An’ aside from the finger wigglers, what’re we lookin’ at?
Some have said the Weavers have the ability to conjure spirits from the ethereal plane. Don’t look at me like that, Mr. Walker, just nod and agree. These bullets will help. I was project lead when Stewart Aeronautics was developing new weapons technology. This is one of the developments. Never put into practicle use, but it can come in quite handy for your situation.
What ’bout usin’ it against humans?
A silver bullet is just as effective against a human as it is against a werewolf, Mr. Walker. Use any object as a projectile, and it will cause severe damage.
Annie sprayed cover fire as Walker loaded up another clip, taking careful aim as a spook floated menicingly toward him. The bullets Richard Adams gave them were working with perfection. If they weren’t field tested much before, they were getting it now. “How many clips ya got left, Annie?” Walker shouted over to his partner.
“Eight, sir,” she replied with a quick check. “We’ve used four a piece.” She looked over to Walker a moment as he let the rifle hang about his shoulders, clenching his hands a moment, and flexing his fingers. Annie knew what it was. Walker wasn’t young. And like any human being he suffered from the affects of age. Arthritis had started to set into his hands. She turned back to the oncoming forces and continued firing. She worried about him, but he wouldn’t allow for it. It was just something he had. I’ll get over it, was his mantra.
Through ancient hallways, charred from magical fire, the walls were now sporting the pock marks from a thousand bullets. Guides, mages and spirits fell before the pair. That was the thing. This was the start of a knife fight, but Walker and Annie brought their own party favours. Live by the sword, die by the sword. Especially when your opposition is carrying a fully automatic assault rifle.
The twists and turns eventually lead to an ancient cavern, a natural rock formation which was carved out of the rock by years of erotion from the underground stream that ate away at it. A quick scan of the area could identify the use of the room. Holding areas for prisoners. But there was something else. There was the sound of whimpering, small and quiet. “Annie. That report we heard on the news last week.”
“The school bus?”
“Yeah,” he replied quietly. He didn’t have to say any more. The Weavers have always been famous for their human sacrifices in order to raise the most vile creatures from whatever pit they wallowed in. That bus carried fifteen children, most preteen, eleven and twelve years old. Police hadn’t been able to find any trace of where they had gone. It had been assumed that the bus driver who was found later, was responsible for killing and hiding the bodies of all fifteen. But when the authorities went to question him, his mind was turned to mush. A walking vegetable. Not even FBI or CIA could get anything out of him. Quite literally, Walker and Annie had stumbled onto where the missing children had gone.
Annie took one look at Walker. She noticed his hands. He was white knuckling his rifle. She didn’t have to ask, she knew. Walker was mad. Not angry, but mad. He had a soft spot for children, one of his decisions for leaving the Illuminati. And Annie could not blame him for his next action.
The bullets began to fly, mowing down the first small group of mages that surrounded the body of a young girl as they attempted a ceremony of summoning. At first he was quiet, not speaking, letting the rifle talk for him. But as he and Annie advanced into the pit, he shouted out so even the angels in the heavens could hear him. “Y’all picked the wrong day ta do this. B’cause sooner ‘r later, someone’s gonna find out. Guess what? I did, an’ I’m comin’ ta teach y’all a lesson. An’ I bringin’ hell with me!”
The mages began to run, knowing that any direct assault would be futile. But a barrage of bullets cut them down quickly, dropping them with precision. Luckily, many of the victims were sitll alive. Alive, yes, but they would still have to live with the horror of what they had witnessed over the past week. “When a dog gets mean an’ angry, then it’s time ta put that dog down, mages. Well I’m here ta do just that.” Within minutes, the mages had been cut down, only one was left standing.
Walker jammed the barrel of the gun underneath the mages jaw, his breath heavy as his finger was only a hair from pulling the trigger. Only Annie’s soft touch held him back. “We need information, sir.” Walker nodded and stared at the mage, letting Annie do the talking. They’d worked together enough that Annie knew when John got this way, she was the one who needed to keep her head. “What do you know of the recent abilities that the Heritage Front have suddenly acquired?” Her voice was even and calm, which made things all that much more worriesome.
“They came to us… wanted a powerful ally. We knew of the vampyri, so we summoned a vampire for them…”
“That’s risky.”
“She slaughtered the entire sect,” he snarled. “And the jackboots never even paid us for it.”
“Is there a way to send her back?”
“There is. But I doubt that any of you could do it. Especially not with this action.”
“Yeah, I’m gonna let y’all summon some snot monster with these kids,” Walker finally said, his voice cracking slightly from the rage he was trying to hold back. “Just give us the information an’ location, an’ maybe, the worst that’s gonna happen to ya is yer gonna rot in some cell fer the rest o’ yer life.”
“You would show me mercy?” the mage sneered.
“I never said that,” Walker sneered right back as he pulled back the rifle, slamming the butt into the mage’s forehead. He crumpled without another sound. “Annie, gather up them that ain’t dead an’ tend ta their wounds.”
“Calling Dr. Adams, sir?”
“No. Callin’ someone I ain’t talked ta in near a decade,” he walked to the edge of the circle that formed the pit and took out his cellphone, dialing a number and praying that it still worked after all these years. There was two rings and a quick hello in a charming but familiar voice, but John couldn’t find it in him to reply back in equally charming tones. “Christa.”
“John? What’s wrong?”
“The school bus. I found the kids.”
There was silence for a moment. Christa Rayne hadn’t heard from John Walker in years, and now, out of the blue, he called her. One of the many tricks that John had up his sleeve. But now was not the time to berate him. The sound in his voice spoke volumes. “I’ll have a team there, John. Good work.”
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