War Demons: An Urban Fantasy Thriller (The Prodigal Son Book 1) Page 4

  Then the dream came again.

  Chapter Six

  For the tenth time that evening Michael asked himself why he’d let the other students talk him in to joining them at the bar. He didn’t particularly like them. Of course, he didn’t particularly dislike them, either. He didn’t really know them – and honestly didn’t care to. These kids came from a different world.

  That wasn’t fair, though. Age didn’t seem to have much to do with it. Before Afghanistan, he’d have fit right in. No, scratch that. Even after fighting in the mountains he’d have fit in fine here. The crash had set him apart, though. Some things you can’t come back from.

  Sam sang karaoke on the stage. The blonde girl waited on deck for her turn. Michael gave up. He couldn’t remember the kid’s name. He studied the other six sitting around him. George, Denzel, Vickie... brown haired kid, glasses girl, and the jock. Faith, of course. He actually felt bad. He should at least learn their names.

  Maybe he should let go of his obsession. Even if he found what he sought, what could he do about it? He really ought to build up a new life outside of the Army.

  At least he’d managed to drag Peter along. The night promised to be a thousand times less painful with his new friend along. Then Faith started flirting hard with the boy, promising true entertainment for the evening.

  He’d seen young women fawn over his new friend before. More than once he’d heard the boy referred to as “eye candy.” He could see why. They’d fast become gym buddies. The younger man could both out-lift and outrun him, despite his leaner frame.

  Women noticed.

  Watching Peter with the women was a hell of a lot of fun. The young man genuinely didn’t care. Their less observant friends wondered if he was gay. Michael pinpointed the truth immediately. The young man was the most genuinely religious nineteen-year-old Michael had ever met. He held out for a girl who shared his beliefs, simple as that. Michael suspected that when he finally found her, she’d be smoking hot, too. Meanwhile, plenty of women auditioned for the role.

  Faith had dragged him out on to the dance floor early in the evening. She hadn’t been able to hold his attention since. Peter’s manners never faltered. He just seemed more interested in the argument between George and Denzel over the economics of organic farming. Or in discussing football with the Jock. Michael still couldn’t remember the kid’s name – but Peter would know it.

  Sam finished his rendition of some song that Michael didn’t recognize. The brown haired girl started belting out a painful, earsplitting rendition of “Behind These Hazel Eyes.” He took another pull from his beer to ease the pain.

  “Abby! Over here!” Faith’s call broke him out of his reverie. Abby waved back and approached them with a smile. He groaned. Abby seemed to take it far better. When she noticed him, she lit up like a kid on Christmas.

  Shit. When he saw the man she brought in tow, he let out a second silent curse.

  He didn’t even have to ask. Even without Jim’s warning, Michael would have hated him immediately. The smugness radiated all around him, filling the room. The women ate it up. Michael wanted to kick him. Hard. The stare he received made the man’s mutual feelings clear.

  Michael seriously doubted that the college kids around him would notice that the foreigner wore five hundred dollar jeans or a hundred dollar polo shirt. But Abby would know. Katie had tried to get him to wear that kind of crap once. He knew that she’d only push harder if he argued. Instead, he’d sold the clothing to another student at half price and donated the proceeds to a local homeless shelter. He explained that if she ever felt the need to spend so extravagantly on him again, she could donate it to charity in his name. She never tired of telling everyone about his selfless gesture – and she never tried to dress him again.

  “George. Sam. Denzel. Vickie.” Abby greeted each of the students around the table. “Faith. Jon. Tim.” She paused for a moment. “Michael. Who’s your friend?”

  “Abby,” he nodded at her politely. “This is Peter.”

  Rich Boy gave Michael a hard stare. He returned it evenly. His classmates may not know the story, but they’d all picked up on the tension between him and their teacher. Everyone wanted to watch the show if it erupted. Michael didn’t plan to start anything, but he certainly wouldn’t back down from this prick.

  “This is Khalid Qureshi, my fiancé.”

  Khalid smiled and looked away, breaking the moment. Everyone relaxed and conversation resumed. Everyone except Michael.

  What the hell was that all about? He had a very good memory for faces. He knew he’d never met Khalid before. Khalid watched him like a hawk. He’d expected a certain amount of that, given his past with Abby. But something more lay behind those eyes.

  He spent the evening feeling awkward, listening to the conversation more than participating. He watched with grudging appreciation as Khalid worked the crowd. Once upon a time, he’d have played the same game.

  Sam laughed like an idiot at everything that came out of Khalid’s mouth, seeming to hope that the charisma would rub off on him. It never did. Jon seemed to have found a place as Khalid’s second, if only for the evening. Apparently his membership in Sigma Alpha Epsilon had earned the alpha male’s respect. Sam, on the other hand, paid the price for Khalid’s presence. He’d made some progress with Vickie earlier in the evening. Now the redhead hung all over Khalid. After a while, Vickie somehow worked her way to the other side of him, leaving Abigail outside the group.

  Michael felt bad for both girls. He’d witnessed this scenario before. He’d wager money that Vickie would share Khalid’s bed tonight, not Abigail. Abby, on the other hand, would be at home. Her mental hamster would concoct all kinds of innocent stories that bore no relation to reality. No wonder her father hated this guy.

  He felt worse for George. The kid appeared to be the only one with any sense, seeing right through Khalid. But Michael could see that his clarity only made his evening more painful. On the other hand, he also didn’t seem overly hung up on it. Michael understood at once. George found her attitude unappealing.

  Good for him. Not so good for Abby, though.

  On the other hand, her own eyes wandered as well. He fought back a sigh as she pulled up the chair next to him. Instead, he decided to make small talk.

  “So, PhD or Master’s program?” It seemed like a safe question.

  “PhD in European Literature,” she responded.

  “What’s your focus?” he followed up.

  “Medieval folklore.”

  “Should’ve assumed that, I suppose, given the TA job. I’d guess that Dr. Stoegemoeller is your adviser?”

  “Yes,” she responded. “You seem to be unusually focused on the subject yourself. Why the deep interest? You’ve never exactly inclined towards scholarly affairs.”

  “I’m writing a book.” He’d finally come up with a good cover story. “Dark fantasy, set in the modern world. Using classical but forgotten versions of folklore monsters.” It was exactly the kind of thing he used to read as a teenager, which helped him sell it.

  “Really?” she asked, her face lighting up. “It’s great to see you motivated on something other...” she stopped.

  Other than personally killing Osama bin Laden to avenge your dead sister?

  Out loud he simply responded, “Yeah.”

  “Tell me more!”

  “Well...” he faltered. He hadn’t expected any conversation to get this far. He tried to collect his thoughts, but relief arrived unexpectedly.

  “How old are you, anyway, Michael?” Khalid interjected.

  “Excuse me?” Michael found the whole table focused on him.

  “Well, Sam just told me how happy everyone was to get the old man to come out tonight. But nobody knows much about you.” Khalid gave him the hostile stare again. “So how old is the old man?”

  The students between them subtly shifted backwards in their chairs, preparing to leap out of the path of dueling tigers.

  OK, asshole,
let’s play.

  “Twenty six,” he replied.

  “Why such a late college start?”

  Michael glanced about. Khalid had chosen his sudden dig carefully, but not carefully enough. The rich boy didn’t realize he’d just lost this little confrontation.

  Abby didn’t tell you? Interesting.

  “I’d rather not talk about it,” he answered – knowing full well what was coming next.

  “Tell us,” Sam pressed. The other students nodded.

  “And how do you know Miss Covington, anyway?” George added.

  Michael fought to keep a straight face at George’s innocent set up.

  “He was engaged to my sister,” Abigail answered.

  The light bulbs went off for Khalid. Michael couldn’t believe she hadn’t told him. Then he remembered that it was Abby. Yes, he very well did believe it.

  Then why is he so obsessed with me?

  “What happened?” Vickie asked.

  Again Michael kept his silence, forcing Abigail to answer.

  “Two World Trade Center collapsed on top of her.”

  Stunned silence fell.

  “Faith’s sister was with her,” she added.

  “Our hero decided to personally avenge her.” Faith couldn’t keep the snark out of her voice, but the other students sat dumbstruck. “We didn’t see him again for a few years.”

  Khalid wouldn’t give up after one round, however.

  “How’d you end up back home?”

  Checkmate. He met Khalid’s stare dead on. Then he slowly lifted the hem of his t-shirt up to his shoulder. The gasps around the table confirmed his victory.

  “Medical discharge,” he replied quietly, lowering his shirt to hide the scars again. “After the chopper went down, wild animals attacked. O’Bryan didn’t make it. I did. Then they sent me home.”

  Michael fought down a laugh. Khalid had worked hard to sway everyone tonight. But Michael had just won the table with barely a word. Even Vickie sidled away from the foreign frat boy after that.

  Khalid’s barely perceptible nod to Michael communicated his acceptance of defeat. But those eyes still unnerved him.

  “If you’ll all excuse me, I think I’m going to call it an evening.” Michael pushed back his chair and rose. “Good evening, Abby. Good evening, all.” He didn’t look back as he strode out of the bar.

  Chapter Seven

  Michael strolled through downtown Athens enjoying the night air. The southern summer had finally begun to fade into fall. The college nightlife kept the streets reasonably lit and full. He found comfort in the cool air, so he just walked past the packed bars and restaurants. A concert rang out from the Georgia Theatre. Students enjoyed the night, large groups of friends interspersed with the occasional couple holding hands. Life happened around him.

  A glare off of the window caught his eye. He turned to stare into a nearby storefront, closed and locked for the night, its window transformed into a near perfect mirror. The reflection stopped him dead in his tracks.

  O’Bryan’s pale reflection smirked at him and waved. That nose...

  Michael spun like lightning, gun drawn. He swept the pistol back and forth across the street, turning a full circle twice, but the specter had vanished. He turned back to the window. Even the reflection had disappeared. He blinked twice and ran down to the nearby alley. He stopped at the edge, peering around the corner, then popped out, weapon trained into the empty darkness.

  A girl screamed. Michael spun toward the sound, ready to fire if he saw that yellow nose again. She pointed at him and screamed again. The gun, he realized. He took one more survey to confirm O’Bryan’s absence before holstering his pistol. He kept his pace deliberate and calm – but quick – as he returned to his car. He didn’t want to draw any more attention, but he needed to scram before the police arrived. He pulled out of the lot without really thinking about his destination. Anywhere but downtown would do.

  A few miles down Broad Street he pulled in to a hotel parking lot and stopped. His outward calm finally broke down. He sat in the driver’s seat, arms shaking, trying to get a grip. He failed.

  O’Bryan was dead. He couldn’t be here. There was no way – Michael had watched the casket lowered into the ground. But that wasn’t the frightening part. Neither was O’Bryan’s overly pale skin. O’Bryan’s parents were Irish, so he’d always had pale skin. OK, not that pale, but still.

  Michael couldn’t get that damned yellow nose out of his head.

  Half an hour later, he managed to get himself under some semblance of control. Once home, he promptly locked all the doors and turned on all the lights. He dug his rifle out of the gun safe, loaded it, chambered a round, and slung it over his shoulder. Then he began a patrol around the house. When he finished, he repeated it.

  The night passed uneventfully. When dawn finally broke through, he checked all the locks again. Finally, he sat back in his old beat up green recliner, rifle in his arms. He pushed back for a moment and raised the footrest. Then the exhaustion hit him. Seconds later he fell fast asleep.

  * * *

  He snapped the glow stick open in a panic and tossed it out to light the ground before him. The green glow permeated the cave, illuminating the creature as he raised his M4. He shook his head to clear it. He’d seen the creature before. No, he realized, he’d seen a drawing of it.

  It howled and slashed at him. Michael screamed and shot it, to little effect. Could he have missed at that range? He supposed it was possible – he might be in shock. He shot it again to be sure.

  Propped up against the cave wall, O’Bryan screamed in terror. But his soldier’s instincts wouldn’t give up. He found his own carbine and snapped a few bursts at the creature. It proved no more useful than Michael’s attack.

  Both soldiers opened up with everything they had. They fired group after group into the beast. The impact seemed to slow it. It kept coming. Michael changed magazines. Then again, after his second emptied. Then he found no more. He’d used the rest on their actual mission. He heard the click of O’Bryan’s carbine. His companion, too, had run dry.

  Michael drew his combat knife and charged. Remembering his training, he turned the blade horizontal to slide through the ribs. His aim stayed true. The blade slid right into the creature’s heart. Rather, it slid in where the heart should have been. Summoning his strength, he jerked the blade straight to the side. The motion tore a huge hunk of flesh out of his assailant.

  He withdrew the blade and stepped back. The blood fountain never came. It should have raged like a volcano. Instead, a mere trickle of fluid seeped out. It didn’t even look right. Bewildered, he took another stab. The creature’s glowing yellow nose made an inviting target.

  The bony hand that grabbed his wrist carried almost no flesh. Michael would have thought it a corpse if it weren’t fighting. He twisted his arm toward the monster, popping it in the face with his elbow and prying his wrist free. Then he stepped outside the creature’s reach and popped off a solid side kick straight at the side of its knee. He heard and felt the satisfying crunch that told him that he’d hit home.

  No man would ever walk right again after that blow. And yet the yellow-nosed demon never even went down to the ground. Michael parried a blow to his face and wrapped around the corpse-like forearm, prying it around into a figure-four-shaped lock. The thing just turned its soulless eyes at him and laughed, prying his arm off like Michael himself might have done to a child. He stared at that glowing yellow nose. Its twisted, gnarled face looked like it may once have been human.

  The beast picked him up one handed and tossed him across the cave.

  Michael lay in pain, groggy as he watched the thing saunter forward and lap at the blood from O’Bryan’s wounds. The corporal screamed as the beast bent over him, then he went quiet and limp. The creature fed loudly, tearing into O’Bryan’s corpse. Scared as he was, the desecration of his friend pissed Michael off. He shouted to get the thing’s attention.

  He immediately
wished he hadn’t. It turned back toward Michael and approached slowly. Blood drooled down a face that looked... meatier than it had a moment ago. It raised a hand as it approached, reaching for Michael. This time there was no doubt. The arm carried far more flesh than it had before.

  He tried to stay upright as it slashed at him, but quickly found himself splayed across the ground. It kicked at him, over and over again. Its legs didn’t quite look mummified anymore, but they still appeared sickly and weak. The power of the kicks proved that an illusion. Before feeding it had displayed unreal strength. Now it ratcheted that up to eleven.

  The beast grasped him around the throat. Michael tried to reverse it into an arm bar. The technique had worked a thousand times for him in the dojo. But the creature was just too strong. Desperate, he clawed at the thing’s eyes. His right thumb jammed into its eye socket. He felt something squishy pop. He ignored the thick fluid that seeped through his gloves as he ground all the way to the bone.

  The yellow-nosed thing roared in pain. Michael felt the sweet sensation of hope. Then blow after blow rained down on him.

  He blocked the first few, but lying on his back limited his options. He rolled and shuffled around the floor, trying to dodge what he couldn’t block. Each time he missed, every time a shot found its way through, he felt himself slow.

  Death hovered over him. He’d used all his ammo. He had nothing left in him. He saw the knife protruding from the creature’s chest cavity. He reached for it in desperation, twisting hard. The thing just laughed at him. Michael spat in its face defiantly.

  It lifted him off the ground with one hand. Maybe his will proved stronger than he thought. Or maybe survival instinct came to the fore. Or maybe his guardian angel stepped in. Whatever the cause, Michael rejoined the fight one last time. He kicked at the thing and squirmed, wiggling to escape its grip.

  One of his jujitsu escapes finally overcame the beast’s extreme strength. He stumbled as he spun away from its grasp. Somehow he managed to keep his feet – barely. He groped at his pockets, pouches, and combat harness. He searched desperately in the dark for anything else he could use as a weapon.