by Greig Beck
Rachel looked up over the clearing and her mouth set in a hard line. The small expanse they had crossed to get to the church’s front door was now littered with bodies.
Matt briefly marveled at the shooting prowess of the Fort Severn officer, until he took a few steps closer.
They were bodies of men, probably. They wore black clothing, that immediately took Matt back to the figure racing toward his car just before the grenade attack. But any other distinguishing features had been obliterated. It looked like they had either fallen from an airplane or been run over by a steamroller.
“What the hell happened here?” he whispered.
Rachel stood slowly, “Something bad.” She held her gun in both hands. “Leave them. Let’s find Oscar and Manny.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Matt backed away. He looked down one last time at Gloria in her tan anorak. Her face was calm, as if she was just sleeping. Whatever had happened out here, she had seemed to have gotten off lightly.
Rachel scuttled to the side corner of the church and slammed her back to the stones, peeking around. She half-turned back to him.
“Get over here.”
Matt followed, all his senses keen to any sight, sound or sensation, but there was nothing but silence. Even the insects and few birds they had previously heard now seemed to have given the place a wide berth. He eased up beside her.
Rachel peeked around again, and then turned to him, her face pale and eyes wide.
“What the hell was that thing?”
“I’m not sure.” He grimaced.
“This is bullshit.” She shook her head as if to clear it. “Must have been a trick of the light.”
He pursed his lips. “Sure, that must have been what it was. The same trick of the light thing that killed all those people out front.”
Rachel went around the back of the church, and Matt followed close by. Behind the building there were trees right up to the brickwork – spruce, some pine, and a few other rambling bushes covered in dark berries. Oscar and Manny had been doing a fine job of pulling branches away to let the light in, with piles of shrubbery stacked to the side.
But the men were gone, and all Matt could find was Oscar’s large knife lying in among the grass.
“Oscar!” He called and the waited. “Manny!” Matt was about to do it again when Rachel grabbed his shoulder and jerked him back, and then put a finger to her lips.
She mouthed wait here, and then began to crab-walk along the side of the building for a while, choosing her steps to avoid any noise.
She froze, and then straightened. “Ah…”
Matt rushed over. “What is it? Did you find them?”
She grimaced. “I think so.” She had her gun in a two-handed grip, pointed down, as she scanned the undergrowth.
Matt looked down at the bodies of the police officers. “Oh god.” He remembered seeing a dog hit by a truck once. The big wheels went over it, all of them – the dog’s body was mangled and crushed flat.
“Just like the men out front,” Matt breathed.
“Worse,” Rachel added scanning the brush.
He frowned – she was right – the two men were somehow intertwined, pulverized together so completely that it was hard to tell where one started and the other ended.
Oscar and Manny were pressed back into the wall and just under the broken window. Their skulls looked like flattened plates, and their torsos were a red mess of conjoined flesh with shreds of uniform material running through it. Pools of blood and other bodily fluids had drained from them into the soil and also stained the old brickwork.
“Oscar’s gun.” Matt saw that his arm lay out to the side, the revolver was still in his hand, but the barrel bent.
Rachel turned to look at him. “You think that creature did this?”
“You mean that trick of the light we both saw?” He immediately regretted it, as he could see the FBI woman was scared witless. So was he. “Sorry.”
“That moan – the noise that thing made. It occurred just as the windows exploded in on us.” Rachel crouched beside the body. “You’re a scientist; what could it have been?”
“Hey, I’m a paleolinguist, I specialize in old languages so I’m guessing here. It could be some kind of guardian. It might have been guarding Father Xavier.” He pointed. “These guys looks like they were run over by an 18-wheeler – several times. You’re the cop. You tell me what you think happened?”
“Calm the hell down.” She looked from the forest line back to the bodies. “And keep a lookout.”
Matt nodded jerkingly and also scanned the wall of green surrounding them. The trees were too close together and threw too many shadows for him to see any more than ten feet past the brush line. There could have been a herd of elephants hidden behind them for all he knew.
Rachel began to feel the ruined skin of the face and neck of one of the men, Matt couldn’t tell which anymore. A waste of time, he thought, given the entire head was now like a gruesome pancake. That thought made bile jump to his throat. That, and what she was now doing.
“Please tell me you’re not feeling for a pulse again.”
“Of course not.” She pressed some more. “It takes around 520 pounds of force to crush a human skull. Whatever did this was not done by human hands.” She winced, wiping her fingers on the grass. “But there’s no real impact abrasions, on either of them, and I can’t see any weapon marks. It’s like they were…” She brought her fingers together into a tight fist. “… grabbed and mashed together. We need to look around.”
“What? The hell we do.” Matt looked back at the bodies at their feet. “Rachel, remember when I said we needed backup? Now more than ever.” He pointed at Oscar and Manny. “C’mon, be sensible… look!”
Her eyes flicked down for a second. “They were police officers and gave their lives for their job, for us. I owe it to them to find out what happened. If we leave now, we may never know.”
Rachel stood and wandered around the flattened area. She crouched and put her fingers into some tracks sunk into the soil. “Look.” The impressions were big, deep, two toed, and the ends sunk down like it had massive claws. She looked up at him. “Maybe a bear – a big one.”
“I’m no hunter, but that was no freaking bear,” Matt said softly.
From somewhere out in the tangle of forest there came a low moan, and then a deep thump like a tree was being pushed over or maybe something heavy taking a step. Rachel got slowly to her feet, her eyes on the tree line. Matt could see doubt forming in her eyes.
“You got everything you need?” Matt scanned the trees.
Rachel continued to stare, her eyes wide. “Three officers down, and we’re not sure whether we found Father Xavier or not. We got dead guys scattered all over out front, and we just got attacked by some giant…thing.” She turned, her eyes burning. “So, all up, no, in fact, we’ve got fuck all.”
“No, we have more information than that.” Matt straightened. “We just need to decipher it. The past always leaves us clues, calls to us. We just need to understand what it’s saying.”
Rachel licked her lips, and refused to turn away from the trees.
“I got a bad feeling, Rachel. Things could get a lot worse; c’mon, let’s go home.” Matt reached a hand out and grabbed her sleeve.
Large drops of icy rain started to blink down around them. Rachel looked up at the low, iron-gray clouds, as the few drops turned into many.
“Well, that’s just perfect.” She let him turn her away from the trees, and then followed him.
Chapter 8
Washington airspace
Rachel sat up front with the pilot, having left Matt to himself in the cabin of the noisy aircraft. She knew they were lucky to be leaving at all. At this point in time, the local rangers were still scouring the area for more clues. She and Matt had had to give their depositions in separate rooms to see if they married up – luckily they had, even though it made no sense. And that was after she got Matt to leave out the bit abo
ut the thing that had tried to force its way into the church.
It had taken significant pressure from her boss’ boss to get them out as the local guys refused to believe they knew nothing about the killing of Oscar, Manny, and Gloria, the destruction of the church, the battered strangers all in black, or the beheaded skeleton in the basement. Rachel snorted softly – why the hell would they believe them? She certainly wouldn’t have when they swore they saw and knew nothing. Which as far as she was concerned was basically true.
While they had waited for more back-up, Rachel had examined a few of the black-clad men who had attacked the church. Even though they were crushed beyond use for any mug shot or driver’s license ID, or even to make use of dental records anymore, she had seen telltale signs of a professional unit.
Their clothing looked identical to the pictures of the men who had attacked Clarence van Helling. She’d attempted to take fingerprints, but they came up blank – the physical lines, swirls and whorls had all been removed, most probably using acid peel, she bet. When she had ripped the shirt of one open, she had seen an image of crossed keys had been seared into the skin. It was the same on all of them. She had used her phone to take a few pictures.
Rachel exhaled long and slow. She’d already talked to her area chief and now she needed to make one more call – to Eleanor van Helling. Dear Eleanor had been pressuring everyone short of the President of the United States about getting updates. The pushy old woman was determined to get answers, and she was damn well going to make sure she got them from Rachel, or else. When you worked in the FBI, one thing you found out very early on – downward pressure worked. And it was working on Rachel.
She made the connection, and got the weird maid, Greta, on the second ring.
“Field Agent Rachel Bromilow for Mrs. van Helling.”
“Yes.”
Rachel ground her teeth. “Yes, well, get her.” Personality of a dead-fish, she thought, as she waited for another few moments. The phone sounded like it was being juggled momentarily.
“Agent Bromilow, Rachel, so nice to hear from you. And so happy to hear you’re safe, after all that unpleasantness.”
Normally Rachel might have assumed Eleanor was talking about the grenade attack outside of her building, but Rachel could tell Eleanor was somehow already aware of the brutal deaths in the Fort Severn wilderness. She looked at her watch; it had been four hours since they had departed, but only 20 minutes since she had spoken to her superiors. This was one seriously tuned-in woman.
“Thank you, Mrs. van Helling. We’re still about three hours out from landing. We’ll be heading directly into the office for a formal debrief, and then after that hopefully we can…”
“No!”
Rachel recoiled. The old woman’s voice came like a slap.
“Do not make me wait for all that bureaucratic piffle. Tell me what you’ve found, now.”
Rachel sighed. What did it matter, she thought. Her boss would tell her anyway.
“Very well, but this is all very confidential…”
There was a derisive snort over the line.
Rachel continued. “… we can’t be sure, but I believe we might have found evidence linking a group who attacked us at the church and the men who killed your husband.”
“What evidence?” The old woman’s voice took on a sharp edge.
‘Well, they were dressed similarly to the men who attacked and killed Clar…your husband.”
There was a groan over the line. “That is what the FBI classes as evidence now – similar dress sense?” Eleanor sighed theatrically.
“No, Mrs. van Helling.” Rachel’s jaw clenched momentarily. “We also think they might have killed the priest who was living there, we found some remains and though there’s no positive ID yet, I’m confident it was him.”
“Was he like…?”
“Yes, he, the body, had been decapitated and then burned up, just like your husband, but…”
“But what?” The voice cut across her.
“We found some anomalies, other specimens, that we’ve collected. We need to get back to the office and have the labs analyze what we’ve found. We don’t have much I’m afraid.” Rachel sat back in her seat.
“You certainly don’t, Agent Bromilow. And it seems someone is removing all your clues and witnesses faster than you can get to them. One step ahead of you, all the way. This is very disappointing.” The old woman sighed impatiently. “Anything else interesting, hmm?”
Rachel thought about telling her of the huge apparition that tried to break into the church and probably obliterated the police officers, but knew that would be impossible to explain.
“Nothing else for now,” Rachel said quickly.
“Nothing else… for now?” Eleanor waited.
Rachel stared out through the window. “We’re on it, Mrs. van Helling.”
“On it, but you seem to be disappointingly late every time. I think you need help.” The voice was steel hard.
“No, we got this.” Rachel checked her watch again.
“But I disagree, my dear. In fact, I don’t think you’ve got it, at all. This is far too important for bureaucratic protocol, rules, or people’s egos to get in the way. Consider it more resources for you. We’ll speak again soon, Field Agent.”
The line went dead, and Rachel held up the phone, squeezing it for a few seconds, wishing it were the old woman’s neck.
The pilot briefly looked across at her, before facing front again.
Chapter 9
FBI Headquarters, 935 Pennsylvania Avenue, NW Washington, D.C.
Matt dozed in the rear seat of the dark sedan, and his mind drifted in a beautiful dream. Once again he saw the long pool of shimmering sapphire-blue water. But this time there was an angel rising from the water. She was naked and long limbed with golden hair swept back over her bronzed shoulders. Her breasts were perked, her eyes were on him, and they were as luminously blue as the water surrounding her.
Her smiled widened, and then widened some more, until her lips pulled so far back she exposed all of her teeth and gums. And still the flesh pulled back further until the skin of her face ripped away, and there was just a screaming skull that dried and flaked and turned to dust.
“Yaa!” Matt jolted forward, wide-awake.
He chuckled softly. “Dream.” He exhaled, rubbed his face and leaned toward the window. They were nearly at their destination – the massive slate-gray FBI building. It reminded him of something a child would build from their Lego set, with a slab of all their extra Lego bricks on top. A building with a hat on, he thought, and eased back into the seat.
Beside him, Rachel seemed preoccupied. “Penny for your thoughts?” he asked.
She stared out of her windows for a few moments more, and then inhaled deeply through her nose and let it out slowly. She turned, her face drawn.
“It’s nothing.” She seemed to slump. “It’s all complicated.”
“Samuel?” Matt guessed she was still upset about her colleague and being back made her think about him all over again.
She nodded. “Yeah, Samuel, and Oscar, and the dozens of others who fall every goddamn day,” she said, her tone melancholy. “And then there’s all the other shit that swirls around.” She turned back to the window. “And never stops swirling.”
“Why don’t you quit? Woman like you could get a job anywhere,” he said, meaning it.
She snorted. “What, and give up show business?” She pulled in a cheek. “Forget it, I’m just on a downer. I really enjoy the job, more days than not.” She looked at him for a few seconds and then lowered her eyes.
“Hey, you don’t have to hold it in all the time. I’ve lost people too; it hurts, and sometimes it keeps on hurting.” He put his hand on the seat between them and leaned toward her. “I just want to tell you, there’s not many people like you around. You’re pretty special.”
“Thanks.” She laughed softly and reached out to grab his hand. “I know I’m a hard-assed b
itch sometimes, but I also wanted to thank you for probably saving my life.” She smiled. “There’s a lot more to you than I first thought.”
“Thanks. And Rachel, if it helps, I don’t think you’re a bitch all the time.” He grinned.
She returned the smile. “I’m glad you’re here, Matt.” She squeezed his hand.
They navigated the building’s crash and bomb barriers and passed through multiple checkpoints before pulling into its vast underground car park.
“Now we meet the boss, huh?” Matt asked.
“That’s right. First up we meet with Assistant Director Dominic Wybrow, my supervisor. Mrs. van Hellbag is breathing down his neck as well.”
“Mrs. Hellbag?” Matt chuckled. “I see you two are getting along famously.”
Rachel grinned. “Yeah well, in this job sometimes you gotta laugh to stay sane.”
She pushed open her door, and then led him to the secured lift. She typed in a pass code and the doors slid open. Their next stop was the fifth floor, and when the doors whooshed open again, Matt was surprised by the noise and activity. It looked like any other crowded office with the large central room dominated by workspaces, people talking on phones, typing away at computers or chatting in groups. Smaller box-like offices held a single occupant, and toward the end of the large room were the larger senior management suites with names written on doors.
She half-turned to him as she strode down the corridor between cubicles. “Be nice.”
“You keep saying that.” He winked.
She knocked on one of the doors and a large, bald man looked up. His eyes slid past Rachel to Matt and they seemed to analyse and assess him in a matter of seconds. There was a tiny movement of his head, giving approval to enter.
Rachel pushed the door inwards. “Sir.” She then stood aside. “Professor Matthew Kearns.”
The man came to his feet. He was big, 6’ 4” at least, and had hands like shovels. One shot forward to totally enclose Matt’s hand, but it didn’t compress as hard as he expected. Perhaps Wybrow thought that as Matt was an academic, he was used to doing little more than writing on whiteboards and sipping exotic coffee blends with his students.
