by C. E. Martin
"Is this all you have?" He asked, turning to face the owner of the shop.
Ms. Michelle knew right away when she looked into the man's dead eyes this was no regular customer. She clutched at a pendant around her own neck. "No- no, I think you need to leave, sir."
Kerrick drained the last of the energy from the necklace and dropped it to the floor. He stood a little straighter now. His chest wounds were fully healed. His limbs felt strong again.
"Nothing in the back?" he asked, moving closer.
Ms. Michelle was scared now. More scared than the prospect of marriage and two children had been to her when she first predicted her own future so many years ago. When she was still in college.
"Step back, boy!" she said, holding her pendant out, away from her neck, its chain stretched tight. The crystal of the pendant glowed brightly.
Clint Kerrick's eyes flicked down to the crystal and he licked his dry lips. "Yes- that will do nicely..."
In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance between them and grabbed the crystal. The purple light emanating from the crystal faded, then flared back in Clint's eyes as he stood still, holding the crystal.
Ms. Michelle was horrified. The white, bearded man with the dead eyes was draining her family's pendant of generations of energy. She opened her mouth to speak, to unleash a spell against him.
Clint held a finger to his lips with his free hand, motioning for Michelle to be quiet. Then he twisted his other hand, tightening the chain around her neck. He jerked his hand up, above her head and in one fluid motion lifted Ms. Michelle off the floor.
The witch felt her neck close off and she grabbed at the chain now suffocating her. She noticed the white man's eyes had stopped glowing now, as he held her, one-armed, above the floor.
The kicking of Michelle's feet slowed, then stopped. Her eyes rolled up in her head. Before her life ended, she had two final thoughts. First, that it hadn't been such a good idea to hang the family pendant from an unbreakable chain. Secondly, that she should have stayed in school and gotten that law degree after all.
***
Josie carefully pushed Jimmy into the hangar, steering his wheelchair around the rows and rows of tables set up, covered with personal items and corpses in body bags- all recovered from the Chickamauga massacre.
Victor was standing near a body, carefully holding first one item then another. He was still in his black combat fatigues, the sleeves rolled up, but he had discarded his weapons and gear.
"Jimmy!" the stone soldier said, grinning as the couple approached. "You feeling better?"
Jimmy shrugged. "I'm still low on fluids, and they're making me take it easy in this thing for a while." He slapped the arms of the wheelchair for emphasis.
"So... is this permanent?" Victor asked.
"You mean being skin and bones again?" Jimmy sighed. "No idea. Colonel hasn't answered that one yet."
"Find anything yet?" Josie asked, nodding to the personal items on the table. It was a collection of watches, wallets, hats and other items the many people at Chickamauga had on their persons when they were wounded or killed by the spectral army.
"Same old thing," Victor said, then checked his watch. "Crap. They're already starting."
Victor turned and stepped away quickly, toward a large command tent set up in the rear of the hangar. Josie pushed Jimmy along, keeping up with him.
Inside the tent, they found Kenslir standing before a large table, covered with maps and photos. Captain Smith was seated next to him, then Agent Keegan, Dr. Olson and the team's final stone soldier, Colonel Phillips- Zeus.
Kenslir looked at his watch, frowning. "Glad you could make it."
"Sorry, sir," Josie said, wheeling Jimmy around and parking him at a spot at the table, next to Dr. Olson. She sat on the other side of him, with Victor next to her.
"Well, Mr. Hornbeck?" Kenslir asked.
Even made of stone, with the physical strength to rip metal with his hands, Victor seemed a little cowed and nervous. "Uh, nothing much, sir. Everyone saw the same thing- the ghosts attacking them just like the oracle predicted in her vision. No one saw the bearded guy but us."
Kenslir picked up a stack of folders and began passing them out. "He calls himself the Sentinel."
Jimmy sat up a little straighter in his wheel chair. "The Sentinel of Liberty?" He was shocked.
"Legal name, Clint Kerrick."
"Hold on," Dr. Olson said. "The radio guy?"
Jimmy looked at Olson in surprise. "He was based in L.A.- I used to listen to his shows on the Rock. He was hilarious."
"Shows?" Josie asked.
Colonel Phillips looked up from his folder. "I thought it was a serious show."
"Please. Aliens?" Olson laughed. "He might have believed that nonsense he spouted, but I found it to be utterly ridiculous."
"As I was saying," Kenslir continued. "He's the Sentinel."
Josie opened her folder. It was filled with charts and text and photos that looked like something out of a comic book. All related to 1971's strangest happening. The first super hero.
For centuries, the public in general had been unwilling to believe in magic and the paranormal. All that changed when a man in a white body suit, who could fly, had very publicly stopped a bank robbery in Los Angeles. Over the next few months, the mysterious, bearded flying man had shown up all over the city, exhibiting other miraculous abilities.
Eventually, he revealed himself to the media. He was the Sentinel of Liberty- a bearded hero for the modern era who was enchanted with the ability to do wondrous things. All on behalf of the average person.
It began the era of the beards. Copycats began to show up. Many without any special abilities- just a desire to emulate the heroes of the comic books they'd read as children. Donning artificial beards and wigs, they attempted to conceal their identities as they fought imagined wrongs. Many died painful deaths attempting to thwart petty crimes.
But the craze sweeping America, and even the world, brought out those with real power. They revealed themselves to the public- often performing or hiring their abilities out. Spoonbenders. Pyrokinetics who could light candles with only their mind. Witches and psychics. All with amazing abilities that were unexplainable by modern science.
It lasted about twenty years. By then the public had grown tired of the merchandising, of the traveling shows. The Beards, as they were called, were dying out, the parahumans fading back into the shadows again.
The final deathblow came in 1995. The Sentinel went berserk in Los Angeles- destroying several city blocks until an Army helicopter drove him away. He vanished from sight and was never seen again. Internet conspiracy theorists claimed the government had killed him.
"So where's he been all these years?" Pam Keegan asked.
"In a lab, I imagine," Kenslir said. "I killed him."
"Ha! They were right!" Jimmy said. Everyone then turned to him with surprised looks.
"Uh, the conspiracy people, I mean. You know, saying the government killed him..." His voice trailed off and Jimmy looked back at his folder again.
"What do you mean a lab?" Josie asked.
"I'm sure he was dissected after his death," Kenslir said matter-of-factly. "His abilities were always a bit of a mystery."
"So who'd you guys just fight?" Laura Olson asked.
"I believe it was a clone," Kenslir answered. He turned partially toward a large monitor set on one side of the tent and aimed a remote control at it. The screen flashed to a picture of twelve identical young men, each with blond hair and grey eyes.
"After I killed Kerrick at the North pole," Kenslir explained, "We discovered that he had been cloning himself."
The image on the screen changed again, to a room filled with silver tubes. Then it flashed to a large, plexiglass-like tube with a body inside it.
"Twelve..." Laura said half-aloud. "So the body in Wisconsin-"
"Was a clone."
"Wait a minute," Jimmy asked. "How does a clone get from the
north pole to Wisconsin?"
"Once it was determined the clones posed no threat, they were put in foster care and eventually adopted out."
"Adopted?" Josie asked.
"The United States isn't in the habit of killing children. They were given homes and educated."
"Educated?" Laura asked.
"Clones don't come with memories," Kenslir said. "They're blank slates. Kerrick somehow accelerated the growth of these clones, but left them unconscious with no mental development. They had the minds of infants when they were awakened."
"Super powered babies?" Victor asked.
"No. They exhibited no paranormal abilities in the least."
"Why did he have clones in the first place?" Josie asked.
"He was planning on destroying America."
"With twelve unpowered clones?" Laura asked, laughing. "That sounds a little farfetched."
"He was mentally unstable," Kenslir said. "He believed he was an alien from another world and that an invasion was coming. So he was building an army, literally, to weaken our defenses."
"Is there an invasion coming?" Jimmy asked, alarmed.
Everyone but Josie and Victor gave Jimmy incredulous looks.
"It was almost twenty years ago. I think they'd have been here by now," Laura said.
Pam Keegan held up her file. "So, if the original Kerrick is dead, and his clones don't have any knowledge of him... why did one kill a family in Wisconsin?"
"He needed a fresh body." Josie said, remembering the frostbite.
Kenslir nodded his head in agreement. "She's right. Number 12 was not James Monroe Trumball, resident of Wisconsin- he was Zachary Taylor Smith."
Victor perked up now. "Zachary Taylor? James Monroe? Weren't they the twelfth and fifth presidents of the United States?"
Kenslir nodded affirmatively again. "Very good, Victor. The clones were each named after a president, and assigned a number- tattooed on the back of their skulls for post mortem identification later. James Monroe was number five. Yet number twelve, Zachary Taylor, was found at the scene in Wisconsin."
"Why would one clone kill another?" Jimmy asked. "That makes no sense."
"It wasn't just a clone," Josie said. "Jason said he saw something come out of the number twelve body. A dark shadow."
"Like an alien being?" Jimmy asked.
"Like a spirit," Kenslir and Laura said together. The vampire then turned toward the Colonel and gave him a wide smile.
"A spirit?" Captain Smith questioned, speaking up for the first time in the meeting.
"We've seen it before," Colonel Phillips said, looking up from the file he had been quietly reading. "Shamans are able to leave their bodies, like a Ghost Walker- even after death."
"You're talking about possession," Josie said, feeling a cold chill run up her back. "Why possess a clone?"
"Because it has the same latent abilities he had in life," Laura answered. "And apparently he figured out how to unlock them in the clones- once he possessed them."
"And what about the ghosts- from the battlefield?" Jimmy asked. "How do they figure in?"
"That I'm not sure," Kenslir said. "The ability to raise shades is something very few necromancers can do. And for all his other abilities, that was something Kerrick never seemed to be able to do."
"So where is he now?" Josie asked. "Trading bodies again?"
"We've already thought of that," Pam Keegan said. "The FBI has agents taking all the other clones into protective custody right now."
"So what does a resurrected, super nutjob do with himself?" Phillips asked.
"Given what we've seen, and his past history," Kenslir said, "My guess is he's building another army."
"For what?" Josie asked.
"Revenge," Laura said. She nodded toward Colonel Kenslir. "Revenge on the man that killed him?"
"No. He could have had that at Chickamauga," Kenslir said. "And I don't think he expected to see me there. He's up to something else."
"You said another army," Josie said. "Fifty ghosts isn't much of an army."
Phillips agreed. "She's right- even with their abilities, fifty isn't that much."
"I was referring to 1995," Kenslir said. "He had a network of humans and parahumans in place, ready to begin attacks across the country. There were well over a hundred of them."
"Were?" Jimmy asked. "What happened to them?"
"I killed them," Mark Kenslir said grimly. "All of them."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
There were two basic methods for entering a heavily guarded enemy base. One was to force your way in, and the other was to sneak your way in. Given that he needed to find the leaders of this particular base of operations, Mark Kenslir had decided to sneak in. And the most effective way to do that was to let himself be captured.
Sure enough, after he was secured in a barn in the middle of the terrorists' commune-like farm, the leaders of the organization he'd been tasked with eliminating came to him. Or so it seemed.
The white-haired, pink-eyed albino he recognized immediately. Professor Carl Upsilon, former East German operative of the KGB's VIST directorate. And a telepath. A man who allegedly defected to the West in the 1970s nearly twenty years ago.
"So, Mr. Doe," Upsilon said, reading the ID card pulled from Kenslir's wallet. "What brings you to West Virginia?"
Upsilon was dressed all in white- a three piece suit with matching white leather shoes. Only his tie had any color- pink, like his eyes.
Mark Kenslir was suspended from the rafters of the barn by two stout chains that had been wrapped around his wrists and forearms. He had been stripped to the waist and his shoes taken- leaving him in torn bluejeans.
"Deer season," Kenslir answered, watching the thin, black haired girl behind Upsilon. She was short and looked very young, like a gymnast. She looked very Russian, in a long trenchcoat that reached down past her knees. Given her body language, she was clearly the albino's subordinate.
"You know, it's rather odd that I even have to ask," Upsilon said. "Me being a telepath and all. But I don't seem to be able to detect your thoughts."
"How thoughtless of me," Kenslir said in response. He now watched the two guards in the room, standing by the door, brandishing AK-47s. Like most of the people he'd seen on the farm, they appeared to possess no parahuman abilities- hence their reliance on firearms. They wore jeans and workshirts- the uniform of untrained combatants around the world.
Upsilon turned back to the table from which he had taken Kenslir's ID. The table was covered with his other personal effects- including his tactical targeting visor. Upsilon picked the oversized, wraparound glasses up and pocked and prodded at them gently.
"You have some very sophisticated equipment, Mr. Doe," Upsilon said finally, putting the glasses back down. He then picked up Kenslir's stainless steel, Israeli Arms Desert Eagle handgun.
"So, are you the big kahuna around here, Carl?" Kenslir asked.
Upsilon showed a bit of surprise at the mention of his name. "So, you know who I am. That puts me at quite a disadvantage."
Upsilon extended the semi automatic at Kenslir, then aimed it down, toward his right leg. "But I have some ideas about who you might be."
The pistol fired once, spitting out a brass shell casing and a .44 magnum round. The bullet punched through Kenslir's bluejeans and ripped into his flesh, slamming into his leg bone.
"You shoot like a girl," Kenslir said, ignoring the pain.
Behind Upsilon, the young woman bristled and started to step forward. Upsilon held out an arm to stop her.
"Not yet, Natasha," the albino said softly. Then he fired at Kenslir again- this time sending a bullet into his stomach.
The round only penetrated a couple of inches, then stopped. Around it, flesh turned to stone. The bullet then began to be pushed back out of the wound as the stone expanded. Once the bullet was free, the hole in Kenslir's flesh sealed up, turning gray. The blood that had trickled from the wound soaked back into the patch of stone and Kensl
ir's skin. The gray patch on his stomach then faded back to a flesh tone.
"Very interesting," Upsilon said, putting the gun down.
"You didn't answer my question," Kenslir remarked. "You in charge here?"
"In Moscow, we heard about someone like you back in the early seventies," Upsilon said. "A man who couldn't be stopped by bullets or magic. A ghost who could slip past sorcerers and psychics, undetected."
"Moscow?" Kenslir asked. "I figured you more the Star City type."
"So, Mr. Doe," Upsilon asked, stepping closer, "What is your real name? I must admit to having a curiosity about it."
"Answer my question- I'll answer yours."
Upsilon sighed. "Very well. No, I am not in charge here. Normally. But today, I am. And I grow weary of your non-cooperation. Natasha!"
The young girl stepped forward, out of her shoes, pulling off her long trenchcoat. As it fell to the floor, she was revealed naked beneath. But only for a second. She fell forwards, catching herself with hands that had turned into paws. Her whole body had contorted and changed quickly, fluidly- sprouting hair and even a long tail. Natasha was no longer a ballerina-sized subordinate. She was now a black-haired wolf.
"That's some bitch you've got there," Kenslir said.
The wolf growled at Kenslir, then sprang forward. Her claws dug at his chest scratching his smooth skin. Her jaws snapped open, then closed, on the side of his neck, tearing into his shoulder. As the wolf fell back, she wrenched out a large chunk of flesh- allowing a short spurt of blood to shoot from Kenslir's mangled neck.
The wolf landed on all fours and swallowed the bloody mouthful whole.
"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," Kenslir said, ignoring the blood pumping out of his new wound.
As Upsilon watched, the flesh around the wound stopped bleeding and turned gray. The discoloration spread out a half inch around the edge of the wound, the torn flesh petrifying. Then the blood running down Kenslir's chest and neck soaked back into his skin.
Upsilon was about to say something, but the wolf began to whimper. She staggered back and gasped and coughed. She began making retching sounds, trying to throw something up.
