My cell phone rang very early yesterday morning…the caller ID was blocked.
“Hello?”
The voice at the other end of the line was that familiar deep baritone of Zulu. “How are you Rusty?”
“Fine, Sir. How are you? I hope that you have fully recovered from your recent…ordeal.” He had been placed under secret arrest under the guise of a medical emergency during the big showdown between us and Klimm (El Diablito) and his allies.
He chuckled. “I am entirely fine. In fact, I couldn’t be happier about this country’s political future at the moment.”
“Really, funny, I would have thought that your politics leaned a little more to the right than the new administration’s do.”
“Oh, they do. But even religious conservatives appreciate competence in government, and I have no love for the buffoons that are now on their last months in office. That brings me to reason for this call, in fact.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I need you and your companions to come meet someone very important. There is much to discuss.”
I was definitely curious now. “Who are we going to meet with? Where do you want us to come?”
He paused. “I would like you to bring Ms. Fyre, Frau Tufts, Jasmine, Professor Karlton and…” I could hear his voice catch before he spoke the last name. “Cerrydwen. As to where you need to come, I will be placing one of Ms. Fyre’s beacons in one of the suites at the hotel I am staying at in Chicago. I will activate the beacon at 11 PM your time and will leave it active for exactly 15 minutes. Please be prompt, this is a very important meeting.”
The call ended before I could ask any more questions.
***
The six of us gathered just before eleven o’clock. Trusting that Zulu wasn’t setting us up for an ambush, we were for the most part only lightly armed.
I was carrying my batons in their normal forearm holsters, but they were concealed beneath my heavy leather jacket. I was wearing my normal heavy duty jeans and work boots. I topped it all off with a pair of mirrored sun-glasses despite the time of night.
Except Cerrydwen, everyone else was dressed more formally. Cerrydwen joined me in wearing jeans, boots, a shapeless sweatshirt covered up by a heavy leather jacket.
Jasmine looked radiant in a long black dress that complimented her figure and knee high black boots. The Frau was wrapped in one of her embroidered shawls that covered a nice blouse and pants. Jim was in his professorial uniform of a tweed jacket over a loose turtle neck matched with tan Dockers and casual shoes. Ravyn was more subdued than her normal colorful self, wearing a black and grey turtleneck sweater and black pants. The only touch of her normal flash was a sparkling bird-shaped broach made of gold and rubies that lay nestled between her neck and her right shoulder.
Once we were all assembled in the Transport Room the Frau closed the door and nodded towards Ravyn. We were silent now, but only because we had spent the better part of the day discussing who we were going to meet and why. The theories were quite varied from the wildly fantastic to mere mundane meeting with a new business associate.
Ravyn stretched her arms out like she was embracing the whole group in virtual hug and closed her eyes. “I can feel the Beacon. It is now active. Brace yourselves.”
By the nature of her source of power, Ravyn’s method of mass instantaneous travel was much wrenching and violent than mine used to be. The Shadow is subtle, silent source of soothing strength. Flame, however, is extremely energetic, noisy, and flashy. With a roar, we were enveloped in a burst of flames that didn’t burn and smoke that didn’t choke.
I felt the dislocation from our previous place followed by the disconcerting sense of falling that seemed to last several minutes before a second stomach churning sensation ended the fall in another popping flash and a puff of smoke.
The smoke cleared to reveal a very well apportioned living room that was dominated by the breathtaking view of the Chicago skyline lit up at night at least forty floors up from the street seen through the huge floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows to our immediate front.
Jim cleared his throat before speaking. “Well, I am certainly glad that you hit your spot, Ravyn, my dear, just 15 feet off and we’d still be falling!”
Ravyn looked down, pointing to a spot between her feet. “You can thank Zulu for putting the beacon right here.”
Zulu’s voice behind us got us all to turn around. “Thank you for coming. Please make yourselves comfortable. There are refreshments in the kitchen and on the dining room table. Please help yourselves. I will be escorting you in to meet our host one at a time, starting with you, Rusty.”
I couldn’t resist. “So who is our host, Sir?”
He smiled mysteriously before extending his arm to me. “Why don’t you come see for yourself, Rusty. Please leave your batons here with your colleagues. You won’t be needing them.” He looked over to each of the others. “Please leave any weapons or items of particular power here in this suite when you come with me. Our host’s security requirements are rather strict.”
I hesitated before tapping the release mechanisms for the holsters on each wrist and dropping them onto the sofa. “Who could possibly need this level of security?”
He shrugged. “Please, our host is waiting. He has been exceptionally generous to give us this time from his extremely busy schedule.” He nodded as my holstered batons hit the sofa. “Rusty, if you would be so kind, please come with me.” He looked back to the others as he led me towards a door to the adjoining suite. “I will be back for each of you presently.”
He pulled out a magnetize proximity card from his suit jacket pocket and touched it up against the plain black pad next to the door. There was a gentle click and a soft buzz the let us know that the door was open.
I grabbed the door knob and pushed into the darkened room beyond.
I saw a single figure at the far end of an office like room. The figure was peering out his own floor-to-ceiling window with his back turned to me. I could sense several other people in the room, but they held vigilant positions at the perimeter of the room with a professional poise that told me that this was someone who was Very Important.
The figure was tall and lanky, his hands clasped behind him as he took in the breathtaking view. His profile was instantly recognizable from the past year and a half of a campaign.
Zulu’s voice called out softly, announcing our arrival. “Mr. President-Elect, I would like to introduce you to Agent Rusty Bones, formerly known as Officer Jason Smith of the Dearborn Hills Police Department.”
The newly elected man turned to face us with a calm, thoughtful demeanor. He motioned with a sweeping gesture for us to join him. His voice was smooth as silk while his eyes narrowed as he took in my appearance. I could tell that he was sizing me up. “Agent Bones, please come have a seat. We have much to discuss…”
Showing posts with label Jasmine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jasmine. Show all posts
Friday, November 14, 2008
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Harshing My Mellow
Nothing soothes the savage, newly vampiric zombie like a nice, hot shower.
Before my latest transformation, I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the act of taking shower. The sensual pulse of the spraying water would’ve been lost to me before, leaving behind a sopping mess of dead, wet flesh.
Now, however, I looked forward to being able to take a shower. The water was scalding hot since I didn’t even bother to use the cold water. The steam from the shower and the steady stream of sound created by the water crashing into my body helped create a cocoon of solitude that usually left me invigorated and refreshed.
Not even ten minutes into my late night ritual, my mellow mood was harshly interrupted by the insistent pounding on the glass shower door.
“Dad! Dad! Ravyn needs you right now!”
I turned off the shower to hear my daughter’s voice calling out as she continued pound on the shower door.
“Dad, hurry up! Ravyn needs you!”
“Calm down, Jazz. I can hear you. What’s going on?”
As the steam began to subside, I wiped away enough of the inside of the glass door to look out at her face as I reached for the towel hanging just above the door with my other hand.
Her face showed obvious concern. “I’m not sure. I was studying in my room when I got an emergency message from Ravyn through one of her special fire stones.”
I wrapped the towel around my waist before the glass door completely de-fogged. “What did the message say?”
“It was really short. All she said was ‘Get your father to the workshop, armed for battle.’ So I came to get you straight away.”
“Ah shit. She’s with Cerrydwen, isn’t she?” I opened the door and stepped out.
Jasmine nodded. “I think so.”
“Alright, go let Jim and the Frau know, rouse the others. Get everyone on alert and armed. Who knows what those two have come across this time.”
As Jasmine rushed out, I dropped the towel and padded into my room. It wasn’t exactly a bedroom since I didn’t have to sleep, but it was my personal space decorated to my own very bizarre tastes. (I will provide details and a description in a later post.) Cursing aloud, I opened the closet and quickly began gearing up for a battle.
After getting dressed, I grabbed my batons and slipped them into their normal placed and then debated between the modified M-16 assault rifle and the powerful .45 magnum Desert Eagle handgun. Both weapons were loaded with the special ammunition that Jasmine and her team of assistants had been working on for months now. In fact, the bullets in my weapons were unique even compared to the other rounds that Jasmine had been working on. I still refused to take up any firearms unless they could be designed to harm only the person or foe that I designated with each pull of the trigger.
It was only quite recently that Jasmine had made the breakthrough that could allow for the creation of these ultimate smart bullets.
Remembering the last time I needed to respond with similar short notice, I grabbed the belt that held the holstered handgun and snapped it into place on my waist and grudgingly reached for the rifle as well. It had taken me a couple of weeks, and buckets of fresh blood, to recover from that last battle, back before I had the advantage of these weapons. I really missed having Excalibur in that battle!
I slipped out the back door of the Den and ran down the twisting, wood-lined trail that led to workshop.
The workshop was actually a fairly innocuous looking steel-framed and roof barn that was set up with the rear end of the building butting up against a towering, ridgeline that allowed for the heart of the ‘workshop’ to be concealed inside the hill itself. The steel building held all sorts of rather mundane lawn and gardening equipment, ATV’s, snowmobiles, and other tools, but it was the door leading out the rear of the building that I was heading towards.
The door was slightly ajar, which was standard practice when Ravyn or Cerrydwen were working inside, so I yanked it all the way open and stormed down the rough hewn stone steps that led down towards the real workshop below. I was vaguely aware of the voices of Jim and the Frau calling out to the others as they followed a few hundred feet back down the trail.
I slipped the safety off on the assault rifle as I hurtled down into the unnatural darkness of the stairwell—that was one of Cerrydwen’s personal touches, “…to help scare away any curiosity seekers who happened to slip through our other wards,” as she had put it at the time. No mundane light would cut through this patch of darkness.
I pushed through the darkened zone confident that I could rely on my other senses to tell if anything was amiss.
Bursting through the other side of the ten foot patch of pure darkness, the stairwell leveled out to a hallway that was marked with several strong steel doors on either side. Small globes of flickering flames hovered on each side of the doors, Ravyn’s touch, of course. I ignored these side doors even though each led to someone’s individual workshop. None of these would be where the trouble was brewing.
No, it was the double doors at the far end of the hall that drew my attention. Those doors opened up into the Summoning Chamber. There were bright flashes of light and the sounds of a major struggle taking place behind those doors.
I slowed my advance just long enough to take a deep breath and to gather my strength.
With my finger on the trigger of the rifle and my resolve firmly in place, I yanked on the heavy silver lined-steel left door and stepped into the maelstrom.
The room was far larger than one would have imagined it could be. It was easily fifty feet wide, another fifty feet deep, with a ceiling that vaulted up at least 4 feet in the center. The center of the room was normally dominated by the etched image of a large pentagram that served as the summoning circle. At the moment, however, the center of the room was a blazing dark mass of writhing tentacles, misshapen heads, clawed arms and feet that seemed to be growing darker and stronger despite the best efforts of Cerrydwen and Ravyn. It was a true Lovecraftian nightmare.
Cerrydwen was wearing her highly modified travelling armor that she had designed for her journeys with Ravyn. Her torso was covered front and back with shiny plates of reflective metal that weighed no more than plastic might, but gave the protection of Teflon-coated steel. Her head was uncovered, her helmet having been apparently knocked off by a flailing tentacle. Her face showed a large purple bruise across her cheek and several small gashes that trailed blood as she dodged additional attacks by ducking behind a heavy table and lashing out with her carved black travelling staff.
Ravyn was on the opposite side of the chamber, surrounded by huge shroud of flame as she directed beams of highly concentrated fire to fend off the limbs that were trying to get at her. As quickly as she sliced off one offending limb, three more lashed out at her. She was ankle deep in the thick black goo of flambéed chaos, still apparently unhurt, but seemingly flagging under the constant assault.
Cerrydwen was the first to see me enter the room, followed almost instantaneously by the abomination. “Rusty, aim for the heads! It will be the only way to kill this thing!”
Even as I leveled the rifle towards the creature, it shifted its focus from both of the women towards me. Its body shifted constantly, heads appearing and disappearing every moment in different spots. There had to be at least six of them at any one time. Before I could begin to take a bead on one however, I was besieged by a wave of attacking limbs. A second wave of shrieking, wailing sound crashed over me drowning out all further attempts to communicate with either woman as the screams of thousands of tortured souls emanated from the creature.
Tentacles spiked with razor sharp teeth and nasty looking suckers lashed out my legs and hands, but I pushed forward anyway, snapping off a series of shots just to see what kind of impact these rounds would have on the creature’s body and limbs.
The noise from the creature was so great that I didn’t even hear the report of the rifle as it fired. The creature recoiled briefly as it was blasted by the bullets. The bullets seemed to burst into the thing, exploding in colorful flashes of energy that dissolved limbs and tore chunks from the body.
But that reprieve didn’t last long. The entire mass of the creature seemed to lurch forward. I was overwhelmed in an avalanche of tearing, rending, burrowing appendages. The rifle was torn from my grasp and I was driven to the ground, buried under its bulk as it tried to consume me.
Ignoring the nearly unbearable pain of the creature’s attacks, I managed to get a hold of one of large, malformed heads before it could recede back into its bulk again and squished it like a grape.
The bulk shuddered around me as I felt more than saw Ravyn’s renewed assault with her flame bolts. I could also sense another head explode just above me as Cerrydwen was able to focus her own considerable powers upon the beast now that I was its main offensive focus.
The next few moments passed in a haze of pain, struggle, and fear as we fought against this unfathomable horror of a beast. Eventually I was able to free up my right arm in order to draw the Desert Eagle hand gun and begin taking out the head as they appeared. Between Ravyn’s fire bolts, Cerrydwen’s sorcery, and my bullets, the creature finally succumbed and dissolved into a quivering mass of black goo that stunk worse than a chicken carcass left to rot in the sun for week.
Cerrydwen helped me up, extending a bloodied hand to me as she crinkled her nose at the stench. “Why do these things have to stink so damn much?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know, but it sure makes miss those days when I couldn’t smell shit, literally.”
Ravyn laughed, as she wiped blood and goo from her own face. “I’m glad that Jasmine could get you here so quickly, Rusty. It was looking pretty grim there for a moment.”
“Yeah, well, I was taking a nice hot shower before you summoned me.” I looked down at my battered and thoroughly coated body. “I guess I’m going to have to take another one, aren’t I?” I shifted my gaze to Ravyn. “Where the hell did you guys go this time to attract such a nice…follower?”
Ravyn pointed to the rifle that lay under a few inches of slimy black ooze. “Finding the energy and the ingredients to make weapons like the bullets in those things requires to range a little further out into the multiverse than I’m really comfortable doing. But if we don’t take some of those risks, we’ll never come up with the resources to have a chance in this war we’re waging.”
I reached down into the ooze to pick the weapon up. “Still, if you risk bringing another one of these things back, we might have to reconsider these forays of yours.”
Ravyn punched me in the upper arm. “You’re just jealous because you can’t go gallivanting off like you used to. You never worried about the crap you used to bring back from your trips!”
I threw up my free hand in mock surrender. “OK, OK…I’m guilty on all counts. Let’s call it night.”
The Frau and Jim barged into the room with their own weapons in hand only to curl up their noses and step back in disgust.
I pushed past them as they recoiled, leaving Ravyn and Cerrydwen to explain it all to them. “Hey, I’m going to take a shower and the only other interruption I want is for someone to bring me a fresh pint of O negative.”
Before my latest transformation, I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the act of taking shower. The sensual pulse of the spraying water would’ve been lost to me before, leaving behind a sopping mess of dead, wet flesh.
Now, however, I looked forward to being able to take a shower. The water was scalding hot since I didn’t even bother to use the cold water. The steam from the shower and the steady stream of sound created by the water crashing into my body helped create a cocoon of solitude that usually left me invigorated and refreshed.
Not even ten minutes into my late night ritual, my mellow mood was harshly interrupted by the insistent pounding on the glass shower door.
“Dad! Dad! Ravyn needs you right now!”
I turned off the shower to hear my daughter’s voice calling out as she continued pound on the shower door.
“Dad, hurry up! Ravyn needs you!”
“Calm down, Jazz. I can hear you. What’s going on?”
As the steam began to subside, I wiped away enough of the inside of the glass door to look out at her face as I reached for the towel hanging just above the door with my other hand.
Her face showed obvious concern. “I’m not sure. I was studying in my room when I got an emergency message from Ravyn through one of her special fire stones.”
I wrapped the towel around my waist before the glass door completely de-fogged. “What did the message say?”
“It was really short. All she said was ‘Get your father to the workshop, armed for battle.’ So I came to get you straight away.”
“Ah shit. She’s with Cerrydwen, isn’t she?” I opened the door and stepped out.
Jasmine nodded. “I think so.”
“Alright, go let Jim and the Frau know, rouse the others. Get everyone on alert and armed. Who knows what those two have come across this time.”
As Jasmine rushed out, I dropped the towel and padded into my room. It wasn’t exactly a bedroom since I didn’t have to sleep, but it was my personal space decorated to my own very bizarre tastes. (I will provide details and a description in a later post.) Cursing aloud, I opened the closet and quickly began gearing up for a battle.
After getting dressed, I grabbed my batons and slipped them into their normal placed and then debated between the modified M-16 assault rifle and the powerful .45 magnum Desert Eagle handgun. Both weapons were loaded with the special ammunition that Jasmine and her team of assistants had been working on for months now. In fact, the bullets in my weapons were unique even compared to the other rounds that Jasmine had been working on. I still refused to take up any firearms unless they could be designed to harm only the person or foe that I designated with each pull of the trigger.
It was only quite recently that Jasmine had made the breakthrough that could allow for the creation of these ultimate smart bullets.
Remembering the last time I needed to respond with similar short notice, I grabbed the belt that held the holstered handgun and snapped it into place on my waist and grudgingly reached for the rifle as well. It had taken me a couple of weeks, and buckets of fresh blood, to recover from that last battle, back before I had the advantage of these weapons. I really missed having Excalibur in that battle!
I slipped out the back door of the Den and ran down the twisting, wood-lined trail that led to workshop.
The workshop was actually a fairly innocuous looking steel-framed and roof barn that was set up with the rear end of the building butting up against a towering, ridgeline that allowed for the heart of the ‘workshop’ to be concealed inside the hill itself. The steel building held all sorts of rather mundane lawn and gardening equipment, ATV’s, snowmobiles, and other tools, but it was the door leading out the rear of the building that I was heading towards.
The door was slightly ajar, which was standard practice when Ravyn or Cerrydwen were working inside, so I yanked it all the way open and stormed down the rough hewn stone steps that led down towards the real workshop below. I was vaguely aware of the voices of Jim and the Frau calling out to the others as they followed a few hundred feet back down the trail.
I slipped the safety off on the assault rifle as I hurtled down into the unnatural darkness of the stairwell—that was one of Cerrydwen’s personal touches, “…to help scare away any curiosity seekers who happened to slip through our other wards,” as she had put it at the time. No mundane light would cut through this patch of darkness.
I pushed through the darkened zone confident that I could rely on my other senses to tell if anything was amiss.
Bursting through the other side of the ten foot patch of pure darkness, the stairwell leveled out to a hallway that was marked with several strong steel doors on either side. Small globes of flickering flames hovered on each side of the doors, Ravyn’s touch, of course. I ignored these side doors even though each led to someone’s individual workshop. None of these would be where the trouble was brewing.
No, it was the double doors at the far end of the hall that drew my attention. Those doors opened up into the Summoning Chamber. There were bright flashes of light and the sounds of a major struggle taking place behind those doors.
I slowed my advance just long enough to take a deep breath and to gather my strength.
With my finger on the trigger of the rifle and my resolve firmly in place, I yanked on the heavy silver lined-steel left door and stepped into the maelstrom.
The room was far larger than one would have imagined it could be. It was easily fifty feet wide, another fifty feet deep, with a ceiling that vaulted up at least 4 feet in the center. The center of the room was normally dominated by the etched image of a large pentagram that served as the summoning circle. At the moment, however, the center of the room was a blazing dark mass of writhing tentacles, misshapen heads, clawed arms and feet that seemed to be growing darker and stronger despite the best efforts of Cerrydwen and Ravyn. It was a true Lovecraftian nightmare.
Cerrydwen was wearing her highly modified travelling armor that she had designed for her journeys with Ravyn. Her torso was covered front and back with shiny plates of reflective metal that weighed no more than plastic might, but gave the protection of Teflon-coated steel. Her head was uncovered, her helmet having been apparently knocked off by a flailing tentacle. Her face showed a large purple bruise across her cheek and several small gashes that trailed blood as she dodged additional attacks by ducking behind a heavy table and lashing out with her carved black travelling staff.
Ravyn was on the opposite side of the chamber, surrounded by huge shroud of flame as she directed beams of highly concentrated fire to fend off the limbs that were trying to get at her. As quickly as she sliced off one offending limb, three more lashed out at her. She was ankle deep in the thick black goo of flambéed chaos, still apparently unhurt, but seemingly flagging under the constant assault.
Cerrydwen was the first to see me enter the room, followed almost instantaneously by the abomination. “Rusty, aim for the heads! It will be the only way to kill this thing!”
Even as I leveled the rifle towards the creature, it shifted its focus from both of the women towards me. Its body shifted constantly, heads appearing and disappearing every moment in different spots. There had to be at least six of them at any one time. Before I could begin to take a bead on one however, I was besieged by a wave of attacking limbs. A second wave of shrieking, wailing sound crashed over me drowning out all further attempts to communicate with either woman as the screams of thousands of tortured souls emanated from the creature.
Tentacles spiked with razor sharp teeth and nasty looking suckers lashed out my legs and hands, but I pushed forward anyway, snapping off a series of shots just to see what kind of impact these rounds would have on the creature’s body and limbs.
The noise from the creature was so great that I didn’t even hear the report of the rifle as it fired. The creature recoiled briefly as it was blasted by the bullets. The bullets seemed to burst into the thing, exploding in colorful flashes of energy that dissolved limbs and tore chunks from the body.
But that reprieve didn’t last long. The entire mass of the creature seemed to lurch forward. I was overwhelmed in an avalanche of tearing, rending, burrowing appendages. The rifle was torn from my grasp and I was driven to the ground, buried under its bulk as it tried to consume me.
Ignoring the nearly unbearable pain of the creature’s attacks, I managed to get a hold of one of large, malformed heads before it could recede back into its bulk again and squished it like a grape.
The bulk shuddered around me as I felt more than saw Ravyn’s renewed assault with her flame bolts. I could also sense another head explode just above me as Cerrydwen was able to focus her own considerable powers upon the beast now that I was its main offensive focus.
The next few moments passed in a haze of pain, struggle, and fear as we fought against this unfathomable horror of a beast. Eventually I was able to free up my right arm in order to draw the Desert Eagle hand gun and begin taking out the head as they appeared. Between Ravyn’s fire bolts, Cerrydwen’s sorcery, and my bullets, the creature finally succumbed and dissolved into a quivering mass of black goo that stunk worse than a chicken carcass left to rot in the sun for week.
Cerrydwen helped me up, extending a bloodied hand to me as she crinkled her nose at the stench. “Why do these things have to stink so damn much?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know, but it sure makes miss those days when I couldn’t smell shit, literally.”
Ravyn laughed, as she wiped blood and goo from her own face. “I’m glad that Jasmine could get you here so quickly, Rusty. It was looking pretty grim there for a moment.”
“Yeah, well, I was taking a nice hot shower before you summoned me.” I looked down at my battered and thoroughly coated body. “I guess I’m going to have to take another one, aren’t I?” I shifted my gaze to Ravyn. “Where the hell did you guys go this time to attract such a nice…follower?”
Ravyn pointed to the rifle that lay under a few inches of slimy black ooze. “Finding the energy and the ingredients to make weapons like the bullets in those things requires to range a little further out into the multiverse than I’m really comfortable doing. But if we don’t take some of those risks, we’ll never come up with the resources to have a chance in this war we’re waging.”
I reached down into the ooze to pick the weapon up. “Still, if you risk bringing another one of these things back, we might have to reconsider these forays of yours.”
Ravyn punched me in the upper arm. “You’re just jealous because you can’t go gallivanting off like you used to. You never worried about the crap you used to bring back from your trips!”
I threw up my free hand in mock surrender. “OK, OK…I’m guilty on all counts. Let’s call it night.”
The Frau and Jim barged into the room with their own weapons in hand only to curl up their noses and step back in disgust.
I pushed past them as they recoiled, leaving Ravyn and Cerrydwen to explain it all to them. “Hey, I’m going to take a shower and the only other interruption I want is for someone to bring me a fresh pint of O negative.”
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
No, It's Wabbit Season...
I moved in near silence from tree to tree, careful not betray my position by stepping on any stray sticks or other forest debris. The whispering wind covered what little sound I did make. It was moments like this that I was glad that breathing was purely optional for me. My body didn’t need oxygen or any other gas contained in the atmosphere to keep functioning, but I did need air to make my vocal chords work, so I kept a moderate supply of air in my lungs in case I needed to shout something out to surprise my foe.
The sound of a twig snapping to my left and rear stopped me short. I froze in place, focusing my attention on my hearing, trying to sort out the various normal sounds of the woods at night from that which didn’t belong. Unable to locate the culprit with my hearing, I shifted my vision in the Shadowland—one skill that I had retained, thankfully.
Scanning the woods around, the only forms I could make out were those of the normal critters of the night that often go unseen, if not unheard, by normal folks.
I unfocused my eyes and scanned the area all around very slowly. There, just beyond the large leaning pine tree to my far left was the blurry outline surrounding what can only be described as a void. Once I located the outline, I narrowed my focus to discern who or what the form was.
It was laying low, perhaps even stretched out on the ground, which is one reason that it had been so difficult to see on my first couple attempts to locate the form. Unsure as to whether the creature saw me, I swung around to face it full on and dropped into a cautionary crouch. It was maybe fifty feet away, but there were several trees scattered between us, some large, some small, but none preventing a direct line of sight between us.
The form shifted slightly, its movement accompanied by a soft, metallic click.
Sensing that the form did see me, I decided it was time to shift tactics, none too soon, either.
I leaped forward and upward into the air from my crouching position higher and farther than any Olympic-caliber athlete could hope to match and grabbed for a thick branch of the solid oak tree about a third of the way between us just as the first burst of projectiles sliced through the air where I had just been standing.
The bullets had a weird, glowing tracer effect in my current mode of vision that reminded me of my military days and learning how to shoot at night using tracer rounds with my M-16. Before the glow from the first burst had faded though, I was using the momentum of my leap to swing around in a slightly different direction to land no more than fifteen feet from the prone figure as it let loose another barrage at the branch I had been hanging from.
I landed in a crashing roll that made enough sound to wake the dead, but I added to it with a wild war hoop that I hoped would freeze or shock my nearly invisible foe as I leaped for the now visible rifle that it was trying to bring to bear on me.
Let me digress a little bit here on a subject about which I happen to know way too fucking much about:
Getting shot sucks.
Getting shot in the chest by a hi-powered rifle at really close range that you are leaping towards out of desperation only adds to the level of suckitude.
Getting shot in the chest by a hi-powered rifle at really close range that you are leaping towards out of desperation because you know that the bullets have been magickally enhanced to take down banes and other supernatural badasses (which you happen to consider yourself to be one of) raises the suckitude to almost mythic proportions.
The impact of the bullet threw me backwards into trunk of a smaller oak tree that shuddered under the impact of my rather significant bulk and the remaining momentum of the bullet slamming into my chest. I felt my head crack into the tree and then the scraping of the bark against my scalp as I slid down to my ass. The impact had knocked all of the remaining air from my lungs and had put a serious dent in the silver-coated chest plate that I had been wearing for just such an occasion.
It took a moment for me to get through the pain enough to draw in a breath to complain with.
“Fuck me, but that hurts! I don’t know why I ever agreed to this shit.”
The figure got up giggling. “Why, Daddy, you do it because you love me…and because you are our only renewable resource as a bad guy.”
I shock my head and felt around the chest plate for the impact point of the bullet. I found three serious dents all closely clustered around where my heart was—each one easily a half inch to an inch deep. “Yeah, but I thought you were going lower the power on those bullets of yours. If you missed the plate, I might not be so renewable anymore. There are limits even to my healing abilities.”
She giggled even louder through her helmet. “Don’t worry, Dad. Herne has said that I am the best natural shooter he has ever trained. He said I could probably have made the Olympic team if I wanted to.”
I shifted my vision back to normal mode in time to see a heavily camouflaged Jasmine rise from her prone firing position, her rifle in her left hand and her new helmet in the other. “So how does that new helmet work?”
She strode over to stand over me, tucking the helmet under her left armpit before reaching down to help me stand with her now free right hand. “Oh, it is so cool! I was able to see in the Shadowland just like you’ve talked about, I could see you sneaking through the woods a hundred yards away. I can’t wait to tell everyone how easy it is to use as well. Alora really outdid herself this time.”
Every bone in my body ached as I stood up and tried to ‘walk it off’ as every childhood sports coach I ever played under had told me to for every type of injury I had sustained in those games.
“And, for your information, Father, those bullets were only slightly charged. If they had been at full strength, I would have had to clean you off of that tree rather than help you up with a hand. We need to be able to take down a Doppelganger or a Bane with these things, and that’s not easy to do.”
I nodded as we began the long walk back down to the compound. “I’m sure Herne will be more than happy with your full strength batch, Jazz. Just do me a favor and make sure that you don’t grab any of those bullets for any of these practice sessions, OK?”
She wrapped her right arm around my waist and gave me a good, hard, and ever so painful squeeze. “Don’t worry, Daddy. I won’t let anything happen to you that you can’t handle.” I heard her sniffle just a little bit. “I miss Kenny so much!”
“So do I, Jazz, so do I.”
The sound of a twig snapping to my left and rear stopped me short. I froze in place, focusing my attention on my hearing, trying to sort out the various normal sounds of the woods at night from that which didn’t belong. Unable to locate the culprit with my hearing, I shifted my vision in the Shadowland—one skill that I had retained, thankfully.
Scanning the woods around, the only forms I could make out were those of the normal critters of the night that often go unseen, if not unheard, by normal folks.
I unfocused my eyes and scanned the area all around very slowly. There, just beyond the large leaning pine tree to my far left was the blurry outline surrounding what can only be described as a void. Once I located the outline, I narrowed my focus to discern who or what the form was.
It was laying low, perhaps even stretched out on the ground, which is one reason that it had been so difficult to see on my first couple attempts to locate the form. Unsure as to whether the creature saw me, I swung around to face it full on and dropped into a cautionary crouch. It was maybe fifty feet away, but there were several trees scattered between us, some large, some small, but none preventing a direct line of sight between us.
The form shifted slightly, its movement accompanied by a soft, metallic click.
Sensing that the form did see me, I decided it was time to shift tactics, none too soon, either.
I leaped forward and upward into the air from my crouching position higher and farther than any Olympic-caliber athlete could hope to match and grabbed for a thick branch of the solid oak tree about a third of the way between us just as the first burst of projectiles sliced through the air where I had just been standing.
The bullets had a weird, glowing tracer effect in my current mode of vision that reminded me of my military days and learning how to shoot at night using tracer rounds with my M-16. Before the glow from the first burst had faded though, I was using the momentum of my leap to swing around in a slightly different direction to land no more than fifteen feet from the prone figure as it let loose another barrage at the branch I had been hanging from.
I landed in a crashing roll that made enough sound to wake the dead, but I added to it with a wild war hoop that I hoped would freeze or shock my nearly invisible foe as I leaped for the now visible rifle that it was trying to bring to bear on me.
Let me digress a little bit here on a subject about which I happen to know way too fucking much about:
Getting shot sucks.
Getting shot in the chest by a hi-powered rifle at really close range that you are leaping towards out of desperation only adds to the level of suckitude.
Getting shot in the chest by a hi-powered rifle at really close range that you are leaping towards out of desperation because you know that the bullets have been magickally enhanced to take down banes and other supernatural badasses (which you happen to consider yourself to be one of) raises the suckitude to almost mythic proportions.
The impact of the bullet threw me backwards into trunk of a smaller oak tree that shuddered under the impact of my rather significant bulk and the remaining momentum of the bullet slamming into my chest. I felt my head crack into the tree and then the scraping of the bark against my scalp as I slid down to my ass. The impact had knocked all of the remaining air from my lungs and had put a serious dent in the silver-coated chest plate that I had been wearing for just such an occasion.
It took a moment for me to get through the pain enough to draw in a breath to complain with.
“Fuck me, but that hurts! I don’t know why I ever agreed to this shit.”
The figure got up giggling. “Why, Daddy, you do it because you love me…and because you are our only renewable resource as a bad guy.”
I shock my head and felt around the chest plate for the impact point of the bullet. I found three serious dents all closely clustered around where my heart was—each one easily a half inch to an inch deep. “Yeah, but I thought you were going lower the power on those bullets of yours. If you missed the plate, I might not be so renewable anymore. There are limits even to my healing abilities.”
She giggled even louder through her helmet. “Don’t worry, Dad. Herne has said that I am the best natural shooter he has ever trained. He said I could probably have made the Olympic team if I wanted to.”
I shifted my vision back to normal mode in time to see a heavily camouflaged Jasmine rise from her prone firing position, her rifle in her left hand and her new helmet in the other. “So how does that new helmet work?”
She strode over to stand over me, tucking the helmet under her left armpit before reaching down to help me stand with her now free right hand. “Oh, it is so cool! I was able to see in the Shadowland just like you’ve talked about, I could see you sneaking through the woods a hundred yards away. I can’t wait to tell everyone how easy it is to use as well. Alora really outdid herself this time.”
Every bone in my body ached as I stood up and tried to ‘walk it off’ as every childhood sports coach I ever played under had told me to for every type of injury I had sustained in those games.
“And, for your information, Father, those bullets were only slightly charged. If they had been at full strength, I would have had to clean you off of that tree rather than help you up with a hand. We need to be able to take down a Doppelganger or a Bane with these things, and that’s not easy to do.”
I nodded as we began the long walk back down to the compound. “I’m sure Herne will be more than happy with your full strength batch, Jazz. Just do me a favor and make sure that you don’t grab any of those bullets for any of these practice sessions, OK?”
She wrapped her right arm around my waist and gave me a good, hard, and ever so painful squeeze. “Don’t worry, Daddy. I won’t let anything happen to you that you can’t handle.” I heard her sniffle just a little bit. “I miss Kenny so much!”
“So do I, Jazz, so do I.”
Monday, September 01, 2008
The Update Post
Is it me or is Hurricane Gustav trying to find the shortest path to the Twin Cities where the Republican Convention is about to kick-off?
Hey you Evangelical dipshits, God is gonna rain all over your parade. Hmmm…maybe He actually meant it when his Boy was talking all of that shit about turning the other cheek, helping the poor and destitute, and to be nice? Ach…what do I know? I’m just your local unbelieving dead man. It is your religion, not mine, but maybe you Christians should try reading that little book of yours a little closer. That are lots of little nuggets of wisdom allegedly uttered by that long-haired, sandal wearing, do-gooder of a pre-hippie dude that you claim to follow. If more of you actually did that, there would be a hell of a lot less misery in this world.
Ah well, enough of that, for the moment, anyway.
A lot has happened since I met Raxgar in the Alaskan wilderness, much of it worth telling about at some point, but I think it is time to catch the story up to the present day.
The battle in the Alaskan wilderness turned out to be somewhat of a watershed moment in the brewing conflict between the ORC’s and the An’girasii. While the ORC’s lost too many good people that day, including my son Kenny, the losses for the An’girasii were staggering. Three of their most powerful Banes and a dozen Doppelgangers were slain.
Banes aren’t killed very often. But when, on occasion, they are killed, their Spirit finds a new host body and begins the arduous process of modifying that body to suit their desires. That is what happened with the Bane that Drake killed on the tanker ship when he took over my body.
The three who died in that battle with us, however, didn’t just get killed. I absorbed their Spirits into myself, essentially destroying them. This was a crippling blow to the offensive forces of the An’girasii. To make matters worse for the An’girasii, El Diablito used the diversion created by my drawing the Banes and their followers into battle to betray his erstwhile masters. He and his minions snuck into a secret stronghold that the An’girasii had established and stole a large number of artifacts and weapons that the An’girasii had been gathering for their own servants. Among the things he took was an orb that can lead its bearer to where Alexa is being held.
I can’t reveal yet how I know all of this information, but I will tell it when doing so will no longer compromise valuable secrets.
El Diablito and his organization are now the focus of the rage of the An’girasii and their surviving minions which has taken considerable, if temporary, pressure off of the ORC’s.
This brief respite has allowed for the ORC’s to regroup and establish several new bases of operation. I am now back in a rural area just outside of Metro Detroit with my ex-wife and daughter and several of my oldest friends among the ORC’s—including Ravyn, the Frau, Cerrydwen, the Professor and Alora. We are safely tucked away on a large swath of property that the organization has owned and operated for quite some time under an alias that I won’t be divulging here. I will not reveal any more of the location for obvious reasons, other than to give you the name by which we are calling our new home base—the Den.
I use the place as a base of sorts, but spend more than half of my time away on various missions for the Bureau or the ORC’s. Supervisory Special Agent Jennifer Wilson was able to settle the situation with the Bureau so that I am now fully restored to my previous position as a Provisional Special Agent. More importantly, I have had my access to the various law enforcement systems restored. I am still free to take on cases as I see fit, but also have to be available on short notice at any time to help the Bureau out with one of their cases as well.
As the strange woman, Me’shwara, had warned, I no longer have easy access to the Shadowland. In the many months since I’ve been back, I’ve only managed to make two short-lived trips, each one consuming tremendous amounts of energy that is not really very easy to store up. I can only shake my head and marvel at how powerful I had become and how much I took that power for granted until I lost it. I now have to get around in more traditional ways. For the most part I travel by way of my black Ninja motorcycle.
Since my latest transition, I have found it easier to move about in society. I’m still the ugliest mug in any given room, by now my skin looks a lot more like skin, even if it is pasty white in color. But I can throw on a hat, some mirrored sun-glasses and a jacket and get by without too much trouble. I still avoid crowds of any sort when I can, but I can mingle freely when I have to.
As mentioned in a previous post, my new body has its full complement of senses. I can smell and taste again, although sometimes I wish I couldn’t taste the kinds of stuff I have to eat in order to build up my strength. In order to be as strong as I need to be, I have to consume a diet of raw meat.
In the last few months I have discovered a lot of information about my new body and how it works. For one, I have a new appreciation for how Drake was able to take on the strongest servants of the An’girasii. Like Drake, I can suffer wounds by weapons big and small, but also like Drake, I have the ability to control my body’s reaction to such attacks on an almost cellular level. In the last few months I have been shot, stabbed, and nearly crushed while investigating various cases. In each case, however, I have been able to absorb the wounds, redirect my energy and resources around the wounded area and keep on trucking. Once the immediate danger is over, I’m then able to heal the damage far quicker than the normal healing process would be if I were a normal person.
Even though I have lost most of my ability to manipulate the Shadow, I have discovered a number of new abilities that also mirror some of the things I watched Drake do. When I haven’t been engaged with cases, I’ve spent hour after hour training to hone the skills that I know that I will need for the coming battles.
In my next post, I will update you on the status of some of my comrades and go into more detail on some of the doings of the other ORC’s.
Hey you Evangelical dipshits, God is gonna rain all over your parade. Hmmm…maybe He actually meant it when his Boy was talking all of that shit about turning the other cheek, helping the poor and destitute, and to be nice? Ach…what do I know? I’m just your local unbelieving dead man. It is your religion, not mine, but maybe you Christians should try reading that little book of yours a little closer. That are lots of little nuggets of wisdom allegedly uttered by that long-haired, sandal wearing, do-gooder of a pre-hippie dude that you claim to follow. If more of you actually did that, there would be a hell of a lot less misery in this world.
Ah well, enough of that, for the moment, anyway.
A lot has happened since I met Raxgar in the Alaskan wilderness, much of it worth telling about at some point, but I think it is time to catch the story up to the present day.
The battle in the Alaskan wilderness turned out to be somewhat of a watershed moment in the brewing conflict between the ORC’s and the An’girasii. While the ORC’s lost too many good people that day, including my son Kenny, the losses for the An’girasii were staggering. Three of their most powerful Banes and a dozen Doppelgangers were slain.
Banes aren’t killed very often. But when, on occasion, they are killed, their Spirit finds a new host body and begins the arduous process of modifying that body to suit their desires. That is what happened with the Bane that Drake killed on the tanker ship when he took over my body.
The three who died in that battle with us, however, didn’t just get killed. I absorbed their Spirits into myself, essentially destroying them. This was a crippling blow to the offensive forces of the An’girasii. To make matters worse for the An’girasii, El Diablito used the diversion created by my drawing the Banes and their followers into battle to betray his erstwhile masters. He and his minions snuck into a secret stronghold that the An’girasii had established and stole a large number of artifacts and weapons that the An’girasii had been gathering for their own servants. Among the things he took was an orb that can lead its bearer to where Alexa is being held.
I can’t reveal yet how I know all of this information, but I will tell it when doing so will no longer compromise valuable secrets.
El Diablito and his organization are now the focus of the rage of the An’girasii and their surviving minions which has taken considerable, if temporary, pressure off of the ORC’s.
This brief respite has allowed for the ORC’s to regroup and establish several new bases of operation. I am now back in a rural area just outside of Metro Detroit with my ex-wife and daughter and several of my oldest friends among the ORC’s—including Ravyn, the Frau, Cerrydwen, the Professor and Alora. We are safely tucked away on a large swath of property that the organization has owned and operated for quite some time under an alias that I won’t be divulging here. I will not reveal any more of the location for obvious reasons, other than to give you the name by which we are calling our new home base—the Den.
I use the place as a base of sorts, but spend more than half of my time away on various missions for the Bureau or the ORC’s. Supervisory Special Agent Jennifer Wilson was able to settle the situation with the Bureau so that I am now fully restored to my previous position as a Provisional Special Agent. More importantly, I have had my access to the various law enforcement systems restored. I am still free to take on cases as I see fit, but also have to be available on short notice at any time to help the Bureau out with one of their cases as well.
As the strange woman, Me’shwara, had warned, I no longer have easy access to the Shadowland. In the many months since I’ve been back, I’ve only managed to make two short-lived trips, each one consuming tremendous amounts of energy that is not really very easy to store up. I can only shake my head and marvel at how powerful I had become and how much I took that power for granted until I lost it. I now have to get around in more traditional ways. For the most part I travel by way of my black Ninja motorcycle.
Since my latest transition, I have found it easier to move about in society. I’m still the ugliest mug in any given room, by now my skin looks a lot more like skin, even if it is pasty white in color. But I can throw on a hat, some mirrored sun-glasses and a jacket and get by without too much trouble. I still avoid crowds of any sort when I can, but I can mingle freely when I have to.
As mentioned in a previous post, my new body has its full complement of senses. I can smell and taste again, although sometimes I wish I couldn’t taste the kinds of stuff I have to eat in order to build up my strength. In order to be as strong as I need to be, I have to consume a diet of raw meat.
In the last few months I have discovered a lot of information about my new body and how it works. For one, I have a new appreciation for how Drake was able to take on the strongest servants of the An’girasii. Like Drake, I can suffer wounds by weapons big and small, but also like Drake, I have the ability to control my body’s reaction to such attacks on an almost cellular level. In the last few months I have been shot, stabbed, and nearly crushed while investigating various cases. In each case, however, I have been able to absorb the wounds, redirect my energy and resources around the wounded area and keep on trucking. Once the immediate danger is over, I’m then able to heal the damage far quicker than the normal healing process would be if I were a normal person.
Even though I have lost most of my ability to manipulate the Shadow, I have discovered a number of new abilities that also mirror some of the things I watched Drake do. When I haven’t been engaged with cases, I’ve spent hour after hour training to hone the skills that I know that I will need for the coming battles.
In my next post, I will update you on the status of some of my comrades and go into more detail on some of the doings of the other ORC’s.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
A War of Shadows...Part 2
Calling upon the Shadow to speed my travel, I breezed through the last three hundred yards of my journey. I emerged in a large clearing that was more of a shallow depression. Near the center of the roughly circular depression stood the obelisk that I had known would be waiting.
The obelisk rose from the center of the depression, its brooding dark presence dominating the space. A quick glance around the far perimeter of the clearing showed the brightly-hued Spirit forms of Herne’s assault team, over twenty strong in all. Herne was waiting in the center of the depression next to the obelisk. Next to him were Cerrydwen, Ravyn, Alana and Jim.
I reached out to touch Herne’s Spirit form. He flinched before recognizing my touch. “Damn, I’m glad that’s you Rusty. Our Spirit vision is blinded by this obelisk of yours.”
“Herne, there’s not much time to get ready, they will be here soon. I need your guys to get into place quickly. Did you bring the weapons we discussed?”
He nodded. “Yes, Jasmine has been very busy. We have enough weapons for everyone.”
“Good. Remember, don’t worry about me. I’m going to be in the crossfire but don’t let that stop anyone from firing. You guys are not going to have very much time before the surprise wears off. Oh yeah, keep an eye on the sky, I’m not sure what will happen to the Dragon when I activate the trap.”
Herne nodded again, but Ravyn spoke up first. “Rusty, how many Banes should we expect?”
I touched her shoulder, enjoying the shudder of a reaction caused by touching her Spirit form directly. “Three. Malaxifer the Dragon, Arixtocles the Wise and Kosferaxtu the Demon. Leave the last one for me, he’s the one who killed you at the Coop, he’s the most powerful. Now go, quickly. I need to activate the obelisk or this trap will be sprung before it ever begins.”
I didn’t have time to watch as they scrambled back up the far slope of the depression and into their positions. I had far too much to do in a very short time.
Instead, I reached out to touch the obelisk to activate our first line of defense.
In my travels through the Shadowland over the last few weeks, I had finally begun to reach the full potential of abilities and skills that Drake and John had envisioned bringing about in one person. I had also discovered additional abilities that neither one of them had planned.
The obelisk responded to my command readily. Deep inside it a small light began to growing, pulsing stronger and brighter with a regularity that reminded me of a heartbeat. Within moments it would be glowing so brightly that not even the Banes who would soon be here would be able to see the Spirit forms of my allies. This obelisk was a powerful beacon that would serve to effectively blind anyone nearby in the Shadowland from being able to peer into the real world. There was no corresponding tower in the real world, but the corresponding depression in the real world was a small lake that was noted for the healing power of its water in the brief Alaskan summer. In the dead of winter, like now, it was frozen solid.
The howling of the pursuing pack ended as the first wolves streamed from the dark of the forest into the bright light of the obelisk. They circled me, staying close to the forest edge, almost as if they feared to come too close to the pulsing white light of the tower.
I reached up and grabbed the hilt of Excalibur. Before drawing the blade though, I gathered myself and exerted the control over it that I had developed in the last few weeks. It hadn’t been easy, but I had finally imposed my Will on this unruly, independent-minded blade. I felt the blade respond to my grip, both physically and spiritually.
Even as I drew Excalibur, I was working on the last task that needed to be completed before the enemy arrived in full force. Using every ounce of concentration I could spare from controlling my sword, I quietly called the Shadow up into me through my feet. I silently reached out with tendrils of Shadow to the ancient trees surrounding this clearing, imploring them to lend me their strength. As each individual tree acknowledged me and responded, the secret net that I was weaving grew stronger and tighter.
After the wolves, dozens of Reavers crashed out into the open, shambling forward into the light, unconcerned about their already decaying bodies. Each Reaver held a weapon of some sort, ranging from large lawn tools to actual swords and axes. A few carried rifles or shotguns, but many of those were carried more like clubs than as firearms.
I could feel the Banes drawing closer, but the only one that I could see was Malaxifer the Dragon. His massive silhouette was just barely visible over the tree line, but only because of the massive amount of light being thrown off by the obelisk. The other two Banes were coming closer, but were still hidden by the forest.
Despite their clear agitation, the wolves continued to circle the edges of the clearing. The Reavers moved in closer, but not close enough to be of any threat, at least not yet. None of these lesser creatures were willing to face me without the help or motivation of a Bane. I had slain dozens of the wolves in the last couple of weeks, slaughtering whole packs that had come too close. Reavers and Doppelgangers had also felt the bite of Excalibur of late.
I continued building the hidden web of Shadow even as I stood facing the growing crowd of enemies. ‘Damn, this plan better work or this is going to get ugly.’
Watching the numbers of wolves, Reavers and Doppelgangers build, I began to worry about whether or not Herne had brought enough firepower to have a chance at winning this battle. That concern only grew stronger as Kosferaxtu’s massive frame emerged from the forest. He stood over eight feet tall, but seemed even larger with his huge black wings sprouting from his back and his massively muscled frame. His skin was entirely black, very shiny and as hard as obsidian. His glowing yellow eyes bore down on me as soon as emerged from the shadows of the forest. He pointed on of his massive claws towards me and issued his challenge in the ancient language of the An’girasii, his voice booming throughout the clearing.
“Puny man-thing, your time is over! I will crush you and throw your broken body to my slaves.”
I saluted him with Excalibur and stood my ground. “Come Demon, if you dare! I will be glad to add your name to my tally of fallen foes!”
That challenge angered him as I hoped that it would. I needed all three Banes to get within range of the web that I had set up.
Before the Demon could do more than shake his clawed fist at me, Arixtocles followed him into the clearing. This was my first time seeing this Bane in person. He had retained a very human visage. He was at least seven feet tall, but very thin. His face resembled the image I had of Confucius in my mind—Asian eyes and complexion, long, thin white beard and white hair. He was wearing long white robes and carried an elaborately carved staff of some black material.
His voice was calm and measured when he spoke to his fellow Bane and me. “Relax dear Kosferaxtu, he cannot escape us now. We have heard of your exploits, Mr. Bones, but as impressive as they have been to date, even you shall not be able to face the combined might of three of the mightiest Banes. You should have fled while you still could.”
I could sense that Arixtocles was weaving some spell of his own as he spoke, but I was too wrapped up in my own to be able to tell what exactly he was trying to do. I needed to keep them talking long enough for the Dragon to get in range.
“So, the two of you are the mightiest Banes that serve the An’girasii?”
The Demon stomped and snorted before responding. “I am the mightiest Bane. You fled from me before, but I shall not let you escape this time, whelp!”
Both the Demon and Arixtocles continued to move closer as we spoke. The Demon’s steps thundered. Each footprint trailed tendrils of smoke as soon as his foot lifted form the ground. Arixtocles glided forward, his feet never seemingly touching the ground, his legs unmoving as he traveled inches about the dark earth of the Shadowland. As they advanced, the wolves and the Reavers made their own tentative advances on either side of the two imposing figures.
From behind the two advancing Banes, a group of figures emerged from the woods. From their very quick, intense movements, I could tell that these were Doppelgangers, but they had taken the forms of human-like warriors. Each was sheathed in shiny black armor and carried wicked looking scimitars in each hand.
The Dragon’s pride must have been tweaked by the Demon’s claim at supremacy because his voice roared from above as his massively scaled body swooped in from over the forest, smoke trailing from his mouth as he belched out his own claim.
“I, Malaxifer, am the mightiest of the Banes, puny human! It is I who shall end this battle before it ever begins!”
The Demon roared his own challenge and rushed forward as soon as he saw that the Dragon was diving towards me.
I smiled. The An’girasii apparently liked to foster competition among their chief servants, which I had been able to manipulate to my advantage. Or at least it would if my crazy plan worked.
As long as the obelisk was showering this place with its powerful light, I was not going to be able to call upon the Shadow with enough strength to make my spell worked. Holding Excalibur forth with my right hand, I reached out with my left to touch the tower. With a simple command, the light switched off like a bulb going out, plunging the area into darkness.
The Dragon continued his dive, smoke and fire trailing his open jaws and barreled toward me at the base do the tower. The Demon was brushing aside his lesser servants as thundered toward me at a dead run. Only Arixtocles hung back as he appeared to mumbling his own spell, his eyes closed.
Calling the Shadow with all of my Will, the web of Shadow sprung from the edges of the forest, coving the clearing with a dome of darkness. By calling upon the ancient trees of the surrounding forest and amplifying their power with my own, I was able to create a portal between the Shadowland and the real world that encompassed the entire clearing. With a twist of my Will, everyone and everything in the clearing, except for the obelisk, shimmered and was transported from that world of darkness into the world light and life…
The obelisk rose from the center of the depression, its brooding dark presence dominating the space. A quick glance around the far perimeter of the clearing showed the brightly-hued Spirit forms of Herne’s assault team, over twenty strong in all. Herne was waiting in the center of the depression next to the obelisk. Next to him were Cerrydwen, Ravyn, Alana and Jim.
I reached out to touch Herne’s Spirit form. He flinched before recognizing my touch. “Damn, I’m glad that’s you Rusty. Our Spirit vision is blinded by this obelisk of yours.”
“Herne, there’s not much time to get ready, they will be here soon. I need your guys to get into place quickly. Did you bring the weapons we discussed?”
He nodded. “Yes, Jasmine has been very busy. We have enough weapons for everyone.”
“Good. Remember, don’t worry about me. I’m going to be in the crossfire but don’t let that stop anyone from firing. You guys are not going to have very much time before the surprise wears off. Oh yeah, keep an eye on the sky, I’m not sure what will happen to the Dragon when I activate the trap.”
Herne nodded again, but Ravyn spoke up first. “Rusty, how many Banes should we expect?”
I touched her shoulder, enjoying the shudder of a reaction caused by touching her Spirit form directly. “Three. Malaxifer the Dragon, Arixtocles the Wise and Kosferaxtu the Demon. Leave the last one for me, he’s the one who killed you at the Coop, he’s the most powerful. Now go, quickly. I need to activate the obelisk or this trap will be sprung before it ever begins.”
I didn’t have time to watch as they scrambled back up the far slope of the depression and into their positions. I had far too much to do in a very short time.
Instead, I reached out to touch the obelisk to activate our first line of defense.
In my travels through the Shadowland over the last few weeks, I had finally begun to reach the full potential of abilities and skills that Drake and John had envisioned bringing about in one person. I had also discovered additional abilities that neither one of them had planned.
The obelisk responded to my command readily. Deep inside it a small light began to growing, pulsing stronger and brighter with a regularity that reminded me of a heartbeat. Within moments it would be glowing so brightly that not even the Banes who would soon be here would be able to see the Spirit forms of my allies. This obelisk was a powerful beacon that would serve to effectively blind anyone nearby in the Shadowland from being able to peer into the real world. There was no corresponding tower in the real world, but the corresponding depression in the real world was a small lake that was noted for the healing power of its water in the brief Alaskan summer. In the dead of winter, like now, it was frozen solid.
The howling of the pursuing pack ended as the first wolves streamed from the dark of the forest into the bright light of the obelisk. They circled me, staying close to the forest edge, almost as if they feared to come too close to the pulsing white light of the tower.
I reached up and grabbed the hilt of Excalibur. Before drawing the blade though, I gathered myself and exerted the control over it that I had developed in the last few weeks. It hadn’t been easy, but I had finally imposed my Will on this unruly, independent-minded blade. I felt the blade respond to my grip, both physically and spiritually.
Even as I drew Excalibur, I was working on the last task that needed to be completed before the enemy arrived in full force. Using every ounce of concentration I could spare from controlling my sword, I quietly called the Shadow up into me through my feet. I silently reached out with tendrils of Shadow to the ancient trees surrounding this clearing, imploring them to lend me their strength. As each individual tree acknowledged me and responded, the secret net that I was weaving grew stronger and tighter.
After the wolves, dozens of Reavers crashed out into the open, shambling forward into the light, unconcerned about their already decaying bodies. Each Reaver held a weapon of some sort, ranging from large lawn tools to actual swords and axes. A few carried rifles or shotguns, but many of those were carried more like clubs than as firearms.
I could feel the Banes drawing closer, but the only one that I could see was Malaxifer the Dragon. His massive silhouette was just barely visible over the tree line, but only because of the massive amount of light being thrown off by the obelisk. The other two Banes were coming closer, but were still hidden by the forest.
Despite their clear agitation, the wolves continued to circle the edges of the clearing. The Reavers moved in closer, but not close enough to be of any threat, at least not yet. None of these lesser creatures were willing to face me without the help or motivation of a Bane. I had slain dozens of the wolves in the last couple of weeks, slaughtering whole packs that had come too close. Reavers and Doppelgangers had also felt the bite of Excalibur of late.
I continued building the hidden web of Shadow even as I stood facing the growing crowd of enemies. ‘Damn, this plan better work or this is going to get ugly.’
Watching the numbers of wolves, Reavers and Doppelgangers build, I began to worry about whether or not Herne had brought enough firepower to have a chance at winning this battle. That concern only grew stronger as Kosferaxtu’s massive frame emerged from the forest. He stood over eight feet tall, but seemed even larger with his huge black wings sprouting from his back and his massively muscled frame. His skin was entirely black, very shiny and as hard as obsidian. His glowing yellow eyes bore down on me as soon as emerged from the shadows of the forest. He pointed on of his massive claws towards me and issued his challenge in the ancient language of the An’girasii, his voice booming throughout the clearing.
“Puny man-thing, your time is over! I will crush you and throw your broken body to my slaves.”
I saluted him with Excalibur and stood my ground. “Come Demon, if you dare! I will be glad to add your name to my tally of fallen foes!”
That challenge angered him as I hoped that it would. I needed all three Banes to get within range of the web that I had set up.
Before the Demon could do more than shake his clawed fist at me, Arixtocles followed him into the clearing. This was my first time seeing this Bane in person. He had retained a very human visage. He was at least seven feet tall, but very thin. His face resembled the image I had of Confucius in my mind—Asian eyes and complexion, long, thin white beard and white hair. He was wearing long white robes and carried an elaborately carved staff of some black material.
His voice was calm and measured when he spoke to his fellow Bane and me. “Relax dear Kosferaxtu, he cannot escape us now. We have heard of your exploits, Mr. Bones, but as impressive as they have been to date, even you shall not be able to face the combined might of three of the mightiest Banes. You should have fled while you still could.”
I could sense that Arixtocles was weaving some spell of his own as he spoke, but I was too wrapped up in my own to be able to tell what exactly he was trying to do. I needed to keep them talking long enough for the Dragon to get in range.
“So, the two of you are the mightiest Banes that serve the An’girasii?”
The Demon stomped and snorted before responding. “I am the mightiest Bane. You fled from me before, but I shall not let you escape this time, whelp!”
Both the Demon and Arixtocles continued to move closer as we spoke. The Demon’s steps thundered. Each footprint trailed tendrils of smoke as soon as his foot lifted form the ground. Arixtocles glided forward, his feet never seemingly touching the ground, his legs unmoving as he traveled inches about the dark earth of the Shadowland. As they advanced, the wolves and the Reavers made their own tentative advances on either side of the two imposing figures.
From behind the two advancing Banes, a group of figures emerged from the woods. From their very quick, intense movements, I could tell that these were Doppelgangers, but they had taken the forms of human-like warriors. Each was sheathed in shiny black armor and carried wicked looking scimitars in each hand.
The Dragon’s pride must have been tweaked by the Demon’s claim at supremacy because his voice roared from above as his massively scaled body swooped in from over the forest, smoke trailing from his mouth as he belched out his own claim.
“I, Malaxifer, am the mightiest of the Banes, puny human! It is I who shall end this battle before it ever begins!”
The Demon roared his own challenge and rushed forward as soon as he saw that the Dragon was diving towards me.
I smiled. The An’girasii apparently liked to foster competition among their chief servants, which I had been able to manipulate to my advantage. Or at least it would if my crazy plan worked.
As long as the obelisk was showering this place with its powerful light, I was not going to be able to call upon the Shadow with enough strength to make my spell worked. Holding Excalibur forth with my right hand, I reached out with my left to touch the tower. With a simple command, the light switched off like a bulb going out, plunging the area into darkness.
The Dragon continued his dive, smoke and fire trailing his open jaws and barreled toward me at the base do the tower. The Demon was brushing aside his lesser servants as thundered toward me at a dead run. Only Arixtocles hung back as he appeared to mumbling his own spell, his eyes closed.
Calling the Shadow with all of my Will, the web of Shadow sprung from the edges of the forest, coving the clearing with a dome of darkness. By calling upon the ancient trees of the surrounding forest and amplifying their power with my own, I was able to create a portal between the Shadowland and the real world that encompassed the entire clearing. With a twist of my Will, everyone and everything in the clearing, except for the obelisk, shimmered and was transported from that world of darkness into the world light and life…
Friday, January 04, 2008
Starting over...
…is never easy.
The band of ORC’s that arrived in the Bat Cave was a tired, wounded, ragged bunch of shell-shocked survivors. The assault by El Diablito’s forces and An’girasii allies had come as a total surprise. Every ORC safe house, stronghold and academy across the United States had been hit in some way on the same night. All told, hundreds ORC members and students had been slain; dozens more were badly injured or missing.
By the time the final tally of escapees and survivors was taken—several days later—fewer than three hundred full fledged members and associates of the ORC’s survived that deadly night. The last census prior to that deadly night had put the membership rolls at just over a thousand members and associates. Forty of those survivors came with me to the Bat Cave.
After a close inspection by Cerrydwen, Ravyn or myself, I created a portal of Shadow that established a link between El Diablito’s dark tower in the Shadowland and another place of relative darkness—the entrance hall to the Bat Cave.
The hall was actually a natural cavern that had been worked on and expanded extensively by the military in the early part of the Cold War. The hall was easily wide and smooth enough for two vans to pass in opposite directions and long enough to hold a whole caravan of vehicles—in fact several aging but otherwise non-descript vehicles were parked along one of the walls facing the opposite direction. They were facing a set of heavy metal blast doors that opened to the outside world. I knew from Drake though that those doors were concealed from casual observation by what appeared to be a storage facility for salt for local highways.
Looking ahead, our way into the Bat Cave itself was barred by a smaller, but equally formidable set of steel doors that were secured both by lock and key and by a combination key pad set bear the handle of the left door.
Between the keys Drake had sent to Ravyn and the combination codes that I had memorized, we were able to open the doors to the incredible refuge that Drake and John Red Bear had secretly spent nearly four decades creating.
Beyond that sealed door was a decommissioned underground military base that was easily large enough to house several hundred people. The facility was comprised of several sections. It was also fully stocked with food and water. But the true bounty of the Bat Cave was found deep inside, beyond the living quarters. The Command Center was a fully operational, if slightly outdated control room full of computers and communications equipment. The Inner Sanctum was even more amazing as it included a vault that held the hundreds of weapons and other items of power that Drake had taken or acquired through his existence.
The Frau, Ravyn and Herne quickly took control of situation.
The Frau immediately drafted most of the able-bodied folks and began to set up a sick ward in one of the larger rooms in the dormitory part of the complex. She gently clucked out her orders to those that could carry them out while she coddled those who were still too shocked to act independently just yet. Moira, though wounded herself, helped out.
Ravyn, Cerrydwen and Zenny Al Farhan had set up shop inside the vault as they began to identify and catalog the surprising large cache of weapons and items that Drake had amassed.
Herne, the Professor, and the pretty gal from the San Diego Circle, Alana Danae, began the process of firing up the computers and communications equipment in the Command Center. Between Herne’s intimate knowledge of the military, the Professor’s computer tech skills and Alana’s expertise in software and network systems, they had the place humming to life in no time.
As everyone else set down to the task of getting the Bat Cave up and running, I finally had time to search out my ex-wife Katherine and our daughter, Jasmine. Katherine was sporting an improvised sling for her left arm, which had been broken in the initial struggle at the Coop, but she was still one of the people helping the Frau to tend to others. Jasmine appeared to be physically unharmed, but her nerves had been badly shaken.
I had come up from behind Jasmine and touched her gently on the shoulder. “Jazz, are you alright?”
She flinched at my touch, but whirled around for a fierce hug when she heard my voice. “Dad!” She was sobbing. “I was so scared!”
“I know, honey. I wish you never had to experience that.” I put my hand on the bottom of her chin to get her to look into my eyes. “Did anyone hurt you?”
She swallowed hard, her gaze glazing over as she looked through me rather than at me. “I…I…think I killed someone, Dad, with my…my…magick.”
“Was it someone who was trying to harm you?”
She nodded. “One of those shape-shifter things grabbed me from behind, it looked like Mom at first, but it just didn’t feel right. The eyes didn’t look right, so when it tried to take me away from the others, I pushed it away. I saw it’s face change for just a moment. I was so scared. When it grabbed for me again, I just sort of felt the magick flow through me. I killed it with a blast of lightning from my hand.” She was looking down at her right hand. Her fingertips were still blackened by soot. “I just did what Mistress Fyre had taught me to do.”
I nodded and pulled her close in another hug. “It’s alright, Jazz. Those things aren’t really people. They’re monsters. That thing would have probably taken you away and stolen your memories before killing you. You did the right thing.”
Katherine stood watching me console our daughter. She gave me a tight little smile and small nod of approval before giving me that look that she had always given when she wanted to talk, in private.
I disengaged from Jasmine and pointed her towards where the Frau was. “Jazz, do you think that you can go see if the Frau needs any help? Sometimes you just need to stay busy to keep from thinking of nasty things like the attack for awhile. We’ll have more time to talk later.” I gave her a pat on the shoulder. “I’m sure Ravyn will be very proud that you were able to summon and control that kind of energy.”
As Jasmine shuffled off to go help the Frau, Katherine and I took a small walk back out into the large area where we had first come in, the garage area.
“Thanks, Jason, Jasmine needed that from you.”
I nodded. “It was the least that I could do. Has anyone heard from Kenny?”
Her face tightened up. This was why she wanted to talk to me. “No. He was away at school. I don’t know if he is safe or not. Can you try to find him?”
I nodded. “As soon as I can make sure this place as safe as it seems and Herne and Ravyn give me the all clear signal, I’ll go check on him. I think he’ll be safe enough at that school since it didn’t have anything to do with the ORC’s.”
Katherine didn’t look very reassured. “I don’t know, Jason, the Professor teaches there and I know that Kenny often stays at his house when the Prof is away. He could be in all sorts of danger.”
I reached out and grabbed her healthy hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “I’m worried too. If he’s in danger or has been harmed in any way, I will find out and get him to safety. You can count on that.”
She squeezed my hand hard. “I know, Jason. I have faith in you. I better go see if my help is needed inside.” She released my hand and went back to the infirmary.
I made my way back to the Command Center.
Herne looked up from a monitor as I walked into the room. The previously quiet room was not a hub of beeping, buzzing, and chattering activity.
“Rusty, come check this out. This stuff looks vintage but it was top of the line equipment not that long ago.”
I walked over to stand behind him. The monitor was an older clunker, with a resolution level that would’ve given me a headache if I had actually had any optical nerves left to be irritated.
Despite its age and its low level of resolution, it was clearly accessing the internet. Herne had pulled up a newswire service.
“It looks like there is a strong PR campaign going on to characterize the ORC’s as some sort of New Age death cult. All of the news agencies have picked up on the various attacks, although the attacks aren’t being depicted as attacks at all, but as some sort of suicide pact.” He looked up at me. “They’ve got to have agents in the government and maybe even the Bureau to have tied all of this up so neatly so quickly.”
The Professor sat at another workstation with his own unique laptop that had somehow survived our bizarre journey. Alana was standing behind him, a look of concern on her face.
Jim looked up form his computer. “They’ve acted very quickly to shut down all of our corporate accounts as well—none of my attempts to access any of them have been successful.”
That reminded me of something else Drake had given me. I pulled out a small notebook that Drake had used to record several account numbers and passwords for the off-shore accounts that he had held in reserve. I held it out towards Jim. “Try looking up these accounts. I think you will find that we’ll have the financial resources to put up one hell of a fight.”
He nodded and took the notebook.
Within minutes, he had logged into the first of the accounts. He whistled in appreciation. “Yeah, there’s more money in this account alone than the ORC’s have ever had in all of our other accounts. It’s a Swiss account too, so we will have absolute privacy with what we do with it. I can make this work quite well.”
I watched as Herne bounced from website to website checking out all of the stories about the attacks. El Diablito and his allies had done a very thorough job of destroying and discrediting the ORC’s.
Ravyn and Zenny soon joined us, notebook in hand. They had heard some of the news already from Herne before. Ravyn’s face was quite grim.
“Rusty, we’ll need to have an executive council meeting as soon as the Frau has seen to the last of the wounded. We’re going to need to take stock of who’s here and what resources we have at our disposal. I think we’ll want to gather as many of our members and associates to us as possible, but we’ll have to screen anyone we bring back to ensure that we aren’t bringing any Doppelgangers or other spies back to our little haven here. I’m afraid we’re going to be working long and hard over the next few days to take full stock of what’s left of the ORC’s and what can be salvaged.”
Herne nodded. “We also need to come up with a plan of action. We need to show these bastards that while they’ve won this battle, they’re going to have a long, hard war on their hands.”
There was no disagreement with Herne’s statement.
The band of ORC’s that arrived in the Bat Cave was a tired, wounded, ragged bunch of shell-shocked survivors. The assault by El Diablito’s forces and An’girasii allies had come as a total surprise. Every ORC safe house, stronghold and academy across the United States had been hit in some way on the same night. All told, hundreds ORC members and students had been slain; dozens more were badly injured or missing.
By the time the final tally of escapees and survivors was taken—several days later—fewer than three hundred full fledged members and associates of the ORC’s survived that deadly night. The last census prior to that deadly night had put the membership rolls at just over a thousand members and associates. Forty of those survivors came with me to the Bat Cave.
After a close inspection by Cerrydwen, Ravyn or myself, I created a portal of Shadow that established a link between El Diablito’s dark tower in the Shadowland and another place of relative darkness—the entrance hall to the Bat Cave.
The hall was actually a natural cavern that had been worked on and expanded extensively by the military in the early part of the Cold War. The hall was easily wide and smooth enough for two vans to pass in opposite directions and long enough to hold a whole caravan of vehicles—in fact several aging but otherwise non-descript vehicles were parked along one of the walls facing the opposite direction. They were facing a set of heavy metal blast doors that opened to the outside world. I knew from Drake though that those doors were concealed from casual observation by what appeared to be a storage facility for salt for local highways.
Looking ahead, our way into the Bat Cave itself was barred by a smaller, but equally formidable set of steel doors that were secured both by lock and key and by a combination key pad set bear the handle of the left door.
Between the keys Drake had sent to Ravyn and the combination codes that I had memorized, we were able to open the doors to the incredible refuge that Drake and John Red Bear had secretly spent nearly four decades creating.
Beyond that sealed door was a decommissioned underground military base that was easily large enough to house several hundred people. The facility was comprised of several sections. It was also fully stocked with food and water. But the true bounty of the Bat Cave was found deep inside, beyond the living quarters. The Command Center was a fully operational, if slightly outdated control room full of computers and communications equipment. The Inner Sanctum was even more amazing as it included a vault that held the hundreds of weapons and other items of power that Drake had taken or acquired through his existence.
The Frau, Ravyn and Herne quickly took control of situation.
The Frau immediately drafted most of the able-bodied folks and began to set up a sick ward in one of the larger rooms in the dormitory part of the complex. She gently clucked out her orders to those that could carry them out while she coddled those who were still too shocked to act independently just yet. Moira, though wounded herself, helped out.
Ravyn, Cerrydwen and Zenny Al Farhan had set up shop inside the vault as they began to identify and catalog the surprising large cache of weapons and items that Drake had amassed.
Herne, the Professor, and the pretty gal from the San Diego Circle, Alana Danae, began the process of firing up the computers and communications equipment in the Command Center. Between Herne’s intimate knowledge of the military, the Professor’s computer tech skills and Alana’s expertise in software and network systems, they had the place humming to life in no time.
As everyone else set down to the task of getting the Bat Cave up and running, I finally had time to search out my ex-wife Katherine and our daughter, Jasmine. Katherine was sporting an improvised sling for her left arm, which had been broken in the initial struggle at the Coop, but she was still one of the people helping the Frau to tend to others. Jasmine appeared to be physically unharmed, but her nerves had been badly shaken.
I had come up from behind Jasmine and touched her gently on the shoulder. “Jazz, are you alright?”
She flinched at my touch, but whirled around for a fierce hug when she heard my voice. “Dad!” She was sobbing. “I was so scared!”
“I know, honey. I wish you never had to experience that.” I put my hand on the bottom of her chin to get her to look into my eyes. “Did anyone hurt you?”
She swallowed hard, her gaze glazing over as she looked through me rather than at me. “I…I…think I killed someone, Dad, with my…my…magick.”
“Was it someone who was trying to harm you?”
She nodded. “One of those shape-shifter things grabbed me from behind, it looked like Mom at first, but it just didn’t feel right. The eyes didn’t look right, so when it tried to take me away from the others, I pushed it away. I saw it’s face change for just a moment. I was so scared. When it grabbed for me again, I just sort of felt the magick flow through me. I killed it with a blast of lightning from my hand.” She was looking down at her right hand. Her fingertips were still blackened by soot. “I just did what Mistress Fyre had taught me to do.”
I nodded and pulled her close in another hug. “It’s alright, Jazz. Those things aren’t really people. They’re monsters. That thing would have probably taken you away and stolen your memories before killing you. You did the right thing.”
Katherine stood watching me console our daughter. She gave me a tight little smile and small nod of approval before giving me that look that she had always given when she wanted to talk, in private.
I disengaged from Jasmine and pointed her towards where the Frau was. “Jazz, do you think that you can go see if the Frau needs any help? Sometimes you just need to stay busy to keep from thinking of nasty things like the attack for awhile. We’ll have more time to talk later.” I gave her a pat on the shoulder. “I’m sure Ravyn will be very proud that you were able to summon and control that kind of energy.”
As Jasmine shuffled off to go help the Frau, Katherine and I took a small walk back out into the large area where we had first come in, the garage area.
“Thanks, Jason, Jasmine needed that from you.”
I nodded. “It was the least that I could do. Has anyone heard from Kenny?”
Her face tightened up. This was why she wanted to talk to me. “No. He was away at school. I don’t know if he is safe or not. Can you try to find him?”
I nodded. “As soon as I can make sure this place as safe as it seems and Herne and Ravyn give me the all clear signal, I’ll go check on him. I think he’ll be safe enough at that school since it didn’t have anything to do with the ORC’s.”
Katherine didn’t look very reassured. “I don’t know, Jason, the Professor teaches there and I know that Kenny often stays at his house when the Prof is away. He could be in all sorts of danger.”
I reached out and grabbed her healthy hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “I’m worried too. If he’s in danger or has been harmed in any way, I will find out and get him to safety. You can count on that.”
She squeezed my hand hard. “I know, Jason. I have faith in you. I better go see if my help is needed inside.” She released my hand and went back to the infirmary.
I made my way back to the Command Center.
Herne looked up from a monitor as I walked into the room. The previously quiet room was not a hub of beeping, buzzing, and chattering activity.
“Rusty, come check this out. This stuff looks vintage but it was top of the line equipment not that long ago.”
I walked over to stand behind him. The monitor was an older clunker, with a resolution level that would’ve given me a headache if I had actually had any optical nerves left to be irritated.
Despite its age and its low level of resolution, it was clearly accessing the internet. Herne had pulled up a newswire service.
“It looks like there is a strong PR campaign going on to characterize the ORC’s as some sort of New Age death cult. All of the news agencies have picked up on the various attacks, although the attacks aren’t being depicted as attacks at all, but as some sort of suicide pact.” He looked up at me. “They’ve got to have agents in the government and maybe even the Bureau to have tied all of this up so neatly so quickly.”
The Professor sat at another workstation with his own unique laptop that had somehow survived our bizarre journey. Alana was standing behind him, a look of concern on her face.
Jim looked up form his computer. “They’ve acted very quickly to shut down all of our corporate accounts as well—none of my attempts to access any of them have been successful.”
That reminded me of something else Drake had given me. I pulled out a small notebook that Drake had used to record several account numbers and passwords for the off-shore accounts that he had held in reserve. I held it out towards Jim. “Try looking up these accounts. I think you will find that we’ll have the financial resources to put up one hell of a fight.”
He nodded and took the notebook.
Within minutes, he had logged into the first of the accounts. He whistled in appreciation. “Yeah, there’s more money in this account alone than the ORC’s have ever had in all of our other accounts. It’s a Swiss account too, so we will have absolute privacy with what we do with it. I can make this work quite well.”
I watched as Herne bounced from website to website checking out all of the stories about the attacks. El Diablito and his allies had done a very thorough job of destroying and discrediting the ORC’s.
Ravyn and Zenny soon joined us, notebook in hand. They had heard some of the news already from Herne before. Ravyn’s face was quite grim.
“Rusty, we’ll need to have an executive council meeting as soon as the Frau has seen to the last of the wounded. We’re going to need to take stock of who’s here and what resources we have at our disposal. I think we’ll want to gather as many of our members and associates to us as possible, but we’ll have to screen anyone we bring back to ensure that we aren’t bringing any Doppelgangers or other spies back to our little haven here. I’m afraid we’re going to be working long and hard over the next few days to take full stock of what’s left of the ORC’s and what can be salvaged.”
Herne nodded. “We also need to come up with a plan of action. We need to show these bastards that while they’ve won this battle, they’re going to have a long, hard war on their hands.”
There was no disagreement with Herne’s statement.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
A Little Zombie Love
Just a short little note to express my undying love to all of the luscious and inspirational ladies in my (un)life:
To Cerrydwen(Pat): My Soulmate Forever...
To Jasmine (Kerry): My Shining Light...
To Frau (Mom): My Strong Foundation...
To Ravyn (Candii): My Dear Friend...
Happy Valentines Day...
Next post due on Thursday, because tomorrow...(cue the cheesy 70's guitar music)...is for Zombie Lovin'....
Doug
To Cerrydwen(Pat): My Soulmate Forever...
To Jasmine (Kerry): My Shining Light...
To Frau (Mom): My Strong Foundation...
To Ravyn (Candii): My Dear Friend...
Happy Valentines Day...
Next post due on Thursday, because tomorrow...(cue the cheesy 70's guitar music)...is for Zombie Lovin'....
Doug
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Sunny Daze
(This post is dedicated in loving memory to Mrs. Helen Hakes, a kind and loving soul who passed to soon.)
Unpacking a box of belongings that my ex-wife had placed in storage when she had sold our old home and moved to Phoenix Coop, I stumbled across an old, battered rag doll with a dull green dress and a smiling face framed with faded yellow sunflower petals.
The doll brought a smile to my face. Sunny. Sunny Daze. That was the name that my daughter Jasmine had given her when she received her as a Christmas present when she was four years old by our neighbor at the time, Mrs. Hanes.
Jasmine had so many stuffed animals and dolls at that time, but Sunny had been one of her favorites. She was the simplest of toys, her dress was sewn on tight, so she couldn’t be undressed like Jasmine’s Barbie dolls could, but there was something special about that doll and her smile.
I picked up the soft, limp doll, remembering the way that my daughter’s eyes had lit up when she opened the box containing Sunny. The name leaped from her lips as if they had been old friends, just reunited. I don’t think she put her down for three days after receiving her.
The dress was stained in the front from what looked like fruit punch, and one petal was now missing, but somehow that just increased her charm.
Mrs. Hanes had smiled and nodded her head when she heard how much Jasmine had liked the doll. “I’m so glad. She’s just like a doll I had when I was a little girl. We didn’t have much when I was young, but I always had a friend that I could talk to when I had my raggedy doll.”
We only lived next to Mrs. Hanes for a couple of years before we were able to buy a bigger house in a better neighborhood, but the memory of Mrs. Hanes brought a smile to my face. She was the kind of person that I watched out for as a beat cop. She was a feisty widow who lived on her own in a home full of knickknacks and memories.
Despite having the use of only one arm, she was determined to ignore her disability as she went about her daily tasks. Her husband had passed some years before we moved next door, but I felt like I knew him well, since she was always eager to proudly show her old family pictures and tell stories about their lives together.
She was even more eager though, to show the newspaper clippings and photos of her pride and joy, her son. She was so proud of his accomplishments that tears formed in her eyes whenever she spoke of him.
Looking into the smiling face of Sunny, I thought of the love that Mrs. Hanes gave and the way that she always remembered our kids’ birthdays and our wedding anniversary. It wasn’t a true holiday season until we received the traditional Christmas card from Mrs. Hanes.
When I called Jasmine to tell that I had found Sunny again, I could hear her voice light up over the phone. “You found Sunny? Wow, I had wondered where she went!”
“Do you want me to bring her to you, Jazz?”
“You know what, Dad? I think Sunny would be something that would be perfect for Alexa.”
“Are you sure Jazz? I know how much you loved this doll.”
“I think that Mrs. Hanes would approve Dad. I miss her.”
“Who, Sunny or Mrs. Hanes?”
She laughed. “Silly! I miss Mrs. Hanes.”
“Me too, Jazz. Me too. Say hello to your mother and Ms. Fyre for me, won’t you?”
“Sure thing. Bye Dad!”
I held the small, soft doll carefully in my hand as I hung up the cell phone with the other hand. It was amazing to think that such a small thing could mean so much, could represent so many memories and so much love.
Just like there could never be too much love in life, there could never be enough Sunny Daze. It was good to be reminded of that once in a while.
I sent a silent prayer of thanks to Mrs. Hanes for her many gifts.
Unpacking a box of belongings that my ex-wife had placed in storage when she had sold our old home and moved to Phoenix Coop, I stumbled across an old, battered rag doll with a dull green dress and a smiling face framed with faded yellow sunflower petals.
The doll brought a smile to my face. Sunny. Sunny Daze. That was the name that my daughter Jasmine had given her when she received her as a Christmas present when she was four years old by our neighbor at the time, Mrs. Hanes.
Jasmine had so many stuffed animals and dolls at that time, but Sunny had been one of her favorites. She was the simplest of toys, her dress was sewn on tight, so she couldn’t be undressed like Jasmine’s Barbie dolls could, but there was something special about that doll and her smile.
I picked up the soft, limp doll, remembering the way that my daughter’s eyes had lit up when she opened the box containing Sunny. The name leaped from her lips as if they had been old friends, just reunited. I don’t think she put her down for three days after receiving her.
The dress was stained in the front from what looked like fruit punch, and one petal was now missing, but somehow that just increased her charm.
Mrs. Hanes had smiled and nodded her head when she heard how much Jasmine had liked the doll. “I’m so glad. She’s just like a doll I had when I was a little girl. We didn’t have much when I was young, but I always had a friend that I could talk to when I had my raggedy doll.”
We only lived next to Mrs. Hanes for a couple of years before we were able to buy a bigger house in a better neighborhood, but the memory of Mrs. Hanes brought a smile to my face. She was the kind of person that I watched out for as a beat cop. She was a feisty widow who lived on her own in a home full of knickknacks and memories.
Despite having the use of only one arm, she was determined to ignore her disability as she went about her daily tasks. Her husband had passed some years before we moved next door, but I felt like I knew him well, since she was always eager to proudly show her old family pictures and tell stories about their lives together.
She was even more eager though, to show the newspaper clippings and photos of her pride and joy, her son. She was so proud of his accomplishments that tears formed in her eyes whenever she spoke of him.
Looking into the smiling face of Sunny, I thought of the love that Mrs. Hanes gave and the way that she always remembered our kids’ birthdays and our wedding anniversary. It wasn’t a true holiday season until we received the traditional Christmas card from Mrs. Hanes.
When I called Jasmine to tell that I had found Sunny again, I could hear her voice light up over the phone. “You found Sunny? Wow, I had wondered where she went!”
“Do you want me to bring her to you, Jazz?”
“You know what, Dad? I think Sunny would be something that would be perfect for Alexa.”
“Are you sure Jazz? I know how much you loved this doll.”
“I think that Mrs. Hanes would approve Dad. I miss her.”
“Who, Sunny or Mrs. Hanes?”
She laughed. “Silly! I miss Mrs. Hanes.”
“Me too, Jazz. Me too. Say hello to your mother and Ms. Fyre for me, won’t you?”
“Sure thing. Bye Dad!”
I held the small, soft doll carefully in my hand as I hung up the cell phone with the other hand. It was amazing to think that such a small thing could mean so much, could represent so many memories and so much love.
Just like there could never be too much love in life, there could never be enough Sunny Daze. It was good to be reminded of that once in a while.
I sent a silent prayer of thanks to Mrs. Hanes for her many gifts.
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