Apocalypse Soldier

OCCULT ASSASSIN

APOCALYPSE SOLDIER

BOOK 2

By WILLIAM MASSA

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Copyright © 2015 William Massa

Published by
Critical Mass Publishing

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
 

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form without permission. Please do not participate or encourage piracy of copyrighted material in violation of author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Also by William Massa

THE OCCULT ASSASSIN SERIES

Occult Assassin #1: Damnation Code -
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Amazon UK

Occult Assassin #2.5: Ice Shadows (A Novella) -
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Amazon UK

Occult Assassin #3: Spirit Breaker -
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Amazon UK

Occult Assassin #3.5: Coffin Collector (A Short Story)
Amazon US
Amazon UK

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HORROR/DARK FANTASY

FEAR THE LIGHT

GARGOYLE KNIGHT

MATCH: A SUPERNATURAL THRILLER

SCIENCE FICTION

CROSSING THE DARKNESS

THE SILICON SERIES

SILICON DAWN

SILICON MAN

 
THE STORY SO FAR

After a decade spent fighting the enemy abroad and keeping his country safe, Delta Force Operator Mark Talon is ready to settle down with the love of his life. But Talon’s world crumbles when his fiancée becomes the victim of a murderous cult.
 

In the wake of his terrible loss, Talon dedicates himself to a new mission – hunting down twisted occultists around the globe and stopping them before they can unleash the forces of darkness upon an unsuspecting world..
.

In Apocalypse Soldier, his quest for vengeance will take him to the scorching deserts of Arizona…

C
HAPTER
O
NE

FATHER ROBERT CABRERA was deep into the Eucharistic prayer when a loud banging noise cut through the quiet of the church, followed by a shrill scream. A shocked murmur spread among the congregants as their eyes found the team of heavily armed black-clad men filing into the church. The commandos moved with military precision, their features obscured by ski masks and their machine guns leveled. Boots echoed menacingly on the stone floor as they worked their way toward the altar, like shadows come to life.
 

Nothing he’d seen in his last three decades as a man of the cloth had prepared Cabrera for the surreal sight before him. Over the years he’d witnessed some incredible horrors, but the invasion of his church by a paramilitary force wasn’t one of them.

Cabrera put down the chalice and signaled his terrified flock to remain calm. His faith was strong, but he knew God wouldn’t intervene if these men decided to open fire. Who were these masked men? Were they hoping to burglarize the church? Thieves would be smart enough to avoid Sunday Mass and pick a day when fewer witnesses would be present. The timing of the assault had to be deliberate; someone was planning to make a statement.
 

A thick bead of perspiration rolled down Cabrera’s face. He glanced up at the large cross behind him, as if seeking a divine explanation for this affront against his congregation. The cross stood silhouetted against a skylight that offered a spectacular view of the shimmering desert landscape beyond. Tourists came from far away to attend Mass in the landmark chapel. Experiencing a sunset from inside the church, the huge cross starkly outlined against fiery light, could have a powerful effect on both believers and non-believers alike. Unfortunately, the view provided little comfort during this moment of crisis.

Three armed men circled Father Cabrera, allowing a fourth man to step forward. The deferential treatment he received from the militia suggested that this was the group’s leader. He was bigger than the others, about six-three and 260 pounds of granite muscle. He carried himself with the authority and confidence of a man who was aware of his power.
 

The imposing masked figure addressed Cabrera in a surprisingly soft-spoken voice. “Take us to the back, where your computer is located,
Father
.” The addition of his title sounded more mocking than respectful.

For a second Father Cabrera stared at the mountain of a man with a dumbfounded expression. Was this what it was all about? What information contained in the church computer could motivate such a brazen assault? A loud barrage of gunfire, aimed at the ceiling, silenced his thoughts. Another panicked cry emanated from the roomful of worshippers.
 

The icy eyes peering from the shooter’s ski-mask suggested that it wouldn’t take much for the man to point his automatic weapon at the crowd of parishioners. Without further thought, Cabrera’s body jumped into motion. “Follow me.”
 

The leader and two other men fell in step and followed Cabrera to the back of the church. They passed through a wooden door and down a narrow corridor that led into the rectory, which was part office and part living area. It literally took Cabrera less than two minutes to get out of bed in the morning and make his way into the church.
 

As soon as they stepped into the priest’s small office, the leader pointed at the aging PC on its small desk.
 

“What do you want?” Cabrera inquired in a surprisingly calm voice. He wasn’t afraid for himself; he was only worried about the innocent souls under his protection.
 

“I’m looking for Nicole Robertson,” the leader replied.

The request hit Cabrera with the force of a punch. He finally understood what these men were after.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Cabrera lied. The leader nodded at one of his associates, who uttered something into his headset mic. Gunfire from inside the church made the walls of the rectory vibrate. A feeling of dread coiled around Cabrera’s throat and he bristled with helpless rage.
 

The big man confirmed what Cabrera already suspected. “One of my soldiers just shot a member of your flock. Every time you lie to me, another innocent will perish.”

Father Cabrera shook his head in dismay. “Please, don’t…”

“No one else will be hurt if you cooperate. It’s completely up to you.”

Cabrera swallowed hard. Innocent lives were at stake. He had no choice but to give them what they’d come for.

Nicole Robertson.
 

A name he’d never forget no matter how hard he tried. Eight years earlier, he’d borne witness to true evil. Now it was catching up to him. This pack of wolves somehow knew about his connection to Nicole.

His fingers flew over the keys of his computer as he accessed the database. The slightly faded photograph of a fifteen-year-old girl flashed onscreen. The girl was on the cusp of being a woman, practically still a child — the very picture of teen innocence. She bore little resemblance to the Nicole of Cabrera’s nightmares.

Immediately, one of the intruders stepped up to the terminal and took a screenshot of Nicole’s file with his cell-phone cam. “Thank you, father,” the leader said as he leaned closer, his masked head hovering over Cabrera. Inhuman eyes glared back at him — the pupils and iris were pure obsidian. This gaze lanced him through and through, peering straight into his soul.

The leader nodded at one of his soldiers. The follower produced a sharp hunting knife and brutally yanked the priest’s head back. Instead of seeking out the vulnerable jugular vein, the blade instead drew across the stunned priest’s forehead in two quick strokes. There was no pain, at least not at first. Cabrera experienced the cold sensation of steel raking his skin before warm blood sheeted down his face.
 

Red drops pearled on the keyboard and computer screen. The knife-wielding soldier roughly pulled Cabrera to his feet and shoved him out of the rectory.

They returned to the church.
 

Cabrera’s heart sank as his gaze landed on the inverted pentagrams and other demonic symbols now tattooed on the walls of the sanctuary. The paramilitary force was in the process of vandalizing the house of God. Two men finished flipping the large cross behind the altar on its head, transforming a holy image into a symbol of evil.
 

Dear God, this can’t be happening…

His pulse quickened when he spotted the dead congregant sprawled on the floor in a widening pool of blood. Some churchgoers were crying while others had retreated into a mask-like catatonia.

“I gave you what you came for. Please, I beg of you, spare these poor people.”

The words died on his lips as the gunmen raised their weapons and targeted the innocent believers frozen behind the pews.

Please, God, don’t let them do this…

The leader turned toward the terrified believers and removed his ski-mask. The features previously hidden beneath the mask were as monstrous as the coal black eyes had promised, the skin a burnished red. Part man, part demon.

The crowd gasped with horror and an icy hand clamped around Cabrera’s heart.

He isn’t human
, he thought.

The booming voice of Amon, the apocalypse soldier, reverberated through the church. “I pledge all your souls to my master.”

“No!” Cabrera’s lips distorted into a scream and he jerked his head away in terror as the nave erupted in deafening gunfire. The fearsome barrage splintered pews and shattered statues of the saints. The vehement fusillade found man, woman and child, making no distinction between sinner and saint. Blood flowed freely. The Devil himself had come to Father Cabrera’s church, eager to claim every innocent soul inside its hallowed walls.

C
HAPTER
T
WO

THE TERRIFIED YOUNG man stared up at his captors with numb terror. Colton felt the familiar anticipation building in his hammering heart. The man was stripped down to his underwear, his body pockmarked with scars and bruises. A strip of gray duct tape covered his mouth and only weak, muffled sounds escaped from his throat. His hands were bound behind his back and his prone, battered form was sprawled inside a large pentagram painted in chicken blood on the stone floor of Colton’s spacious wine cellar. Animal blood to initiate the sacrifice, human blood to complete it. Black candles stood at the five points of the star, enhancing the medieval atmosphere of this dank underground space. Soon enough the lights would be dimmed, the wicks lit. Only then would the dark ceremony begin.

Five days earlier, the hapless young man — his name was Jeff — had been a bundle of excited energy filled with dreams of Hollywood glory. Just another good-looking kid chasing fame and fortune in the city of broken dreams. Colton spotted him on Hollywood Boulevard one night, stumbling down the Walk of Fame in a buzzed daze. The kid seemed hypnotized, his eyes screwed up as if he was hoping to come across his own name next to all the legends.
 

Jeff’s lopsided grin was unmistakable. It was the expression of someone thrilled to be in Los Angeles, looking forward to a future full of endless possibilities. They were all so desperate to escape their mundane little lives and boring hometowns, to literally reach for the stars. As if solely buying a bus or plane ticket could ever be enough to bring you closer to your dreams.
 

Colton had seen it innumerable times. The rush of being in Tinseltown would soon give way to a crushing parade of dead-end jobs that would barely keep Jeff afloat. Maybe he’d get lucky, book a commercial or score some extra work. But he’d be competing with a million other bright-eyed kids all chasing after the same elusive goal. With time, those eyes wouldn’t shine so brightly, the hope would fade, and the dream would evaporate in the rear-view mirror of his fading youth.
 

In a sense, Colton was sparing young Jeff the inevitable series of disappointments and setbacks and offering a quick exit instead of a slow, soul-crushing decline.

He sidled up to Jeff in his Lamborghini and struck up a conversation. He could see the thoughts swirling behind the aspiring actor’s face. Was Colton a producer who could offer him a shot at stardom, or just some sick Hollywood slimeball looking for sexual favors? Colton told Jeff to look him up on IMDb if he questioned his motives. He said he’d produced a string of successful B horror flicks and knew talent when he saw it. If Jeff’s acting chops matched his looks, the kid would have a bright future in this town. Colton considered himself an astute judge of talent who’d given countless actors their first break, over the years.