CHAPTER 25
I used one of the filthy bathrooms to clean up. I took my helmet off and my hair was damp with sweat, salt in my eyes. My hands were shaking from coming off the adrenaline rush. I was covered in grit and sticky blood, a lot of which I wasn’t even sure who I’d gotten it from. I splashed some water on my face from the sink. I was dying of thirst. I’d not worn my CamelBak to save weight—I hadn’t thought I’d need it fighting in our own backyard—but since the water turned out to be kind of rust-colored and smelled funny, I didn’t dare drink any of it. Everything hurt. I really wanted to take my armor off and check the burns from the Drekavac’s bullets, but since there were a bunch of armed guards still watching me, that struck me as a bad idea.
True to his word, Stricken let us keep our weapons, which was really surprising. I’d seen Franks in action. If he wanted to kill every man here, he could probably do it without getting hurt too badly. I half expected to come out of the washroom to find a pile of dismembered bodies and Franks picking through them for replacement organs for any of his that had gotten shot in the process, but the garage was the same as before.
Thankfully, there was a cooler full of bottled waters that hopefully hadn’t been filled out of the local tap, so I grabbed one. With the guards watching me carefully, I walked up to Franks so we could speak quietly. Nobody tried to stop me. “You’re being awfully cooperative.”
“I got reasons.”
“You mean orders.”
Franks just raised an eyebrow, but the way he did it told me that he hadn’t misspoke.
“Wait. You’re going along with Stricken’s bullshit on your own accord? I figured Coslow had ordered you to.”
“Priorities,” he muttered.
So Franks was in the same boat I was: Deal with the pending supernatural mass casualty event first, revenge second. I could get with that plan. Knowing that Franks had unnaturally good hearing, I lowered my voice so our observers wouldn’t hear. “You know Stricken will off us the second he doesn’t need us anymore.”
“Yep.”
Great. We just needed to figure out exactly when that moment was that we didn’t need Stricken anymore so we could kill him first. “Okay. Follow my lead.”
Franks snorted at that. He wasn’t much of a follower.
Sonya came out of the other bathroom, drying her hands on a rag. She came over to stand by me and Franks. “This sucks.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t knock out one of your shadows and try to sneak out wearing his face.”
“My abilities only do so much for overall size. I wouldn’t make a convincing man who is four inches taller and forty pounds heavier than me. Plus, I look terrible with a mustache.” Sonya extended one hand toward Franks. “You must be Agent Franks. I’m Sonya.”
Franks just stared at her until she awkwardly put her hand down. I knew those feels.
About half the soldiers kept an eye on us, while the other half got three SUVs ready. When the doors were open I could see that they were armored, with extra-thick bulletproof glass, and there were weapons stored in the back of each. I’m sure the local authorities frowned on trunks full of machine guns but Stricken had probably already paid off whoever needed bribing. One thing was troubling though. I didn’t like how nervous the men looked, because their nerves weren’t just because of us new arrivals. They were a lot more worried about whatever was outside the garage than what was inside with them, especially considering one of the things inside was Franks . . .
“So what do we do now?” Sonya asked.
“We play along and see where this goes. Do exactly what I say.” She started to give me some smart-ass response, but I cut her off. “I’m not screwing around anymore. We’re a long way from home. If you’d done what you were supposed to at the compound, we wouldn’t be in this mess. When the time comes, we have to count on each other or we’re not making it out of the jungle alive.”
“I don’t even want to go to any jungle! I just want this thing out of me before it kills me.”
“Then you probably should have thought of that before you tried to escape and leave the rest of us hanging. And before you make any excuses about the succubus grabbing you out of the cell, I know about the map you stole from the archives.” It was obvious my knowing about that surprised her. “You were going to make a run for it no matter what.”
“I was just covering my bases.”
“I’m not buying it. You want to survive, we have to trust each other. Speaking of which,” I turned back to Franks. “You and the succubus . . . ”
“It’s complicated.”
Complicated was a step up from classified. We were making progress. “I gathered that.”
“That’s who called me on the phone at the country store,” Sonya said. “To make that offer tricking me to go see that lich.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely. You heard her. I’ve got an amazing vocal range and even I’m kinda jealous. She’d make a killing as a phone sex operator.”
“Why’d your girlfriend send her to get killed by a lich, Franks?”
“Ex.” Not that I’d expected Franks to expound on his relationship status further, but he nodded toward the door to warn me that Stricken had returned.
Stricken had ditched the combat gear and was back in a suit and tie. That outfit seemed more fitting because this was a man who preferred to delegate the trigger pulling to underlings. He was more of a schemer than a doer. The reason he’d been the one to confront us in Alabama probably had something to do with how complicated the portal magic was. If he’d been able to delegate it to someone else, he more than likely would have.
“Mount up.” Stricken gestured toward the vehicles. The three of us started walking toward the SUV in the middle. “Nope. Each of our new recruits in a different ride. I hate to put too many eggs in one basket. Sonya, you’re with me.”
I didn’t like being separated and isolated from the others, but I was committed now. There would have been a lot of easier ways for Stricken to get the Ward without loading us into a convoy as some elaborate ruse. Franks shrugged and went to the lead vehicle.
“Be careful,” I told Sonya, because there had to be a reason that crafty bastard wanted a moment with her. “Don’t tell him anything he can use against you later—or he will. Good luck.”
Sonya nodded, wide-eyed and nervous.
Then I went to the last truck in line. “I’ve got shotgun.”
“You ain’t got shit.” The Texan pointed toward the backseat. “Get in back.” He got in the passenger seat.
I sat behind him. If he wanted to be a douche, then he could get the tall guy’s knees in his back the whole ride. There was one man in the rear serving as trunk monkey, meaning he had a belt-fed in case our convoy got attacked from behind. One of the soldiers was driving. Another sat across from me. Except then the succubus showed up. “Scoot over.”
“Don’t you want to ride with Franks?”
“I don’t think he’s in the mood to talk to me right now.”
“How’s that different? He doesn’t talk to anybody ever.”
“True. He’s not much of a communicator. Now make room.”
I slid to the middle so Lana could get in. It took her a moment to fold her wings out of the way. The presence of the demon seemed to make everyone else really uncomfortable, especially since she made a big show of trying to fit the seat belt over her ample bosom. A few of the soldiers couldn’t help but stare at her, which seemed to energize her. The driver touched the cross on his neck chain and kept his eyes straight ahead, which meant he was the smartest one here.
“Lana would be the funnest but final minutes of your life, boys. She ain’t worth it,” the Texan warned. I didn’t know if the soldiers spoke much English, but they got the message. “Focus on the job.”
“You’re no fun, Jim.”
“No, ma’am. I am not.”
The garage door rolled up and our convoy headed out. I had to resist the urge to start whistling the convoy song. That was all Milo’s fault. I’d have that stuck in my head for the rest of my life.
I didn’t know what time zone we were in—it was still dark out—but it felt like that really tired time of the night, close to sunrise, so we had to be a few hours ahead of Alabama. There was a clock on the dash, and it confirmed my guess. It said 4:45 A.M.
“Jim, is it?”
“You can call me Mr. Curtis.”
“What are daylight hours here?”
“About five-thirty to eighteen-thirty.” I’d figured him for former military. Earl had told me Unicorn’s human handlers were always recruited that way, sort of like my dad had been. “Why?”
“Nothing.” I was just trying to figure out what the window was before I had to worry about the Drekavac again. There was no way he was going to give up. Assuming my friends hadn’t removed him from the equation, he’d be back. I doubted he’d be able to get here and do anything before dawn. The window was too narrow and closing fast, but tomorrow night was a different story.
“He’s worried about the Drekavac,” Lana said. “Stricken didn’t tell you that he’s torn up his contract and he’s coming after us now. He took it personal.”
Curtis let out a frustrated sigh. “The boss doesn’t tell us anything.”
“That’s because you work for an asshole,” I said.
“Yeah, but unlike most of the assholes I’ve worked for over the years, Stricken actually does what needs doing.” He looked back over his shoulder at me. “And you’re here too. So I guess we’re both suckers.”
He had me there.
Stricken’s hideout was in a really bad part of town. The streets were narrow and disintegrating into dirt and potholes. The regular buildings were mismatched and rotting, and in every available space between, and even on top of them, had been built shacks slapped together out of whatever was available.
“Great neighborhood,” I said.
“We needed to set up at the nexus of some ley lines—those are like underground rivers of supernatural energy—in order to power the thing that brought you here. This favela was the only place in the region available that met our needs. The others were unavailable or had too many witnesses around.”
“There was another nexus that was next door to a five-star resort with a great dance club and some really nice restaurants,” Lana said, “but Stricken said that wasn’t clandestine enough. Oh, the sacrifices I make for you poor dumb humans.”
“That nexus was inside a church that’s still in use,” Curtis said. “You would have caught on fire the second you came through the portal.”
“Worth it. The resort has a very nice pool.”
“I think you’d stick out there,” I said.
“Of course I would. That’s the point.”
“I meant the wings and the fangs.”
“Not into that?” Lana laughed. “This is my fighting body. Give me a few minutes to change into something more comfortable and I can look like whatever you want. We could have some fun.”
My response was reflexive. “I’m married.”
“You have no idea how many times I’ve been told that over the centuries.” I felt her hand touch my thigh. “It never works.”
She had some kind of magic aura or was secreting pheromones or something that made her extra hot, but I smacked her hand off my leg. Only it turned out not to be her hand, but rather the end of her tail. “Knock it off. I’m here to stop a massacre. That’s the only reason I’m putting up with Stricken’s bullshit. I don’t have time for yours too. Keep your . . . appendages to yourself.”
“Too bad.” The succubus pouted, but she did swing her tail out of sight. “I was just trying to be friends. We’re the same. I was coerced into this little adventure against my will too. I had a good thing going until Franks screwed it up and I got dragged back into this life.”
“Tragic.” I concentrated on looking out the opposite window.
Shacks climbed up the hillsides around us with thickly wooded hills beyond them. It was so early there weren’t many people out, but there were some barefoot little kids and skinny stray dogs. It was nothing but graffiti and mud and razor-wire-topped chain-link fences as far as the eye could see. We were going surprisingly fast considering how curvy and narrow the road was, but if we hit a pedestrian, Stricken would probably just toss some cash out the window and the cops would call it good. I’ve visited a lot of places around the world, but this was the biggest slum I’d ever seen.
“Bingo.” Curtis got on his radio. “I just saw a lookout on a roof watching us with binos. Could be the local drug lord’s people, or it could be the cultists.”
I couldn’t hear Stricken’s response, but it must have been to switch to an alternate route, because our lead SUV suddenly braked and turned. We followed it into an even narrower street.
“You expecting trouble?”
“Maybe. The Old Ones and Asag are fighting a shadow war here. I’d love to let them duke it out, but unfortunately, they’re doing it on Earth, and people are just collateral damage. But their worshippers don’t see it that way, and they’ll do anything to stop us from meddling in their affairs.”
Curtis had used his radio, which meant we were away from the jammer or they’d shut it off. I got out my phone to text my team. It was a good thing I’d kept my international plan because of all the travel I’d had to do in preparation for the siege, so it should work here.
I am in Rio with Sonya and Franks.
I hit send. Thought about it a second, because this next bit was complicated, so I just wrote, Going with Stricken to stop big event in Amazon.
A few seconds later, I got a message back from Julie. Are you a prisoner?
Kinda. Shrug emoji.
Tracking your position. We’ll come help. It will take a while. Be careful. And then Julie sent me a heart.
“Awww. Cute,” said the succubus who was watching over my shoulder.
“Buzz off,” I told Lana while I typed, Casualties?
A few, Julie responded. You can’t worry about that right now though.
I took a deep breath. She was right. There wasn’t anything I could do for them anyway. There was some comfort in knowing that if it had been someone on our team, she would have told me. MHI were my people, but my team that I constantly risked my life with was closer than family. Did you kill the last Drek? I hit send.
The little bubbles popped up to show that Julie was typing something.
“Ambush!” Curtis shouted.
I looked up just in time to see something streaking toward our lead SUV. The engine block exploded. The shredded vehicle swerved hard to the side, crashing into a building made of scrap lumber and cinder blocks. It stopped with most of its back end blocking half the road. Smoke billowed into the street. The other drivers hit their brakes.
The visibility was bad. Our attackers had probably smashed most of the lights in prep, but I could see gun barrels being hung out of doorways and windows. There were a bunch of loud pops as bullets hit our car. The armored glass fractured into weird shapes but didn’t break. There was a man running across a rooftop carrying a long tube with a bulbous end.
“RPG. Four o’clock high.”
“Go. Drive!” Curtis ordered.
Except the second car had stopped and was totally blocking the way forward. Our driver threw it in reverse and stomped on the gas. A split second later our front window was washed in fire and dirt as the warhead hit where we’d just been.
Our trunk monkey was shouting something in Portuguese, but the warning was too late, as we slammed our rear end into the container truck that had just pulled out behind us. It was a sudden and violent stop. I think I might’ve gotten whiplash. I looked back to see that a big chunk of broken metal had punched through our back window and nailed the machine-gunner in the face. He was holding his eye and screaming. Everybody else was yelling at our driver in English and Portuguese. He put it in drive, but our tires spun uselessly. Our bumper was stuck.
Trucks had boxed us in on both sides. We were sitting ducks. They must have set up on more than one route to wait for us. Their bullets were bouncing off our armor for now but those rocket-propelled grenades would rip us apart. Our only hope was to hit back. I had a perfectly good precision rifle sitting between my knees and no way to use it. “We’ve got to fight!”
The merc to my left reacted too slow. But Lana opened her door and jumped out. Instead of running for cover she leapt straight up, and with two wing beats had launched herself into the sky. The wings weren’t just for show.
I crawled out and hid behind the heavy door. If I’d had any doubt that the truck driver who had pulled out behind us was some innocent bystander in the wrong place at the wrong time, those doubts vanished as he stuck a subgun out his window and launched a hail of bullets into our roof. I shouldered Cazador and fired twice. Holes appeared in his door and he flopped from view.
There was a lot of gunfire. I picked out the muzzle flashes across the street and started shooting. I went as fast as I could. Put the reticle on one, fire, swing to the next, fire, swing to the next, fire. I didn’t know if I was hitting anyone. We were sitting ducks, outnumbered, surrounded, and basically fucked.
Except suddenly fire arced across the sky above us. I thought it was a flamethrower at first, but it was the succubus’ whip. She was spinning, slicing fire across the favela in a widening circle. When her whip hit flesh, it sliced smoking chunks of bodies. When it hit wood it set the surrounding structures on fire. She hadn’t been exaggerating about getting some fighting upgrades!
Our ambushers turned their guns upward, forcing Lana to dive out of sight, but that momentary distraction had probably saved our ass. The men in Stricken’s vehicle had bailed out and were shooting back too. They’d been trained to fight through an ambush.
Men rushed out of the burning buildings on both sides. Bright weapon-mounted flashlights illuminated our convoy. I concentrated on the ones who were on my side of the car, because there was nothing between me and their bullets besides the door I was crouching behind, and shot at the lights.
One of my targets spun around, illuminating his friends. They were all dressed the same. Not in wacky cultist garb, or even normal clothing so that they could blend in with the populace, but rather they were all in the same black uniform, like some kind of police or military unit.
Oh shit.
It didn’t matter who they were as much as the fact they were trying to kill us. They weren’t interested in taking prisoners. There was a terrible snap as a really big bullet zipped through our front window. Our driver popped like a blood-filled water balloon.
“They’ve got a fifty!” Curtis shouted.
Another huge bullet hit our grill and ripped through our engine block. Antifreeze sprayed out of the hole. The next shot obliterated our battery.
But I’d spotted that big flash from the sniper rifle’s muzzle brake. It was on the roof of a building half a block away. I couldn’t pick out the shooter with my naked eye, but my scope gathered enough light that I could make out the shape of his head. I aimed and brained that motherfucker.
The lead car had been shredded, wrecked, and had caught on fire. That rocket hit had probably killed everybody inside—everybody human at least—because then one of the doors was kicked violently open, and out came Franks, rifle up, and he went to town, dropping dudes left and right as he moved toward the truck that was blocking our way. It was frightening that somebody that big could be that fast.
Curtis had bailed out ahead of me and was using the engine for cover as he returned fire at our attackers. The other back seat merc should have bailed out my door because it was shielded from most of the gunfire, but instead he got out his side, and immediately got riddled with bullets. Our trunk monkey was smarter and crawled out behind me.
Franks reached the blocker truck. The driver stuck a pistol out the window to shoot at him, but Franks was too fast, and shot him in the head. He opened the door, flung the body out, climbed in, and started backing the truck up. Our path was about to be cleared, but our ride was dead in the water.
Curtis realized the same thing. “Move to the next. I’ll cover you.”
I got up and ran while Curtis fired over the hood.
Another RPG gunner rose on the rooftop across the street, but before I could shoot him, Lana fell out of the sky and collided with him, flinging the man screaming over the edge. Then she swiftly launched herself back into the air.
I reached the back of Stricken’s truck and took a knee. One of the Brazilians was lying there, dead. There was movement in one of the favela’s windows to my right, followed by a whole lot of machine-gun fire. Another of the men who had been riding with Stricken got nailed in the face. I flinched as I got hit with skull chunks, then dumped the rest of my mag through that window and the machine gun went quiet. I yanked a fresh mag and performed a fast reload. Ready to shoot again, I bellowed, “Move!”
Curtis and the trunk monkey ran toward us. The merc got hit in the back and fell. Rather than keep running to safety, Curtis turned back, grabbed him by the arm, hoisted him up, and dragged him along. I nailed the man who had shot him. Curtis shoved the wounded Brazilian through the door and climbed in after. That was it. I jumped on the running boards and banged my fist on the roof. “Drive! Drive!”
We took off.
Franks—being Franks—stubbornly shot people until the last possible instant, and then caught hold of our passing vehicle and hopped aboard. He was on one side, I was on the other, and even as projectiles were landing all around us, Franks kept on shooting his SCAR with one hand and effortlessly holding on with the other. I had to use both hands to keep from getting bounced off, because Stricken would certainly leave us to die in some trash-filled ditch.
I looked back. The light from our lead SUV’s burning gas tank revealed a bunch of black-uniformed men running out into the street to take potshots after us. One of them caught my attention. He wasn’t shooting. He was shouting orders. That was clearly the one in charge. I only caught a brief glimpse of him, an imposing man in a black beret with a beard, but there was something oddly familiar about him.
Then we were out of sight.