Brothers in Stone (Stone Soldiers #2)

by Martin, C. E.

In front of Jimmy’s house.

  The crime scene was well-marked, with tape holding back a few bystanders. Several police cars and an ambulance were parked in front of the house. There were a couple of government sedans as well. A news truck was down the street, packing up their gear after completing an on-location shoot.

  “Why?” Josie asked. “Why would he kill them?”

  “He has Jimmy’s memories now. And he’s being careful, hiding his kills, instead of leaving them out in the open. He’s rebuilding his strength.”

  Josie couldn’t believe it. Mr. and Mrs. Kane had been like a mother and father to her. Her own mother battled alcoholism and depression, even now, all these years after Josie’s dad had died. She hadn’t always been there for Josie, but the Kanes had.

  How was she going to tell Jimmy?

  “Why don’t you wait here? I’ll handle this.”

  Josie shook her head from side to side. “No. I can do this.”

  She took a deep breath and exhaled.

  Kenslir watched her carefully, then handed her a pistol magazine. “Load up with these. And try not to touch any of the bullets.”

  Josie examined the pistol magazine—it looked just like the one already in her SIG. On closer inspection, she realized the bullets had brown tips. “What are these?”

  “Hollow core bullets filled with a mix of cyanide, curare and TDX. I’m hoping it will slow down the shapeshifter when we see him again. Oh, and try not to shoot any people with them. I wouldn’t want to have to explain that.”

  Josie nodded and unholstered her SIG, and changed out the magazines. As she finished, Kenslir handed her the black briefcase she’d seen on the back seat.

  “Guard this with your life.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s better if you don’t know. But under no circumstances let it leave your side.”

  Josie shook her head affirmatively, wondering if Kenslir was going to break out handcuffs and shackle the case to her wrist, like in spy movies. Instead, he stepped from the SUV.

  Josie took another deep breath, steeling herself. As she reached for the door handle, she suddenly stopped. She could see her breath. It came out in a long plume of gray, as though it was winter. She exhaled again, but this time her breath remained invisible.

  Kenslir straightened his jacket then slipped on over-sized sunglasses. He noticed Josie was still sitting in the SUV, breathing heavy, as though she were trying to blow out a candle.

  “Everything okay?”

  Josie was embarrassed. She quickly got out of the car. “Just checking my breath,” she lied.

  Kenslir shrugged and closed his door, then reached in a jacket pocket. He pulled something out and pitched it over to Josie. It was a small peppermint candy.

  “You sure have a sweet tooth,” Josie said, unwrapping the candy, and popping it in her mouth.

  ***

  Victor snapped out of his trance and stood slowly.

  “It was him, but with a different face.” The face of the Kanes’ son. A whole family murdered. But where was the body?

  Keegan shrugged. “This crime scene is old—several days at least.”

  Keegan turned and started walking away. She stopped when a large man entered the front doorway of the house.

  He was well over six feet tall, with tan skin and jet black hair, cut in a close-cropped flattop. He wore khaki pants and a dark blue windbreaker.

  “Can I help you?” Keegan said.

  Colonel Kenslir was followed into the house by Josie. Her face was pale and she looked like she was about to be sick. She coughed as she gagged on her peppermint candy then swallowed it whole.

  Kenslir held up a badge wallet and flashed his credentials. “Kenslir and Winters, Department of the Interior, OIG.”

  “Interior?” Keegan asked. “This is a crime scene, not a lumber yard. Get out.”

  Kenslir was taken aback by Agent Keegan’s brusqueness. But he continued walking into the house. Behind him, Josie stopped by the door, trying not to look in the direction of the bodies.

  “We’re here investigating the misuse of national resources,” Kenslir said, looking past Keegan at the bodies, then over at Victor.

  Keegan stepped up to Kenslir, nearly toe-to-toe. She was looking up at him, as he towered over her. “Maybe you didn’t hear me. This is a crime scene. My crime scene. Get out.”

  Kenslir smiled and reached up to his sunglasses. He pushed them up, onto his head.

  “Check your messages lately, Agent Keegan?” Kenslir asked calmly.

  Keegan glared at Kenslir. “Mister, this is my crime scene. Get out!”

  “I really think you should check your messages.”

  Keegan started to say something, but her phone started vibrating in her belt holster. She had ignored it all morning, so a few more minutes to take care of the Interior guy wouldn’t hurt.

  “You should, really, really, get that,” Kenslir said.

  Keegan glared again, then stepped back, pulling her phone from its holster. “What?!”

  Keegan’s angry glare immediately evaporated as she realized who was on the other end of the phone. The Director. Not her Director. Not her Director’s Director. The Director for all Paranatural Operations. In Washington. Who answered to the Director. Of the FBI.

  “Yes, sir,” Keegan said quietly. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer before—we’re at the crime scene now.

  “Kenslir and Winters. Yes, sir, they are right here.” Keegan turned around to look back at Kenslir. He was watching her quietly. She finally noticed his unusual green-black eyes. She’d never seen that particular color before.

  Josie remained pale in the corner, clearly fighting the urge to throw up.

  “Full access?” Keegan asked, genuinely surprised. “Sir, this is an FBI matter-“

  Keegan grimaced and had to move her phone away from her ear for a second. She briefly considered what working in a basement file room the rest of her career would be like. She didn’t like the mental image.

  “Yes, sir, full access. I understand. Yes, sir.” Keegan finally ended her call and put her phone away.

  “We’re good?” Kenslir asked.

  “Mister, I don’t know who you really are, but you are definitely not Department of the Interior.”

  “Why don’t you introduce us?” Kenslir said, pointing to Victor.

  Josie walked up beside Kenslir, clutching her briefcase, and still trying to not look at the Kanes’ bodies.

  Victor stepped forward as well, extending his hand. “My name’s Victor.”

  Josie smiled and reached for Victor’s hand. Kenslir reached out, grabbing Victor’s hand before Josie could. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Victor was shocked. He was shaking Kenslir’s hand and nothing was happening. Nothing. No psychic visions, no emotional feelings, nothing. Even a rock gave off something. But not Kenslir.

  “What can you tell us about the shapeshifter, Victor?” Kenslir asked. “Where’s he headed?”

  “Northwe-“ Victor started to say. He was interrupted by Keegan elbowing him in the ribs.

  “Let’s get something straight, green eyes,” Keegan said. “This is my investigation—regardless of what Washington says.”

  “Okay,” Kenslir said, smiling. “But you won’t mind if we tag along do you?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The brown-haired man was running low on volunteers. Three dead so far, and they weren’t even to the sarcophagus chamber yet. At this rate, he might not have enough sacrifices when he got there.

  The line of telepathically mesmerized men came to another bend in the block corridor. The lead man, Juan Telles, walked forward slowly and turned, stepping around the corner. Nothing happened.

  Juan continued down the new corridor, which stretched on another forty feet or so before curving slightly to the right.

  Juan took another step. Suddenly, there was a hiss, the sound of high pressure escaping from the wall. A thin jet of water, the diameter of a finger
, sprayed out ahead of Juan, at waist level. The jet traveled quickly down the corridor, toward Juan, then through him.

  Like a sharp blade, the stream of high pressure water sliced through Juan’s clothes, skin and bone, neatly severing the man. His halves fell to the ground, blood gushing from them.

  The water jet trap continued on another couple of feet then slowly lost pressure before stopping altogether.

  The brown-haired man stepped forward, kneeling by Juan’s corpse. He again punched through skin and bone and ripped out Juan’s heart and ate it while he looked at the walls of the corridor.

  Two long grooves, a finger’s width across, ran along the walls, at waist height. The water jet clearly came from one groove, while the other was freshly cut in the old stone blocks on the other side. Tremendous pressure had propelled that water. Pressure that would hopefully take several minutes to build back up.

  “Vamanos!” the brown-haired man said, urging his remaining eight captives forward. Under his telepathic control, they all broke into a run and swept past the body of their fallen comrade.

  ***

  Kenslir and Keegan were in the middle of a lengthy conversation outside of Jimmy’s house, looking at maps, and arguing over where to proceed next. Josie and Victor were outside of earshot of the conversation, seated on the rear bumper of Kenslir’s SUV, the back doors open, watching their superiors.

  “You thirsty?” Josie asked Victor.

  “Yeah, I am.”

  Josie turned and started digging through the gear in the back of the SUV. She found two small coolers and opened the first. It contained several thermoses. She picked one and pulled it out, quickly unscrewing the lid.

  “You look a little young to be an Agent,” Victor said.

  “Uh, yeah, I get that a lot,” Josie lied. She sniffed at the contents of the thermos. It smelled so bad she made a face. “Oh, my God!”

  Victor reached over and took the thermos. When he grabbed it, his fingers brushed hers, and he got a brief vision of Josie’s real birth date.

  “You’re only eighteen, hunh?” he said. Then Victor smelled the thermos and made a face as well.

  “What is that?” He quickly handed the thermos back.

  Josie screwed the lid back on and put the thermos back in the cooler. “Wrong cooler.”

  She opened the other cooler, and was relieved to find several bottles of water.

  “That’s a neat trick you have,” Josie said, handing a bottle to Victor. “Sorry, they’re not very cold.”

  “Thanks.” Victor unscrewed the lid of his bottle and took a long drink. “I wish I could turn it off.”

  Josie took a long drink as well. “Yeah, I guess that can get a bit unsettling—seeing everything, I mean.”

  She noticed Victor was staring at her. Not at her, actually. He was staring at the bottle of water in Josie’s hand. The water inside it was turning to ice.

  Josie saw Victor looking at her hand and glanced down. She started when she saw the ice forming, and dropped the bottle. The chilled, partially frozen water poured out, onto the ground.

  “That’s pretty cool,” Victor said. Then his face turned red as he realized the bad joke he’d just inadvertently made. Josie laughed.

  “JOSIE!!” a woman yelled out.

  Josie looked over at the barrier tape. There was a brown-haired woman standing on the other side of the police barriers, looking right at her. Josie’s mother.

  Josie stood up from the back of the SUV, unsure of what to do. To her left, her mother was working her way around the bright yellow crime scene tape, while to Josie’s right, Colonel Kenslir was still arguing with Agent Keegan.

  “Josie!” Janie Winters exclaimed, running over, and hugging her daughter. The older woman, in her forties, had shoulder length, brown, curly hair. She had a slim figure, and was dressed in jeans and a colorful, floral blouse. Her thick make up was streaked and dried on her face, the result of some recent tears.

  “I just can’t believe this. Not Brad and Angie!” Janie Winters began crying again as she held her daughter.

  Josie gently pushed her mother back. “Mom, what are you doing here?”

  “It was on the news, I came as soon as I...” Janie’s voice trailed off as she looked her daughter up and down, noticing the badge and gun under Josie’s government-issue windbreaker.

  “What are you wearing?”

  “Mom, about that job I told you about...” Josie started to say.

  Janie was now looking Victor over. His black hair swept down over his face, his rumpled, hoody sweatshirt, his faded jeans and sneakers. “What’s going on?”

  Josie looked around in a panic, she had no idea what to do. Her panic intensified as she saw Colonel Kenslir and Agent Keegan approaching. He had told her to keep a low profile while they were in Arizona. Avoid people she knew.

  “Agent Winters? Who are you talking to?” Kenslir asked.

  Janie Winters turned around and looked at Kenslir, noting his jacket that matched Josie’s, his weird green-black eyes, the grim set of his jaw.

  “Robert?” Janie said, surprised. Her eyes rolled up in her head and she collapsed to the pavement.

  “Crap,” Kenslir said, looking down at Josie’s unconscious mother.

  ***

  Three days after the events at the Desert Oasis Hotel, after the shapeshifter Ketzkahtel’s body had been flown to Miami for examination, Josie Winters had formally accepted working for Detachment 1039. She was fingerprinted, photographed and given a lengthy set of forms to fill out. Even in a secret organization, the government’s penchant for bureaucratic red tape couldn’t be ignored.

  Josie had also been given a physical examination and had her blood drawn.

  As Josie began reading over the materials she needed to study as a new member of the Detachment, her blood was analyzed. Her DNA was recorded. And something interesting was discovered.

  “She’s his descendant,” Dr. Crone reported to Colonel Kenslir. She was seated in front of the Colonel’s desk with several medical files in front of her.

  “Who?” Kenslir asked, finishing one of his danishes.

  “The shapeshifter’s,” Crone had explained. “She has the same Fellish genes—mutated from all the generations of devolution, of course.”

  “Really?” Kenslir had expected the girl to have some kind of Fellish ancestry. While he firmly believed anyone could be a hero, he had sensed something was special about the girl from the very beginning. “Does she have any special abilities?”

  “None that we can tell. The gene is recessive at the moment.”

  “That’s a shame,” Kenslir had said, then picked up another danish.

  “There’s something else,” Dr. Crone had said. She was clearly uncomfortable.

  “What?”

  “Have you ever been to Arizona before, Colonel?”

  “Lots of times.”

  “Have you, do you…that is, did you...”

  “What is it, Doctor—spit it out.”

  “Do you have any children, sir?”

  Kenslir was baffled by the question. “No. You know my wife was petrified shortly after our marriage.”

  Doctor Crone swallowed, unsure how to proceed. The Colonel ran Detachment 1039 like a monastery. He was very strict and very old-fashioned. The last thing she wanted to do was insult him. “Did you have any relations after that?”

  Kenslir frowned at the question. “My wife is turned to stone, not dead, Doctor. I do not engage in adultery. What are you getting at? What does this have to do with Ms. Winters?”

  Doctor Crone pulled a report from a folder and passed it over to Kenslir. “When we cataloged Ms. Winters’ DNA, we came up with a match.”

  Kenslir read the report over quickly, skimming over most of it. A notation of ninety-nine percent was circled in red on the page. “A match? For who?”

  “Congratulations, Colonel. It’s a girl.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The sarcophagus was located in a large
chamber, nearly forty feet across, with a high vaulted ceiling. On one side of the chamber, the brown-haired man had placed his remaining eight workers—putting them into a deep sleep with his telepathic powers. On the other side of the chamber, the wall of cubit-sized blocks had broken down over time and now opened into a dark, natural cave.

  The brown-haired man quietly regarded the stone sarcophagus in the middle of the chamber for several seconds. It sat on a large, square pedestal, nearly twenty feet long on a side, and four feet high. The sarcophagus itself was ten feet long, carved from polished stone, with ornate markings and a written language that had not been seen on the Earth for millennia.

  At last, the brown-haired man’s body began to bulge and twist as he shed his human form. His body stretched, growing to a height of eight feet. His muscles swelled, ripping his shirt and pants. His feet swelled, tearing apart his shoes so that the six toes on each foot could be free. The hair on his head was absorbed back into his skin as his skull enlarged.

  In just a few seconds, the brown-haired man had transformed into the form of the giant Ketzkahtel. He smiled, his double row of teeth glinting evilly in the electric lantern light. With ease, he stepped up onto the platform by the sarcophagus.

  Grabbing the lid of the ancient stone vessel, Ketzkahtel strained, his thick, corded muscles standing out on his back and arms. Slowly, he was able to lift and slide the heavy stone lid. He pushed the lid free and dropped it onto the platform beside the sarcophagus.

  Inside, a withered body, almost nine feet tall, lay unmoving. The body had long, red hair and a matching beard. The hide of some ancient animal was wrapped around the loins. The face and tissue were dried and desiccated from the thousands and thousands of years the body had lain in the sarcophagus.

  Ketzkahtel stepped off the platform and walked quickly back to the sleeping day workers. He selected one and dragged it by one ankle, back onto the platform. He laid the body across the open sarcophagus then rammed his hand into the body’s chest.

  “Time to wake up, brother,” Ketzkahtel said, ripping the heart of the worker out. He moved the warm, dripping organ to the mouth of the mummified giant, and gently pushed it in.