Stone Soldiers 1: Mythical (15 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Agent Todd and Agent Finch had been dispatched to meet the elevator. Their orders were to take custody of the two teenagers, take them to a holding room, and await the arrival of the detachment’s telepath. Standing in the concrete hallway in the hotel’s basement, they patiently waited for the elevator.

At long last, the elevator doors opened.

The elevator was a bloody mess- literally. Blood was sprayed all over the interior of the elevator, over the back wall, on the floor, even on the ceiling. And on Agent Williams- particularly his hands and arms.

Clinging to one of his legs was a teenage boy, also lightly sprayed in blood. Behind Williams lay the suited bodies of two agents, in large pools of blood. One looked like Franks, the other’s face was gone.

A girl tumbled out of the elevator when the doors opened. She wore short shorts, showing off her long legs that were sprayed with blood. Her t-shirt was likewise sprayed with blood.

Agents Finch and Todd hastily grabbed for their pistols.

Josie fell onto the floor, coming out of her sandals as she did so. She looked up, behind her, and saw the two agents drawing their pistols.

Jimmy screamed at her. “
Run, Josie- Run
!”

“Freeze!” Agents Todd and Finch screamed, aiming their pistols at the elevator. Josie hoped they weren’t talking to her.

The shapeshifter took a step forward, effortlessly dragging Jimmy along where he clung to the shapeshifter’s left leg. Agent Williams then transformed, into the older, thinning haired Asian Chef.

“Gentlemen...” the Chef said, smiling warmly.

Finch and Todd had received training during their stint at the Service’s Academy on paranormal threats. On werecreatures and wielders of mystic energies. The Service had a simple protocol for dealing with such threats. Shoot first, ask questions later.

Finch and Todd followed their training and began to shoot.

Underneath the bullets and flying brass casings coming out of their pistols, Josie scrambled backwards, on her hands and heels. Once she passed between the agents, she rolled onto her knees and crawled several feet. Finally she was able to get to her bare feet and look around in panic.

Beside Josie there was a door. A stairwell door. She dashed through it.

The shapeshifter meanwhile was jerking and twitching as bullets tore into his torso. He stood there, taking the shots, until the two agents were out of ammunition.

As the agents grabbed for spare pistol magazines under their jackets, the Chef looked up at them and wagged a finger from side to side. Then he changed into a shorter, Hispanic woman with flowing hair and large breasts. A traveler from the dusty motel where the shapeshifter had first encountered Mark Kenslir.

“Is that any way to treat a lady?” the shapeshifter said, smiling as it stepped from the elevator.

***

Colonel Mark Kenslir had a feeling something wasn’t right. He got that feeling seconds before the sound of gunfire started in the basement.

In the lobby, the gunfire sounded distant and faint. Most of the people present didn’t even acknowledge it, probably assuming it was something outside.

Kenslir knew what it was. He’d been hearing gunfire, in all its forms and volumes, for the past sixty years. He bolted out of his chair and headed straight for one of the agents in the lobby.

As he neared the agent, people began to realize what the gunfire was. They began to panic. In seconds, the lobby was filled with confused people, turning, running around in confusion. Clerks and receptionists dove behind the cover of the front desk.

Kenslir approached the agent closest him- now one of six agents that had come to the lobby after Jimmy and Josie had reported a threat to the Vice President. The agent was oblivious to Kenslir as he pressed a finger to his ear to listen to his radio earpiece.

“Sorry,” Kenslir said loudly, startling the agent.

Agent Jones turned quickly. He was confused by the large, friendly-looking man with the flattop. Then he noticed the man’s eyes were a strange green-black in color.

Kenslir struck out suddenly- jabbing two fingers into the forehead of the agent. The blow didn’t break skin or bone, but sent a shockwave into the agent’s head that jarred his brain and knocked him unconscious. Kenslir reached out and caught the falling agent by the belt.

Kenslir pulled the earpiece from the unconscious Jones’ ear and tried to stretch it up to his own. The cord was too short. He had to lift the agent off the floor, while bending over to try and get the earpiece into his own ear.

Suddenly, a stairwell door near the elevators burst open. Josie came running out, barefoot, her face white with fear.

The five remaining agents in the lobby all drew their pistols and assumed firing stances. They had all been listening to feverish commands over their earpieces. Something was very wrong in the basement.

As the door behind Josie closed, there was the brief scream of a man dying.

Josie stumbled to a halt as she saw the guns pointed her way. She threw her hands up, her eyes wide. She glanced around the lobby- then saw Mark.

“He’s in the basement!” Josie screamed.

As one, the agents turned to see who Josie was speaking to.

Kenslir had just gotten the earpiece in place. Jones was slumped over, held up by the belt like a wet noodle.

The five agents immediately shifted their aim and started firing at Kenslir, thinking their comrade dead.

Kenslir acted quickly, tucking Jones’ body behind him with his left hand, while ducking his head and shielding his face with his right arm. Bullets began to slam into Kenslir- hitting his raised arm, his neck, his chest, even his legs. The .40 caliber rounds were meant for stopping people and struck with vicious impact.

Thankfully, Kenslir wasn’t a normal person. Most of the rounds flattened against his skin, leaving only bruises or the most superficial of cuts.

As the agents fired, the stairwell door once again opened. Agent Finch emerged, wearing a torn, bloody suit. Blood dripped from his hands.

Finch stood still for a moment, watching the Secret Service emptying their pistols at someone across the lobby. Finch turned his head slowly. He smiled when he saw Josie.

As the agents fired their last few shots and started grabbing for fresh magazines under their jackets, Finch walked up behind Josie and grabbed her by the arms.

“There you are!” Finch said into her ear.

Josie screamed at the top of her lungs.

The fumbling agents, trying to reload while their brains processed that Kenslir was still standing turned at the sound of the scream. They saw Agent Finch, bloody, holding the teenage girl also covered in blood.

Done catching bullets, Kenslir lowered his right arm and dropped the unconscious Jones to the floor. His arm, scalp and various points on his neck and chest were welled up with blood. His shirt was soaked in a dozen places from blood seeping out of his wounds.

Finch looked up at Kenslir. His eyes grew wide with surprise. He immediately shoved Josie aside.

As Kenslir stood there, his wounds began to heal, his blood soaking back into his skin, which was turning gray over the wounds. He looked down at his ruined shirt.

“I was starting to like this shirt,” he said aloud.

Finch suddenly twisted and convulsed as he transformed into Echo the telepath. He glared at Kenslir with all his willpower.

Kenslir looked up, watching the shapeshifter.

The shapeshifter realized his mistake and turned his gaze toward the five secret service agents just finishing reloading. All at once, they each spasmed, their eyes rolling up in their heads, and they fell to the floor, unconscious.

“This body has proven very useful,” Echo said, looking back to Kenslir. “Colonel.”

Josie began to walk slowly toward Mark, sideways, circling away from the shapeshifter. After a few steps, she ran up to Mark and jumped around behind him.

“Memories
and
powers? Impressive,” Kenslir said. “What do you call yourself anyway?”

Echo glared at Kenslir. “Trying to stall, Colonel?”

Kenslir shook his head. “Nope. I just need to know what to put on your tombstone.”

Echo began laughing. “My worshipers called me Ketzkahtel.”

“Worshipers?”

“Long before your kind came to these shores, I was a God feared by all,” the shapeshifter boasted.

“Sorry, but you don't look very scary to me.”

“And what of you, Colonel?” Ketzkahtel asked. “This body only knew so much. What are you?”

Kenslir shrugged. “Nothing special. Just the guy that's going to kill you.”

Again, Ketzkahtel grinned, amused by the audacity of this Colonel Mark Kenslir.

“And how do you propose to kill me this time, Col-“ he said. “Sorry-
Antaean
. Where are all your guns?”

Kenslir smiled grimly and balled his fists. “Oh, I'm going to do this the old fashioned way.

“I'm going to beat you to death.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The shapeshifter named Ketzkahtel was old, very old. Unfortunately, of his thousands upon thousands of years of life, only forty of them had been spent awake.

Long ago, long before the pyramids, Ketzkahtel had ruled over his lands with an iron fist. A fist that was filled with fresh, beating hearts three times a day.

The shapeshifter had learned early in his life the secrets of the dark arts. How to steal a man’s power, his health, even his knowledge, all by devouring his heart. And from every heart he consumed, Ketzkahtel became more powerful.

The humans he ruled over, little more than slaves at first, very quickly began to believe him a god. They began to willingly sacrifice each other to him. They built temples and monuments to him. His food loved him.

Eventually, however, Ketzkahtel’s complacency became his undoing. The humans rose up against him when his appetite for power, and hearts, became too great. Even with the souls of hundreds burning within him, he was no match for thousands. They wore him down with spears and stones and flint knives.

But they could not kill him.

Instead, the humans had done far worse- they bound Ketzkahtel in chains, and imprisoned him in a stone sarcophagus. This they placed in his greatest temple, as a warning to any other who dared to rule over them.

Time passed slowly for the imprisoned shapeshifter. Too weak to break free of his bonds or his prison, he spent centuries laying in darkness, listening to the humans. After a century, some came and prayed to him for miracles, having forgotten his evil rule. Others desecrated his temple with their horrible acts against each other. Others mocked him with sacrifices, of all things, human hearts.

Then, they had all vanished. Swept away by some unseen force that had shaken the very earth and left only silence in its wake.

Ketzkahtel lay in silence for many more centuries. Centuries that he felt must surely be turning into millennia. Only the memories of the many, many mortals he had consumed helped him keep his sanity. He lived and relived their lives, over and over, in his mind, as time ticked slowly away.

Then, one day, Ketzkahtel had been freed.

It had started with strange knocking noises that awoke him from his dream state. In the cold, dark confines of his sarcophagus, he was not sure what the sounds were. Tapping. Thumping. Hammering.

Suddenly, his Sarcophagus began to fill with water. Cold sea water, pouring in from all around him. The weight of the water would have crushed him, had the primitive humans of so long ago not already done so.

The lid of the sarcophagus suddenly lifted free, and a bright, white light, unlike any the sun had ever shone down, filled the sarcophagus.

Once his unmoving eyes adjusted, Ketzkahtel could make out the shape of a man. A man wearing bright blue clothing. Form fitting clothing. And the man had a strange, clear crystal over his face. Tubes came out of his mouth, extending to large cylinders on his back.

The man had a companion. They shone light into Ketzkahtel’s’ sarcophagus from yellow things in their hands.

Ketzkahtel mustered all his strength and reached for the man. Chains eroded by time and the sudden flow of saltwater crumbled. Ketzkahtel was free. And he held the man’s mouth tubes with his six-fingered hand.

Ketzkahtel, a shriveled remnant of his former, glorious, eight foot tall self, sat up suddenly in his casket. His flesh hung like rags on his skeleton. His eyes were sunk deep in his massive skull.

The second man dropped his spotlight and swam quickly away. The diver in Ketzkahtel’s grasp tried desperately to free himself.

Ketzkahtel struck with his free hand- his boney fingers punching through the diver’s wetsuit and skin. Inside the diver’s chest, Ketzkahtel felt the warm heart as blood swirled in the water around them both.

Ketzkahtel ripped the heart free from the diver and proceeded to eat it as the diver’s companion panicked and headed for the surface, far far above.

Ketzkahtel swam after the second human as he chewed the delicious heart. He felt his limbs swell in size- not to their former glory, but something considerably better than a walking skeleton.

The diver, with his flippers, was faster, and kept his distance from Ketzkahtel. But his rapid ascent came to an abrupt end. Ketzkahtel later would learn that nitrogen narcosis wracked the suddenly-ascending diver’s body with pain as he neared the surface, incapacitating him.

Ketzkahtel caught the second diver and ripped his heart out as well. He consumed it in the salt water, again feeling the power flow through his veins.

Ketzkahtel looked around as he broke the surface. Drifting in the ocean current nearby was the
Lady Jane Franklin
. Research vessel and home to twenty-eight scientists and explorers. All with hearts.

After he had consumed all the humans on the ship, Ketzkahtel sat still for nearly two days, sifting through their memories. The world had changed greatly in the thousands and thousands of years he had been trapped below the surface. Such time had passed that the modern world wasn’t even aware of his now-submerged kingdom.

A new land lay not far to the West. A land he had visited many times in his youth. Its geography might have changed, but it was now a land full of millions of humans, all waiting to be sacrificed to Ketzkahtel.

The shapeshifter leapt off the research vessel and transformed into the red-scaled dragon he had slain in his youth. Beating his wings, he soared over the ocean, headed for his new hunting ground. A land called America.