Full Moonster [BUREAU 13 Book Three] (7 page)

"Thank you,” she said afterwards.

Totally embarrassed, I retrieved my Magnums lying on the ground, and wiped some blood spots off the handles. Egad, I guess my brain had temporarily gone on hold. On the other hand, my ploy had worked and saved Mindy.

Balancing his humongous rifle expertly on a hip, George pushed back the cap on his head. “Well, this explains why a group of somethings went out to steal cars on the highway. I bet there isn't a working vehicle left in this whole town."

Glancing around, I agreed with the assessment.

"So how do we get across the street of death?” Father Donaher asked, brushing out his moustache. “Build a raft?"

Adjusting the shoulder strap of her bag, Jessica chuckled. “Thank you, Huck Finn."

"We can fly,” Raul offered, raising his staff.

Mages! They would use magic to open soda cans, and then actually be surprised when they ran out of power in the middle of a battle. Sheesh!

"No, we need a bridge,” I said, scanning the surrounding area.

Father Donaher tapped the barrel of his shotgun against a nearby telephone pole. “How about this?"

"Perfect,” I acknowledged, drawing my ultra-light weight Magnum. Removing the magical silencer, I assumed a regulation firing stance and snapped off six shots, neatly cutting the wires free from the crossbars of the pole. We Wyoming boys were born with a pistol in one hand and a beer in the other, which explained why my penmanship was so bad.

Most of the wires slumped to the ground, but one line fell to dangle into the street. There ensued a brutal tug-o-war which ended with the cable snapping off from the pole across the road and whipping into the macadam like a strand of spaghetti.

Having seen worse, we were unimpressed. My team once spent an entire summer stationed in Detroit.

"Ms. Jennings?” I requested, stepping aside.

Shifting her hips for a better stance, Mindy swung her sword and the blade went through the telephone pole to no apparent result. Then the thick pole slid apart on a sharp angle and toppled over to loudly crash onto the far sidewalk with pinpoint precision. The street bubbled with anger. Hmm.

"Raul, Katrina, maybe you'd better fly over as escort,” I instructed. “Just in case."

Gripping her staff, Katrina gave a nod and levitated into the air, while Raul snapped off a salute, and started running towards the sky as if ascending an invisible staircase. What a show-off.

Taking our time, each of us crossed over. Mindy skipped across as if she was on the balancing beam in the gym. Father Donaher slowly shuffled along, refusing to lift a foot from the surface of the pole. Holding the M60 machine rifle in both arms to aid his balance, George reached the far side with no problem. Jessica simply strolled along, while I scooted awkwardly on hands and knees. It was undignified, but efficient, especially since I can't swim.

But on reaching the other side, I heard a sharp wooden crack. I stood to see the telephone pole break apart into several pieces and sink into the street. That was when I noted the pair of fins moving along the macadam surface. Snorting my contempt, I rejoined the group. Piffle. It was only a transdimensional shark, you could kill ‘em with a standard Army bazooka. Big deal.

The houses on this block were made of semi-transparent glass. There were some loose stones lying on the ground, but as nobody seemed to be home, we decided against testing the old adage.

Skirting the houses, we scrambled over a backyard pine-board fence and found ourselves on the outer rim of a blast crater. Or at least, I couldn't think of anything else to call the pit.

Downtown Hadleyville spread out before us, reduced to layers of concentric bands. At our feet, was a ring of jumbled wilderness; machines and plants haphazardly piled together in pure chaos. Next came a circle of bubbling glass. But inside that was an island of normalcy: orderly streets, undamaged homes, and a shopping mall with a mirrored building in the far distance. However, I was starting to believe that in this goofy place, the more normal something appeared the greater the danger was. The first fluffy teddy bear toy I encountered was getting a grenade smack in the kisser.

Checking my sports coat, I found my long-range folding binoculars and trained them on the Hadleyville Hotel. The obvious question was, had the center of town magically exploded outward, or had the whole place gone boom, and only the center of town been shielded from the blast?

A modest ten-story building with a nice neon sign announcing a heated swimming pool, color TV in every room and happy hour at the Kon Tiki Lounge every Friday at six. The Pou-Pou was extra, but then, isn't it always?

But to my sunglasses there was a steady ethereal wind whirling round the upper structure of the building. Purple lightning crackled against bloated crimson clouds that moved under their own volition. A thick coat of primordial ooze dripped down the sides of the eerily twisting building, while dark muted shapes moved with inhuman purpose behind warped windows misty with cold yet moist with glowing slime.

The parking lot was a smooth expanse of empty black macadam. I could guess what happened to the cars. I'm surprised the asphalt wasn't burping, with a giant toothpick sticking out of its entrance ramp.

"Hey, there's an electronic crawl sign over by the Kon Tiki Lounge,” Jessica announced, fine focusing her pocket binoculars. “Welcome ... to the...” She dropped the binoculars. “Oh no."

"The what?” I demanded, trying to find what she had seen.

"Welcome to the First International Occult Convention of Hadleyville,” she read in a tiny voice.

Hoo boy.

"What now, comrades?” Katrina asked in concern, her butterfly tattoo peeking out from her cleavage for a moment. “Should we attack? Call for assistance? Run away?"

Chewing a lip, I seriously debated doing that. “Not yet. We haven't encountered anything really dangerous. Let's go further. Our answers should be in that hotel."

"Agreed,” Donaher muttered. His oversized gold crucifix was held in both hands before him in a defensive position. “I sense great evil there. Yet everything inside is not evil."

"Fabulous,” Mindy groaned. “Some innocent bystander hiding in a broom closet, I suppose."

Touching her forehead out of an old habit to probe the building, Jessica suddenly lowered her hand and flashed red in embarrassment. “Could it be a trapped desk clerk?” she asked, helpless as a normal human.

Taking a firing stance, George snapped the bolt on his M60. “A hostage? Sacrifice?"

"I can not say for certain,” the priest said slowly. “But I strongly suggest we proceed with extreme caution."

"All is not as it seems,” Donaher added softly.

Shielding his eyes from the sun, George tilted his head to gaze upwards at the moaning structure. “Anybody got a clever idea how we can find out what happened inside the hotel?” he asked bluntly.

Ghostly figures moved in and out of the pulsating walls, while blood started to run out of one window to be licked up by another. The front door was full of sharp teeth and a fleshy tongue-like carpet lay panting on the concrete sidewalk.

Drawing the Model #66 I checked the scenario load: armor-piercing shell, silver bullet, blessed wooden bullet, mercury-tip explosive round, phosphorus incendiary slug and a hollow-point dum-dum. Good enough. I was loaded for were.

"Sure,” I said, easing back the hammers until they clicked into firing position. “We go inside."

"I was afraid you'd say that,” George mumbled, hitching up his belt. “Want me to stay here and guard our escape route?"

"Nope."

"I'll help,” Katrina offered kindly, beaming a grin.

"Sorry. Need you both to administer smelling salts in case I faint."

With a crazy smile, Mindy playfully punched the plump gunner on the arm. “Come on, guys. How often do we get to march into the jaws of death incarnate?"

"Total so far, or this year alone?” Raul asked rudely.

"Sissy merlin,” she sneered in contempt.

He stood erect. “And proud of it."

Without warning, Raul jerked backwards and fell sprawling to the ground. A heartbeat later an echoing
cra-ack
! of a large caliber rifle rolled over the land.

"Jules Verne!” I bellowed, and the rest of my team headed for the center of the earth.

"Pink Floyd!” Father Donaher loudly added, ramming shells into his shotgun.

Arching an eyebrow, Katrina stared at the priest. “Pink Floyd?” she repeated puzzled, as hot bullets zinged by overhead. “Dark Side of the Moon? Wish You Were Here?"

"The Wall!” Raul shouted gesturing from his prone position. With a sparkling flash, a chest-high barrier of shimmering ethereal energy appeared and four more rifle rounds nosily ricocheted off the magical shield.

"Are you okay?” Jessica asked urgently. Edging closer, she yanked apart the top of her camera bag and pulled out a medical kit and plastic bottle of Healing Potion #4. It was the good stuff, strictly reserved for emergencies only.

Tugging at the ragged hole in his starry black T-shirt, Raul frowned as the molded body armor underneath came into view. There was a gray metallic smear directly above his heart. “Hey, they completely obliterated Uranus!"

"You're fine,” Jess announced, closing the bag.

"Return fire, on my mark!” I growled, rising to a crouching position. “One, two, three ... go!"

In unison, the team stood and emptied our weapons at the distant foes. Since we were armed with pistols and such, they were eminently safe from our retaliation. It was mostly for morale, but what the hell, there was always blind luck.

Only Father Donaher didn't join the volley discharge. As a Catholic priest he was forbidden to take a human life under any circumstances. Technicalities, always technicalities.

"Are you people nuts?” Mindy admonished haughtily, twisting both hands on the grip of her sword. “Using short-barreled pistols at an unseen target over two hundred meters away?"

In a shatter of glass, a screaming figure crashed out of the upper windows of the hotel and tumbled to the hard pavement ten stories below. From the reaction, it appeared that the concrete was very hard and unfriendly at this time of year.

"Of course, there's always blind luck,” she relented.

"Divine providence,” Donaher corrected.

Working the bolt on the M60 to clear a jam, George grunted. “Thought that was in Rhode Island."

"Heathen."

"Democrat,” George corrected.

Thumbing in fresh rounds, Father Donaher snorted. “Same thing."

Just then, a thin finger of flame stretched out from the hotel and impacted on the barrier with pyrotechnic results.

"What in the ... that was a LAW rocket!” George stormed, as the mountain breeze blew the blast cloud away. “A light-anti-tank rocket! Who are these guys?"

Retrieving my sunglasses from the dirt, I tucked them back into place. “You tell me, Sundance."

Adjusting the focus with my Donaher thumb, I found the hotel and trailed upward until I located our attackers on the top floor. Long rifle barrels protruded from open windows and I got a fine clear view of them: two men and a woman.

Then the world went very still. Because through the Kirlian sensitive lenses, I could also see the aura of the normally invisible tattoo on their foreheads. A very famous tattoo. The design of a dagger through the moon.

"It's the Scion,” I announced calmly as possible.

At the base of the hotel, the smashed body stood as a large hairy form and dashed inside the hotel. “And they're the werewolves."

More bullets came our way, as another LAW rocket streaked by and missed hitting the invisible shield by scant inches. It disappeared into the distance and exploded somewhere in the forest.

"The Scion?” Katrina asked, rubbing her wand.

Keeping things brief, I explained. The Scion of the Silver Dagger was a lunatic organization dedicated to destroying the world for no particular reason that we have ever been able to discover. Sort of a dark version of the Bureau, they practiced voodoo, witchcraft, black magic, ate human flesh, and were generally considered on the level of something to scrap off your shoe before entering a house.

"Saints preserve us!” Father Donaher cried, smacking his forehead. “Ed, this isn't a lost Bureau base, its one of theirs!"

Yeow! What a notion.

"It certainly would explain the weird offensive devices we encountered,” George commented dryly, fingering the US Army Colt .45 on his belt. “Who else but the Scion would have killer crabgrass and military weapons?"

"A militant arm of Green Peace?” Mindy joked, her hands twisting on the pommel of her sword.

"But what is the Scion of the Silver Dagger doing with an occult convention,” Jessica asked petulantly, her camera clicking steadily. “Holding a recruiting drive?"

On my command, the team stood, fired, and crouched again.

"That's certainly a possibility,” I acknowledged, reloading quickly. The spent brass shells rang musically as they bounced off the hard ground. “They certainly have suffered a lot of personnel losses recently. Especially after their massive failure with the Forever Castle."

"True enough."

Another LAW rocket hit the shimmering barrier in strident fury. Loud, too. I yawned to pop my ears back into working order.

"An occult convention where something went horribly wrong. Or worse, something went horribly right.” Mindy blinked, and shook her head. “Causing Hadleyville to be destroyed, and every surviving member of the Scion transformed into a werewolf."

"A sentient werewolf?"

His big freckled map of Ireland melted into a frown. “Feh,” Father Donaher muttered.

Thumbing fresh rounds into my revolvers, I agreed. Feh on toast. With ketchup and anchovies.

"Raul, how long can you hold this barrier?” George asked, laying an assortment of grenades on the ground. Father Donaher was doing the same, and Mindy was hastily assembling a compound bow from her pocket arsenal of secret ninja deathdealers. Patent pending.

Spreading powders on the dirt in a rune pattern, the mage loftily sniffed his disdain. “Against purely physical weapons? No problem. Domes take a lot of power, Globes even more so. But this? Piffle."