About thirty minutes later we were headed north on I-35 back towards the warehouse that Sam and I had first met and killed a few Broadhead employees. Sam was tucked down in the back of the truck out of sight and watching our unconscious prisoner, I was in the passenger seat, and Sarah was driving along at seventy-five miles per hour.

  I was deep inside my own head, trying to control the after-action jitters that were being exacerbated by my withdrawal pains from the pills I had run out of. I wasn't doing well. After the truck swerved three times I came up out of my own thoughts and noticed Sarah was crying.

  “Pull over,” I said, trying to stop my shaking hands. “I’ll drive from here.”

  She didn’t say anything, instead staring straight out the front windshield while driving. I reached over and put my hand on her arm. She flinched, swerved the truck, and caught herself before she could sob.

  “Sarah. Please. Pull over. You’ve done enough. You need a break. I’ll drive from here.”

  She took the next exit ramp and parked it on the shoulder of the road without a word and without taking her eyes from the road. When she stopped the truck, I jumped out the door and ran around to the driver's side. I completely ignored Sam yelling, “What’s going on?” and opened the driver's side door to find Sarah sitting there breathing deeply.

  Unbuckling her seatbelt, I quietly said, “Sarah. Slide over on the seat. I’m driving the rest of the way.”

  Nothing happened for a second and I was afraid she was going catatonic, when she abruptly shifted over to the passenger side of the truck cab. I jumped in, shut the door and took off, crossing the road and taking the feeder ramp down to I-35 and merging back into traffic.

  A few miles later, I heard her softly crying and glanced over to see her curled up against the door. I left her alone for a few minutes. She was processing the trauma of life and death combat and it packs a real wallop. Especially for those not trained or experienced in violence at that level.

  Keeping my voice calm and quiet, I quietly said, “Hey there, it’s over for now. You’re okay. I’m here when you’re ready to talk about it.” And then I shut the hell up. I’m not a psychiatrist, but I do know what’s helped what feels like hundreds of my fellow soldiers and warriors through their first action, and more often than not, it’s quiet words of support and an ear when they're ready to talk it out.

  About fifteen miles down the road, I heard her straighten up and looked over to see her wipe her eyes and nose. She asked, “Who the hell is Sam, and what the hell is going on?”

  “That’s a hell of a question.” I replied.

  “Which one?” she asked.

  “Both. I already told you about what happened to me the last time I met Sam, and the conversation we had.”

  “Yeah, and you told me he couldn’t be trusted. I thought you didn’t believe what he said.”

  “I don’t believe everything he said. I don’t trust him much at all, but he does seem to know Frank and want to stop Broadhead from doing whatever it is that they want to do.”

  “Bring back actual Gods?”

  “That’s what he says.”

  “Dru, what do you believe? Because the more I think about this, the more concerned I am about how they thought they were going to get away with blowing up my house and sending nine men into my neighborhood with guns to kill me in the middle of the day!”

  “YEAH DRU. WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE?” yelled Sam from the bed of the truck, his face and body pressed up against the back cab window like a kid looking into a candy store.

  After jumping almost high enough to smash my head into the roof of the cab, I turned in my seat and yelled, “DON’T FUCKING DO THAT, SAM!”

  Laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes, Sam replied, “SORRY, DRU!”

  “Fucking asshole,” I said while glancing over at Sarah. “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay, Dru. Mr. Sam is an asshole, I get it.”

  “HEY!”

  I smiled. “Very true, Sarah. Very true.”

  “NOT NICE!”

  Holding my middle finger up to the window, Sam got the point and scrunched back down in the truck bed to hide from sight.

  “He also obviously doesn’t want us thinking too hard about the firefight at your house.“ I said.

  “Why?”

  “Probably because then we might ask ourselves why he was there, how he found us, and what was he doing?”

  She was silent for a moment, turned to me, and said, “There are two distinctly negative possibilities in the literally dozens of actual reasons for that man to be here.”

  “Yeah, I know. He may be one of them.”

  Surprised, Sarah said, “No. Not that. I don’t think he’s part of the bad guys at all.”

  “No?”

  “No. Like you said when you told me the story, it’s too crazy and convoluted. Worse, it’s inefficient and stupid. The Sam you described isn’t that. No, I think the two possibilities that are worst case are these: One he’s a total nut job living in a fantasy world and playing his own crazy game that has nothing to do with us or Broadhead specifically, or he’s a total nut job that believes every single thing he’s told you so far.”

  We were both silent for a minute before she said, “Actually, option three in the worst case scenario is he’s actually right about everything he’s saying.”

  I snorted. “Gods and Armageddon? No.” That wasn't an idea I wanted to even entertain.

  I didn’t say anything else because we were turning down the road to the warehouses. We’d be there in about five minutes. But I thought about a lot of things. Things from my fighting past.

  As we pulled into the parking lot I asked, “Did Frank ever tell you about Jo?”

  She was silent for a moment. “Jo is the woman you killed. On your own team.”

  After a short eternity where my guts flip-flopped around and my brain tried to shut down, I replied, “Yes she was. But she deserved it and more. That’s not what I’m asking. Did he describe her specifically to you?”

  “Only that she was an Extra.”

  I parked the truck and shut it off. “Jo was what legends call a Cherufe, from Chile. She was a creature with a long face and skin that looked like rock. In the legends, It is said that Cherufe lived in lava pools inside volcanos and created earthquakes and eruptions. Way back in history, Jo’s family played upon these superstitions and required sacrifices from the Homo Sapien natives of Chile.”

  Sam climbed out of the parked truck and said, “Tell her the rest, Dru. Tell her the way to satiate the Cherufe's appetite was with human flesh. Tell her how they demanded that they throw a sacrificial victim into the bowels of its volcanic home. Tell her the Cherufe's preferred delicacy came in the form of virgins. Tell her they ate children.”

  “My God, is this true?” Sarah looked at me.

  “Yeah. It was true. Jo talked about it from time to time to shock us all. Called them the good old days. She was Evil. When I killed her, she had butchered every child in a village. Like sacrifices. Like cattle.”

  Sam piled on, “What else did she tell you, Dru? She ever talk about, say, Ayar Cachi?”

  “Who?” Sarah asked.

  Sam continued, “Ayar Cachi, the Incan God of Storms. In mythology, he was an incredibly powerful, mean, and nasty God. He would use his slingshot to shoot stones at the sky, creating rain and thunder." Then he smiled a nasty smile and asked, "You like slingshots, Dru?"

  I ignored him and he went on, "He had three weaker and apparently kinder brothers who feared and hated him. Cachi was one of three triplets, and he had an older brother who was a protector and champion of the Incas. One day the brothers convinced him to go into a cave to get food - in Chile - and they sealed him in. They claim Ayar Cachi still shouts in anger, causing the sky and earth to shake. Thus he is also the god of earthquakes.”

  “Okay. What has this to do with Jo?”

  I answered, “Jo claimed Ayar Cachi was real and that her family had been his unwilling jailors at the command of the other three brothers. Jo said he died in that cave about...”

  “About 150 years ago?” Sam chimed in.

  “Yeah.”

  “Gods don’t die unless physically destroyed by an enemy. No God would die in a cave. He just…disappeared. Jo knew that.”

  “So Sam, I got to ask, and yes, I already regret it, but how do you know this?”

  “I know everything about every God in the Americas. It’s kind of my specialty.”

  “No, Sam. I don’t give a shit about your advanced degree in South American Mythology. I’m asking why you think you know that a “God” can’t be killed by being trapped in a cave?”

  “Oh I know, but you’re not ready for that kind of talk yet. You’re still fighting the hook.”

  “So prove it, Sam. Show us you’re not a lunatic. Make this real for us.”

  “I’m about to, Dru, but if you two aren’t quite ready to believe yet, there might be a problem. People are amazingly good at fooling themselves and ignoring what they don’t want to believe.”

  “I married a man 300 years old. I’m pretty good at believing, Mr. Sam.” She retorted.

  He locked eyes with her for a few seconds. “We’ll see. We’ll see. Grab the guy in the truck bed and drag his ass into the warehouse. I’ve got some Mojo to perform.”

  “Mojo? Really?”

  “All real shamans can do some mojo, Dru, it's not reserved for the African Moco’o. And I am one hell of a Sgaaga.”

  Sarah and I exchanged a glance, and her head nodded a fraction of an inch to the side. I sighed and went to get the asshole in the truck bed.

  “So,” I said once I got the prisoner safely inside and shut the door, “what the hell is a Sgaaga?”

  “Me.”

  “Not helpful.”

  “A Shaman. Use your context clues. I told you I was a religious man for my people.”

  “What people?” Sarah chimed in.

  “All of them. All of the REAL people of this land anyway. Fuck you white people." he tossed out casually, as if the heat from the thought had long since burned down to embers. "But what you are asking is where am I from. I currently live in Alaska and the government says I’m part of the Haida people. Pretty funny considering the truth.”

  “What truth is that?” I asked.

  “None of your fucking business. Now let me work on this unconscious guy here so that he doesn’t kill himself when we question him about Broadhead, the way the last guy did. Okay? Good.”

  “Ravens!” I yelled, smacking my forehead.

  Sarah and Sam jumped like teens in a haunted house, staring at me like I was the crazy killer jumping out of the wall at them.

  “There was a Raven or Crow - some big damn black bird - flying over the house right before we ran into the first group of Broadhead goons. And there was one when I killed those guys right outside in the parking lot yesterday.”

  Sam seemed to shift on his haunches like a predator of some kind as he squatted over the unconscious guy, and he smiled. “Why Dru, whatever could that mean, do you think? Crows and Druids?”

  I stared at him. “There are no Gods running around Central Texas.”

  “So you hope.”

  “Ravens? Crows?” Sarah asked.

  “Yeah”, I replied, thinking furiously. "Broadhead are Druids, right?”

  Sam relaxed and settled down as he said, “I think you’re starting to get an idea, Dru.”

  “Ravens, well, Crows actually, are always on the battlefields of Druidic Myth. Sometimes it wasn’t a real crow, but actually...”

  “Morrigan, Dru. Morrigan, Chooser of the Slain.”

  “There is no Celtic God running around Central Texas.”

  “I agree. Definitely not.” Sam replied with a laugh.

  He stood up and walked over to me, fishing a small plastic bag out of his pocket. He handed it over and said, “But here’s an idea: is it so hard to believe that a Druidic organization trains and uses Crows as a symbolic mascot?”

  I looked down into my hands to see that the bag was full of my beautiful little painkillers. I looked up sharply at him, uncertainty and suspicion on my face.

  Quietly so that Sarah didn't see or hear, he said, "I need you level for what's coming next Dru, you know that I'm right. Take two pills and let's get to work."

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Sarah jumped in from her place about twelve feet away, “Wait. Ravens, Crows, and real Gods? Come on boys. Parallel evolution is a thing, and we know it happens, but actual real Gods?”

  “Believe it, Missy.” Sam said distractedly.

  “Missy?” She closed the distance and got right in his face.

  Clutching my baggy of opioids, I stepped back and laughed. I couldn’t help it. “You done messed up A-A-ron.” Both turned and looked at me. “No? Nobody watched that TV show? Substitute teacher skit? It’s not nearly as old as Annie Oakley!”

  Sarah turned back to Sam, “My name is Sarah, and you’ll remember that.”

  “You bet I will.” he said seriously. As she backed off, he commented, “Frank said you were fierce. I see he wasn’t exaggerating.”

  “Frank never even mentioned you before.” She said archly.

  Before he could reply, the goon started to moan and wake up. While Sarah and Sam were watching him, I opened the bag and got level by taking three pills.

  Sam leaned over the goon and grabbed his head with both hands forcing the slowly gaining consciousness prisoner to look into his eyes. Sam seemed to be searching for something, and as the prisoner focused on Sam's face and got a good look into his eyes, Sam seemed to find what he was looking for because he smiled and mumbled “Gotcha!” quietly to himself.

  Still speaking quietly, he said, “Alright little salmon, swim upstream to me. There you go, that’s the real you. Come on back and let that mean little tickle slide off your back. That’s it. Come up to me. There you go. There you goooo…bingo!”

  The guy on the floor shuddered and spasmed once as his whole body went rigid, then he seemed to almost relax and melt into the floor as he sighed and went unconscious again.

  Sam uncaringly dropped his head to the floor with a thunk as he stood up and looked over to me. “He’ll wake up in about 2 minutes. I suggest we tie him up good and get ready for a hard Q&A session.”

  “What did you do to him?” Sarah asked.

  “I unfucked his brain. Dru and I discovered that these guys have a compulsion placed on them to go berserk if questioned or even within hearing of people discussing Gods and Broadhead. Isn’t that right, Dru?” he turned to me.

  “Well, that one guy certainly went crazy while we were talking about it, but one person is not what I’d call a valid sample size.”

  “Sure. We can keep pretending if you want. But this guy is going to wake up real soon. Maybe we tie him up now and argue later?”

  “Fair enough.” I said, and went into the side office where we had discarded the ropes from last time. I brought them out and Sam tied up the guy as he started to come around.

  As he opened his eyes, Sarah, me, and Sam were standing at his feet staring at him. He immediately recognized Sarah and me, but when he looked at Sam he got this confused look on his face.

  “Hi.” I said. “Guess what? You’re fucked. You tried, you lost, and now you’re done.”

  He looked at me with a grim set to his face and glanced around the warehouse. This guy was a pro, for sure, but that only meant he knew. He knew he was completely at our mercy and whatever was going to happen, was going to happen.

  “Yup. That’s right.” I continued. “You’re here. There’s no help coming, no one to hear you yell or scream, and we’re going to ask you questions. You will answer.”

  He chuckled. It was a resigned sound, “I may surprise you.”

  Sam jumped in, “No. No, you won’t. That little Geas you’re thinking of is gone. I took it away. No release of madness for you.”

  Now he stared real close at Sam. “Who the hell are you, and how…?”

  “How do I know about the Geas? We ran into it yesterday.”

  “But…how…?”

  “How did I remove it? My little secret.”

  “But...you can’t remove it. Can you? It’s not possible.”

  “Of course it is.” Sam replied “But here, let’s get this over with because you’re boring me. Broadhead is a bunch of Druids dead set on bringing back Gods to Earth because they are idiots who don’t learn from their own history. They are so stupid, in fact, that they are willing to bring ANY Gods back. Not Celtic. Any.”

  Then we all stared at each other for a few seconds.

  The man was sitting on the floor, eyes wide open and panting. He was clearly terrified and on the edges of real panic. It’s pretty common when you realize the other guys are right and you are truly fucked.

  Sarah was the first to break the tableau by moving up to the guy and asking him, “Where is my Frank?”

  “Frank who?”

  “My husband, you monster!” Displaying a surprising level of technique and expertise, Sarah kicked the man across the face with a shinbone roundhouse, knocking him onto his side. As he struggled to sit up, Sarah went back in for another, but I quickly put an arm out in front of her.

  “Sarah. There’s a process to this if we’re going to get the information we need. This is why you asked for my help. I’ll take it from here. Why don’t you go outside for a while? What I’m about to do is not nice.”

  “I can handle it, Dru. I want to know where my Frank is.”

  “And if this guy knows, so will we. Eventually. But Sarah…what’s about to happen is nasty. This is not the nice guys trying to get information from the bad guys. I’m about to torture this man. He will not survive it. It will take hours, and it will be horrible. You do not want to be here.”

  She was about to argue, but I interrupted her, “You don’t. Trust me. If you’re a good person at all, the next three hours will make you physically ill and give you nightmares for life.”

  It finally got through to her, and she looked me in the eyes, “No, Dru. I get the need for harsh actions, but right now we are the good guys. We don’t need to go that far, surely?”

  “This man will die here.”

  “Dru, I’m okay with that, honestly, but how he dies does matter. At least to me.”

  “Didn’t you just kick this guy in the face?”

  “Yes! I was angry. I'm scared! But I shouldn't have done it, and what you’re talking about is much worse. Much more…evil. Yes?”

  “I’m talking more efficient and more reliable. But yes, Sarah, this is not good guy stuff.”

  "But I thought torture was actually unreliable?"

  "Nah, that's Television. Torture works great if you do it right. The key is to keep them in such pain that they can't keep the lies straight and they have to tell the truth to get it to stop."

  Sam chose that moment to say, “There's a toolbox in the office. It has vice grips, a hammer, some screwdrivers, and more. Let’s get started.”

  Not taking my eyes from Sarah, I asked, “Is there a torch or heat of any kind here?”

  “She shook her head in small little turns and whispered to me, “No Dru. Let's ask our questions and move on. I know it sounds crazy, but I honestly think torture crosses a line.”

  “It’s not the movies, Sarah. This is how it works in real life. This guy is going to die screaming answers to our questions. Otherwise, we can’t trust the answers.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  Sam walked over to us and looked at Sarah as he said, “Let me take you outside and talk to you while Dru gets everything started. He’s right, you don’t have to be here. You can’t be here right now.”

  In a daze, Sarah allowed herself to be led outside as Sam whispered into her ear while walking. At the door, they stopped and Sarah turned around to stare at me for a few seconds. Sam nudged her a little and she walked out into the parking lot, the door closing with a loud bang behind her.

  “You think she believed you?” the prisoner asked from the floor.

  “She should. It was the truth.”

  “You know damn well I’ll tell you what you want. Promise me a quick and painless death, is all I ask.”

  “And you know damn well I can’t trust your answers, so I’ll have to put you in enough pain you can’t keep the lies straight and the truth shall set you free.”

  “Actually, we have a third option.” Sam called across the floor as he came back inside.

  “We do?” I asked.

  “Of course. I’ll do to him what I did to you yesterday.”

  “Me? What did you do to me?”

  “Oh Dru, you haven’t figured it out yet? Why did you tell me all that stuff about your last mission in the squad? How did you? How did you suddenly remember all that stuff, and then tell me about it? Me? A total stranger to you, and you just…told me everything?”

  Somehow a gun was in my hand and pointing at Sam’s head. “Yeah. You know, how the fuck did that happen, and why am I only now realizing how screwed up that is? Maybe you’d better answer real quick.”

  “You had a Geas on you. Actually you have a bunch of them. It's my guess that you're missing lots of memories, my fierce Irish dog. It made it so you could not think about or remember events of that day. I removed it. And it turns out you desperately wanted to remember that stuff, I simply convinced you to say it out loud as it all came back.”

  “Who are you, Sam?”

  “I think you and this guy on the floor have a good idea who I am, and I think you both know that me and mine are real.”

  “Are you…a God?” The prisoner asked.

  Sam kept his eye on me while he answered, “There are no Gods running around Central Texas, right Dru?”

  Lowering my gun, but maintaining the stare, I replied, “No, we’d know if there were Gods on Earth. I have it on good authority.”

  Sam laughed out loud and said, “But there sure are a lot more God-touched running around than we thought.”

  “You guys are God-touched?”

  We both looked down at the poor schmuck on the ground and said, “Yes.” in unison.

  “Fuck me.”

  “Pretty much.” Sam replied. “But here’s what we can do. I can guarantee every word out of your mouth is the truth so long as you willingly agree to what I do. I can lay a compulsion on you to speak honestly and completely, but it won’t work unless you agree to it. And yes, I’ll know if you agree to it for real or not.”

  “And if you do it,” I added in, catching on to the idea, “I’ll ask you questions with no hammer, and when we’re done, I’ll end your life quickly and painlessly. It’s the best deal you’ll get. Decide right now or I go get the toolbox. Personally, I hope you decline. I’m feeling a little mean right now.”

  He decided on the obvious, and we set about getting ready for the interrogation. I went outside to explain to Sarah, but discovered that Sam had told her he was going to offer a plan to question him without torture already. She was waiting for me to come out and get her.

  "I knew you wouldn't do it." she said incorrectly. I stayed quiet. I figured I'd let her keep her comfortable delusions about me for a little while longer.

  We came back inside to see Sam eye to eye with the prisoner, talking in a low voice with what sounded like chanting. As we walked up to him, he finished whatever it was he was doing and stepped back. “Stay quiet when you talk, ask him questions calmly, and he’ll answer everything you ask.”

  Without hesitation, Sarah stepped up to the prisoner. “Where is Frank?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Sarah”, I said, “Let me handle this. It’s better if one person questions him. I’ll ask the questions and if I miss anything, let me know what you want answered, okay?”

  Reluctantly, she nodded assent and stepped back. I pulled up a nearby chair and sat down next to the apparently enchanted captive.

  “Do you know who Frank Egils is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he alive?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where are prisoners kept?”

  “Lots of places. We can keep them anywhere we want.”

  “Where would you keep someone like Frank?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is there a place where you keep the important prisoners?”

  “We don’t usually keep prisoners long term.”

  Shit, this wasn’t going anywhere good. I paused for a second and Sam came over to me. “Ask him where they question and torture people. If Frank is still alive it’s because they need something from him. They’ll be asking.”

  “Great idea.” I answered. Turning back to the prisoner I asked, “Where do you keep people you are interrogating?”

  “We have a bunch of interrogation facilities.”

  “Where are the three closest?” I asked in desperation.

  “There’s one near Dallas, one in Houston, and one in San Antonio.”

  We all looked at each other. “Where is the one in Dallas?

  “The Sanctuary.”

  “Where is that?”

  “Cedar Hill.”

  I turned to Sarah, “Look that up.”

  “Already on it...” she replied. “...Found it. Need an address.”

  “What’s the address?” I asked him.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been there.”

  “Not important.” Sam interjected. “I’ll find out by the time we get there, if that’s where we’re going.”

  “Of course that’s where we’re going!” Sarah spat out.

  “We have more to ask and find out. We can’t decide where we’re going until we know all we need to know. That’s all I’m saying. I’m not trying to start a fight.”

  Not saying anything to either of my companions, I resumed questioning. “Why do you know who Frank is?”

  “I was in the building the day he was taken. Lieutenant Egils and I had crossed paths in Afghanistan while I was deployed about three years ago. He was detained by Broadhead after he came to our Dallas office and asked to see Ms. Byrne.”

  “Byrne who?”

  “Ms. Shannon Byrne.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How do you know he was detained?”

  “I saw him walking between Jason and Sean.”

  “You know Jase and Sean?” I asked, surprised.

  “They were friends of mine.”

  “Who are Jason and Sean?” Sarah asked.

  “The first two people I killed yesterday.” I answered. Sam smothered a laugh by snorting and covering his mouth.

  The guy looked up at me. “You’re the one who killed them? You’re the Trickster?”

  Now it was my turn to be surprised. “The what now?”

  “Jason said Frank was working for the Trickster.”

  I slowly turned my head to stare at Sam. He was smiling, but his eyes were hard as flint.

  “I’ve been called that before. That and worse.” he said with a shrug. “It’s kind of a code name between me and my associates, of which Frank was one.”

  Sam was full of shit. I asked my next question, “Who is the Trickster?”

  “A real pain in the ass for Broadhead. He’s some sort of hacker and environmentalist. He’s always trying to sabotage our programs and we have terminate on sight orders if we find him or anyone working for him in the field.”

  “Why would an environmentalist be after a private military contractor?”

  “We contract out to other companies as well. Specifically oil, mining, and mineral exploration.”

  “They rape the earth.” Sam interrupted. “They destroy entire ecosystems. And they do it to prepare the way for specific Gods.”

  “What?”

  “Ask him where the last sabotaged program was located and what they were doing. Go ahead.”

  “What was the sight of the last Trickster event?”

  “Chile mining operation.”

  “Chile?”

  “Yes.”

  “They were re-opening a huge cave that had been closed in centuries before by an earthquake, Dru. Figure it out yet?”

  “Are you honestly trying to tell me they were looking for Ayar Cachi?”

  “No. They were opening the cave so that if they could get him back to earth, he’d be free. He’d be a horrifically bad God to have free. So I stopped it. Actually got the whole mountainside to collapse down on top of itself. He’s buried deeper than ever.”

  “How many died? “ I asked Sam.

  “Official report lists 293 people.” The prisoner replied.

  “That’s horrible.” Sarah said.

  “Better than freeing a God that enjoyed cruelty so vast that both the humans and the God's own brothers conspired to trap him in a cave. A cave, coincidentally, that legend says has windows to the place of the Gods’ birth. You’re welcome.”

  “Why did you send Frank into that office alone?” Sarah demanded.

  “That was Frank's choice. I wanted him to have backup.”

  “So why didn’t you back him up?” she continued

  “Oh, no. Not me. I’m not the kind of guy one wants for backup. I wanted you, Dru.”

  “What? Me?” I was totally caught off guard.

  “Yes, you. But Frank wasn’t having it. Told me you were unreliable and had too many secrets. So he went it alone and he paid the price.”

  “Well this is fucked up. When were you planning on telling me this, Sam?”

  “Never! It’s no longer relevant. It doesn’t matter!”

  “It doesn’t matter that a Native American Shaman slash computer hacker called the “Trickster” was not only aware of who I was, but actually wanted to involve me in this crazy scheme as back up, but didn't, and now my friend is gone and I’m in the crazy scheme anyway? That's not relevant?!?!?” I was screaming at this point and about to lose my shit.

  Thankfully, it was Sarah who spoke next. “Dru, please. I know this is crazy, but let’s finish this and get up to Dallas. I need to find my Frank.”

  Breathing heavily I continued to stare at Sam while I answered Sarah. “You’re right. Let’s get some answers.” Spinning around, I turned back to our unlucky prisoner who had been watching us all this time and began asking more questions, but now I wanted some answers for me.

  “Were you the leader of the strike team sent to kill us?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you know why you were sent to kill us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “You were considered a direct threat to our operations and Mrs. Egils was a loose thread deemed an unacceptable risk.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why was Sarah considered a risk?”

  “She was discovered to be actively looking for her husband by travelling to you and getting you involved. It was decided she could not be counted on to stop on her own. Once you killed my friends and escaped the offices, we were briefed on who you were and we’ve spent the last 24 hours tracking, staking out and planning a clean-up operation of you both.”

  “What do you know about Broadhead and their activities?”

  “I know a lot. I’ve been in Broadhead 15 years.”

  “Fifteen years? Why are you still in the field?”

  “I’m not. I requested to lead this team. Jason was my friend.”

  “Jason? He was an asshole. Sean was way cooler. Until I killed him.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Sam interjected, “Don’t antagonize, it can break the compulsion if you piss him off too much.”

  “You’ve lost talking privileges, Sam. Shut the fuck up until I’m ready to talk to you. I’m not joking.”

  “Dru…”

  “Sarah, if Sam talks again, I’m going to shoot him in the leg. You have a problem with that?”

  “Not at all.” she replied.

  Amazingly, Sam said nothing.

  “What is the main goal of Broadhead?”

  “Broadhead is a huge company with various divisions and differing goals for each of them.”

  “Does Broadhead believe they can bring Gods to Earth?”

  “Yes.”

  “They do?”

  “Yes.”

  “Actual, real Gods?”

  He looked at me and smiled. “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “Make war until the War Gods return. Break down areas of the world that myth say were locations of the Gods into third-world conditions so that the state of existence matches more closely the way it used to be when the Gods were here. Prepare the way to make it easier for them to return. Consecrated actions in the name of the Gods themselves disguised as actions, projects, or events.”

  “Why the fuck would you want that?”

  “I don’t really care. I like my job and appreciate the incredible income. That stuff is beyond my pay grade.”

  “Then how do you know any of this?”

  “Because they are close to making it happen, and since we work with a lot of Extras in the field, many of us in positions of authority and high up in the decision making process need to know what’s actually going on to prevent miscommunication or screw-ups.”

  “What about the Extras?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why does it matter that you’re working with Extras?”

  “Because they know! Many Extras live a long time and they or their parents were actually alive when Gods still walked on the earth! They want their Gods back, because some of the Gods gave them power and protected them. They’re fucking tired of being slave labor for humans.”

  “Have you brought any Gods back?”

  “Not yet, but soon.”

  “How do you know you can bring Gods back? What if they are gone forever?”

  “They can be brought back.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because it happened once by accident.”

  Sam’s head whipped around to stare at the man. “What?”

  “It happened once by accident.”

  Fascinated despite myself, I continued, “When?”

  “August 9th, 1945.”

  Feeling sick and knowing where this was going, I asked anyway, “Where?”

  “Nagasaki, Japan.”

  “What God?”

  “Kagutsuchi.”

  Sam whispered, “The God of Fire and Destruction.”

  The captive smiled even wider. “Yes.”

  I carefully tried not to think about that while I finished questioning our prisoner. About the fact that the bomb over Nagasaki was a forty percent stronger explosion than the one over Hiroshima. About the idea that maybe it wasn’t actually a stronger bomb as reported in the history books, but rather an effect of calling back and destroying a God in an instant of time.