Monster Aces, Volume 2

By Pro Se Press

While the world’s still choked with monsters –

THEIR WORK IS NEVER DONE.

Tireless and dedicated, the Aces scour the globe in pursuit of the creatures that seek to terrorize humanity. For this ongoing mission, they leave no stone unturned – and no monsters alive. Whether it be in far-off wilderness, small town America, or among the concrete canyons of the big city, Cap’n, Gats, Joker, Digger, and Trill continue to risk their lives at the cost of their own identities to keep us safe from the things that go bump in the night.

The Earth’s Greatest Monster Killers return in six all-new tales of terror, pure pulp action-adventures that will chill and thrill you all over again...as well as make you look twice under your bed. The Aces are challenged as never before, as they face off against not only a Murderer’s Row of horrors, but with their own motives and the lives they’ve chosen to lead. Through these stories you will see a side of the intrepid band of adventurers that you’ve never seen before.

Concept creator Jim Beard welcomes David White, Nancy Hansen, Jeff McGinnis, J. Walt Layne, and Teel James Glenn to aid him in continuing the Monster Aces’ mission – destroy all monsters, or die trying.

MONSTER ACES VOLUME 2. From Pro Se Productions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pro Se Press
• Release date: Mar 18, 2015

Pro Se Press

Based in Batesville, Arkansas, Pro Se Productions has become a leader on the cutting edge of New Pulp Fiction in a very short time.Pulp Fiction, known by many names and identified as being action/adventure, fast paced, hero versus villain, over the top characters and tight, yet extravagant plots, is experiencing a resurgence like never before. And Pro Se Press is a major part of the revival, one of the reasons that New Pulp is growing by leaps and bounds.

Book preview

MONSTER ACES, VOLUME 2

Published by Pro Se Press

This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters in this publication are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. No part or whole of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing of the publisher.

Copyright © 2015 Pro Se Productions

All stories are © 2015 their respective author

All rights reserved.

Table of Contents

Return of the Sleeper

by Teel James Glenn

The Swarming

by Nancy Hansen

Dare I Live Forever

by David White

Among Us

by Jeff McGinnis

The Wendigo of Black Lake

by J. Walt Layne

The Business of Monsters

by Jim Beard

About the Authors

Return of the Sleeper

A Monster Aces Tale

By Teel James Glenn

The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun. Ecclesiastes 1:9

Prologue

River of Death

The moon reflected blood red in the still waters of the Euphrates River, as if a portent of things to come. It was a cool spring night in Mesopotamia, with a chill wind driving in off the desert stirring a soft cloud of sand before it like a thousand dancing ghosts.

Two figures moved along the inclined bank of the liquid Mother of Life, climbing swiftly up the angled, muddy slope in silence. Their whole aspect spoke of razor edge alertness, yet there was no tension in their bodies. They could not have been more different in appearance despite both being clothed in Sumerian kilts and battle armor.

One figure was tall and dark with long hair almost to his waist and muscular body proportions that artists the world over would call perfect. He had a square cut chin beard in the Assyrian manner but eyes that were ice blue and lambent in their power.

His companion was built along compact lines; a broad, muscular figure with wiry, long red hair and a full dark red beard. His arms seemed almost out of proportion to his body, for their thickness and his fists were large and bony. Despite his rough build, his face was boyish and fixed in a wide grin.

The tall warrior whispered, It seems we have them at last, brother. All the missing maidens are here for the cult’s damned ceremony.

The redhead’s pleasant features shadowed as he asked, Do you think it is true that Sargon is as old as they say he is?

It matters not, the dark warrior said. Today will be his last day no matter how long he has lived by feeding on the blood of the innocent.

Should we not wait for the rest of the troops, my king? The redhead nodded toward the scene before them in stark relief against the sanguine moon. A hundred white robed figures were circled around a stone altar on the broad plain near the riverbank. On the stone platform were five naked girls, barely at the threshold of womanhood, bound to individual daises. The victims writhed and cried under the shadow of red robed ‘priests’ who stood by with bronze sacrificial daggers in their hands.

A wizened figure in black and silver robes stood in the center of the platform, his skinny arms raised in invocation over the helpless and frightened girls. It was the wizard Sargon and his followers' eyes were fixed on him in an ecstasy of devotion as he exhorted them.

Brethren of the Dark, Sargon spoke in a powerful voice that seemed at odds with his withered appearance. The great god Nergal calls for sacrifice! Nanna is in full aspect and calls for blood! He pointed up to the moon, looming large in the sky. When these last five souls have been sent to Nergal and I have drunk their blood, my power will be at its peak. We will march on Uruk and destroy the usurper king!

The entranced followers sent up a cheer that was like thunder as they yelled and stomped their feet in excitement.

There is no time to wait, brother, the dark warrior said, leaning close to his friend to speak over the roar of the adherents. He drew his sword. He grinned boyishly and added, Besides, it’s only two against a hundred. We’ve faced worse odds.

The redhead returned the smile with devil-may-care mischief in his green eyes. Who wants to live forever anyway?

The two friends grasped right forearms in a final salute then the king said, We’ll make for the girls and Sargon. Most of his deviant followers are the dregs of society, not warriors. We stand a good chance to hold them from their blasphemous rite long enough for the Imperial guard to get here.

No stealth then? the redhead asked.

Speed, not stealth, the dark warrior said. Let’s make them think the hordes of hell have arrived to greet them in person.

The two warriors gave each other one last look of assurance and touched their leaf shaped blades then raced up the river bank onto the plain.

The two friends made no attempt at stealth as they charged full speed into the outer ranks of the white robed followers. They raced through the four outer ranks, their keen blades slicing a bloody path through the worshipers before the attention of the whole congregation was drawn to the shouts of outrage and pain.

The old wizard on the altar saw the disturbance and screamed, Destroy the interlopers! They have defiled the sacred ceremony!

The two warriors ignored the yells and continued to press forward despite the swarm of sycophants that now turned to oppose them. The acolytes of the wizard wore only simple robes. None had armor of any sort and few of them were armed even with personal knives, so the only advantage they had was their suicidal zeal and their sheer numbers.

The two friends hacked and slashed their way through the swarming horde as if they were reaping a bloody wheat field, barely slowed by the devoted masses flinging themselves at them. Soon, both warriors were stained from head to foot with crimson gore.

The red haired juggernaut bulled his way ahead of his king and reached the altar first. He leapt nimbly to the rough stone platform while fending off four armed priests who attempted to protect the sacrifices with their ceremonial knives. He was a muscular whirlwind and made quick work of the priests without sustaining a wound.

Stay down, girls! Take heart! Your king is here! the red haired warrior yelled, and there is more help on the way. He spun to face the leader of the cult and suddenly he screamed in agony. A spear of what seemed solid light lanced through his whole body in a spray of blood. He dropped sideways in the midst of the screaming girls as the weapon was withdrawn from him, leaving a gaping hole.

Meanwhile the dark-haired warrior smashed his way through the acolytes and gained the platform. He fended off a red robed priest with no effort just as his friend dropped to his knees.

Enkidu! the king screamed. His anger fueled his corded muscles and he leapt over his fallen friend to fly at the murderous wizard beyond, who held the glowing lance.

The black-robed wizard close up was a thing from a nightmare. His yellow-grey skin hung from him in loose folds from a thin frame and his bald head showed open sores and lesions. He would have looked like a poor street beggar but for the inner light that shone from his black eyes.

It was a mad light that glared at the warrior king with an elemental force of anger and hate. It elevated the feeble body of the old wizard to a formidable and frightening opponent. Waves of arcane energy radiated from him as he stared into the blue eyes of the king. You cannot defeat me, he spat.

Sargon smiled a hideous smile and thrust with the glowing spear at the dark warrior but the king parried it with his bronze blade and riposted as fast as thought. The sorcerer moved with answering swiftness that was clearly beyond only his physical body’s ability.

The spear was more than physical as well, the radiant power from it crackling like contained lightning. The king found himself fighting hard to parry the glowing lance, backing around the stone platform as the old/young wizard laughed and advanced.

The followers of Sargon stopped their assault on the altar and watch with rapt attention as their leader fought the interloper, some even starting to slowly chant the wizard’s name.

The king found himself pressed with such force and swiftness that he had no chance to riposte.All his effort was concentrated on keeping the lightning spearpoint from striking him.

I have only to keep him busy until my guard arrives, he was able to think between parries, and I have won, but only if he does not kill me first.

As he had the thought, the lance point slipped past his parry and slashed a burning cut along his right shoulder. The contact was like the sting of a hundred scorpions and the king almost dropped his blade as he cried out in pain.

The power of Nergal surges through me, Sargon snarled, and through him I will make your suffering so that you will beg for death.

The taunt gave the warrior new strength and he shot back, I will never succumb to your dark energy. The two men had made a full circle of the altar platform so that they stood once more where they had first met, with Sargon standing over the body of Enkidu.

The sorcerer laughed again and thrust forward, smashing the king’s sword aside in preparation to drive the point of his spear into the warrior’s heart but he never made the strike.

Suddenly the ‘corpse’ of Enkidu came alive and a muscled arm reached up to grab the sorcerer’s arm.

The delay allowed the king to strike back, slipping past the spearpoint to sink his bronze point deep into the body of the sorcerer.

As the sword struck home, the followers of the wizard screamed and froze in place, dropping to their knees and wailing in conjoined agony with their leader.

The wizard, however, as he dropped to his knees laughed a hideous laugh that seemed to rise from hell and ended in a liquid gurgle as he spit blood.

The dark-haired warrior stepped back, repulsed by the arcane energy that surged up the sword to his hand from contact with the wizard.

I die, my king, but only to be reborn, the wizard hissed. My followers will never let my power fade. His face twisted into a mask of bestial fury. I curse you to wander the wastes of the world knowing no peace until I feel the light of the moon on my face again. Then, and only then, you will die!

With those words, Sargon shuddered and, with a final eruption of blood from his mouth, was dead.

The warrior king had already left the fallen wizard to kneel beside his red-haired companion.

The fallen man’s armor was awash in blood, much of it his, with a large pool spreading beneath him.

Did we stop him? red-haired Enkidu gasped in a hoarse whisper.

We did because of you, the dark-haired warrior said through tears.

Imperial troops now swarmed around the two companions, protecting the girl sacrifices and slaying the last of the zealot followers of Sargon that had attempted to fight or flee the scene of their master’s death.

That is good. One more victory for my king, Enkidu said. His body spasmed. His skin was ghostly white and cold to the touch as the king cradled him in his arms. The fallen man tried to smile but all he could manage was a grimace of pain. Who wants to – he began, but with a great sigh the spirit left him and he was gone.

To live forever, the warrior king finished for him. He looked over at the shriveled remains of the wizard, his aged face leering up at him from beyond the grave with the light of his evil eclipsed by death.

The king shuddered with premonition of doom but pushed the thought aside. He rose and addressed an armored general who stepped up to kneel before him, awaiting his orders.

Bear the body of noble Enkidu with great reverence to the walls of Uruk so that all may know his courage and his fate.

He looked around at the fallen acolytes of Sargon. As for the rest, he said with contempt, burn their bodies, scatter their ashes and sow the ground with salt that all may know of their crimes and the punishment brought to them by the King of Uruk for all time!

Chapter One

Bad Reception

The Ace called Gats was frustrated and annoyed. Come on, you miserable piece of backyard junk, work! he cursed. I wanna hear the end of ‘Begin the Beguine’!

He was a rugged-looking man with dark hair, dressed in a well tailored suit, though now his tie was askew and jacket slicked to him with sweat from the humidity of Louisiana. It had started to rain again, the typical early evening rain of the delta region, not heavy enough to be called a downpour but with a warm, fine precipitation that was halfway between fog and mist.

The object of Gats’ frustration was a crystal radio set sitting on the passenger seat of the late model coupe he was driving through the back roads of the swampy terrain. He had purchased the radio in Baton Rouge and, after some adjustments to it to increase its power and clarity, had been able to pick up a program from Chicago so he could listen to Artie Shaw on the Mutual Radio Network. It had made the drive down narrow back country roads while he drove toward New Orleans less monotonous. At least it had until ten minutes ago when the signal cut out in a blizzard of static.

Come on, the Ace said again. As he looked down at the radio to adjust the dial, his car rounded a turn and the headlights slashed across a shadowy tableau in the road ahead of him.

There were two cars snugged into the shoulder of the road, a red touring car and an old Model A flatbed truck that had, from the looks of it, rammed into the side of the car.

Gats’ headlights painted light on the scene just as the figure of a girl darted out from behind the car at a dead run, but she was not running toward the Ace’s car, she was running from something.

Two more shapes exploded from the truck chasing the first figure and the Ace knew something was very wrong. Gats hit the brakes and his car skidded to a stop on the muddy dirt road only feet from the cars.

The girl wore a tattered calico dress with long blonde hair. The two following her were burly men dressed in work clothes and wearing flour sack masks with holes cut in them for vision that concealed their faces and gave them a ghastly, almost inhuman appearance. They were chasing the girl with an easy gait.

I’m not havin’ any of this! Gats thought as he threw open the door of his coupe and sprang to the running board with the nimble grace of a ballet dancer.

Hold it right there, you jokers! he called. Gats was tall and lean when he unfolded from the car, with a scar that extended from the corner of his left eye to his left ear that gave him a swashbuckling aspect. He grinned darkly and suddenly two semi-automatic pistols appeared almost magically in his hands.

I’m serious about you two bag heads stoppin’ right where you are, Gats called as he drew a bead on the two cowled men. The men froze, turning to look at the new arrival. I don’ know what this is all about, the Ace said, but that girl is gettin’ in this car and you’re gettin’ on your knees until I do know.

The girl was cowering in the middle of the road, illuminated in stark relief in the headlights of Gats’ car. She was young and pretty but stared at her savior with a true fear in her green eyes, apparently paralyzed with indecision. He could see that she was uncertain whether Gats really was a savior or if it was some trick. He could see chafe marks on her wrists and ankles and guessed they were from ropes. She had been treated roughly, perhaps by the two chasing her. That didn’t improve Gats’ mood.

You boys had better be pretty damn flowery in saying why this little lady is so upset, Gats said harshly, or I may get a little trigger happy.

He stepped down from the running board to get stable ground under his feet and motioned with his head for the girl to come over to the car. When she didn’t move he said in a gentle tone. It’s all right, miss, I’m here to help. He let his dark grin soften. Step around me and we’ll talk about what this all about when we’ve gotten out of here.

The girl glanced back at the two masked men then made up her mind that Gats was at worse the best of two evils and started to move toward him. Just as she did another masked man popped out from behind the truck, raised a rifle to his shoulder and fired.

The dark haired Ace saw the rifleman a moment before the masked man pulled the trigger.

Duck! Gats yelled to the girl as he tried to preempt the rifleman’s shot with one of his own. His cry only served to freeze the blonde girl in place.

Many things happened simultaneously then. The rifleman fired, Gats fired both his pistols and the two kneeling masked men both drew knives and charged.

The rifleman’s bullet ripped through Gats’ right sleeve, gouging a deep cut in his side.

One of Gats’ shots hit the rifle in dead center in the stock and actually blew the gun out of the attacker’s hands. The second pistol shot struck home, slamming a hole through the rifleman’s chest.

The two hooded men were upon Gats before he could re-target them, with one of them slashing his left arm and causing him to drop that gun. The other attacker tackled the dark haired man and slammed both of them into the side of Gats’ coupe.

Gats’ remaining pistol discharged into the ground and his assailant pinned his arm against the car.

The attacker then tried to drive a six-inch knife into the Ace’s side and Gats had to hold him off with his injured left hand.

The Ace had the wind knocked out of him by the sudden attack but getting caught off guard also made him angry. That was bad for the hooded man.

He roared a challenge and slammed his forehead into the space between the masks eyeholes. The attacker yelped in pain and loosened his hold on Gats, who then heaved him off.

The masked man recovered quickly however and before the Ace