The Undying Viking: An Arthurian Fantasy Adventure (Merging Worlds Book 1) Page 2

  “Are you Markus Trygg?”

  Markus cleared his throat, but it didn’t help him sound any tougher. “Yes? I mean… yes. Who’re you?”

  The man at the front lifted his face into the light. Markus was struck by the droopiness of the man’s cheeks and big brown eyes that looked too heavy for their sockets. A buzzcut exposed the man’s large forehead and gave way to an even more prominent nose. Pepper stubble ran amok across his face, leading down his neck, and he wore a dark trench coat that he clutched tightly around a bulging midsection. Markus had never seen the man before in his life. But when he again spoke, Markus figured out exactly who the man was.

  “You got me to play your stupid little game, Mr. Trygg. Now, we’re gonna play mine.” Pushing past him, Agent Benson McDermott, and the two men behind him, strode into the house, leaving Markus standing with door and mouth wide open.

  It wasn’t until he’d convinced himself that the three men were real and that they weren’t leaving anytime soon that Markus slowly shut the door. He took a deep breath before he turned around, knowing that whatever had brought them to his home at such a late hour wasn’t going to be put off as quickly as hanging up a phone call—not this time.

  The addition of three people made the small room––which was already crammed with furniture––feel like more of an obstacle course than it already was. Aside from the way they watched him, Markus wasn’t sure what to make of the two that had tailed McDermott into the house. Their uniforms, consisting of a padded jacket and utility pants, were black, and they wore beanies of the same color on their heads. Markus eyed the men warily, waiting for them to find a place to sit and just holding back his contempt as they piled onto his sectional as though they owned it.

  “Got anything to drink?”

  McDermott was standing, watching him from the countertop that overlooked the kitchen. And as his eyes moved to the portly man, Markus’s brain struggled to catch up. “Drink?”

  McDermott let out a yawn that sounded like it could bring down the house. “Yes. I’m thirsty.”

  “I’ve got water,” Markus offered.

  A scowl flashed across McDermott’s face. “Not what I had in mind.”

  Realization dawned on him. “I think I have some scotch,” Markus said. “But it’s late, and I’d rather not—"

  “Sounds good. Pour some,” McDermott slammed a hand atop the counter. “You’ve made us come a long way after all.”

  Deciding it wasn’t worth his time to object, Markus maneuvered past the large man and into the kitchen. He opened up a cabinet and produced a bottle along with several glasses.

  “Cute little place ya got here,” McDermott said with obvious sarcasm. “You on your own here? Girlfriend?”

  Stifling a groan, Markus squeezed the cap open. “No. Just me.”

  “Shocking.” More sarcasm. “Good-looking guy like you being all alone. Looks like someone really kicked the crap outta you, too.”

  Markus made a conscious effort to let the man’s jabs roll off. He didn’t know what was going on just yet, and he didn’t want to make it worse by taking any kind of bait. He gritted his teeth, grimacing from the pain of doing so, as he lined up the glasses and began to pour.

  McDermott looked on, an amused grin spreading across his loose cheeks. “Gotta say, I’m pleasantly surprised. You strike me as someone who only drinks apple juice.” That caused one of the two men on the sectional to snicker.

  “A friend brought it over a while back,” Markus shrugged. Nelson had brought it over one night, and when he couldn’t convince Markus to drink with him, he’d left the bottle as collateral damage.

  When he’d finished pouring, Markus stepped back as McDermott reached over the counter and grabbed one of the glasses. He put his head back, getting ready to swallow the contents.

  “Wait,” Markus said, motioning to the men who’d made no move to join them. “What about them?”

  “Don’t worry about them,” McDermott waved him off. “They’re working.”

  Markus’s mouth dropped. “Aren’t you working?”

  “Yeah. But they’re really working.” Finishing his drink, McDermott grabbed the other two glasses and sat down on the far side of the couch, in Markus’s favorite spot. The couch melted around the wide frame, welcoming it into a traitor’s embrace. He lined the two glasses next to each other.

  Whatever calm Markus had managed to hold onto was sent packing. “What’s going on here? Who the hell are you people? And why are you standing in my house at two in the goddamn morning?”

  “And we have a pulse!” McDermott exclaimed, slapping his knee. “Come on over here, Mr. Trygg. Take a load off, and I can tell you why you’ve forced me to come here.”

  “I didn’t make you do anything!” Markus hissed, the pain from the previous day’s beating edging closer to the forefront once again. “It’s not like I invited you guys over!”

  McDermott glared at him through narrowed eyes. “You going to sit down or what? You’re makin’ us uncomfortable. Isn’t he, fellas?”

  “Yessir,” they said as one.

  It was now Markus’s turn to scowl, and he did so all the way to an open spot on the sectional. It had never seated this many people before. “This isn’t something you could have sent through an email or something?”

  The man sitting opposite him chuckled. “Maybe you’ve forgotten which department I represent.” He didn’t wait for Markus to acknowledge that he remembered just fine. “Danish Security and Intelligence Service, otherwise known as DSIS, otherwise known as top-fucking-secret. You get me?”

  “Well, how was I supposed to know you were telling the truth,” Markus’s eyes narrowed. “You could’ve been anyone over the phone.”

  “Anyways,” McDermott dismissed him, shifting his weight so that he could reach into the pocket of his trench coat. “I’m about to play somethin’ for you that’s highly confidential, do you understand? No more jokes.”

  Hearing those words caused beads of sweat to form on Markus’s brow. “I already listened to what you wanted over the phone earlier. I told you—"

  “Stop your talkin’,” McDermott growled, extending the phone to Markus. “Press the button, listen, and tell me exactly what you hear.”

  Despite his best efforts to hold it back, Markus yawned. It hurt like hell just to do that. “Fine. But afterward, I want you to leave.”

  McDermott smiled a mouthful of teeth. There was nothing warm about it. “Deal.”

  Markus reached out to take the phone, swallowing hard as the two men sitting on the couch looked on silently. McDermott leaned back, observing Markus with a look that made the latter squirm even more. Upon pressing play, Markus moved the phone closer to his ear.

  Instantly, the speaker erupted into a series of frantic shouts and screams, causing Markus to leap back into his seat. His pulse quickened, and hot blood raced through his body as the same voice he’d heard before blasted through the receiver like that of a rampaging giant. But it wasn’t just the raw ferocity that generated chills up Markus’s spine—it was the heavily-accented words spewing forth from the receiver that had him wanting to run for cover.

  Wide-eyed, Markus practically threw the phone back with the recording ended. “What the hell was that?”

  “You do understand it then,” McDermott exclaimed.

  “I already told you I did.” Markus was becoming increasingly annoyed at his persistence.

  Looking satisfied, McDermott nodded to his two companions. They rose and moved towards the door, positioning themselves at either side of the frame—and waited.

  Markus’s eyes rotated nervously from McDermott to the men standing guard at his door—and back again. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on here or not?”

  “No,” McDermott belched.

  “What?”

  The Agent rose to his feet. “I said no—but I can show you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  McDermott was as slippery as he was anno
ying. “You’ll see when you come with us.”

  “Are you joking?” Markus asked incredulously. “It’s the middle of the night.”

  Grabbing the final two glasses off the table, McDermott extended one towards Markus. “Can’t say I expected different from you. But at least we tried, huh?”

  Markus was stunned. He’d expected a bigger fight than that.

  “Let’s drink on it.”

  Markus started to shake his head, but McDermott only shoved the glass closer to his face. “If you say no, you’re gonna make me cry.”

  Reluctantly, Markus reached out and took the glass. If it got McDermott and company out of his house, he was willing to do anything.

  Clanking Markus’s with the one in his own, McDermott brought the cup towards his lips. Markus did the same, unaware that the Agent’s eyes never left him the entire time. When the clear liquid touched Markus’s gums, it was as though his mouth were set on fire, and he wanted nothing more than to spit the stuff out—but he wouldn’t. That would’ve been embarrassing.

  McDermott slapped Markus on the shoulder. “Atta boy. And now, we go.”

  “Great,” Markus breathed in relief. “Cause I need to get back to—"

  He stopped mid-sentence as the room started to spin before his eyes. At first, he thought it was just the punch he’d taken to the jaw earlier, once more exerting its influence—but that was ruled out when he looked down at the empty cup in his hand—and watched it tumble in slow motion to the floor and shatter into a thousand little glittering pieces.

  “You,” he slurred, attempting to point at McDermott. But unfortunately, it was too late for that. “You—put something in—my—drink?”

  No answer came from McDermott, who wore the same snarky smile that Markus had already learned to hate. Feeling his body swaying from side to side, Markus was headed toward the floor—when suddenly he felt strong arms catching hold of him. Then, he heard his front door open.

  With eyes growing heavier by the second, Markus could only watch as he was shuttled from his living room, dragged out the front door, and down the steps. The last thing he saw before being thrown into the backseat of a sleek black car was McDermott’s face, twisting and melting into something distorted.

  “See you when you wake up,” the smirking maw of McDermott said to him.

  TWO

  Markus found himself staring up into a room he did not recognize when his eyes opened next. Vaulted ceilings with armored wooden trusses were the first thing he saw, the poignant smell of stale air heavy in his nostrils from the onset. It wasn’t a well-lit space; the only access to the outside world represented by a cathedral-style window located on one of the far walls of the rectangular-shaped layout, the glass to which had been smashed out long ago. High-arching walls of stone blocks, all of varying thickness and lengths, were stacked and sealed atop one another like a puzzle gone wrong. And though he had absolutely no idea where he was, the heavy-set man sitting opposite Markus in a chair ill-suited to his size was all too familiar.

  “Wakey, wakey,” McDermott belched.

  Still groggy, Markus tried to blink past the cobwebs. “Where am I?”

  McDermott chuckled as he chewed. “If I told you, then I’d have to kill you.”

  The smog polluting his brain fled as memories of what had happened prior to his waking in a strange place came swarming back to Markus. He lurched his head up, rising into a sitting position, and discovered he’d been lying atop a makeshift bed made of raised concrete—one of several in a row lined across the room. All were outfitted with a poor excuse for a mattress, the padding upon which was so thin Markus could already feel pain in his lower back. He swung his feet so they dangled over the edge of cold stone, preparing himself to stand and confront the man who’d brought him here. But instead, he was forced to stop and grip the sides of the bed as the room started to turn.

  “Might wanna take it easy there,” McDermott slurped.

  Too late.

  Breathing heavily, Markus kept his head down to combat the nausea rising to overtake him. It took a few heart-pounding moments, but the spins behind his lids slowly dissipated enough to allow him to peek open his eyes back up to McDermott. The man’s face was covered in red sauce, his mouth opening and shutting demonstrably as his bulging cheeks chewed through a mouthful that would’ve been too much for anyone else. Sitting on the man’s baggy trousers and secured by a roll of his stomach was an oiled sheet of paper upon which a meatball sandwich sat half-devoured.

  As hungry as the hoagie made him, Markus’s mind was on one thing. “You drugged me!”

  “Yup,” McDermott replied without looking up from his meal. “Sure did.”

  Markus was stunned by the nonchalant response. “Where the hell am I?”

  McDermott looked more than a little annoyed as he wrapped the sandwich back within its paper sheathing. He wiped his mouth as a child would—with the side of his arm, the red sauce appearing like wet blood across the sleeve of his trench coat.

  “Calm yourself,” he burped again. “You’ve been out for a while, and your body is gonna need some time to get back to whatever you call normal. Probably best that you don’t get too excited.”

  “I’m not excited, you asshole! I’m pissed off!” And he was, so much so that if he didn’t know better, Markus would guess there was steam coming from his ears. “You show up at my home uninvited, in the middle of the night, and when I refuse to go with you, you drug and kidnap me anyways. You think I’m excited about that?”

  McDermott's smile widened, allowing Markus to view all the contents of his mouth.

  “You won’t have that stupid grin when I call the police.”

  At that, McDermott’s face grew red with laughter. Food spilled from his mouth as he did. “I’m with DSIS. What the hell do you think the cops are going to do?”

  Markus had no answer for that.

  Leaning forwards in his chair, McDermott winked. “It’s not like I didn’t give you a choice first, pal. Anyways, let me explain—"

  “Screw your explanation!” Markus raged. “You can take it and shove it right up your—"

  McDermott kicked the chair out from underneath him, standing straight up. The misshapen mound of paper and meatballs fell to the floor with a gross splat. Now, standing directly over Markus, the man’s nostrils flared, and his cheeks shook. “Shut your goddamn mouth,” he spat. “You wanna know what this is about? I’m up to my fucking eyeballs in dead bodies that look like they've been sucked dry by the second coming of fucking Dracula, and no one––not a single goddamn doctor, crime scene analyst, no one––has been able to explain how it’s happening or what’s causing it.”

  Markus grappled with what he’d just heard while also weighing carefully the words that might next come out of his mouth. McDermott, already an imposing figure, looked ready to take Markus and bend him in half should the latter say anything else that disagreed with him. Thankfully, a voice originating from the open doorway on the opposite side of the room abruptly ended the confrontation.

  “I’d ask you to forgive my colleague, Mr. Trygg, but I have a feeling that would be a wasted effort of time for us both.”

  She moved quickly, a pair of brilliant blue eyes swiftly coming into view and mounted against a thin face with sharp features. Dark hair was cut short and slicked back across her head, ending where her neck began. She wore a dark jacket, collar flared up, which gave way to jet black utility pants, and a black revolver hanging from a holster at her right hip. She stood tall, but the way she carried herself, shoulders pinned back and arms swaying tightly at her sides, made her appear taller still.

  He took one look at her, and Markus knew she was the one in charge, but he refused to back down. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Major Laura Lund, Mr. Trygg,” she said in a soft—yet authoritative—voice. She extended a hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Uh—thank you,” Caught off-guard by her sincerity, Markus offered his hand. Her grip was
like iron compared to his. “And where exactly is here?”

  “All I can tell you is that you—we—are still in Denmark and currently standing inside the dormitory of an abandoned abbey,” she replied with a warm smile.

  The answer didn’t help one bit in determining his location, which had been Lund’s intent. There were plenty of abandoned abbeys in Denmark, and the cathedral-like buildings built to house religious sects were located all across the continent. He could be anywhere.

  Sensing his discomfort, Lund leaned in. “You must trust us, Mr. Trygg. I am sorry for the unfortunate manner you were brought here, but I promise we mean you no harm.”

  She’d said it so genuinely it was impossible not to believe on some level. Making it more difficult was the way she looked at him, unblinking and steadfast, that Markus knew she meant it. But it wasn’t enough. Short on answers and even less so on patience, Markus wasn’t quite ready to be talked down. “I don’t know you. And until someone tells me why I’ve been brought here against my will, I can’t trust anything you say.”

  Lund looped her thumbs into the belt wrapped around her waist. “Fair enough,” she nodded. “Mr. Trygg—"

  “Markus will do,” he interrupted.

  From where he sat, McDermott feigned a smile. “Isn’t this nice? Look how we’re all gettin’ along now.”

  Markus glared at the man with contempt. “You can keep calling me Mr. Trygg.”

  McDermott responded with a middle finger, one he quickly withdrew when Major Lund snapped her head in his direction.

  “I regret the means used to bring you here, Markus,” Lund continued. “But I’m sure Agent McDermott has told you our need is great.”

  “Yes,” Markus bristled. “Though he’s been vague on just about everything else.”

  “Secrecy has indeed been a top priority. But, unfortunately, this is a battle we seem to be losing ground in every day this nightmare persists,” she sighed deeply before taking a seat on the bed closest to Markus. “Tell me, prior to Agent McDermott coming to your home, had you heard anything about DSIS having barred entry to several nearby villages?”