Myers and I stopped at the entrance to the clearing. It was quieter here, but I could still hear the lamentations of the tribe. I was furious. Myers holstered his revolver and pulled out a pack of smokes. He offered one to me. Resisting the urge to cave his skull in, I shook my head.
"I'm trying to quit," he explained as he lit the cigarette. "Ironic. It was working with Earl that got me hooked on these stupid things. The good old days . . ." Myers chuckled. "Looks like they've come back to haunt us."
"You know about Hood, then?"
"Franks briefed me." He shook his head slowly. "I can't believe it."
"Well, you better."
"No . . . That's impossible. Marty Hood was a good man." I could sense the consternation in his voice. He really couldn't wrap his mind around the truth. Myers continued, "He was my friend. Nothing like this cult leader. The Condition is brutal, efficient, psychotic. They'll stop at nothing to reach their goals."
"So that's why you stuck one of their acolytes with me?"
He shrugged. "I saw an opportunity and took it. There were only a handful of my men who could have sold out Agent Patterson. Investigating them turned up nothing. If I questioned them outright, then they'd know I was onto them, and we'd lose our opportunity. But I knew that they wouldn't be able to resist taking a shot at you." He waved his hand across the clearing. "I just didn't expect this level of response."
I had to fold my arms across my chest. Every fiber of my being wanted to murder him. "You just expected them to pop me. Not a full-on assault."
"Correct." Myers said, stone-faced. "Don't look at me like that. You would have done the same thing."
"No. I still have my soul."
Myers tossed his smoke down and ground it out with his wingtip. "When the President himself tells you to stop a death cult, no matter what the cost, then your perspective changes a bit. The Condition is getting ready for something big. Something devastating, called Arbmunep. We don't even know what it is, some sort of secret weapon, but it's coming soon. All our intel indicates that this is an Extinction Level Event. Do you know what that even means?"
I shrugged. It sounded pretty bad.
"Poof. Done. Mankind's done. We're like the dinosaurs. I'm personally responsible for the defense of my country, and I've got the things from Lovecraft's worst nightmares knocking on the door . . . A soul? You say I don't have a soul? That's a luxury for people who don't have my responsibilities. People who live in the suburbs and take their kids to Little League and walk their dogs have those. I can't afford a soul."
There was more yelling from the direction of the village as some of the Hunters returned with more survivors. "What are you going to do about my brother?"
"My men are interrogating some of the surviving cultists now. I've got others tearing apart the trucks and undead looking for forensic evidence. All this material came from somewhere. We have access to the best intelligence databases in the world. The Condition's tipped their hand. You can't stage an operation of this scale and not leave clues. We'll track them down for sure."
That wasn't what I wanted to hear. I wanted results now. "Earl will be gone by then. Mosh will be dead."
"I'm sorry about them, really I am. But we're doing everything we can. I can promise you this: we will bring these people to justice."
"Justice isn't good enough."
There was a sudden commotion from the orc village. A group of Hunters walked out of the trees, dragging a few robed cultists behind them. Myers perked up. "Good. More people to question."
There were three prisoners. Their black robes were torn and muddy. One of them was obviously injured. The Hunters stepped aside as several orcs approached. One of them had a pair of swords on his back, so I recognized Edward immediately. One blade flashed from its sheath as Ed stalked forward with single-minded determination.
"You want to question them, you better hurry," I suggested. Edward looked like he was about to do the slice and dice.
"Stop! Stop right there!" Myers shouted as he ran back toward the village. "Stop that orc!" Edward either didn't hear him or didn't care. The sword sang through the air and one man went down in a spray of blood. Ed was a super-efficient killing machine, but that wasn't his goal today. The cultist dropped to his knees, one arm missing at the shoulder. He started to scream and Ed took his other arm. "I need them alive!"
Ed paid him no heed. He drove his blade through the pelvis of the next cultist. These men had hurt his tribe. He was their best warrior, and default executioner. The Hunters understood this and stayed out of the way. That didn't help me get Mosh back though. Ed jerked steel through bone, grinding his sword back and forth, before tearing it violently free. That cultist fell, thrashing.
"Skippy, stop him," I bellowed. Skippy's goggled head dipped once in agreement. He raised his gloved hand and Ed complied immediately, perfectly still, sword tip inches from the last cultist's nose.
"Make this . . . good . . ." Skippy grunted.
I reached them a moment later. Myers was hesitant to get too close to Ed, who was like a statue, one sword unmoving in the last standing cultist's face. A single drop of blood fell from the tip of the steel. The one with no arms had passed out in a puddle. The other's bowels had been opened in half a dozen places. He was still crying, and probably would for quite a while.
Myers addressed the last uninjured man. "Tell me where to find your High Priest, or I'll give you to these . . . creatures."
He was a young man who looked more like a frat pledge than a cultist. His eyes flicked nervously to his dying companions, to the faces of the impassive Hunters, and then to the masked and circling orcs. Obviously terrified, he stammered, "I . . . I . . . can't."
"Yes . . . can," Skippy stated over the screams of the dying. The orc chief glanced down at the disemboweled cultist. The cries were annoying him. "Quiet bad human."
Edward responded instantly. His sword swung down, severing the injured man's head cleanly from his body and sending it bouncing across the dirt. The blade returned immediately to its space before the young cultist's nose.
Skip looked down at the twitching body. "Not mean for kill him, Exszrsd." He finished the sentence in his own incomprehensible language.
Ed shrugged, as if to say whoops. Ed was a literal kind of guy.
"Okay, don't hurt me, don't hurt me!" the cultist stammered.
"Talk!" Myers shouted. "Where is he?"
"If I tell you, he'll hunt me down. You can't stop him. He walks through the shadows! He owns the night."
"We can protect you," the senior agent said calmly. "I represent the government. We've got places that even he can't go."
There was a glimmer of hope. "You . . . you do?"
"Yes," Myers responded soothingly. "You help me and I can help you. What's your name, son?" Myers was a sly one, but then again, he had plenty of practice playing good cop to Franks' bad cop.
The cultist was terrified. His eyes crossed a bit as he looked down the length of the sword. "Chad. My name's Chad. I didn't know what I was getting into. You've got to believe me." He began to babble. "Some other guys told me about this church, and they could do all sorts of cool stuff, and if you did what they said, then you wouldn't ever die! And I saw it with my own eyes. You've got to believe me. I just wanted to have that power. But then they were doing all sorts of crazy stuff. I was scared of the High Priest, so I went along. I never wanted to hurt anybody."
Skippy shook his head. I had serious doubts that no matter what Myers promised, Chad was not going to leave this village alive. I almost felt bad for the guy. He was probably younger than me, inexperienced, stupid, and suckered into something way over his head. I noticed that he had a squid necklace, like a smaller version of the one Hood had been wearing. Maybe it was just the light, but it seemed slick and alive.
Myers continued, being as unthreatening as possible, which for him was saying a lot. "I understand. Chad, I give you my word. You give me a location, and I'll get you right into protective custody. I promise. Okay?"
Chad had started blubbering. "Okay." He nodded, obviously broken. Watching Edward mercilessly chop two of his buddies into bits probably helped. "I'll tell you everything I know." He took a deep breath and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "There's a place in New—" Chad looked down in sudden confusion. He tried to speak, but no sound came out. He clutched at his throat.
The squid amulet's chain was shrinking. "The necklace! Get it off!" I shouted. Chad stumbled, fingers trying to get under the chain. I grabbed the cultist by the neck and tried in vain to grab it, but it slipped right through my fingers. He fell, eyes bulging out of his head, skin turning blue. He began to jerk as all the oxygen was cut off from his brain. The chain was slicing through the flesh of his neck like piano wire. "Damn it!"
It just kept tightening. The squid seemed to wilt and die. A few seconds later, the convulsing stopped. Chad's muscles tightened in one final spasm, then it was over.
I was on my knees next to the cultist, surrounded by Hunters and orcs. "What happened?" Sam Haven asked.
"Non-disclosure agreement from hell," I responded. Disappointed, Ed poked the cultist in the leg with his sword. No reaction. I knelt at his side, pulled my glove off, and felt for a pulse. He was dead.
Myers was rubbing his face in his hands. "He was about to talk."
"Apparently," I muttered. "You better warn your men before anybody else gets somebody to roll over." The senior Fed pulled out his radio. "Hood is in New something or other." I glanced over at Holly and Trip. They were looking to me for ideas, and I was fresh out. "Call headquarters. See if they—" A terrible pain tore up my arm and I shouted in surprise.
Chad's dead eyes were staring at me. His mouth was clamped onto my left hand. Blood was gushing past his teeth as he rent it from side to side. My blood.
"Aarrgh!" I jerked my hand away, tumbling to the ground. The zombie began to rise. Edward cleaved the top of his head off in a cloud of red and white.
"Z!" Holly screamed. I grabbed my hand. Blood drizzled down my arm. Trip tore my hand away and began dumping a bottle of water on the wound. There it was, clear as day, a serious bite mark.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. "Oh man . . ."
"Skin's broken!" Trip shouted. "Gretchen! Help!"
Zombie bite. One hundred percent fatality rate.
The healer pushed her way through the crowd. I started to rise, but she pushed me down with shocking strength. I could see the reflection of the wound in her mirrored glasses.
Impossible. It can't be.
"Can we cut his arm off?" the Utah Hunter asked.
"Oh, hell," I whimpered. But it beat the alternative.
Edward stepped forward, sword in his hand. I cringed, knowing that with that two-foot razor blade I wouldn't even have to take my armor off. The orc warrior looked to Gretchen for wisdom. If she gave the go-ahead, there would be no hesitation.
Gretchen shook her head. Ed lowered the sword.
"Amputation doesn't work," Holly said, her voice flat. I knew that she had an eerie ability to fall into a state of utter calm when she was really freaked out. "Just causes blood loss that kills the subject faster. The contamination spreads instantly through the nervous system."
I was hovering between disbelief and panic. Such a stupid Newbie mistake . . .
Sam kicked the body. "Maybe it wasn't a zombie," he said hopefully. "I've never seen a zombie animate that fast after death."
There was laughter. It seemed strangely out of place. The crowd around me all turned toward the unnatural sound. The group parted enough that I could see. The cultist with no arms was sitting up. "Of course you haven't seen anything animate that fast, fools." The squid amulet on his chest was glowing. His eyes were open but rolled back sightless into his head. "You've never dealt with my art before. Well, well, well, now isn't this just a happy bonus."
Hood. Somehow he was channeling himself through the dying cultist. Multiple guns lifted to eliminate the new threat. "Hold your fire!" I screamed. The Hunters didn't shoot, but they didn't lower their weapons. "What do you want?"