Weston Ochse - SEAL Team 666 - A Novel

When the tablet was finally synced with the sniffer, Walker and Laws took in the fish-eye image of the other room. Walker was taken aback. At first it looked as if the ceiling was dripping blood. But the resolution and the focus came and went as the sniffer tried to adjust the picture for the low red light. What looked like blood on closer inspection appeared to be long red ChemLights, dangling from the rough-hewn ceiling of the room. He’d used ChemLights since he’d been in the Navy but he’d never seen them used by anyone outside the service, except maybe at raves. To see the cylindrical plastic tubes that when broken emit a colored light here in a pirates’ cave infested with Triad enforcers made the event seem surreal. Then, when he saw the skittering of a small orange figure, it went from surreal to grotesque.

“Homunculus,” he said.

“I figured one would be here,” Laws said.

Walker saw several more orange blurs. “I’d say there’s more than one. We might be in trouble.” The image of a gang of demonic Stretch Armstrongs slinging themselves from the top rope of his imagination like whacked-out serial-killer midget professional wrestlers wrenched his vision back to his compatriots. He knew this wasn’t going to end well.

33

IMPERIAL BEACH. PIRATES’ CAVE.

A heavy stench of unwashed bodies and saltwater rot filled the air. The room was more or less what Surrey had prepared them for. It had been water-carved from the rock, which even now wept moisture. The ground was concrete, but had been covered with so much dirt and detritus that it was a mottling of grunge atop the concrete gray. There’d been rows of cots along one wall that had been hastily shoved to the back of the room. The strangest thing about their view into the room was that they didn’t see anyone. Walker couldn’t even make out the homunculus that he’d spotted just a few seconds ago, which meant that there must be more to the room than they were seeing.

Laws saw it first. “Look. See the darkness there … and there.”

Walker discerned it the moment Laws pointed it out. Twin ovals of darkness in the far wall that could be cave openings, large recesses, or deeper caverns. But seeing into either of them was impossible. Then he had an idea.

“Wait for me,” he whispered. Then he stood, grabbed a broken chair leg, and began to hammer at the overhead lights. The ICE agents, Agent Stephens, and Surrey covered their heads and moved out of the way.

Soon they were in darkness, the only light leaking from the door at the top of the stairs and the red ChemLights dangling in the other room. It would have to do.

“Laws, ever play video games?” Walker asked. The view of the room and the cave openings was considerably lighter, but he still couldn’t make out any figures.

“Uh, yeah. Does Super Mario Brothers count?”

“Dude. My mother plays that,” Yaya said.

“Do you listen to Tears for Fears too?” Ruiz stage-whispered.

“Does Spandau Ballet count?”

“For God’s sake,” Walker laughed softly. “Then you get to take the MP5. Activate your laser targeter; I got an idea.”

Laws handed the tablet to Walker, who immediately switched it to infrared. On the tablet screen, the walls of the room turned purple. The edges of the cave openings turned yellow, sliding through the spectrum toward a dark green, then went to black. Shapes appeared as mottled orange and red. Where there were none before, Walker now counted six. They seemed to be huddled behind darker objects, which by their shapes could have been boxes, televisions, or engine blocks … anything as long as it was square.

“Laws, see if you can aim the MP5 into the room.”

“I can’t see what I’m aiming at.”

“But I can. Just aim and I’ll adjust your fire. You’re my joystick.”

Ruiz snickered over the MBITR.

Laws did as he was told, angling the weapon awkwardly so that he couldn’t see where he was aiming. Suddenly a line of raw red laser energy pierced the infrared darkness, spearing a dark wall toward the rear of the room.

“Shift aim left, slowly track until I say stop.”

Walker watched the screen as the line of light shifted from the wall toward one of the openings containing several orange-hued figures.

“Down a little. There. Continue left. And … there! Stop. Two rounds.”

Laws double-tapped.

A figure on the screen went flying backwards and disappeared from view.

“Left again. Stop. Fire.”

Another dropped from view.

He spied a head poking around a corner, the red and orange orb obvious against the cold rock.

“Up. Left. Up. No down. Left a hair more. Nice. Fire.”

The head evaporated in a spray of red and orange.

Suddenly the people in the other cavity opened fire, the flashes momentarily blinding both the sensors and Walker.

Laws pulled back just in the nick of time as the remainder of the counter evaporated in a hungry hail of bullets.

Walker switched back to real vision just in time to see gunfire emanating from behind the stack of cots. There was probably a third opening behind that one, from which more Triad enforcers were firing.

The firing subsided. Walker was about to tell Laws to return to his position when he felt a tug on the tablet. He paused, not knowing what was going on. Then he felt a harder tug, then a jerk, as if he were fishing and had a lunker on the end of the line. He gripped the tablet with both hands and pulled back, leaning with his weight to help. It came with him, and on the end, gripping the sniffer with both hands, was a homunculus.

The orange creature’s eyes narrowed. It spit at him, and the liquid burned as it touched his cheek. Then the creature growled, adjusted its grip, and pulled so hard that Walker fell forward on his face. He tried to hold on, but his position didn’t allow it.

Their technological superiority had just disappeared. He heard a chorus of growls coming from the other room.

“Wha—what is that?” asked the younger of the ICE agents.

“I lost the sniffer, boss,” Walker said.

“You lost it? How?”

As Walker heard the growls, he got to his feet. “Draw your knives,” he said, as if he were a Civil War general commanding his men to fix bayonets. The quarters was too close for ranged weapons. “They’re coming.” He drew his knife and shoved his pistol in his shoulder holster.

“What’s coming?” the FBI agent asked.

“Homunculi,” he muttered. “Fucking Freddy Krueger Chucky Doll Stretch Armstrongs all rolled into one, so your ass better be ready.”

“Backs to the walls,” Laws commanded.

Walker thought that was a great idea. With his back now to the steel door, he stood beside Ruiz.

The growls were becoming louder. They could hear an unidentifiable shuffling from the next room.

Ruiz cursed. “Cemetery Ridge,” he whispered.

Walker recognized the reference. They’d all had the same classes in BUD/S. The West Virginian was talking about none other than Pickett’s Charge—fifteen thousand men charging the defenses of Cemetery Ridge in Gettysburg. He’d always wondered how those men on the ridge felt seeing the force advance across the field toward them. He didn’t have to wonder anymore.

“Fuck. NVGs,” Laws yelled just as the creatures from the other room began to scream like howler monkeys.

Walker powered up his NVGs. Within seconds, the room was a placid green. A moment later that green was spoiled by a dozen scrambling figures with impossibly long arms.

Ruiz, Yaya, and Walker were in the best positions, with their backs against the walls. The wave of homunculi swept past them and onto the four agents who’d tagged along. Four beasts attacked each person, ripping and wrenching with claws, biting and jerking and pulling. The room was filled with human and demon screams, one in agony and the other in ecstasy.