A Lucky Day to Die (Stone Soldiers #10)

CHAPTER ONE

As he looked down at his corpse, Mark Kenslir knew that he was dead. It was an odd feeling—one of regret and possibly a bit of relief. And while he wondered what now lay ahead for him, he could not look away from the body that had been his for so many years, now unceremoniously shoved into the trunk of a large sedan.

Nearby, the two men who had murdered Mark toiled in the darkness, digging a shallow grave in the sand. One of them abruptly stopped digging and turned to face Kenslir.

Hey! Get out of here! Francis Shirley shouted. Shoo!

Beside Francis, Leonard DeFazio paused and turned to see what his partner in crime was yelling about. That's why you never let 'em know they're about to die.

What difference does it make? Dead is dead!

The difference, Leonard said, frowning, "Is that when they know they're gonna die, they think they have unfinished business. And that is what you end up with. That's why I said two to the back of the head."

Go on, shoo! Francis declared again. The young mobster was clearly unnerved by the ghost watching him. He climbed out of the grave and stormed over, waving his shovel at Mark Kenslir.

Leave him be, Leonard ordered, following Francis to the car. Help me with his body.

You don't know who you're messing with, ghost, Francis declared. I'm a made man!

Leonard smacked his boasting young partner in the back of his head, making his greasy black hair flop forward onto his face. I said help me with the body!

Francis sulked, but did as he was told, keeping an eye on the ghost that stood there, silently watching them. Moving to the back of their car, he lifted the feet of the tall body in the trunk clear, while his balding, fifty-something partner grabbed under the corpse's shoulders.

Big sumbitch, Leonard growled.

He and Francis stumbled along in the dark Nevada desert, carrying the big body to the shallow grave they had dug. Blood and brains dripped onto the sand as they carried the body, falling from what remained of Mark Kenslir's face.

Francis kept glancing back at the ghost that stood silently by their car, watching them.

Hey! Fuggettabout that ghost! Leonard snapped when Francis nearly dropped his end of the corpse.

I don't like the way he's looking at me... is he gonna haunt me now?

Nah, Leonard answered, dropping his end of the body into the shallow grave. He'll just stick around here. That's why we bury 'em so far out of town.

Ah, Francis said, an evil smile spreading across his face. He's bound to his body.

No. He ain't bound to nuttin'. But he's just a ghost now. Most folks can't even see him. He's got nowhere to go and no one to tell. Eventually, he'll move on.

Francis shrugged and picked up his shovel and joined Leonard in filling the grave.

Ha! The younger mobster laughed. Serves him right, stickin' his big nose where it didn't belong.

He turned back to the car and shouted at Mark Kenslir.

I hope you enjoy the desert, you stinkin'-

Francis' jaw dropped and he stopped shoveling. Leonard!

What is it now? Leonard growled, looking up. The color suddenly drained from his face as he saw red and blue flashing lights headed their way.

Dammit! I told you we didn't need any headlights to get here!

Francis looked scared now too. I'm still new to this, old man! I can't see in the dark as good as you!

Leonard threw his shovel down and reached behind his back, pulling a small revolver from his waistband.

The Lady ain't gonna like this, kid.

Francis' eyes went wide as he looked at the gun pointed his way. Why does it have to be me? I just got this body!

Leonard fired two shots into Francis' chest, directly into his heart.

'Cause you can't keep your damn mouth shut, that's why!

Francis staggered a step, then his body went limp, dropping to the sand and nearly tumbling into the shallow grave he'd just helped dig. Where he had been standing, a black outline hovered in the air, shaped like a man.

The dark shadow swept forward, merging with Leonard's body and vanishing into it.

Leonard looked at the gun in his hand and considered shooting himself. But they were too far from the Strip. They'd never make it back. He had no choice.

Leonard threw the gun down and put his hands on top of his head, interlocking his fingers.

I hope you're happy, he declared, glaring at Mark Kenslir's ghost.

Kenslir was anything but happy. He'd just been murdered and dumped in the desert like garbage. He scowled and fumed, his translucent, ethereal fists clenched in impotent rage by his sides.

Then a smile crossed his face as the lights of a police vehicle came closer. His murderers were wrong about one thing. Mark Kenslir did have someone he could go to. Someone he could tell about his death.

In Miami.

CHAPTER TWO

His name was Chad Phillips and he was filled with rage. All around him were bodies—bodies of the innocent, twisted in broken heaps, pale and unmoving, all the blood drained from them.

Phillips had to control himself as he clenched the pistol and foregrip of his M4 assault rifle. He turned in a slow circle in the barn he stood in, so the cameras built into his tactical goggles got as clear a view as possible of the victims he had discovered.

Phillips wore all black—his regular combat uniform for missions like this. Black fatigues, black boots, black assault vest. Even black stripes of paint drawn diagonally across his face and hands.

Something behind him moved, making the faintest of noise. A scuff of skin against wood.

Phillips spun around and fired his rifle—a short tri-burst of 5.56mm bullets, coughed out of the built-in suppressor of his rifle.

The projectiles missed the figure leaping at him from the shadows, loudly ripping into the wood wall of the barn. Then the monster was on him.

Once a man, the scrawny figure clawed at Phillips, long, dirty, claw-like fingernails slashing at his face as it hissed, revealing its long fangs.

The leaping vampire rebounded off of Chad as if it had struck a brick wall. It stumbled and fell onto its seat, a look of surprise on its dirty face—a face ravaged by meth use in the life it had lived before its transformation.

Nice try, sucker, Chad said, correcting his aim and sending a trio of bullets into the undead's chest. The bullets tore through a grimy t-shirt, skin, then bones before lodging in place in the monster's heart.

The vampire spasmed in pain as the silver rounds burned inside him, negating his ability to heal the damage he'd just taken.

Chad stepped in and slashed with his rifle—his bayonet removing the vampire's head with little effort. Both decapitated body and severed head immediately turned to dust.

Barn clear! Chad reported, his voice picked up by small microphones built into the oversized tactical goggles he wore.

He turned in place again, colored diamonds appearing in his field of view—markers added by the augmented reality goggles to indicate the position of his teammates. One diamond, red in color, was surrounded by several red triangles, all flashing. The word OLSON hung above the surrounded diamond, identifying Chad's teammate.

Phillips sprinted away, charging out of the side of the barn by crashing through a wall. It offered no resistance, the old wood splintering and parting as if it were paper.

He quickly reached his squad mate—a woman all in black like him, with long, flowing red hair. Unlike Chad, she had no assault rifle and was instead slashing at her attackers with overly long, stilleto-like fingernails.

Chad brought his M4 to his shoulder and fired, quickly shifting to another target as his first tri-burst dropped another vampire.

Another teammate now joined the fight, leaping into the middle of the melee. Designated ANTAEAN on the head-up display, the big man towered over the half-dozen vampires that still surrounded the redhead and Phillips.

The big man slashed out with two huge knives—one held in each hand. Two vampire heads were removed from the shoulders of the undead. Then the big man followed up with a kick that sent a third vampire flying away.

Chad tracked the cartwheeling monster with his M4, and was just about to send a tri-burst into its chest when someone grabbed him from behind.

Long claws raked across Chad's chest as a mop of dirty blonde hair flopped into his face. Then the monster on his back sank her fangs into the side of his neck.

The fangs snapped off, unable to penetrate the stone Chad Phillips was made of.

The stone soldier grabbed the woman on his back and threw her onto the ground, stomping down on her with one boot to pin her in place. She hissed and screamed, thrashing and trying to get free. Despite her own prodigious strength, the vampire was unable to budge the heavy boot holding her down.

Phillips sent a burst into her face, then another into her chest, silencing her.

Hey! a woman's voice called out. What the Hell are you doing, Phillips?

Chad looked up and saw the redheaded woman holding a vampire's head by its dirty hair. The head turned to dust in her hand, dissolving away like the body she had just removed it from.

Stop playing and put it down! the redhead snapped.

Chad slashed with his rifle-mounted bayonet again and the head of the vampire under his boot rolled away, quickly turning to dust, followed a moment later by the body.

Clear, the big man with the knives announced. All around him and the redhead, piles of dust were settling—the remnants of the half-dozen vampires they had been fighting.

Phillips looked all around the area now, marking the locations of the remainder of his team—GOLEM and DIABLO. Both stood alone, with no flashing red triangles in sight.

Well? the towering man in black asked the redhead as she wiped her long nails clean on a pant leg.

Laura Olson smiled, revealing her own fangs. We got 'em all, Mark. None left.

You're sure? Colonel Mark Kenslir asked, reaching behind him and sheathing his Bowie knives in holsters on the back of his assault vest. Powerful magnets in the sheathes held the blades securely, handles down.

Olson smiled and held a finger up to Kenslir's face. Not even one left, Mark.

She then rubbed her finger on the Colonel's cheek, wiping away a drop of blood. She was surprised the big man let her, then realized he was looking at something, past her shoulder.

The redhead turned and looked around.

Command, Kenslir said loudly. We show an all clear. Have the helos inbound for pick up. We're going to do a final sweep for survivors.

While he spoke, the Colonel looked past the barns and structures of the Midwestern farm the team had raided. His eyes were fixed on some point in the darkness.

See something? Laura asked as Colonel Phillips jogged away, headed for another barn to begin the final sweep.

Kenslir's eyes narrowed behind the clear lenses of his tactical goggles, then he shook his head.

It was nothing. Just a shadow.

A cold chill went up Laura's spine and she turned back toward the darkness the Colonel had been staring into. Her vampiric eyes peeled away the darkness, but nothing out of the ordinary was there. Just farm equipment and fields.

CHAPTER THREE

You two are complete idiots! the Lady roared.

Her voice echoed off the expensive marble walls and columns of the chamber they were in. It shook her body, causing her breasts to tremble.

Leonard DeFazio did his best not to stare at the one exposed breast not covered by the Lady's short, translucent Greek tunic. He hung his head, averting his eyes. Now he was staring at the arcane symbols drawn in blood on the floor around him.

Do you realize the favors I had to call in to get you sprung? the Lady demanded.

Leonard started to look up again, but thought against it. I'm sorry ma'am, it's all my fault.

Of course it's your fault! the Lady screamed. She stomped forward, into the circle surrounding Leonard, her bare feet slapping against the marble.

Her long-nailed hand grabbed his chin painfully, drawing blood as she lifted his face up to look at hers. Her brown eyes burned with rage and her long black hair seemed ready to come alive where it hung down on her bare shoulders.

I should have-

You should have done as I've told you! the Lady bellowed. She released Leonard's face and turned to the shadowy form hovering in the air beside him.

"And you! You're supposed to do exactly as you're told! I partner you corrupted up with the damned for a reason!"

The shadowy figure seemed to shrink in on itself. Unable to speak or show emotion, it was nonetheless clearly afraid of the petite woman.

Legion! the Lady barked.

A large man stepped out from the shadows. He was nearly seven feet tall and covered with muscles and the hides of lions. A short sword hung from the gold belt around his waist and chains were wrapped around his legs. His dark, olive complexion matched the oily black hair on his face, arms and chest.

This one, the Lady said, pointing a nail at the shadowy figure beside Leonard.

The shadow tried to retreat, but it had nowhere to go. It could not leave the circle the Lady had placed on the floor.

Legion walked forward, his shaved head wrinkling as his eyes narrowed malevolently. He stepped into the circle and opened his mouth, then drew in a deep breath.

The shadow that had once been Francis Shirley clawed at the air, trying to resist, but was inexorably drawn into the big man's mouth. He vanished like smoke, devoured in one deep inhalation.

The Lady turned back to Leonard. The next time, that will be you, Leonard.

Yes, ma'am, the mobster said, swallowing nervously.

***

Special Agent Pam Keegan took a deep breath and pushed through the doors of the Clark County morgue, flashing her I.D. at the man at the reception desk. She hated morgues, hated corpses now, after learning that a dead body didn't always stay dead.

The short blonde in the tight-fitting business suit knew it was silly to be afraid. Only a rare few corpses would ever rise back up. Ninety-nine percent of them were just what she'd always thought they were in what seemed a lifetime ago—dead meat.

Keegan crossed the room and walked to the bank of slide-out drawers built into the wall. She skimmed the labels, quickly locating the drawer she'd come for.

Steeling herself, she pulled on the handle and slid the drawer open.

The body was big, a tall man, with broad shoulders, covered by a sheet. His toe tag bore the name she dreaded to see. Mark Kenslir.

Keegan pulled back the sheet and winced at the mutilated face staring lifelessly upward. The eyes and most of the nose were gone, removed by a shotgun at point-blank range the Coroner's report had indicated. A blast that had turned the brains to jelly and removed the back of the head. The jaw was still there though.

Keegan stared at the mutilated face for several long seconds, then dug a photo out of her pocket and held it up for comparison—an unnecessary action since fingerprints had already identified the corpse.

She quickly stowed the photo and pulled her cellphone from another pocket and placed her call.

Major Campbell, please, she said when the line was answered. As she waited to confirm the identity of the corpse before her, she looked back down at it, a profound look of sorrow on her face.

I'm so sorry, Colonel.

CHAPTER FOUR

Mark Kenslir took another bite out of a Danish while he tapped on the screen of his tablet computer with his free hand. The characters on the screen slowly fed out, recording his thoughts in his after-action report.

He finished off the Danish then licked his