Jack County Demons (13 page)

The two
SEALS quickly patted down the cops, removing their backup firearms and knives. They pulled out zip ties, securing their hands behind their backs and their ankles together. These two men weren't going anywhere. Then, Whisky reached into his assault pack, taking out two gags.

Once secure, having placed the two cops behind a pile
of boxes, the two Seals peeked around the corner. The path was clear and they urged the others to follow them.

LT guided Rafa and Pancho past a series of packing crates and beat up, rusting machinery. They could he
ar the cops chattering amongst themselves.

Rafa was nervous. He found himself sweating, shaking a bit du
e to the anxiety. He'd been in many fights, a few even with knives, but this was different. He wasn't a soldier, and he'd never been up against demons. He looked to LT, who remained as calm as one would be on a Sunday drive through the country. Rafa envied the man. Respected him. Rafa wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. As they neared closer to the cops, he began panting involuntarily.

LT turned, saying, "Shhh!"

This angered Rafa, who snarled under his breath.

LT ignored this, instead focusing on the nearby cops
, who were turning into demons, already all the goodness gone from them. He watched them, silent and deadly and posing to strike. LT had screwed on his silencer on his pistol. He knelt down, pistol out, steadying his aim.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

LT fired three well placed shots. Each hit their mark, square in the head. The cops fell without so much as a reaction, and LT instantly moved forward. While taking position near the doorway, Pancho and Rafa hurried alongside him, dragging the cops' bodies back and around the corner. They grumbled under their breaths at this task. The cops' brains were leaking out. It was horrifying, but that's war. If they wanted to save the women inside, they knew this was part of it.

LT paused at the door a moment, waiting to see if anyone
had heard them. A few seconds passed, and nobody rushed out, so he readied himself. Three, two, one he counted, then with all his force kicked the door open.

Red and Whisky were making progress on the other side of the
building. They had made entry as well, and were checking their angles, clearing the open room, then a nearby hallway. Moving along at a steady pace, Red heard a faint noise. He held up a fist, and Whisky stopped short.

There was a
soft sound, a scraping, coming from down the nearby stairs.

Nodding to one another, Red took the lead. He held his pistol out,
keeping his eyes on the front sight, and moved along. Suddenly, a cop appeared around the corner. Before he could even process the two SEALS before him, Red squeezed the trigger two times. He hit the man square in the chest, and the cop fell to the ground. Red took a moment to make sure his target was down for good. The cop had started changing to a demon, but the change was not yet complete. Satisfied, he moved on along down the stairs, stepping over the dead body. Whisky followed.

Moments later, Red emerged from around a corner. Standing in
front of him was a large cop. Again, Red fired, this time three rounds. He hit his mark, each round impacting less than an inch apart. This came from years of practice.

They moved again, faster this time. They expertly check
ed their corners, watching one another's backs. They rushed on, knowing time was against them. They didn't know why this was the case, they just felt it. Something was pressing them, urging them to move quickly. They came to another door, and Red reached out to turn the handle.

Pausing a moment, Red looked to his partner.

"Let's do this," Whisky whispered.

They went through the door quick. There was a room on each sid
e. The two men quickly cleared them, then marched on down the long hall. It was dark, cold down here. The hallway was dimly lit. Dust was kicked up as they stepped, tickling their noses, bothering their eyes. It seemed as if this hallway hadn't been disturbed in a million years.

They moved on, coming across a series of rooms situated o
ff the hallway. They'd stop at each doorway, fling the door open and check inside. Once clear, they'd move to the next. They did this expertly. They had many years of practice clearing rooms, and did it with timed precision.

They eventually came to the end of the hall. It turned ninety deg
rees to the right. Red paused, listening before flipping around the corner, looking down yet another hall. This one was much darker, yet shorter. As they began to move along once more, Red reached into his pocket, producing a small flashlight. He flicked on the high intensity beam, lighting up the hall.

Whisky did the s
ame. And though the element of surprise dwindled with the use of lights, they needed them. There were demons down here, and the two weren't taking any chances. No telling if one of them was lurking in the dark, just waiting for the Seals to pass. And although they knew their firearms would have little to no effect on the monsters, they opted not to think about it. LT had asked for their trust, and they had given it willingly. If it meant their deaths, so be it. They were here not for the mission, not for the people, but for one another.

Red slowed the pace to a near crawl. He wanted to be careful now. He could sense
they were near. He took each step with deliberate effort as they made their way down the hall. Step after step they walked, until finally, nearing the end, he could hear something. It sounded like the rustle of clothing. Red tilted his head back to Whisky, and then quickly turned off his flashlight. Whisky did the same, and once more they were in utter darkness. Usually the dark was their friend, their comfort. They had spent years welcoming the dark, but not now. Now, they were afraid of it, for something far more terrorizing lurked within the shadows.

They waited.

Hearing footsteps approach, both men gently touched their triggers.

The footsteps grew louder. They grew nearer.

With their flashlights off, they could see nothing. Only shadows. However, they could sense something was there. A shadow within the shadow, perhaps.

Something, though they didn't know what,
passed by the two Seals.

Something eased past, neither bothering them
nor fleeing them.

"What the
hell?" Whisky whispered to Red.

"Let's get this cocksucker!" Red said, bringing
about his fullest confidence.

The two hurried along the corridor, amped up on adrenaline and r
eady for a fight. But nothing, nobody, was in the hallway. Whatever footsteps they heard were a figment of their imagination, or an apparition.

They neared another door. Red turned to Whisky, and tho
ugh he could not see the man's facial features, he could see the man nod his approval.

Red opened the door, and the two Seals slipped inside.

LT turned another corner, pistol ready, and came face to face wit
h Red and Whisky. They had met exactly where they hoped, and when. Their timing had been perfect.

Without saying a word, they continued the final twenty steps, rounding one last corner and coming into v
iew of the large room. Candles danced and shadows hid. With guns drawn, the Seals and the men spread out. Before them was the Sheriff, seated on a chair, a dazed look in his eyes, and a sadistic expression on his face.

"Well hello, boys," the Sheriff said with a grin.

"We've been expecting you. What you're looking for is downstairs, in the basement." He made no move to raise the shotgun.

Without a moment's notice, Red raced forward. He ran up to t
he Sheriff, brushing the man's hands away and snatched away the shotgun. Stepping back, he cycled through the seven rounds, ejecting the shells on the ground. Once finished, he tossed the shotgun far across the room, and then raised his pistol again, pointing it at the Sheriff.

The Sheriff stared at him,
and then began laughing. He sounded drunk, confused. Something was off.

"Why
you laughing?" Red asked. "We've got you covered."

"I ain't gonna fight you boys. Believe me, I ain't gonna try it,"
the Sheriff explained, staring off in the distance.

Then, the
SEALS noticed the large pool of blood under the Sheriff. It had pooled up, dripping down. They realized quickly that the Sheriff was bloody. His arms were cut; the huge gashes had dumped lots of blood on the floor below.

Confused, Red look
ed to LT for advice.

LT had none.

All the stress, the tense situation, was too much for Pancho. He wasn't a soldier. He was hardly a warrior, just a tough guy from Jack County. But this was too much. The anxiety of not knowing if and when he would die overcame him, and he burst into a rage. It was his way of coping with this whole ordeal.

Pancho rushed forward, charging the Sheriff. He neared, rais
ed his fists and began to punch the Sheriff in the face. He hit him over and over again, all the while screaming, "Where the hell are they? Where are the women?"

The Sheriff said nothing. The Sheriff did nothing. He too
k his beating without moaning, without fighting back, without a struggle of any sort.

On and on, P
ancho hit the man. "Tell me! Where are they? I'll kill you with my bare hands!"

After a few seconds of this, Pancho stop
ped. His hands were bloody, and his knuckles hurt. He was winded, too. Breathing heavy and emotionally exhausted, Pancho fell to his knees before the Sheriff. He panted, looking up to the Sheriff in disbelief.

The Sheriff jolted in his chair. It was an involuntary react
ion made by his body. Then, he coughed a bit, spitting out four teeth and much blood.

Finally, the Sheriff looked down to Pancho, staring blankly, saying, "You're too late.
They have the blood of twelve. The thirteenth is tonight."

"What
do you mean, you twisted bastard?" Pancho screamed.

"The thirteenth was delivered."

"Who?"

"Taken from right under your noses."

"Who? Tell me who?" Pancho screamed.

"The stripper's . . ." the Sheriff stopped, his body shaking,
coughing blood and going into convulsions.

Pancho leapt up, stepping away as the Sheriff began choking and t
wisting in his chair. Then, he stopped moving; his head slumped down, his shoulders relaxed.

"He's dead," Pancho said in disbelief, looking
down at his bloody fists.

LT stepped forward, placing his fingers on the Sheriff's neck, chec
king his pulse for any sign of life. Nodding, he turned to Pancho, saying, "Yeah, he's dead."

"I . . . I killed him?" Pancho stammered.

"Doom on him," LT reminded. "He took your loved ones."

Anger filled
Pancho once more. He reminded himself he was at war, and mercy was for the weak. Standing up straight, Pancho said, "Let's go," then dashed past the men.

It took a moment for them to understand.
Then, realizing their folly, LT turned to Whisky and Red, gasping. "He's not here," LT exclaimed.

They hurried outside, into the sunlight. They rushed to their bike
s, starting them up in a fury, tucking away their weapons, ready to travel. They could hear the sound of approaching police, but LT knew only demons occupied those uniforms now. Lots of them, and coming fast. LT looked down the road, seeing a long line approach.

Pancho pulled up beside him, tugged his shirt and said, "Go! Ge
t to the girl. Take her to the church. It's the only place she's safe. We'll take care of this."

Then, Pancho peeled out, nearly dumping his bike. Rafa revved his
engine, following close after. They tore through the parking lot, headed directly at the approaching police.

The S
EALS quickly took off, headed in the opposite direction.

They arrived at Juana's house in nine minutes.

Her house was a simple bungalow, somewhat isolated from the homes nearby.

LT dashed up the lawn, barging into the front door. He scanned the rooms until he found J
uana, scaring her half to death.

"What? What's going on?"

"We've got to get you to the church. Now!" LT yelled.

"Why?"

"Just pack a quick bag. Only the necessities. Get your daughter and let's get out of here now."

"But . . . but . . ."

"You need to trust me," LT pleaded.

They hurried into Angelina's room. Juana begged for more
information along the way. She explained that her daughter wasn't feeling well, but LT wasn't hearing any of it. They swung into the room, LT barging past Juana. Then, he sighed a moment of relief. Angelina was tucked away in her bed, curled in a ball. The entire trip there LT was sure she wouldn't be at the house. He was relieved she was safe.

"Let's go," LT said to the girl, turning back to Ju
ana, urging them both to hurry.

Angelina was slow to get up, slow to dress. She, too, explained ho
w she didn't feel well. But LT was persistent, and despite Angelina beginning to cry, they realized they had no choice. They realized something was wrong. They realized LT had come to help.

Within two minutes
, the two had hopped on the back of Whisky and Red's bikes. They all tore off, leaving the small home behind, racing for the church.

They all prayed they'd have enough time.

Three minutes later a horde of bikers came screaming into town. They entered Juana's small neighborhood, charging toward it and screeching to a halt. The riders dismounted, rushing forward toward the house. They kicked through the door, entering it. To their dismay, the house was empty. The bikers remounted. They knew where the girls were headed. Screaming out in agony and rage, they rode away, headed further into town.

"We're here," LT said, pulling up. He jumped off his bike, looking
up at the church from the lot, thankful they had made it. Just in the nick of time, too, for he heard the motorcycles in the distance. "They're coming."

All rushed inside the church. While LT situated the wome
n, Red turned to bolt the door shut. Once done, he looked around for something to brace it.

"That won't be necessary," said a voice.

Red turned, seeing Father Rodriguez.

"Ain't taking no chances," Red said.

"They can't enter this place," Father Rodriguez claimed.



The demons roared up. They dropped their bikes in the orange sand, for they were no longer needed. Spreading out in a line, they surrounded the church—gnashing their teeth, grunting like wild animals.

Then, from behind, Santana stepped
forward. He took a moment gazing upon the church, sizing it up. He spit on the ground, baring his razor sharp teeth. His face was contorted, and his animal features taking shape.

As the demons took up their positions, the remaining dep
uties showed up. They weren't as fast, but seemed to arrive just in time. They neared, and Santana turned to the leader, saying, "Bring her to me. Bring me the girl now."

The cops near
ed the church. They kicked at the door, and after a few attempts it burst open. They hurried in, seeing the group spread out. None were holding weapons, which surprised the team. They spread out, guns drawn.

"Now calm down," LT said
to the leader.

"Put your hands up," the cop, Pete,
yelled out.

"Ju
st think for a moment," LT pled. He raised his hands slightly, his voice calm and even. "Think about what you're doing."

"Shut up
, mister tough guy."

"Be smart, man. He's just going to kill you when he's don
e with you. You know this. Now chill. Put down your guns. Cause if you don't, you won't have to worry about him killing you. I'll do it for him," LT said.

What scared Pete the most was the S
EAL's calmness. He'd never seen anything like it. Still, he didn't budge. "They ain't doing no such thing. We're armed, they aren't. Besides, they paid us. Paid us a lot of money. Think they would have done that if they were just planning on killing us? Now, put up your hands and give up the girl."

LT nodded
his head. He knew what he had to do, and for a moment, was saddened by it. He had hoped he could spare these men. He knew they were too far gone, though. Santana had full control over them, and there was nothing LT could do.

LT reached
his hand back behind his waistband. His movement was quick, fluid. In under a second, he had his .45 pointed at Pete's head. Before the cop could even blink, or understand what was happening, LT had already pulled the trigger.

The cop's head exploded
, and Pete was dead before he even hit the ground.

LT pivoted, firing four more precise rounds, killing the remaini
ng cops before they could even fire back.

None could relax. Before they could even process what
had happened, the doors to the church slammed open even wider. The demons came rushing in.

All hell broke loose. One of the demons, Chapo, rushed forward. I
t was as if he was running, but floating along the ground. The demon moved as fast as light, and was upon Angelina in an instant. He grabbed the girl, intent on pulling her outside.

"No!" Whisky screamed. He took two giant steps and dov
e, slamming into the demon. He fought in a rage, hitting the demon as fast and as hard as he could.

The fight commenced. The demon dropped the girl at the doo
rway, turning his attention to Whisky. The SEAL had drug the demon outside, away from the girls, away from his team.

The two
fought as Red pulled Angelina back, handing her off to her mother. He rushed up, wanting to help his friend, unsure as to how. Then, it dawned on him. Whisky was putting on an epic fight, and holding his own. But that didn't make sense. These things were invincible.

Then, Red caught a glimpse of something. It shimmered in the ligh
t only for a flash, but it was enough. Whisky wore a small crucifix around his chest. It shone brightly, and seemed to help him in the fight.

As the demon, Chapo, leaned in to bite Whisky, it hit the
crucifix. Hot as an iron, the crucifix bore into the demon's face. Melting it away—a hot, runny, and sizzling mess—the demon screamed out in agony.

Watching this, the demons all roared loudly. Another, Sax, ru
shed forward to help. He, too, was met with a strange feeling as he bore down on Whisky. The crucifix lodged into his chest as he tackled Whisky, attempting to pull him away from Chapo. Smoke rose, and after a few minutes of agonizing screams, both demons fell to the ground. Instantly, their bodies began to fade away, to turn into dust.

Stunned, Red reached down to help his friend.
He saw the blood covering Whisky’s body. He didn’t look good. Red was sure his friend was dying. He pulled the man back, screaming his name in agony.

LT raced up. He had been late to the fight. Horrified, he rus
hed up to help Red. But by the time he arrived, Red was already placing Whisky's body on the ground. LT stopped, forgetting they were surrounded, and stared down at his friend.

He was gone
. Gone forever.

The girl, LT
thought. He knew his friend was dead, but the mission was not over. Despite his own emotions, he had to finish this. If not for the innocent, he would do this for his fallen friend. LT grabbed Red, pulling him back inside. He had an idea, a plan that may or may not work. It didn't matter, anyway. He'd have to try something.