Soul Census - War of Shadows - Book 1

Chapter 7.4 - Deja Dane-vu

Earth Date: 16th of August 1939 CE
Location: The Lady Dane, en route to Bicester Aerodrome, Earth

Maddock felt himself drifting on the edge of consciousness and dancing on the periphery of oblivion. In the warm blanket of silence, he heard five knocks.

He opened his eyes, staring at the bottom of the top bunk. He rolled off the bed and went to the door to open it. Somehow he knew no one would be there to greet him. He opened the door and he was right—only an empty hallway. Perhaps those five knocks he heard were just a dream.

Maddock closed the door and sat back on his bunk. It was quiet, with only the train’s ambient sounds reaching his ears. There was no window to tell him whether it was day or night. Only a sliver of light created by the train’s lamps that peeked in from under his room’s door. Maddock checked his watch: 08:30 a.m. local time. They should be arriving in Bicester soon—he needed to get going. He rubbed his eyes and stood up.

Wait a minute… Maddock thought. There was something odd here. This all seemed eerily familiar. Visions of clouded memories peeked through. Memories of his meeting with the other agents… then something happened and… I died!

“Bah,” Maddock said, shaking his head. “Just a dream.”

After freshening up, Maddock changed and left the stateroom. In the narrow hallway, he could hear a murmur of voices, which he followed to the dining car.

Upon entering, he saw the whole contingent of Census agents and wizards seated in dining booths that lined both sides of the walls. Most of the bunch were nursing coffee mugs and balancing plates with breakfast scraps on them.

Maddock froze. This was exactly like the dream, he remembered. Right down to the drawn faces of hungover passengers around him.

If it happens again like the dream, he thought, I’ll be called over by—

“Agent!” Ralph said, sitting near the end of the compartment. “Over here.”

Maddock went along with it, following the script like a good actor.

As he approached, he saw a thin, lanky man in green fatigues and a pretty broad with dark hair and green eyes also sitting with Ralph.

“Agent Maddock,” Ralph said. “Good to see you. Come join us, please.”

“Thanks,” Maddock said, standing across from the French dame.

“Hello there,” the other man said, standing to greet him. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Maddock. I am Sir—”

“Yeah, sure, matey,” Maddock interrupted. “Gareth Wright, Section D of the British SIS, right?”

“Why… yes, sir,” Wright said, shaking his hand. “Have we met before?”

Maddock ignored the question and made a bow to the lady. “And the lovely Arielle Dubois of the Deuxième Bureau,” he said.

Despite his probable bastardization of the French pronunciation, she extended her hand and smiled.

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Dubois,” he said, kissing the hand.

“The pleasure is mine.” Her voice had that sexy French accent that he remembered from the dream.

“Did, uh… Black already brief you?” Ralph whispered to him.

“No, haven’t seen the bitch,” Maddock said, sitting down.

As he sat there, he took in their faces, the stuffy air, and the murmur of voices. It all amplified the details of his dream. With each passing second, more of it came back to him.
Ralph was about to open his mouth to speak.

“Clam it, bub,” Maddock interrupted. “No, you can’t call me Willem, so don’t bother asking.”

“Oh, how did you …?” Ralph fumbled. “Well, uh, Maddock it is, then. Director Black asked me to partner up with you and fill you in on any information you might need along the way, but you seem to know quite a bit already.”

“Yeah, quite a bit,” Maddock said, trying to concentrate on what he could remember.

Ralph waved a hand to the other two.

“Our friends here have obtained some interesting intelligence about the human element of the contingent we are facing—”

“Yeah, save the history lesson,” Maddock said. “I already know. Better tell your mates here to give us some privacy, Sir Limey.”

Wright raised an eyebrow at his companions, then stood up. As expected, the Brit made a motion to one of the other tables. Wordlessly, all the other passengers simply got up from their booths and vacated the dining car. Within seconds, the four of them, along with the car attendant, were left alone to continue their conversation. The scene played out just as he remembered it.

“So, Mr. Yank,” Wright said, “since you seem to have one up on us, care to enlighten us on what you know?”

Maddock pointed a finger down in front of him at a spot on the table. “Java first. Chatty after,” he said.

Wright started to make a motion to get coffee.

“Wait,” Maddock stopped him, remembering the dream. “Don’t bother. It’s going to taste like it was filtered through someone’s—” He stopped short, realizing a lady was at the table.

“Balls, Mr. Maddock?” Dubois said with a mischievous smile. “Filtered through a dirty man’s balls?”

Maddock burst out laughing. Hearing that with a French accent was just too much. Even the wizard joined in on the laugh.

“I was going to say ‘ass,’ Miss Dubois,” he said. “But balls it is.”

“Ahem,” Wright said. “This is all lovely talk, but I did not clear the room for this, chap.”

Maddock made a motion. “Instead of coffee, fetch me some strong giggle piss if you would, matey.”

The Brit raised an eyebrow, then got up.

Maddock hoped he would not take the request literally. Suddenly an image of the dream popped in his mind—the train shaking, stopping, crashing… explosions.
He bolted up. “We need to stop this train.”

Ralph and Dubois looked at him, befuddled. The Brit returned with a drink in hand.

Maddock took the drink and gulped it down as he brushed past Wright. He ran up the compartment and through the hatch leading to the next one. Along the way, he stopped by his stateroom to retrieve his bag.

The three agents caught up to him as he slung the bag over his shoulder.

“What is going on, Mr. Maddock?” Wright said.

No time to explain, he had to get to the cab… he had to get to Black. If she was the conductor, she could stop the train. He turned and ran off.

“Agent… wait!” he heard Ralph call behind him.

As Maddock passed through to the final compartment connecting to the lead cab, he heard a metal banging outside.

“Agent,” Wright said from behind, “I’ve had enough of—”

Maddock silenced him with his hand.

In between the breaths of his companions behind him, another bang sounded. Maddock took a few steps forward and looked up. A ceiling trapdoor caught his attention. It had a metal handle with a padlock, along with a ladder on the wall leading up to it.

Maddock dropped his bag and knelt down. From inside the bag, he pulled out a belt with a holster and scabbard for his scimitar. The second he’d strapped it on, he started to climb the ladder.

“Are you insane?” Ralph said. “We’re moving at three hundred miles an hour in a river of ethereal goo.”

Maddock grabbed the lock.

“We’re past the goo,” Maddock said. “If my recollection is right, we should be traveling on an elevated rail by now.”

He looked at the lock. Memories of his last mission with Wolfe surfaced. Four-eyes made it look so easy pulling that lock off the fence. Maddock closed his eyes and concentrated, remembering the power of his past lives… the experience in the goo bath… bathed in the River Styx, as Black had called it.

Another banging outside snapped him to action. Maddock squeezed the lock as hard as he could and yanked it.

He heard a loud snap, and when he opened his eyes, he saw the lock had not only broken off, it was crushed into multiple pieces in the palm of his hand. Maddock smiled at himself as he let the pieces fall to the floor.

His smile disappeared at the sound of a sudden loud bang. From one of the compartment walls, splinters of wood fell to the ground, revealing the steel bulkhead behind it.
The Brit drew his pistol and aimed it at the wall.

Maddock cast a look down at the three agents before swinging the trapdoor’s handle.

“What if you’re wrong?” Wright said. “What if there is something out there worse than just goo?”

“If I’m wrong, get ready to stand and fight,” Maddock said with a grin. “Because if you run, you’ll just die tired.”

Before they could say another word, Maddock twisted the handle. The trapdoor opened a crack, enough to see daylight. He pushed it open and peeked his head through.
No goo. No tunnel. Just blue sky with patches of white clouds whizzing by. He felt the wind hit him, but it did not feel like the train was moving that fast. Perhaps it had slowed down when it left the tunnels.

“What do you see?” he heard Wright yell.

Maddock climbed all the way out and carefully balanced himself on all fours on top of the car. He looked down the end of the train. Nothing. Just the cars snaking their way across the rail.

He then looked to the front, toward the cab. Also clear. Whatever was banging on the walls had to be hanging off the side of the train. Reluctantly, he crawled across the top of the car, inching toward the side. He reached for his pistol, cocked it, and peeked over the edge. Nothing. No more banging either.

Maddock let out a breath as he moved away from the edge. He heard a loud thump and his peripheral vision caught sight of something big on the rear connecting car. Maddock tried to level his pistol at it. What he saw shocked him even more than the Furies.

Maddock jumped back just as the massive creature jumped onto his car and drove a sickle through the side of the train. The curved blade, which appeared to be part of the monster’s hand, ripped through the train and came out the top. Pieces of metal shrapnel sprinkled to the rear, bouncing off the other cars.

The creature’s skin was black, with the texture of coral rock. Glowing purple crustaceans painted its skin. Its head created a black aura that emanated from what appeared to be its mouth, where a horrible sound escaped… the sound of screaming souls. This thing had to be from hell itself.

The monster’s hand appeared to be stuck in the train as it tried to dislodge it. Maddock noticed that it only had one arm; the other seemed to have been cut off. This sparked a memory of the fight he’d seen on the Margarete. Could this have been the thing Wolfe was fighting?

Maddock took advantage of the creature’s plight and began shooting at it. He half expected the bullets to just ricochet off the thing. Instead, pieces of its rocky flesh chipped off, and it roared in pain.

Slowly, Maddock got to his feet. Somehow his abilities allowed him to keep his balance on the moving train. He unloaded the rest of his gun clip into the menace. Although the shots appeared to hurt the thing, it was not enough to take it down.

The creature tore its arm free from the train and squared off before Maddock. It was then he noticed that the creature’s sickle was drenched in blood—not its blood… human blood.
Maddock dared a peek below at the hole left in the top of the train. To his horror, he saw what was left of Dubois. No sign of Ralph or Wright. Blood was everywhere.

After holstering the gun, Maddock drew his scimitar. Holding the sword, he felt a slight hum and vibration in his hand, as if it was alive and angry along with him. Maddock let out a battle cry and charged. The creature swung its sickle at his head. Maddock ducked it, then slashed his blade up and across.

It nicked the creature’s arm right where one of those purple barnacles were. The barnacle exploded, and the creature jumped back and roared. In that instant, Maddock saw something: a translucent white vapor floating away from where the barnacle had been. He followed the vapor and noticed it had form—glowing eyes and tentacle arms. A trapped soul!

“So that’s it, you bastard,” Maddock said. “Time to liberate some souls …”

Maddock charged at it again. Their blades met in the middle, and sparks ensued when they connected. Maddock pulled back and prepared to strike again, but the creature was quicker this time and attacked first.

It swung its sickle high. Maddock ducked, then stepped forward, lunging low to stab with his sword. The creature twisted to its side, avoiding the blade, and then swung down with its sickle. Maddock could have pulled his sword back but blocked instead. He did not want the attack to injure anyone else in the train.

Sparks flew again. The force of the sickle coming down on his scimitar reverberated through the sword and into his very bones. Blood from the sickle splattered onto his face—Dubois’s blood. Maddock pulled away and spun around, blade attacking the creature’s midsection. His foe somehow slapped down on the flat of the blade with its elbow, knocking Maddock off.

It rushed Maddock, its sickle swinging high. Not on steady footing to meet the attack, Maddock rolled forward and underneath it instead, swinging his scimitar at one of the purple barnacles as he passed under the creature.

As before, the crustacean exploded and another soul escaped. The monster roared but recovered quickly and turned around. Still on the ground, Maddock saw the monster jump into the air, sickle coming down toward him.

Using the flat of his blade, Maddock blocked the attack with both hands. The palm of his hand received the brunt of it, his own blade cutting him. Blood oozed down his arm, and he struggled to keep the weight of the creature away. The sickle was like an ugly black talon as it inched closer to his face. Maddock let out a growl as he pushed with all of his strength, stopping the blade’s deadly approach.

One of those barnacles on the creature’s leg caught his attention. He bent his knee in and kicked at it with all his might. There was an explosion of purple energy, enough to knock the creature off-balance. Maddock rolled away, letting the sickle embed itself into the train. He jumped to his feet and drew his sword up defensively.

The rock monster ripped a piece of sheet metal from the top of the train and flung it at Maddock in a single motion. Maddock’s senses sharpened. Everything slowed down. He saw the debris’ trajectory in his mind—it was too big to dodge. He jumped to the side of the train and slid off the edge, just as the sheet scraped by, missing him.

He reflexively grabbed onto a metal railing with one hand while keeping his sword gripped in the other. He dangled off the edge of the train as it raced ahead. A blurry shadow flew over him, and then he heard a loud thud. The creature chose to ignore him as it bounced onto the train’s lead cab. It punched a hole through a side window and stabbed its sickle repeatedly into it. Black was in that cab.

Maddock felt a hand grab his. Blinded by the glare of the sun, he could not tell who it was, but he was pulled up and rolled over the top of the train to safety. When he recovered, he was surprised at the sight of his savior.

Yellow-feathered wings from his back, halo on his head, and a white robe with a sash. Other than that, he looked like the same guy.

“Where the hell have you been, asshole?” Maddock said.

Wolfe smiled. “Nice to see you again too. I was hoping my knocking would get you out here sooner so I’d have some time to explain.”

Maddock got to his feet.

They both turned to look toward the creature.

Maddock charged at it, but Wolfe flapped his wings and got to the cab first.

Wolfe raised his sword, white fire emanating from its blade. “Greetings, Vero,” Wolfe said to it. “Your prodigal son has returned.”

Just as the creature looked up and noticed Wolfe, Maddock jumped on the lead car and came down with the blade in an attempt to sever its arm. The creature released its grip on the train instead, avoiding the cut. Its roar could be heard all the way down as it plunged into the thick forest below the bridge.

Maddock reached the cab only in time to see it fade into the trees.

“Stay here,” Wolfe said. “Protect Black and the passengers.”

“Wait. Where are you going?” Maddock said.

Wolfe peered over the edge. “I need to finish off this Reaper. Once and for all.”

A familiar voice came out from the cab: “You can’t do it alone,” Black yelled. She appeared to be unharmed.

“Vero cannot be allowed to roam in physical form,” Wolfe said. “You remember what happened last time.”

“Yes, I do remember,” Black said. “Do you?”

“I’m going,” Wolfe said.

“Then let me go with you,” Black said. “You’re the only one left. You should not risk losing that body.”

“No. You need to continue the mission to Wewelsburg,” Wolfe said. “Besides, you’re not an angel anymore. You can’t fly.”

Before another word could be said, Wolfe jumped off the train. His wings blew a brisk wind as he dove down, disappearing into the trees below.

“Damn fool,” Black growled. “Get in here, Agent. Now!”

Maddock looked up and realized the bridge was ending and the train was approaching a tunnel. He lowered himself to the edge of the cab, then swung himself in through the side window.

Inside, Black waited for him. She was wearing a conductor’s cap and striped overalls. Her face was cut, probably from the broken window.

“What was that thing?” Maddock asked.

“A Reaper,” she said with a sigh. “Created and controlled by a powerful spirit named Vero.”

“You mean like the ‘Grim Reaper’?”

“Yes, that is where the myth started.”

“Does this Vero work for the Spirit Council?” he said.

Black gave him an inquisitive look. “Why do you ask that?”

“Cause they’re the ones who sent him… and me,” Maddock said. He recounted to her his death, the trip to Elysium, his conversation with the Spirit Council and Freya.

“Freya,” Black seethed. “That traitorous bitch.”

“I thought we were all on the same side?” Maddock said.

“Until now, I thought so too,” she said. “There’s a lot at work here, Agent. The situation is even graver now than we first thought.”

Black turned her attention to a set of controls and blinking lights. “We will be arriving at Bicester soon,” she said. “So be a good boy and just sit down and relax.”

Not having much else to do, he decided that, for once, he should just do as he was told. Maddock sat himself in a corner and stared at Black’s ass for the rest of the ride. The view could certainly have been much worse.