They just wanted to be left alone.
The air smelled like smoke.
The orc village was just a circle of simple prefab houses, decorated with antlers, animal skulls, and feathers. It was where Skippy’s people lived under the protective umbrella of their adopted clan, MHI. They had come here as refugees, and Harbinger had taken them in. They had made this their home, safe from the world that saw them as freaks and monstrosities. I had been here many times. I’d eaten their food, drank their drink, played with their kids, and listened to their music.
It had been a peaceful place.
Not anymore.
The truck locked up the brakes as we entered the clearing. I leapt over the side before we had even slid to a stop, Abomination ready to dispense some vengeance. The wooden homes were burning, crackling as the flames devoured everything in their path. A giant warg lay dead at my feet, eviscerated by steel claws. Hunters were moving around the houses.
There were more corpses near the homes. Most were Hood’s automatons, as even orc women and children knew how to defend themselves, but some of the crumpled bodies were smaller and dressed all in black.
“Status!” Sam shouted.
A Hunter, so covered in soot, ashes, and blood that I couldn’t even recognize who it was, stepped forward. “Undead destroyed. A handful of cultists are escaping through the forest. We’ve got men after them.”
“Casualties?”
His name tag read southunder. “I . . . I don’t know how many people lived here, but it looks like most of them escaped into the woods. But some tried to stay and fight. They . . . they . . .” The Hunter couldn’t finish his sentence. He had a Utah County MHI patch on his arm, a werewolf with a gun. I’d heard that our Utah team had an orc volunteer on it too, someone who’d grown up in this very village. “I can’t believe this.”
“There were probably two dozen kids that lived here,” Trip said slowly.
I stumbled toward the bodies. Other Hunters were efficiently chopping the heads off the undead and checking for survivors. There weren’t any so far. The smoke was burning my eyes, and involuntary tears cut a path down my cheek.
This was my fault.
A warg and rider tore into the village. The black-clad figure leapt from the beast’s back and ran, tripping, and sprawling next to one of the dead. The orc clawed his way forward, lifting the lacerated little body into his arms. He let out a howl of anguish.
It was a massacre.
“Survivor!” a Hunter bellowed from the far side of the clearing. She was carrying a small form in her arms. Holly, who was a decent medic, ran to help. I watched helplessly as she applied a tourniquet to the young orc’s leg. The foot was just gone.
In an utter state of shock, I found myself trying to assist. Someone pressed a plastic five-gallon bucket into my hands. We managed to use the orcs’ well to douse the flames. I kept throwing water onto the fires in a complete daze, bucket after bucket, in a futile attempt to do something.
The warriors and healers who had come to help at the compound returned, all of them in various states of despair, fury, and grief. Skippy immediately began to bark orders in their hoarse language and the others responded quickly, fanning out into the trees to search for more survivors.
They were a simple people. Brave, good, strong, kind . . . They didn’t deserve this. No one deserved this.
There was a shriek as someone made a discovery in the trees. One of the wargs had picked up the scent and tracked down some of the fleeing orcs. A figure came out of the forest, waving at us, and I could tell it was a female only because of the burkha. A group of short, stubby children emerged behind her. Some of them had lost their masks, and tears rolled down their green cheeks. They were terrified, disheveled, clothing torn and dirty from their flight through the trees.
Skippy ran forward and engulfed her in his arms. One of his wives had led most of the children to safety. Three of the kids charged forward and hugged Skippy’s legs. I tossed one more bucket of water onto the smoldering ashes. The fire was under control, but it was too late for the once-proud village. My injuries were just a dull background throb over the hurt in my soul. My brother was gone, Julie was cursed, Earl was dying, Skippy’s people were decimated, and all because of one fanatic on a mission. All because of me.
Sam grabbed me by the arm and pointed back toward the road. “Feds are coming.”
“The orcs have been through enough. I’ll keep those assholes out of here,” I spat as I threw the bucket on the ground. A black Suburban was pulling into the clearing and I moved to intercept it. The last thing these people needed was the presence of an entity that terrified them—the government.
The passenger door opened and Agent Myers stepped out. It took every bit of self-control I had not to snap Abomination to my shoulder and pump a round of buckshot into his face.
“Pitt! What’s going on here?” he demanded.
“Turn around and get back to the compound,” I ordered. “Now.”
Archer got out of the driver’s seat, obviously shocked at the carnage. Myers glared at me. “My men are in control of the compound. This is an official investigation, and I need to know what’s—”
I got right up in his face. “Get out! Don’t you get it? These people are scared of you. They’ve got more important stuff to deal with right now.”
“Stand down,” Myers said, eyes narrowing dangerously.
“No! You stand down!” I shoved him back into the Suburban. Myers was shocked that I dared to lay hands on him, and the evidence was in the two soot-black handprints on the breast of his cheap suit. “I’m done standing down, asshole!”
Archer moved his hand to his gun. Sam cleared his throat, and the skinny agent glanced over his shoulder to see the big Hunter standing there with a .45-70 cradled in his arms. “Let’s let those two settle their beef. Know what I mean, kid?” Archer nodded slowly as he let go of the butt of his Sig.
Myers tried to dust the ash off his suit. He failed. “I can understand the anger, but if you touch me again, I’ll make sure you go to prison forever. Do you understand me?”
I jerked my thumb toward the grieving orcs. “This is your fault. You took your problem and made it ours, you coward. You lied to us, used us . . .” I was enraged, shaking. I shoved him again. He collided with the Suburban. Myers flinched on impact. “Torres, the asshole scumbag you brought here, he took my brother. My brother! You—”
Despite his mild appearance, Myers was shockingly fast on the draw. The barrel of his revolver appeared under my chin. I froze. He cocked the hammer. “Calm down.” The muzzle was cold against my skin. I was breathing hard, nostrils flaring with each breath as I contemplated snatching his gun and killing him on the spot. The hardness in Myers’ eyes indicated that I would fail. “Listen to me very carefully, Pitt. This isn’t a game. You think I wanted this? You think I wanted these creatures to get hurt, for your family, for MHI to lose men? Of course not. But this is bigger than that, bigger than you, bigger than me. You have no idea how hard the choices are that I have to make.”
“Only when you choose wrong, you’re not the one paying the price.”
“I’ll pass that along to Agent Herzog and my men who died at the amphitheater.” He slowly removed his Smith & Wesson 610 from my neck. A crowd of orcs were regarding us warily. I had no doubt that if Myers had shot me, they would have torn him limb from limb, and he knew it too. He carefully lowered the hammer. “We’ll leave your precious monsters alone. I know I’m their bogeyman. Take a walk with me, Pitt. I think you need to understand what’s at stake here.”
Myers and I stopped at the entrance to the clearing. It was quieter here, but I could still hear the lamentations of the tribe. I was furious. Myers holstered his revolver and pulled out a pack of smokes. He offered one to me. Resisting the urge to cave his skull in, I shook my head.
“I’m trying to quit,” he explained as he lit the cigarette. “Ironic. It was working with Earl that got me hooked on these stup
id things. The good old days . . .” Myers chuckled. “Looks like they’ve come back to haunt us.”
“You know about Hood, then?”
“Franks briefed me.” He shook his head slowly. “I can’t believe it.”
“Well, you better.”
“No . . . That’s impossible. Marty Hood was a good man.” I could sense the consternation in his voice. He really couldn’t wrap his mind around the truth. Myers continued, “He was my friend. Nothing like this cult leader. The Condition is brutal, efficient, psychotic. They’ll stop at nothing to reach their goals.”
“So that’s why you stuck one of their acolytes with me?”
He shrugged. “I saw an opportunity and took it. There were only a handful of my men who could have sold out Agent Patterson. Investigating them turned up nothing. If I questioned them outright, then they’d know I was onto them, and we’d lose our opportunity. But I knew that they wouldn’t be able to resist taking a shot at you.” He waved his hand across the clearing. “I just didn’t expect this level of response.”
I had to fold my arms across my chest. Every fiber of my being wanted to murder him. “You just expected them to pop me. Not a full-on assault.”
“Correct.” Myers said, stone-faced. “Don’t look at me like that. You would have done the same thing.”
“No. I still have my soul.”
Myers tossed his smoke down and ground it out with his wingtip. “When the President himself tells you to stop a death cult, no matter what the cost, then your perspective changes a bit. The Condition is getting ready for something big. Something devastating, called Arbmunep. We don’t even know what it is, some sort of secret weapon, but it’s coming soon. All our intel indicates that this is an Extinction Level Event. Do you know what that even means?”
I shrugged. It sounded pretty bad.
“Poof. Done. Mankind’s done. We’re like the dinosaurs. I’m personally responsible for the defense of my country, and I’ve got the things from Lovecraft’s worst nightmares knocking on the door . . . A soul? You say I don’t have a soul? That’s a luxury for people who don’t have my responsibilities. People who live in the suburbs and take their kids to Little League and walk their dogs have those. I can’t afford a soul.”
There was more yelling from the direction of the village as some of the Hunters returned with more survivors. “What are you going to do about my brother?”
“My men are interrogating some of the surviving cultists now. I’ve got others tearing apart the trucks and undead looking for forensic evidence. All this material came from somewhere. We have access to the best intelligence databases in the world. The Condition’s tipped their hand. You can’t stage an operation of this scale and not leave clues. We’ll track them down for sure.”
That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I wanted results now. “Earl will be gone by then. Mosh will be dead.”
“I’m sorry about them, really I am. But we’re doing everything we can. I can promise you this: we will bring these people to justice.”
“Justice isn’t good enough.”
There was a sudden commotion from the orc village. A group of Hunters walked out of the trees, dragging a few robed cultists behind them. Myers perked up. “Good. More people to question.”
There were three prisoners. Their black robes were torn and muddy. One of them was obviously injured. The Hunters stepped aside as several orcs approached. One of them had a pair of swords on his back, so I recognized Edward immediately. One blade flashed from its sheath as Ed stalked forward with single-minded determination.
“You want to question them, you better hurry,” I suggested. Edward looked like he was about to do the slice and dice.
“Stop! Stop right there!” Myers shouted as he ran back toward the village. “Stop that orc!” Edward either didn’t hear him or didn’t care. The sword sang through the air and one man went down in a spray of blood. Ed was a super-efficient killing machine, but that wasn’t his goal today. The cultist dropped to his knees, one arm missing at the shoulder. He started to scream and Ed took his other arm. “I need them alive!”
Ed paid him no heed. He drove his blade through the pelvis of the next cultist. These men had hurt his tribe. He was their best warrior, and default executioner. The Hunters understood this and stayed out of the way. That didn’t help me get Mosh back though. Ed jerked steel through bone, grinding his sword back and forth, before tearing it violently free. That cultist fell, thrashing.
“Skippy, stop him,” I bellowed. Skippy’s goggled head dipped once in agreement. He raised his gloved hand and Ed complied immediately, perfectly still, sword tip inches from the last cultist’s nose.
“Make this . . . good . . .” Skippy grunted.
I reached them a moment later. Myers was hesitant to get too close to Ed, who was like a statue, one sword unmoving in the last standing cultist’s face. A single drop of blood fell from the tip of the steel. The one with no arms had passed out in a puddle. The other’s bowels had been opened in half a dozen places. He was still crying, and probably would for quite a while.
Myers addressed the last uninjured man. “Tell me where to find your High Priest, or I’ll give you to these . . . creatures.”
He was a young man who looked more like a frat pledge than a cultist. His eyes flicked nervously to his dying companions, to the faces of the impassive Hunters, and then to the masked and circling orcs. Obviously terrified, he stammered, “I . . . I . . . can’t.”
“Yes . . . can,” Skippy stated over the screams of the dying. The orc chief glanced down at the disemboweled cultist. The cries were annoying him. “Quiet bad human.”
Edward responded instantly. His sword swung down, severing the injured man’s head cleanly from his body and sending it bouncing across the dirt. The blade returned immediately to its space before the young cultist’s nose.
Skip looked down at the twitching body. “Not mean for kill him, Exszrsd.” He finished the sentence in his own incomprehensible language.
Ed shrugged, as if to say whoops. Ed was a literal kind of guy.
“Okay, don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me!” the cultist stammered.
“Talk!” Myers shouted. “Where is he?”
“If I tell you, he’ll hunt me down. You can’t stop him. He walks through the shadows! He owns the night.”
“We can protect you,” the senior agent said calmly. “I represent the government. We’ve got places that even he can’t go.”
There was a glimmer of hope. “You . . . you do?”
“Yes,” Myers responded soothingly. “You help me and I can help you. What’s your name, son?” Myers was a sly one, but then again, he had plenty of practice playing good cop to Franks’ bad cop.
The cultist was terrified. His eyes crossed a bit as he looked down the length of the sword. “Chad. My name’s Chad. I didn’t know what I was getting into. You’ve got to believe me.” He began to babble. “Some other guys told me about this church, and they could do all sorts of cool stuff, and if you did what they said, then you wouldn’t ever die! And I saw it with my own eyes. You’ve got to believe me. I just wanted to have that power. But then they were doing all sorts of crazy stuff. I was scared of the High Priest, so I went along. I never wanted to hurt anybody.”
Skippy shook his head. I had serious doubts that no matter what Myers promised, Chad was not going to leave this village alive. I almost felt bad for the guy. He was probably younger than me, inexperienced, stupid, and suckered into something way over his head. I noticed that he had a squid necklace, like a smaller version of the one Hood had been wearing. Maybe it was just the light, but it seemed slick and alive.
Myers continued, being as unthreatening as possible, which for him was saying a lot. “I understand. Chad, I give you my word. You give me a location, and I’ll get you right into protective custody. I promise. Okay?”
Chad had started blubbering. “Okay.” He nodded, obviously broken. Watching Edward mercilessly chop two of his budd
ies into bits probably helped. “I’ll tell you everything I know.” He took a deep breath and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “There’s a place in New—” Chad looked down in sudden confusion. He tried to speak, but no sound came out. He clutched at his throat.
The squid amulet’s chain was shrinking. “The necklace! Get it off!” I shouted. Chad stumbled, fingers trying to get under the chain. I grabbed the cultist by the neck and tried in vain to grab it, but it slipped right through my fingers. He fell, eyes bulging out of his head, skin turning blue. He began to jerk as all the oxygen was cut off from his brain. The chain was slicing through the flesh of his neck like piano wire. “Damn it!”
It just kept tightening. The squid seemed to wilt and die. A few seconds later, the convulsing stopped. Chad’s muscles tightened in one final spasm, then it was over.
I was on my knees next to the cultist, surrounded by Hunters and orcs. “What happened?” Sam Haven asked.
“Non-disclosure agreement from hell,” I responded. Disappointed, Ed poked the cultist in the leg with his sword. No reaction. I knelt at his side, pulled my glove off, and felt for a pulse. He was dead.
Myers was rubbing his face in his hands. “He was about to talk.”
“Apparently,” I muttered. “You better warn your men before anybody else gets somebody to roll over.” The senior Fed pulled out his radio. “Hood is in New something or other.” I glanced over at Holly and Trip. They were looking to me for ideas, and I was fresh out. “Call headquarters. See if they—” A terrible pain tore up my arm and I shouted in surprise.
Chad’s dead eyes were staring at me. His mouth was clamped onto my left hand. Blood was gushing past his teeth as he rent it from side to side. My blood.
“Aarrgh!” I jerked my hand away, tumbling to the ground. The zombie began to rise. Edward cleaved the top of his head off in a cloud of red and white.