Roaring Blood (Demon-Hearted Book 2)

by Ambrose Ibsen

  Just then, from the entrance of Yao's, I heard someone speaking. The metal door slammed shut as a thin man in glasses stumbled out. He was holding his phone out before him, evidently recording the battle. His sights were centered on the snarling, smoldering creature on the pavement, and his continued utterance of “Holy shit” distracted even the zombies.

  “What the fuck is he doing?” asked Kubo, pointing to the guy. “Put that goddamned phone away,” he warned, waving his gun in the air.

  The guy, college-aged and goateed, panned about the scene, capturing all of us in frame. “Y-you're all going to jail,” he began. “I see everything you're doing out here, and I'm going to the media with this.” He kneeled down, getting a better view of the scorched zombie in its death throes. “T-this will be trending on Twitter within the hour. It's a hate crime!”

  The zombies, having paused, seemed to have trouble on deciding where to focus their efforts. They looked at Joe and Kubo, then to me. Lastly, they glanced at the college student, moaning with what I took to be the zombie equivalent of confusion.

  That was all the time I needed.

  Where the zombies hesitated, I rushed in and cleaned house. The first zombie was decapitated by a forceful palm strike before its friends even realized it. I threw some elbows, splitting brittle bones and fracturing rotten limbs. I took a zombie claw to the forearm in the process, but the counterattack was too slow. Balling my fist, I revved up for an uppercut and sent the bugger's lower jaw into outer space.

  And, you know, I made sure to grunt a lot and strike some cool poses between every attack.

  I figured that if this was going to end up online, I wanted to look as good as possible. Tensing my muscles a little extra and giving the camera a good look at my bare abs at the end seemed like a good touch.

  “Lucy!” shouted Kubo, marching over. “Take his fucking phone!” He pointed his gun at the ballsy camera guy, his finger on the trigger. Kubo looked like he was about to blow the kid away, and probably would have if I hadn't stepped in.

  The kid blanched and tried to run. His panicked jog couldn't compete with my sprint, though, and once I'd smacked the phone from his grasp, he began to spout profuse apologies. “Please, p-please don't kill me,” he said, his thin arms feebly outstretched.

  I grabbed the kid's phone. It was enormous, practically a tablet. Pretty expensive. Looking him in the eye I held the phone in both hands and snapped it in two. “Hash-tag this, motherfucker.” I belted him across the cheek, sending him spiraling to the ground. Guy was unconscious before he even touched down.

  “Get to the SUV,” ordered Kubo, charging across the parking lot. Joe pocketed his lighter and broke into a jog, looking back at me with a furrowed brow.

  “What?” I asked, coming up to the passenger side door. “What's that look for?”

  “You could've killed that guy, Lucy. You didn't have to hit him, you know.” Joe climbed into the back and slammed the door shut.

  Yeah, I suppose Joe had a point. I didn't have to hit him. But guys like that have always pissed me off. We were fighting zombies for Christ's sake. Real-life zombies. This was some genuine Walking Dead bullshit we were up against and the kid had been trying to get it all on tape. If you ask me, sometimes lessons need to be learned the hard way. He'd probably wake up crying in a few minutes with a sore jaw, but maybe he'd mind his own business from now on. I shrugged. “He had it coming.”

  I was just about to get into the SUV when I heard Kubo curse.

  There was something under the vehicle, and it'd grabbed his leg as he went to sit down.

  Whipping his gun out, he took a step back, drawing out the zombie. This one had been hanging out under the SUV, biding its time. With his seals out of reach, Kubo had only one option. He started firing into the thing that still held onto his calf, sending round after round into its desiccated body. The zombie flopped against the ground with every shot, the gun packing an incredible punch. I leaned out the door and watched as Kubo aimed for the neck. Two shots and he'd messily blasted its head off of its shoulders.

  Tucking the gun back into its holster, Kubo kicked the body out of his way and shoved his keys into the ignition. “Goddamn zombies. There are more of them around town than I anticipated. Whatever Agamemnon is planning, it's going to be huge.” The SUV lurched over the bullet-ridden zombie, then screeched onto the main drag.

  My bare, sweaty skin stuck to the leather seat. “Whatever,” I said, “we'll handle it. Bring it on. One guy against the Veiled Order? So what. He's got a buttload of zombies, sure, but he hasn't got a demon working for him. I'll pop off as many zombie heads as I have to and have more than enough gas left over to handle him when I'm through.”

  Joe clicked his tongue. “Yeah, I'll bet. Just like you handed him his ass back at the cemetery?”

  I didn't need reminded of that scuffle. “He got lucky,” I shot back. “I didn't know what to expect when I first encountered him, underestimated him a little. But things are different now. I know who he is and what he's capable of. And this time, I'm damn angry. If he thinks he can kill me with a cheap trick then he's got another thing coming.”

  Kubo sighed. “Shut up, Lucy.” His grip on the steering wheel tightening, he bolted down the street and glanced over at me, shaking his head. “You have no idea what's coming. If we're right and Agamemnon is assembling an army of the dead, then we're going to be in real trouble. The Veiled Order doesn't have the manpower in Detroit to take on an entire army. Those zombies are weak on their own, but are seldom encountered just one at a time. An army comprised of hundreds-- no, thousands-- will be a force to be reckoned with. And then there's the necromancer himself. Agamemnon is no amateur, and armed with a legendary weapon it's going to be very difficult to defeat him.”

  “Yeah, but--” I tried to argue.

  “No buts about it. Think about the death his forces will be able to cause. Anyone who dies, whether it's one of our guys or a civilian, is fair game for him. His army only grows with every new death. The potential is there for exponential growth if he amasses enough of the undead and starts wreaking havoc on the city.” Kubo scowled, glancing into the rearview. “And then there are assholes like that kid back there. If Agamemnon turns Detroit into a battleground, word's going to spread like fire. Get what I'm saying? In short, it's a disaster. A goddamned disaster.”

  The gravity of the mission was really sinking in now. A necromancer, wielding the choice weapon of the Grim Reaper himself, was reanimating every corpse he could get his hands on. The more death he managed to cause, the stronger his numbers and, subsequently, the more dangerous he became. This cycle would repeat itself until the whole of Detroit was consumed by death.

  And then the blight would spread.

  If we weren't careful... if we didn't take this guy out, fast, then we risked pandemonium. Agamemnon's plot had the potential to bring the world to its knees.

  I had no plans to let that happen, but as I recalled the necromancer's stone-like gaze, well, I started to second-guess my bravado.

  ELEVEN

  Thunk.

  My forehead struck the table. I sighed, sitting up and trying to get comfortable in the chair. Joe and I were in a conference room at HQ, had decided to stay on the premises so we'd be close by in the event of a development. It was early in the morning, just an hour or two till daybreak, and the two of us were bushed. Joe was snoring away, curled up in his chair with his legs stretched over one of the armrests.

  I wiped at my eyes and studied the long, empty table before me. Laying out across that thing seemed a good deal more comfortable than the chair I was in. I stood up, stretched and prepared to climb onto the table when Kubo threw open the door looking like utter shit.

  Poor guy had had it. His face was haggard, stubbly, and the bags under his eyes were striking. If he kept this up, I had a feeling this case would take years off of his life. Hell, unless he laid off of the coffee and got some sleep, he'd have nothing left when th
e big fight actually took place. He massaged the bridge of his nose, then clapped his hands, startling Joe awake. “Out, both of you. Go home,” he said. “I've been in meetings all night, but I've got nothing for you. I want you both to go home and get some real sleep. Just make sure you're both back here tonight, before sunset. Do I make myself clear? It's very important that you get back to HQ before dark. We have a meeting planned. Beyond that, though, the streets will be more dangerous after dark.”

  Joe yawned, leaning back in his chair till his back cracked. “OK, Chief. What's tonight's meeting about?”

  Kubo mulled over the question groggily. “The leaders of the Veiled Order are putting together a plan to counter this threat. Not positive what they're coming up with, exactly, except that they're shipping in some talent to assist us. Contractors. Weapons and soldiers are on their way, too, and we've contacted members of our organization who are involved in the higher levels of government as well. If things go to shit, we have a guy in the National Guard who can probably pull some strings and give us more firepower. Anyway, focus on rest. We're going to need you two rested. Got that?”

  “Don't have to tell me twice,” I said, hobbling out of the conference room and waving lazily. “See you tonight, Chief.”

  Joe and I parted in the expansive lobby. From there, I half-sleepwalked out of the joint and made my way to the parking lot where my Corvette was parked. Usually I don't drive while tired; they say it's pretty dangerous, as bad as driving drunk. A few times in college I'd pulled all-nighters and gone driving, only to wake up on the highway, speeding over the median. Bad times.

  All I could think about was curling up in my own bed, though. Of burrowing under the sheets, pressing my face into the pillow and sleeping real deep.

  That, and the German chocolate cake on my kitchen table. I was hungry as hell, hadn't had a thing to eat in way too long.

  The drive home was quick and painless, though I didn't enjoy driving the car like I usually did. I could've been behind the wheel of a rickety beater and wouldn't have noticed. I pulled into my apartment complex, parked crookedly in front of my building, taking up two spots, and then shambled to my door looking no better than some of the zombies I'd hacked apart the night before. The sun was up, and anytime I opened my eyes more than a sliver I felt an intense headache coming on.

  Entering my apartment, I threw my keys down and walked through the kitchen on my way to bed. The cake was still there, looking delectable. To my surprise however, I was too damned tired to care. It would still be there later. Now was a time for sleeping.

  Still shirtless and dirty, I kicked off my shoes and dropped into bed.

  The covers felt every bit as good as I imagined they would, and I was out like a light in record time.

  ***

  I woke up with a gasp, my mind letting go of some nebulous dream. The ache behind my eyes was finally gone. Laying in bed, my sore body sinking into the plush mattress, I felt fairly restored, fresh. As I glanced around my room, though, I noticed something weird.

  My room was pitch black. There was no light coming in from behind my blinds at all.

  A look at my alarm clock revealed why.

  It was fucking midnight.

  “Shit!” I jumped out of bed, stubbing my toe on the nightstand, and stumbled into the kitchen. On the table, next to my keys and the uneaten German chocolate cake, was my work issue phone. I flipped it open, fearing what I might find.

  Yup. It was bad. Not one, not two, but fourteen missed calls from Kubo.

  I'd gone to bed feeling a bit frightened at the thought of taking on Agamemnon. Now that I was awake, I was more afraid of facing Kubo. I was at least three hours late. That was no good. The meeting at HQ had probably gone on without me. For all I knew, the whole of Detroit had been reduced to zombie-infested rubble while I slept.

  There was no time for a shower, no time for cake. I treated myself to a quick piss and then threw on the first clothes I found. Back in the driver's seat, I revved up the Corvette and sped off.

  TWELVE

  Traffic was pretty sparse. I sped out of the complex, cut off some guy in a pick-up truck and then floored it for a mile or two along Miller Road. I needed to get to the highway entrance ramp and at a stop light I got to thinking about the fastest way to do so. The light went green and I started rolling up to speed when something caught my eyes outside.

  The further I drove out of the city, the fewer people I saw walking the streets. Closer to my place I'd seen a number of pedestrians out and about, probably getting home from late shifts or coming back from nightclubs. Out here, though, on a stretch of street whose only real draw was the old Oakwood Cemetery, I glimpsed something that made me pump the breaks and reverse.

  I stuck close to the curb, rolling down the passenger side window and looking at the tall, iron fence that surrounded the graveyard. I knew this graveyard pretty well; it was one of the oldest and most rundown in town. Kids often cut through it on their way to school, and those who were up to no good sometimes fucked with the headstones. I myself had spent more than a few summer days hanging around the place, but not for the reasons you think.

  This was the cemetery where my brother, Conrad, was buried.

  For the first time, it occurred to me that my brother's body, or whatever remained of it, could end up under Agamemnon's sway. The possibility chilled my blood; all the more because in looking through my window I spotted a mass of shuddering silhouettes gathered atop a hill. Any other day I might have mistaken them as mourners.

  But let's be real here. No one shows up at a graveyard to mourn the dead after midnight.

  Resting my hands on the wheel, I kept my foot glued to the brake. I was in a bit of a pickle here. I was already a few hours late to HQ. Kubo was never going to let me hear the end of it. But there was something going on in this graveyard; something, I suspected, that had to do with the necromancer's plot. I felt the need to get out there and investigate. What if Agamemnon and his minions were poking around, looking to dig up some new recruits?

  You know what was really on my mind? What if that fucker raised my brother from the dead?

  If Conrad were brought back as a zombie, would I be able to take him out? Would I have it in me to kill him? This is premature. For all you know it's just a bunch of graveyard employees getting together... Nah, fat chance of that. What were they doing up there in the dead of night? Having a company barbecue?

  I parked the car.

  Stepping out into the warm night, I locked it manually to keep the alarm system from giving me away and then hiked towards the fence. The metal was warm in my grasp, the bars rough and slightly rusted. With the agility of an animal I quickly pulled myself to the top, leaping over the fence and landing softly on the other side.

  I was in.

  The hill where the shapes were congregating was a short walk away, but there was no way for me to approach without them taking notice of me. If any of them so much as turned around I'd be found out. Still, I needed to see what was going on here before driving to headquarters and getting chewed out by the Chief. I was already hours late; what was another few minutes? Better to make sure nothing was going on here than to ignore it.

  Better to make sure that Conrad wasn't about to join the living again.

  Narrowing my gaze, I closed in on the group and tried to get a good look at them. The slumping posture, the smell of fresh earth on the breeze, the sheer number of them... My stomach dropped. I was coming up on a group of zombies, no doubt. I decided to have a little pep-talk with Gadreel on my way towards the hill. Don't hold back. My brother's buried here, so if we end up meeting the necromancer I want to snuff him out as quickly as possible. Got it? Give me your best, Gadreel. Help me crash this party. He did a number on me last time; if he cuts me again, I... we might be goners.

  My heart quaked in my chest, my pulse speeding up and vision growing sharper. Classic signs of the demon's assent. Gadreel, being a demon and all, was
probably a pretty prideful entity, and getting his ass handed to him by Agamemnon the last time likely wasn't a pleasant experience for him. The demon was spoiling for a fight, and with every thump of my heart I felt my veins crackling with electricity.

  If Agamemnon gets his way, everything's going to go to shit. But if we take him out now we stand a chance to end this thing before it even starts. Get it? We can be the heroes. Take the credit. Let's see what a fallen angel is really capable of. You're the god of war, aren't you, Gadreel? Show me what you can do to this guy.

  I didn't have to go much further to notice the hooded hulk of a man standing within the throng of stinking, slack-jawed zombies.

  The necromancer was here, scythe balanced over one shoulder. I shuddered at the sight of him, but realized that, so far, he hadn't seen me. Gadreel... we have a chance to launch the first strike here. My heart fluttered with excitement. Suddenly things didn't look so dire as before. Clenching my fists, I reached up into the sky and grinned. We're going to deep-fry this cocksucker in one blow. Loosing a deep breath, I watched as the heavens overhead began to whirl and shift.

  Rushing him head-on would be dangerous. Suicidal, maybe. But hitting him with a lightning bolt from afar would get the job done without putting me in harm's way. I tensed my entire body, muscle by muscle, allowing the demon's energy to course through me. Agamemnon would be my first target. Then I'd tear through his minions. Preparing to smite him with white-hot lightning, I pictured myself returning to HQ when this was through.

  Kubo was going to shit himself. He'd been stressing out. His bosses had been wringing their hands. And for what? This would show them. Once this blow was struck they'd know who the top dog was. They'd know better than to underestimate me again.