by Michael Todd
Brock was just glad that they had made it out in time. He hated to see any of the military hurt or killed, but the hit to his team had especially shaken him. Their trials had made them tight; made them brothers in spirit as well as arms.
By the time they’d gotten back to the barracks and cleaned their gear they were all tired, beaten up both physically and emotionally from another day of battle and another field of fallen soldiers. By the time they had their weapons put up and the barracks squared away, they were ready to sleep the sleep of the exhausted.
However, their commander had other plans for them. A fresh-faced corporal walked into the barracks. “You are requested in the captain’s office—the whole team.”
Brock chuckled and grabbed his gear. “Come on, boys. No rest for the weary.”
“Yeah, yeah,” his teammate replied. “We can sleep when we’re dead.”
Brock grinned and did a gruff imitation of the captain’s voice. “Which is not today.”
They filed into their commander’s office and stood at attention in a line in front of his desk when he called them in.
The captain nodded and waved his hand. “At ease, boys. I want to start out by congratulating you. That was some fine work you did out there today. They told me that even after two of your brothers went down, you continued to fight. I’m proud of you all.”
“Thank you, sir,” they replied in unison.
“That is part of the reason why you are standing here in front of me now.” The captain stood up and walked over to his window, where he faced out with his hands laced behind his back. “Orders for a special operation were just handed down to me; orders regarding an international effort with European forces. Boys, you’re going to go show France how we do things over here.”
Brock kept his face straight, but his heart soared. This was the big leagues he’d been thinking of. He would get to stick it to the demons, no matter where in the world the bastards sprang up.
The captain turned along the line and looked each man in the eyes before he continued speaking. “You have the training and the skills, and we have a new battle on our hands. Our old buddy Moloch has invaded France, and the United States is sending a large contingent over there to help out.”
One of the men queried, “Sir, if I may ask, why are we saving the French? They didn’t appreciate us too much for World War II.”
The captain looked up at the ceiling, his lips moving silently in a prayer for patience. “They did at the time, soldier. Younger generations may forget, but those who were there, men like my father, did not. They were brave men, and heroes all. Men who saw the truth under the fear, and didn’t let nationality keep them from saving lives.” The chastised soldier nodded and looked down. The captain raised a finger. “But, beyond all that, it isn’t for you to question who and why, but to do and...”
“Die?” Brock supplied.
“No, kick ass!” The captain smirked. “Get your gear in order, check in with your unit commander, and for God’s sake be safe out there. More than that, make sure that everyone else is safe. I know you boys are bone-weary. I know that all any of you want is some hot chow and a good solid week of rack time. However, boys, you are being called to fight for the greatest nation in the world, the United States of America, for the greatest cause there ever was—humanity’s freedom. You can sleep when you’re dead, which is not today. Dismissed.”
The team held back their snickers and snapped a smart salute to the captain before they all filed out of the office and went back to the barracks. Most of them were pretty excited to be going to Europe. Brock had never been, but he had imagined that when he did it would have been for a concert followed by time to take in the sights.
Of course, these days the sights of Paris or wherever they ended up would be very different from his fantasies of relaxing and soaking up the culture. Shrouds, uniforms, and guns everywhere he looked. Screaming demons instead of screaming fans.
That kind of thing.
As they packed, a few of the guys talked about sleeping the whole way there. One of his teammates packed his uniform into his duffel and clapped his hands together.
Brock threw a pair of socks at them. “Come on, guys, we gotta get stoked about this. Not only are we going overseas, but we also get to kick some serious demon ass. And don’t forget the women.”
“As if we could forget the women,” one guy called.
Another sighed. “Ahh, the women.”
Brock wiggled his eyebrows at his teammates. “That’s right, my friend, Parisian women, all draped in sexy lingerie. Gorgeous. Sexy little accents. You all know Parisian women are famous for knowing a thing or two about making things…interesting. I have always heard that they love American soldiers. I mean, what else could you want?”
French dick, Brock’s demon replied.
In your French-fucking-dreams, he shot back.
The demon laughed, long and low. We’ll see about that, Rambo.
Brock chuckled, and his demon continued to rant in his head as he folded the last of his fatigues and carefully packed them in his duffel. He didn’t know about the French women. That would depend on his demon. What he did know was that if whatever they were walking into was truly orchestrated by Moloch, the last thing they were going to be thinking about was women.
Survival would be the game of the day, and he was determined to survive whatever the bastard threw at him.
5
Timothy yawned as he walked into the IT room. The only light came from the monitors he stared at for fifteen hours a day. He knew that he was perpetuating every geek stereotype by creating his own version of the secret lairs in the comics he’d loved as a kid. He probably would have even cared, if not for the way he felt when he had all the information available with a few keystrokes.
The legitimacy made him feel powerful, in a way. All that information and intel at his fingers, and he didn’t have to worry about the cops busting down his mother’s door and hauling him out of the basement. He had found the career he’d always wanted. He just happened to have a demon tagging along for the ride.
He spun around in his chair and grabbed a can of soda from the mini-fridge he had bought and installed in there before turning back to the screens. Raw data scrolled down one, too fast to see, another showed phone calls being tapped, yet another was filled with a barrage of keyword results from message scrapers, and maps of different battles up on screens to his right.
He was able to monitor every single ongoing battle, since his link to the satellites gave him a real-time play by play of the events. Timothy propped his feet on the desk and frowned at his red loafers. There was a black mark across the top of one again. He couldn’t figure out how the hell it kept happening. He rolled his eyes and licked his thumb to scrub the smudge away.
He sighed. “A girl can’t even feel beautiful in this damn place.”
He finished his Mountain Dew, crushed the can, and tossed it into the recycling bin. He wasn’t sure if they would actually ever recycle them, but he was determined to do his part. If he was going to be a daytime intel guy, he was going to make sure that he lived up to his idea of that.
The manila envelope the IRS agent had given him with the tax documents was burning a hole in his desk. He slid it over and opened it, then pulled the contents out and began to read them for the third time.
The first page was an audit summons. It explained that she was going to be undergoing audits from the IRS, and that she would be required to provide the necessary documents to prove both her income and her expenditures.
He flipped a few pages into it and grabbed a highlighter. They had her bank records, her statements, and a log of every job she had gotten paid for, even if it was paid in cash. The woman was rolling in dough.
Timothy had figured she was rich, but he didn’t know she was that damn rich. He started to highlight every income and big purchase she had made in the last year. She got paid for completing jobs, for working for the mercs, for every rogue dem
on she killed outside of those parameters, and the big one, her profits from the armory, which had exploded after Incursion Day.
Timothy whistled and fanned himself with the stacks of paper. “That’s a bunch!”
He wheeled himself over to the desk and went through the timeline. It was only recently that the IRS had pulled her death certificate, although they hadn’t alerted any of her family. With the new way the world was working against the demons, the mercenaries and the Damned no longer had to hide in the shadows if they didn’t want to. They were considered tax-paying citizens just like anyone else, only their job was a little more peculiar than most.
Timothy wanted to know exactly what they were doing, and how they were going to screw Katie out of the most money possible. He knew the government would try to milk her for every penny, even though in his mind she shouldn’t have to pay a dime of it. They even had that special rule where the mercs didn’t have to pay taxes, although that wasn’t part of the IRS code but rather a private agreement that had come down from on high. As he flipped through the papers, he finally found the date Katie’s death certificate had been withdrawn. He then backtracked through every income statement and added up the total at the end. In reality, if she were to have to pay, it should only be on the income from the last few months. Although that was a big number, it wasn’t anywhere close to what they were asking.
Timothy seethed. It was the government that had pushed her to survive any way that she could. There was no way they could legally expect her to pay taxes on money she’d earned when in the United States’ eyes she didn’t technically exist. The number that they were projecting put her in the market for some serious prison time, as well as possible charges of attempting to defraud the government.
On top of that, they were paying very close attention to the armory, which they‘d discovered despite its clandestine status. Timothy wondered how, when the armory didn’t even have a business tax ID.
If they found a way to include the company in the audit they could get her on embezzlement charges, using the jet for personal gain, and taking the profit and investing it into the mercs, which a rogue team and a personal expense in their eyes was. They had her by the short hairs, and something about that was really fishy. Most of the time the IRS fucked with people who had neglected to pay taxes for years, sometimes even decades—not a half-dead/half-alive person who hadn’t filed one for a single year. In truth, all she had to file for legally was four months for the last tax season.
Timothy put down the papers and narrowed his eyes. He was pissed, and he wasn’t going to just stand by and let them railroad Katie like that. She was the leader of the most important mercenary group in history, and somebody was out to get her.
All that remained to be seen was whether Timothy could get them first.
Katie sat back in the car on the ride from the local airport to the base. She’d hired a car to take her back instead of relying on the military. She was only going to be there for thirty-six hours, there was no need to pull out all the stops for a flying visit. She had to admit that it felt good to be home. It seemed like she had been away for an eternity.
Katie noticed the driver’s nervous grip tighten on the steering wheel when the gates came into sight. “You can stop and turn around at the gate. I’ll get a ride the rest of the way,” she told him. She couldn’t let anyone who hadn’t been cleared into the compound. The driver was employed by a service that General Brushwood used so she knew she could trust him this far, but no farther than that.
Katie climbed out of the car, grabbed her bags from the trunk, and got into the waiting Humvee with the soldier who greeted her. They rode in the Humvee back to the elevator, and she took it down to the main level. As she passed the common room, Timothy emerged from the doorway with a big grin on his face.
“The Queen has arrived.” He ran over to hug her. “Girl, it is so good to see you. I feel like I’m trapped in some underground bunker waiting out the apocalypse, unsure if the people above are zombies or not. I would not look good as a zombie.”
Katie laughed and returned Timothy’s hug. “Hey. Don’t get too used to it, I’m just here to visit with my mom and let her know I’m alive.”
Timothy pursed his lips. “Ooh, that doesn’t sound fun at all. I’d rather stay dead to my family. They never really appreciated me anyway, the bunch of redneck idiots.”
Katie shifted her bags on her shoulder. “Yes, but your face isn’t the one plastered all over the news.”
“True, sister, so true.” Timothy held up a finger. “Let me just say though, your ass looked superb on that screen.”
I told you.
Katie ignored Pandora. “Thanks. So, anything new going on I should know about it before I head back to get changed and go see my mom?”
Timothy shook his head quickly. “Ummm, nope. Nothing I can think of that screams Queen Katie.”
“Good.” She sighed. “I need a few moments without some crazy crisis going off. I’ll get back with you in a bit. I need to go get showered and changed.”
“Ten-four,” Timothy replied, sitting back down at the table.
Why didn’t you tell her about the IRS? his demon asked.
Because she is super stressed. She’s holding together like ten jobs, fighting demons no one else can touch and I don’t want to be the reason she gets those little lines on her forehead. Besides, that is the entire reason she has a support staff—to take care of the all the bullshit and only pass it to her if it’s necessary. This has not yet become necessary.
Katie lugged her bags to her suite and dumped them on the bed. She didn’t bother to unpack since she wasn’t going to be there that long. She went through her closet and pulled out a pair of jeans, a white boho top, and a pair of thong sandals with white lace on the top. She showered and got dressed, then pulled her hair back halfway like she had back when she was a student. She ran the brush through the shiny black strands, staring at herself in the mirror.
You gonna put some makeup on? Pandora asked.
I don’t think so. My mom always hated it when I wore makeup. She said my face was too pretty to hide behind a mask. I’ll just go looking the way it will make her most comfortable. I don’t want her feeling she is in The Twilight Zone or Walking Dead.
Probably a good idea. Can I ask you a question?
Surrrre, Katie replied carefully. As long as it has nothing to do with dicks. I’ve had enough dicks for one day.
Not nearly enough, Pandora replied under her breath. But that’s not what I want to talk about. I guess I’m wondering how you will feel if your mom doesn’t love or accept you the way you are? I mean, she thought you were dead, but you’re not. She thought you were a normal girl, but you share your body with the literal wife of Satan. She thought you would be like a businesswoman or something, but instead, you kick demon ass for a living. It will be a lot for her to take in. Are you prepared for that?
You may be right. She may be completely overwhelmed, but I don’t think it will be any worse than if she sees a close-up picture of me online or on the news. That’s the kind of shock that lands people in the hospital with a heart attack. She’s my mother, and even if I rolled up all tits and heavy eye makeup, she would know it was me in a heartbeat.
I just want you to be realistic when you go in there, that’s all. I want you to be prepared that she may not accept Katie 2.0.
Try Katie 9.0, because I am very different from the girl I used to be. You know, I almost feel like she was someone I knew in another life.
Exactly, and I don’t want you to be hurt if she rejects you. You may be genetically Katie, and you may still have all those memories, and your heart is still beating, but in a way, when you became Damned and joined the mercs, you were reborn.
That’s deep, Pandora. Katie laughed. I think I created a monster...or at least a bigger monster. A demon who has empathy and cares—that’s definitely not something I ever thought I would say.
Okay, okay, stop rubbing it in
my face. See if I comfort you again.
Well, if my own mom doesn’t love me anymore, at least I can say I’m loved by a demon.
You’re pushing it a little too far.
When Sofia decided to go to college in the States, her parents went to San Diego and purchased a small two-bedroom bungalow in Imperial Beach. It was a secluded little town, the beach was literally across the street, and she would have everything she needed. She was close enough to the bus line to get in and out of the city. There was even a coffee shop, Katy’s Coffee, which had the quintessential chilled beach vibe, and a bar right down the road. She never spent much time at the bar, but the owner of Katy’s Coffee was an adorable middle-aged blond woman who was a hell of a surfer. Even with the crazy traffic her shop got, she personally cooked everyone’s breakfast and made their coffee too. It was a safe and secure place for their daughter, and Sofia loved it.
Calvin and Sofia had gone for an early morning stroll down the beach to the IB pier, where they watched the fisherman catch and release. Some of the surfers were already out, catching the small breaks that hit at the pier’s edge. It was a gorgeous California morning, just like it was almost every day of the year.
They stopped by the coffee shop on the way home and grabbed a cup of tea and some Acai Granola bowls and headed back to eat on the porch.
“I could get used to a place like this.” Calvin smiled as he followed her up the walk and into the house.
She kicked her shoes off at the door and pulled him inside. “I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t come here. It’s picture-perfect.” She danced barefoot through the house and into the kitchen to look for a spoon.
Calvin watched her move. He loved the way her personality had really begun to shine through as she opened up to him.
A sudden noise distracted him. He glanced at the back window just in time to catch the shadow darken it. He strained to hear the hushed whispers outside.
