Kill Kill Kill (Part 1)

By Mike Leon

WARNING: THIS BOOK IS TOTALLY METAL.

No, it's not made of metal. It's totally metal the same way that electric guitars, ninjas, and hot naked girls riding on dinosaurs are totally metal. If you don't understand, then just put this book down and walk away. Just walk away.

But if you do understand...

Welcome to Graveyard – an elite private military company employed by the secret society that really controls the world – this world. YOUR WORLD.

Graveyard’s commander is the grizzled Walter Stedman, a former Delta Force operator battered by twenty years of secret wars, forbidden knowledge, and abominations of science.

Someone has murdered one of Walter’s employers, and that means Graveyard is about to go to war. The enemy is like none Walter has ever encountered – creatures from beyond nightmares.

His mission will lead him into direct confrontation with an old friend, the legendary Graveyard operator known as Kill Team One - because his exploits in combat match those of an entire squad of regular men.

Now retired, Kill Team One has used a strict regimen of training, beatings, and propaganda to condition his two teenage sons into the ultimate super soldiers – ice cold killers that have known nothing but violence and destruction since birth. One of them may be almost human. Almost.

Tracking their every move is the ninja, Yoshida Tanaka – a man consumed by hatred in the decade since Kill Team One needlessly tortured his young family to death. Now he lurks in the shadows, honing his skills and waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

All of this has come together as a perfect storm, and by the time the rains subside, all life on Earth may have been washed away.

This volume contains chapters 1-23 of KILL KILL KILL.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Leon
• Release date: Apr 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310972539

Book preview

KILL KILL KILL (Part 1)

By Mike Leon

Copyright 2012

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012, 2013 by Mike Leon

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Author, except where permitted by law.

Cover art by Paul Bohart

Additional illustrations by Rachel Lang

PLEASE SEND ALL COMMENTS, QUESTIONS AND DEATH THREATS TO:

[e-mail]

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Now we are all sons of bitches.

Kenneth Bainbridge

July 16, 1945

LITTLE GIRL LOST

It’s a fucking bloodbath in there, Shelly says.

The skinny blond is holding a Milkor multiple grenade launcher over her shoulder as she radios to Echo Team that Walter is here. Back when Walter was in the shit, the army still had a no girls allowed policy. Shelly makes him wish they didn’t.

Where’s Spears? Walter asks. He stands with his boots three inches deep in the un-shoveled snow of the driveway in front of Van Duyn Manor. His brown trench coat nearly scrapes the white powder and flakes of it land on his head and melt into his short silver hair.

Through that side door there into the kitchen. Just go straight through into the dining hall. The Lieutenant should be in there.

The sky is dark and choked with white fuzz. Walter can barely make out the lights high atop the colossal mansion as dim balls of blur in the snowy gloom.

Good. You stay here with the big guy.

The big guy? Shelly says, peering at Walter over the mirror lenses of her sunglasses.

Walter waves his hand and the Ghoul steps out of the rental car behind him. The shocks creak and the car raises almost a foot.

Seven feet tall and weighing four hundred pounds fully armored, the creature known only as Ghoul speaks rarely when not excited by the promise of violence or the sight of blood. Its black Kevlar armor reminds Walter of the suits worn by bomb disposal technicians. The obvious difference is the skull faced rubber Halloween mask the Ghoul wears over his helmet. Walter hates that stupid mask, though it is a huge improvement over the hideous face underneath.

Um. Okay… Shelly says. She stares up at the monstrous butcher beside her with obvious unease as Walter walks away and into the house. Walter doesn’t need the monster stomping around inside messing up the scene. It is notoriously careless with its size and strength.

His way through the kitchen is unremarkable, although the kitchen is notably immaculate and stocked with industrial cooking equipment rather than the common housewares. It looks like the grill line at a five star restaurant – all except for the handful of soldiers standing guard with MP5 submachine guns and body armor. They wear black uniform fatigues under their vests, unmarked except for the fanged skull and crossbones patch on the left shoulder which marks them as operators of Graveyard. The patch, which is plain white and lacks any numbers or rank insignias, has existed for almost a century, and was designed specifically to be ambiguous as well as unnerving. One man nods solemnly as Walter walks past them into the dining room. The sight that greets him there is a terrible one.

Dangling upside down from the dining hall chandelier is the corpse of Mrs. Victoria Van Duyn, the lady of the house. Walter cannot confirm that entirely, as her head is missing, but her vibrant pink bubble hem dress hangs down exposing her jade lace underwear, which is a telling feature considering Eli Van Duyn’s well known taste for young trophy wives – this being the last in a long series. The chandelier is elaborate and huge. Silver arms and branches extend in many directions and the tiny white lights number at least a hundred by Walter’s estimation. Lady Van Duyn’s ankle is caught somehow in the crisscross of silver so that one bar acts as a fulcrum beneath her knee and the weight of her dangling body levers her shin upwards against another bar to keep her suspended. This will remain until they take her down or her shin breaks – whichever happens first. A dark puddle of blood has collected on the long and ornately carved wooden dining table below her. A few thick lines extend out from the main puddle and onto the surrounding chairs and tile floor. Those were left by the swinging of the chandelier.

Walter is so transfixed that he nearly trips on another body. A man wearing a gray Armani suit lies face down on the tile at his feet. The suit is perforated with so many bullet holes that they almost make one big hole in the back of the suit coat. His gun, an Ingram MAC-10, juts out from the open wound as if he was stabbed with the muzzle, and the fingers at the end of his twisted and broken right arm are still caught in the trigger guard. Dozens of shell casings litter the floor. So much blood has pooled around the cadaver that the casings are half sunk in it. Walter leans to get a look at the face and he recognizes the man as William Travers. That surprises him. He knew Travers years ago, when they were in Delta together. He was with Travers on an operation in Burma that went completely to shit. Travers, Walter and two others made their way through thirty miles of dense bush with a whole division of guerillas right on their asses. Walter saw Travers gruelingly force his thumbs through the eyeballs of a Burmese militia man in that jungle. Bill Travers was a killer – one of the best. Now it looks like someone stomped him against the floor and emptied his own subgun magazine into his spine. Travers had kids, a boy and a girl, and an ex-wife somewhere. Someone will need to go talk to them.

For the first time since he entered, Walter takes note of the personnel snapping photos and examining the scene. He vaguely recognizes a few of the dozen people there. He doesn’t fraternize much with the labcoat set.

Lieutenant Jim ‘KillCrazy’ Spears enters through a wooden door on the other side of the room with two other Echo members. He gives a grim nod of recognition when he sees Walter leaning to get a better look at the body hanging from the chandelier. Spears is a younger man. His hair is sandy blond and if there are any gray strands they don’t stand out. His rifle is slung over his shoulder and he wears the solid black fatigues of a Graveyard operator.

They were at a fund raiser for the gun lobby. He left before she did, Spears says, eyeing toward the hanging body. Best we can figure, she came home and walked in on the killer.

Where’s Van Duyn? Walter says.

On the back veranda, Spears answers stone faced. He shakes his head slightly as he does so. You think this is a freak show? This is just the beginning.

Walter follows Spears and another man through the wooden door into the den, which Walter assumes is one of many. They pass another dead bodyguard, this one eviscerated over a glass coffee table which has spider webbed, but not shattered, under his weight. Walter doesn’t know him.

There were three guards, Spears says. We found another one on the third floor with the butler and a member of the kitchen staff. It looks like they were trying to make a phone call, but all the lines were cut. Power too.

Spears opens a glass door from the den to the outside, and as Walter steps out onto the wooden planks of the back veranda, what he sees is even more mind boggling than the scene in the dining hall.

Eli Van Duyn lies face up on the veranda floor, vacant eyes gazing up at the ceiling in terror. He wears a black tuxedo with a white shirt and black tie that streams from his neck and over his right shoulder until it ends in a tattered tear. His body ends in a similar way just above his waist. His tuxedo top is a shredded mess and the flesh underneath comes to a jagged conclusion as well. Bloody guts pour from the gaping hole. Walter can make out a lower rib pointing skyward and a splintered spine resting against the floor. His lower half is nowhere to be seen.

Where’s the rest of him? Walter demands in an uncharacteristically shrill tone.

We can’t find it, Spears answers. I’ve seen guys look like that after they stepped on an IED, but there’s no damage here from explosives and well... He trails off as if purposely omitting something.

Walter leans closer to the body and happens upon the same bizarre observation. There is a serrated, saw-like pattern to the massive wound.

This looks like a shark bite, Walter says.

We know, Spears answers.

What can do that?

Spears shakes his head. A shark, I guess.

A shark doesn’t climb out of the ocean and walk a hundred miles onto dry land through a snow storm, cut the power to the house, shoot Bill Travers in the god damned back with his own gun and hang some bitch from a chandelier. Not any kind of shark I’ve ever seen.

Walter is still examining the corpse with grim fascination when Operator Morgan steps out onto the veranda. Morgan is a short man, thick and muscular – the kind of man Van Hansen would say was built like a brick shithouse. He stuffs a heavily padded Blackberry cell phone into a shirt pocket and he displays a look of urgency.

I just had Van Duyn’s ex-wife on the phone, Morgan reports. His daughter was supposed to be here for the weekend.

Spears’ eyes widen. Walter grunts. Echo Team did not find any children during the initial clearing, dead or alive. Both men jump into action.

Get Shelly, Spears barks at Morgan. I want a fire team on this veranda in two minutes, and bring the dogs.

Walter raises a radio and calls a dog of his own. Ghoul. Follow operator Baum to the back deck. The Ghoul doesn’t know what veranda means. Walter finds it best to keep his commands simple.

Two minutes later, Shelly Baum is on the veranda with the Ghoul, four operators, and two German shepherds. Morgan finds a doll, upstairs in the girl’s bed, which the handler gives the dogs to pick up a scent. They hit on something almost immediately, but the trail takes them away from the house – out into the biting cold. Spears leaves Morgan in charge at the house as the dogs guide them into the woods outside. Walter, The Ghoul, Shelly Baum, and the fire team follow.

Walter figures the girl will be frozen solid if they find her. No one could survive in this for long. The Ghoul stomps through the snow ahead of them with only the dogs to show the way. The cold has little effect on the giant barbarian. It annoys Walter, who pulls his beret down low and covers half his face with the scarf. Spears and his operators are stone faced and cover all directions as