Free Demon Driven by John Conroe

change of
scenery. I suppose it would be blurry for the others, but my eyes
didn’t perceive it as too fast. The sprawl of the city gave way to
the outlying suburban terrain and then to mostly trees and forests.
Occasionally, a village or other island of civilization would pop
into view and then be gone again in moments. I put my earbuds in
and cranked up my iPod, letting the dark, heavy tones of Disturbed wash out my brain. I drifted, afloat like an empty
barrel on Niagara, headed for the falls.
    The flight was fairly quick, taking just over
an hour to reach the little airport on the north edge of
Bennington. The pilot circled the tiny field, finally landing on a
spur of runway, coming to halt next to a small armada of black
SUVs. Local police were parked nearby, the officers standing next
to their cars, watching our arrival and trying hard not to look
impressed. The crew chief hit the door and Duclair’s strike team
piled out like they were entering a hot zone. Show-offs.
    Adler followed, then the technicians, Gina
and myself, and finally after a quick word with the pilot, Agent
Duclair descended to the ground, projecting the very essence of a
self confident Special Agent. We moved as a group to the vehicles
where drivers stood ready to help load gear. Briana headed toward
the lead vehicle, stopped, turned and reversed till she was right
in front of Gina and me. Adler moved up next to her, his eyes
fastened on mine, the rest of the strike team closed around us in a
tense circle.
    The blackness inside me reared its head,
sensing possible violence like a dog sniffing steak.
    “As this is Vermont and you’re NYPD, I’m
afraid I need your sidearms.” She said with a tight little
smile.
    “Vermont has no restrictions on carrying side
arms. Briana, and Chris and I are trained officers,” Gina countered
without hesitation.
    Duclair frowned, a small furrow forming
between her brows.
    “Well, this is a federal operation and you
haven’t been cleared by our people. Hand them over.”
    “Briana, Inspector Roma agreed to our
participation with the distinct understanding that we would be able
to follow OUR protocols. Going unarmed after a rogue were is NOT
protocol.”
    “Detective Velasquez, YOUR COMMISSIONER
agreed in writing to your following ALL of my orders,” Duclair
replied, waving a piece of paper at Gina, who took it and started
to read.
    Simmons chose that moment to step forward
from behind and grab Gina’s left hip with one hand and her
holstered gun on the right hip with his other. She started to
react, but I had already joint-locked his right wrist, spun him
around and stiffed-armed him away. Immediately, he spun back with a
vicious back fist, fast enough to tell me he had been anticipating
my reaction. He didn’t anticipate my catching his fist in one hand,
stopping the blow like it had hit a tree and squeezing his hand
hard enough to drop him to his knees.
    In the next instant, the rest of his team
started to move, and the black berserker inside me crowed with
delight and shook its restraints.
    “STOP!” Gina commanded, freezing everyone in
their places. “Chris, this letter is legit, we have to comply.” Her
eyes were worried as they watched me.
    I went completely still for a moment as I
contemplated going unarmed after a rogue werewolf, but the
blackness inside, although irritated at the cessation of violence,
was utterly confident in our/my/its abilities, not to mention I was
still carrying enough silver to serve tea to the Queen of
England.
    I let go of Simmons and he jumped to his
feet, his face red with rage and pain, but Adler stepped between
us. Gina handed over her Glock, then turned to me.
    Again I paused for a moment, then I drew , pulling both guns at once, reversing them so I was
holding them by the barrels, butt forward, then spun in place and
offered them to each team member faster than they could follow.
None of them had a chance to react before I came back around and
finally offered them