Age of Blood

61

The bad guys had regrouped. Three robed men with MP5s hid behind a pile of headless Zetas. At the far side of the pyramid near the base, several men were frantically trying to load their rifles. Several of the Zetas who’d escaped beheading stood aimlessly on the pyramid steps. One or two of them held weapons. Two of the Los Desollados magicians were alive and well, trying to recover themselves atop the pyramid. Halfway up, Ramon stood with a struggling Senator Withers, using him as much as a shield as he was savaging him with wolfen claws. Holmes had to hand it to the old man. Held by a bloodthirsty double-dealing werewolf or not, he wasn’t going down without a fight, even with claws finger-deep inside his shoulders. Withers stomped on Ramon’s feet and tried to knee him in the groin, but his captor backhanded him, the power in his arms ultimately knocking the senator out cold. Then Ramon tossed the man over his shoulder and loped up the rest of the stairs. It appeared that he still had use for the senator, even if there were only two magicians left.

Holmes didn’t have time to sit and contemplate the problem. He had to get his SEALs moving before Withers lost his life.

He spied YaYa, curled into a ball at the base of the pyramid. He’d occasionally scratch himself with his hind leg. That it had reversed like an animal’s made Holmes’s head hurt. The sight made him accept the fact that he’d lost this SEAL to whatever had been haunting him. The admission carried tremendous weight. Not only had he lost one of the five members of the most special team on the planet, but he’d been in a position to stop it from happening had he taken a few moments to contemplate YaYa’s symptoms.

Walker had fallen, but not so far he should be badly hurt. He’d send Laws in his direction and keep Yank with him. Holmes’s targets were the two men dressed like Ramon that lay dead at the base of the pyramid stairs. Both had shoulder holsters and they were the closest to him. Plus, their bodies lay next to YaYa, who Holmes wanted to check. Whatever he’d become, he’d once been a SEAL and one of his men.

He told the other SEALs the plan. They weren’t a hundred percent. They weren’t even fifty percent. But it was all he had. It was all they had. Hell, if they wanted to live, they’d make it work. He was contemplating how he was going to create a diversion when the oddest thing happened. Even though all five members of SEAL Team 666 were on the floor of the temple, someone began firing at the Zetas from the tunnel where Walker had most recently had a hide site. Correction, they weren’t firing on the Zetas. Instead, they seemed to be firing randomly wherever they could.

Then it came to him.

Jen!

Every bad guy turned toward the tunnel, worried that they might be the next target. They probably remembered how accurately Walker had so recently dealt death. They didn’t have to know that it was some CIA analyst brandishing a weapon for which she probably had only a passing knowledge as to which end was the bad end and which was the good.

Holmes sent Laws toward the downed obsidian butterfly, using that as a way station to connect with Walker. Once they connected, it made sense for them to combine their maneuvers.

Laws surveyed the field. He stood ready and took off toward his first target, weaving as he ran in case he drew fire. But all eyes were still on the tunnel where Jen was indiscriminately firing. Holmes watched as the SEAL made his point and skidded to a stop.

Holmes checked the status of the enemy and saw that not one of them was paying attention to him or the ’cabra pile. He quickly adjusted his strategy. They were going to make a move. He told Yank as much and on the count of three, they ran like madmen toward the skull rack. The distance was fifty meters. An NFL-prospect linebacker could make it in six seconds. Holmes was itchy with the potential of bullets to the head as he ran.

Yank made it first and slid to a stop. Each of the downed men carried 9mm pistols in their holsters. He grabbed one, then got in close to the skull rack, ready to lay covering fire for Holmes.

Holmes got there and dropped to the ground. He pulled the 9mm from the other downed man. It turned out to be a Glock 19 with a fifteen-round magazine. He checked the holster for spare magazines and found two. The dead men also carried backup pistols in ankle holsters, Taurus PT740s capable of holding five rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber. He passed Yank a pistol and spare mags for the Glock, then shoved his own mags inside the tight back pocket of his UDTs. He shoved both pistols in the back of his shorts and told Yank to cover him.

Holmes low-crawled the few feet to where YaYa had curled up. The SEAL was naked, and so filth-encrusted it was almost impossible to tell where the dirt stopped and his skin started. His legs had definitely transformed to those of an animal and were pulled under him. His left arm below the elbow was triple the size of the right and infected with something terrible. It held all the shades of blues, oranges, greens, and black. Pus had burst through the skin in several places. Whatever the priest back at the Knights’ Castle had done clearly hadn’t worked. Holmes couldn’t help feeling sorry for the young man. He didn’t know how he could possibly recover from this. Still, he was one of his men and he was a SEAL. Dog or no dog, possessed or not, he didn’t deserve to be chained up.

“YaYa,” he whispered.

The SEAL glanced toward him, then turned his head away. He whined like a beaten dog.

“YaYa. Come on, SEAL,” Holmes said as loud as he dared. Out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the surviving Zetas on the pyramid turn toward the sound. “Come on. We have got to go now.”

YaYa turned and looked at him with suddenly clear eyes. “Boss? Is that you?”

Holmes kept his words SEAL-themed, recognizing that it had worked. “Get your ass in gear, SEAL. We have to move.”

Yank suddenly opened fire on the man who’d been drawing a bead on Holmes. The man fell and tumbled down the narrow stairs, slipping in the stream of blood made from the earlier sacrifices.

The others noticed them for the first time.

“Boss, get back here!” Yank shouted.

Holmes pulled his 9mm from his waist and laid down covering fire as he knelt, then worked free the cuff on YaYa’s leg. Holmes managed to clip two guys before he hauled YaYa back with him into the cover of the skull rack.

Yank had kept firing, every few seconds getting off a shot to remind their attackers of the danger they’d be in if they tried an assault.

Holmes turned to YaYa, who had tears running down his already tear-striped face. “I can’t—” he began, his eyes searching for words that could only be found inside. “I want—”

Holmes reached out, but his touch made YaYa jump. “We’ll figure this out when it’s all over,” he said with as much authority as he could muster.

YaYa stared at his arm. “It’s here. I can feel it inside. I can feel it talking to me.” He looked up at Holmes. “Can you hear it, too?”

Holmes shook his head, sad beyond reason for the boy.

“I want it out. I want it gone.” Then YaYa’s eyes changed shape. The irises went from human to animal in a split second. He growled.

Holmes backed away, but resisted aiming his weapon at the young man.

YaYa barked once, then twice, sounds impossible for a human to make.

Holmes reached out a shaky hand, hoping that a human touch might bring YaYa back.

But YaYa would have none of it. He took off like a shot toward the back of the chamber, running on four legs toward the ’cabra pile. Gunshots peppered the ground around him as he ran, but YaYa was a constantly moving target.

Then he reached the fallen obsidian butterfly and skidded to a stop. He howled once, the sound of a tortured animal turning into a horribly human scream. He held out his left arm and approached the wing. He held it high, then suddenly slammed it down, letting the viciously sharp edge of the wing of the obsidian butterfly sever his arm from his body.

Blood spurted as YaYa screamed.

He toppled to the ground, his life flowing from his body.

Holmes started to run to his aid, when something landed next to him, a shadow covering everything around him.

The other obsidian butterfly.