FREEFALL (A Megalith Thriller Book 1) Read online

  FREEFALL

  D R Sanford

  Bard's Tale Press (2011)

  Tags: Celtic, Reincarnation, Fiction, Adventure, Thriller, Urban Fantasy

  Celticttt Reincarnationttt Fictionttt Adventurettt Thrillerttt Urban Fantasyttt

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  FREEFALL

  D. R. Sanford

  Copyright © 2011 D. R. Sanford

  All rights reserved.

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to Mom and Dad. Thank you for fostering my love of reading and encouraging my love of writing.

  “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

  – Mark Twain

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Extra Special Thanks to my beautiful wife. This book would never be if I had not realized my greatest fear is losing you.

  My Children made this happen. After years of telling them they can do anything and be anything, what was I to do but sit myself down and write. I love you both, to the moon and back.

  Kickstarter.com for providing a fund-raising launch pad so people like me can chase our dreams. The kind sponsors who helped make my dream a reality are listed below.

  Platinum Sponsors commissioned the creation of secondary, heroic characters, providing feedback on names, appearance, motivation, and personality.

  Lori

  Stephen M Cordova - NewPhidias

  Mary Ann Boot Ciske

  Gold Sponsors purchased naming rights to several cameo characters, personalizing the book for themselves and those they love.

  Finn Campbell Unnerup

  Andrew Ciske, ESQ.

  Damon Sanford

  Lori Whitson

  Emily Samsa

  Silver Sponsors ‘kicked in’ that little extra to receive their e-book and paper copies, as well as having their names featured here forever. That’s a long time.

  Suzanne Kubiak

  Laura Kober

  Silver Sponsors continued…

  Mark Te Tai

  Ryan Heller

  Gary Timm

  The McQuillan Family

  Sandy Lipina

  Susan Sanford

  Jeff Peeters

  Auntie Mary, Jeni & Rachel

  Abitha!

  Popo’s Tactical Supply, www.popostactical.com

  Bronze Sponsors received a special edition e-book.

  Sandrine Thinnes

  Todd Williams

  Helen Kobussen

  An Honorable Mention goes to everyone else who contributed through KICKSTARTER, and in person, to make sure my first novel got off the ground.

  Julie Coloni

  Sheila McClone

  Will Weider

  Holly Boettcher

  Shane Williamson

  Pam and Rob Resnick, for cover design, www.revelationsofdesign.com

  Jamie and Jenny Klismet, for tactical instruction and consulting, www.popostactical.com

  PRONUNCIATION GUIDE

  Below is a brief guide on some of the Irish names that appear in the following text. Don’t worry over it too much. They’re only in there because they play important parts in the original legend of Cúchulainn. For example, I’ve always pronounced Cúchulainn as CooCooLynn.

  Cruacha: CROO a ha

  Cúchulainn: coo HOOL in

  Ferdiad: Fer dia

  Laeg: LAYG

  Lugaid: LOO ie

  Lugh: LOO

  Maeve: MAVE

  Morrigan: MOR RE GAN

  PROLOGUE

  A flutter of wings broke Maeve’s concentration. Her eyes rose to an open skylight. Maeve watched a raven descend, its iridescent plumage rustling, recalling the sound of silk blowing in the wind. It glided throughout the cavernous library, her office and Megalith Corporation’s little known base of operations in the Western Hemisphere.

  Stirred by the bird’s wings, dust motes swirled in the sunbeams radiating through the high arched windows of the second level.

  The raven landed on the back of a visitor’s chair opposite Maeve’s desk, wings outspread for balance. Feathers ruffled, the feet stepped side to side, and the wings folded in. A grating “kraa” from the thick beak addressed Maeve.

  Maeve leaned forward, steepling the fingers of her hands beneath her chin. “Dia dhuit ar maidin, Morrigan. What news have you brought me?”

  Maeve blinked and an ancient woman occupied the chair across the desk. Her shoulders slumped forward, the flowing black hair hanging below her chin. Below furrowed brows, the crone considered Maeve for a moment and cleared her throat.

  “Good morning to you as well, Meave. I’ve had a vision. Something you may find disturbing.”

  Morrigan rarely visited in the past few years. Maeve assumed the ancient goddess had stepped back to reap the rewards of their age-old partnership and grew suspicious of the crone’s supposed vision. “My dear Morrigan, you’ve come to me dressed in rags, wearing that wretched old lady costume. You may recall that I don’t sympathize well with the aged and feeble. The sooner you deliver your news, the better. Out with it, good or bad.”

  The old woman tried to speak and coughed into her sleeve. “Forgive me. I have not spoken in some time. A grave threat will rise, my queen. The Hound of the Forge will rise in this life. I see your empire bathed in blood at his hands.”

  Maeve cocked her head momentarily, stood up, and walked to the expansive windows behind her desk. Crossing her arms before her, Maeve studied the rolling hills, recalled nations she had built, pondered the corporations at her command.

  “The Hound is gone, Morrigan, you guaranteed long ago that your plaything would never again nip at my heels. In return, I have held my promises to you. I move the pieces. You stir unrest and lap up the carnage. That was the agreement.”

  Morrigan fidgeted in her chair, her chin twitching rapidly. “I have feasted for many years, my Queen.”

  Morrigan stood and shuffled to Maeve’s side. The top of the old woman’s head rose only to Maeve’s shoulder. She sensed the crone’s gaze on her impenetrable facade. Taking in the loose red hair framing a strong jaw, smoldering eyes, and strangely intoxicating lips.

  Morrigan’s dry voice crackled, revealing her strain and underlying fear of the younger woman. “You honor me with your patronage. I have lived through your generosity alone and would not dare to bite your hand.”

  “Tell me then, who is left that could possibly return the Hound to flesh and blood?” Maeve turned to the ancient crone and held her face in open hands. The wrinkles and flabby neck disgusted her but she bottled the desire to push Morrigan away.

  Small black eyes darted left and right in an attempt to avoid Maeve’s cold blue stare. “One of your kind, perhaps?” Maeve asked. “Are there any left?”

  “There are some, but the old ones are forgotten and weak.”

  Maeve released her hold, trailing fingertips down Morrigan’s shoulders to gently grasp the frail hands. Stepping back, she addressed the shabby form, looking from the top of the scraggly locks to the mud-stained hem of a voluminous dress.

  “Red has always been your color, Morrigan. Tell me, why do you come to me in such a miserable state? Are you afraid I’ll be angry and your fragile appearance will soften the blow?”

  Maeve curled her lips in a knowing smile.

  “Kraa,” Morrigan coughed and moistened her lips with a narrow, black tongue. “I am simply feeling my age today, dear Queen. You must admit, the coming of the Hound is a distressing thought.”

  Maeve dropped her hands and motioned to the d
esk and their seats. Stepping to her comfortable, high-backed chair she mocked the visitor.

  “You fear him, don’t you? Do you truly believe I haven’t considered his return? That I am unprepared for any attack, whether mortal or immortal?”

  She settled herself, letting her hands hang loosely at the end of the chair arms and looked expectantly to Morrigan.

  An entirely different form responded. In place of the crone stood a woman of extreme opposition to the cowering, nervous hag. Shining, iridescent locks clung tightly to her skull. High cheekbones and narrow lips drew a tight line across her mouth.

  Slim and powerful, Morrigan rose and leaned forward, red-stained nails gripping the desktop. Fires lit her glistening black eyes, burned into Maeve, making it difficult to hide a sudden discomfort. Gone, the trembling servant. The Morrigan of battlefield glory addressed her queen with steel in her voice.

  “There is nothing on this earth I have to fear, Maeve. It is you who should be concerned. Your blood filled my vision as well.”

  Feathers burst where Morrigan had stood.

  Maeve tracked the raven’s return flight into a clouded sky.

  When the bird disappeared from view, she leaned forward, reaching for the phone. Setting in motion a chain of events that would re-shape the world.

  ALL FALLS DOWN

  “I hold it true, whatever befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; ‘tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”

  – Alfred, Lord Tennyson

  “Life is just an exercise in pain. Whoever said it’s better to have loved and lost never lived through this. I wish I was never born.”

  – Cullen Houltersund’s journal, age 29, March 18th

  —Chapter 1—

  THE DREAM

  Plummeting through the void again filled him with terror. Reaching out but never finding purchase. Silently screaming while suffocating from lack of oxygen. The eternity of freefall and no promise of an end. Even the crush of meeting the ground would be welcome, but it never came. Flailing wildly, screaming, calling out, grasping for a handhold that must be there. Panic reached its peak, flowing toward madness.

  Cullen woke, gasping for air. Limbs akimbo, bed sheets clenched in white-knuckled fists, he frantically pieced reality together. Classic rock whispered from a clock radio three feet away. Large green numbers told Cullen he’d slept ten minutes past his 5:40 alarm. He reached out, fumbled for the snooze, and silenced AC/DC’s Back in Black.

  With a temple pounding headache and a tight neck earned from sleeping on his stomach, Cullen rolled over to scan his bedroom. The blinds filtered early morning streetlights. A fan perched on the ceiling, waiting for the summer months. At the bed’s far corner, a tortie cat lay curled in a ball, one eye lazily peering back.

  Sitting up with head in hands, Cullen placed his feet on the floor, steadying himself through a dizzy spell. When it passed his fingers crawled along the side of the clock again, turning the volume up for the next morning, and canceling the snoozed alarm.

  The dream was a haunting remnant of his childhood. Something he used to wake from as a toddler, though he could not remember a time in the last twenty years when it had visited. Shaking it off, he made a mental note to ask his mother about the nightmare later that day.

  That and taking out the garbage.

  Cullen cast a glance over his shoulder and addressed the aloof cat, saying “Lola, let’s get this party started.”

  ***

  “I’m going to kill you. I mean it. If I have to tell you one more time not to leave your pants in front of the washer when there is a hamper nearby, I’m going to kill you.”

  Nora actually had fire simmering in her eyes. A great thing about living with Cullen’s wife was her wit. Although sometimes he had trouble deciphering if her threats were idle or serious.

  Suddenly he was cornered in his own kitchen, back against the counter with only a toaster for defense.

  “I’m sorry. I thought they were too dirty to go in the hamper, really.” His hands held up in submission, Cullen surrendered to Nora, usually the best option in these instances.

  That did little to assuage her irritation, though. He’d been waiting patiently for toast to pop, and his idea of breakfast did not include crumbled bread sacrificed in the heat of battle. Defenseless, Cullen waited for the first blow to land.

  “There are six hampers down there, right next to the dryer. Is it so hard to take one more step and lift a lid?”

  Six hampers might seem a lot to most people considering their little family consisted of only the two of them and a cat, but Nora had a way of organizing menial tasks. Most of her clothes were separated from his and then divided into color or clothing type. Something along those lines.

  “Aye aye, captain!” he barked, left arm pinned against his side and the right still quivering from a crisp salute.

  She tattooed his chest with her knuckles and groaned while drawing away. “If the cat pees on a pile of clothes sitting on the basement floor I sure hope they’re all yours.”

  He couldn’t resist; she was walking away completely unprotected. A quick, playful pat to her backside while she was still within range was Cullen’s only attempt to fight back.

  “Hey!”

  She spun around scowling and bore down on him like a laser-guided missile. One would be surprised at how menacing a petite woman can appear in a nursing smock and pants. Making a show of protecting his own rear end they circled the small kitchen, feinting playful swats and threatening each other.

  “You’re going to get it, mister man.”

  “Come and get me. My arms are open in surrender.” She moved in, reaching around for her free shot, and just as the sting came he encircled her in a much gentler embrace.

  Her face bore a playful scowl as she looked up from inches away.

  “That was a dirty trick. What are you going to do with me now?”

  “What does any spider do when it catches a fly in its web?”

  He gave her a quick kiss on those twisted lips only to be rewarded with mock disgust.

  That gentle face Cullen adored so much shrunk up as though a bushel of lemons had been crammed in her mouth. Turning her head to the side, she spit out the imaginary sourness.

  “Ptuh, ctuh, ctuh, ctuh. Yuck, boy germs.”

  Nora’s sapphire blue eyes danced to meet his in that moment, and he realized yet again that all the love and fulfillment he’d ever need resided in her.

  She rested her head on his right shoulder, placed her white tennis shoes on his socks, and they danced as clumsily as two entangled penguins. Waddling in a tight circle, they shared a few brief seconds that erased the world around them. With eyes closed, Cullen focused on the way she felt in his arms and the comfort of her returned embrace.

  A needle-sharp pain in his left thigh pulled him back to reality. Releasing Nora, he leaned down to discover their jealous companion Lola, an all-around furry feline child.

  Addressing her in conciliatory tones he apologized, saying “Oh Lola, you little green-eyed monster. Were we ignoring you? We’re a bad cat mom and dad, aren’t we?”

  Her round head tilted up. The lips cracked open a bit, and she meowed her confirmation.

  He bent down to pick her up—that tortoise-shell colored mutt of a cat they adored—cradled her upside-down in his arms, and examined one of the forepaws that dug into the pajama pants.

  At least one curved talon sprung forth, and Nora groaned “We need to clip her nails tonight.”

  Suddenly the moment was lost as she drew away and zipped up her lunch bag.

  “I have to go now, or I’m going to be late. Hey, why don’t you wear that pink button-down shirt? It’ll brighten everyone’s day and pick them up from the winter doldrums.”

  “Sounds good. I could use a little brightening myself.”

  Zooming in for a quick peck on the lips, she offered the usual morning blessings.

  “Have a good day, honey. You can do it.”
<
br />   “Thanks. I love you,” he spoke to her retreating back.

  She headed for the back door as Cullen leaned toward the spot on the windowsill where they kept a garage door remote. This also gave him a view of the rear driveway and the two-car garage in the back.

  Just before pressing the button Cullen spotted two rabbits nestled closely together amid last night’s snowfall. They must have found a morning meal. He frequently left handfuls of corn on the ground for the birds and the few other winter animals that dared to stick around in the cold months.

  The back door creaked open with Nora’s exit, and as she closed it the noise startled the little fuzz balls. They bounded off for the snow-laden lilac bushes that adjoined the far side of the garage and disappeared in the shadows as Nora came into view.

  The screen porch door slowly bounced to a close behind her on its air-filled spring while Nora traversed the animal tracked snow under the welcome light of a motion lamp. Driving to work at quarter to six every morning guaranteed that she left the house in darkness during the winter months.

  When they moved into the house a few years ago she pleaded with Cullen to install the light and sensor now hanging below the second-story eaves. Growing up in various remote areas, Cullen had little fear of the dark, but her city nerves were always on the lookout for undesirables that bumped in the night. He never understood it really.

  Their town, though large enough for Wisconsin standards at over one hundred thousand residents, was not a thriving metropolis by any means. Where major cities eroded through constant waves of crime, even a pebble thrown into their little pond made large ripples.

  A few days ago he heard that a man entered a Walgreen’s and held up the pharmacy at gunpoint. That was a shock and maybe a first as far as any locals could recall. Nearby neighborhoods were immediately warned and a few housewives were encouraged by their husbands to remove trigger locks from the household pistol. The following day they heard news of a robbery at a local hotel.