Stone Soldiers: City of Bones

STONE SOLDIERS:

CITY OF BONES

C.E. Martin

Copyright 2013 by C.E. Martin

www.StoneSoldiers.info

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, names, places and events are purely fictional and not based on a
ny real event. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is an amazing coincidence and nothing more.

All Rights Reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without the express written permission of the author,
[email protected], with the exception of excerpts for the purposes of review or discussion, as explained in the Fair Use Act.

For those who have served.

Stone Soldiers Adventures (Prequel Short Stories)

Stone Soldier

Stone Soldiers: Catching Fire

Stone Soldiers: City of Bones

S
tone Soldiers: Sea of Monsters
(Coming Soon)

The Stone Soldiers Series

Mythical (Stone Soldiers #1)

Brothers in Stone (Stone Soldiers #2)

Blood and Stone (Stone Soldiers #3)

Shades of War (Stone Soldiers #4)

Black Knight Down (Stone Soldiers #5)
(Coming Soon)

STONE SOLDIERS: CITY OF BONES

Ayotunde Ihejirka, or Ayo, as his friends called him, licked his lips and reached for the enter key on his laptop. Soon, stupid Americans would be giving him their money. But almost as soon as he touched the plastic key, the lights in his small shack went out.

Ayo jerked as the shack plunged into darkness. He grabbed at a drawer, fumbling inside before finding a flashlight. Once he had light again, he went to the door and opened it. Bright sunlight poured into his meta
l shack- the hot midday sun of his native country of Nigeria.

Ayo turned back to his laptop, trying to restart it- he wished that he had charged the battery after all, instead of relying on wall power. Stupid Americans and their stupid generators.

Ayo walked outside and looked around. No one was present in the dusty street of his new home town of Gwasera. For that matter, no sound could be heard. Which was doubly odd- given that the boomtown normally bustled with the activity of workers scurrying to and fro from work in the newly discovered oil fields to the north. In fact, pausing to listen more intently, Ayo realized he couldn’t hear the pumps from the nearby wells.

Ayo cursed under his breath and walked along the street, looking for someone he could co
mplain to about the loss of power. His mass email couldn't be sent without power. It couldn't be received by all those greedy Americans who would give him their bank account information on the promise of millions of dollars- the scheme countless of his peers had told him worked beautifully.

Ayo scratched at one arm, realizing it was itching. He felt something wet under his nails and looked down at his arm. It was bleeding.

Ayo was more shocked than anything. It was as if he had scratched at a scab- a large scab. Blood was pouring down his arm from where he'd scratched. Which was odd since his arm hadn't been injured in the least bit. But he couldn't concentrate on that- his fingertips were itching now. As well as his legs, neck and face.

Ayo scratched at
his shins, below the line of his droopy shorts, and watched in horror as great patches of skin peeled off like wet paper. The itching was more intense now, rapidly turning to a burning sensation.

Ayo looked around for help- he opened his mouth to scream,
but realized his throat was raw and burning now as well. He took a step and felt his ankle twist on uneven footing.

He fell to the ground, his skin on fire now. Glancing at his feet, he watched in horror as the rubbery material of his sandals was liquefyi
ng- turning to a sludgy ooze. Much like the skin on his feet and legs.

He held his hands up to his face and watched in terror as the flesh melted away- simply vanishing from his fingertips and up toward his palms, revealing gooey red bones. Ayo tried to r
ise, but his legs were weak and the pain from the burning ravaging his entire body made it hard to concentrate. It was so unbearable he wished he could pass out- but the pain was too intense.

Then his eyes began to burn and Ayo finally collapsed to a shudd
ering heap in the street. He could feel his mouth liquefying, his teeth falling out. Then he felt nothing.

***

Mitch Moore was getting impatient. It was nearly nightfall and the team he'd sent to investigate the Gwasera oil field had still not checked in
. Mitch's hand hovered by the phone as he debated calling his local government liaison to request assistance. He hesitated because if rebels had attacked the site, the government would have reported it to him. Silence worried him, and he wondered if there had been another coup.

Gwasera had been quiet since noon- failing to report in with the daily reports on construction. And two of the trucks shuttling pipeline components to the site had failed to return. Mitch had quickly dispatched a team of locals to
drive out and see what was the matter. But that was hours ago.

Mitch finally made up his mind. He would go himself.

Storming out of his hotel room-turned office in Kaiama, Mitch made his way to his jeep outside. He steered it though the streets of the city and finally out onto the highway leading west out of town. Before long, he was turning off the long dirt road leading northwest to the Gwasera Oil Field. He made a mental note to have the road paved as he was jostled by the rough ride- the pipeline was still months away and dirt roads were not efficient for the large tanker trucks. A paved road would cost the company less in fuel, tires and maintenance to move on. No sense wasting oil to get oil.

After a drive that took far longer than he'd liked, Mitch p
ulled up along the outskirts of the boomtown now called Gwasera. It was a collection of prefabricated buildings, shipping containers and hastily assembled shacks the local workers lived in- all surrounded by a high fence the oil company had put up to discourage theft. It was a town of several hundred that was growing by leaps and bounds as workers poured in from all over Nigeria, hoping to cash in on the riches of the newly-discovered oil deposit in Kwara.

Mitch immediately noticed one of the transport tru
cks parked just inside the outer fenceline of the boomtown, the driver's door open. The trailer was empty and the truck appeared as though it were about to leave. He pulled his jeep alongside and looked out. All of the truck's tires were gone- it was sitting just on its bare rims. Looking closer he could see mesh wrapped around the rims- the steel belts from the tires? That was definitely odd.

Mitch put the jeep back into gear and drove on into the main courtyard, where the stacks of prefabricated shipping
container-sized shacks were gathered in a semi circle that formed the companies headquarters on site. Further north, prefabricated buildings lined both sides of a wide dirt road leading to the warehouses and the beginnings of the pipeline pumping stations. Extending to the east and west from that road was a maze of alleys running between prefabricated housing for the workers and the shacks and shops of those lucky enough to get inside the perimeter fenceline.

A tire suddenly blew out on Mitch’s jeep. Then
another, and another, and finally, the fourth tire.

Mitch cursed and put the jeep in park and got out. The engine rumbled and coughed and died.

He looked at his tires and was astonished to see them melting off of the rims- turning to a wet gooey mass, like tar, that dripped off, globs disappearing in mid air before they could hit the ground.

Then his skin began to itch.

***

Her real name was not Daisy, but it was the name that had been assigned to her when she entered the NSA's special program. She'd become accustomed to it after all these years- and to her special place in America's intelligence community.

Daisy banked and rose up above the ocean, gaining altitude as she flew in over the Nigerian coast. She recognized the buildings and landmarks she h
ad memorized in her mission pre-briefing and corrected her course.

Accelerating, she shot over the marshes, rain forests and wetlands until she was streaking above the savanna. She was miles inland now, the ocean far behind her. Again, she got her bearing
s and adjusted her course, then accelerated.

At long last, Daisy reached her objective- an oil drilling site northwest of Kaiama, Nigeria. If she could have gasped in her astral form, she would have.

Her forward travel immediately stopped and Daisy hung in the air, a faint, barely visible outline of a person, staring in wonder at the small boomtown built miles from anywhere. At least, she assumed it was the boomtown. It was where she had been briefed it would be. She couldn't be sure though, since the entire site was enveloped in a cloud-like mass of glowing energy.

Normally, Daisy's astral form gave her a distinct advantage over flesh and blood eyes. She could see through darkness, could move at speeds not restricted by the laws of physics. She could pene
trate airspace undetected and pass through walls to scout a location's deepest secrets. But today, that same astral form was useless. Existing on the astral plane, she could see etheric energy invisible to those that relied on light and optics.

And this w
as the most etheric energy she had seen in her entire career as a Ghost Walker.

It was a seething, writhing mass that glowed brightly- almost blindingly. It was thick and fluid, moving like a living thing and encompassing an area nearly half a mile across
. Whatever buildings and people had been at Gwasera, Daisy could not tell if they still existed. The mass of energy had eclipsed the entire area completely.

Daisy turned and raced away, faster than light, back toward base.

She closed her eyes, then opened them- back in her flesh body. Seated beside her, her handler, PJ, had a confused look. The pale-skinned, redheaded telepath had only been working with her for a few years and hadn't seen that much out of the ordinary.

"What the hell was that?" he asked.

Daisy, nearly sixty now, with short white hair and a thin frame, stood from the large beanbag she'd been seated on. "We need to report this- right now."

***

His name was Mark Kenslir. Colonel Mark Kenslir, and he was in charge of the most elite unit in the entire United States Armed Forces. A large man, well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and bulging muscles, he looked far younger than he actually was. He had jet black hair cut in an outdated flattop and piercing green-black eyes that did not look entirely natural.

Today, he was in uniform- woodland camouflage BDUs that the Army was phasing out of their inventory, but which Colonel Kenslir still preferred. And being in charge of Detachment 1039, he was able to stay the march of progress and kee
p his people out of the ridiculous digital camouflage everyone else in the Army was clamoring for.

"And they're still in the field?" Kenslir asked, setting down a report he had just read. He laid it on the massive oak desk in his office- an office with wa
lls decorated with hunting trophies, weapons on plaques and a lifetime of other awards and certificates.

"Yes, sir," Major Campbell responded. Wearing his dress uniform, as he always did, Campbell was all spit and polish- a career officer who's gray hair
and chest full of ribbons showed a dedication to service that had spanned more than a decade.

"I took the liberty of having a helicopter dispatched from Homestead, sir," Campbell said.

Kenslir stood and looked past Campbell, out the windows of his fifteenth floor office. He wondered if his new soldiers were ready for their first mission. The sun was still hours from sunset here in southern Florida, but in Africa, night was beginning to fall.

Kenslir turned suddenly and left the room, Campbell following be
hind him.

"Armaments?" the Major asked.

"We'll go with level one for the team. I'll take level two."

"Yes, sir. And I take it this will be a Raven deployment?" Campbell asked.

"Yes- put Smith and I on separate planes."

"Yes, sir," Major Smith said, saluti
ng. They had reached the main elevators.

Kenslir returned the salute and continued up the hall. He was headed for the freight elevators that would take him to the roof of the twenty-story office building overlooking Biscayne Bay. There an Air Force helicop
ter would take the Colonel to the team.

Campbell thumbed a call button for the elevator. He figured he had about an hour to get things in motion for the team to deploy to Africa. Plenty of time.

***

Eddie Cooper was still smiling. He had been for several weeks now. His fellow soldiers weren't as enthusiastic as Eddie was, but he didn't care. He just kept smiling, showing off his remarkable gray teeth. He smiled all day long, through every training session, through every exercise they were put through.

Wh
en he had washed out of pararescue training a few years ago, because of a blown knee, Eddie had smiled. He took many things in stride and even though he'd really wanted to save lives, he was still able to serve his country in a different capacity.

Last yea
r, when he lost his arm in an explosion in Iraq- the victim of a roadside bomb, Eddie had smiled a little less. But he'd still smiled. He was still alive.

When they'd medically discharged him from the Air Force, Eddie had smiled. It wasn't a happy smile,
it was more of a don't-worry-I'll be-fine smile. And he was.

Eddie had been happily working as a substitute, teaching a new generation when he'd been approached by Colonel Kenslir. He had been smiling all day long at his students, and would smile during t
he night classes that were helping him get a degree so he could one day work in a classroom full time.

Eddie had smiled when Colonel Kenslir had approached him- telling him he was needed by his country again. And telling him he could get his arm back. It
was a you're-crazy-but-I'm-not-going-to-tell-you kind of smile.

The only time Eddie had stopped smiling was when he first met Commander Daniel Smith, formerly of the Unites States Navy, and now a member of this secret, Joint Operations Detachment 1039. A
man who had died for his country, then was resurrected and turned to living stone.