“Do you have any idea why the thieves would be interested only in
our Confederate friend’s remains?”
Annja frowned. “That’s all they took?”
“They were only interested in the skeleton and the documentation pertaining to it that you and
Professor Reinhardt assembled. Nothing else was touched, including items of considerable value that were in plain view in Dr. Reinhardt’s office.”
That put an entirely different spin on things. Breaking and entering to steal museum pieces worth millions was one thing; doing so just to make off with the recently recovered remains of a Confederate captain no one even knew existed was another.
Her thoughts turned immediately to the shadowed figure she’d encountered in the catacombs the night before.
IN A DARK NEW REALITY,
TIME IS ALWAYS RUNNING OUT!
Ryan touched the wires together
The jolt of electricity made him gasp, and he was thrown backward with a blinding flash of light. The door squealed as the twisted metal tried to move in the straight grooves of the frame.
“Fireblast! I didn’t expect it to hurt like that,” Ryan groaned as he scrambled to his feet. Then he followed
A thin trickle of water was visible, running faster and then furiously down the crack between the two doors.
Without warning, a high-pressure stream of water shot through the gap and caught Ryan in the ribs. The force threw him against the wall of the corridor, and for a moment light exploded around his head.
The Executioner charged from the car, a gun in each hand
To survive against such overwhelming odds required movement—he would have to run the risk of seeking higher ground.
Holstering the Desert Eagle but keeping hold of his Beretta, Bolan grabbed the mirror extending from the rear corner of the van and pulled himself to the roof of the vehicle, flattening himself against it.
The gunmen would have his range in seconds. He drew his Desert Eagle once more, extended his arms out to each side, and began shooting from the roof of the van. The fusillade pinned the gunmen nearest to the van, striking and wounding some of them, killing still others. But there were more assassins than the soldier had realized.
The cargo van shook beneath him. Men were climbing inside. They would no doubt try to shoot him through the roof.
Bolan beat them to it. Holstering the Beretta and swapping magazines in the Desert Eagle, he aimed at the roof of the van and started pulling the trigger, walking the shots in an ever-widening pattern. Men screamed below him as bodies hit the floor of the vehicle.
He flattened himself again and spun around, shooting left and right, taking running gunmen this way and that.
Earth's saviors are on the run, as more
nightmares descend upon them!
“Quiet, you two!” Kane bellowed. “We’ve got worse things to worry about than your petty little paranoia.”
Kane pointed to one of the unconscious hooded men. He knelt and tore the man’s cowl back, revealing a dark, meshlike covering that, in the shadow of the hood, would render the upper part of his face above his lips completely invisible. It was a cheap effort that produced an unnerving effect, and Kane himself had experienced a momentary pause as he was dealing with the shadow-faced opponents. Only encounters with equally weird and terrifying opponents had given him the ability to act despite the distracting nature of their appearance.
“That doesn’t look right, even with that cloth over his head,” Demothi said.
Kane reached out and took a handful of the meshy sack and tore it off the unconscious man. It was soaked through, which was strange as he had fallen on dry ground. But as he tugged, stringy mucus stretched between the fabric and gangrenous gray tumors that ringed his skull, the tumors themselves riddled with wires and circuits. The downed man wasn’t bleeding from his head trauma, but the crushed growths where he’d been struck were oozing translucent yellow pus that seeped into the grass under his head.
“What... Oh, God,” Suwanee began. She clamped her hand over her mouth, trying to fight off the urge to vomit.
A moving shadow was all the warning the Executioner had
Bolan did a full running roll to get out of the way as a machete glinted in the moonlight.
“Got to kill you,” the heavily accented voice said. “For the Obeah Man.”
Bolan kept moving and came up with the Desert Eagle in his hand. He needed someone left alive who could talk, so he fired low, blowing out the man’s kneecap.
The posse member screamed and went down, and Bolan immediately turned back to the driveway, hoping to catch up to his target. But the car kicked up gravel as it peeled away, and he got only a glimpse inside—enough to see that the Obeah Man was getting away.
Bolan walked back to the man screaming on the ground and kicked the machete out of reach. “We need to have a talk.”
“Screw you!” the man muttered.
“It’s a start,” the Executioner said. “But I’m looking for something a little more informative.”
Available as of October 2011 wherever books are sold!