SNAFU: Resurrection Read online

  * * *

  Graves bit down hard, fighting back the pain as he dashed back out into the cavern. There was a chance he could see this through and live to fight another day. A small chance. His eyes narrowed at the rolling river of lava as he worked out his plan of attack.

  As he scanned the ground ahead, his eyes locked on the mangled form of Luis Quezar. The drones had pulled back to attend to the Queen, leaving the soldier’s half-eaten body unattended. Graves broke into a run, charging forward and hoping they wouldn’t spot him, but knowing they probably would. Quezar’s twisted and torn form was thirty yards from the trench of lava, the heat an oppressive wetness this close.

  Graves slid next to Quezar’s body, not wanting to look at him. Because his arms had been torn off at the shoulders, his backpack slid off quickly and smoothly. A hissing screech snapped his head around, and his eyes widened as the queen lowered her bone-crusted head towards him and charged.

  Graves tore open the satchel and removed the device, spinning from the corpse and running as a bony limb punched a jagged crater in the rock just behind him. A flurry of buzzing and screeches assaulted his hearing as the queen howled in anger. Graves flipped open the lid of the control panel, then triggered an activation mechanism.

  A small digital clock on the front side of the bundled device blinked into life, showing a five-minute timer. Graves knew that was five minutes he didn’t have. The queen wrenched her limb free of the rock and screeched again, racing towards him. Her mouth opened wide, wider than Graves thought possible. His fingers frantically dug at the metal device, peeling away another panel as he searched for the manual override he knew was there.

  Another bone twisted limb shot out and dug deep into the meaty muscle of Graves’ thigh, and this time he couldn’t hold back his scream as agony ratcheted through his entire body. Dropping to his backside, he could hear the soft gurgle of lava carving hot divots through solid stone and kept thinking of the scientist’s words.

  A delicate balance.

  The queen moved in for the kill, placing her remaining legs either side of Sergeant Graves body as she lowered her massive head to tear his flesh apart.

  “I’ve got you right where I want you,” Graves sneered as he triggered the manual override.

  * * *

  Susan McCally’s lungs burned, the heat still tugging and pulling on her as she climbed. Far below she could hear the mangled, twisting scream of the queen, then Sergeant Graves called out, a single barking shout of pain.

  She didn’t turn back. She kept running, her legs aching and arms pumping, sweat streaming over her face and forehead. She longed to look back, to glance over her shoulder and make sure she wasn’t being followed, but she wouldn’t allow herself to. She didn’t want to risk slowing down, especially when she felt cool air slamming her in the face as she climbed. The night sky would be just ahead, she was sure of it, the stars almost within reach.

  The shattering blast shook the entire tunnel system, and she stumbled forward, feeling the shock-wave of heat at her back as the ground shifted beneath her feet. Chunks of curved rock broke away and scattered at her feet, and the entire passage felt as if it dipped down to the right. McCally scrambled to her feet, smoke flowing past her as the tunnel rumbled and bucked.

  “Run, you stupid woman, run!” she shouted to herself. She could feel the ground giving way, the entire passage beginning its slow, inward crumble. McCally pushed forward as debris rained down around her. She was so focused on running she didn’t notice the squirming, pale-flesh figures scrambling along the curved roof above her head. She only realized they were there when they dropped to the ground ahead of her. She could see the sky just behind them, the indigo blackness of a wondrous South Dakota night.

  One of the drones hissed and lunged, its barbed upper left hand lashing out towards her. She scrambled backwards, moving her hand to catch her fall against the wall. Her fingers brushed against something metal, and she closed her hand around it in desperation. The Glock. The second drone launched into the air as she swung her arm around and fired a bullet directly into its face.

  The creature’s head exploded in a hot shower of bone and gore, and before she even felt the splatter of Morlock blood spray her face she’d shifted left and fired again through the disjointed, twisted neck of the next pale creature, tearing its spine to shreds and sending it toppling sideways onto the stone.

  With a sudden downward jerk, the floor beneath her began tearing away. Dr McCally drew in a breath and leapt forward, making several long strides before she finally burst out onto firm ground. As she sucked in fresh, cold air she glanced up at the geyser and saw one last gasp of steam burst up and fade into nothing, then the entire mound of stone, rock, and dirt crumbled in upon itself with a deafening crash.

  * * *

  Her ears ringing, Doctor Susan McCally crawled over the ground, eyes still stinging with spent steam and blasted earth. Shrouding the world in darkness, she covered her face and buried her head, trying to force the images from her mind – they’d never be gone, she knew that, but it didn’t stop her from trying.

  As her ears began clearing, the soft scuff of shoe on stone brought her head up, her eyes blinking away the dust and dirt.

  A man in a dark suit stood before her, his arms crossed over his narrow chest, his suit, shirt, and tie a little too immaculate given the surroundings. She could tell who he was the moment she saw him, and even more frightening, she could tell what agency he represented.

  “Dr McCally,” the man said softly, looking down on her. “I’m glad you made it out of there alive.” He bent slightly, offering one hand while the other wrapped around the Glock Graves had given her. “Now I think it’s best you come with me.”

  Call Up the Dead

  A Griffin and Price Novella

  James A Moore and Charles R Rutledge

  “There Shall not be found among you, anyone who casts a spell, or a medium, or a spiritualist, or one who calls up the dead.”

  -Deuteronomy 18:10

  Wade Griffin parked his truck in front of a pawnshop, which sat in one corner of a past-its-prime strip mall. The mall also contained a dry cleaner, a store that sold used cell phones, and a Thai take-out restaurant. Griffin had tried the food there once. Once.

  Griffin stepped out of the truck. It was springtime in northern Georgia and all the cars in the parking lot were covered with a film of yellow pine pollen. Pure hell if you had allergies. The only thing Griffin was allergic to was fish, and you didn't get a lot of airborne fish in the small town of Wellman. He entered the pawnshop and stopped just inside the front door. There were two men inside, a skinny gray-haired man behind the counter, and a fat guy with a buzz cut seated on a stool in a corner.

  “Help you?” Skinny said.

  Buzz cut just practiced his thousand-yard stare.

  Griffin stepped up to the counter and placed a small diamond bracelet on the glass surface. He said, “This was purchased here.”

  “Don't recognize it,” Skinny said.

  “I wasn't asking. This is one item from a jewelry box that was taken in a burglary two weeks back. I want to know who sold it to you.”

  “You a cop?”

  “Private investigator.”

  “Then get the fuck out of my shop.”

  “I'm thinking not,” Griffin said. “But speaking of cops, the guy you sold this to would be willing to tell them where he got it if I asked him. Probably lead to all kinds of embarrassing questions.”

  “Eddie, throw this guy out on his ass,” Skinny said.

  Buzz Cut, aka Eddie, slid off the stool. “Time to go, Ace.”

  Eddie was big and he was fat, but it wasn't all fat. He had scar tissue around his eyes, and his nose had been broken more than once. A bruiser, and probably a game one. He extended one hand, as if to take Griffin by the arm.

  Griffin slapped the hand aside and brought his knee up towards Eddie's groin. Eddie twisted his leg inward to block and brought his hands down as an
y street fighter would. That was what Griffin wanted, of course. He grabbed the back of Eddie's head with his left hand and slammed his right elbow into Eddie's nose. The restraining hand kept Eddie from pulling away and he took the full force of the blow. Eddie fell.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Griffin saw Skinny reaching under the counter. Griffin shuffled sideways and kicked the counter, causing it to topple over backwards. Skinny went down in a crash of broken glass and a shower of shiny objects. Griffin moved quickly around the wrecked counter and saw that Skinny had been reaching for a chrome .45 automatic.

  “I'm betting you don't have a license for that gun,” Griffin said, as he kicked the weapon away. “That's going to go badly when the cops get here.”

  Skinny said, “Look. We can make a deal. I got money.”

  “I don't want money.”

  “Okay, sure. I'll tell you where I got the bracelet.”

  “That may not be enough now, seeing as how you were going to shoot me and all.”

  “No, no. I was just going to scare you. Look, I got something better. This is something big.”

  “I've seen your shop. I don't think you've got anything big enough to keep me from calling the cops. Step it up. The smell from the Thai place is making me sick.”

  “Listen, a guy came in two days ago and sold me a ring. It's on that list.”

  Griffin felt his gut go cold. “What list?”

  “The list the cops sent out after that last home invasion.”

  Griffin said, “You have an item from one of the invasions and you didn't tell anyone? Those fuckers killed both those families.”

  Skinny must have seen what Griffin was thinking because he began to scuttle backwards, oblivious to the shards of glass on the floor. “I was going to tell somebody. I swear I was.”

  Griffin took a long, slow breath and blew it out. He suddenly realized his fists were clenched. No wonder the guy was freaking. Griffin knew what he looked like. Six-feet four inches, and 235 pounds. He could imagine his expression just now.

  Griffin said, “Who sold it to you?”

  “I don't know his name. He was never in before.”

  “You got a camera in here?”

  Skinny shook his head. “Too expensive. But if you help me make a deal with the cops, I can describe the guy.”

  Griffin took out his phone. “The only deal I'll make with you is I'll try and keep the sheriff from killing you when he gets here.”

  * * *

  Carl contemplated the third chilidog sitting innocently in the bag of food he’d just picked up at The Dawg Shop. The place had been open for all of two weeks, and as a good citizen and the sheriff in the area, he'd made a point of going by and giving them business the day they opened.

  Since then he’d been by at least once a day, except for Sundays, when the bastards had the gall to be closed.

  He needed a third chilidog like he needed a massive coronary. Yet, here he was, looking at that bag and seriously thinking he could just go back and pick up a few more for Angie back at the station. She’d never know. No one had to know.

  He found himself wondering, and not for the first time, if the bastards running the place were lacing their chili with cocaine. It would explain the addictive quality and his lack of willpower.

  The parking lot was full, and a goodly number of people were sitting in their cars and getting curbside service. Carl had actually gone inside, but now he was thinking he could just honk the horn and get those extra dogs on the go.

  “No. Dammit. You’re gonna get up and walk off a few calories if you’re going back for more.”

  It was justifiable, really. He hadn’t even tried one of their jalapeño slaw dogs yet. The very thought made him salivate.

  As he was opening the door of the truck he used instead of a county issued squad car, he saw two young men squaring off and getting ready to throw down on each other.

  They were young bucks, maybe out of high school and all the way into their first year of college. To look at them he figured their hormones far outweighed their common sense and as if to make his point for him, the object of their pending fisticuffs stood with her arms crossed and an amused smile on her face.

  Carl made sure he had on his big voice when he spoke. The sound carried past all the people starting to look at the two would-be brawlers, and as quickly as they had gathered for the potential fight, the crowd dispersed. “Boys. I’m gonna make this short and sweet. Either one of you takes a swing and you’re both going to the county lock up. I promise you, I will find reasons for you to spend the night.” He smiled as he talked and moved closer to the two kids.

  Jolene Blackbourne looked his way and her smile changed, growing more predatory.

  Damn. She was feeling playful.

  The two boys looked at Carl and then looked toward Jolene.

  The thing about Jolene was that she was very nearly supernaturally pretty. Men looked at her and they wanted her. Hell, a lot of women looked at her and they wanted her. Carl looked at her and he wanted her, but he was smart enough to know that a lot of poisons came in shiny packages.

  “Hey, Sheriff Carl….” She threw a smile his way and waved her fingers.

  “Jolene, honey, are you trying to get these boys to bust each other into pieces?”

  Her blue eyes went all kinds of wide and innocent. Her dark mane of hair bobbed gently as she shook her head. “No sir. We were just having a talk and then Remy over here got a little edgy.”

  “Yeah? Why is that?”

  “He wants me to be his girl.”

  Carl smiled thinly. “Why is that a problem?”

  “Bobby was thinking I should date him. Exclusively.”

  Carl nodded. “You planning on dating either of these boys exclusively, Jolene?” His smile grew a smidge wider and he ground his teeth together. The paperwork he filed as a result of exactly this sort of incident took more time than he cared to think about.

  “Well, I mean you never—”

  “Jolene, honey, just this once, be truthful. For me?”

  Jolene’s smile would have lit up the Vegas strip. “Naw. You know I like older men.”

  “See, boys?” Carl put a heavy hand on each shoulder and gave a friendly squeeze that didn’t quite make their bones creak. “Nothing to get riled up about. Neither one of you has a chance in hell.” He leaned in closer to Bobby, who looked like the one most likely to take a swing. “Let’s just call this a draw and you both get to go home instead of coming with me.”

  Jolene batted her baby blues at Carl and he made it a point not to look too closely.

  “But—”

  “No, Remy. No buts. Get yourself on your way before I forget to be friendly.” He stared daggers until the boy got the clue and sulked all the way to his new Ford Mustang. College. Probably a bribe to make sure junior went to class. If everything went well, Carl wouldn’t be the one to scrape the boy and his bribe off the interstate in a few months. Parents just loved giving their kids muscle cars, as if the things were designed to survive a DUI and the impulse most kids had to impress their friends by doing a hundred around tight corners.

  Maybe he was being cynical. Maybe not. It was hard to say.

  He gave the other kid the stink eye until he clued in and moved toward his beat-up Town Car. Jolene always did love a class war.

  “Jolene, what are you doing here, anyway? This isn’t your normal stomping ground.”

  The smile was pure honey and the promise of a thousand sinful delights. “I decided I need some spending cash, so I got a job here.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, I just had the interview, but Derek? The owner? He’s pretty sure he can use me.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he can.” Carl tried to smile, but it wasn't easy. He’d have to get a few extra dogs, and then figure out how to get here when Jolene wasn't working. Otherwise this would be his last visit for a while. “Say, Jolene?”

  “Yeah, Sheriff Carl?” She put her hand on his forearm as she
sashayed next to him. He managed not to walk into the door.

  “You know if Derek has a delivery service?”

  Her smile was as bright as ever. “I’ll go find out for ya.”

  “Thank you, sunshine.”

  He stood in line and contemplated what he was going to order. When his cell rang, he reached for it and smiled when he saw the name.

  “Wade Griffin! What can I do for you, brother?”

  * * *

  Interview room two at the Brennert County Sheriff’s Headquarters always made Griffin think of hospitals, with its antiseptic smell and its institutional green walls. Griffin was leaning against one of those walls while Carl Price questioned Skinny, whose name turned out to be Barry Long.

  “I’ve told you everything I can,” Long said. He was seated at a small table in the middle of the room. The table held a bottle of water and the cuffs Carl had taken off Long once they got him to headquarters.

  “Tell me again,” Carl said. Carl was playing bad cop. So was Griffin. There were no good cops in the room.

  Long sighed. “The guy came into the shop right after I opened on Monday. He showed me the ring. I could tell it was a nice piece. We argued a bit about the price and then I paid him and he left. Like I told your pal here, I never saw him before.”

  “And it occurred to you to check the ring for identifying marks, and to compare it to the list we sent out, but not to call us.”

  Long said, “I've been in trouble before, Sheriff. I didn't know what to do, you know?”

  “You knew what to do,” Carl said. “You just didn't do it.”

  Long said, “I'm cooperating now, aren't I? I helped your guys get a sketch. I looked at the mug shots.”

  “And I’ve got some more for you to look at.”

  “How long are you going to keep me here?”

  Carl said, “Depends on how happy you make me and whether or not Mister Griffin there decides to press charges. You think about that.”