NEVER ALONE
Story by: Demicus_Maximus

PROLOGUE

A faint noise once again disturbed the ever silent city. Its echoes rang softly over the crumbling streets, weaving around battered cars like a breeze through dull brown grass. The same grass that grew fitfully from cracks in the scorched and tortured pavement.

The bleached white bones could hear the sound better, if only the flesh they had supported were still alive to listen. Immobile they laid, their final moments of life etched in the ground by marks from fire, the same fires that had silenced their pitiful wails in purifying flame.

Yet more sound was to be heard. It grew louder. Faint sounds now pealed past fading churches like the sounds their once proud bells had before rung. Yet these sounds were of battle and death, rather than of peace and hope. Grinning skulls faintly recognized the sounds as old friends, as they were akin to those that had returned them to death, a fate much kinder than the one they had once been cursed to.

The beach was deafened by these sounds. Feet that had just moments before been making less noise than a fish in the sea, now pounded back across the tainted sands. Burning brass and sprays of blood added to the other detritus strewn about, only to be tread upon by dozens of unfeeling, slow feet.

The noise rose to a thundering crescendo as black shaped forms roared across the now reddened water, and then faded back into the silence that had before clung to the city like a black veil. Yet it would be hours before the feet would once more trudge slowly and awkwardly into the necropolis. Back into the fading light.

Just another tiny footnote, in an already decaying reality. . . .

CHAPTER ONE

Swing. Address. Stab. Slide. Return.

Again and again Demicus drilled the bayonet into the wooden figure. This time from the left. Now the center. Up into its face.

Swing. Address. Stab. Slide. Return.

He'd been doing it for almost an hour. Sweat dropped from his face like morning dew. But he refused to stop.

Swing. Address. Stab. Slide. Return.

. . .

"Hey, would you mind turning that down?"

Trio twitched the dial lower... slightly. He didn't care really. The cab dampend the noise a lot. Trio and Undead were out in front of the line of vehicles that raced through the city center. Four all told. Two trucks, one large truck, one van. All painted to not stand out. All beat up.

Something caught Trio's eye.

"HELLS YES!"

He swerved as he saw one of the zombies starting to meander into the road. Not away. Right at it. The zombies’ body flew up and over the truck, just to land in front of the larger rig. A faint stain was all the third vehicle saw.

Trio grinned at Undead. "Another freakin undead put back to death! ...oh, sorry Undead."

Undead sighed. "You know, if I would have known what would happen, I would have picked Fluffy Bunny as my name."

. . .

Koopaling couldn't take it anymore.

"Trio! Will you STOP laughing like a little girl and try NOT attracting every zombie on the planet!?"

Undead's voice crackled back over the radio, Trio's laughter still audible. "Sorry, he's busy right now. Can I take a message?"

She screamed in frustration. "Okay you little piece of-"

"Something going on I should know about?"

Scott Jacobson leaned in the doorway to the ops center, his colonel's pins freshly polished. His boyish grin didn’t match the cleanly pressed uniform. He had obviously just gotten away from a video conference with the A.N. generals, else the grin wouldn't so out of place.

Koopaling flushed, but rather than freeze up like most people, she burst out laughing. "Sorry J... I mean Sir. Just....."

"I can guess. TRIO!"

Trio's partially inaudible cursing, mixed with Undead's laughter, crackled from the radio, almost drowned out by the faint sniggering coming from the rest of the convoy.

"If you don’t mind....."

. . .

Wireboy stood motionless on the balcony. How peaceful it was today. The blue sky, white clouds, ripples on the lake.... and the twenty meter high watchtower that blocked part of the view. He liked Demicus's decision to place the base where the old Lutherhaven camp had been. Simple walls and spiked pits in a mile radius had stopped the tide of undead, until even their unbelievable attention span was expended.

He liked how quiet it was, compared to the sheer terror of only a year back. On the run, cut off. Leaderless. Wireboy's brother walked up beside him, and passed Wireboy a Mountain Dew. Strictly against the regulations regarding conservation of supplies. Dew's were few and far between these days. The two brothers could care less. They were enjoying the peace. While it lasted.

. . .

"...and hitting them is plain stupid! That body could have landed on the truck behind you and killed the driver!"

Colonel Jacobson's rant was reaching epic proportions. The rest of the ops center was loosing the battle to keep a straight face. Already hands stifled laughter as he ranted at the microphone, all the while the same boyish grin on his face.

"...So maybe NEXT time, you'll stop and use you brain for something other than bashing things with! You don’t see anyone else doing things that stu-"

"Sorry to be the one to break up this party, sir."

Demicus stood in the doorway, a sweat drenched towel tossed over one shoulder. He held a printout sheet.

"Looks like we've got some killing to do."

. . .

CHAPTER TWO

"So, General, you want us to launch an op into the city, locate these elite soldiers, and then assist them in their task, all without any Intel? To say nothing of the fact you won’t even tell us what this is all about?"

Colonel Jacobson was not happy. From the moment he had read Demicus's dispatch and all -throughout the argument with General Kolbe. The way the vague sense of boyish enthusiasm had disappeared spoke volumes.

General Kolbe sighed. His white hair, Texan drawl, and kindly appearance didn’t quite match up with the rows of campaign ribbons and medals that weighed down his chest. "Look son, I don’t even know what’s going on. All that I can say is that we believe that some of them survived, and need extraction. And if I have too, I’ll send in some flyboys from the base in Utah. But you're closer, and I have every confidence in you, and the men and women you command."

Jacobson pinched his nose and sighed deeply. "You don’t have to say anything else. I'll get a team together straight away."

Kolbe tried a faint smile. "Look at it this way, colonel. You might know a few of them, once you pick them up."

. . .

"Men, in the beginning, there was god. All else, was darkness!"

Wireboy grinned. Slightly. He had heard Demicus give this speech every time there was a battle to be had.

"As you know, he then created the Earth, and filled it with all sorts of creatures. The slimy creatures of the sea, he called the Navy, and dressed them accordingly."

Demicus paced up and down the line. This was his favorite speech, and it showed. Not to mention he actually acted like the rank he held when he gave it. The large CSM patch on his shirtsleeve was usually the only way you could tell he could pull that much rank.

"The creatures of the air he called the Air Force, and gave them uniforms that were ruffled and fowl. And the other creatures of the land he called the Army, and gave them uniforms with pants too short, and shirts with pockets to keep their hands warm! But God was not happy! So he created two new species to fill the Earth. One, he called the Marines, and to them he gave uniforms fitting to fight Satan, and Evil!"

Everyone grinned. This was the best part.

"And to the final people, he gave a controller and a disc drive. And he called them Gamers. But WAS GOD HAPPY!?"

"NO SIR, SGT. MAJOR SIR!"

"Damn right he wasn’t! Because he realized that they could then enter cheat codes, and change reality the way they saw fit! But he was content, because not everyone could be a master gamer. Now get out there and show me why Gamers are the bane of every death fearing zombie in existence!"

While the others raced off to the armory, Demicus pulled a large trunk out from beneath one of the bunks. He retrieved something long and wrapped in camo netting from its dark recesses. Now he was ready. Ready for war.

. . .

"Alright people, we've got a real mess. SOME people went and got themselves into a huge bunch of zombies, and now WE have to go and get them OUT of said mess. Any questions?"

Nobody responded to Colonel Jacobson's question. Not that they could have been heard that well anyway. The area was a frenzy of activity. Trucks growled past, taking ammunition and supplies to the boats tied up on the docks just down the hill. The single Blackhawk helicopter they had flew overhead, making for the helipad some distance up the hill. Pockets of soldiers the Army had also based there jogged past, carrying large cases of explosives. The whole scene looked like a one big anthill that had just been kicked.

Demicus stood at parade rest in front of the rest of the rescue team. Much larger than he would have liked, but it would have to do. Wireboy, Undead, Moonchild, Chaos, Vizo, and The Man. Seph would be leading team two, whose job was to watch the boat. Nothing would be more embarrassing than actually getting the soldiers out, just to find the boat crawling with undead.
They didn’t look at all like the warriors they claimed to be.

Wireboy wasn’t the best. The fire red hoodie would have been grounds for a serious death wish were they fighting anything but the zombies that littered the planet, sight being less important than smell to them. The laptop bag certainly didn’t fit the idea, but with the med pack on his back, he had to find alternate means of carrying things. A single grenade was attached to the bags strap.

Undead was better. Sporting fatigues of he same type as Demicus, he had swapped the tac-vest for a more subdued ranger vest, pockets filled with the odds and ends of war. Several more items hung from his belt, including pouches of explosives.

Jacque looked the part. Her long brown hair was tied behind her head, with a camouflage headband to keep it out of her eyes. She had fought tooth and nail in the first invasion, and had become one of the Resistance's best snipers. But that didn’t mean she was to be trifled with up close, two well-worn daggers saying that quite clearly. On the outside she was still the hyper person she had always been, but the war had given her her own set of personal daemons inside.

Chaos was pretty good too. He hadn’t seen nearly as much action, but had proven to be a good fighter. Demicus couldn’t say if he was better or worse since the war began, as he hadn't really known him. He was dressed much like Jacque, but without the headband. His bastard sword hung over his back, sprayed a dull back to hide the shine better. A P90 sub machine gun hung from its strap on his shoulder. To make room for the sword, extra ammo clips were strapped to his leg and cut-down kitbag.

Vizo. Where to begin? One of the smallest of the bunch, there weren’t any fatigues to fit him without going to female clothes, something he refused. Instead, he wore plain black pants, a nondescript shirt, and a safari vest. He gripped his silenced MP-10 in his hands.

The last man of the team was The Man. His long black trench coat was decorated by a black and white American flag patch on one shoulder, while the twin bandoleer's sported magazines for his Beretta 9mm pistol and M16. Besides the small pouch for carrying grenades for his rifles grenade launcher, he also carried the team’s heavy weapon, something his thin frame and glasses didn’t quite match with. One of the few flamethrowers in the whole camp, extra tanks were strapped and taped to his kitbag to avoid clanking together. He had an antique WWI helmet hung from a clip on his belt.

...to say the team was a little mis-matched was an understatement. But it was their turn on the list.

Besides, Colonel Jacobson thought as the team started trudging down the hill, the people of this base had been fighting in and around the broken city for some time now. And Demicus wasn't a bad leader at all. They would be fine.

As long as they got out before sunset...

. . .

CHAPTER THREE

"Okay! Okay! I get the picture!"

Koopaling and Avron both took turns glaring at Trio. The ops center was deadly quiet, except for the occasional snigger from the upper level. Avron didn’t look happy either.

Not that he looked happy much these days. In fact, calling him a hard, mean, and tough as nails man would almost be an understatement. Fresh black fatigue pants, black tank, black belt..... Hell, even his soul was black. He had been appointed to be a middleman between the resistance and other military forces that shared the base. General Kolbe had wanted Demicus for the job, but Demicus had turned down the offer, and suggested Avron instead. This came as a surprise to the General, Colonel Jacobson, the others in the Resistance, and Avron himself. In fact, to this day, Demicus says he can't remember why he had done it.

"Listen," Avron began, "I've told you. Attacking the zombies just attracts more. That’s why..."

"...why we only leave the compound when we HAVE to. I know, I know!"

"Then why can’t you just do it?"

Trio snorted. "Because I don't take orders from idiots."

Enough eyes shifted over to watch as Avrons fist slammed into Trio’s stomach that nobody noticed a small red dot appear on one of the large screens. It flickered a few times, and then vanished. The computer logs would later record the anomaly as a malfunction in the motion sensors. It was nothing to worry about.

. . .

The yacht certainly didn't look like the luxury boat she had once been. The once white vessel had been repainted into an aqua-camo style, grey on a washed out blue. M-60 machine guns had been bolted onto her railing, and sheets of metal acted as makeshift armor plate. A four barreled anti-aircraft gun, World War Two vintage, took up a large section of the forward deck, while a smaller pair of twin linked .50 cal guns took up the back. She wasn’t a pleasure craft anymore. She was a warship.

Even her name had been altered. She was the Nightshade.

Demicus stood on the deck as the blat slowly moved along. It would take well over an hour to reach the Resort Marina at this speed, but the boat was almost silent. And silence was the key. What little Intel General Kolbe had given them led the Colonel to believe that the other soldiers had hidden themselves, or perhaps fled.

Considering it had taken the General almost twelve hours to give them the order, the Colonel had decided stealth was the better option here, reasoning speed was pointless at this stage. Demicus had thought much the same. Even now, three decks below, members of his team were jumping up and down, taping down anything that squeaked, rattled, banged, or made any other noise. He himself had already done so, and was now simply steeling himself to war.

A good leader did such things often. He loved every man and woman he led into battle as much as any brother had loved another. But he had to be able to send those brothers and sisters into hell, and be prepared to loose them. On the railing below, Seph was quietly laughing with his own men. Demicus envied them. They hadn't suffered any casualties yet, and their morale was the highest of any Resistance team to date. And they were good.

Demicus sighed, and started talking to himself. Chanting litanies of purity and accuracy. Prayers of victory and hope. Prayers that would all too soon be added to by the roaring prayers made by his guns to the gods of battle.

. . .

Jacque stood one deck above, watching the water's slow ripples. Without looking, she slowly slid her twin blades in and out of their sheaths, making sure they wouldn’t stick. On the outside, she was still the same hyper person she always was. But her small frame hid a terrible dread. Some of her close friends hadn't been seen since that fated day over three years past. And she dreaded that one day she might meet them again, only to have to end their wretched existence. No matter how many times she told herself it was for their, and her, good, deep inside she was afraid she couldn't do it. That she might get the others killed, or worse, because she wouldn't be able to strike the killing blow. But she couldn't think about that now.

So she watched as the faint dawn began to clear the light fog. She watched Demicus as he battled his own inner daemons. She watched Seph laugh quietly with his men. And she forced herself not to think of what might be.

. . .

The Nightshade slid, nearly silent, alongside the still foggy dock. Ladders swung down, and team one descended onto the slowly deteriorating wood. As soon as the last boot had touched down, the ladders were raised, and the boat slowly began to move once again, gliding out away from the marina.

Demicus glanced at the HUD of his personal command circuit, its tiny screen forming a faintly glowing square over his right eye. A blue triangle blinked slowly where the last contact had been, the old public beach. With a slight gesture, he motioned Jacque to the nearby hotel. Two members of Seph's team would join her, and with a little luck, be able to keep team one clear of enemies while they searched. They moved off, and he signaled to the others.

As the Nightshade moved slowly into the fog, Demicus moved silently onto the land, and back into Coeur d' Alene. Into the city of the dead.

. . .


CHAPTER FOUR

"Gamma two dash one to base, Big Daddy has reached the Little Nest and the Life vest is searching, over."

Iggy leaned over and hit the mic key. Several of the people in the ops center were bust breaking up the fight between Trio and Avron, while the Colonel was busy in the other room.

"Okay gamma two one, I hear ya. J says to keep us posted on anything you find. Have fun out there! Base, clear."

As Iggy turned back to watch the fray, the small red dot started flickering again on the monitor. The computer still thought nothing of it. It did not fit specified parameters for an automated alarm yet, and until then, it would remain silent.

. . .

Team one moved deeper into the city. The beach hadn't revealed any secrets of value, other than the hundreds of empty shells, and the noticeably absent boats the Soldiers had used. Demicus hadn't believed the mission would be that easy. They followed the trail of the Soldiers, and considering they had been fleeing a horde of undead, the trail was easy to read.

His radio faintly popped.

"Demicus, two zombies, hundred meters to your left."

He froze, one fist in the air. The rest of the team also stopped, completely devoid of sound or motion. Not two, but three zombies shuffled into view, searching for food. It took several minutes for them to shuffle past, and for the team to continue on their way.

The path stopped. A large truck had carried the Soldiers this far, it seemed. Black tire marks showed where the driver had nearly lost control from some event. Dents in the front seemed to suggest a zombie had been hit, and bounced into the windshield. But the Soldiers had not had it all their way. Mangled bits of clothing and blood soaked equipment showed where at least one man had fallen to the ravenous horde. Demicus looked past the desecrated corpse and peered into the closed rear.

...and fell back, cursing quietly. More than one man had fallen. To say the soldiers had been killed was as much of an understatement as saying a sun goes supernova. It conveyed nothing of the horrific violence involved.

Blood still dripped down the walls and roof, running out holes in the floor and saturating the ground below. The soldiers had been ripped apart so quickly their body parts were strewn about, still showing marks from teeth, fingernails, and the rough metal of the truck. They had been ripped apart with almost explosive force by dozens of ravenous zombies. He had never had to count deaths by counting helmets before. After finding only three, he began to doubt his old science teachers and their lectures on the relatively small amount of blood in the human body.

"Hey Demicus!"

Slowly he drew himself away from the carnage, leaving The Man staring blankly at the scene.

"Yea?"

Wireboy walked up. "Check it out!"

He held out a piece of paper. It was a map.

. . .

Jacque had just about had it with the two guys with her. They wouldn't shut up! She slowly panned the rifle scope across the city, noting the various zombies, and trying to figure out where each one was going. Their lack of any real purpose made the task almost impossible. If only those two would SHUT UP!

One of them, she couldn't remember his name, leaned down and put his hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off at once.

"How’s it going?"

She could have screamed. "GOD! Just shut up up and go keep a lookout!"

He hastily withdrew. "Okay, okay, no need to get all worked up." She sighed angrily. J... sorry, Colonel Jacobson... she hated calling him that, would have a field day once he heard of this. Suddenly, he practically fell on her. That was IT! She was going to...

Blood.

Why was there blood?

She looked up and saw it. Right there. No way to get her rifle up in time, and she couldn't draw her blades with his dead weight on her.

She grabbed the rifle that was still strung over his back, twisted it around, and yelled; "DIE YOU SON OF A-!"

. . .

Demicus squinted at the map. Wireboy had found it in the cab, and the soldiers had drawn on it. Their red ink was hard to make out over the small, but numerous, splatters of blood. But it looked like they had circled something...

"Hey! Listen!"

As Vizo's voice died, Demicus could make out another sound. Gunfire. Just then, The Man started cursing like a madman, the staccato report of his sidearm drawing everyone back to reality. A zombie had loomed up behind him, now paying the price of its stealth as the fat pistol blasted holes through its chest. Demicus saw movement. He snapped up his rifle and fired a quick burst.

Yep, more undead. The rest of the team began to fire in earnest, their booming reports echoing over the necropolis. The Man had finally untangled his flamer from its strap, opened the valves, and lit it. Gouts of orange light created a wall of flame. The zombies shuffled a few steps forward, only to fall as the flames melted what sinew and muscle that remained. But more and more were looming out of every crack and doorway. The wall of flame had given them a brief respite, but the undead would quickly extinguish it under the weight of their flesh.

So Demicus did what any person not weighed down by a death wish would do. Ran.

The team broke into a run as the undead began to cut off their escape route. Undead, the human, pulled a home made stick grenade out of his bag and lobbed it at a group of zombies. Though the flash of light and sight of tiny bits and pieces flying was gratifying, they couldn’t stop to enjoy the view.

The gap in front of them was growing smaller. Hundreds of the beasts were flooding out of broken houses, crumbling ruins, and from slowly decaying shrubberies. Row upon row of undead fell to the withering fire coming from the team, but more and more followed behind. The Mans flamer roared its defiance again and again, sending dozens of the monsters back to death.

But each spear of fire came weaker and weaker. His fuel tank was almost empty.

Vizo pulled out his knife and started sawing at the taped on spare tanks, trying to free one. Chaos control slung his SMG, and brought up his bastard sword. The long blade swept through the zombies like a hot knife through melting butter. Demicus too slung his rifle. He grasped over his back until he found the blade he had wrapped in camo cloth. It hadn’t been designed to be drawn like this, but he did it anyway. And what a blade it was. An officers sword from Russia, its curved blade had seen its share of war, and, with pistol in one hand, blade in the other, he charged the beasts.

Again and again his and Chaos's blades flashed in the sunlight, as it now hung high in the sky, all traces of fog vanished. Fetid limbs and dark, coagulated blood flew in all directions, but the tidal wave of undead didn’t lessen.

Then, a small knot of the undead opened up to reveal a new zombie, one so horrifying, even the other zombies could not bear its presence. It was Kiragirl, or what was left of her. She opened her mouth, and a scream that nearly blew Demicus's brains out tore out of its decayed face.

Thankfully, he was spared that grisly fate, as from out of nowhere a large flatbed truck reduced the zombie to little more than an unpleasant stain. Jacque hung out one window, neatly exploding heads neat as can be, the surviving member of Seph's bodyguards behind the wheel.

"GET IN, DAMNIT! NOW!"

Nobody argued. They flung themselves onto the flatbed, grasping handholds as best they could.

All but Vizo. Just as he grabbed a hold, an undead sunk its rotting teeth into his leg, while more clung to his small frame. Time seemed to slow, as his face changed from a defiant glare to shock. He slid out of reach as the driver floored the motor. His tiny screams were drowned out by the engine, but they were there.

Demicus wasn't going to leave him to be eaten though. He grabbed The Mans last spare tank, and threw it over the mob. As the truck bounced and jerked, Jacque squeezed off one last shot. It hit dead on. The super copresses fuel in the tank erupted in a massive fountain of liquid fire, its white hot core incinerating Vizo's already dead corpse. Hundreds of the undead exploded from the sudden shang in temperature, the gore being turned to vapor before it could spray the others. He certainly went out with a bang, Demicus thought.

. . .

As the boat pulled out of the marina once again, the pillar of smoke and still visible flame had both teams in a somber mood. One little piece of paper had cost two lives. And they weren’t' even sure the markings even led to the surviving soldiers. But now the mission was personal. They picked up speed, leaving the city to burn.

. . .

CHAPTER FIVE

Red lights started flashing, and an insistent klaxon was hooting out its warning. The ops room seemed to flash into a rush of activity, as everyone who had been watching the fights aftermath dashed back to stations. The main monitors showed where the computer had finally registered the contact it had seen hours before as an alarm.

Koopaling finally uncovered the alarms silence toggle, and the room grew quieter. "

What have you got?"

Major Silva, commander of the Army regulars at the base, and Colonel Jacobson walked up. It was the latter who had spoken. Silva didn’t hide the fact that he believed the Resistance was a weak link, and that HIS men should have been deployed into the city. "

Colonel, Sir!" Koopaling felt stupid saying it, but when other officers were present, Jacobson had insisted she say it. "Automated alarm. Unknown contact tripped the sensors, here."

She highlighted the area. "Camera is offline there, so we don’t know what it really is. Its really, reeeeeallly close to the wall though, and hasn't moved."

"Right. Captain, take Trio and go check it out. Major, put your men on standby, just in case."

Silva scowled. He didn't return the courtesy of a reply, and with a half salute, walked out.

. . .

"Jesus, why do I have to go w-"

"Just shut up, and we'll get this over with. I’m driving."

Avron and Trio jumped into the Jeep Wrangler that was parked just outside the door, and roared off down the path. The alarm had gone off to the west, so they could only follow the road for so long before they had to leg it. In fact, they only were on the road for about one minute before it ended in a slew of holes.

A year back, one section of wall had been compromised by a storm, and they had used an artillery battery to wipe out the undead that had come through. They didn’t have a lot of time though, so Trio pulled a slightly battered dirt bike off of its rack on the Jeep's back, and roared off, leaving Avron to walk. Slowly.

. . .

"Arrow Point. That’s where they marked the map. Come to port! Get us there, full speed!"

"That would be starboard... sir."

"STARBOARD then! Just go!"

Demicus, Seph, Jacque, and Eric Johnson stood around the navigation table of the yacht. A few feet away, Derelicy was driving the boat, sketches he had drawn laid unfinished on the control panels.

Seph was not happy. This was the first time he had lost a man. He was dealing with it very well though. His other men weren’t so well collected. Their angry shouts were audible three decks above. Demicus was angry. Even as annoying Vizo had been, he deserved better. Jacque still had blood on her pants, but she really didn’t notice. She and the other survivor of the side group had blasted their way down the stairwell, only to find their exit blocked. They had found the truck in the parking garage, and had used it to rescue both groups.

But they had found a possible location to the missing soldiers. Perhaps they were still alive. Maybe they could make this whole trip worthwhile. It took them about five more minutes to reach Arrow point. It had been abandoned since before the invasion. Old, dilapidated buildings stood defiantly. The location had been considered two years back as a place the Army regulars at the base could set up, but the idea had fallen through. It was hard enough keeping one base active, let alone two.

This time, there were no set teams. Demicus, Seph, two of Seph’s men, Wireboy, and Undead were heading in this time. Jacque would stay on the boat and cover their advance with her rifle, while the others manned the various heavy weapons the boat sported. Two of the boats own crew, also Resistance members that had been at Lake City during the invasion, set up a two man rocket launcher on the roof. They were taking no chances. Derelicy pulled the boat alongside the main dock, and before he had even brought the big yacht to a full stop, the team had swung down. They speed walked up a short set of stairs, and across a patch of overgrown lawn.

They spotted two black dinghy’s that had been pulled up out of the water, and could see where three or four sets of footprints led into the nearest building. Demicus wasn't in the mood for subtlety.

"Hello! Anyone there? This is the Resistance! Come on out! Quickly!"

A head appeared from the second story. For a moment, Demicus wondered why they had hidden there. Then the coin dropped. The stairs had fallen through, or been hacked apart. Two ropes were flung over the railing, and four grey-clad figures slid down. For some unfathomable reason, each had a gasmask on, and the uniforms were military hazmat suits. The first Soldier spoke, his voice muffled by the mask.

"I didn’t think anyone was out here. Our radio man was lost in the city, and we have an incredible find we have to tell command."

Demicus was startled. These people didn’t seem like soldiers. They didn’t move, talk, or otherwise feel like people who had been Army or Marine corps.

"Yea, we've got a radio. What’s so fethin-"

A burst of fire from Seph made everyone spin around. Undead were approaching. But they weren’t normal. These ones were faster than normal zombies. Everyone broke into a run, shooting and shouting as they went. The four soldiers pulled out...

AK-47's? Those weren’t normally issued weapons for Soldiers. Not at all. No time to think. There weren’t many of the beasts, but they were as fast as a normal human, and they looked angry. Demicus slung his rifle and unsheathed his sword, his pistol exploding one of the undead's head like an over ripe fruit, then slicing clean through another’s chest. Behind them, the yacht's auto cannon opened up, while .50 cal guns laid down thunderous suppressing fire. Zombies heads exploded like cans of tomato soup as the big rounds from Jacques' rifle ripped into the onrushing mob.

More guns opened up, as everyone on board but the driver opened fire on the zombies, giving Demicus and the others a brief respite to clamor up the ladders. The big boats engines screamed in protest as Derelicy threw them into maximum reverse, but they were solidly built. As the boat pulled out to the water and began to turn itself around, the Soldiers pulled off their masks. Demicus stopped dead. They were...

…the last people anyone expected to see alive. Matt Beck, Madman, Jamari, and Tyler Jacobson.

. . .

"How did you four-"

Demicus couldn’t believe it. All four had been thought dead for years. Many of Lake City High's students had only survived because of the actions of a brave few. Matt hadn’t been at school that day, and Madman, Tyler, and Jamari had already graduated. Nobody had heard of them since. To see them all alive.... it was amazing.

They were below deck, and the four had stripped out of the chem-suits, revealing standard Army fatigues. They had been wearing the suits to try and keep the undead from smelling them as well, and were exhausted. It explained their rapid speech, and poor accuracy.

Matt launched into a tale of how he had been in Boise, and had just seen the other three when the invasion hit. The four had joined up with a National Guard platoon and had been fighting alongside for two years. Just a week ago, they had been pulled out of the group at the Houston base, and had been selected as "expandable" people to assist a researcher named Richardson. Richardson claimed to have found a way to stop the war, but needed an armed force to locate several "beacons." They had found two beacons so far, and were close to finding the last. These beacons were strange devices. Clearly man made, the first two had been found in a missile silo in Texas, and another in a rotting backpack very near to the Washington Monument in D.C. Each had been the site of only a small invasion force, but both had been focused on... something. Richardson wasn’t sure of what at this stage. The third he had finally located in Hayden Idaho. But here the device was still partially active. It revealed a set of coordinates.

Jamari's team was pulling out when the second group that had stayed with the truck had been attacked. Jamari's team had repelled the attack, and had been heading to the boats when one of the "super zombies" had leapt onto the hood.

After that, Tyler continued now, they had fled on foot to the boats. Arrow Point was supposed to have been their fall back point. And now there were here. Derelicy had turned the big boat back to base, and was moving along at a clipped pace. They would be back in just a few...

Jacque dashed down the stairs from the upper level, a worried look on her face. "Something’s awry. You had better come hear this."

. . .

--------------------------------------------------

INTERLUDE


His minion had found something. Its message was unclear, as usual. They weren't as intelligent as his old minions. He had to work to decipher its odd speech.

he/she/it was sad/sorry to put/say that there were (present) some/many...

He stopped. It couldn’t be. Not...

He blinked. His hands tore loose from where they had lain for millennia. The area began to shudder as he rose from his ancient seat. His minions went wild, roaring, screaming, shouting. The noise was deafening. But his anger was worse. It radiated out like a miasma of poison gas, or a river of sludge.

His victory was undone! This was impossible! He ordered his legions to arms, to kill...

No. He would go himself this time. He began to slowly walk from his ancient resting place.

It was time.
----------------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER SIX

Avron was getting annoyed. Trio was taking too long for such an easy job! He was going to kill that little…


An explosion of monumental proportions erupted at the wall. Even a hundred feet away, Avron was tossed back like a rag doll by the shockwave. Debris was raining down, flattening trees that had instantly been stripped of all their needles.

Out of nowhere, Trio appeared, running as fast as he could back to the Jeep.

“Bad day, bad day, BAD DAY!”

With a string of curses that would have given pauses to the most hardened sailor, Avron stood.
And just as quick, began to run. He fumbled with his headset. Whose idea was it to use a wired set anyway? It had come loose…

Screw it, he decided, and pressed a little button on the bottom, once, twice, three times.

. . .

Red lights were flashing everywhere in the ops center. Avron’s distress beacon had lit up, and a large section of wall had just dropped off the sensors.

“Base to Avron, base to Trio, please respond! Damnit, stop screwing around!”

Nothing. Koopaling had been trying, but nothing. The symbol that was the two’s cycle was flashing red, but the jeep was still green. Icons showed their positions, moving fast.

What was going on?

A roar of static that evened out into a low screech blared from the speakers.

“…art…ike…us, rig… ow!”

She frowned, and yelled back, “Say again!”

“Nee… cking … illery strike, ri… ow, or we’re de…”

Artillery? But there wasn’t anything…

“DA…IT, GET IT RI… DEAD!”

. . .

He could hear the klaxons from a mile away. Literally.

Demicus stood on the prow of the yacht, listening. Surly they hadn’t meant for it, a drill perhaps.

Raid-sirens joined in, their banshee howls adding to the din. Factory grade hooters and horns began to blare out their own voices, making a thundering creshendo echo over the lake.

The base was screaming with every one of its voices.

. . .

Everywhere, hazard lamps began to flash, and automatic storm plates cycled down over windows. Data feeds and terminals went blank. They fuzzed for a few seconds, and then the words ‘please stand by’ scrolled across in regular repeats.

Soldiers and Resistance members ran hither and nether, some only half dressed, fumbling with weapons and trying to not panic. A tank crunched its way along the gravel pathway towards the source of the disturbance, while the Blackhawk’s rotors began to turn, crew still bolting down the miniguns it sported.

Colonel Jacobson stood outside of the main building, shouting instructions, and trying to get back to the ops center. The bases artillery battery began to fire, and thunder ripped across the blue skies.

. . .

“All ahead full, squeeze those engines! Come back to battle stations, ready the guns, and prepare to take on extra passengers!”

Demicus tightened his weapon belt, pistol already in hand. The radio was flooded with calls from ops to units in the base. The computer screen on the bridge showed multiple distress beacons, and the roar of the artillery was deafening.

Finally! A terse message scrawled across the monitor.

Under attack. Unknown number of hostiles.

Daemons.

. . .

Trio and Avron felt the teeth rattling explosions from the HE shells behind them. Avron was still trying to reach the Colonel, or even the Major. They had to retarget on the breach! It was a Gate!

Daemon Gates were manifestations of hell itself. These blood drenched iron gibbets could let an unending tide of horrors through. It had been years since the last! Why now?

They ran straight into the Jeep before they even knew they had reached it. Avron flung himself into the drives seat, while Trio simply dived into the back. It roared into life, loose gravel spraying behind it. Not anywhere near fast enough.

The Jeep lurched to the left as a hole in reality opened up to the right. Avron flung the wheel back as another rift opened. Trio struggled up, firing a sub machine gun with one hand. Though the dirt and rock flung up from the artillery blotted out much of the area behind them, faint figures could be seen, moving quickly. Some were being felled by the potent shells, but others were more lucky.

Avron rounded a corner in the road. The base was up ahead. Just a few more yards. There! He could see…

…the short cliff. He had taken the wrong road. He slammed on the brakes, and tried to power slide to a stop, but a small tree grazed the front bumper. The Jeep was tossed to one side, and rammed a thin tree full force. The tree behind that one caught both the first tree and the Jeep, but the force flung its two occupants out and over…

…right into the passing boat.

. . .

“Good God…”

Plumes of smoke rose from the base, and the sound of gunfire was everywhere. Derelicy brought the yacht up close to the dock, and a few people disembarked. Demicus, Jacque, Chaos, and Madman ran towards the base. Wireboy had planned to go with them, but the sudden and oh so unusual entrance’s of Trio and Avron had left him with two cases to treat already. The others would stay on the boat, manning weapons and prepping the boat in case they had to bug out in a hurry.

Demicus and the others all piled into another of the many Jeeps that littered the Resistance area of the base, and roared up the hill.

It was only a moment before they all jumped out again. Just past the old church building was the mess hall and ops center. Colonel Jacobson was dueling one of the daemons. It was a regular one, roughly human, but with above human senses and grotesque appearance. Next to him, Koopaling buried the head of her two handed axe into another daemon. More Resistance were trying to form a hasty firing line between the buildings.

As Demicus eagerly dove into the fray, he knew the situation was very, very bad. The base was MUCH larger than this. Had the others fallen so quickly? Before he had even landed his first blow, he got an answer as the daemon in front of him was ripped apart. One of the AN Tanks was roaring its way past the old work shed, a battered Bradley AFV and AN infantry following just behind. Without pausing to even acknowledge Demicus’s arrival, the Colonel dashed back into the building.

Inside was chaos. EM pulses from the daemon gate were interfering with the radio, leaving strung-out personnel trying to organize a proper evacuation. General Kolbe was visible on one of the screens, trying to converse with Iggy while the picture and sound kept coming in full of static and other interference.

“Demicus!” The colonel had finally noticed him. “I had hoped you all would show up. Now listen, the AN has air support on the way, but with all that artillery fire, we aren’t sure where that gates even at! Take one of the Jeeps and go the long way. I really don’t care if you trash the car, so long as that gate gets closed ASAP. Can you handle it?”

Great. Another mission with the odds stacked worse than a bobsled ride off of Everest.

But what he actually said was, “You got it. Lets go!”

. . .

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Well, I’m sure I’ve done SOMETHING more idiotic than this before.”

“Yea, I believe you.”

Demicus, Jacque, Iggy, Chaos, and Madman were in another of the many Jeeps that littered the base. They were racing along one of the dirt tracks that ran all over the base. Iggy was standing in the back, clinging onto the roll bar for dear life, as the bouncing and rattling made the M-60 E4 he had braced over the bar all but useless.

Major Silva and the other AN troops had finally driven back the horde of daemons and undead, but not far. They were counting on Iggy and Demicus to supply a target for the air strike. With so few planes or heavy ordinance, they had to make it count.

At least there were blessedly few undead around, and the Daemons were too busy playing “kill the human” to notice a single vehicle driving in the woods.

The ride was altogether too short. They rolled to a stop at one of the great buttresses that were placed along the wall. Demicus and Iggy left out and began to climb the narrow ladder, while the others keep watch, the clearing that stretched twenty meters between forest and wall providing little cover for advancing daemons.

Demicus reached the top. All clear. Iggy was right behind. He carried a backpack radio set, able to communicate directly with the inbound aircraft, as well as a guidance laser to guide the payload in. With a little luck, they would make it all the…

Nope. A three round burst caught a Daemon in the head before either it, or Iggy, knew what happened. More were climbing the wall behind the first. Demicus shoved Iggy in the direction of the gate, slinging his rifle, and drawing sword and pistol.

“Go! I’ll do some redecorating here! Go!”

So Iggy ran.

. . .

“Three more, coming left!”

“Bloody hell!”

More Daemons were charging the hill. Not just the nearly human anymore, either. Beasts that could be described best as fleshless children with wings flew in and out of the battle, long claws ripping flesh. Almost angelic, yet horrifying ones who were indistinguishable from humans picked up weapons from fallen AN soldiers, returning fire with the precision of the elite. Great mastiff hounds with jaws like steel and flame designs painted on their hairless flesh.

It didn’t matter much now. Everyone was too busy fighting for their lives.

Colonel Jacobson and a particularly persistent daemon were dueling each other just outside of the AN’s office, steel clashing against iron that was as cold as ice, and a burning as the hottest fire. Tyler was right next to him, a shotgun in his hands, raining death upon the enemy. Koopaling’s axe bisected one of the flying daemon’s neck, dark blood spraying out like a fire hose.

This was war.

Wireboy and Avron, a bandage still on the latter’s forehead, were quite enjoying themselves with seeing who could kill more Daemons. The Nightshade was getting full with wounded now. Her AA gun, and the two rear .50 cal’s, were slicing the waning sunset to pieces. Everyone who could stand was firing their weapons as a mob of undead and lesser daemons cut past the main line. The other large boat, the AN’s ship St. Elisa, was already pulling away, filled to the max. Its own guns were booming and chattering, tracer rounds forming long fingers of death that gripped the onrushing mass.

Not long now, Avron thought. Not long till the end of this, one way or another.

. . .

Iggy couldn’t believe his luck. He had made it!

The huge rend in the wall was a mere sideshow in the carnival of horrors that had gripped the base. There was the gate.

Blood wept down its iron sides, lesser daemons having thrown themselves on the blades and spikes that adorned its two columns. They screamed with ecstasy, even as their life blood drained away.

Focus…

Iggy slowly pulled his guidance laser out of its pouch, and highlighted the blasphemous structure. He tugged the boom mic of his headset closer to his mouth.

“Charlie foxtrot, this is…”

. . .

Jacque fired again. The daemons had finally figured out they were there. Madman was laying down withering fire from the M-60, but it only had a few belts of ammunition left. Demicus had better hurry, or she was so going to kill him for being so slo…

Iggy slid down the ladder, pistols still smoking from fighting his way back. The radio had taken a hit, so he cut the straps with a slightly battered swis army knife.

He looked around. He and Jacque both looked at each other and asked the same question.

“Where’s Demicus?”

. . .

CHAPTER EIGHT

“But…”

“No buts! I know he was here from the beginning, and a good friend of some of you, but we have to pull out! The air strike will only give us so long…”

“That’s enough, Major.”

Colonel Jacobson turned to face the assembled men and women. They were torn, bloody, dirty, and otherwise showing signs of the battle. Some still had slightly smoldering clothes and hair. He himself had a bloody gash down his back where a greater daemon had struck him.

Behind everything, fires raged. The air strike had leveled the entire area near the gate, then worked its way down the line. The shockwaves had blown out every window, and glass was scattered everywhere. Within hours, most of the base would be in flames, the dense woodland seeing to that much.

And to the dead. They had no time for a proper grave. A single mass grave had to do. Far too many had died.

Jacobson shook his head. “You know that we cannot, and will not stop. The base is overrun. The only way out is through the city now, there’s nothing to the west. General Kolbe is moving his forces upwards to us and get us to another location. And this place is literally burning to the bare ground. If you leave, you go alone.”

Everyone was drop dead tired. But the loss of so many was even more tiring. This was no way to live. Not a life at all. More of a half life, or living a nightmare.

Avron took a few paces forward. “Alright, lets move!”

“Yea,” Jacobson said, “However tempting, we can’t join the dead just yet.”

. . .

Heavily laden trucks, cars, tanks, and more of those ever present jeeps rolled onto the old highway. Behind them, a dull red glow met the onrushing stars, turning what would have been a clear night into a murky blackness. The Nightshade drew sullenly away from the dock, having waited for the last minute. Jacque, Matt, Madman, and Wireboy stood on the upper deck, silently staring into the fire. It was odd. They hadn’t really noticed Demicus much before. He had just always been there.

The war had done that to him. Brought out the side of him he had always nurtured, but had never let loose. He had embraced war, made it his. He had been untouchable.
But even he had fallen.

He had once told them, back in the bunkhouse after a successful raid, that he wanted to die in war. Something heroic. A last stand upon a pile of corpses, flag in one hand, and his sword in the other, denying the enemy to the last.

Jacque hoped he had at least gotten that much.

. . .

The old interstate was a no go. Something had collapsed it. Kolbe radioed ahead to find a place in the city, lay low. He would have boats come up along the lake in the morning, drop aid, and sometime later his forces would arrive, back roads not having been designed to handle tanks and other AFV’s

Neither Jacobson, nor Silva, liked the idea. The undead were far more active at night. Both kinds. And there were still daemons about. The north side of the city was burned out in large places, the fire of that morning still smoking pitifully. So they turned back, made for the Resort. It would be simple to be picked up from there, and it was easier to defend than other places along the lake.

Apparently some of the Daemons figures the same thing. A small group attacked the convoy as it snaked its way back. It was easily defeated, and the scattered units quickly reformed.
But each delay would be costly.

. . .

The Nightshade pulled into the dock, and unlike its previous entries, came to a full stop. Lines were tossed down and tied fast, and silent figures strolled into the night. Lights flickered slowly all around. Before they had left, the Resistance had brought the city’s power grid back online. It was out in places because of no maintenance, but the resort was on at least.

Jacque and Matt entered through the main entrance, slowly moving through the building. With the convoy delayed, the Nightshade would secure the building, holding it until the others arrived.

Jacque slowly played her light up and down the area, emitting from the multi lamp on her M-16. The sniper rifle wouldn’t be as useful in these tight quarters. The thin red beam that accompanied it was occasionally crossed by Matt’s as they cautiously searched. Maybe there weren’t any of the bloody…wait… what was…

She had blown out the zombies brains before she had even fully registered it was there. More were behind it though. A lot more. She opened up, screaming an incoherent war cry, body parts flying everywhere. Matt opened fire as well, but it was down the other hallway. There were a lot more undead than they had expected…..

Super! Left! BAM! Sent back to death. Reload, cycle the bolt, continue firing. She was going to run out if…

Click click click. Click click click.

Empty.

She threw the spent weapon aside, drawing her daggers. Matt also threw his gun aside, unhooking the chainsaw he had strapped over his back. They could hear gunfire from elsewhere in the building. Maybe they could hold out until the others got here, maybe they couldn’t.

Matt revved the saw menacingly. He was ready. He was going to kill them all. He woul…

The two stopped. Their shadows were stretching out in the faint light. Wha…?

Headlights… MOV…!

Something smashed thorough the glass doorway, engine screaming in protest. Glass shattered into a million pieces, barely missing Jacque and Matt as they threw themselves behind an old and tattered desk.

Just in time. The vehicle, a battered jeep, exploded violently as packs of explosives inside its cab erupted forth their fiery retribution.

When the debris stopped flying, Matt peered back over the table. The undead were obliterated. Gore and shrapnel were plastered on the walls and ceiling. All but one lone figure were still and lifeless.

That figure limped slowly into view. His body was torn and his clothes were in tatters. Dried blood matted his hair and caked his face, a nasty rip across his face.

Jacque and Matt stood there. It couldn’t be!

It was. Jacque ran over just as Demicus pitched over, blood seeping out of a hundred minor wounds.
“Did you get the lawn mower that …*cough*… ran me over…?”

. . .

CHAPTER NINE

Wireboy, Jacque, and Derelicy stood in the Nightshade’s old main cabin. Sterilized white walls were blemished only by screens with EKG’s and other medical stats. It wasn’t much of a operating room, but it was the best they had.

“Hold there. Nice and tight. Come on man, stay here.”

The wild and random lines on the screen were slowly getting smaller and smaller. Damn, Wireboy thought, if only he had gotten here sooner. Or if someone more experienced was here!
His blood slicked fingers were trying to plug all the holes, but it was a loosing battle. All the blood and plasma was at the base hospital, which was little more than a cinder now. But he had to try. There was still a chance, however tiny.

“Okay, release. Derelicy, go grab those med kits in the commons. Quick! Jacque, take this. Now hold it just like that. Firmer!”

Damnit, there was so much blood everywhere. Moving him here had only opened up the patches Demicus had put on himself. If he were conscious, he could direct Wireboy. He was a better medic. This should really be the other way around…

The spikes on the screen suddenly dropped. Shrill alarms began to ring from every speaker.

“No you don't. No you don't! NO YOU DON'T!"

The lines didn’t respond to his raving. They dropped lower, and slower…

…and then flattened.

. . .

The Resort was a tower of fire in an unholy land.

Hundreds of Resistance and AN troops poured into every door, while other units fired over their heads. The undead were everywhere. The Daemons had fallen back, but everyone knew this was only because they were going to open a new gate. It was inevitable.

The tide slowed, and side doors were closed, locked, and barricaded. Racks, shelves, handcarts, everything and anything were stuffed into narrow hallways to block them, while thick oak tables were turned over for use as cover. The enemy would soon send the lesser daemons against them, daemons who bore wicked firearms with barbed shots, and rusty blades that would not break.

Already they were beginning to feel the strain. Guns that had been fired for hours overheated and failed, ammunition trucks were emptied of what little they had. And the men and women who were close combat specialists began to tire after relentlessly slicing through zombie after zombie.

. . .

Medical teams were being pushed to the brink of exhaustion as well. Wireboy and the other medics and doctors had little equipment left, and more than one man was put to rest by a injection from their fellows, simply because there was no way to save them. An old man, the AN’s chaplain, moved from body to feeble body, delivering last rites, often stopping only a short way in as the life he was speaking to went away.

It was only 9:27pm.

. . .

They would have fallen then and there but for an act of what some would call divine intervention. The endless horde trickled to a stop, and faint lights could be seen to the south.
It was General Kolbe‘s men. The boats he had promised had arrived, just in time to join in the victory cheers, halfhearted as they were. Fresh soldiers took up the watch, while the dead tired survivors didn’t bother to fine decent places to lie down, and simply passed out on the spot. A light meal was served to those who stayed awake. Precious medical supplies and fresh orderlies rushed into the triage area and saved dozens who would have otherwise died.

Also they had ammunition. It was gladly distributed, as well as the cleaning kits. The ones who were awake still stripped their guns down, replaced damaged parts, swapped out barrels, and cleaned each bit.

Thoughts turned to those who were dead and wounded. Demicus and so many others... They still hadn't been allowed to see the body, nor had the remnants of his team left the Nightshade. People had gone in and out; medics, soldiers, even a few daemons before they were killed.But still he laid there. The thought of him and the others brought morale to rock bottom.

At least the rest of the night passed without incident.

. . .

In the early morning a Blackhawk helicopter set down on the lawn. It had a message. Kolbe's forces had been delayed on the old highway, but would be there before nightfall. The men sighed, but were hopeful. It also brought a man in a white uniform. The fading blue patches on the shoulders said he was a scientist, and the name Richardson was embroidered on the right breast pocket. A handful of soldiers joined the man, two carrying something on a stretcher.

Must be more equipment, one of the sentries assumed. They chatted for a brief moment, then climbed into the helicopter. After a minute or so, three more soldiers ran out and climbed aboard. Then the pilot fed more power to the engine, and lifted off.

. . .

"Mayday, Mayday, this is Bravo 32, we are under attack and are loosing altitude!"

The flying daemon had come at them from nowhere. It must have hidden below the fuselage, where the side guns couldn’t hit it. Red lights and alarms lit up the cockpit, and everyone aboard held on for dear life. Smoke was freely flowing into the main compartment, making them gag and cough. One person was strapped to the floor, but the others didn't have that luxury. The pilot never got the chance to repeat that message.

The aircraft bounced off a rock, shook like a thing possessed, then slammed into some woods.

And all was black.

. . .

---------------------------------------------
INTERLUDE

He had calmed considerably. His forces had made a delightful mess above. His allies had also deployed their minions. They were striking targets across the planet now. This mistake would not last long.

His own master had been full of wrath when he had delivered the news. His master had considered ripping out his liver and eating it in front of him. But he had been satisfied to hear the problem would be taken care of. After all, his allies would not leave him alone in this fight. He would easily crush the enemy. He would do it before the sun sank beneath the horizon. Victory was at hand.

---------------------------------------------

CHAPTER TEN

It was an hour before anyone noticed he was dead.

Wireboy’s brother was pinned to a tree by one of the downed helicopters rotor blades. He never had a chance. The blade has gone straight into his heart, nearly slicing him in half. The backwoods scrub and stands of old trees were soiled with metal, smoke, and blood. It was pretty obvious the copter had crashed some way off course.

Doctor Richardson stood shakily. Other than Wireboy’s brother, the others were alright. Jacque, Seph, Wireboy, and Matt were all there, shaken but none the worse for wear. There was also the co-pilot. She was very young, roughly the same age as Jacque, but she had learned flying skills from her father before the war, and the post war life meant everyone did their part. She was a bit shaken but seemed like she would be fine soon.

It was the person who was missing that caused no mall amount of distress.

“Did anyone see him?”

Jacque shook her head, busy helping Matt and Seph remove Wireboy’s brother from the blood slicked blade.

“Thought you’d say that…”

Wireboy stopped struggling with the firmly embedded blade. It wasn’t going anywhere, and they lacked anything to cut the badly bent piece of metal. He turned to Seph.

“…do it…”

Seph nodded, and everyone cleared away. The tree was thankfully not in a position to start a forest fire if they did a few simple things, so this would be quick and easy. The co-pilot handed him several rags soaked in fuel drizzling from the ruptured tanks, which he wrung put over the corpse. Richardson and Matt cleared the brush and grass away from both helicopter and tree, while Jacque rifled around the downed bird for any supplies or equipment.

It was well into the morning by the time they were ready to leave. The radio had been crushed, and there would have been no chance of a rescue anyway. Ration packs, water pouches, and one of the M-60 machine guns mounted on the side were salvaged, but much of the rest was useless. There was one last item though, one that would stick with Wireboy for a long time.

Wireboy held out the small Zippo. It took only a second for the fuel drenched body to ignite. As the flames licked around the paling flesh, everyone turned away. If he couldn’t be buried, he could at least be safe from the undead.

Thankfully, the co-pilot had a map, compass, and a GPS, the latter of which had a quickly fading battery. But at least they could get their coordinates and location, and let the map go from there.

“Lets see… 47o, 40’ North by… 116o, 34’ West.” The co-pilot, whose nickname of ‘Jinxie’ was anything but reassuring, leaned her head closer to the map. “Okay, looks like there’s a building of some sort over west about… four-fifths of a mile. Could have a car there or something we can get working.”

Doctor Richardson, a former National Guard and boy scout, took up Matt’s rifle and hefted his kitbag. He would at least pull his own weight around here. Matt meanwhile was delighted to play with his new support machine gun, and wrapped the long belts of ammunition around his torso Pancho Villa style.

Richardson started to hike. “Well boys and girls, lets get moving.”

. . .

A series of small skirmishes had been repelled only an hour ago, and the lack of a real offensive had the colonel worried. And for good reason. The longer it took, the bigger it was likely to be.
The resistance had managed to set up impressive fortifications in such a short amount of time. They had stretched their lines to include a small shopping center across the street, connected to the hotel by a sky bridge. This allowed heavy weapons to cover the doorways of the hotel from both sides, and fire teams more flexibility in their strategy.

It had become a waiting game. The AN chaplain and the Resistance’s own priest walked around, spreading platitudes and reassuring comments. Even the non religious people felt better, and the priest was a comic character anyway. An older man, his white robes and the bible on his belt were a contrast to the grenades next to it, and the huge sledgehammer he used as a weapon. He was always a bit uncoordinated and a bit crazy, but he was good for morale.

Food was a problem again. They had enough for one more meal… well, one more round of ration packs anyway. Water was everywhere and not a problem, but the lack of ammunition would become a serious problem when the second major attack came.

Colonel Jacobson could only wait for it to arrive.

. . .

The house was in disrepair, that much was easy to see. Weeds outnumbered grass, and there were some kind of red-orange flowers covering the place.

Richardson leaned down and picked one. Opium plants? Yes, but not the more potent variety. Probably planted with no thought, then after years of no tending, simply overtook the other plants. Just plain garden variety poppies, no real value without there being thousands more. Their seeds would be good on muffins though, he thought off hand.

A faint crash from somewhere in the house made everyone do a double take and snap their guns up, searching. Seph and Jinxie hung back with the doctor while the others took point. They didn’t want the Doc to be killed after all, his research was key to the survival of mankind.

The door was ajar slightly. Matt slowly pushed it open, Jacque covering the gap. No contacts so far. She waved Wireboy in, advancing leapfrog style down the sort hallway. Right, bathroom. Clear. Laundry room. Clear, but with another door. Attic stairs to the left of the laundry. Matt waved Wireboy and Seph, the doctor still following, to check that side while the others continued. Everyone seemed to forget Jinxie, so she went with Seph.

They crept by, flinching at every small and nearly inaudible creak of the floor. Kitchen to the left side. Clear. Dining room, clear. Basement access, blocked. Food storage. Clear too.

So far, so good. Room labeled ‘Music’. Locked tight. Next, bedroom. Clear. Living room, clear. Up a set of stairs. New bedroom, also clear. Another stair above. Some kind of spare room, maybe an office. Clear of anything but flies. Back down. Hmmmm, missed a stair. New bedroom.

As Jacque crept silently up the stairs, they began to creak. Everyone froze. Very slowly, she waved the others to stay, and went up. This bedroom was nicer than the others. Cleaner. Fake plants littered the room, while real ones stood dead in the largest window. A computer sat in one corner, and next to it…

She stopped dead. There, on the wall, was a large picture frame, with dozens of little pictures in it.

She saw herself staring back. And Matt. Tony. Several of her old friends. There is where Demicus and Matt had been at a big Fourth of July party, and had nearly gotten killed by badly aimed mortars. And there was Kyle, and Ariel…

What was going on? She looked around a bit more closely, and noticed it.

The computer had a light on. There was power. That couldn’t be right. But wait, there was one of those power supply’s hooked up to it, ones that would let your computer run for a few hours and save your work if the power went out. It had been a very good one, designed to last for much longer, judging by the little battery indicator. With nothing to run but a tiny LED on the computers back, it may still have a decent charge.

She hit the power button, softly calling Matt to come up. As the screen loaded, she wiped the film of dust off it, revealing a sight that she would remember to the day she died.

It was Demicus. His face stared back out of the login screen, and the computers login name was Demicus_Maximus. Then the supply flickered and died. Jesus…

The others came up behind her. Matt looked puzzle as she shared her discovery. “I thought he used to live in town, over on twelfth or tenth or something? What’s this doing here?”

They looked around again, more closely than her first search for threats. As they did, they noticed things that only he would have had. A large Halo 2 poster, another poster with some zombie movie. An old, beat up sword hung over the bed, and on the dresser was his old PSP, still in its heavy duty case.

Just then there was a great bang from below, like a gunshot. They ran down the stairs and dashed back for the hallway. Through the laundry room’s open door, and into a garage…

And smack into Richardson. Jinxie was rummaging around in a pile of old boxes, while Richardson beckoned them further in. He was standing in front of an old car, a battered station wagon. The sound had been the engine backfiring after three years of disuse. Wireboy was shaking his head in disbelief at something, while Seph looked up from the open hood.

“Hey guys, guess who I found…”

Jacque peered into the windshield. There was someone in the seat. A tall someone, who’s face she had just seen…

It was Demicus.

. . .

“Jesus, Demicus, you shouldn’t even be able to walk!”

Wireboy was in the backseat as Demicus drove the old car along the deserted road. He still had plenty of bandages and one wrist was still like mush, and he was clearly in pain. But something about the air had cheered him up.

He had been pronounced dead three times before an AN medic had shown up and successfully stabilized him that night. It had taken hours of tense and tedious work, performing complex surgery in a war zone. But it had paid off. They had been taking Demicus to the base down south, skirting the thicker fighting, when the helicopter had been hit. It was a miracle he was alive at all. A miracle, plain and simple.

It was a good thing they built cars big way back when, Jacque thought. Demicus and Matt were in front, Richardson, Wireboy and Seph were behind, and Jacque was stuck in the back with Jinxie, no seat at all. Guns were prodding everyone, and most of the stuff had to be ties to the roof.

As he drove, he slowly began to tell how that house had been his family’s, and that just days before the war, he had been going to stay there with his grandparents for a month or two, their ailing health having finally required assistance. It meant missing senior year, but he would do it anyway. He was getting paid after all. But he had come back because he had accidentally taken Tony Carden’s bag, and wanted to give it back. He had things to do, so he had been going to take it that morning before school started, and delivered it directly to the school… and the rest was history. The invasion had occurred, and his entire family had left. They had successfully made out, and were no w in the AN refugee camp outside of Houston, but he hadn’t been back to this place since.

The road that lead to the old highway was in poor condition, so they had no choice but to return to the city. Besides, they only had a partial tank of gas. But their morale was higher than ever before. They really were invincible. Demicus was living proof that they would never have to fight by themselves. Never alone.

. . .

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Bravo thirty-two, bravo thirty-two, this is Convoy Kolbe, please respond, over.”

General Kolbe sighed. He couldn’t believe how this day kept getting worse. He was an hour late for the rendezvous with the survivors, and now the bird that had been carrying critically wounded Demicus was missing.

The city was visible now, it would only be a few minutes before they reached the survivors, but… Something wasn’t right. There were shadowy contacts behind the rear guard, and all around. Kolbe had the sneaking suspicion the enemy was herding them towards the survivors, just to make mopping up easier.

“Bravo thirty-two, bravo thirty-two, this…”

What was that over there?

Wait a second, it…!

. . .

Demicus skidded the car to a stop. There, down below them, in the valley…

Demicus remembered a small cluster of houses had been down there, but he hadn’t remembered there being a mansion. He couldn’t help but wonder who the idiot had been that built there, it was a low valley and often flooding. It was pretty ugly too. Lots of big bushes, and one wing was almost sinking, probably due to a foundation not made to hold back floods.

They all slowly got out of the car, overly cautious. The screeching of the tires hadn’t attracted anything they could see, but they didn’t want to press their luck. They got down on their knees and bellies, trying to minimize their visibility. Jinxie pulled out a small monocular, and peered at the houses. She muttered something unintelligible, then tossed it to Demicus.

He saw what she had noticed. There was a helicopter down there, a Blackhawk if he wasn’t mistaken. It looked like the one that the national guard had kept before the war. Why was it out here, now? It was sitting in front of the mansion, partially hidden behind the ugly edifice, but it was still unmistakable. He might have to use it, Demicus thought without much hope. Some kind of activity was going on further down the valley, and would effectively block off the road.

There was a gasp and the sound of sliding earth. Demicus looked up just in time to see Jinxie living up to her nickname. She was sliding headfirst down the embankment, loose ground giving way around her. Demicus tried to grab her, but was stopped by a lance of pain as his shattered wrist reminded him of its presence.

A moment passed.

“…ow…”

She had slid down the steep embankment, and almost into the river at the bottom. There was quite a bit of foliage growing around the water, so much that nobody had noticed there was a river at all. Wireboy and Demicus slid down after her, more controlled, but still uncomfortable.

Jinxie wasn’t hurt aside from a few scrapes, leaving Demicus to rebind a few of his bandages. Up on the road, Jacque had given up on the little monocular, and was slowly panning her rifle’s crosshair across the little valley. There was defiantly some kind of fracas going on a mile or so further down, but whether or not it was a battle she couldn’t tell; a line of trees was blocking line of sight down the valley.

Besides, nobody was out this far.

. . .

Someone, or something was attacking the daemons.

Dozens of their lesser daemons, their strange but effective firearms and blades more than enough to have halted the convoy, were suddenly dashing back into the tree line, firing and screaming oaths. Kolbe’s men gunned their engines, racing onward, but the visible troops stood with unconcealed confusion.

The enemy had them cold. Why were they fleeing?

They weren’t. Not a single bullet flew from the convoy, but bright flashes of light and falling daemons showed that they were dying. Not just dying, but being slaughtered. Within only a minute, the only sounds audible were the vehicles, and the waves of the lake that lay just beyond the trees.

However disturbing, Kolbe thought, he hadn’t the time to investigate. Even now, advance units were rolling into the city, a minute or less from the resort.

It was time.

. . .

So far, they hadn’t seen anyone.

Demicus, his curiosity overcoming his discomfort, was pushing his way through the foliage between his team and the large house.

And what a building it was. Too small to be called a mansion, as he had thought it was before, but still large enough to house several families; it was at least twice the size of his grandparents ranch.

Wireboy was also intrigued. The helicopter was even easier to see now, and there was something about its surrounding that made silent bells go off in his head. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was SOMETHING about it…

BOOM!

Everyone looked up. The disturbance was indeed a battle, and it was heading their way. Winged child daemons wheeled over the valley, their light firearms leaving trails of smoke connecting them to the earth.

Whatever they were shooting at was coming this way. Fast.

“Jacque! Get everyone down here! Now! Leave the stuff, just grab your gun and head for the chopper!” Demicus tore the bandages on his arm again drawing his pistol, but he had an excuse to ignore the pain. “Jinxie, that thing had better be spinning real quick! Wireboy and I will lay down some fire till everyone is on board! Move!”

He didn’t have the energy to pay attention to them, but the sounds of cursing from the direction of the car left no doubt Jacque had just thrown herself down without looking. Hopefully Seph would think to drag Richardson along.

Stray rounds were pelting through the trees, the Daemons unusual firearms leaving trails of smoke to bisect the breeze. Something else too. A much higher pitched sound, and rolling base. Not normal weapons for either side, that much as clear.

Then, figures burst through the trees. Demicus raised his sidearm, drawing on the first figure…

. . .

“Well, Colonel, what’s the situation?”

Jacobson stood, wincing as the movement pained his new injuries. “Well General, as you can see we’re a little disorganized, underfed, tired, strung out, and did I mention almost out of ammunition? Again?”

Kolbe sighed. He had hoped to begin the evacuation right away, but it would take a few minutes to stabilize the more seriously wounded. Thankfully, the Daemons were leaving them alone for the moment, something Kolbe would use to its fullest.

What bothered both Kolbe and Jacobson, once the latter had been briefed, was the idea of another force in the area. The only thing either could think of was that there could be a group of Redemptionist’s in the area. Not that that was necessarily a good thing.

Those heretic chasers were so fanatical, they made dark age crusaders look perfectly normal. They were as likely to start burning the person watching their back as the Daemon filth in front of them. Which is why most AN troops were content to leave England to this modern Inquisition.
But, this was North America, not England. Could there be another, previously unheard of faction fighting for survival?

Kolbe couldn’t spare the time to ponder these questions. In the time it took to brief Jacobson, the convoy was almost ready to depart.

It was about time they got while the getting was good. The flyboys in the AN air corps would relish the chance to level the city.

Outside, Chaos and Undead were talking with Koopaling and Tyler. Jacobson really was lucky, Kolbe thought as he strode past the window. To have fought and bled for three years, and to suddenly have hos son return from the grave. If only everyone could be so blessed.

The noon sun was beginning to shift. Already, Kolbe’s radio man had sent word back to the AN relay station down south. A flight of A-10 warthogs and a pair of B-52’s were already being fueled and loaded. Because there would be dozens of other flights that also had to take off from the single mass airfield in Colorado, it would take a few hours for any aircraft to reach the target zone. But Kolbe had the time.

By sunset, there would be nothing left standing.

. . .

…and stopped from pulling the trigger. They were human. Demicus couldn’t tell who they were with, but they were certainly making an account of themselves, though it seemed only three were still standing.

They were firing some kind of energy weapon, or perhaps compact magnetic accelerator rail guns. The resistance had helped test one some time back, part of a joint weapons development program with AN scientists. They hadn’t gotten anything that small to work though. Not that these were actually all that small, being almost twice as large as the cut down M-16’s the resistance were used to seeing and using.

Their stopping power was undeniable however. A single shot transformed not one, but two daemons chests into chunks and red mist. And they were firing almost as fast as an assault rifle could, with the accuracy any expert sniper would envy.

Demicus and Wireboy opened up in earnest, drawing the attention of the two new arrivals, another having just been ripped apart by crossfire. They looked at Demicus for a brief second, then resumed their dash for the helicopter.

Jinxie applied a little power, making the craft raise a few inches, and rolled its wheels forward, bringing the side mounted guns into play. Apparently even these guns were new, seeming to be simply larger versions of the ones the now single new warrior held.

With the heavy ’thunk, thunk, thunk’ of the rail gun now giving pause to the Daemons, Demicus and Wireboy clamored aboard. Jinxie slammed the throttle to max, rotating the aircraft so both guns could fire, and leaving the helicopter a smaller target.

As they roared away, the newcomer motioned to Demicus, and handed him a headset. Pulling it on, Demicus could now hear the man over the noise of the helicopter. He seemed to be a fairly old person, maybe around forty five. His white hair was tied back, and he sported a regal white goatee. His face had an air of nobility about it. Not the pampered fat sort, but more like a warrior king look.

He was fairly succinct.

“I am Barbaneth. Who are you, ser, and what are you doing here?”

. . .

CHAPTER TWELVE

The enemy could have easily mistaken them for a beached whale. But the convoy was far bigger, and probably slower.

Avron and Trio were in front, their open topped, scout pattern troop carrier roaring ahead of the rest. Trio was cheering up nicely, the powerful engine keeping him at speeds other people would think suicidal. Chaos was busy puking out the back, and Undead was unusually quiet, too buy clinging onto the pintle mounted machine gun for dear life to talk. The Man seemed unperturbed at the wildly bucking AFV, his fresh new fuel tanks clanking together while his flamer was strapped to the protesting vehicles’ wall.

Avron started as he saw what the road looked like beyond the bend. Or rather, the lack of a view. The road clung defiantly to the side of a mountain, the ground a few hundred feet below them.

“HOLY SHI-!”

“Relax! Ill slow down a bit. Maybe… Ha ha ha ha ha ha!”

“No, slow this thing down, righ-”

The rest was cut off as Trio skidded around the sharp corner, and Avrons stomach lost its own valiant battle. Avron scrambled into the rear, bowling over Chaos, and stuck his head out of the open top just in time.

There weren’t many roads left in good condition, and this was the best they had. It would get them around the gaps in the interstate anyway. The convoy needed that freeway if they wanted to make any decent time. A flight of helicopters would meet them at Kellogg, and run interference until they were safely away.

That was all the help they would get though. AN forces were now firmly locked into battle across the north. Daemon gates were springing up in every nook and cranny on the continent.
Trio laughed as Chaos took Avrons seat, still looking slightly green. The Man joined in, laughing enthusiastically. We are a messed up bunch, he thought. We really are.

. . .

“So, Demicus. Now we know you, and you, us. Will you hear my proposition?”

Barbaneth had directed them to the old Shoshone Base Camp, an old church camp Demicus remembered from when his middle school had stayed there. He had honestly thought it destroyed.

They were whisked away into one of the building as soon as the rotor stopped spinning. A little over two hundred people crowded out to see what the fuss was about. But that wasn't the most disturbing part.

They weren’t all human.

Tall lesser daemons, almost human in appearance but for a few minor things. Like the long, shock white hair. Or the small nubs in their skulls where greater daemons would have full horns.

And the fact they were easily seven feet tall.

Barbaneth asked them a few questions, and Demicus had related the story of the AN and Resistance. Barbaneth merely nodded, claiming to have already heard of both, but not knowing there were either so close to his own location. They had just moved in a few days before.

Then he told his own tale.

For thousands of years, the Daemonic forces of the world had toyed with humanity. They grew complacent, and began to become more and more like the people they tormented so.

This changed about ten years ago, he said. The ‘master’ of the Daemons, not Satan but rather his lieutenant, was happily ‘playing’ with a group of young girls, when something that had not happened in millennia occurred. A Daemon was killed by a mortals hands!

This shocked the Daemons into a state of panic. They recalled all their minions and followers, and gathered together. Two Daemons quickly took center stage. Barbaneth spoke their names, but in a language Demicus could not understand. One was a classic Daemon; it had no body. It instead possessed other forms at its whim. The other was of the near human breed, and had greater respect. They decided that humanity had grown like weeds for far too long, and that it was time they slept.

They amassed an army like the world had never seen, and with a plague as its herald, swept across the planet.

But not all were so agreeable. For the last thousand years, some of the looser Daemons had actually impregnated humans, creating half daemons. They had vastly increased intellect, becoming scientists and philosophers, and leading humanity into a new age. But most were considered outcasts. It was this group that formed some of the social ‘cliques’ that Demicus had known, though most of those followers were simply disgruntled humans.

When word of the invasion reached the ears of the Daemons populace as a whole, at least one thought to warn these half daemons. It was a mistake.

These half daemons enlisted the aid of more favorable Daemons and tried to stop the invasion, as they had become content in their lives. When the new Daemon Lords learned of the existence of these half breeds, they accelerated the invasion process, and planned to exterminate these bastard creatures.

Barbaneth, a friend to one such half daemon, thought otherwise. He led a group of fellow humans and rallied them together under one banner.

By the time of the invasion, his forces had hidden themselves away. After a year of hiding, they came out and began to create weapons and technology that could resist the Daemon Lords, using the vast intelligence of the half daemons, and the full Daemons who had decided to join them.
Then the Daemons woke again. Barbaneth had led ten warriors to see exactly what was going on.

Only he returned.

And now here they sat.

Demicus looked at Barbaneth. “What kind of proposal are you referring to?”

Barbaneth leaned forward, and studied Demicus for a moment before replying.

“There are too few of us. Now that the Lords have learned of our survival, they will hunt us to oblivion. We are not your enemies. I propose a merge of our forces. We will trade our abilities and technology in return for your protection.”

“And what makes you think I can help you?”

Barbaneth smiled. “You were one of the founders of your people. You hold much respect among them. They would listen to you. They would simply shoot me.”

Before Demicus could answer, Barbaneth stood.

“Come. Ill show you some of our tech. You look like you could use some right now!”

. . .

Chaos and The Man traded places, while Avron slumped down into his seat, trying not to upset his rebellious stomach any more. They had passed an old station wagon a few moments ago. It looked almost like it had just been used, but it had to have been a play of the light.

It looked like the valley had been partially burned recently though. Probably another little fire. They had seen them a lot in the last few months.

The Man frowned at the radio as it crackled into life. He motioned for Trio to slow a bit, and pulled the headset on.

“Could you repeat that last bit? Couldn’t hear you.”

“…re you doing out there, over?”

“Well, other than Trio’s driving, we’re doing alright. No Daemons, no zombies, no nothing. May have been a small fire out here a little while ago, but it looks alright now.”

“…Okay, copy that. We’re managing to pick up a little speed, so wait for us by the interstate, maybe clear us a path or something. Over.”

“Alright, I hear you.”

He tossed the headset back onto its hook.

“What’d they want?” Avron yelled from in back.

The Man responded in kind, the engines howls of protest making normal speech impossible.

“Nothing! Just wanted an update!”

Trio gave the already abused vehicle some more gas, speeding down the roadway. They would be at the freeway in just a minute now.

. . .

Demicus looked at himself in the full length mirror. The damnable machine really worked as well as Barbaneth had said.

While being showed some of Barbaneth’s tech, he had winced as his bandages came open for the umpteenth time. One of the half daemons had taken one glance and ushered him into their medical wing. Some piece of techno-sorcery had done a lot of humming and buzzing around him, made a cool breeze and green glow, and POOF! His wounds had closed up, fully healed.

Hell, he felt better than before now. Almost as if the machine had given him a little boost of energy. Bah, Demicus thought, he owed Barbaneth now. All these machines were so far ahead of what he was used to…

They had given Demicus and his team all new equipment and clothing, tailored on the spot by another machine. Demicus looked it all over. Dark grey fatigues, backpack, pouches, canteen (not filled with normal water, but some kind of tea. A single sip seemed to restore him, so he assumed it to be a special energy drink of some kind.) and other odds and ends.

The lighter grey armor pleased him. He pulled on the fatigues and started attaching the armor. Thick chest piece and shoulder pads. Knees, boots, legs, thighs, groin, forearms… it offered very good protection. It was also very light, like he was only wearing cardboard. He hoped it was as good as the other tech, and briefly mused over why Barbaneth hadn’t been wearing any before.
The rifle was new too. One of the full Daemons had started droning on about its function, but he has quickly gotten lost. From what he could tell, it was a rail gun that fired small projectiles (so small a single clip held over five hundred rounds), wrapped these projectiles in energy, and blasted them out. Very accurate, fast, deadly, and with an effective range easily double that of an M16. There was also a fat pistol to match.

The sword was what really got him. It was a magnificent sabre of undeniable high quality. Perfectly balanced, its chain wrapped grip seemed made just for him. He would enjoy slicing through a horde of zombies with this.

Demicus finished dressing and went outside. The others had already finished and were waiting on the grass. But before he could say anything, a Daemon ran over to Barbaneth, who nodded grimly.

He looked at Demicus. “Your allies are under attack in the pass. Come, we must hasten there now. We’re out of time.”

. . .

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (ooooo, unlucky…..)

“Another one! Right, high!”

Undead yanked the gun around, tracer rounds chewing through another of those damn flying daemons.

“Got another one!”

The rest of the convoy had caught up by now, only to hear the shrieking of a new Daemon Gate ripping itself out of the ground. Then another. And another. Daemonic forces rushed out, as the valiant defenders found themselves suddenly surrounded.

One of the AN troopers neatly picked off one of the Greater Daemons with a rocket, neat as you please, only to have his triumph cut short when one of the flyers decided to use his head as a football. The decapitated body slumped over, and a rocket flashed out of his tube, detonating on the side of Trios scout vehicle. The tracks jammed and ripped apart, slewing the much abused scout tank to the side.

Avron was the first out of the crippled vehicle. Firing from the hip, he dashed off the road and into the ditch. The crippled tank was an attractive target for those damnable flying Daemons. The Man was out next, a short burst from his flamer lighting up a Lesser Daemon that had the temerity to rush them. Undead was after him, clamoring up onto the roof. He detached the bulky but powerful twin machine gun from the pintle.

The rest were likewise eager to bail out of the stricken machine. The only surviving heavy tank rumbled past, its main cannon managing to destroy the first gate. But it was only a temporary respite, as the gun fell silent, its shot locker spent. Its own pintle gun was still happily chattering away, making a mess of anything it could, while the driver raced the 60 ton piece of mechanized lead down the road, turning daemons into unpleasant stains.

Perhaps the main reason for their still being alive was the Daemons inherent want to be the one with all the kills, often getting in each others way. Indeed, several small side fights were breaking out as Daemons sought to claim additional glory for themselves.

Chaos, now in the ditch too, slapped his last clip home. His P90 would soon be useless, and he’d be reduced to his bastard sword. Not much to be done about that, he thought grimly. He might not live long enough to need more.

The shrieking sound of a new gate tore through his mind again. Damn, he thought. Not another…
Everything stopped.

Every Daemon stopped its fight, stopped their screams. AN troops and Resistance alike also stopped, albeit more slowly.

This gate was different.

It was directly in the center of the roadway, and it was larger than the others. But these traits weren’t the ones that stopped Daemons and humans alike.

It was blue.

Instead of a twisting, vile red glow, it shone with a steady and almost warm blue light. Its wrought iron pylons formed intricate flowers inside their boundaries, rather than the cruel spikes and bloody symbols of the others. And rather than being crude and misshapen, it was perfectly symmetrical and rounded.

The Daemons were as dumbfounded as anyone. They had never seen anything like it before. The Daemons closest to the unexpected intruded shuffled closer. One raised its hand, and gently touched the pylon.

And was promptly blasted off his feet. A single tank, massive and clearly designed by human hands, rolled out of the portal, its huge main gun knocking the stunned Daemons down like ninepins, while sponson mounted auto cannons ripped into the survivors. Its dark grey shape was broken as a lone figure popped out of the top hatch. Clearly human, it grabbed a heavy machine gun mounted on its pintle, and added to the roar of the guns.

The Daemons turned their full attention to this new threat, but it was not alone. The massive gate was easily a hundred feet high, and out of the top screamed a pair of helicopters. Their design was also human, but not of any class seen before. They unleashed a tidal wave of rockets, auto cannon fire, and some kind of blue pulse from its stubby gun mounts.

The sight of these seemed to snap the rest of the combatants out of their stupor, and the beleaguered Resistance opened up in earnest. Caught between the two forces, the Daemons withered and began to flee.

It was then that infantry began to dash out of the portal, flanked by several eight wheeled vehicles that bore a resemblance to APC’s.

Jacobson, on the back of one of the numerous trucks in the convoy, had pulled out in front. That seemingly insane smile he had been renowned for before the invasion was once again on his features, as he wanted to get into the thick of things.

But as a few figures in particular dashed out of the portal, his grin was replaced by astonishment. Koopaling, who was driving the truck, noticed too, and the charge slowed to a stop.

A hundred feet away, separated by the rapidly diminishing ranks of Daemons, was Demicus.

. . .

Demicus stood facing Kolbe and Jacobson, as the battle continued to rage all around them. He was the first to break the tension, as he moved forward and saluted the officers.

“Sergeant Major Demicus, reporting!” He grinned and lost his professional air. “Did I miss all the fun?”

Kolbe snapped off a crisp salute, while Jacobson screwed up his face in befuddlement.

“At ease, son. Damn, we thought ya’ll were dead!”

“So did we, sir. So did we.”

The conversation was drowned out by the overlapping detonations around the other gates, as demo teams blew the gates. The Daemons had been routed, their morale utterly broken by the appearance of humans that could match their firepower. As Demicus gave the short version of the story, the others in his team ran forward, happy to see their friends again.

But the homecoming was not to last. Only moments after the last of the explosions died away, the sound of shrieking echoed around the valley. Another gate.

This one was smaller than any of the others, more a Daemon door than a gate. Hundreds of guns had the gate squarely in their sights, as both forces spread out back into defensive positions.
But then enemy didn’t come from the gate. The bodies of broken Daemons began to move, seemingly being dragged toward the gate by some unseen force. As they collected, they began to melt like wax, flowing together. Neither the AN or Resistance had seen this before.

Barbaneth wasn’t so naïve to the throes of war. Every one of his force opened fire with everything they had, the super tank’s rounds blowing huge chunks out of the form. After a few rounds however, the tank fell silent. As did the other guns. The form had finished.

It stood roughly seven feet tall, and bore the guise of a man. But everyone there knew it was no man.

It was dressed in a simple red robe, the color of blood. In fact, it probably WAS dried blood. It was trimmed in a deep red, darker than black or so it appeared. Its pale white face was perfectly human, but for the eyes, which shone a pale silver. Its long black hair was tied back behind it.
Demicus had first taken it to be a male, but it appeared as though it was actually a female.

Though many Greater Daemons had refined features that resembles genderless elves from old storybooks, this one had clearly defined bulges on its chest, and had longer eyelashes. It was this fact alone that made Demicus more uneasy than normal. He had never met a female Daemon before.

Not a word was spoken as she stepped forward. It was as if their minds were linked to hers, and they knew her intent.

Kolbe, Jacobson, Demicus, and Silva stepped forward, weapons drawn.

Silva went in first. With practiced ease, he stabbed his rifle forward, bayonet extended…

…and an invisible force extended from her hand, blocking the blow. She then moved her hand down…

…and Silva was impaled. She lifted the man into the air, supported by seemingly nothing. He slowly slid down the invisible blade before she flung his body away. Blood outlined a blade shaped force extending from her hand, before it seeped into her robe sleeve.

Jacobson and Kolbe looked at each other. You could see it on their faces, the single shared thought of, “this is not good…”

Demicus didn’t hesitate however. He tossed his pistol aside and focused on his blade. Even though her own blade was mostly invisible, there were still a few drops of blood on it, it was still just a blade, and that was something he could handle.

His first blow changed this view. While she was only as fast as an average human, she had tremendous strength, and was very skilled with her blade. Steel rang on its unnatural counterpart again and again, becoming a test of endurance. Demicus was actually slightly faster, and his longer blade had her on the defensive, but she was more skilled, and though he knew about how large the blade was, his mind couldn’t quite grasp fighting something invisible.

Strength was open for debate, however. The two clashed blades, straining at each other, trying to judge the others moves. The two didn’t move for a painful moment, then one gained the upper hand. She smiled, and flung her full force at Demicus, sending him back ever so slightly. But that was enough. With a bit more space to work with, she lashed out with her other hand, open palming him in the chest with the strength of a sledgehammer. Demicus was flung several feet away before crashing back to earth, unconscious.

She laughed, a clear sound that didn’t seem to fit her appearance. She turned back to Jacobson and Kolbe…

And ceased to exist.

The super tank, rumbling happily across the battlefield, turned its main gun, and fired. The combination of the shells size, and the fact the shot was nearly point blank, blew the Daemon into little more than chunks, blood spraying over everyone for a hundred feet, while fragments of bone caused terrible lacerations in the knot of Daemons that had been behind her.

Kolbe and Jacobson were knocked flat by the concussive force of the shot, even though the shell itself carried merrily onward into a cluster of lesser Daemons, shredding them with its explosive power.

The death of the She-Daemon left the remaining enemies in tatters, all force and structure gone. They began to flee en masse, throwing weapons aside and howling in despair. The tattered convoy earnestly ripped into the fleeing force, causing more casualties in seconds than in the entire rest of the engagement.

Kolbe drew himself off the ground, coughing from both the fall and the dust from the tanks passing. He swayed slightly as he stood. He was getting too damn old for this…

Barbaneth jogged over, a white cape added to the body armor that his small force wore.

“The gods must smile upon us, ser. But we cannot tarry here, else they will regroup, and return with a fury not seen since the dawn of time.”

Barbaneth’s odd speech, part old English, threw off the General for a heartbeat, but all of what he meant sunk in quickly.

“Son, are you telling me them’ all aint’ it?”

Barbaneth was likewise momentarily thrown off by Kolbe’s southern accent, made worse by the fatigue they all were feeling, but nodded regally.

“Indeed. She was but a minor warlord in a realm that has many. Female’s don’t progress far in a society such as that. It is most puzzling…”

“Puzzling?”

Barbaneth looked over at where she had been. “She was not as grand war master such as many of the others. To be truthful, she had only any followers at all because of her abilities”

“What, was she the only good lookin’ one of the bunch? Hah!”

Barbaneth frowned at Kolbe’s candor. “She was a sorceress. One of immense power. She did not possess an army so much as a retinue of loyal followers, worshipers even. I cannot believe she was so easily killed…”

. . .

While Kolbe and Barbaneth were talking, Demicus was receiving quite a bit of attention.

Returning from the grave, and reappearing at the head of an army, seemed to have transformed him into something larger than life.

The duel with the She-Daemon didn’t help either. He had only been out a few moments, but even that had left him a bit groggy and in no position to do his usual playing down of events and trying to maintain some modesty.

Jacque, Wireboy, and Seph were next to him, while Richardson went to join Jamari and Matt, talking excitedly about something or another. Cheers rang out, as the last of the gunfire faded away.

Demicus Turned red. He hadn’t done anything heroic. He had crashed in a helicopter and managed to limp back, that was all. Jinxie, part of the AN forces rather than the Resistance, was suddenly part of the gang, as everyone wanted to shake the entire teams hands off, regardless of their role.

Jacque was suddenly knocked flat as Ariel, her longtime friend, tried to crush her in a bear hug, but tripped at the last moment. Ariel had been part of the reserve force, and did jobs that often kept the two separated. Demicus saw the two and laughed, as Ariel was his friend as well. He had been the one to secretly order her to the reserves, because even though she was handy with explosives, she didn’t have the same temperament as the other members of his team.

In fact…

He looked around, and his good mood evaporated. There were quite a few missing faces among both AN and Resistance. In fact, the reserves seemed to be more intact than the regular frontline people. Over there was Tony, another of Demicus’s friends who he had had to relegate to soft duty. And then there was Benny, and Sarah. And a dozen other faces whom he couldn’t place names to right then.

The battle was won, but at what cost? How many had they lost? Vehicles stood burning all around, leaving very few still intact, their red glow contrasting the blue of the Daemon gate.

Undead and Trio were making a scene as they began to retell the battle to Wireboy and Seph, as some of the onlookers laughed at their outrageous antics, while others shook their heads and began to sort out the mess left behind.

All this was happening as medics dealt with the wounded, blood and death only a few yards from the merriment. It was even a starker contrast than the red and blue lights that danced all around.

Demicus took advantage of the distraction and rejoined the General, Barbaneth, and Jacobson. Jacque decided to join him, rather than beat Trio into silence as she really wanted to do.

Barbaneth broke into a wide grin. “Demicus! You seem to make a habit of hard landings, ser. I pray not all your travels are so ill inclined. Or should I say, DE-clined?”

He managed to turn even redder. “Yea, that would really suck.”

Barbaneth laughed and stalked off towards his own force, leaving an amused Kolbe.

“Well, seargeant, I’d say you’re in for on hell of a debrief once we get back, and not just about the fact I’ve had to label you dead more than once today. You think your new friends could give us a…”

Kolbe stopped talking. Barbaneth stopped walking. Avron stopped the headlock he had just put Trio in. The fires slowed and began to sputter. The very air stood still.

Everything had gone dark. The sunlight had vanished, as though some god had turned off a lamp in the heavens. Other than faint moans from the wounded, everything was totally silent.

Barbaneth stood still. He had seen power like this once before, on the day he had met the Daemons he now lead. But it had been different, and she was…

“YOU THINK TO KILL ME SO EASILY?!”

The voice erupted from the air, a horrible voice that would have embodied death itself, if only there had been a body to join it. The temperature dropped suddenly, and frost began to cover the road. As if to spite this, the flames in the vehicles grew in size and intensity, making the contrast of the Daemon gates light even more pronounced.

Everywhere, guns were raised, flashlights dug from pockets and placed on helmets and on rifles, and eyes darted back and forth, scanning the unnatural darkness for a target.

Jacque unsheathed her daggers, and Demicus raised his blade once again. Barbaneth tossed Jacobson his rifle, and pulled out some kind of pistol that resembled nothing more than a flintlock.

Kolbe raised his sidearm. “Okay. Would someone mind filling me on here…?”

Barbaneth shook his head.

“Alright… Anyone else care to take a guess?”

“Silly little man… Why tell when I can show?”

The voice that time was more like that of a spoiled little girl. But for a moment, nothing happened.

“He he! Which one…? I know! Lets have FUN!”

The last word was in the previous voice, and unearthly red lightning split the sky like a bloody mirror.

One blast hit right on top of them, tossing aside everyone like bowling pins, blinding and deafening them with its fury. Only Demicus remained upright, sliding back on one knee as he shielded his eyes.

The light faded, but as his senses returned, a new sound met his ears.

Screaming.

He blinked rapidly, shaking his head in a futile attempt to clear it faster. As the world returned to his sight, he could see the source.

Jacque was splayed out on the ground, a pool of blood surrounding her. Not seeping out, but seeping onto her. She was burnt from the lightning, her clothes little more than cinders, but the dark blood matted around her, churning and thickening before becoming red cloth. The same red cloth…

Demicus snapped out of his stupor just in time to see a small ball of light descend out of the air in front of Jacque. Another burst of light drove Demicus back, and sent those who had only begun to struggle upwards back to the ground.

When the light faded, Jacque stood in front of Demicus, her long hair changed into a deep black color, and her eyes sunken looking as the last of the blood pooled around her. Long red robes were draped around her, and the two daggers were now wicked and stained with the blood of an eternity of gleeful slaughter. Whether or not the burns remained he couldn’t tell, but from the way she spun in a circle and giggled like a small child, he assumed they had vanished.
She spoke, the voice a mix of Jacque, the deathly voice, and the child’s.

“So rude of you to take my last play toy away. Its too bad she hadn’t been up to my standards. Maybe this one will do better, hmmm?”

Demicus said nothing. He was frozen to the spot, all measure of certainty and strength gone like a wisp of cloud on the wind. He had no idea what to do, to say, to think…

She laughed, and made the decision for him. Still giggling, she flung herself at him, blades spinning intricate webs of death.

Had she attacked in any other manner, he would have died then and there. As is was, Demicus’s body reacted for him, the muscles that gripped his blade knowing instinctively what to do. As his blade met hers, his mind crashed back into the here and now in a tidal wave of rage. No foul sorceress would kill him today.

Their blades clashed for the second time that day, although no tank would step in now. Back and forth, dancing to the tune of death’s amusement, the two fought. Each blow met air or steel, as Demicus poured every fiber of his being into his sword arm, focused on nothing but her two blades.

He had to disarm her somehow. Knock her flat and bind her, so that Barbaneth could extract the spirit within. He wasn’t about to kill one of his best friends, but neither was he going to let everyone else down and suffer such filth as this fell spirit to remain on this earth.

The dance grew quicker. Her blades swept at his neck, meeting air as he leant back, and with his other hand delivered blow to her abdomen, trying to force her back. She laughed at the blow, and kicked out at him. He leapt back, and once his feet touched ground, leapt forward again, blade first in a classic lunge.

The blade met no resistance. It passed through her defense and laid open the back of her left arm. She reeled in shock, and her blade clattered to the ground as her nerves spasmed in pain. As it fell to earth, it took its old shape again, loosing the wicked edges and stains.

She pulled back, dropping the other dagger and clutching her arm. She seemed to begin closing the wound with her powers…

Then she snapped around, like some force had stuck her in the face. She fell to earth, all traces of mirth gone. She began to thrash again, struggling to rise.

Barbaneth was suddenly at Demicus’s side. “She is weakened from her ‘death’ before! Her spirit cannot maintain its grasp!”

She managed to rise to her feet, stumbling back and forth like a drunkard. Her eyes were unfocused, and she was clearly in pain now. The lightning in the sky began to weaken and flicker, and pale light from the sun strained through the persistent darkness.

Without warning, she stood fully, eyes clear and full of hatred. The small gate she had arrived in before seared back into life. She grinned, and dashed towards the fiery gateway.

“NO! There is no escape for you, sorceress!”

She began to stumble again, loosing control but still managing to keep moving. With a final screech of laughter, she dived into the portal.

Demicus roared in anger, and dove in right after her.

Most everyone was back on their feet and running to the gate now. Without a second glance, Wireboy ran inside, followed closely by Seph. Two AN soldiers followed, along with one of Barbaneth’s men. Kolbe hesitated briefly, and jumped in after them.

But before anyone else could even consider entering, the gate flickered, and died, its wrought iron bars losing whatever force that held them together and falling into a pile of clattering scrap.
Nobody moved.

Barbaneth and Jacobson stood in front of the rubble, lost as to what they should do.

Ariel, Matt, Tony, and Sarah, closest friends of Jacque and Demicus, stared at the pile, as if it would leap back together and everyone would pop out again.

Avron glanced at Trio, ready to shoot him if he did something stupid at a time like this, but no outburst came from his mouth.

Iggy, young brother to Jacque, was unconscious at the feet of one of the medics, who wondered what he would say to the kid when he woke up.

. . .

There were only about two hundred AN troops left. They had taken the worst of the fighting, and with the death of Silva, were now very lost. Jacobson stopped calling them AN and Resistance, and informally joined the Resistance to the AN to try and fix the broken force. Barbaneth had lost about a dozen men and women, and called for an immediate alliance between the two.

The worst loss was morale. For a brief time, there was hope. Now, it seemed dashed again, like a ship against the rocks. Even as Barbaneth’s lone warlock began to reconfigure their gate to somewhere more friendly, to the AN’s capitol of Houston, there was no joyful relief to be found, only a weariness that sapped body and soul.

People gathered scattered equipment, while what vehicles could move ran back to Barbaneth’s enclave and recovered their tech and supplies. In a few hours, everyone was lined up in front of the inert gate, waiting as the lone warlock prepared to take them…

Not home. To a place. Home had been here, only to end in fire and death. No, they weren’t going home.

The warlock finally rose to his feet, and began to focus his energies…

And a shriek echoed throughout the valley. Daemon gates opened all around them, and enemies poured forth.

They were different.

They were uniform, not randomly formed. They marched in immaculate rank and file, long rifles at their shoulders and plates of silver body armor covering their torsos. At the head of the centermost group strode a tall, gaunt figure dressed in green and gold.

His voice slipped into their minds.

Soooooo… You defeated her… How good of you… To save me… The trouble…

The warlock started in fear, and hastily ripped open the gateway, not bothering to take the time to guide it properly. He willed it to take them to safety, but before he could tell it Houston, the voice entered his mind again, ripping apart his mind from the inside out, his training so inferior to that of this new warlord of Daemons.

The convoy raced into the portal, as thousands of guns rose to stop them.

…

The last person in line had fallen. He rose to dive in, but just then the portal closed, sealing him on the other side. He turned, only to find a tidal wave of enemies rushing at him.

He didn’t run. He snapped his bayonet to his rifle, and charged them. He lived for three minutes, single-handedly killing thirty of the enemy, before being cut down by a dozen shots at once.
But none now live who ever witnessed the unnamed soldiers final act of bravery.

None, save one.

(end of book one)

--look for book two, coming soon--