Author: Derek

Barcelona, Spain; 2 October 2011, 2345 hours local; Countdown: 2 months, 29 days

Quentin McLintock felt the world tilt and spin. It was almost as if he was being held still as the Earth continued its daily revolution. The world around him blurred. He looked around. The Guardians were standing some fifteen feet from him. They were unmoving as the world around them convulsed and shifted.

"What are you doing?" Quentin asked. He didn’t know how they were doing it, but he was sure this was the Guardians’ work. Reality pulsed painfully, reminding him that he was an observer. Again, Quentin didn’t know how that knowledge popped in his head, but he clearly remembered what that sensation meant.

The world slowed. Surroundings came into focus. It looked like he was on the same street where the church was on. The sky was light with gorgeous oranges and violets, but the streets were dark. That meant dusk or dawn. The streets were deserted. Quentin walked back to where the church should be. Off in the distance he could hear the sounds of some massive festival. As he walked closer, new sounds started getting stronger. Those he recognized immediately. The sounds of a battle were echoing in the street. Quentin cautiously jogged down the street toward the sounds. In front of the church, he found the source. In the center was a tall, thin man in a torn business suit. The man had to be over seven feet tall. His long brown hair swirled around his head as he snarled at his opponents. Quentin could feel the sickening evil power emanating from the man. Surrounding him were four men in older tactical gear and holding MP5’s. Six other men in similar clothing were scattered on the ground with horrific gashes. There was no way they would have survived those wounds. The four men were screaming at each other in Italian, but there was something odd about their accent and dialect. Quentin struggled to keep up with them.

"Use the holy rounds!" one of them yelled. He seemed to be leader. The others shouted back confirmations. The other three yelled back confirmations. If the tall man understood them, he didn’t show any sign. The street filled with the familiar buzzing of full-auto MP5’s as the four men attacked. The tall man seemed to blur and suddenly appeared in front of the leader of the tactical team. With a casual backhand, the tall man launched the team leader nearly twenty feet. The team leader crashed into a light pole and Quentin could hear the sickening crack of shattering bones.

"Jerusalem and the world," the team leader yelled before curling into a ball. At least that’s what Quentin thought the man said. It was hard to decipher the Italian they were using. Then, Quentin saw him. A man crouched behind a newspaper box some thirty feet from the battle. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, but Quentin recognized him. This was a younger version of Dr. de Castillia, the man known as Castle. The leader of the Truth. Quentin looked back at the tall man. Was that Giant? Was this the first battle between the Truth and MacKenzie and Winston?

As the tall man turned back to the remaining fighters, Castle dashed to the church. Quentin carefully followed. No one could see him, but Quentin wasn’t sure if he could affect things. He had a nasty suspicion that reality would punish him again if he did more than observe. Castle was reading from a worn, leather-bound notebook and looking around the old church. From the yellowing and wear on the pages, Quentin estimated the notebook was at least fifty years old. Castle stopped in front of the dais. Pulling out a long dagger, Castle pried up one of the floor tiles. He reached down and pulled something from the floor. Castle held it up to the light and Quentin recognized a gold medallion similar to the one Chief Stahl had pulled out of the altar. The Guardians were suddenly standing on either side of the altar. Castle knelt in front of the two ancient men.

"Are you the Guardians?" Castle asked, his Spanish words translating to English as they reached Quentin’s ears.

"We are the Guardians of the Truth. Who are you?" they both asked.

"I am Santos de Castillia, the descendant of the man who brought you to this land," Castle said forcefully.

"We were not brought. We followed one of many paths. Why have you come here?" the Guardians asked.

"To stop the Great Death," Castle answered. "I followed the Little Death from Britain. I knew what would have to be done. I knew I would need the power of this artifact to stop it and its horde."

"The Knights outside this church could stop the Little Death. They and their god have stopped the Great Death before," the Guardians intoned, "Why should you be this world’s protector? Why should the Flayed One give you the power?"

"My family has known what needed to be done. I have prepared for this my entire life. I will not falter from the path set before me," Castle said. The conviction in the man’s voice bordered on fanaticism. It was kind of scary.

"Know this – you are on one of many paths that will lead to the moment of the Truth. You may live, you may die. You may see the coming of the Flayed One or you may prepare the way for the one who will usher the Flayed One’s return. Do you still wish to walk down the paths to the moment?"

"Yes," Castle answered, reverently.

"Then, arise and know the Flayed One’s power is with you," the Guardians said. Castle nodded solemnly. He strode out of the church. Quentin followed him. The tactical group was down to a single standing member. He was firing a Beretta at the tall man. The tall man shrugged the bullets off like they were BB’s. The tall man’s grabbed the last fighter by the neck. The attack was so fast, Quentin didn’t even see the tall man’s arm move.

"Knights of the Temple, it is time for you to fight again. Destroy the Little Death," Castle said to himself as he gripped the gold medallion. Castle closed his eyes and started murmuring words under his breath. To Quentin, the man looked like he was praying. Castle’s eyes snapped open with a dangerous glint. The loud, familiar moans of the undead echoed through the street. The nine dead Knights staggered to their feet.

The tall man – vampire, Quentin belated realized – hissed as the zombies attacked. These zombies didn’t move like normal zombies. They ran like golems, but without the snarling ferocity. The vampire snapped the neck of the Knight in his hand and knocked two of the zombie Knights down with the corpse. Three more zombies leapt on the vampire and bit off long strips of flesh. It shrieked and tossed them off. Quentin saw the large gashes start to heal, but they stopped before they were completely healed. Black blood continued to pump out of the vampire. Others grappled with the vampire to bite off more flesh. The vampire punched one in the head hard enough to shatter its skull. The zombie Knight dropped to the ground in a jumbled heap. The vampire didn’t have time to celebrate its victory as the rest of the undead Knights continued to attack. As Quentin watched the fight, he watched the vampire start to weaken from the numerous half-healed bites. As it weakened, the zombies increased their mindless attacks. Finally, the vampire fell to the ground and was swarmed by the zombies. Its final scream melted into a gurgle as the vampire’s throat was savaged by one of the Knights.

"I release you Knights of the Temple," Castle said. The zombies collapsed onto the vampire just before they all were consumed with a sudden intense flame. All that was left was some blackened scorches on the pavement.

"Now to the tablet," Castle said as he dropped the gold medallion into a pocket and walked down the street as if nothing had happened.

Quentin felt the world spin and shift again. As reality resolved itself back, Quentin found himself back in the seat of Seraph’s truck. He looked over at his friends and teammates. They were all staring at each other in disbelief. All except for Mateo. The team leader wore the same neutral face that he’d taken to using for the past few weeks.

"I’m guessing we all saw the same thing?" Mateo asked. The others barely managed to nod. "So, now we know where Castle came from."

"We also know why zombies are so dangerous to vampires," Quentin said.

"They didn’t act like any zombies we’ve seen so far," Jim said, "They acted more like gollums. Was it because they were created by that medallion?"

"I don’t know," Chief Stahl said, holding his own medallion up, "So how does this little vision help us find the city of the dead?"

"Castle mentioned the tablet just before we were yanked back," Quentin said. "I think he meant the Chekotsy Tablet. It was a tablet of some odd Aztec pictorals discovered in the 1950’s and taken back to Soviet Union. I’ll bet it was either an artifact or told where other artifacts were hidden."

"Pretty good theory, but if it’s in Castle’s possession, how’s that supposed to help us?" Chief Stahl asked.

"Castle doesn’t have it. The tablet’s on display in Odessa," Quentin answered.

"Texas or Florida?" Mateo asked.

"Ukraine."

Zombie Strike Part 10 Chapter 102

Barcelona, Spain; 2 October 2011, 2300 hours local; Countdown: 2 months, 29 days

Quentin McLintock shoved the antique door back into the door frame. The door was actually in good shape. The mountings, on the other hand, were rusted enough they cracked apart when Quentin knocked the door down. There wasn’t enough time to do repairs. As soon as the door was up, Jim and Chief Stahl shoved one of the pews against the doors to hold them up. It wasn’t much of a barricade, but it’d do the job.

"Sanctuary is secured," Stahl reported over the team’s radio as he reached down and picked up one of the acolyte’s G36 assault rifles.

"Back door’s closed," Sport answered, sounding out of breath.

"Roof’s set up," Jess answered. Just before the team barricaded themselves in, Jess and Billy climbed up on to the small church’s roof. Out of reach of the oncoming zombie horde, Jess would be free to reign down fire as the team needed. Billy, of course, refused to leave her side. Quentin wasn’t sure how the large spirit wolf pup made it up the side of the brick wall, but he could clearly hear the soft thumps of him walking across the roof.

"Quentin, get back here. We’re about to clear out the rats," Mateo said. Quentin trotted through one of the doors at the back of the sanctuary to the small church kitchen. He nearly gagged as he was hit with a thick black smoke.

"What is this?" Quentin asked.

"Something he cooked up," Mateo answered, thumbing over at The Steve. The team medic, and sometimes mad scientist, just smiled broadly. In his hands was a small bottle. The thick smoke was pouring out of the bottle’s top. Mateo motioned for The Steve to move to the door that led down to the basement.

"Is that going to work?" Quentin asked.

"The Steve knows his kitchen sink chemistry," The Steve answered confidently.

"One way to know for sure," Mateo said. The Zombie Strike field leader opened the door a crack and shouted down at the acolytes in the basement. "Sofocar sus armas! Rendirse o quemar!" Put down your weapons! Surrender or burn! Mateo waited for a brief second. Then, he nodded to The Steve, who opened the door and tossed the smoking bottle down into the basement. The basement erupted with the sounds of men screaming in terror. Footsteps pounded on the wooden steps. Quentin grabbed the first acolyte that appeared in the doorway. The startled man was yanked off his feet and slammed into a wall. He fell limply to the ground. Quentin drew his pistol and turned back to the others. Mateo and The Steve were ushering them to the ground with their own weapons. The four acolytes were quickly bound and relieved of their weapons. Amateurs they might be, but these guys had good equipment.

"What about the Guardians?" Quentin asked.

"I think they can take care of themselves," Mateo answered, "We have a horde to deal with. Seraph, what’s the status on the zombies?"

"Maybe a hundred meters from the church," Seraph answered, "The entire neighborhood’s fleeing in panic. Reports are the Catalan government is calling in the Army." Mateo and Quentin traded looks. If the Spanish Army found the team, Zombie Strike could look to a long detention, if they weren’t turned over to the Truth outright.

"Matt, can I start shooting already?" Jess asked.

"Go to it," Mateo answered. The deep throaty crack of Jess’s rifle was the only reply. Mateo turned to Chief Stahl. "We’ve got to finish this fast. Any suggestions?"

"See if Sport and Mountain can cook something up quick," Stahl answered, "Explosives are the only way we’re going to end this quick. Otherwise, it’s a basic siege. We’ve got decent barricades, so crush is pretty far off. Anything those two can do?" Stahl pointed behind Mateo and Quentin. The two turned and saw the Guardians standing next to the overturned altar like living statues.

"We are the Guardians of the Truth, not of you," the Guardians spoke, "Only one of you has been marked as being one of the five corners of the ritual. Some of you might or might not. If you perish here, then you are not."

"Okay, then let’s get to surviving," Mateo said. "Steve, go see what you and Sport can do." Surprisingly, the medic didn’t correct Mateo about his name and instead trotted back to the church’s small kitchen. "Jim cover the back. Take an AK and one of the German guns." As Jim left, Stahl, Mateo, and Quentin shattered the stain glass windows that looked towards the oncoming horde. As Mateo and the chief opened fire on the horde, Quentin started pushing pews over to the windows to act as barricades when the zombies closed. As Quentin heaved the last pew over, he looked back at the Guardians.

"What did you mean that only one of us was marked?" he asked of the stone-like ancient men.

"Five corners of the circle," one said.

"Two have been marked," the other continued.

"The other corners have yet to be completely revealed. Only in the city of the dead will all the corners be revealed," the two Guardians said together.

"What if the marked one dies here?" Quentin asked.

"The mark will pass," the Guardians answered, "Nothing is certain until the moment. Everything is paths of smoke until the moment. The moment will define the marked." Quentin grimaced at their cryptic answers. The whole point of this mission was to get some clarity. He could have stayed back on Skull Island with the prophecies if the Guardians always talked like this.

"If you’re done with the Aztec fortune cookies, get on the horn with Seraph and find some way to get us out of here," Chief Stahl shouted back between magazine changes. "We are not going to deal with this horde before the Mossos d’Esquadra show up, and I’d rather not spend time in a Spanish jail."

"Seraph, have you managed to work any magic for us?" Quentin asked over the radio.

"Hold them for another ten minutes, love," Seraph answered. "Be ready to exit out the front. Leave the bloody acolytes. Do you know how you are going to bring the Guardians?"

"I don’t think anyone brings them anywhere they don’t want to go," Quentin said. As if they were hearing the conversation, the two Guardians nodded simultaneously. "We’ll be ready Seraph." Quentin walked back to the Guardians.

"Are you going to come with us?" Quentin asked. The Guardians nodded again. "Why?"

"It is as foretold by the prophets of the Great Flayed One," the Guardians answered.

"I don’t understand. You just said that nothing is certain until the moment. What can be foretold if nothing is certain?" Quentin demanded.

"Some paths are more likely than others. As we move to the moment, the false paths fall away. The path you are following is more likely to lead to the moment than others. You must be shown the past so you can see the future." The chief was wrong. These two were more cryptic than the worse fortune cookie. Quentin walked back to the windows. Maybe taking down some zombies would clear the frustration. One of the acolytes had the common decency to have an MP5 submachine gun. Quentin preferred the 10mm version, but this one would do fine. The zombies were maybe a hundred meters from the church. A short burst from the submachine gun took down one in the front of the horde. Quentin lost himself in the battle. He wasn’t even aware of how long he’d been shooting at the zombies until Jess started hollering over the radio.

"What kind of SUV is that?" she said, "We’ve got some kind of huge truck coming up behind us. It looks like a luxury MRAP." Quentin heard the giant motor rumbling as the vehicle neared.

"Time to go, chaps and lady," Seraph said over the radio. "You might want to rush things a bit. Those zombies seem to be a bit attracted to my new toy." As Quentin stepped out of the church, he paused at the sight of the vehicle. It did look like one of the luxury makers spruced up an MRAP, armor and all. Jess and Billy were on the roof of the vehicle. The girl was still taking shots at the horde. The rest of the team dashed out of the church, clutching all of their stolen gear. Quentin climbed in just after Jess and Billy swung down into the truck.

"Your new toy?" Quentin asked as he strapped into the seat behind Seraph. She gunned the engine and slammed the truck into gear. The huge vehicle leapt backwards with surprising speed.

"I’m sure my father’s going to have some questions about the expense, but really, how often do you get to play with something like this?" Seraph asked. Quentin didn’t have a good answer, so he just sat back and let the exotically beautiful woman navigate the leviathan of a truck through the narrow streets of Barcelona.

"It is time to show you more," the Guardians’ voices echoed through his mind. Before Quentin could say anything, the world around him dropped away.

Zombie Strike Part 10 Chapter 101