The Undying Viking: An Arthurian Fantasy Adventure (Merging Worlds Book 1) Page 3

  “Yes,” Markus said, vaguely recalling what he’d heard on the way home in his car. “They were saying it might be a contagion.”

  “The media is relentless,” Lund sighed. “We’ve done our best to keep this bottled up, but we can’t for much longer.”

  “I don’t understand,” Markus frowned.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” McDermott snapped. “What she’s sayin’ is that we’ve been keeping the affected areas sealed off while also trying to control the spread of information. But the longer this goes and the bigger it gets, the harder it is to maintain.”

  “I understood what she meant,” Markus shot back. “But with a contagion, isn’t it smart to let people know what’s happening?”

  “Get off it,” McDermott scoffed, waving a greasy hand dismissively. “This is no plague or anything else like that.”

  That’s what we thought at first, too,” Lund said, knuckles clenched into the ultra-thin cushioning upon which she sat. “How else could whole villages be dropping dead without warning? But as more people died, and with no clear transmission line, we quickly ruled it out.”

  “How many?” Markus asked but wasn’t sure why—he didn’t really want the answer.

  Her eyes came off the floor to meet his. No longer peaceful, the liquid blue of her pupils had become choppy and unsettled. “Too many. It’s the reason you’re here, Markus.”

  He threw his hands up. “But I don’t know anything about any of this.”

  “I promise I will explain, Markus,” Lund soothed. “But first, I want to ask you about the recording Agent McDermott played for you. Do you remember it?”

  The very memory of the barbarian's voice made Markus shiver. “I wish I didn’t.”

  Lund leaned forward with an investigative stare. “Do you really understand what the voice was saying?”

  “You guys keep asking me that,” Markus shook his head. “But I hate to break it to you, whoever that is—someone I assume you’ve probably got tucked away in a jail cell somewhere—they’re not speaking any foreign language or anything. I only speak one, and I understand him just fine.”

  McDermott erupted into hysterics, the hacking from his throat sounding more like he was choking than laughing. Major Lund silenced him with a solemn glare before swinging her attention back to Markus. She kept her eyes locked on him for several moments without saying a word. Markus felt like an insect, being torn apart and dissected limb-by-limb.

  “For the last time,” he said when he couldn’t take it anymore. “What is this all about?”

  McDermott and Lund locked eyes. Then, as though they’d been communicating telepathically, both nodded simultaneously. “It’s best if you see for yourself, Markus.”

  Markus looked up blankly when the two of them rose to their feet. “Right now?”

  “No, next year,” McDermott sneered, wrapping what was left of his sandwich and placing it into one of his coat pockets. Along with the sides of his face, his hands remained splattered in red paste.

  Lund stood. “You came in pretty banged up from whatever fight you got into, so we took the liberty of giving you anti-inflammatories while you were under. You may have noticed the swelling in your face has gone down.”

  He hadn’t, but his jaw was feeling world's better now that Lund had brought it up. It irked him that they’d given him anything without his permission, but that he could open, shut and swallow without pain shooting through his face made it worth it.

  “You might still be a bit woozy from whatever Agent McDermott slipped into your drink—” Lund said, shooting McDermott a dirty look.

  “Nothing I wouldn’t take myself,” McDermott chimed in with a lazy shrug.

  “—but our doctors say that you’re going to be just fine,” Lund angled back to Markus. “Can you walk?”

  Markus tried, setting one foot onto an unevenly tiled floor. Then, the other. He took a cautious initial step forward before giving Lund an affirmative nod.

  The round man gave an exaggerated bow. “After you.”

  Lund didn’t wait for either of them, twisting in her combat boots and marching from the room in a rhythmic thumping of soles onto stone. The prospect of being downwind of McDermott was reason enough for Markus to hustle past him and through the open doorway.

  Upon leaving the dormitory, Markus peered down a long dark hallway whose imperfect block walls stretched in either direction. He hurried after Lund, who might as well have become a ghost with her all-black attire providing cover within the darkness. But she was striding in a direction from which Markus could see the sun shining, like at the end of a tunnel, and it provided just enough of an outline of Lund for him to follow.

  It wasn’t easy catching up to her, and Markus had to pretend he wasn’t almost out of breath when he did. “So, why are we here? An abbey seems like a strange choice.”

  “DSIS needed a base of operations away from the affected areas,” she replied. “This location serves well due to its close proximity.”

  “And where is everybody?” Markus asked.

  They were a few steps short of the hallway’s exit, the sun revealing the makings of an open-air gallery on the other side. The light also allowed Markus to see a glint in Lund’s eyes when she turned her head at him, her lips curling up secretively. “It’s never wise to hide something you want to stay hidden in clear sight, Markus.”

  He held back his response. One thing about Major Lund was becoming clear to Markus; though a far more welcoming presence than McDermott, she was just as rigid with her passing on of information. He could ask all the questions he wanted, but Markus would only get answers when she decided it would be so.

  When Lund stopped, just short of an archway leading to the outdoors, it was with a deep sigh. Her arm rose, halting Markus as well. “Steady yourself. This will be difficult.”

  Markus swallowed, the hint of fear he picked up in Lund’s voice more than enough to bring his guard up. “What’s out there?”

  Her arm lowered. “Our worst nightmare,” she exhaled.

  They stepped from the hall and into a large open field, the intense glare of the midsummer sun causing Markus’s eyes to recoil. It felt great on his skin, though––instantly giving him a boost of energy. Squinting through tears, he made out two long lines of fluted white pillars that wrapped themselves around the perimeter, creating a covered walkway between their pairings. And in the middle of the ancient obelisks, an area resembling a soccer field—but overgrown by weeds and tangled trees. Despite its decrepit state, Markus was sure the area had once been a well-manicured area where the clergy would congregate.

  It took his eyes a few moments to adjust—but once they did, Markus saw what Major Lund was attempting to draw his attention to. They’d been easy to miss at first, especially in a marsh of wild growth—but the bodies created outlines that were impossible to miss with clearer vision. Markus stopped counting after a dozen.

  McDermott appeared from the dark, arching his back as he wheezed for breath. “What’s the—big rush? They’re dead—they ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

  The blood had left Markus’s face. “What—what is this?”

  “We airlifted some of the bodies and brought them here,” Lund answered, voice strained as though being used through clenched teeth. “We’ve converted the abbey's refectory—the dining room—into a lab.”

  “You’re cutting them open.” Markus felt his stomach turn. “Do their families know?”

  “Don’t get all self-righteous with us,” McDermott spat. “How else are we supposed to figure out what’s happenin’ if the doc’s don’t open them up?”

  With distance and stalks of brush obstructing his view, Markus could not make out much about the bodies. It was enough to know what they were and see how their weight bent back the weeds. He didn’t need to get any closer, didn’t want to. And yet, for someone who hadn’t spent much time around dead bodies, something odd instantly leaped out at him.

  “Why doesn’t it smell?”

  “You are correct, Markus,” Lund breathed. “With as many corpses as are here, you should be able to smell them for miles. Can you guess why?”

  He couldn’t, and he didn’t want to—but Markus knew they would tell him.

  Lund grabbed his arm before he could turn around. “You need to see one up close, Markus.”

  Markus tried to wrestle free, but Lund’s grip was unyielding. “Why?”

  “Because you need to see what we’re up against.”

  “I shouldn’t even be here,” Markus fumed. “None of this has anything to do with me.”

  McDermott looked ready to take a step forward. “She’s bein’ nice in askin’.”

  Markus wanted to push past him, but he knew he didn’t have the strength to move McDermott an inch if the man didn’t want to be. It also wasn’t lost on Markus that Lund, who’d seemed more than happy to reprimand him, hadn’t said a word to distance herself from McDermott’s implied threat. Instead, she stood there, arms on her hips, blinking her apologies at Markus–but nodding her complicity.

  “Damn you both for this.”

  Taking a deep breath, Markus turned and began walking. A trail had already been blazed through the weeds, sparing him the job of stomping through the growth himself. He almost wished for the opposite; at least then he could take his time, which was one thing there didn’t seem to be enough of as he stepped reluctantly towards the first of many bodies.

  He stopped well short—but close enough. Lying with the soles of its boots facing him, Markus saw the shriveled remains of something he couldn’t bring himself to admit was human. It was extremely emaciated; all manner of substance, fat, and muscle had been drained away, leaving a skeleton of tight skin strapped so close to the bone that the whole looked more like a grotesque marionette. But it was the mouth, open and straining against the skin even in death, colorless lips drawn back in a terrified scream that had vomit spraying from Markus’s mouth.

  “Jeez,” McDermott chirped from behind. “Get a grip on yourself, man.”

  “Are you alright, Markus?”

  He drew back as Lund’s hand entered his periphery. “I’m pretty sure I’m the furthest thing from ok,” he gasped, wiping his mouth free of the bile. “Do they all look like that?”

  “Yes,” Lund answered, nodding her head where several other bodies lay not too far away. “All of them. Men, women….” Markus’s sight traveled with hers—and abruptly stopped when he noticed a slight outline amidst the tall grass, noticeably smaller than any of the others. “And children.”

  He stood there, silently stewing in place, the grim reveal haunting Markus’s every thought. It was one thing to hear, but it was another thing entirely to see the death with his own eyes. Their passings had not been painless either; quite the opposite, and it was written all over the face of the only body he wanted to see.

  Hot anger pumped in Markus’s veins. “How?”

  The sides of Lund’s mouth worked overtime. “We don’t know. But we think you can help us find out.”

  He knew he’d regret it, but Markus didn’t care at that moment. “What can I do?”

  “Follow me,” Lund instructed, turning to head back in the direction they’d come.

  McDermott waited again for Markus to follow first, not believing for one second the latter wouldn’t bolt if given an opportunity. Markus didn’t blame him for that; he wasn’t convinced he wouldn’t run either—though the least of his concerns in that scenario would be the heavy-footed McDermott. But Lund, he was sure she’d have him hogtied with handcuffs before he could take his second step.

  He followed alongside as Lund strode the walkway encompassing the open pavilion. The tiled path flowed between two marching lines of columns, directing them to the opposite end from which they’d first exited—and towards a high-reaching structure of stained-glass windows and stone spires that could only belong to a monastery. But, like the weed-ridden field, the place of worship was in a state of disarray, the once-proud mausoleum caked by the dusts of time.

  “Your last name. Trygg,” Lund spoke. “Not very common.”

  “No,” Markus replied, automatically suspicious of where this was going. “It’s an Old Norse name. My parents used to say it meant ‘faithful’ or ‘true.’”

  “A man with a Viking’s name,” she mused as though speaking to herself. “You can’t make this stuff up.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Lund kept a distant stare. “When I was little, my father would tell me stories of Vikings. One I’ve always remembered was about the greatest of all Norsemen; a warrior by the name of Holger. Have you heard of him?”

  Markus wracked his brain for any memory of that name but came up empty. He shook his head.

  “Legend states, upon winning all the wars and battles of his time, the unbeaten Viking warrior set down his sword and shield and, for the first time in many decades, he sat,” Lund continued. “He fell into a deep sleep, during which his skin hardened until he’d become a great statue. And that’s how he would remain, standing court within the casemates of Castle Kronborg until his people had need of him once more.”

  “Load a crap if you ask me,” McDermott called from the rear.

  “I didn’t,” Lund shouted back.

  Patience was running thin all around. “And why is this important?”

  “The news stations have been running so many circles trying to get a look up our collective skirts,” McDermott answered Markus. “That a story about some old statue vanishing from a castle didn’t exactly tip the scales as newsworthy.”

  A shadow fell over Markus, the sculpted walls of the monastery looming over to stamp out the sun, as elaborate wooden doors came into view. It was shut, two men dressed entirely in black standing side-to-side with guns at the ready in their hands. They saluted, moving from the way as Lund got closer.

  “You wanted to know about the voice in the recording,” she said, turning her head to look sideways at Markus.

  Lund trailed off as she pushed open the doors, the scream from brittle hinges drowning out any potential response. Then, standing in the open doorway, she motioned for Markus to enter the monastery entrance first. He did so, reluctantly, but it was due in no small part to some not-so-gentle prodding by McDermott, and his bulging belly, at his back. The towering room he entered stretched to the heavens, the gothic nature of the construction demanding the attention of all who entered—but instead, it was to the center of the room that Markus’s eyes were drawn.

  Wrapped in thick chains and suspended by yet another hanging from the vaulted ceiling, an armor-clad giant of a man rotated slowly in the air. Amidst a downpour of long silver hair, wild eyes of blue containing an overabundance of burst blood vessels were just starting to blink awake when they made contact with Markus’s. Then, from behind a beard that dropped to his chest, a feral roar erupted that had Markus regretting every decision that had brought him here.

  Lund stood beside him, but there was no snatching back Markus’s eyes. “Markus, meet Holger the Dane.”

  THREE

  For some very long moments, Markus tried to come to terms with what he was seeing. All other senses shut down, filtering everything else out in a desperate attempt by his brain to understand that which was right before his bulging eyes. The repetitive clicking of magazines into metal barrels alerted Markus that others were in the room with them—many others. They lined the perimeter of the cruciform-shaped room, black uniforms matching Lund's, each of them armed with a long gun aimed at one target—and one target only.

  “Report!”

  One of the soldiers hustled over, wearing a hat pulled low over his eyes—but not enough to cover the exhaustion lines beneath weary eyes. “He started waking up a few minutes ago, Major. The sedatives we’ve been using—we can’t get the needles into his skin anymore. They keep breaking, ma’am.”

  “The chains are holding?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the man stammered. “But we’re not sure for how long—"

  “Thank you, Corporal,” Lund said, stopping the corporal mid-sentence. He looked ready to melt into the floor as he gave a tight salute and returned to his post.

  The clanking of metal links straining against one another brought Markus’s eyes back to center—and to the rousing behemoth hanging in the air, wrapped in thick chains. He was suspended by a single line hanging from the rafters above, one so thick that it looked like it should be holding a ship's anchor at the end. It turned at a slow-winding pace, revealing the gigantic form it held captive in doses, the integrity of steel thankfully holding firm. Despite everything screaming at him to run, Markus was captivated by the visage of a giant man, far bigger and broader than any he’d ever seen.

  “Those chains are of the strongest alloy steel,” Lund announced. “He cannot break free.”

  She was trying to assure him that they were safe, but that was the furthest thing Markus felt at the moment. Obvious differences aside, it was impossible for him not to feel as though he were sitting in the crowd when King Kong had been wheeled out on Broadway—the people in that audience had assumed they were safe as well.

  “Just like anyone else, I didn’t think twice when I heard the statue of Holger the Dane had gone missing,” Lund appeared beside him. “But when we first spotted him lurking outside Olgienser—the last affected village—while conducting our field investigation, I wasn’t sure what we were up against, so I ordered our agents to subdue him using knockout gas.”

  It was an inadvertent flinch, but Markus couldn’t help it. “How’d that go?”

  Shaking her head, Lund scowled up at Holger, who was happy to return it. “No one died, thankfully, though he sent many field agents to the hospital. But, after I saw him fight, I knew what he was.”

  The clash of chains had ceased; now fully alert, their occupant studying Markus from below two bushy brows and squinted eyes that slashed through the silver mane crowding a barbarian’s face. Somehow, Markus found the courage to stare back.