Jack County Demons (6 page)

"I am right overhead," she said into her headset. Lopez sat at a worksta
tion that looked much like the inside of an airplane's cockpit. There was a large monitor in front of her, and one on each side. On the screens were images from outside, from above the location of LT and his team. She clicked a button and instantly the picture changed. Below was a visual of the ground. Twisting a dial, the ground raced up, and the house and street below could be seen much better. "Any closer and they'll hear it," she protested. Then, she turned back, continuing to fly.

Lopez flew the new
est, state-of-the-art drone. It was the XV-17, a small, lightweight recon drone. It was twelve feet long, and seventeen feet wingtip to wingtip. The drone was pulled by a single prop engine, designed to remain quiet. It was nearly silent at seventeen hundred feet. Nearly.

"I don't give a
damn. Get closer," Jacobs said right back.

Lopez shook her head but didn't argue. There was no point. Besides, this w
as his mission. If he wanted to ruin it, so be it. "Roger," she replied. "Turning around for another pass. Lopez pushed the lever to her left forward, the engine of the drone whining now. Then, she pulled back on the stick, turning the drone up and to the left. Moments later it went into a dive. She held it for exactly seven seconds before leveling off. Next, Lopez instituted a wide turn, one that took several miles to accomplish.

Six minutes later and she reported, saying, "Coming
over target in thirty seconds."

"We closer?" Jacobs asked.

"Affirmative," she replied. We're at eleven hundred feet. Chances are they'll hear something."

Jacobs nodded in angry satisfaction. He was always angry, it seemed.
Then, he glanced back to an obscure desk. A man, Zinman, sat behind multiple monitors, sipping Dr. Pepper and eating Doritos.

"Zinman, zoom and resolve."

Agent Zinman replied, saying, "Roger, Commander Jacobs." He hurried, knowing the Commander wasn't a patient man. He clicked a few buttons and the screenshot on the wall screen grew fuzzy, then began to resize. The image got clearer. The image was closer, a detailed picture of below the drone now came into view. They could see everything clearly now.

Agent Peters sat next to Lopez. He was always impressed with
her flying, but at the moment, something else held his attention. He stood up from his desk, hands folded across his chest, and mumbled, "Jesus!"

The live feed from the screen told
a tale of horror.

"Commander Jacobs, what happened?" Agent Peters asked in awe. "Th
ey look . . . they look like they got mangled. It's almost as if some animal did it. See any dogs? Hell, see any lions?"

Jacobs didn't respond to him. Instead, he ordered, "Zinman, launch the ot
her two drones at once. I want them all in the sky right now. I want the team found at once."

"Yes, sir," Zinman said quietly. He, too, was in
shock.

Jacobs continued to study the live feed before him. He scanned the surrounding streets and hou
ses, seeing nothing of consequence yet. To himself, he muttered, "No cops. Not yet, anyway. Strange, though. All that gunfire and no response. Either there's nobody left, or everyone is too damn scared."

Then, Jacobs looked again to Lopez, who was carefully flying the d
rone with razor precision. The winds had picked up some, and she was fighting turbulence. This caused the camera to shake, and she did her best to steady it out.

"I want you lower."

"Sir?" she asked, turning toward him.

"Lower. Eight hundred feet. I need you to run those cross streets, then
the alleys. Look for signs of movement. Look for any traces of what happened. Blood trails, damaged property. Anything."

"Yes, sir," she said, beginning to lower her altitude
once more.

Jacobs then looked at the other woman in the room. Agent Sandra
Barnes. She was twenty-eight, athletic, and imposing. She was seated toward the front of the room, her back to the Commander. He raised her on his headset, saying, "Agent Barnes, I want you to place a call to the Sheriff's office. Keep it anonymous, and make it sound good. You're a concerned citizen, scared to death. Get them rolling. Get them over there right now."

Sandra turned in her seat, and began her protest.

"Sir, if they're detected—"

"Let me worry about that!" he interrupted. "At the moment, we can on
ly hope they are alive. One of them, at least. If so, we need to get them help. And our cleanup crew can't get there fast enough."

Then, another voice, this one male, joined the conversation. It was
Agent Tomohiko. He was also in his late twenties, and his workstation was near the Commanders'. He walked over, cautious, eyes on the screen as well. "Sir, if I may . . . this is a delicate situation, as you know. If we send in local authorities, our boys may be in a tight spot. They could be arrested. Actually, I'd venture to guess they will be arrested."

"Damn it, not now!" Jacobs stated loudly. "Our only concern is the
well-being of our team. It's a damn bloodbath down there. We've received no word from LT, Red or Whisky. If they're hurt, this is the only way to get them help, regardless if their cover is blown. I'm not going to have our operatives left behind while we follow protocol."

"I understand, sir," Agent Tomohiko said. He was troubled, as was everyo
ne else. This mission had gone south quickly. Lowering his voice and nearing the Commander, he asked, "Is there a chance these guys are for real?"

But Jacobs didn't respond. He didn't want to go
there. Not yet.

After a few minutes of silence though, he did finally speak. What
he said caused everyone to sit upright in their seats. Jacobs didn't realize his headset button was on. "There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

Peters was the one who spoke up first. "Sir?" he
questioned.

Then, to everyone in the room, Jacobs replied,
"Yes. Yes there's a chance."

Lopez then interrupted, saying, "Battery life is at
forty-eight percent, sir."

"Roger," Commander Jacobs acknowledged.

Agent Tomohiko neared even closer. He spoke in a hushed tone. "Sir, putting a recon element on the ground will get us the Intel we need."

"Negative," Jacobs said.

"But sir—"

"No! There's no time for that. Lopez," he then said into his
mica, "I want you down to five hundred feet. And Jacobs," he said, turning to the man, "I want a thermal and I want it now."

"Descending to five hundred," Lopez said begrudgingly, pushing
the drone lower and lower and not wanting to. "Beginning the turns. Thermal on."

Minutes later and the drone flew even lower. It swooshed through the sky, bearing down on the location. Thermal readings were computed and a live feed was broadcast on the wall screen in the Control Room.

Commander Jacobs sipped from his mug. He valued good coffee and had it shipped in. It was one of the few luxuries he indulged in. He eyed the screen carefully as Lopez reports.

"Sir, we have visual of the target. No movement."

"Okay. Peters?"

"Yes, sir?" the man asks.

"How many satellites are we connected to presently?"

"Nine, sir."

"Switch servers. Relay all 911 calls to the Control Room."

"Yes, sir."

LT left the bar a bit dismayed, and a bit buzzed.
He had hoped to learn more, to know more about what exactly was terrorizing the town. He realized the people inside the bar either had no clue, or were holding a great secret. He assumed they were scared, and instead of facing it, facing their demons, they would instead ignore them.

LT turned to walk back to his motel. It was late,
and he had much to do tomorrow. He was going to go out with the team, take a ride with the boys. There were a few old factories and warehouses that needed looking into, and that's exactly what they would do. The demons had to make home somewhere. It was Commander Jacobs who figured it would be somewhere outside of town. Somewhere they could plot and plan, somewhere they could take their victims and none would know better.

And as he stopped in front of the pub, LT fretted
more on the matter. The local police, the sheriff, they were of no help. Their actions proved they weren't going to help. LT even assumed they were helping the demons. He knew places like this were filled with corruption. Money was scarce to law enforcement in these parts, and if these demons paid enough, he was sure they would turn.

And last, LT worried about the women.

Commander Jacobs had no exact number. They had been on this case a while now, and they estimated it was dozens. Dozens of women taken! Dozens of women who would never live to have children, to raise their own families.

LT spat on the sidewalk. He looked both ways,
beginning to cross, when he heard a faint voice. "Hold up."

LT turned, a bit surprised. He could hear the loud
music from inside. Across the parking lot he could hear the boyfriend fighting with his girlfriend, and the woman vomiting while her friends held her hair back. But this voice came from behind him. It had snuck up on him. "You?" LT asked, eyes wide. "Figured you were pissed at me or something."

"No, not pissed," Juana said. "Just . . . understand
this, lots of men hit on me."

"I wasn't, though."

"Yes, but still. I'm jaded, okay? Men are a dime a dozen in my book. But I came across as a bitch."

"You did."

She laughed. "Well, maybe so, but I figured out something."

"What's that?"

"You're here for a reason," she said.

"Now, how do you figure such a thing? I'm just
passing through. Figured I'd stop for the night, maybe grab a drink, maybe get laid."

"And maybe find some demons?" she asked.

LT froze, his mouth going wide. He looked at her, suspicious at first. Was she working for them? Perhaps she was helping them, and was here to blow his cover wide open. Or, maybe his cover wasn't that good after all. Country doesn't mean stupid, and he needed to remind himself. "What do you mean?" he asked. But she didn't reply. She wouldn't dignify his fakery with a reply. Instead, she put her hands on her hips, cocking her head, waiting for him to fess up. Damn, she looks good, LT thought. "Look," he began, "I was just . . ."

"You're here because of the demons. I know this.
What I don't know is, are you here to help?"

LT decided this
was it. He'd have to trust her. He'd have to take a chance. "I'm here to help. I can't say who sent me, but they're worried about this town and the entire county. They know about these demons, and if you know how to stop them, please tell me."

"There is a way. It remains here, in town."

"What?"

"I do not know. This town was once filled with
relics, but they're gone now. Only the power of our faith protects us. There is a source to all that, though."

"What?" he repeated.

"I told you, I don't know. Something is here that has kept them from taking over. Soon, that will change. The demons are growing stronger. More bold. One day, they'll consume this town."

"Not if I can help it," LT said.

"That's nice, but what can one man do?"

"Juana, I have the full authority of the United
States government behind me. Lots can be done.

What we don't know is, how do we do it? How can we
kill those things?"

"You must figure that out, not me," she stated.
"There is much evil here, and little goodness. Find the source of our goodness in this little speck of a town, and you'll help us. You'll help us all." Then, Juana looked around. There was nothing but shadows in town, but her expression changed. She grew fearful, afraid something was watching her. "I can no longer talk. Not here, not now. Please, just go back to your room. If you choose to stay, find the source of goodness, the one thing that can bring them down."

"How will I do that? I don't even know what
I’m looking for, and neither do you."

"It will come to you. God will present it when the
time is right," Juana said. Then, she leaned up, kissing him softly on the cheek, turned, and walked away.

LT tossed in his bed. He had worked up a sweat, despite the air cond
itioning blowing at full bore. He dreamed. It had been a long time since he remembered a dream, but this one was vivid. He dreamed of his wife, Cholie, and his daughter, Samantha. They are playing ball, tossing it back and forth on a beautiful summer day. The birds fly above. The wind grazes their faces.

His daughter laughs.

His wife's smile is embedded forever on her face.

LT is across the street. Waving frantically.

His daughter is still laughing.

His wife still smiling.

They inch near the street. Waving to him as he frantically waves back. He screams out, but no words sound. They begin to cross.

And he's frozen, unable to move, unable to scream
out.

And the car shoots through the stop sign, hitting
them both.

They never saw it coming.

LT shot out of bed. He sat up, breathing hard, sweating, tears in his eyes. "What was that?" he says aloud.

It took him a few minutes to gather himself. LT looked around, siz
ed up the room, realized where he was.

Finally, his heart rate
slows; his breathing goes back to normal. LT swung his feet off the bed, touching the shag carpet and pushing his toes into it. This soothes him, and he takes a bit longer before standing up. Next, LT looks across the room to the illuminated clock. It reads: 2:44am.