using a shovel that he had to make himself because he had broken three smaller ones.
They let him use their small machine shop to fabricate a forty-inch wide beast that was two and a half feet long and a foot deep. He welded a triple-reinforced handle with angle bar back bracing. The finished product weighed twenty-five pounds.
With it, Gene was able to clean the cattle barn by himself in two hours, a task that would have taken a team of four men an entire twelve-hour shift.
The foreman made to fire the other four men, but Gene used his size to intimidate the man into changing his mind. Gene wasn’t trying to take anyone’s livelihood. He didn’t want to make enemies, something that was easy to do in Russia, but it was also easy to make friends.
When he saved their jobs, Gene acquired four fanatical friends. The work they were given was easier, and they celebrated their good fortune by inviting Gene to one of their homes.
Fu wasn’t sure as she was learning to speak English fairly well. Being thrust into an all-Russian speaking environment didn’t appeal to her, but she acceded, knowing that Gene wouldn’t tolerate anyone speaking ill of her.
On their way, Gene looked for disturbances in the etheric, but there was nothing there. He was the only one of the Unknown World for as far as he could sense.
“My friends!” Gene bellowed from the roadway, holding a bottle of cheap vodka that he’d purchased from the foreman, who was running a still out of the back of the main barn. Gene checked the operation to make sure they weren’t using wood alcohol and once certain, he bought a bottle.
The foreman told him to bring back the bottle for a half-price refill.
It had only cost Gene four-hour’s wages, an outrageous price, but Gene wanted to impress his friends.
And he did, but not because of the vodka. The group of farmhands had never seen an exotic beauty like Fu before, but there she was, hanging on Gene’s arm. They looked at the big man strangely, having never thought he’d have a girlfriend.
He maintained his gregarious presence as he sauntered to the door. Fu was uncomfortable, and she thought Gene wouldn’t notice, but he told the men something in Russian and immediately translated it for her.
“I told them we would not stay long. Stay close, and if one of them grabs you, punch him in his ugly face. It is Russian way.” When Gene turned back to his new friends, he glared at each one of them.
“Watch your hands, my friends. Fu is very important to me, and if you upset her, it would make me angry. Now, who wants some vodka? It is best around!” he bellowed, producing the bottle and holding it high.
The men cheered, their temporary distraction by Fu forgotten. Gene only let her have one sip, enough to make her cough and gag. She settled for tea and enjoying the hospitality of one of the men’s wives.
For people who had almost nothing, they enjoyed every bit of it and the rest that life had to offer.
Fu was stuffed with a variety of beet and pickled dishes. They had steak cooked on skewers over an open fire. Plenty of beef was a benefit of working on the farm.
Even Gene got enough to eat. At the end of the evening, he hugged each of his friends, lifting them into the air as he did so, before excusing himself and leaving.
On the way to the street, Fu stopped him.
“Thank you for loving me,” she told him in English in her lilting way.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Japan
Akio meditated for over an hour before engaging in a spirited sparring match with Yuko. She was as sharp as ever, thanks to the time spent with Terry and Char’s children.
“Will we ever finish them?” Yuko asked in Japanese.
“Their karma is not for us to finish them. We will battle until the end of time. We will remain in the light, and they will fight from the darkness. Like cockroaches, we will never find them all. As long as one remains, it will create more,” Akio replied softly.
Sweat droplets were splattered across the mat. Akio bowed deeply to Yuko, ending the spar. She returned his bow and handed him a towel.
He thanked her, before heading for the command center where Eve was hard at work, doing what Eve did—analyze data.
“I am afraid that with the destruction of Mister Smith’s compound, those signals have disappeared in entirety,” she told Akio. “I am back to using optics to scan for irregularities. It is a very slow process as I look for changes over time.”
“Which means that we are deaf and almost completely blind,” Akio offered.
“That’s exactly what it means, Akio-san. I have found no indication of Forsaken with the means available to me. I think that Terry Henry Walton’s approach will be the only one to shine the light on those who covet the darkness.”
“Well said, Eve-san,” Akio replied, pursing his lips as he looked over the screens that contained no useful information. “Well said.”
A Farm in Wisconsin
Marcie settled her warriors into place by first light. She expected most of them would sleep until the late morning. They were secure in their hide sites.
She knew that she was the first to arrive by using an aggressive strategy of going wide and coming at the problem from a side that the target wouldn’t have predicted.
Marcie crawled through a bush, careful not to shake the branches. She pushed the last branch aside enough to see past. In an open area three hundred yards due west, the cabin stood with fields surrounding it. A separate shed and barn stood on the far side. She slowly returned the branch to its natural spot, before drinking the remaining water in her flask. She needed a refill.
It would have to wait until nightfall.
She moved forward until the branch rested on her forehead and she could clearly see the farm ahead.
A man exited the building. He whipped out the dangling dino o’ doom and took a leak. Marcie wondered if all the reconnaissance missions would have to deal with such mundane activities.
She smiled to herself, because she already knew that answer. Ninety-nine percent of what she did was going to be boring. Marcie knew that she needed to answer questions when she returned. How many people were at the farm? Who was in charge? What were their vulnerabilities? And more.
Marcie sighed and settled in, pleased to be first and already watching.
***
It was late morning when Kaeden’s team was roused and ready to go.
“At your stealthy best,” he told them, putting Camilla on point. She was the smallest of them all and presented a minimal profile. She was also the only one of his team who had faced a real enemy in hand-to-hand combat. She won the fight against a larger opponent and was revered by the others in the platoon.
Camilla was humble about it. Kaeden had faced a human enemy and a Forsaken, winning one and losing one, but was saved by Kimber and the Werewolves.
He hadn’t even been in the FDG at the time.
The tac team moved slowly under the morning sun, remaining in the shadows on the western side of foliage. Agonizingly slowly, they pushed forward.
Moving at an extremely slow pace was as exhausting as moving quickly. Kae changed people on point every twenty minutes. After two hours, he called a break, and then every other change-out, he called a rest break. He finally decided to set up a bivouac in a heavily sheltered grove about a mile from his objective, deciding to finish the movement under the cover of darkness.
Once settled, Kae tapped Camilla on the shoulder and motioned for her to leave her pack behind, bringing only her rifle and knife. He pointed to his eyes and then to the north.
They were going to take a look at the farm.
They moved out with Kae in front. He was able to move more quickly than the squad while remaining quiet and under cover. Camilla had a hard time keeping up without revealing herself.
Kae kept slowing to give he
r time to catch up. He admired her diligence, and without having to carry her pack, she was the team’s fastest after Kaeden.
They slowed and dropped to the ground after forty-five minutes of hard travel. They low-crawled through the brush and heavy grass until the farm appeared before them. Kae’s eyes shot wide in surprise as he came face to face with a farmhand who was out with a dog.
The dog started to bark.
“Fuck!” Kaeden exclaimed.
“Hey there!” the man called. “Can I help you with something? Have you fallen down?”
Kae hurriedly got up and pulled Camilla to her feet. “We were out hunting deer. Did you see a spike buck run past here within the past five minutes?”
The man raised one eyebrow.
“My bust. We’ll be leaving now,” Kae told the man. The mongrel continued to bark. “Come here, you. Who’s a good boy?”
Kae held out a piece of jerky and the dog snagged it from his hand, chewing on it like it was shoe leather. Kaeden couldn’t blame the dog. The batch he’d been given had not been one of Mayra’s best. He blamed the captain.
He dug for a second piece and kneeled to pet the dog as he fed the youngster. “What’s his name?”
“Terwilliger,” the man replied shaking his head. “I call him Willie.”
“I see why,” Kae chuckled. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say that you saw us. It might get me in trouble with the boss.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” the man said, looking sincere. “Only because Willie likes you.”
Camilla and Kae waved at the man and walked away, shoulders back and head held high.
“If you’re going to fuck up, do it with class,” Kae told her.
***
Ramses looked at his team, awake and waiting for darkness to continue their journey north.
Only six hours to go.
“Set snares, fish, hunt, and catch us something to eat. You two, find some dry wood that won’t smoke. We might as well eat something before you settle in,” Ramses ordered. Eight people scattered into the brush while the firewood hunters started collecting deadfall from which to make a fire.
Ramses left to refill his canteen at a nearby stream.
It was just like camping. He thought he was far enough away that the real exercise had not yet begun.
He dipped his flask, drank deeply, then dipped it again. When he looked up. Gunny Lacy was standing at a nearby bend in the stream. She uncrossed her arms to crook a finger at him.
“Crap,” he exclaimed and began the short death march. He stood with his head hung low, not wanting to meet the gunnery sergeant’s withering gaze.
“You here by yourself?” she asked.
He saw a glimmer of hope. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” he answered, finally looking up.
She pointed. He followed her finger where two of his people were setting a snare on a game trail that led from the woods to the stream.
“I thought we’d eat something before getting into position,” he admitted.
“Do you know where you are?” she asked.
“About ten miles from the objective?” he answered.
“Okay, maybe you do know where you are,” she said, grinning. “I can’t fault you for what you’re doing. You are off the beaten path. I only headed over here because I didn’t want to be on the road either. Carry on, Corporal, and don’t let me see you or any of your people again.”
“Will do, Gunny.” Ramses watched her walk away before shaking his head.
I’ve lost before we even got started, he thought.
Sailing the Caribbean
Terry looked at the crew below. Char was pulling duty with the sail. He had figured that she would have had to protect herself from the roving hands of the captain by that point, beating him to a pulp and taking over as the captain of the ship.
He wasn’t sure what happened, but since he was alone, he pulled his communication device and called Butch and Skippy. They’d been in position the longest and he’d only heard from them once.
“Hello?” Skippy mumbled into the device. “It’s two in the morning, you ignorant bastard.”
Terry looked at the sky. It was eight-thirty in Cancun, which happened to be in the Eastern time zone.
“I’m in Cancun, dumbass, and it’s the same time here as there, unless you’re now in Hawaii. Don’t tell me you’re in Hawaii.” Terry looked at the sky as he waited.
“Oh, yeah. I see outside now. It’s later than I thought,” Skippy said, speaking more clearly with each new word.
“Just checking to see how you two are doing,” Terry said nonchalantly.
“We’re fine. We have jobs working in the steel mill. It appears we have special talents that they can use,” Skippy said through a yawn.
“Such as?”
“We can grab really hot things without getting burned,” Skippy replied.
“Of course you can,” he told them, looking out from the crow’s nest to make sure no one was coming to check for any obstructions. It was clear sailing as far as the eye could see. “You sense anything in the etheric?”
“Nothing at all,” Skippy replied. There was a delay before he spoke again. “We’re settling in. It’s going to take a while before we know if anything is up.”
“That’s what I’m getting from everyone. Do what you need to do. Expect to stay there as long as you have to. Terry out,” he said and shut the device down.
He stuffed it into his pocket, grabbed a rope, and climbed out of the crow's nest. When he reached the deck, the captain was there.
“Who told you to come down?” the man demanded.
“Well, skipper. I’ve been up there for a couple hours and I’d like a drink. Next time, I suggest you send your victim into the maw of the sun beast with at least a couple flasks of water,” Terry answered calmly.
“You’ll get what I give you, and you’ll do what I tell you to do!” the captain sneered.
“I think you can shove that up your ass,” Terry told the man.
The captain took one step back. “I don’t tolerate mutiny on my boat. I run things tight. We come home with a good catch, make it worth everyone’s while. That’s because of how I run things. Grab him, boys!”
Two of the deckhands appeared and tried to grab Terry Henry. In less than the blink of an eye, one was sprawled on the deck unconscious and the other was doubled over from a vicious kick to his mid-section.
The captain produced a knife and lunged at Terry. TH caught the man’s arm and pulled, then lifted and launched the captain over the rail and into the ocean. The boat was under full sail, and the captain was quickly left behind.
The two uninjured deckhands smiled. “Thank God!” one of them said. “You want me to throw these two overboard?”
“Maybe later,” Terry said. “For now, tie them up. Maybe they’ll see the errors of their ways. Now, is there a rudder in here?”
“The rudder is at the back of the boat. You control it with the ship’s wheel,” one man replied, confused and concerned.
“The rudder is a journal of notes to help guide the ship, pitfalls to avoid, things to look for. It’s the captain’s bible,” Terry explained.
Char looked at the unconscious man, finding that he wasn’t unconscious. The blow to his head had fractured his skull. He hadn’t survived.
Terry instantly felt bad. “Dammit,” he growled and personally picked the man up.
“You didn’t have to die today,” Terry apologized and carried the man to the rail. “We commend the soul of our departed brother as we commit his body to the deep, where he shall sleep in peace until the final days when the sea shall give up her dead.”
Terry let the body slip over the rail and disappear into the dark blue of the Gulf. Char was helping the other injured man stand upright. He grunted with the effort, glaring at Terry Henry the whole time.
“Anyone have a dinner date?” Terry asked. The two deckhands shook their heads, whereas the other didn’t move. “S
o what do we do with you?”
The man continued to glare.
“I won’t kill you in cold blood, but what happens next is your choice. We can take you back to Cancun and drop you off. I’m confident that Char and I can sail this thing by ourselves. Our plan is to cruise the Caribbean, check out the islands, and then return to Cancun. If you want to be a prick, we’ll drop you off in Cancun. If you try to hurt any of us or the boat, we’ll drop you off in the middle of right here. There is one final choice—you can join us.”
“You killed the captain! You killed my friend!” the man screamed.
“The captain came at me with a knife, and I don’t take that well,” Terry explained. “You and your friend were just following the captain’s orders, but you see, I don’t take people trying to grab me well either. Since you’re nice and angry, you can fight for your freedom. You and bikini girl, right here. If you win, we’ll take you back to Cancun. If she wins, you join us. Deal?”
Char looked at Terry disapprovingly. “Bikini girl?”
Terry shrugged.
The deckhand looked Char over critically before deciding to accept what he considered a good offer. “How do I know you’ll keep your word?”
“You don’t,” Terry said dryly. “But I don’t see any other offers out there. Maybe we can start by you telling me what you want.”
“I want my captain back!” the man demanded.
“Sorry. Tie him up. We’ll take him back to Cancun, but we can’t go emptyhanded, now can we?” Terry asked before looking to the sea. “What are we fishing for, gentlemen, and where do we find them?”
Both men shook their heads. Char rolled her eyes. “He has to have a rudder,” Terry said, before heading below to find the captain’s cabin.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Chicago
In the dark of night, two shadowy figures strode boldly down the middle of the street. They stopped occasionally, turning their heads as if looking into the windows of the buildings passed.
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