SEAL Team 666: A Novel

“You lost it? How?”

As Walker heard the growls, he got to his feet. “Draw your knives,” he said, as if he were a Civil War general commanding his men to fix bayonets. The quarters was too close for ranged weapons. “They’re coming.” He drew his knife and shoved his pistol in his shoulder holster.

“What’s coming?” the FBI agent asked.

“Homunculi,” he muttered. “Fucking Freddy Krueger Chucky Doll Stretch Armstrongs all rolled into one, so your ass better be ready.”

“Backs to the walls,” Laws commanded.

Walker thought that was a great idea. With his back now to the steel door, he stood beside Ruiz.

The growls were becoming louder. They could hear an unidentifiable shuffling from the next room.

Ruiz cursed. “Cemetery Ridge,” he whispered.

Walker recognized the reference. They’d all had the same classes in BUD/S. The West Virginian was talking about none other than Pickett’s Charge—fifteen thousand men charging the defenses of Cemetery Ridge in Gettysburg. He’d always wondered how those men on the ridge felt seeing the force advance across the field toward them. He didn’t have to wonder anymore.

“Fuck. NVGs,” Laws yelled just as the creatures from the other room began to scream like howler monkeys.

Walker powered up his NVGs. Within seconds, the room was a placid green. A moment later that green was spoiled by a dozen scrambling figures with impossibly long arms.

Ruiz, Yaya, and Walker were in the best positions, with their backs against the walls. The wave of homunculi swept past them and onto the four agents who’d tagged along. Four beasts attacked each person, ripping and wrenching with claws, biting and jerking and pulling. The room was filled with human and demon screams, one in agony and the other in ecstasy.

The SEALs waded in.

Walker found himself assisting Agent Stephens, who had a homunculus attached to his face, chewing furiously at his nose. He grabbed the back of the beast and was astonished at its weight. Although it looked like a doll, it weighed as much as a pit bull. He stabbed it sideways with his knife, skewering it through the back.

It let out a shriek unlike any other sound it had made so far; then it died. His knife must have pierced whatever the damn thing had as a heart. But the shriek hadn’t gone unheard. The other homunculi attacking Agent Stephens shifted their attention to Walker.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Agent Stephens fleeing back up the stairs. Walker backed away, waving his arms and kicking his feet in a furious imitation of the spiderweb dance.

But still they came on. One latched onto each of his legs while another leaped toward him.

Walker brought his knife up more in panic than skill and managed to skewer his second long-armed imp. He grabbed it by one of its arms and ripped it free from the blade. Then he used its body to hammer first at the beast on his left leg, then the one on his right. He stunned the one on his right and sent it flying with a kick. The one on his left leg still clung to his thigh, staring one-eyed up at him with a furious grimace on its ugly mug.

Kneeling, Walker let go of the dead homunculus, wrapped his left hand around the living one’s neck, and peeled him off. His leg was bleeding from a dozen wounds, but there was nothing to be done about that now.

The orange creature spat on his hand, making the skin pop and sizzle, but Walker still held on. He brought his arm up, then down as hard as he could, slapping the beast into the ground over and over and over until it felt like nothing more than a sack of wet bones.

Once it was past dead, he tossed it aside and stood. He was breathing heavily. Sweat poured down his brow. He surveyed the living. Surrey was fine. The older ICE agent was fine. The younger ICE agent was on the ground, facedown.

Walker ran to him, knelt, and checked for a pulse—nothing.

That left the FBI agent. Last time he’d seen him, he was running for the stairs.

Walker spied his supine figure on the stairs. Atop it sat two homunculi. At first they seemed to be just sitting, but on closer look they were … eating.

“Aw hell,” he said, over his MBITR. “Two left.”

Walker reached down and grabbed a piece of wood, then advanced on the stairs. He was able to coldcock the one nearest him with a thwack on the back of the head. The other leaped free, dragging what could only be part of the agent’s intestine behind him before dropping it. Then it rappelled down the stairs and onto the floor. It sped across the floor toward the pirates’ cave, winding through legs, and leaping debris. Everyone tried to hit it or kick it, but it was just too fast. Just as it seemed as if it was going to make it to the relative freedom of the cave, a knife impaled it into the drywall.

Ruiz stepped carefully over the debris, ripped his knife free, cleaned it on the fabric of his pants, then replaced it into its sheath.

“Okay boys,” Laws said, his breath coming heavy over the MBITR. “Everyone scream, this time as loud as you can.”

“What?” Yaya asked.

“Just do it.”