Story HourPost your ongoing tales from your campaigns, and read those from others for inspiration. Lots of other RPG boards post "Story Hours", but this is where it started!
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Hammer dragged Ko back with him, eyes tearing, and fired his Glock wildly into the thick black cloud.
There was the whistle of crossbow bolts. A shooting pain in his shoulder made Hammer realize he'd been hit.
He backed towards an elevator with a black and yellow striped border. A bright red button titled UP was next to it. He hit it with his elbow, and sprayed bullets into the cloud. He could only hope Jim-Bean had gotten out of the way.
The elevator opened and Hammer dragged Ko into it. As the doors began to close, something bizarre half-hopped out of the swirling black smoke. It looked like a horned toad, but it was easily the size of a man. Its sticky flesh was covered in a black and white pattern that was wholly unnatural. But the color did remind him of something…
The elevator closed just as the thing reached the door. It began the journey upwards to the roof.
Hammer noticed that Ko's temperature had risen considerably. The man was sweating. "Bhzang," he gasped.
Hammer pushed him against the wall. A bolt was stuck in the man's shoulder. "Some security," he said, gripping the bolt. "They're doing my job for me."
He yanked it out. Ko screamed, but it was a weak, delirious cry.
Hammer realized a bolt was sticking out of his own shoulder. He pulled it out; there was a smeared white paste on the tip. Poison.
"Huh." Archive's mumbo-jumbo really did work. "Tell me where you get your drugs."
"Wha?" asked Ko, delirious.
"Your drugs. You get them from somewhere. You're manufacturing Blink. I know you manufacture it here. But there's an ingredient that only you know. What is it?"
"Mother's Milk?" Ko asked a space a foot to the left of Hammer's head. "She provides all. She is the one source of all life…" Ko slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Before Hammer could say more, the sound of many skittering claws clattered along the outside of the elevator.
"What the hell is that?" asked Hammer.
The escape hatch above the elevator shuttered. Hammer dragged Ko out of the way as it tore open and an insectoid face in the shape of blasphemous parody of a human skull poked through. It hissed, venomous drool dripping from the lip-mandibles, rearing back as it took a deep breath…
Hammer fired both Glocks into its face.
The head flinched but didn't stop the exhalation of black smoke. The door dinged and suddenly fresh air was shrieking around them from outside. Hammer dove out.
The elevator doors closed behind him with a soft "ding" that belied the monstrosity within.
An Outbreak of Alchemy: Part 7 – Do You Expect Me to Talk?
Jim-Bean woke up with the wind shrieking all around him. Was it one of those dreams where he was flying? He remembered black smoke, and then…
He looked down a dizzying thirty-eight stories to the ground below. Vice-like grips held his wrists and ankles.
Oh right.
"Magic," sneered Mihn. He held up Jim-Bean's left hand where Archive had stamped him. "It protected him from the Bhzang. But no protection from poison can save you from Jiang's bad breath. "
That got a laugh from the other security guards, who were dangling him out the window. Jim-Bean got a glimpse of his duffel bag, which was sitting near the window to his right.
Mihn slapped his face. “Pay attention!” He was hunched over Jim-Bean, holding his neck in a stranglehold. "Who sent you?"
Jim-Bean swallowed. He was screwed. Hammer had either fled or died in the fighting. Whatever spat the black gunk that even now still coated his lungs was somewhere behind him. Jim-Bean had survived some impressive wounds, but there was no way he could survive a fall from that height. It was only thanks to Archive's magic that he had survived at all…
That was it! What was it he had learned in Flagitious Fragments? He tried to focus.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Focus! He couldn't do it, his focus was slipping. The wind was whipping in his face, the Tcho-tchos were bruising his wrists and ankles, and he really had to pee.
Mihn tightened his grip on Jim-Bean's throat. "You're tough. Most people don't wake up from a meeting with Jiang. But can you fly?"
He remembered Lucinda Ennis. The girl had ignited a matchbook with mere thought alone.
"I…can't…fly," said Jim-Bean, straining. There was a pop from the duffel bag. "Can you?"
Tear gas exploded around them. Jim-Bean dropped to the ground as the other Tcho-tchos lost their grip. Mihn clung to Jim-Bean’s neck, coughing and wheezing.
On his hands and knees, Jim-Bean shifted his weight forward. Blinded and stunned from the tear gas, Mihn went sailing out the window. He screamed all the way down.
Jim-Bean grabbed his duffel bag and headed for the steps down past the glass doors.
The techs looked up at him, curious but unwilling to get involved. After all, he didn't seem threatening.
At the other end of the wide room, the elevator dinged. The doors opened and closed long enough for Jim-Bean to get a glimpse of Ko, slumped in one corner of the elevator. They closed before he could reach it.
Reaching into his bag, Jim-Bean pulled out a utility tool. Then he slowly wrenched the elevator doors open.
The techs looked on nervously.
Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Jim-Bean placed thick gloves over both hands. With a short hop, he grabbed hold of the elevator cables that were slowly winching upwards.
Xian, noticing his return, walked over to Jim-Bean. "What are you doing? You can't do—"
Jim-bean winked at her. Then he put his SIG to the cable and fired.
Hammer looked around in desperation. Security would be on the roof any second and there was nowhere left to go.
Fortunately, someone had conveniently left a mini-copter on the roof. He suspected it was for Ko, and that his original plans were to escape that way. Unfortunately, he didn't know how to fly a chopper.
Hammer considered struggling with the controls. If he tied it to the roof and got the rotors going, maybe he could crash it into the building…
That was too ridiculous, even for him. Instead, Hammer pulled a knife out of his boot and stabbed the gas tank.
Gas spilled all along the roof. Looking about, Hammer spotted a fire hose and unspooled it. He tied it around his waist. If it worked for Bruce Willis, it might work for him…
Hammer lit a match and tossed it onto the spreading pool of gas. Then he dove over the side of the Equitech building.
The tough rubber of the hose shrieked as it slithered over the edge of the building's roof. Hammer prayed it would hold.
And then it did. It was like someone had wrenched him in half. Hammer realized what a stupid idea his plan was as the explosion above him set off a shockwave, which was counterbalanced by the hideous winds at over forty stories up.
He spun around like a rag doll on a string, and for a moment all he could do was just keep his arms and hands out and hope he wasn't going to hit anything hard.
To his surprise, he flew through an open window.
There was no such thing as an open window in a skyscraper. Someone had broken the window before Hammer got there.
The hose caught the edge of the window and hurled Hammer up towards the ceiling. He bounced off of it with his feet, but the momentum was surely going to drag him straight back out into the abyss…
He hit something soft that grunted, followed by a distant scream. Hammer landed on his feet and quickly undid the hose around his waist. Guards were lying on the floor, coughing and wheezing.
Hammer guessed what had stopped his fall was another security guard who had stumbled to his feet. He didn't bother to look out the window.
He raced to the top of the stairs, only to see Dawn Biozyme’s security lined up with pistols at the bottom. Hammer didn't stop his stride as he flipped himself up and over, firing both Glocks downwards.
Some guards were hit. Most of them were still firing at the top of the steps. Hammer landed behind them and plunged through the door.
Then the fire alarm went off and sprinklers descended from the ceiling. Techs, already on edge, broke out into screams and dove for cover.
Hammer balked at the elevator. Someone had wedge it open and cut the cables.
Cursing Jim-Bean under his breath, he headed for the stairs.
The air whistled past Jim-Bean as he flew down the elevator shaft. The odds of him landing on the elevator without reaching terminal velocity were looking increasingly slim.
He became aware of a distant clatter, like thousands of hammers punching into metal, above him. When he looked up, he caught sight of a black-and-white centipede-like thing with a human face.
The thing was climbing downwards at a terrific rate, spiraling the entire length of the shaft as it sought to keep up with Jim-Bean's descent. The horrible face paced him, clicking and growling. Jim-Bean couldn't reach his gun; it was all he could do to hold onto the cable.
Jim-Bean let go. He was close enough. The elevator had stopped when he snapped the cable.
He missed the emergency door and slammed into the roof of the elevator. Ribs cracked. Temporarily stunned, Jim-Bean could only think of what the centipede-thing was going to do when it caught up with him.
To his surprise, it slithered past him through the door.
Gritting his teeth to focus through the pain, Jim-Bean drew his pistol and peered down into the elevator.
He caught sight of Ko's feet being dragged out through the elevator doors.
"What the hell…" said Jim-Bean to himself. Was that thing actually trying to SAVE Ko?
He hopped into the elevator after it. When he turned the corner into another office hallway, the second elevator had just opened and closed nearby.
"Hey guys?" asked Mung I Peng, who had just stepped out of the elevator. "Has anyone seen my badge?"
Jim-Bean handed him his badge. "You dropped this."
He saw the All-Mother, her teats providing nutrients to all. Scientists in lab coats had great milking machines hooked up to her, and the milk flowed. It was disgraceful, to treat the All-Mother like a common cow. And yet, it was so right.
He dreamed of feasting on flesh; sweet, succulent flesh. The flesh of long pork. Someone offered him a hunk of meat on a plate. It was a human hand. Delicious.
The fingers were fried. He took a bit of the pinky and savored the taste. It crunched between his teeth.
A scream. Archive was torn out of his reverie. He awoke, drenched in sweat, in the car. A car alarm was going off nearby.
Archive looked out the window. The man had exploded from the impact, totaling the car. A few seconds later, another man fell, and this time he didn't hit a car.
People were running and screaming. Sirens wailed.
"Archive!" shouted Hammer's voice from somewhere. "ARCHIVE!"
Archive fumbled for his cistron. His fingers felt like dead sausages. "Yes?"
"There's an older man walking out of the building." Ko's image flashed on the cistron screen. "Stop him!"
Archive pulled down the window. Sure enough, a man matching the picture was walking out of the Equitech building holding a small black and white cat. A limo screeched up beside the car.
Archive discovered his pistol was still in his hand. He lowered the window and took aim.
Someone opened the door and Ko got in, oblivious to the pistol aimed at his back.
The cat hissed. Ko turned to look at Archive in surprise.
It was a perfect shot. The bullet slammed Ko into the back of the limo. He grunted, dropping the cat.
Archive got a glimpse of Ko popping the contents of a bright green vial into his mouth. Then the limo tore off, the door slamming shut from the momentum. Police and fire vehicles obscured the rest of the view. Archive slumped back into his seat.
Hammer huffed up to the car, Jim-Bean a few seconds behind.
"Did you get him?" asked Hammer, looking around wildly at the converging police and fire vehicles. He hopped into the driver's seat.
"What the hell happened to you?" asked Jim-Bean, getting in the back with Archive. "Why is there blood on your lip?"
Archive looked at him in a daze. "What?" He touched his hand to his left hand to his lip.
This scenario is a combination of, “Cold War,” from by the Unspeakable Oath #11 by Scott David Aniolowski and “Exit 23” from the Dark*Matter d20 book. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!
Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by Jeremy Ortiz
Kurtis "Hammer" Grange (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by George Webster
We usually play three sessions at once, which makes for some interesting gaming when we get to the third session. Sometimes, the urgency to complete the session causes some brilliant ad-libbing. And other times, I just rush through the plot to get to the meaty part – usually combat – which I know will take longer. Cold War is one of those scenarios.
Cold War is really meant to be played as a one-shot wherein the PCs are cultists, struggling to determine the traitor in their midst and battling a rival Tcho-tcho cult. The connections to the rest of the Ithaqua-themed scenarios were too good to pass up, and I saw an opportunity to use this scenario as a bridge to Jack Frost, which I’ve been itching to play for awhile.
I also wanted to use Exit 23, which is basically “The Thing” at a gas station. Using the escaped Ko as a lure, I set up a complex mystery that involved double-crossing, cultists in disguise, and an ice monster stalking the frozen wastes. It was supposed to be a cat-and-mouse game of stalk and be-stalked as the PCs struggled to determine who committed a murder and…
Then Jim-Bean, using his Sensitivity to Psychic Impressions power, solved the mystery in one round. This required quick thinking on my part, which is to say that the scenario went from a slow build to a frenetic series of attacks. This confused the hell out of everybody. At one point, I had to have an NPC take one of the PCs aside and explain the plot.
It didn’t really help. It also highlighted how fragile the PCs are against supernatural threats. When more than one shows up, they’re pretty much doomed. In the end, two of the three characters were near death and it took a careful shot from Hammer to save the day.
Defining Moment: Jim-Bean figures out the murderer by focusing on the Eye of Ithaqua. And the murderer figures out that Jim-Bean figured him out.
The sun’s getting cold, it’s snowin’
Looks like an early winter for us
Looks like an early winter for us
An early winter, oh, I need you to turn me over
--Early Winter by Gwen Stefani
WILLIS, AL—Alabama had never seen a snowstorm like this. October in Alabama was usually mild, but for hours it had been a virtual whiteout. The snow was at least fifteen inches deep on the highway, and the weather showed no signs of breaking.
“Ko’s got to be here,” said Hammer, scanning the other patrons at the entered the small interstate rest stop. “His limo was abandoned a few miles back.”
“Ko’s not exactly hard to find,” said Jim-Bean. He walked over to the counter, ordered some tea from the attractive waitress who ran the donut shop, and took out a cigarette. He seemed much less inclined to look for Ko than he was to warm up.
“Just look for a cat,” added Archive. His left pinky was bandaged up.
It was close to midnight. Patrons were waiting for the plows to come through so that they could get back on the road. Of the staff, there was also a stern-looking woman running the register at the convenience store, and a teenage kid with long hair and an apron who handled the short-order cooking.
Hammer sat down next to Jim-Bean. At one booth was a long-haired college student with John Lennon glasses, an Army jacket, doodling in a sketchbook filled with Gigeresque drawings. Two executive types, one in a good suit and conservative overcoat, the other overweight and wearing a garish power tie, were huddled in another booth. Sitting by himself and staring out at the snow was a bookish man in a tweed jacket and smoking a pipe. Another man with thick silver hair and keen, dark eyes walked towards the rest room. None of them matched the description of Ko.
Archive joined them. “My guess is that Ko’s guardian was trying to cover their tracks. Maybe it can shapeshift into a person…” The limo driver’s body was found in the front seat, the corpse bloated from repeated poisonous bites.
“As if we weren’t paranoid enough—” began Jim-Bean.
The lights flickered.
“Oh great,” muttered the counter waitress—and then the lights went out altogether. Somewhere on the other side of the rest stop a door slammed open, followed by a vicious blast of freezing cold air that somehow found it way over to where they sat. The wind howled like something alive, scratching and clawing with an icy grasp.
There was an awful racket from the direction of the rest rooms—violent blows, choking cries, breaking glass, and finally one more high-pitched scream that made blood run cold.
The wind howled again and more doors slam…and then the room became still, except for the distant whistling of the storm outside. Emergency lights flickered on.
“What in heaven was that?” said the waitress.
Hammer almost drew his Glocks, but remembered such a gesture might not be well-received in a rest stop. HE flashed his badge instead. “We’ll check it out.”
The last gust of wind knocked out power to the rest stop. There was just enough illumination from various emergency lights to carefully move through the darkened building.
In the rest room, a body was sprawled in the doorway. It was an Asian man. Several large needle-like holes perforated the corpse, surrounded by a puddle of slick crimson ice. A hand crossbow lay nearby.
“Ko,” said Hammer with a sigh. He bent down to inspect the body.
Archive bustled past him. “There’s another body inside,” he said after a moment.
Inside the men’s room was the corpse of the man with silver hair. A crossbow bolt jutted out of his chest. It was the silver-haired man they saw making his way to the bathroom.
Hammer went through the Ko’s jacket. He found a wallet containing an Illinois driver’s license, a couple of twenty dollar bills, and an empty vial.
The other man wasn’t carrying any identification, but Archive found his wallet and dead cell phone in the pockets of his coat, which hung on a hook inside the rest room. His Portland State driver’s license identified him as Dr. Anton Zelazny. He had some credit cards and one-hundred and fifty dollars in mixed bills.
Hammer stood up and looked around the bathroom. All of the stalls were empty. A trashcan stood against one wall and a condom dispenser hung on the other wall. The mirror behind the sink was broken, and ice standing in the sink had frozen right out of the faucet.
Hammer ran one finger along the sink. “There’s a thin layer of frost covering the entire room.” The room was freezing.
“I never saw icicles big enough to kill someone outside,” said Archive. “It looks like he was gored to death.”
Hammer peered in the trashcan. “What’s this?” He dug into it and pulled out a valise. Archive popped it open on the sink.
It contained some papers and a snow globe. Archive scanned the papers while Hammer continued his investigation.
“There’s a partial footprint in the blood on the rest room floor, near Ko’s body. It seems to be the print of a large wolf or small bear.”
Archive looked up from reading the papers. “How did a bear fit in here?”
The wind howled outside and the snow continued to fall. The building was dark and cold, with icy gusts reaching into every corner of the structure. The woman running the donut shop had lit a couple of gas lanterns in her corner of the rest stop, but it was still dim and shadowy.
Hammer fiddled with his cistron but to no avail. “Cistrons aren’t getting any reception. I’m going outside to get the heavy artillery out of the car,” said Hammer. “Keep an eye on the rest of these people.”
The wind screamed and raged all around as Hammer stumbled out into the snow. It was surprisingly deep, almost to his knees. He couldn’t see much with the snow whipping past his eyes.
Abruptly, the blowing snow, illuminated occasionally by the flickering parking lot lamps, suddenly turned a blinding white.
One by one, the headlights of cars came on. Over the moaning of the storm, a cacophony of horns and car alarms went off all at once. Somewhere nearby, glass broke.
Hammer ducked behind one of the cars. He could barely make out humanoid figures, dressed in white, stalking from car to car. It was the White Shadows, the enforcers of Tong Shugoran. He guessed they had been sent to retrieve Ko.
A crossbow bolt whistled through the air, but it went wide, spearing into the car near his head. Even with the wind blowing, the terrific force of the crossbow bolt was enough to embed it in the car door.
Hammer drew his Glocks and fired a spray of bullets in the direction the bolt came from. More glass shattered and someone swore in Vietnamese.
Hammer backed up. Getting to the car was looking less and less likely. For a second he wished they had taken the van instead…
Suddenly, the car horns and alarms fell silent.
Hammer peered over the hood of the car. Nothing.
He had counted six Shadows. They had to be somewhere…
A white figure blurred to his left. Hammer turned, blasting the snow with his Glocks. He had hit his target, he was positive, but the White Shadows were high on something – maybe Blink – and even a direct hit couldn’t drop one. The figure was gone, leaving only a few drops of red.
There was more furtive movement behind him. Hammer whirled and fired again, missing this time but destroying the windshield of a car.
He sensed a presence overhead. Hammer slowly turned around to face his opponent.
Standing on the car was one of the White Shadows. On the rooftops of other cars all above him stood the other five. They had outflanked him by giving him a few decoys to shoot at. One of them was spattered with red marks, but if the man felt pain there was no way to tell. They all wore featureless masks.
The head Tcho-tcho raised his crossbow and took careful aim at Hammer’s forehead. Hammer lowered his pistols.
Despite the poor visibility and biting cold, Hammer felt an even greater cold approaching. And then two points of fiery red, sinister eyes burned into his soul, floating above the leader of the White Shadows.
The Shadow was lifted up and away, shrieking and struggling. A titanic pile of fur and claws reared up, impaling the tcho-tcho on its horn. Its head was like a cross between a bear and rhinoceros and its massive claws were everywhere.
It smashed a White Shadow with each of its paws down into the hood of the cars, like a child swatting an ant. They didn’t get up.
The thing bellowed. The White Shadows blurred into action, drawing their swords and slashing at the thing.
Hammer made it to the car and grabbed Jim-Bean's duffel bag. He backpedaled to the donut shop.
“What the hell is that?” asked the kid with the long hair.
“I don’t know." Hammer dropped the duffel bag at Jim-Bean's feet. “But whatever it is, it’s weird and pissed off.”
Archive, who was intently scanning the papers in Zelazny’s briefcase, looked up. “That’d be a gnoph-keh. I believe we’re dealing with a cult of Ithaqua.”
Jim-Bean continued to sip his coffee. “So that’s not the centipede thing?”
“Much worse,” said Archive.
“It gets worse?” asked Hammer.
Just then, an orange glow illuminated the dark lobby and the smell of burning gas wafted over to them.
The magazine stand in one corner of the convenience store was blazing away. The flames spread quickly to one wall.
“Fire extinguishers!” shouted Hammer. “Go!”
They spread out, looking for fire extinguishers. A few seconds later, the extinguishers managed to stop the blaze before it became an inferno. By that time, the massacre that was happening outside had stopped. The White Shadows were all dead.
Over the smell of smoke, there was a different odor—the sharp tang of gasoline in the air.
“That fire wasn’t an accident,” said Hammer. He looked suspiciously at the other patrons. “All of you, I want you to line up along this wall. We’re going to question you individually. Everyone stays in my sight.”
The other patrons and staff, wary of Hammer’s Glocks, did as they were told.
Archive was torn between watching the thing outside and trying to understand what he was reading.
“What’s that thing doing?” asked Jim-Bean, nonplussed by the ruckus over the flames.
“It looks like it’s…” he squinted through the frosted glass, “building a huge mound of snow in the center of the parking lot.”
Hammer turned back to the suspects. “All right, we need a roll call…” he looked around. “Wait, someone’s missing.”
There were a couple of loud bangs from the other room. The waitress screamed, “Look out! He’s got a gun!”
The overweight man in the suit appeared in the doorway of the donut shop, pointing a pistol in Hammer’s direction.
“I won’t let you meddle with our plans any longer,” he hissed. He raised the pistol. “Time to die!”
Hammer pointed both Glocks and fired. The man crumpled to the ground from the perfect shots, both to his head. He looked around. “Anyone else?”
The other patrons backed away, white-faced.
The waitress cleared her throat. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”
Hammer glared at the others. “Yeah. I don’t want anybody to move!” He pointed at Jim-Bean. “Keep an eye on them.”
Jim-Bean took another puff of his cigarette, staring at the blurry shape of the thing outside. “Sure.”
The waitress ushered Hammer over to a booth and sat down. “You can’t trust any of them. Shepard was a distraction.”
“What?” asked Hammer. He craned his neck to look at the other patrons. Jim-Bean and Archive were discussing the snow globe they found. “What about them?”
The waitress had sharp, attractive features, made more scholarly-looking by the glasses perched on the end of her nose. Her arms, where they were visible, were well-muscled. Hammer assumed it was from holding trays.
“My name is Elizabeth Stride, and I’m actually a professor of history at the University of Toronto. A long time ago I was traveling to Vietnam when I met a Tcho-tcho tribe who worshipped a pantheon of strange pagan deities. After months of cautious study, the tribe finally allowed me to view one of their pagan rituals. On that fateful evening, something answered the savage cries of the tribesmen – something enormous, writhing, and powerful. Shub-Niggurath appeared before me in all its alien might and at that instant I got an insight into the true nature of the universe.”
Hammer put one of his pistols on the table. “Look, lady—“
“Listen to me!” hissed Stride. “That night I was initiated into a cult, and instructed to contact Tong Shugoran when I returned to Toronto. They eventually took me in and made me a member of the cult.”
Hammer blinked. “You set that fire, didn’t you?”
“I was trying to stop them.” She snuck a glance at the other patrons. They were all watching Jim-Bean and Archive intently. Jim-Bean was holding the snow globe and focusing on it. “I was instructed to contact Anton Zelazny and joined his group to keep an eye on a rival cult, the Secret Order of the Windwalker. I’ve been spying on them ever since.”
“So you’re saying everyone here is a cultist?”
“Yes,” said Stride. “And this was all a plot. There’s something special about the town of Willis. Zelazny was convinced he could call Ithaqua tonight. He summoned a Gnoph-keh to create the storm and drive everyone out. All the people who worked here left, so we slipped into the disguises of the staff. Zelazny said he needed five sacrifices…”
“But Zelazny’s dead,” said Hammer.
“Yes. Someone killed him. I think Ko was lured here as a scapegoat, to make it look like Tong Shugoran murdered Zelazny.”
Hammer nodded. “I didn’t get the impression Ko’s ever killed anyone, much less used one of those hand crossbows.”
“Exactly,” said Stride. “It doesn’t add up. One of the Order of the Windwalker murdered both Ko and Zelazny, and he wants to take over for himself.”
“Hammer,” Archive called from across the room. “I think you’d better get over here.”
“This is no ordinary snow globe,” said Archive, pointing to drawings of the snow globe, among other sketches.
According to the specifications, it was a simple glass sphere about four inches in diameter.
“The inside of the globe has a small representation of this rest stop, and tiny flakes flurry downward without every settling. You don’t even have to shake it.”
“The Eye of Ithaqua,” whispered Stride, who had followed Hammer over. “It is a powerful focal point for cult rituals, and serves as a conduit between Ithaqua worshipers and their cold god.”
“Where is it?”
Archive pointed to Jim-Bean, who was stumbling over to them. “I gave it to him.”
“Great,” said Hammer.
A blast of freezing cold wind shrieked through the front doors, nearly blowing the glass doors off their hinges.
Jim-Bean tried to grab the donut counter. He was barely audible in the shrieking storm.
“I know…who the murderer…is…” he slumped to the floor.
Hammer’s Glocks were out again. The blowing snow inside the donut shop made it impossible to see. “You lost the Eye, didn’t you?”
Jim-Bean didn’t respond, shivering.
Outside, the other cultists were all running through the snow, chanting something at the top of their lungs, shedding their clothes as they did so.
“Fools!” Stride shook her head. “Zelazny said he needed five sacrifices to perform the ritual!”
Hammer, Archive, and Stride jogged to the front of the rest stop.
The gnoph-keh had built a great snow mound in the center of the parking lot. An older man was there, standing naked with the snow globe lifted high overhead.
“Hodges,” said Stride. “That’s our murderer.”
“Ithaqua, my lord!” shouted Hodges. “Bestow your blessing upon your faithful servant!”
At first there was only the horrible howl of something carrying on the icy wind. Soon a pair of red stars were spotted in the sky – as they watched, the stars appeared to get larger and larger. It became apparent that the stars were getting closer, and quickly the monstrous form of Ithaqua could be made out, the red stars its glaring eyes.
The howling reached a terrible crescendo, deafening, before the wind lifts, rising upward as if from the earth into the sky, drawing leaves and dead brown pine straws and flakes of ice with it; then, after a moment, with absolute abruptness, all five of the Cult of the Windwalker lurched into the sky in an impossible gust of wind. Their screams faded slowly and were gone.
Hammer took careful aim. With a squeeze of the trigger, Hodges’ extended wrist holding the Eye of Ithaqua exploded in a geyser of blood and flesh. He shrieked, clutching the bloody stump of his wrist.
The summoning had not gone as Hodges had planned. Ithaqua’s terrible gaze fell upon him.
Hodges screamed again, but this time it was an agonized wail. He doubled over. A terrible transformation took place as Hodges’ skin sank into his bones and his hair turned white. His eyes lost their pupils, all to the litany of Hodges’ screaming. A moment later and he too spiraled upwards in the grip of his god.
Then the giant turned skyward, too, lifting its talons high, growing into the sky until, distended, it bent its inhuman legs and leaped into the ether and ran on great webbed feet along the shimmering Auroran light into nothingness.
“The Eye!” shouted Stride. “Is it still here?”
The snow globe rolled down the huge hill of snow to land at his feet. “Yes,” said Hammer. “It’s over.”
Stride shook her head. “You don’t understand. Hodges received the blessing of Ithaqua. I don’t know if he fully understood what that meant. It transformed him, warped him. We have to destroy—“
Before she could finish her sentence, a white moving blur swept Stride up in mid-sentence. Her screams disappeared into the wind high above.
And then her screams returned all at once as her flash-frozen body smashed into one of the cars, shattering into a million bloody chunks.
Archive handed the Eye off to Hammer. Hammer ran for the rest stop.
Jim-Bean met him at the door. “Hodges killed Zelazny and Ko! He set it up so that—“
“We KNOW!” shouted Hammer.
“We have to destroy the Eye!” Archive shouted over the screaming wind. He had his own pistol out, scanning the sky, trying to look everywhere at once.
“You can’t,” said Jim-Bean. “It’s indestructible. Trust me I tried!”
Hodges appeared in all his terrible glory. He had turned into a huge, stretched parody of his former self. Frozen drool continued to drip from a vicious maw of canine teeth. His nose was gone, his hair whipping wildly behind him. Wicked claws jutted from his fingertips. His legs ended in burnt stumps; there were no feet to speak of. He floated thirty feet above the parking lot.
“GIVE ME THE EYE,” he snarled, audible over the wind. He pointed, and a blast of white energy sizzled past Archive, just missing his head.
“Fire!” shouted Archive.
Hammer turned and fired both Glocks at Hodges. A direct hit. Chips of ice fell off of him.
Hodges laughed.
“No, I mean USE fire!” shouted Archive.
Hammer got what he meant. He passed Jim-Bean and ran with the globe towards the gas station.
Hodges swept down, quicksilver-fast in the wind. “GIVE ME THE EYE!”
Hammer, who had been pretending he was carrying the snow globe, came up with two pistols instead. “No.”
He fired point blank into Hodges. The blast merely propelled Hodges back a few feet through the air. He looked about for who really had the Eye.
Jim-Bean hustled towards the donut shop, Eye nestled in one arm. The fryer would most assuredly do the trick.
“Hey!” shouted Archive. A pistol shot ricocheted off of Hodges’ head. This time he felt it – Hodges turned, growling.
Archive fired shot after shot from his pistol, which had an Elder Sign engraved on the barrel. “I’ve got your Eye right here!”
Inside the donut shop, Jim-Bean didn’t notice that the temperature had dipped severely. He was too intent on the deep fryer.
With a bellowing roar, the gigantic Gnoph-keh reared up in front of him. Jim-Bean skidded to a halt and looked up at it in shock.
The bear-thing speared him with its horn through the shoulder and bucked him towards the ceiling.
Jim-Bean screamed. He twisted and threw the Eye towards the fryer…
Where it bounced out of the now frozen oil and, rolling with the momentum from Jim-Bean’s throw, ricocheted towards the entryway.
Hammer charged towards it. He dove through the snow to grab the Eye. With a shout of triumph, he caught it.
Roaring, the Gnoph-keh flung Jim-Bean over the counter and took a direct path to Hammer, smashing through counter, walls, doors, and glass. It furrowed through the snow, tossing Hammer aside. The Eye rolled across the parking lot.
Hammer took aim and fired with both Glocks. One bullet ricocheted off of the globe, causing the Eye to skitter towards the gas station. The other struck a gas pump, spraying gasoline everywhere.
The Gnoph-keh swatted at Hammer with one paw, driving him head first into a snow bank. He didn’t get up.
“THE EYE!” shouted Hodges. He abandoned Archive to the Gnop-Keh, flying towards it.
The huge, hairy monstrosity barreled towards him. Archive took careful aim. He only had one shot at this…
Hodges’ look of malevolent delight twisted as he heard the pistol fire. Archive’s shot sparked as it penetrated the metal of the gas pump.
There was the squeal of gas igniting, and then a series of fireballs engulfed the gas station. The flames consumed Hodges and the shock wave hurled him up into the air out of sight.
The four arms of the Gnoph-keh rose up. The last thing Archive thought was, “I didn’t realize they had four arms.”
Then it flew apart in a spray of icy shards as the Eye of Ithaqua became superheated from the explosion. A whirlwind of snow and howling wind danced and spun where the creature was standing. Dozens of shrieking voices seemed to gibber and moan in the wind. Then it too was gone, disappearing with the rest of the blizzard.
Archive slumped to his knees. The Eye of Ithaqua, a crack in its surface, rolled to a stop in front of him, trailing smoke.
Archive tucked it into his pocket. He was only dimly aware of the Humvee’s headlights and the thrumming of a chopper overhead.
“I want a full quarantine. All civilians are out of this area, NOW!” shouted a familiar voice in military fatigues.
Archive looked up. It was Sprague in white camouflage, with an odd smile on his face.
Two men grabbed Archive by the arms. He caught a glimpse of someone being led away on a stretcher. It wasn’t Jim-Bean or Hammer.
It was Ko. He was being given oxygen as two men hoisted him up into an ambulance and the doors slammed shut, obscuring his view.
“But I work for CIFA,” said Archive quietly.
“Not on my watch you don’t,” said Sprague with a sneer.
All Archive could think was: Why would a dead man need an oxygen mask?
This scenario is a combination of, “Jack Frost,” from Pyramid Magazine by Shane Ivey and “Temple in the Ice” by Michael LaBossiere. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!
Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by Jeremy Ortiz
Kurtis "Hammer" Grange (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by George Webster
Given the opportunity to link in every modern scenario involving Ithaqua I could get my hands on, Jack Frost was too tempting to pass up. Jack Frost involves Delta Green agents going undercover in a Majestic-12 operation. Since our characters ARE Majestic-12 agents, there was very little tweaking necessary to fit them in.
The scenario theoretically takes place over three days, but I counted the first visit of Ithaqua as the events of Cold War. Thus, there were just two days to figure out what was going on and resolve it. After the moral dilemma with the agents facing the pending death of an innocent, I wanted to create another morally gray situation to stop Ithaqua.
The rivalry between the two organizations of Majestic-12 fit perfectly with Sprague and Warner, who hate each other’s guts. Having them both in action and showing who they reported to helped crystallize Majestic-12’s hierarchy and bring home the high stakes that are involved on both sides.
Because the agents already knew what caused the freezing effects, much of the investigation was skipped entirely. At first I was disappointed, but then I realized that the dreams Jim-Bean was having were more than sufficient to move the plot along. I also retained the Eye of Ithaqua from the other scenario so there was a “remote control” means of conducting a sacrifice.
Finally, I introduced our Guppy stand-in, a female geek who has a crush on Jim-Bean. Of course.
Defining Moment: A downed pilot lends a hand to Hammer. Literally.
I'm Mister White Christmas,
I'm Mister Snow.
I'm Mister Icicle,
I'm Mister Ten Below.
Friends call me Snow Miser,
whatever I touch
turns to snow in my clutch...
I'm too much!
--Snow Miser by Crash Vinyl
WILLIS, AL— The road sign was plain and green, the sort mandated by state law and never supplemented with anything more decorative: "Willis, Ala.," it read, "Pop. 819." State Highway 9 ran past the sign through deep forest and high hills. A long, narrow bridge stretched across an expanse of swampy water: always a land of endless natural waterways, the region was inundated with new lakes and streams after the Tennessee Valley Authority began damming up the rivers in a Depression-era economic booster project. A sliver of December moon was hidden, high overhead, beyond thick clouds, and the swamp and the hills and the trees were barely visible in its ghostly light.
The hills flattened out, slowly, gradually, and the forest thinned to either side. Then, ahead, came a yellow glow blinking in the air, the strobe of an ordinary streetlight to signal caution. Other lamps shined beyond it, silvery-pink and constant, illuminating the shop fronts of a handful of two-story buildings. The post office was easily the finest structure, with sculpted concrete pillars of a Classical design that seemed ostentatious among the simple businesses of Willis. Christmas lights blinked cheerfully in red and green in several windows and the limbs of trees.
Slowing for the blinking cautionary light, silhouettes were visible within a building near the road ("Hank's House," proclaimed the shingle). The shadows of men and women gathered for a nightcap, perhaps, before they joined their families.
At least they seemed to be patrons; but perhaps that was a trick of the light, to make shadows look like the men and women one would expect. There was no movement to be seen, not in Hank's House, not in the streets, nowhere but for the swaying yellow light. But there, ahead, on the covered sidewalk leading to Hank's, someone was waiting.
Closer …
It was a man, perhaps 50 years old and heavy-jowled in worn denim overalls and a thick fleece coat. He seemed to be waiting; certainly he was not moving.
Closer…
No fog of breath billowed in the shadows from his opened mouth. His eyes stared, watching, empty, dry, and a strand of ice hung unattended from his mouth.
Then other men and women could be seen more clearly inside the tavern, sitting at drinks long since gone flat in the cool air or lying on the floor in strange positions, as if caught in the moment of a footstep and then falling in that same pose to the ground.
Outside, shapes could be seen on the ground; a dog lay on its side, legs stiff and straight. Feathery clumps marked where birds fell in mid-flight to the earth. All were frozen, through and through; all were dead with a cold that would not go away.
Willis was a small farming town in northern Alabama, some sixty miles from Huntsville and its Space Center and the military and aerospace facilities of the Redstone Arsenal. The region was utterly rural, with small towns serving thin-spread farmers among hilly green fields, cotton rows and a few cornrows, dotted here and there with livestock and long, low chicken barns. Uncounted rivers and lakes broke the forested hills, many of them formed only sixty years ago after TVA projects dammed the Tennessee River.
Escorted by hard-eyed, tight-lipped security officers in Air Force uniforms, Hammer and Jim-Bean were driven to a forest overtaken by a government camp. Wide tents were erected, jeeps and Humvees drove by, helicopters hovered noisily overhead, and soldiers were everywhere, all of them crisp, efficient, and quiet.
They were escorted, firmly but politely, to the largest tent, where they met their ostensible mission leaders. The room was occupied by six suspicious-looking men in expensive overcoats, thirteen scientists and doctors, and a dozen soldiers wearing the maroon beret of US Air Force Rescue and Recovery. Jim-Bean picked out Tucker among Warner’s men –Tucker and Hammer were what passed for diversity in Majestic-12's ranks as the only two black men.
One of the plainclothes agents stood. He was s a middle-aged man, thin and wiry, with black hair, pale skin, cold eyes, and a southern drawl.
"Welcome to Willis County," he said with a touch of irony. "My name is Alphonse Lewis, Assistant Director of the Counter-Intelligence Field Agency, and I'm in charge of this operation. With me here are Lieutenant Colonel Neal Warner, and Major Louis Sprague." He nodded to a short, graying man in an Air Force uniform, and a tall, hawk-like man with blonde feathered hair in a dark suit. "Lieutenant Colonel Warner is leading the field operation. Major Sprague is in charge of operational security. I expect each of you will listen to them carefully.
"Now," he continued, "you are here to investigate a recent …event…that transpired in Willis County, Alabama, just five miles southeast of here. We don't know exactly what happened; that's why you all are here.”
Hammer and Jim-Bean eyed each other nervously. They knew exactly what happened. Did Sprague know? Did he want them to tell their story right away?
“What do we know, sir?” asked Hammer.
“All we know is that a town of more than eight hundred souls has been killed. Frozen to death, and hardly any of them outside in the cold.”
Encouraged, Hammer became a little bolder. “Do we have any theories?”
"Most likely, this is the result of experimental weaponry fallen into the wrong hands. The Russians have spent decades on fringe weapons science." One of the Air Force men coughed. Lewis stared coldly at the man for a moment before continuing: "And we've all heard about their problems with security. In any event. You all know your specialties. Now Lieutenant Colonel Warner will take y'all to the site. Good luck to you."
The town of Willis was comprised mostly of businesses serving area farmers and the houses of those who work there. Highway 9 ran through the middle of town, bisecting it, with the post office and town hall sitting on either side. Other businesses were in walking distance, including the offices of Joe Little, Esq., attorney and tax preparer, the offices of Elizabeth Brown, the town doctor, Ed Loche, the town dentist, a modest used car lot owned by Lester "Less with Les" Cabe, and, of course, Hank's House. A popular restaurant was a greasy barbeque called Hog's Heaven, famous for their iced tea and their special sauce, and the local Winn-Dixie supermarket did moderate business. Houses in the town had wide lawns with sparse green grass and dark dirt, with rusting metal toys and tools easily found in many yards.
By the time they arrived, the Counter-Intelligence Field Agency had quarantined the town of Willis in an emergency lockdown.
“What happened?” asked Jim-Bean out of the corner of his mouth.
Hammer had been studying the reports over his cistron. “Near as I can tell, Ithaqua froze more than just the area near Exit 23. That’s when Sprague and Warner got called in.”
“And their boss, Lewis.”
“Which makes him our boss,” reminded Hammer.
Jim-Bean shrugged.
Only a small investigative team of government researchers and intelligence agents was allowed within the quarantined perimeter of Willis County. The team consisted of three distinct units. The operation was commanded by Lt. Colonel Neal Warner, U.S. Air Force Special Operations Command, whose fifty "Blue Beret" troops from Aerospace Recovery were charged with finding and containing debris and biological hazards or other evidence, using equipment ranging from sophisticated radio and radiation sensors to heavy-lift and reconnaissance helicopters; Warner was actually a high-ranking member of the top secret Majestic’s Delta division.
Operational security was directed by Louis Sprague, listed as a Major in the U.S. Army, Defense Intelligence Agency; Sprague led 24 other dark-suited agents with DIA credentials, all of whom were covertly assigned to the officially-nonexistent Pounce division of the National Reconnaissance Office, the Majestic group's security task force.
A team of specialists from a variety of fields conducted on-site analysis; some were from other projects of the Majestic group, while others were included only to be fed a cover story by Sprague and Warner that they could deliver credibly to the media and external investigators.
The Majestic team had an impressive array of materiel at their disposal. The nuclear physicists had bulky testing chambers, trucked into the command post by the BLUE FLY team; the medical team had a field station set up with full biological quarantine capability; the BLUE FLY team and NRO-Delta agents used two reconnaissance helicopters and two heavy transport helicopters, as well as two boats equipped with heavy-hauling equipment and powerful sonar, and several heavy ground vehicles and Humvees. The teams were heavily armed.
“Looks like Major Sprague has been tasked with security for the operation, including physical security for the area and informational security: no information pertaining to the operation is to leave the site except by his or Warner's reports to their superiors.”
It became clear that the rest of the team immediately disliked Sprague's agents as unpleasant necessities. Almost everyone was afraid of them.
“Let me get this straight: We work for Sprague. Sprague’s team is in charge of security. So we can requisition whatever we want?”
Hammer nodded. “Pretty much.”
“Good,” said Jim-Bean. “Because I’m requisitioning a flamethrower.” He clicked the request through his cistron.
Lt. Colonel Warner and his men spent most of the day conducting physical examinations of the territory, conducting slow helicopter flyovers of the area and using advanced "sniffers" to measure various energy levels in the ground and foliage in an effort to locate a possible landing or crash site for an alien craft.
Jim-Bean stopped at the ammunition tent and picked up his flamethrower. He strapped it on.
“You know this wasn’t an alien craft,” said Jim-Bean to one of Warner’s soldiers, who provided the weapon.
“Sure it was,” said the soldier.
“It was a big wendigo thing,” said Jim-Bean. “Ate a bunch of people. Pass that on to Tucker.”
The soldier rolled his eyes. “It was an alien weapon.”
“Really? What kind of weapon?” asked Hammer.
“You’re not cleared for that.”
“Why was it used?”
“You’re not cleared for that.”
“You don’t have the slightest idea why or how either, do you?”
The soldier didn’t say anything.
Jim-Bean tested the flamethrower’s ignition. The flames roared.
“Let’s go visit Hog’s Heaven and barbecue something up,” said Jim-Bean to Hammer. “I don’t know about you but I’m hungry.”
The investigation wasn’t going well. Jim-Bean tried to torch organic material in the restaurant, but it was unaffected. When he set the flamethrower to frozen burger patties, they remained frozen.
Jim-Bean went to bed hungry. That’s when he had the dream.
Quote:
Jim-Bean saw bloody snakes across a frozen wooded landscape and writhing in the loins of shrieking women and men, their fangs dripping blood and poison. Glowing mists shimmered and swirl in the vault of an enormous cavern, coalescing into cold green stars. The stars were eyes, great, distant eyes, cold and malevolent and hungry.
Toward the end, an enormous mound of red earth rose above the trees and the writhing bloody snakes, sucking the stars and shimmering mists into its bulk.
Jim-Bean woke up, sweating and hungry. And all he could think of was Archive and his bloody finger.
He stepped out of his tent for a smoke…and bumped into Hammer.
“You can’t sleep either, huh?”
Jim-Bean shook his head. “This is dumb, we know the answer to what happened here, we should just—“
A plain-looking woman walked up to them. “Are you Agents Hammer and Jim-Bean?” she sniffed.
“Yeah?” said Hammer.
“I’m Dr. Lisa Howell,” she said. “I’ve been assigned to your investigation. If we can find the epicenter of the freezing blast…”
Jim-Bean looked her up and down. Howell wore thick glasses to compensate for her nearsightedness. With stringy blond-brown hair tied into a haphazard ponytail, she wore a physician’s coat over a simple pantsuit. It was clear she didn’t care a great deal about her looks.
Hammer pulled a Humvee around. The base ran round the clock.
The night air in Willis was wet and as cold as the ice that pierced cloth and flesh. The air billowed in sporadic bursts of painful wind and snow, driving the cold deeper into blood and marrow. The stars shone brilliantly in the indigo canopy overhead; as the storm subsided, Orion stalked at a strange angle among the constellations of winter.
Hammer pulled up to the remains of the rest stop. The entire area was cordoned off. The blackened husk of the donut shop was all that was left. A blackened crater replaced the gas station.
“There,” said Jim-Bean, pointing to the huge mound of snow the Gnoph-keh had built. “That’s the epicenter.”
“Really?” Howell tapped her own cistron. “That idiot Bimmel should have guessed this, but they’re so obsessed with finding an alien craft…”
“So you don’t think it’s an alien craft?” asked Hammer.
“I think the alien craft is probably buried right here,” said Howell. “I bet we can get a view of the entire area from here. This probably acted as a sort of antenna…” She began climbing the slope.
Hammer rubbed his forehead. Sprague’s behavior was starting to make sense: the revocation of Archive’s involvement in cases, the change in focus from cult investigation to alien and terrorist threats. Majestic-12 was crawling with skeptics who believed in their own brand of the paranormal—the kind that came from the stars. Any evidence that didn’t fit into that world view was either ignored or justified to fit it.
“Coming?” asked Jim-Bean.
Hammer shook his head. “No thanks. I’ll stay in the car where it’s warm.”
Jim-Bean followed Howell up the slope. He looked around after the long climb.
“Wow, you’re right,” he said. “It is a beautiful view.” Jim-Bean took out a cigarette and lit it.
He tried to spark the lighter several times with no luck.
Howell brought a mini-acetylene torch to Jim-Bean’s cigarette and lit it for him.
Jim-Bean grinned at her. “You know with a pixie haircut and a bit of makeup you wouldn’t be half--”
He was cut off by a terrible howling: it wavered across the earth from some point unutterably far above, deeper and more mournful than the wind or any animal of the wild, undulating slowly over endless minutes.
A moment of silence gripped the air, and then the howling begins again, filling the night. The air grew colder, achingly cold.
“Look!” shouted Howell.
Over the nearby Crow Lake overnight, hypnotic, shimmering lights appeared among the painfully frigid winds overhead. Within the drifting pastel lights black eyes stared, boundless, mournful, inhuman, hungry.
A paroxysm of terrible cold engulfed Howell and Jim-Bean, suddenly enmeshing in a thin and wispy layer of snowy ice.
Howell collapsed, shivering. Her skin cracked and she collapsed. “I can’t see!” she shrieked through chapped lips.
Jim-Bean, also covered in ice, shook free from the effect and flakes of skin and ice shed from him like dandruff.
Howell, curled in a ball, starting shivering uncontrollably.
“Easy,” said Jim-Bean, quickly recovering. He hugged Howell to him, trying to keep her warm. “Hammer! Get up here!”
Jim-Bean and Hammer dropped Howell off at the base. They scarcely arrived before the howl of the emergency sirens went off. Sprague summoned them to his tent.
“Fifteen minutes ago, one of the reconnaissance helicopters crashed while attempting to return to the base, probably due to the weather conditions.”
Jim-Bean and Hammer exchanged glances. They knew what caused the crash.
“We’re having the chopper defrosted now. I want you to go out there and find out what happened.”
“We know what happened,” interrupted Jim-Bean.
Sprague crossed his arms. “You can give me your report when you get back. Tucker is running circles around us and I want you two to get the jump on him before he gets there. ”
“But sir—“ began Hammer.
“NOW,” said Sprague, brooking no argument.
Hammer and Jim-Bean joined a chopper pilot at the recently defrosted helicopter. It was already gearing up for takeoff when they arrived.
Jim-Bean donned noise canceling headphones. “Does anyone else think it’s a bad idea to use one helicopter in bad weather to find another helicopter in bad weather?”.
“Don’t worry!” shouted the pilot. “The designer probably wouldn’t be pleased with this method of flight prep, the helicopter’s advanced construction makes it able to withstand the stresses of freezes and thaws. Once airborne and powered up, the heating elements incorporated into the helicopter will be adequate to keep the ice formation down to a minimum.”
“That makes me feel much better,” said Jim-Bean.
The chopper took off. It occurred to Hammer after they left that they had the only remaining reconnaissance helicopter. Tucker and his men would have to commandeer one of the transport helicopters or look for the down chopper by Humvee. Sprague had given them a jump on the competition.
“There!” shouted Hammer.
The missing reconnaissance helicopter was partially buried in snow. It seemed to have suffered little damage, although it is was laying on its side and its rotor was smashed. All of the helicopter’s doors were open, but no bodies were visible from the air.
“Can you set us down?”
The pilot shook his head. “It’s too dangerous! The tree line is so close…”
“Zip lines,” said Jim-Bean to Hammer with a grin. “Like the good old days.”
They rappelled down to the frozen ground. Jim-Bean shrugged on the flamethrower pack and lit it. The chopper took off.
“You’re seriously going to walk around with that thing on your back?” asked Hammer.
“We’re dealing with snow beasts,” said Jim-Bean. “You’ll thank me later.”
Hammer inspected the crash site. “The landing wasn’t too bad,” he said. “The crew should have survived.” Around the helicopter were thick drifts of snow.
Jim-Bean bent down to peer at a metallic object lying in the snow. “Look at this.”
It was nine millimeter automatic pistol with four shell casings scattered on the ice.
They crept up to the helicopter, pistols out. It was abandoned, with snow already beginning to collect through the open doors.
“Hammer,” said Jim-Bean. He pointed at one of the drifts behind the helicopter.
A body was partially concealed, boots sticking out of the snow.
“Hello?” asked Hammer.
The body twitched.
Hammer walked over to the body. “Hello? You okay?” He brushed the snow off the body.
It was one of Warner’s men. His name tag identified him as Lieutenant Daniel Jones.
“Jim-Bean, I think—“
The corpse cracked to life as it sat straight up, moaning.
“DUCK!” shouted Jim-Bean.
Hammer flattened himself to the ground. Jim-Bean let loose with the flamethrower.
The blast of fire staggered the frozen corpse. It slowly rose to its feet.
Hammer rolled away and came up with his Glocks out. Jim-Bean stumbled as frozen hands grabbed for his ankles.
“What the hell?” The blast of flame went wide.
Another frozen corpse, a female scientist, lumbered out of the snow. Her nametag identified her as Dr. Rachel Tsung.
Hammer took careful aim and unleashed both clips into her head.
The corpse moaned and turned to face him, the shattered remains of her head chipping away. Hammer backed up and started to reload.
Jim-Bean recovered. He torched the hell out of Jones. This time the body went down, almost completely incinerated.
Tsung turned to face Jim-Bean. At point blank range, he turned the gout of flame on the corpse’s torso. It went silently down, melting into a puddle of burnt flesh and water.
Jim-Bean was still panting from the exertion. “Told you…” he said to Hammer, “you’d thank me later…”
“The source of the cold was the arrival of this big ice demon known as Ithaqua. He’s summoned with THIS.” Jim-Bean held up the cracked Eye of Ithaqua, which was now frozen and dark. Archive had snuck it to him before being dragged off the site.
“That’s…a snow globe, you realize that?” asked Sprague.
“Yeah,” said Jim-Bean. “But it’s something else too. Some kind of artifact. And we think this demon guy is what is animating the zombies,” said Jim-Bean. “Ice zombies.”
Sprague crossed his arms. “Oh really. And you have evidence of this?”
“Errr…” Jim-Bean looked helplessly at Hammer. “Well, we torched them.”
“You torched them? You burnt the evidence?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
Sprague leaned forward. “Now you listen to me. This is a scientific organization that runs by a certain set of principles. That mumbo-jumbo $#!t went out with Drake. I don’t want to ever hear the Z word from you boys again. You see something moving, you CATCH it and you bring it back here. Tucker’s already got reams of evidence in town—“
“Can we see it?”
“He’s not sharing it with me,” snarled Sprague. “And so far all I’ve got is one scientist in the ER and you two talking about some kind of big ass ice demon—“
“And zombies,” added Jim-Bean.
“And zombies,” Sprague said slowly. “You want to find reanimated tissue? Fine. Order some cages. But don’t bother me with this piddly crap. We’ve got to up our game, gentlemen, before we get edged out of it. After tonight’s trouble, orders came down to seal the perimeter: Nobody goes in, nothing comes out.”
Soldiers in thick, warm camouflage were posted every fifty yards around the perimeter, supported by thermal imagers and sound-based motion sensors, with orders to shoot to kill anything that tried to escape.
“Now the boys are going to do their best to patch Howell up. She should be ready to go tomorrow. In the mean time, get some rest. And for God’s sake find me some actual evidence! Dismissed!”
Hammer was tapping on his cistron as he walked out of Sprague’s tent.
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