SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest

by Jeremy Robinson

  I approached the dock alone. Most of the wards were defensive in nature, but I spotted one in particular that warned me off. I’d seen it once before on an abandoned Oddfellows Lodge. When passed, the ward delivered a bout of nausea that had left me twisted and writhing on the ground. The memory of it alone kept me from trying to defuse it.

  “Are we going inside?” Burgess asked.

  “How many wards do you see?” I asked.

  “Four.”

  “And you?” I asked Gomer.

  “Ten.”

  “There are seventeen wards. To get past them would take too long and we can’t just barge in. There are several offensive wards we don’t want anything to do with, even if I was able to defuse them.”

  Gomer frowned. “What then?”

  “Do you remember what Gerhardt’s Catering was responsible for?” I asked Gomer.

  “They provided some of the chairs for the main celebration but they were primarily focused on an after-party at Isle of Aves. They were providing all the food and beer, and setting up tables and chairs.”

  “That’s where the defense contractors are staying. We need to get there now.” I scratched my head as I tried to picture the location in my mind. “I think there’s a place on the southern edge of The Grove where we can access it from Bohemian Highway.”

  “It’s bound to be watched,” Gomer said.

  “We also need to warn Everett. I know he thinks this is all over, but he needs to know about the tables and about the camp.” I pointed to Gomer. “You’re going to have to find a way to warn him.”

  “And how should I do that?” he asked.

  “You’re a Gunnery Sergeant in the United States Marines who received a Silver Star in Vietnam. You’re also a certified Level II Warlock assigned to Special Unit 77. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

  He sighed heavily. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  To Burgess I said, “Come on.”

  “What about me?” Gomer asked. “Can I have a ride?”

  I shook my head. “No time. Just do what I said.”

  “Aye Aye,” he said.

  Five minutes later Burgess was driving down Bohemian Highway.

  “Do you have a plan, boss?”

  “It’s forming as we speak.”

  “Good, because I thought we might be going in without a plan.”

  I grinned. “I’d never do that.”

  He parked the car in a pull-off by the Russian River probably used by fishermen for ease of access. From the trunk I grabbed a shotgun which I handed to Burgess and a set of wire cutters, then we jogged across the road and into the trees until we came to a chain link fence with razor wire at the top. I didn’t hesitate. I used the cutters to gain access and we were soon inside.

  Once Burgess was through, we ran to a spot about a hundred and fifty feet south of the place we’d entered and stopped. I ordered him to grab my jacket. As long as he was touching me, my spell would work on him as well. There wasn’t such a thing as true invisibility, at least not for a mortal, but an aversion spell could reap the same benefits. I dredged the wording from my memory, then worked my fingers around the frame of it before I let it free to cast around me and Burgess.

  The sound of brush crashing came from where we entered. Two guards with lights and M16s arrived. A third man carrying a PRC-77 backpack radio joined them. They reported a break-in, then spread out. One guard began searching away from us, while the other came right at us. The man with the radio remained in place.

  I turned to look at Burgess “Not a word,” I whispered.

  I watched his eyes as the guard came closer. The beam of the flashlight passed over us once, then came back and did it again. I could hear the guard’s footsteps as he pushed his way across the dry forest floor and underbrush. I kept concentrating, keeping the frame of the spell intact. It seemed as if he was heading directly for us, but at the last moment, he angled behind me and kept going. Watching Burgess’s eyes enabled me to know where the guard was. He went about fifty more feet, then turned and jogged back to where the radioman stood. The other guard joined him.

  When they began to report negative contact on the radio, we started to move. We’d gone perhaps a hundred and fifty more feet before Burgess spoke. “When can I learn that one? Would have come in handy that time this girl’s husband came home.”

  “Pass Level V certification and you’ll have it.”

  He whistled softly. “So that’s what a fiver looks like. That’s bad ass.”

  “Keep it down.” Here and there I could see wards on the trees. I didn’t disarm them. I let them flash warning, knowing that Everett would either come himself or send help.

  As we began moving, I started to hear the Cremation of Care Ceremony in the background and blaring out of speakers stationed around The Grove. It sounded exactly like an invocation.

  The Owl is in His leafy temple

  Let all within The Grove be reverent before Him.

  Lift up your heads oh ye trees

  And be lifted up ye everlasting spires

  For behold here is Bohemia’s shrine

  And holy are the pillars of this house.

  Weaving spiders come not here!

  Looks like I was one of the weaving spiders. But I’d come to find an even more dangerous weaving spider, so I hoped they’d forgive me. It took fifteen more minutes of moving through the woods before I saw the outlines of the first cottage. If I remembered right, Isle of Aves had seven or eight cottages arranged in a semi-circle with a courtyard in the middle. We should have been coming to the back of it, and by the light shining in the courtyard, I could tell we were. The cottages had no back doors, but there were windows – bathroom windows by their appearance.

  Being in Northern California, air conditioners weren’t necessary, but heat was. I searched for and found the propane tank. I ordered Burgess to sabotage it. We needed to draw the people outside.

  While he worked on the tank, I made my way to the corner of the southernmost cottage and peeked around the corner. A long, cloth-covered table had been set up in the courtyard. Folding chairs surrounded it. On a row of other tables were cases of beer, bottles of liquor and wine, as well as a spread of cheeses, sausages and crackers – all of it cast in a red spell-glow of darkness. Five people worked to set everything up, moving in and out of the back of a van marked Gerhardt Catering and Sons and Daughter. What I saw was an older man, three young men – one who seemed to be barely in his teens – and a young woman. The truck told me who they were.

  Suddenly an explosion split the night and a ball of light and energy replaced the space where the propane tank had once been.

  The family froze and looked to the dad. He pointed to his two older sons and sent them to investigate.

  I ducked as they ran between cottages toward the raging fire, which was already threatening to spread to the nearest cottage.

  The Cremation of Care continued:

  As vanished Babylon and goodly Tyre

  So shall they also vanish

  But the wilding rose blows on the broken battlements of Tyre

  And moss rends the stones of Babylon

  Both the boys had pulled automatic pistols from somewhere. They stopped for a moment, then spied movement in the woods. The oldest boy ran toward it and fired. Burgess returned fire with the shotgun, catching the kid full in the chest.

  I’d already begun moving and as the remaining son aimed his pistol, I came up behind him, touched the base of his spine, and sent him into a dreamless sleep. He fell to the ground. I disarmed him and pocketed his pistol.

  I heard the rumbling of vehicle engines. I sent Burgess around to the other side of the camp and returned to the place I’d just left. Two trucks came into view. Each looked as if it held eight guards – two in front and six in the back. The men I could see carried M16s and were in a civilianized version of military gear. They must have already been on their way, alerted by me tripping the wards.

  The girl – sma
ll of stature, blond hair, blue eyes, and no more than a hundred pounds – ran forward and waved a single hand in the air, barking in Aramaic.

  The first truck went flying, then hit the ground tumbling, throwing guards from it like a cyclone throwing twigs asunder.

  I was stunned by the demonstration of power and from such a young woman too. She must have some inherent ability.

  I watched her back away as the second truck skidded to a stop. Men poured out of it and made a picket line as they raised their rifles.

  Just then a dark figure moved behind them, almost faster than I could see. Blood spurted in his wake and all eight men fell dead to the forest floor. I tried to follow his movement but lost him in the darkness between the trees.

  Rehor was here!

  Fools!

  Fools!

  Fools!

  When will ye learn

  That me ye cannot slay?

  Year after year ye burn me in this grove

  Lifting your puny shouts of triumph to the stars.

  Then there was a pause in the ceremony as screams merged with laughter, then merged with more screams. Whatever was going on, it seemed like an interruption of some sort.

  I felt a tingling and turned just in time to see the young witch level her gaze upon me. As I was about to frame a defensive spell, a wave of nausea hit me so hard that it drove me to my knees. Vomit spewed from my mouth onto the leaf and twig covered ground. I heaved once, then twice, my back arching like a cat’s.

  Instead of coming at me, she began backing away. It told that although she was powerful, there was a limit to her power and she was close to reaching it. My guess was the grand display with the truck had sapped most of it.

  I staggered to my feet.

  Across the yard, I saw the father draw and fire his pistol in one smooth move.

  Burgess, who’d been sneaking between two cottages, grabbed his chest and went down.

  The father moved toward the spot where Burgess was lying.

  I felt a wave of fear for the kid rush through me. I needed to help as soon as I could. My nausea was gone. Her spell was formidable, but not as bad as the one attached to the ward back at their place of business. That one had to have been put in place by Rehor and I needed to save my magical energy for him.

  I felt the next spell coming and gritted my teeth in anticipation. Then I tripped and fell. I got up, took two steps and fell again. Seriously? A Tripping Spell? Now that was juvenile.

  She’d moved to the center of the yard and leaned heavily on the table. I could see her chest heaving.

  I managed to stay on my feet the next time the spell tried to frame around me.

  I was ten feet from her when she cast a Slow Spell. I waved that one away, lurched forward to her, then touched her in the center of the head, which sent her to sleepy time with her other brother.

  Which reminded me, where was the youngest boy?

  I turned as a scream came from behind me.

  It was the boy, running out of the back of the truck with a baseball bat. I waited until he was almost in range, then stepped forward and cold-cocked him. He fell backwards. The bat went flying. Blood seeped from his nose, which was good enough because I hated it when I had to kill kids.

  I was finally able to turn to Burgess, but he’d somehow managed to get to his feet and was fighting hand to hand with the father, which was no easy task once it became clear by his odd movements that his left arm wasn’t working right.

  The Cremation of Care Ceremony had resumed and now took on an even darker tone. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but the air was abuzz with a strange power I’d never kenned before.

  Ye shall burn me once again!

  Not with these flames!

  Which hither ye have brought

  From regions where I reign

  Ye fools and priests

  I spit upon your fire!

  Burgess pulled a knife from his hip, took a step back, then leaped forward as the father followed him back, sinking the blade into the older man’s throat.

  The father stood as stiff and still as a scarecrow. Burgess pulled the knife free and the father fell to the ground. Burgess wiped the blade on his sleeve, re-sheathed it, and grabbed the shotgun.

  He staggered toward me, grinning. “Never been shot before,” he said, lifting his shoulder for me to see his through and through like it was a badge he’d just earned.

  “Mark that off your bucket list.” I nodded toward the body. “You were pretty good back there with that knife.”

  “Some archetypes are true. You white kids played cowboys and Indians. We played Indians and Indians.”

  I reached out. “Give me that shotgun. No way you can fire it now.” I gave him the pistol I’d taken off the sleeping brother.

  We heard another truck approaching.

  “See the Spring-heeled Jack?” Burgess asked.

  I nodded as I looked to the trees. “Saw him earlier. He’s out there somewhere.”

  I felt a tingling sensation and spun. One of the cottages had caught fire. In the shadows surrounding the conflagration I caught the smoldering stare of the Spring-heeled Jack. I glanced at Burgess. The kid would do anything for me. I had to make sure it wasn’t something he couldn’t afford.

  “Go on up the road and meet the truck.”

  He looked at me, exhaustion crowding his eyes. “You sure, boss?”

  I patted him on the back. “Of course I am. Now go.”

  He trudged away from me and up the road.

  I turned and strode toward the burning cottage.

  When I reached the center of the courtyard the Jack met me by leaping over the fire, landing in front of me with one hand to the ground to keep himself steady. When he stood, he was a full head and shoulders taller than me. His boots were remarkably Victorian, as was his long, black coat that caught the air like wings when he moved through the air. He wore a mask that covered the top of his head, reminiscent of a Batman mask than anything else. The air around him sizzled with energy.

  I held the shotgun in both hands and was ready to bring it to bear. “Rehor Zdarsky.”

  His head moved like a bird’s, cocking it at an angle as he regarded me. “I know you.” His voice sizzled.

  “Of course you do,” I said. “We have your brother, Boniface. Little scatterbrained, but he’s locked up tight.”

  “Where?”

  I shrugged. “I used to know back before you brought that bridge down. Now I don’t have any idea.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  I could feel power building around us like an incredible static electric charged. I framed a defensive spell and held onto it. I shrugged again, trying to show how relaxed I didn’t really feel. “Doesn’t matter if you believe me or not.” I lowered the barrel of the shotgun and aimed it at his chest. “But if you want to see him I think that can be arranged. We can put you in a room beside him.”

  His mouth opened, revealing teeth that had been sharpened to points.

  I fired the shotgun, but he was already gone and into the trees, moving impossibly fast.

  I felt a spell hit my defenses. All the leaves, twigs, branches, rocks and dirt within a ten foot circle slammed into the invisible barrier I’d created. I staggered under the effort to keep the spell framed, but managed to keep it up long enough to deflect everything that came at me.

  “Nice trick, Rehor, but you’ll have to do better than that.”

  I prepared another spell, readying it, steadying it, getting it just right. I saw movement out of the corner of my left eye and spun.

  He was coming at me impossibly fast.

  I threw my spell.

  His movement ceased to almost nothing as my spell took effect.

  I stepped out of the way even though it would now take seconds for him to reach where I stood.

  “What was it you were after, Rehor? What is it the East German’s wanted?”

  I could see and feel him struggling against my spell. “You’ll never kn
ow.”

  “And you can’t get it now. Your Stasi contacts have been killed.” I gestured with the shotgun. “You did that. You caused that.”

  He stopped moving. My spell was meant to slow him. It didn’t keep him from not moving at all. He glowered at me.

  “You and your one-armed sister,” I said, shaking my head. “Why you’ve aligned yourselves to the Soviets I will never know.”

  “We haven’t aligned ourselves,” he said, emphasizing every word.

  “That’s not what they think. The Russian oligarchs must revel in the fact they have their own pet freaks.”

  His eyes flared.

  I saw his hands flex, and not in slow motion.

  I went to throw myself to the ground but was too slow. He slid toward me. Blades appeared in both hands, delivered by a spring-loaded mechanism I barely glimpsed before each blade pierced the space where my shoulders met my torso.

  “I’m going to take your arms,” he said simply.

  I stared into his eyes. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to lose my arms. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me beg. I didn’t want to do so many things. Most importantly, I didn’t want to see the smile of satisfaction on the bastard that was about to kill me, so I closed my eyes.

  I heard gunshots. Blam! Blam! Blam!

  The blades came free.

  My eyes snapped open.

  He backed away from me and turned. As he did, I saw Burgess holding the pistol I’d given him in two hands, his legs in a wide stance. Then the Jack ran off, too fast to see.

  I fell to my knees.

  Burgess ran toward me.

  As did Gomer, who was right behind him.

  They supported me so I didn’t fall on my face. Both shoulders burned with pain.

  A cohort of guards moved past.

  “I brought the cavalry,” Gomer said. He glanced over my shoulder. “Looks like you made a mess.”

  “Don’t know what they wanted, but they’re not going to get it now.”

  Gomer called for a first aid kit and one of the guards threw it at him. He caught it and began to bandage my wounds.