By the time the authorities reached the mountain cabin, the entire structure had already burned down to a blackened ruin, leaving only scattered wisps of smoke rising into the night air.
Several patrol vehicles sat around the area with their emergency lights flashing while deputies used shovels, pry bars, and other tools to search through the collapsed remains.
After receiving Jay’s report, the St.
Martin Parish Sheriff’s Office had treated the incident seriously from the beginning because, according to the survivors, the cabin contained evidence connected to at least a dozen missing or murdered people.
Even so, the sheriff overseeing the search had initially doubted the stranger parts of Jay’s story.
Deformed cannibals with abnormal strength and the ability to survive gunshots sounded more like something from a horror movie than a legitimate police report, and he suspected that fear had exaggerated what the young travelers had actually witnessed.
That skepticism gradually disappeared as his deputies uncovered more human remains beneath the burned timber.
Jay and Elena had returned with the police and now stood outside the perimeter, watching the search with worried expressions.
“Don’t worry,” Jay told her while staring at the smoking ruins.
“Orion’s ridiculously strong.
We watched him take down something twice my size with his bare hands, so whatever happened after we left, I’m pretty sure he could handle himself.” He still had no idea why Orion had burned down the cabin or where he had gone afterward, but his confidence in the former SEAL was almost absolute.
“I can’t believe I forgot to get his number,” Jay added after a moment, smacking his forehead in frustration.
They had spent hours together, Orion had saved his life, and yet none of them had exchanged contact information before rushing Rosen to the hospital.
Elena thought for a few seconds before saying, “He told us he grew up around Monroe.
My uncle works for the city government there, so maybe he can help us track him down.” Considering Orion’s age, military background, and distinctive physical appearance, Elena believed finding him shouldn’t be difficult.
Neither of them realized that Orion Locke’s history was considerably harder to access than that of an ordinary veteran.
While they quietly discussed how to contact him, a deputy suddenly shouted from inside the ruins.
More remains had been found.
The discovery immediately transformed the situation from a bizarre local crime scene into a major homicide investigation.
The sheriff personally inspected what had been uncovered before stepping aside and calling his police chief, explaining that the number of victims might reach into the dozens.
For a small Louisiana department, a crime scene of that scale was far beyond anything they were equipped to handle alone.
The chief had already gone home for the night and was preparing for bed when the call arrived.
He cursed under his breath after hearing the casualty estimate, but his expression changed completely when the sheriff repeated the witnesses’ descriptions of the deformed attackers and their abnormal physical abilities.
Something about those details clearly meant more to him than it had to the officers at the scene.
He dressed immediately and returned to the station.
Rather than contacting the FBI or Louisiana State Police first, the chief entered his office, locked the door, and dialed an internal number that didn’t appear in any normal government directory.
His entire demeanor became unusually respectful when someone answered.
He gave a concise report about the cabin, the bodies, the supposed cannibals, and the witness statements, then waited quietly for instructions.
Two hours later, the thunder of rotor blades rolled across the forest.
A large black helicopter approached the police perimeter and hovered roughly twenty feet above the ruined cabin.
Its powerful searchlight swept across the trees before several figures descended on fast ropes, landing rapidly one after another.
The first was a balding man in his fifties wearing an expensive suit and carrying a black hard-sided briefcase.
Five heavily armed operators came down behind him.
They wore thick black tactical armor, helmets, protective lenses, and full-face respirators that concealed almost every identifying feature, while sophisticated rifles and other equipment covered their bodies.
The instant they touched the ground, they spread into a defensive formation around the suited man with the smooth coordination of an elite tactical unit.
Then another figure appeared at the helicopter door.
Instead of using the rope, the blonde woman simply jumped.
Thump!
She dropped nearly twenty feet and landed in a crouch hard enough to leave a shallow depression in the soft ground.
A katana rested across her back, and her athletic figure was wrapped in a fitted yellow-and-black motorcycle suit that immediately made her stand out among the heavily armored operators.
Anyone familiar with her past would have known the woman as Beatrix Kiddo.
“Beatrix,” the suited man called with an exasperated expression, “do you actually enjoy destroying your knees?” Beatrix straightened and glanced toward him.
“Bill, training only matters if you stop treating it like something you do for an hour and then forget.
Every movement can improve control, balance, and conditioning.” Her expression became more serious as she rested one hand near the katana.
“If I want to reach the physical limit and qualify as a Preacher, I can’t afford to get lazy.” Bill gave a dry laugh.
“These bones are too old for your definition of training.” “You know becoming a Preacher gives you higher clearance and extends your projected lifespan to around a hundred and twenty years.” Beatrix regarded him with the look of someone repeating an argument they had already had many times.
“You really have no interest in that?” “None.” Bill adjusted his suit and shrugged.
“As Priests, we travel constantly, take field assignments, eat well, drink well, and charge half of it to the organization.
Preachers spend most of their time locked inside secure facilities dealing with things I’d rather not see unless someone is paying me very generously.” Beatrix shook her head but stopped arguing.
She had her own reason for pursuing greater strength, one Bill understood perfectly well.
Becoming stronger meant increasing the chances that she would always be capable of protecting her daughter, and for Beatrix, that alone outweighed comfort or convenience.
“Area secure,” one of the black-armored operators reported after the team finished checking the ruins and surrounding woods.
Bill finally stepped forward.
He placed the black briefcase on a relatively flat section of burned timber and opened it, revealing something far more sophisticated than ordinary field equipment.
After pressing several controls, the interior unfolded into a compact computer system, while a palm-sized rotating sensor rose from the right side and began slowly scanning the area.
Beep… beep… beep… Several minutes passed before the detector suddenly increased its pace.
Lines of data appeared across the display as the sensor continued rotating, and Beatrix immediately stopped the sword exercises she had been performing nearby.
She walked over and leaned toward the screen.
“So there really was an Aberration here?” “Two, actually.” Bill tapped through several pages of readings.
“Residual radiation confirms the recent presence of two Level 1 Aberrations.
Both appear to have been biologically human at some point, but the energy signature is clearly outside normal parameters.” Beatrix’s eyes sharpened with interest.
“Are they dead?” Bill stared at her.
“This is a portable detector, not a crystal ball.” He scrolled through the police report before continuing, “According to the witnesses, one mutant was shot and the other was beaten unconscious by the same man.
The cabin was then deliberately burned after the witnesses left, so the obvious assumption is that whoever stayed behind finished the job.” Beatrix lightly shifted the katana at her side.
“And who was he?” “Let’s see.” Bill opened the recorded statements.
“Male, approximately thirty years old, around six-foot-three before whatever happened here, extremely muscular, called himself Orion, originally from Monroe, Louisiana, and apparently retired from the military very recently.” He entered the information into the terminal.
Within seconds, several potential identities appeared before being eliminated one after another.
Then a military file opened on the screen, and Orion Locke’s photograph appeared in the upper-left corner beside a prominent security warning.
Bill raised his eyebrows slightly.
Orion’s service record was still restricted because of his years in Naval Special Warfare and his involvement in classified operations.
Under the American classification system, protected information generally progressed from Confidential to Secret and finally Top Secret, with additional compartments and access restrictions layered on top when necessary.
An ordinary local police search would reveal very little about Orion’s operational history.
Bill’s organization apparently had no such problem.
With only a few commands, Orion’s service history, awards, deployments, evaluations, disciplinary records, and eventual discharge appeared across the screen.
Some sections remained compartmentalized even within the file, but what Bill could already see was enough to make him whistle softly.
“Now this explains a few things.” Beatrix leaned closer.
“Good?” “Very.” Bill skimmed several mission summaries.
“Twelve years in the Navy, extensive special operations experience, exceptional marksmanship, close-quarters ratings well above normal standards, repeated overseas deployments, and enough confirmed combat exposure to make most career soldiers look inexperienced.
If the witnesses are telling the truth, he took down two Level 1 Aberrations without knowing what they were.” Beatrix studied Orion’s photograph in silence.
A normal person encountering creatures like the ones described in the police reports would probably have panicked, fled, or died.
Orion Locke had apparently shot one in the head, beaten another unconscious, rescued civilians, and then remained alone at the scene.
Bill looked toward the burned cabin and smirked.
“The arson makes more sense now too.
Destroy the scene, remove anything connecting yourself to it, and disappear before law enforcement arrives.
Very special-operations way of solving a problem.” Beatrix ignored the comment and continued reading Orion’s record.
After another moment, she reached toward the terminal and selected an option attached to his profile.
RECOMMEND FOR RECRUITMENT Bill glanced at the screen, then at her.
A grin slowly appeared on his face.
“Well, well.” He closed the briefcase halfway and looked once more toward Orion Locke’s photograph.
“Looks like we might be getting a new colleague.” (End of Chapter) [Community Goals Ongoing]