Damnation Code (William Massa) - William Massa Page 0,34
a digital shadow.
A chill jolted down Talon’s spine. The webcams were on and streaming the bloodbath online. Were coders less than two miles away working on their twisted occult program?
Rage boiled up as he leveled his Glock and stopped one knife-wielding assailant with a clean shot to the shoulder. Blood sprayed. The impact made the attacker drop the red-stained blade, but he barely responded to the wound.
There was no time to ponder this eerie phenomenon as another cultist rushed him, a big man who carried as much muscle as flab. The man moved fast for someone lugging his bulk. Sharp steel slashed the air, coming up fast. Talon snatched a nearby laptop and blocked the incoming blade. The impact rattled the keyboard, traveling up his arms. Once, twice, before he whipped the laptop right across the attacker’s face. The man’s head snapped back as Talon brought the computer full-force down on his head. The fat man crumpled like a downed mastodon.
Talon spun around. There were so many attackers, so much blood, that it became hard to distinguish friend from foe. For a second he felt like he’d stepped into a zombie flick.
The freakiest part for Talon was the utter lack of emotion driving the cruelty. The faces of the knife-wielding killers remained expressionless. However, their eyes shone with a merciless fanaticism. An army possessed.
Talon targeted knees and arms, disabling the mad horde as best he could. Something about the inhuman fanaticism fueling the attacks made him hold back and not use lethal force. He couldn’t shake the feeling that these people weren’t in control of their actions. For a moment he almost wished there was some sort of supernatural explanation for this madness.
A bestial shriek cut through the Apple Store as another man tried to tackle Talon. He felled the fanatic before the tip of his knife could run him through.
The Apple Store had become a warzone, recalling the crazed aftermath of a suicide bombing. The smoke of gunfire clouded the air and the screams took over. The wounded and dying were everywhere – employees, cultists and customers.
He spotted Serrone. For a beat their eyes met across the devastation inside the Apple Store. Her gaze reflected terror and shock. Her partner’s body lay slumped to her side, hemorrhaging red.
Talon grew still as a fanatic rose behind Serrone. He clutched the hilt of his blood-caked blade with both hands, about to plunge it deep into her back.
Talon squeezed the trigger and half the fanatic‘s face erupted in a bloody cloud. Brain splattered a 5k Retina display as the impact spun the man around in a grotesque pirouette. He collapsed in a lifeless heap.
Serrone lowered her weapon, knowing the masked man’s quick action had saved her life and turned toward her downed partner. Grell gasped and exhaled blood. Sirens keened in the near distance and a crowd was gathering at the front entrance. Any moment now cops would pour through those doors and another kind of hell would erupt.
Talon needed to get out of here. Now.
As he scanned for a rear exit, he spotted one of the knife-wielding attackers melting into the background. This man was making his getaway. He traded a final glance with Serrone before rushing past her, sprinting after the last fanatic.
The man vanished through the back door and Talon stayed right on his ass. Seconds later, they were out in the store’s back parking lot, the sun baking down on them.
His quarry slowed his gait and dropped the bloody knife between two parked cars. The man was doing his best to blend in with the gathering crowd of curious onlookers.
Talon followed his example, having removed his mask seconds before stepping into the lot. He moved briskly, eyes on point, never losing track of the target navigating his way through the throng.
The cultist advanced toward a white Tesla. Talon waited for him to slip into the driver’s seat before he opened the passenger door and got inside. The bore of Talon’s Glock dug into the man’s chest.
“Drive.”
The man slowly complied. Not every Jihadist was a suicide bomber and the same held true for these cultists - this fanatic came with a will to live. A plan was forming in Talon’s mind. And this guy would help him carry it out.
“Where are we headed?” the man asked in an empty, raspy voice.
“Omicron.”
Talon had been looking for a way into Omicron.
He had found it.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE CULTIST KEPT his eyes on traffic, all too aware of the gun pressed against his ribcage.