Battle Scream (The Battle Series Book 1)

by Mark Romang

  Declan lifted a water jug from his bedside table and took a few sips. “My brother and sister are coming down sometime today. They drove because Grace is afraid to fly.”

  Maddix hated to broach the subject of demons, but knew he had to. He couldn’t put it off, couldn’t leave the hospital without knowing the answer. As is stood now, the future of the church and his role there hung in limbo. “So do you still think the spirits will come back to the church?” he asked timidly.

  Cooper nodded. “I do. It’s just a question of when. It mostly depends on how long it takes them to rejuvenate.”

  Maddix frowned. “Rejuvenate?”

  “When a demon is driven out it flees to arid places to try and recover and reorganize. And then they often recruit other evil spirits and return to their previous host more powerful than before. Surely you are familiar with the passage in Luke chapter eleven where Jesus explains this.”

  Maddix nodded. “I am familiar with it. I just thought maybe you could give me a timetable.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t, Andrew. But since these demons were so robust and combative I would think it would be sooner rather than later.”

  Maddix squeezed his temples. “If I move the congregants to a different building will the demons follow us there?”

  Declan sighed. His ashen eyes softened sympathetically. He nodded slowly. “They’re after you, Andrew, not the building.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense. They were at the church before I arrived.”

  Cooper shrugged his narrow shoulders. “They wanted to dig in and establish a stronghold before you arrived on the scene. You can’t even imagine how clever they are. They’re more than just ugly brutes.”

  Maddix began pacing alongside the bed. Sweat popped out on his brow. “I was so sure God was calling me to this church. But all I’ve done is wreck the building and drive off the members.” He looked at the priest, guilt clouding his eyes. “And I nearly killed you.”

  “Don’t second-guess yourself, Andrew. Nothing constructive will ever come of that.”

  “So what do the demons want from me?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest. You tell me.”

  Maddix stopped pacing for a moment, but then resumed. He wasn’t sure he wanted to confess his near-death experience to Cooper. The exorcist might shed light on the experience and completely freak him out. But he was out of options. He needed to tap into Cooper’s wisdom and experience at fighting demons.

  Maddix grabbed a chair by the window and dragged it up to Cooper’s bed. He plopped down, and over the next few minutes confessed his experience in the Afghan cave, leaving out nothing.

  After he finished, Cooper didn’t respond for a long time. The wrinkles in his face seemed to deepen as his mouth formed a reply. “Once a prophecy has been spoken, not even the powers from hell can stop it from being fulfilled. I’d say you are right where you need to be, Andrew. But I sure don’t envy you,” he said, his voice crackling like autumn leaves.

  Maddix rubbed his eyes. “So how do I proceed? I don’t know how to fight demons.”

  “You pray, and pray hard. Walk every inch of the church inside and out every day and pray for protection. Draw near to God and tap into his unshakable power. Let him fight for you.”

  Maddix nodded. “That’s really all I can do, isn’t it?”

  Cooper pointed toward a small closet. “There’s a bag of my belongings in that closet. Can you fetch me the bag?” he asked.

  Maddix stood up and opened the nearby closet. He retrieved the bag and handed it to Cooper. The exorcist opened the bag and sifted through the clothes. He finally pulled out his crucifix and held it out toward Maddix. “I want you to have this, Andrew. You may think it’s just a cheap-looking metal trinket, but it symbolizes the cross and the Savior’s victory over death. Demons are terribly afraid of Jesus and the cross. This little crucifix may be your last line of defense.”

  “But you need the crucifix to continue your work,” Maddix protested.

  Cooper smiled. “I don’t need it anymore. The exorcism at your church was my last one. I promised myself there would be no more. I’m retiring.”

  Maddix grasped the crucifix, taking it from Cooper’s hand. It was surprisingly heavy, and looked to be fashioned from sterling silver. The crucifix gleamed as he turned it over in his hand. “I’m honored, Declan. Thank you.”

  “Just remember there is no power in the crucifix. The power resides in your faith. That’s why you need to exercise your faith every day. It’s the only way to build it up.”

  Maddix gripped Cooper’s hand and shook it. “I agree wholeheartedly. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me and the church, Declan. Can I keep in touch with you? I have a feeling I’m going to need to bounce some questions off you?”

  “I’d love to correspond with you, Andrew. It would be my pleasure. And rest assured you will be in my prayers daily.”

  After exchanging phone numbers, Maddix left the hospital room, his fears slightly buoyed. He was walking down the corridor, headed for the elevator when a nurse rounded an intersecting corridor and collided into him. Something squirted out the nurse’s hand and clattered to the floor. Maddix knelt down to retrieve the object and hand it to the nurse.

  It was a syringe. His eyes instinctively scanned the label on the syringe as he picked it up. He recognized the drug: succinylcholine, a muscle relaxer. During his convalescence at Walter Reed he’d been given the same muscle relaxer after his BKA—below the knee amputation.

  The nurse, a heavyset woman in her forties, snatched the syringe out of his hands. “I’ll take that,” she snapped, and hurried off.

  Maddix stood up. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to help,” he called out to her as he headed for the elevator. He shook his head, somewhat bewildered by the exchange. I feel sorry for her patients, he thought as he stepped into the empty elevator.

  ****

  Her fleshy fingers hiding the syringe, Nurse Debra Kelsey strode into Declan Cooper’s room. She noticed right away that her patient’s eyes were shut tight. Even better, the room was empty. She smiled inwardly. The old man might not even realize what hits him.

  Kelsey reached the bed and calmly pushed a button on Cooper’s vital signs monitor, turning it off. It had been four years since she last harvested a patient. She’d moved twice since that time, taken jobs at three different hospitals, and strived to be a model employee at each medical center. Up until yesterday, she thought the whisperings and the homicidal urges that ravaged her brain for so long had left.

  She felt almost normal.

  It didn’t last.

  Yesterday, halfway through her twelve-hour shift, the first whispering entered her ear. The prompting was so subtle, so subliminal that she thought she must’ve imagined it. But like clockwork, she started receiving a new instruction almost every hour. And eventually, with greater intensity, the whisperings started coming every thirty minutes. At the moment, a command entered her head every twenty seconds. The command consisted of the same three words every time.

  Kill the priest.

  For as long as she could remember, a dark energy possessed her mind. Even as a child her imaginary friends were more than just make-believe playmates. They were verbally abusive bullies that often threw her to the ground if she didn’t do exactly as they instructed. But today, at this pivotal moment, she wasn’t so sure the otherworldly voice prompting her to harvest Declan Cooper came from within her body. In this case the whispering seemed to be coming from outside her ear. Her hands trembled slightly at the thought of a demon standing next to her, only inches away, his hot, rancid breath mussing her hair.

  Nurse Kelsey took hold of Cooper’s right wrist and turned the arm over. She searched for a visible vein near his elbow, a vein sturdy enough to carry the succinylcholine into the muscles of Cooper’s arms and legs. The dosage in the syringe was strong enough to induce complete paralysis in under a minute.

  “I thought I was done giving blood today.”
>
  Kelsey flinched at the priest’s voice. She looked up. The old man looked right at her. Suspicion glimmered in his gray eyes. “You’re right. No more blood today, Declan,” she said pleasantly. “This is a muscle relaxer to help you sleep better. Doc’s orders,” she explained, smiling. “If you’re lucky you’ll be dead asleep when they come get you for your morning surgery. And when you wake up it will all be over.”

  Kelsey spotted a strong vein and inserted the needle tip through Declan’s flaccid skin and into the vein. Before he could protest she pushed the plunger all the way down, dispensing the drug. “There, that didn’t even hurt. Good job, Declan.” Your time on Earth is over.

  Nurse Kelsey casually placed the murder weapon into a pocket of her scrub top. She could use a cigarette about now, but there wasn’t time. She needed to leave the hospital, drive home to her spartan apartment, pack her few belongings and clothes and disappear to another state, a different person with different hair color and a different name.

  But even though her chances of evasion grew slimmer with each passing second she tarried watching Declan Cooper expire, she couldn’t resist watching his death unfold. Cooper was completely aware that he was in trouble but could do nothing about it. He couldn’t reach his call button because his limbs would not respond to his brain signals. He couldn’t even speak. Total paralysis shackled his body, including his mouth and vocal cords.

  Having used succinylcholine to kill five other patients in her nursing career, she knew exactly what was taking place in Cooper’s frail body. Malignant hyperthermia was overwhelming his body’s ability to supply oxygen, remove carbon dioxide, and regulate body temperature. Circulatory collapse was inevitable and probably already taking place.

  Debra Kelsey leaned down and placed her mouth up to Cooper’s ear. “Forgive me, Father, I have sinned. I’ve killed five people…and you’re number six.”

  Chapter 9

  Felicity, Utah—the next evening

  “You were hired to bring stability and harmony to this church, not paranormal activity and paparazzi,” lead elder Cliff Schuler huffed. “To that end, Andrew, you’ve failed miserably.”

  To Maddix’s chagrin, only one elder and six of the twelve deacons showed up at the church for the monthly deacon’s meeting. Perhaps their absences could be attributed to apathy, but more likely the groundswell of curiosity seekers, ghost hunters, and TV news crews camped out in front of the church, clamoring for interviews scared them off.

  Cody Hosmer’s phone video of the exorcism had literally taken over the internet. It was YouTube’s most viewed video of the year by a landslide. Other than the Vatican, Zion Baptist Church was currently the most talked about church in the world.

  Maddix didn’t quite know what to think about all the attention.

  On the one hand, he could sense an outpouring of prayers lifting up the church, for which he was grateful. There had also been an incredible spate of monetary gifts; enough to repair all the interior damage and replace the stained glass windows. Volunteers from all over the state had showed up to repair plaster, paint, and hang new light fixtures and doors. The church had never looked so fresh and up to date.

  But not all the attention was good. Piles of hate mail collected at the post office. And of course, a sizable portion of the country and world believed the exorcism had been an elaborate hoax to gain notoriety and money. Most disturbing was the giant red pentagram that vandals had painted on the roof. It took all Maddix’s willpower to allow the police to find the vandals and not turn into a vigilante with an ax to grind.

  “There will never be stability and harmony, Cliff, until all satanic influence has left this church. And I feel like we’ve taken the first step toward spiritual recovery,” Maddix said calmly.

  Schuler’s face reddened. “Felicity is a quiet town. Always has been. God-fearing people call it home. This church has been a pillar in the community for over a hundred and sixty years. But in only two months you’ve managed to turn the church into a haven for demons and ghost hunters. You should hang your head in shame, Andrew.”

  “I only did what I thought was best for the church, Cliff.”

  “Well, you thought wrong. And you never consulted with me or any of the other deacons before arranging an exorcism. Worse, the exorcist is dead because of you,” Schuler snapped.

  “Hey, you can’t blame me for a rogue nurse,” Maddix shot back. Declan Cooper’s death, and the chilling method Nurse Debra Kelsey used to take the priest’s life, had punched a hole in his heart. He wanted to believe Cooper’s death was coincidental, a freak happening. But a part of him thought the homicide was a revenge killing; Satan sending him a not so subtle message that the game wasn’t over yet.

  A vein in Schuler’s neck bulged. He stood up from the pew he sat on. “Why can’t I? All signs point to you. You arranged for there to be an exorcism, did you not?”

  “Cliff, you’re being preposterous,” Sara Kendall interrupted. “You can’t blame Pastor Maddix for Declan Cooper’s death. His killer was arrested. She admitted to killing Cooper, and to five other patients. All the attention this church is getting right now will eventually die down. You just have to be patient, Cliff.”

  “You hush up, Sara. You’re only defending Maddix because you’re sweet on him. We’re not blind. We can all see it in the way you look at him.”

  Maddix took a step forward. He stood in front of the first pew where Schuler and the deacons sat. Sara Kendall and Kyle Miller sat in the pew behind them. “That was uncalled for, Cliff. I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” he said firmly.

  Schuler snorted. “That’s funny. I was just getting ready to ask you to do the same. In fact, we have enough deacons here. We could vote on your dismissal. Right here, right now.”

  Movement in the foyer knifed through the tension. Maddix looked up to see a very tall male dressed in a brown shirt, brown shorts, and a brown ball cap walk toward him carrying a bulky package. Cody Hosmer followed the UPS driver into the sanctuary. “Sorry, Pastor, I was sure I locked the front doors,” Hosmer said.

  Maddix couldn’t keep himself from staring at the UPS driver. He was well over seven feet tall and very muscular. Symmetrically proportional, he moved with the fluid grace of a ballet dancer.

  “Package for Andrew Maddix,” the delivery driver said in a powerful voice.

  Maddix held out his hands and accepted the package, noting its density and heft. “Thank you,” he mumbled as he looked at the UPS driver’s face. The man had golden skin and a shock of fair hair. He looked neither old nor young. If not for the delivery uniform he could be the world’s largest surfer. “Do I need to sign anything?” Maddix asked.

  The stranger shook his head. “No, but you need to open the package. I’ve been instructed to answer any questions you may have about the contents.”

  The package was rectangular and similar in size to a rifle case. Maddix set it down on the stage near the pulpit. The others crowded around him like curious spectators.

  Maddix pulled out his ever-present pocket knife and made quick work of the packing tape. He opened the box and peered inside. Two items sat inside the box: a small leather pouch and a scabbarded sword. He lifted the sword out of the box. A tingling sensation raced up his hands and into his arms. He looked up at the delivery driver. Way up.

  “Pull it out of its scabbard,” The UPS driver instructed.

  Maddix grabbed the sword’s hilt and noticed for the first time the gemstones glittering in the handle. His breath quickened. He put his left hand on the bronze scabbard and tugged at the sword with his right. The double-bladed broadsword made a ringing sound as Maddix pulled it free from its scabbard.

  Kyle Miller whistled next to him. “What a beauty.”

  The overhead light fixtures reflected off the gleaming blade. The reflection nearly blinded Maddix. He could just make out lettering engraved in the sword blade. Letters from an ancient language—possibly Hebrew, etched the blade. The sword was old, but in fantasti
c shape. “Swing it around,” the UPS driver commanded.

  Maddix looked at the driver curiously, noticing for the first time the familiar UPS logo was strangely missing on his cap and shirt. This guy doesn’t work for UPS. No way. So why is he here then? Who sent him?

  “Come on, buddy. I’m on a tight schedule. Swing it around.”

  Flabbergasted by the night’s strange happenings, Maddix finally complied and swung the broadsword around, slashing the air. Searing hot flames erupted from the blade and billowed outward. Startled gasps sounded all around him. He stopped swinging the sword and the flames dispersed with a loud hiss. Maddix examined the sword. He didn’t see any fuel port or triggering mechanism on the sword that could release a propellant. So what starts and sustains the flame? “What is this thing?” he panted, his face flushed from the flaming sword.

  “That thing you hold in your hands is the most sacred sword ever forged. It guarded the Tree of Life in the Garden of Eden. You are the first human to ever touch it.”

  Maddix looked at him questioningly.

  The stranger nodded his handsome head. “Before today only cherubim have swung it.”

  “That’s it, Pastor Maddix. I don’t know who this illusionist is or how much money you paid him to perform these magic tricks, but I’ve seen enough. I’m resigning as lead elder. And I’m walking out this church and never coming back,” Cliff Shuler said. He glared at the other deacons for a long moment, and then stomped off, slamming the church doors behind him.

  Maddix slid the warm sword back into its scabbard. “Who sent this to me?” he asked, eyeing the small leather pouch.

  “I think you know the answer.”

  Maddix looked at the tall man. His face seemed almost luminous now. “If God sent this to me…that would make you an angel. Gabriel, if I’m not mistaken.”

  The stranger nodded.

  Maddix tried to swallow but failed. His one knee felt weak. He wondered if this was the same angel that escorted him through the Afghanistan cave. “Why does God want me to have the sword?”