Weston Ochse - Reign of Evil

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.

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 talk 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.”