Redemption (The Alliance Series Book 1) (6 page)

              I began to see something else in his eyes, something he may not have recognized had I shown him a mirror. I have seen it many times, on the faces of people who realize the boogieman is real. What I saw on the face of the Sarge was fear. He was scared. He knew I outgunned him and there was not a damn thing he could do about it. He looked around, like a coward, trying to find some avenue of escape. He quickly realized there was only one way out, through me.

              “It’s just you and me Sarge.” I said, taunting him.

His fear started warring with anger as my attitude infuriated him. Losing his composure, the Sarge dropped his head and charged, trying to use his momentum to push his way past me. He came at me like a rampaging bull and like a good matador; I stepped out of his way at the last second, as he ran past me I threw a powerful punch at the side of his head. Connecting solidly, I watched as the Sarge fell to the ground face first. His speed carried him a few feet and he impacted the concrete with a satisfying crunch as his nose broke under his own body weight. I walked up to him making sure he wasn’t dead and turned his head to the side as blood slowly flowed out of his broken nose.

              I didn't want to go through all the trouble of not killing him just to find out he died from drowning on his own blood.

              I looked up and saw that Nathan didn't need my help. Both soldiers were pinned up against either side of the door with their arms and legs spread in an X.              

They were obviously trying to move but all they could manage was small movements of their heads.

              "I think it's time to go." I said to Nathan.

              He looked at me, smirked, and said. "Yup."

              We quickly got out of the warehouse, loaded back up in the sedan and left the Fisherman’s Wharf. A short while later we switched cars, Nathan hotwired a Dodge Neon and as we drove East and away from San Francisco.

              "Where are we going now? We can’t go home; they will be all over there." Nathan asked.

              I looked out at the road. Dawn had come and the sky was well on its way to gaining that clear blue that is common in California.

              "I can’t explain why but I feel like there is only one man who can help."              

Nathan looked over at me, studying my face.

              "We have to find the Col...” I said.

              We drove for a few minutes before I turned to Nathan and said, "You don’t have to go with me on this one. Up until now, I have been the one to interact with all the targets; I’m the one who struck an officer. If you get out now you can probably claim ignorance. They would probably reassign you to some laid back assignments, or put you on probation. This is going to get real bad."

              "You think I don’t know that?" He asked.

              "Then why are you staying? This isn’t your fight." I said.

              Nathan looked out the window for a minute then said. "Do you know why I left my people?"

              "You've never talked about it, I never asked." I answered.

              "I had a nice quiet life on the reservation. I was of divine blood; I had the water of the spirits flowing through my veins.

              "Do you know what that means?" He asked

              I shook my head.

              "We hadn’t seen a true holy man in my tribe for decades; some claim our people’s blood has been thinned. We are not the same people we used to be when the buffalo owned these lands. When I was born, there was hope. The elders rejoiced, they thought my birth would bring about a new era for our people."

              "Over the years, as I trained and learned, I began to see the corruption in our tribe. We were more interested in keeping our heads down. Taking money from our casinos and only paid passing homage to the Powers."

              "We have been a lost tribe for many years. I realized I could do nothing for my people. I had a desire, a drive, to help those that wanted to help themselves, but could not. Most of my people seemed to be content with their existence. This I could not accept. I left, looking for a new tribe, looking for a people who wanted to make their land better for the weak, a people who took up the cause of the innocent. I found that new tribe in you, John."

              "We have killed monsters. Creatures that cause suffering to this world, we do it because no one else can. We stick up for and protect the weak, even if they do not know we do it. I see nothing that has changed. You are my tribe. No matter what happens as long as this tribe stays on the right path for the right reasons I will be here."

Chapter 6

"John, JOHN!” Nathan was screaming.

              I slowly came awake, realizing we were still on the road. Having started east from San Francisco, we were on a road trip. It took me a fraction of a second to realize that we were on the wrong side of the road.

              Nathan was griping the steering wheel with white knuckled hands swerving back and forth from lane to lane. I heard the telltale sound of a two bladed helicopter overhead. The two blades cut the air, creating the whoop-whoop-whoop sounds associated with those Vietnam movies only a lot faster.

              That meant only two things. One, it was a UH-1 Iroquois, good for troop transport, sometimes retro fitted to carry firefighting equipment like those big buckets used to carry lake water to forest fires.

              The second could mean it was a Bell AH-61 super cobra, the U.S. Army’s' version of flying death.

              The way this day has been going I didn't think we were a forest fire in need of a water dump, which was right about the time the gunner opened up with the 20mm m197 Gatling gun mounted under the Cobra’s nose.

              That’s right, a freaking Gatling gun.

              Good thing for us they were interested in our capture. I knew this because I was still alive. There was no disintegration of the beat up ole Neon and us with it.             

Instead, what I did see was a disintegration of the two lanes of blacktop on which Nathan and I were currently doing 68 M.P.H.

              The Gatling gun ripped up the road about 200 feet in front of us in a spectacular display of firepower.

              I was impressed.

              Nathan was pissed.

              He swore something under his breath that would be better not repeated and hit the brakes while simultaneously turning the car off the road and onto the shoulder.

              The ride got a bit bumpy but Nathan was one of the best drivers the P.S.F.s ever trained. He somehow managed to keep the trusty Neon’s nose pointed in the general vicinity of the oncoming roadblock.

              Thankfully, the Cobra had not destroyed the earth on either side of the shoulder or we would have quickly met up with the world’s largest speed bump.              

As we flew past the destroyed road Nathan looked at me and smiled,              

"See? Piece of cake."

              "Yeah, piece of cake," I replied sarcastically.

              "Guess they don’t want us dead, yet" I said.

              "Give em time to get to know you." Nathan said smiling. "I’m sure they’ll come around."

              Another thing that makes the Cobra a really good weapon for killing people, places, things and ideas are the hydra rocket pods mounted on either side of the helicopter. They can fire up to twenty rockets in a continuous burst, effective for destroying a nice strip of highway.

              Therefore, it didn't surprise me when the Cobra opened up with them and created a crater in the road that extended onto the shoulder, cutting off our previous escape route, giving us no option but to either stop or try to jump a big hole in the ground.

              Nathan slammed on the brakes as the Cobra flew overhead banking off to the left, disappearing behind some trees, leaving us alone on an empty stretch of highway listening to the sounds of the hot engine cooling.

              Nathan looked in the rear view mirror and nodded saying, "Here comes the welcome wagon. How do you want to handle it?"

              Nathan and I had worked together so long it seemed like second nature. He was an engineer wizard, which means he was good at building things and creating constructs out of magic. He was great for shielding, sound and light dampening fields, all kinds of neat stuff. I was more of a shoot first; ask questions later kind of a guy. I liked, or excelled at making a lot of noise and breaking stuff. When Nathan and I got in the thick of things, he naturally became my better self. He accented and supported my strengths by giving me enough time to blow up whatever was in our way.

              It worked out well for us.

              Nathan would usually create some distraction or give me protection; he would take care of the defense so I could go heavy on the offense.

              "Let’s play this cool, I have a few things nagging at me and I want to see if I can get some answers. We know they weren't sent to kill us so maybe they will talk to us." I said.

              "You mean you want to know why someone sent a centaur after us, if they meant to take us alive." Nathan asked.

              "Got it in one." I said.

              "Alright you do the talking; I’ll keep them from doing anything rash." Nathan said.

              We slowly got out of the Neon and watched as three black Humvees pulled up and stopped about fifty feet behind us.

              Five military types dressed in black B.D.U.s and combat gear got out. They were all carrying standard issue M-4 carbines with two of them having the M-203 44mm grenade launcher attachment.

              These guys were not playing around.

              They quickly assembled in a loose half circle around Nathan and me, never allowing their weapons to leave our chests. There are only a few military members that know of wizards. Even fewer who have been trained in combating supernatural threats. These guys were some of the finest non-magic users the P.S.F. has ever trained. That didn't mean they could take us, but it never hurts to have people who won’t pee their pants providing support when a Cyclops wants to eat your brains. You would be surprised how many men I have seen do that. It’s embarrassing.

              Out of the third Humvee exited a man dressed in a business suit. He looked exactly like a company man. He had a nondescript suit the color of charcoal, a bland tie that stood out against his pure white button up shirt.

              His shoes were black and had a mirror shine to them.

              He had dark hair that came to a widow’s peak in front, like what you would think of in a b-movie about vampires, all slicked back.

              He wore dark tinted sunglasses and slowly sauntered over to us shaking his head back and forth like a father scolding a misbehaving child.

              "John, John, John, I always knew one day you would lose it and I'd have to come get you."

              His name was Walter Simmons, agent Walter Simmons.

              He was C.I.A. Ever since Dept. of Homeland Security was created, there has been a lot of intermingling of agencies.

              He was in charge of the Recall or Remove unit. They either brought in rogue agents or eliminated compromised ones.

              It happens more often than you might think. Sometimes an asset would be hunting a vampire only to find that vampire was actually hunting them, two fang holes later and there's a walking dead liability.

              Other times a witch puts a successful hex on you. Hexes can be tricky. Occasionally assets are compromised when a wizard or other foul thing puts the mental whammy on them and is able to control them like a puppet.

              Some can be brought in for cleansing, others cannot.

              Walter always seemed to be in a better mood when he finds out someone can't be fixed.

              That is where he seems to shine.

              Personally, I think he’s a psychopath.

              It's not so much his eyes that always seem to be empty and looking for something to fill them, but it's the way he glows when he knows he gets to kill.

              I’m not perfect. I have killed too.

              But for me it is not something I am proud of or relish doing. It's a job, a duty. I do it in hopes of creating a better world.

              Agent Simmons does it because it temporarily helps ease the hunger inside him.

              I was able to get my hands on some of his mission debriefings and I came across something that gave me reason to wonder about agent Simmons’ sanity.