The
archives… well… let’s say that disappointment was a continuing trend for the
trip.
Jacob
drove me to another building in a different part of town. At first it looked
like a promising place; the building was much larger than the shed Jacob’s
group was crammed in, and there were a lot of serious looking government men
doing serious looking government things. But we didn’t park by that building.
Instead, we drove behind it and parked by the dumpster.
Jacob
pointed at a group of boxes stacked next to the dumpster. “There. Those are our
archives.”
“You’re
kidding, right?”
“Afraid
not. When we got transferred out of this building, we had to leave most of our
stuff. And the new owners got rid of anything they didn’t want to keep.”
“Yeah,
but… just throwing away classified material REALLY doesn’t seem like a smart
thing to do.”
“Really?
Maybe try looking inside one of the boxes.”
I
did. And I stared at what was inside for a long time. And then I screamed very
loudly and kicked that box as hard as I could, causing little strips of paper
to fly out.
All
the documents inside the box had been shredded. There was no way I’d be able to make sense of
any of the fragments.
“Guess
they didn’t consider our anything we had there important enough to keep.”
That
was it. I was going to start hitting people. Starting with Jacob because he was
closest.
“What
is it you were hoping to find, anyway?” He asked.
I
had to suppress my violent impulses to answer. “Not entirely sure. Anything I
could about a man named Grendel and the cult he leads.”
“And
what on earth made you think we’d have anything like that?”
Um…
judgment call time. Would “I’m from the future, where your group is massive and
has a helluva lot of information on them,” work, or should I try thinking of a
more believable lie?
That
call turned out to be one I didn’t have to make. A black car screeched up
alongside us, and one of Jacob’s men got out.
“Mr.
Marchetti, we’ve got a problem. Some kind of terrorist group cult has taken
over a hotel, and we’re being called up to deal with it.”
“Us?
We never got this kind of job. What’s going on?”
“Everyone
who went in before us has been wiped out. All the alphabet agencies have been
sending their paranormal teams, but no one’s coming back. We’re the only ones
left. Well, we’re the only CIA group left. The FBI’s still got the SMSC; they’re
on the scene already, but aren’t making any moves right now.”
“Damn.
Just us two groups? They’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel here.
What’s going on inside that hotel?”
“No
one’s sure. I’ve heard rumors about giant dogs made of smoke or a man who’s
immune to bullets, but haven’t heard any official word.”
Wait.
That… sounded familiar. “Were those dogs bat-zombie like? Did they seem to come
out of nowhere, then vanish again?”
“What?
Um… I don’t know-”
“That
guy who was immune to bullets? Were there any more details about him? Like eye
color? Did they say if he had red eyes? When he was shot, did shadows come out
instead of blood?”
“Um…”
My barrage of questions appeared to have silenced the agent. Jacob, however,
seemed curious.
“Those
are specific sounding questions.” He said. “You think you know what’s going
on?”
“Maybe.
Drive me to the hotel, and we’ll find out.”
Perhaps,
after all this searching to find the slightest scraps of info on Grendel, I had
accidentally stumbled upon him. Jacob drove us to the hotel, which already had several
black vans surrounding it. Jacob’s agents were already there, plus a man I
hadn’t seen before. He nodded to us as we approached, and greeted Jacob with a
“Agent Marchetti.”
“Agent
Eight-Line Poem,” Jacob responded.
“Wait,
Eight-Line Poem?” Surprise made me speak out loud. And people think my name
sounds silly….
Eight-Line
Poem blushed at my surprise. “I’m from the SMSC. Our boss, well, has a bit of
an obsession with that David Bowie guy. All our code names are picked from his
songs. I don’t see the appeal, but those are the boss’s orders.”
Jacob
got back into the conversation. “So they’re finally letting you guys out again
after your last screw up?”
Eight-Line
bristled. “We had every reason to believe that we were dealing with a demonic
summoning back then!”
“It
was a college Halloween party.”
“Yes,
but it could have been a demonic summoning!”
“Could
have been. But it was still a college Halloween party.”
This
was going nowhere. “Hey, I’m fascinated to hear what you two have to say to
each other,” I said, “but there’s this other thing here that’s kinda important
and which I’d really like to start taking care of. Now what’s the situation
inside the hotel?”
Surprisingly,
for once being rude and blunt failed to calm people down. Eight-Line just got
angrier, and said to me, “And who are you, acting like you’re in charge?”
“She’s
under direct orders from Mr. Schlesinger.” Jacob said. “Which basically means
that she is in charge here.”
Eight-Line
grumbled something like, “God damn CIA,” but went on to answer my question.
“The cult’s a group calling themselves the Esoteric Order of Dagon. They’ve
barricaded themselves on the tenth floor; we think they have hostages with
them, but we’re not sure. They haven’t made any demands or tried contacting us.
There’s
been a lot of casualties trying to storm the building and clear them out. Damn
idiots always think that their elite squad will succeed where every other elite
squad failed. We’ve already had the FBIS, CPI, ADAE, SPC, STAB, and PAM all go
in and get themselves killed, so now they’ve just got us SMSC and your PABDA to
deal with it.”
“Sounds
wonderful.” Jacob said. “Now let me consult with my superior for a moment.”
He
pulled me to the side, out of Eight-Line’s hearing. “So now you’re actually
calling me your superior?” I asked.
“You’re
the only one who seems to have any idea what’s going on here, and it will be a
lot easier to get stuff done if everyone thinks you’re official. Now what are
we running up against in that hotel?”
“The
dogs are most likely the Hounds of Tindalos. They can appear and disappear from
anything that makes a sharp angle. The man’s name is Grendel. None of our guns
are going to have any effect on him. Or any other weapon we’ve got.”
“And
how do we deal with them?”
“We
don’t. Grendel’s my problem. I’ll take care of him on my own.”
“That’s
not happening. Dealing with this stuff is our job, and we’re finally being
allowed to do it. We’re going in as well.”
Well…
fine, yeah, you guys were kinda stuck in a shack, I can understand your
eagerness to do something. “Alright, but it’s your heads on the line”
“We’re
going to head in.” I said to Eight-Line. “You SMSC people… try to come up with
a believable cover story or something. And get a wrecking crew; if this doesn’t
work it might be safer to just smash the building.”
The
barricade of vans moved aside to let us through, and we entered the hotel
lobby. There were bodies of agents who had gone before us across the floor,
their corpses shredded to pieces.
“Keep
your eyes on the angles.” I said. “If you see smoke, start shooting. It means
one of the Hounds is appearing.”
That
advice couldn’t have come soon enough; the moment I finished the sentence,
smoke poured out of the walls. Three Hounds leapt out, and were met with a
volley of pistol fire. And it doesn’t matter what kind of angled time they come
from, pump enough lead into them and they die like anything else.
With
those three dead, we reloaded and moved forward. Had to get all the way up to
the tenth floor. First snaking through the too-narrow hallways while under
constant attack, and then up the stairwell. The god damn motherfucking bloody
stairwell. Jacob and I took point, while the other four watched the sides, everyone
keeping their back to each other. It was slow, but the only way to keep eyes on
every angle at once. The bodies we passed were all the incentive we needed to
stay in that formation.
Things
got bad on the stairs. In the halls we could watch the walls and ceiling
easily. But every step made an angle, and we didn’t have enough eyes to keep
track of our feet as well. As we climbed the stairs, smoke started to appear
beneath us. Heard an agent behind me scream, and turned to see him being
dragged into the smoke. Only one thing to do then.
“Run!”
Up
the stairs, fast as we could. Hounds were leaping at us from every direction,
appearing as fast as we could shoot them. We were forced to make a stand on a
landing, keeping our backs to the wall as we held off a seemingly unending
attack. An agent’s gun jammed, and a Hound pounced, tearing out his throat with
its rotting teeth. More Hounds leaped on the body, tearing it apart with claws
and teeth. We used that as a chance to make a break for it, continuing our
sprint.
“Out
of ammo!” Someone yelled, and I reflexively checked inside my coat. Shit, no
more ammo in their; this was my last clip.
Fired
my last few shots and then tossed the gun aside, focusing just on running. A
Hound appeared in front of me, and in a panic, I swung at it. Somehow lucked
out and hit it in the face, knocking it down the stairs.
“Nicely
done,” Jacob said.
Threw
on a smirk. “Of course it was. Who do you think I am?” Oh god that was
terrifying how the hell did I survive that.
Suddenly
the Hound’s attacks stopped. Something changed in the air: a pressure seemed to
press down on our heads, and a loud buzzing echoed in our ears. Didn’t know the
cause, but I was assuming it was a bad sign. Went up the last few floors as
fast as my legs could go. Reached the tenth floor, kicked open the door, and
nearly fell into an empty void. There was nothing beyond that door. Nothing but
a five pointed star burning in the abyss, and by that star, Grendel.
“Hello
Darling!” Grendel’s voice boomed with an unnatural roar, his black hair and
clothes seemed as if they were made of living darkness, and his eyes glowed red
with the fire of dying suns. “Once again, you come to witness another triumph!
The battle call has been sent out. The gods are being summoned from the depths
which they were driven to, at last waking from their long slumber. On the day
of Revolution, they will be prepared to strike, taking vengeance upon-”
A
bullet ripped through Grendel’s head, stopping the monologue. Jacob lowered his
gun and muttered, “God damn he likes to talk.”
When
Grendel’s face reformed, his voice and appearance were back to being more
human. He scowled fiercely at Jacob. “I’m reminded why I had you replaced with
Lupine. Have fun playing with your new toys, Darling; I’ve done what I came
here for.” Grendel and the nothingness disappeared, replaced with the hotel
hallway. Several cultists were unconscious on the ground, as well as the bodies
of those who had been staying at the hotel.
Some
of the cultists started to wake up as we searched. They didn’t resist when the
Scoobies handcuffed them. Can’t say if that was because we had guns, or because
they knew Grendel had already succeeded. No one talked about it, but there was
a feeling amongst us that we’d arrived too late.
Not
that anyone else knew that. Far as they were concerned, we walked out of a
place no other team had returned from, leading a group of captured cultists. Of
course there was a cover up, so we didn’t get any medals or anything. But word
would reach the right people that the Scoobies had succeeded where everyone
else had failed. Which is going to open up a bunch of options in the power
vacuum left by all the casualties everyone else had. And dammit, I’m going to
make the Scoobies hunt Grendel for me if I have to force them into becoming a
competent agency.
And
I’m totally going to make them accept that their name will be the Scoobies. No
matter what it takes.
I-330
