Reign of Evil - 03

by Weston Ochse

  Walker watched while Trev shot one of the creatures in the head, then stabbed the other several times and finally, in a rush of screams and adrenaline, sawed off the thing’s arm.

  That’s when Walker had an idea.

  Now that all the smaller versions were dead or dying, he had more freedom of movement. He ripped his rifle free and tossed it aside as he ran to a rack of bowling balls. He picked one up but couldn’t get his fingers in the holes. He ripped off his balaclava and, using his teeth, pulled his glove free. Then he stuck his fingers in the ball and turned.

  The giant Krampus tore yet another chandelier from the ceiling.

  Walker windmilled his arm and let the bowling ball fly free. It soared in the air, missing the giant but striking a chandelier, shattering the glass.

  “What the bloody hell are you doing?” Ian yelled.

  Walker grabbed another ball. “We’ve got to bring it down.” He threw again. This time the ball hit it in the midsection, knocking it back a step.

  Ian and Jerry ran up beside him.

  “Then what?” Jerry asked.

  Walker turned with another ball in his hand. He shouted loud enough for Trev to hear, from where he was crouched in the pinsetter recess, “Then we cut off its fucking head!”

  Walker let loose with a ball, catching it in the chest.

  Jerry and Ian did the same, both missing.

  “Come on.” Walker unleashed another missile. This one hit the creature in the head and it reeled.

  Both Ian’s and Jerry’s balls hit the creature too. Bullets couldn’t hurt it, but blunt-force trauma was doing something.

  It came at them, but they were protected by the giant score screens above the ball racks.

  They spread out. Now that it was closer, it was an easier target. That said, Walker was tiring quickly and his shoulder felt wretched from not only breaking through the plywood but also hurling ten- to fifteen-pound balls at a giant monster.

  Jerry scored a forehead shot and the thing went to a knee.

  That was all it took for Trev to make his move. He leaped to his feet and sprinted the short distance to the homunculus.

  Ian and Jerry unleashed two more balls, each one impacting the giant’s head.

  As the creature put out a hand to steady itself, Trev climbed up its back and wrapped an arm around its neck and began to plunge the knife in and out as rapidly as his arm could piston. Orange goo came from each hole as the monster screamed.

  Jerry pulled his own knife and ran forward. Walker shouted for him to stop, but Jerry was so intent to join the fray that he missed his obvious mistake. As soon as Jerry got close enough, the beast lowered its head and thrust one of its horns into the unlucky man. The horn pushed out his back, severing his spine, killing him instantly.

  Ian yelled, “No!”

  Walker stared numbly.

  Trev had begun to saw at the creature’s neck but was having trouble holding on as it began to shake its head back and forth. He had no choice but to plunge the knife into the side of the beast’s neck and use it to hold on, kicking at the hands that were constantly trying to pluck him free.

  The giant monster shook its head, sending Jerry flying across the lanes. Trev lost his grip and fell hard to the ground.

  Walker flung his last ball, then pulled free his blade. He ran forward and grabbed the knife Jerry dropped. Sliding between the giant’s legs, Walker came up on the backside of the creature and used the knives to climb, plunging each of them into the back, then higher and higher, until he was on the other side of the neck from Trev. Using one knife to hold on, he began to saw. He noticed right away that the creature was constructed. It was like sawing through semi-hard clay. He managed to saw through most of the neck. The weight of it did the rest as it ripped free, falling to the lanes. Walker fell with it and slipped several times trying to get to his feet.

  Ian ran over to where Jerry’s body lay.

  Walker got shaking to his feet. He drew his Glock and crouch-walked along the front of the lanes to where the witch and the warlock were doing battle.

  Only they weren’t doing battle.

  The battle was over and the witch was sitting on the couch flipping through a magazine. A high-heel-clad foot rested on the chest of the dead warlock, whose hair had turned a stark white, a close match to the color of his skin.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Walker bellowed. “You’re just sitting here while we fight and die for you?”

  She glanced up and then back down, flipping a page. “Put the gun down, Mr. Walker; we both know you’re not going to be using that on me.”

  Walker’s hands were beginning to shake as leftover adrenaline searched for a use. He reloaded the magazine just in case and replaced the weapon in its holster while Ian came up behind him.

  “Ms. Moore, Jerry’s dead,” he said.

  She put her magazine down and draped an arm across the back of the couch. “And for that, I’m very sorry.” She flicked her gaze at Walker, then back to Ian. “There was nothing I could do to help, sadly.”

  “Why, because you found an interesting article on the best-dressed witches of New Brunswick?” Walker sneered.

  “Not at all, Mr. Walker.” She toed the warlock’s face with her foot. “He was stronger than I anticipated. He’s been learning. The truth is that it was touch and go. He almost bested me.”

  Trev came up and stood next to them.

  “I can’t stand at the moment,” she said, an embarrassed smile on her face. “I might need some help.”

  “All that’s going to have to wait,” Ian said, command returning to his voice. Everyone turned toward him. “A member of Section 9 is dead. There’s going to have to be an investigation. This place is on lockdown until MI5 gets here.”

  “Lockdown as in no one or nothing can leave?” Walker asked.

  Ian turned to him and was about to say something when Walker interrupted.

  “I get it that we lost Jerry and we’ll have long enough to mourn him, but if we let the bureaucrats hold what we need just because it’s procedure, then our mission might as well be over.” He put an arm on Ian’s shoulder. “I’ve been there. We’ve lost men mid-mission. We have got to Charlie Mike—continue mission.”

  Ian chewed on his cheek. “You are a fucking cowboy, aren’t you?”

  Walker shrugged and removed his hand from Ian’s shoulder. “My fiancée’s death destroyed the happy future I was meant to have and a fellow soldier has perished. If we don’t continue the mission, then they died for nothing.”

  “He has a point, Commander,” Trev said.

  Ian sighed. “I bloody well know he has a point, Trev. Walker had me at Charlie Mike.” He turned to the witch. “You have twenty minutes to gather whatever you can. You and Walker take the van and head back to Chicksands. I’ll have Preeti clear you through the gate.” He turned and stared across the bowling alley toward Jerry’s body. “I’ll take care of things here. We’ll be along when we can.”

  Walker stared toward Jerry’s body as well and fought down a lump in his throat as visions of Jen’s body lying on the cold Stonehenge soil presented themselves like a Hollywood horror movie. The shit was starting to get serious.

  CHAPTER 12

  CORONADO PEST CONTROL. MORNING.

  Timothy Laws left his room and entered the base’s main salon. One entire wall was covered with relics of missions past. Among these relics were bones, knives, a carved and inlaid fighting stick from the Philippines, fangs, talons, and a large gnarled hand. His eyes briefly scanned these, acknowledging the sacrifices his predecessors had made; then he went to Holmes, who lay sprawled on one of the several couches. He’d just turned forty but still had the body of a much younger man. Laws acknowledged that there weren’t too many younger men in the same shape.

  “You back from a run?” Laws asked.

  “Ten miles. Sucks getting old.” Holmes sat up. “What’s up?”

  Laws held up a tablet. “I got Walker on the line. Want to ta
lk to him?”

  “Of course.” He took the tablet and rested it against his bottle of water. When he toggled the screen to on, he was greeted by the haggard, drawn face of Walker. He glanced at Laws, who nodded.

  Laws had answered the call five minutes ago and they’d spent the time talking about the boy’s dead fiancée. Walker was definitely on the edge. What worried Laws was that he might do something irrevocably stupid.

  “What’s up, kid?” Holmes asked, trying to be light.

  “We’re in the shit here, Boss.”

  “Isn’t Ian taking care of you?”

  “Best that he can.” Walker looked down, then back at the screen. “As of two hours ago, Section 9 has two operators left and one analyst.”

  Holmes’s eyes narrowed. “What happened two hours ago?”

  Walker gave them a mission report, complete with the information he had about the witch. “The witch and I evacced with several boxes of the warlock’s stuff. Books, odds and ends, jewelry, and a bunch of bottles of ingredients.”

  “Do you trust her?” Laws asked, leaning over the couch behind Holmes so he could fit into the camera’s view.

  Walker glanced to the side. “I don’t know. Not really, I guess. I think she has her own agenda, but frankly, she’s all we have.” He laughed hollowly. “You know, you don’t really appreciate what you have until you’ve seen it bad. And this is pretty bad.”

  “I remember doing an op with Section 9 where there were twenty operators, all read on to the mission and fluent in supernatural esoterica. You say there’s two left?”

  “Three if you count me.”

  Holmes shook his head. “My, but how the mighty have fallen. What is it we can do for you, son?”

  “Bring the team over,” Walker said with complete seriousness.

  “Billings won’t allow it. If you can find some overarching reason why we need to be there, something that involves the safety of American citizens, we can get involved. Otherwise there’s no way.” Holmes sat forward. “Trust me, Walker. There’s nothing I want more than to come over and get the bastards that killed Jen. All of us feel that way, but right now our hands are tied.”

  Walker was silent for several moments. Finally, “Did Preeti get in contact with Musso?”

  Laws answered, “Sure did. We have a line on Van Dyke up at Lake Arrowhead. We’re leaving at noon and plan on being on target by fourteen hundred hours.”

  “Full battle rattle?”

  Holmes shook his head. “It’s a tourist spot. We’re going to infil by helicopter five miles from the target. We have a Suburban standing by courtesy of Alice Munroe, NCIS. Remember her?”

  Walker cracked a smile for the first time. “She forgive YaYa yet?”

  “When hell freezes over. You should see them in the same room. Poor kid feels terrible about what that creature made him do. He tries so hard to apologize, but she’s making him pay for it.”

  “Thirty hours tied in the trunk of a car, I’d be pissed too,” Laws chipped in.

  “Which is why I made YaYa our official liaison to NCIS.” Holmes crossed his arms. “It gives the kid the opportunity to make it up.”

  Walker continued smiling for a moment; then it fell like a brick, his face returning to the mournful frown that had become the new normal. “What about the Bohemian Grove? According to Preeti they’ve been doing some sort of ceremony there.”

  “That place is politically sensitive. You wouldn’t believe the number of politicians on both sides who attend the events. Senator Withers isn’t one of them, but he has friends who have attended, who are members. Our official orders are to keep our hands off.”

  “Some things never change,” Walker said. “Did Musso get anything on the Wild Hunt?”

  Laws spoke up. “I’ve been doing research. I agree with everything Preeti sent. There’s a lot of open source material, much of it compelling, especially about the Cycle of the Holly King and the Oak King. Not only does this ritual go back almost two thousand years, but there’s a solid pagan-Wiccan belief system built around it. Probably the most interesting factoid I came across was a version of the Wild Hunt that has King Arthur as the leader.”

  This got Walker’s attention. “King Arthur as in the King Arthur.”

  “I was surprised as well, when I saw it,” Laws said. “Of course, it seems that popular historical figures have been attached to the Hunt through time, so this might not be anything more than wishful thinking on behalf of the people of Britain.”

  “Even so,” Walker said slowly. “If it turns out that it is King Arthur, we’d have to go up against him.”

  “First things first,” Holmes said. “Right now we need to find out about the Red Grove and discover who they are. We might not have to do anything about the Wild Hunt. Frankly, we don’t have any evidence that it even exists.”

  “You should have seen the hole in the ground where the witch used to live. Then you’d have your evidence.”

  “Did you see it? Did you see who did it?” Holmes shook his head. “We’re all acting on the word of people we don’t know.”

  “We’ve acted on less before, Boss,” Laws said.

  “But things weren’t as politically sensitive as they are now. This is England. This country has had a relationship with them for more than two hundred years. Good or bad, we’re like two brothers, a younger and an older. Sure we fight, but at the end of the day we’re family.”

  “Just like SEAL Team 666 is a family,” Laws chimed in. “We’re on your side, Walker.”

  Walker nodded. “I know.”

  “If we have something compelling, I’ll find a way for us to come over … regardless. And Walker, remember…” Holmes pointed a finger at the tablet’s screen. “You find a good enough reason for us to come, then send it. I’ll fight for it until they either let me go or fire me. Find that reason, Walker.”

  Walker shrugged. “I’m trying. God knows they need help here. Frankly, I just don’t know how they’re able to do anything. What I’m afraid of is that MI5 will shut them down based on the loss of Jerry in this last mission.”

  “Then stick with the witch,” Laws said. “Watch your six, but she seems to be the best bet.”

  “I agree.” Walker stared down for a moment, then looked up. “I better go. Tell the guys I said hi, will ya?”

  Holmes gave Walker a bright smile. “Sure, son.” When they signed off, the smile fell hard. “It’s worse than I thought.”

  Laws plopped down on the couch facing Holmes. “You slow-rolled him on the Wild Hunt.”

  “I did. I don’t want him going off half-cocked. It’s tough trying to manage a mission I’m not a part of from five thousand miles away, but it’s the best I can do.”

  “You know, if this Wild Hunt really exists, it could be the reason we need to get over there. On a curious note, I read where there were historical reports of hell hounds chasing down the unbaptized. It’s intriguing because this is a pagan tradition, so why does it care about baptizing into a faith?”

  “Probably just an appropriation of legend. We’ve seen it before; just look at the American Bigfoot legends and how we’ve taken what the Native Americans believed and made it our own, changing it to suit our culture. After all, it was the Algonquin tales of the Windigo which spurred our modern idea of a big-footed forest monster.”

  “You’re probably right, but it just as easily could be something else. ‘Baptize’ is very similar to ‘sanctify.’ I can get behind that a lot easier.”

  “If the Wild Hunt’s mission is to sanctify, then what is it supposed to sanctify?” Holmes asked.

  Laws spread his hands. “Dunno. Everything? The land?” He stood and retrieved his tablet. “Oh, one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I checked the logs for hell hounds.”

  “Yes?”

  “Battle New Orleans. January 8, 1815, actually. The British Ninety-Third Highlanders used hell hounds against Stonewall Jackson’s forces. They were describ
ed as ‘making chupacabra look like lambs.’”

  “How’d we eventually destroy them?”

  “Stonewall had a few witches of his own. One of them was none other than Madame Laboy. Remember her?”

  “She’s still in our employ. The zombie exercise in the New Orleans cemetery. I remember it well.” Holmes made a grunt of acknowledgment. “Let’s hope we don’t have to go up against any hell hounds.”

  “If we have to fight the Wild Hunt, then those are odds I wouldn’t touch.”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” Holmes stood also. “Get the men ready. I’ve got something to do.”

  “What is it?”

  “Call Billings one more time. The more information she has, the better our chances. Don’t forget, she’s on our side. She was close to Jen and wants to get her killers too.”

  CHAPTER 13

  RAF CHICKSANDS. DUSK.

  Walker went down the hall into the communications room where he found Preeti crying. She sat at her workstation, four computer screens in front of her and seven thirty-six-inch monitors on the walls, each one showing a different news channel, with the exception of one showing a cricket match. She was slumped in her chair, her head in her hands.

  When Walker saw that she was crying, he stopped in the door. “Excuse me,” he said, backing into the hall.

  Preeti wiped her eyes with her fists and shook her tears away. “No, it’s okay.” She smiled weakly. “Come in, Walker.”

  “I can come back later. Really, I—”

  “No. I’m just being silly. What is it?”

  “I just got off the line with my boss. He said if there was any link we could make to something that might be of interest to the U.S. then they’d be able to come over and help. Do we have anything like that?”

  She grinned, the sudden change to her demeanor remarkable. Then she laughed. “It’s a sad day for us, isn’t it? We used to be so large. Now all we have is Ian and Trev.” At the mention of her husband, her voice cracked.