by M. D. Massey
After dinner, Colin and I shared a growler of homemade cider and talked shop. We laughed and talked shit while the younger kids played. Gabby, Bobby, Matthew, Anna, and Mickey looked at us like we were nuts.
“What’s the craziest way you ever killed a zombie?” he asked me with a twinkle in his eye.
I thought for a moment and grinned. “Skilsaw. It was a few months after the shit hit the fan. Got surprised by one hiding in an old tool shed when I was scrounging for supplies. Sumbitch came at me from the shadows, and the saw just happened to be near at hand. Good thing it was charged up—I was just going to hit it with the blade, but I accidentally hit the trigger, and it split the damned thing’s skull right down the middle. Got Z brains all over me, too. Nasty.”
He snorted cider out of his nose and slapped the table. “Wait, wait, wait—I got one. Rest stop bathroom. A little short one came at me in the john, caught me with my pants down. So, I leaned back and kicked him into the stall door. Coat hook punched through the back of his head, and the little bastard just hung there, trying to reach me but not knowing how to get himself off that damned door.”
I laughed. “So what’d you do?”
He took a swig of beer and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Finished my dump and left. For all I know, he’s probably still there!”
We both busted out laughing, and then I realized no one else thought it was funny. Meh, gallows humor. You don’t start getting it until it gets you. The conversation reminded me of the days before the War; I used to go to the theater on Friday afternoons to watch action flicks because it was mostly empty and crowds still freaked me out back then. I’d be the only person in the theater laughing when someone got their arm broken or their kneecap blown off.
It’s not that I’m a sadist. I just thought it was funny to see the bad guy get his due.
Colin wiped the tears from his eyes and looked around. “Aw, you guys are no fun.” Anna gave him a dirty look; one of those looks that said, “Honey, not around the kids.” I’d seen my mom give my dad that look plenty of times before the War.
He rolled his eyes and grabbed the growler. “C’mon Scratch, let’s take this party somewhere else.”
How could I refuse? I followed him out the dining room and into a hallway, then up the stairs to a reinforced steel door. He unlocked it and walked through to a parapet up on one of the castle house walls. It was about twenty feet down to the ground from where we were perched. He leaned out over the wall on his elbows and let out a long, slow breath. He handed me the growler.
“This isn’t my first rodeo, you know.”
I took a swig and handed it back. “I figured as much. What were you, SWAT? HRT? SEALs?”
He shook his head. “None of the above.” He turned to look me in the eye, amused. “Would it shock you if I said I was killing these things before the War?”
I leaned back against the wall and thought about that for a moment, recalling something Wendigo Donnie had said to me when we last visited. “No. No, that wouldn’t surprise me at all. In fact, not much surprises me anymore.”
He grunted. “The thing is, there weren’t as many of these things back then. Just a few, here and there. You’d get a little outbreak, guys like me would go in and take care of it, and then we’d go back to our normal, happy lives.” He gestured with the bottle out over the parapet and belched loudly. “Not like this. Hell, never like this.”
I let that sink in a minute and spoke just to break the uncomfortable silence. “Were you with the government? Christians In Action or something?”
He made a sound like a buzzer. “Wrong again. Nope, I got mixed up in some seriously screwed up supernatural shit. Thought I was a hero. I—thought wrong.”
“Well, I believe there are a dozen or so people downstairs who consider you a hero, that’s for sure. I wouldn’t discount the value of their opinions at all, my friend.”
He remained silent. “They’re the only thing that’s kept me going. You know that? I made the biggest mistake of my life, right before things went pear-shaped, and it cost me dearly. It was just coincidence that I was at that Ren fest where Anna and the boys were. I was looking for someone there, trying to make it right.”
“And?”
He grimaced, took a long slug, and handed me the bottle again. “Never found who I was looking for, but I ran into Anna and the kids and saw they needed help. The rest is history.”
“Anna says you were an ARMA champion. That true?”
He chuckled. “I was, but that’s not where I got my training.” He shook his shoulders out and smiled. “Oh, but that’s a story for another time. A dark tale, that one. And we’re supposed to be celebrating. Besides, that’s not why I brought you out here. I need to ask you a few questions regarding this place you told us about. It’s not bullshit, is it?”
I swallowed a slug of cider and sighed. “Good stuff. And no, not by a long shot. I’d never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, but it’s as real as I am. The serum, everything.” I took another swig and offered the jug back, but he declined. “Would you consider trying the serum? I think you’d be damned near unstoppable with that shit in your veins.”
He lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug. “Meh, I don’t need it. You say that serum put a little of the supernatural in you and the girl? Well, me—I was born like that.”
I inclined my head. “You don’t say. Care to explain how that is? Not trying to pry or anything, but after eight years of fighting this war, some things are just now starting to come to light. A little info goes a long way, I’m finding.”
Colin raised his chin and grinned. “You know, you might have some of it too, and not even know it. In fact, I’d almost bet my hat on it.” He chewed his lip for a moment, lost in thought. “Alright, so you’ve heard all the legends and myths, right? I mean, every nation and people had them.”
“Sure. The Greeks had their gods and monsters, the Irish and Welsh had the fae, the Norse had their pantheon, plus the elves and so forth. I could go on and on. You’re saying that stuff is real?”
He extended his fingers and wiggled his hand, palm down. “Sort of. Those things have been coming across for millennia, preying on mankind and meddling in our affairs. From what I’ve gathered, humans have always had champions who fought against Them; call it a cosmic balancing act, if you will. And in each culture, there has always been a warrior tradition among those champions, with one generation training the next.
“Except sometimes, it skips a generation, or two—it’s hard to say why. Maybe these champions only show up when they’re needed, or maybe it’s all a genetic anomaly, or perhaps it’s an evolutionary event when one is born. At any rate, sometimes there’s no one there to pass on the knowledge, and the champion is walking around without even knowing what they are, or what their purpose is—”
I set the jug down loudly. “Okay, now you’re just dicking with me.”
“No, I swear! Look, I’ve seen some things that would make your head spin. I mean, you think you’ve seen some monsters? You don’t know the half of it.”
I snorted. “Well, this guy I know is a wendigo. That’s some damned weird shit.”
He snapped his fingers. “See, that tells me something. Some of these things are attracted to champions from their own cultures. I’ve never figured out why, and no one has ever been able to give me a straight answer on it, but we tend to be drawn to fight monsters from our own people’s legends.”
I nodded. “I do have some Native American on my mother’s side.”
“Yeah, I figured as much. Hell, most Americans are mutts anyway, so you get a champion from that stock, and no telling what kind of crazy is going to pop up around them.”
“This is messed up, Colin. Really messed up.”
“Yeah, well—try dealing with this crap when you’re fifteen. That’s how long I’ve been at it.”
I shook my head sadly. “That’s a long time to be fighting a war.”
“I know. Ma
kes me hurt for my boys.” He tilted his head toward the door. “They didn’t deserve to be born into this shit, not a one of them.”
“Any of them—you know—got the juice?”
He laughed. “Not that I can tell. My mentor had a way of knowing, but he never revealed it to me. If someone does, it’ll start showing as they enter their middle teen years. Excessive aggression around supernatural creatures, uncanny skill with weaponry—that sort of thing.”
“So, is that why those ’thropes haven’t run y’all off yet?”
“Pretty much. They’re afraid of me. We Irish have our werewolf myths, and with me being of the Celtic warrior tradition, I’m not afraid to tangle with them. They learned that early on, so they leave us alone.”
I exhaled slowly. “I killed one barehanded, just a few days ago. Bobby said he didn’t think it could be done. Not by a man, anyhow.”
“Well, most of these second generation werewolves have never met a real champion before.” He must’ve seen the concern on my face, and raised a hand in a placating gesture. “Relax, I already know what the boy is—it’s not hard to tell. And he’s correct. Only a champion could kill a ’thrope in mortal combat.”
I sat there for a moment, soaking it all in; it was a lot to take. “And what Bobby is—that doesn’t bother you?”
“Not really. In our legends, werewolves were sometimes good and sometimes evil. They’re the most like men of all the supernatural creatures.”
“I’d trust that kid with my life.”
“Well, it’s obvious he trusts you. And it wouldn’t be the first time a werewolf followed a human.” He stretched like a mountain lion and yawned loudly. I took it as a sign that it was time to wrap things up.
“Food for thought. Anything else I should know?”
He leaned back against the ledge and rubbed his chin. “Without a doubt, never trust any of the supernatural creatures, except perhaps wolves who see you as their alpha. Once a wolf accepts you as their alpha, their loyalty is absolute. Well, unless you show them weakness, but even then sometimes they’ll protect a solid leader. But the rest? You can’t trust them, ever. Their way of thinking is so alien from ours—well, you just never can predict what they’re going to do.”
“Reminds me of the old Irish and Welsh legends of the fae.”
“That’s exactly right. For our purposes, every single one of these things is a type of fae, so to speak. They’re all connected, and they all come from the same place—across the Veil—and even though they have their factions and inner turmoil, they’ll never ally with a human, ever. And especially not against their own kind.”
“’Thropes being the exception.”
“Yes, and only under the circumstances I described. Watch yourself when dealing with Them. I assure you that they cannot be trusted.”
12
YOUTH
The next morning, Colin assigned two of his wild boys to guide us through the city. I had the maps that Donnie had given me, but I didn’t trust him, especially not after what Colin had said the night previous. So, for added insurance, the boys would take us as far as they cared to go.
Despite the benefit of having them along, I planned to send them home as soon as things got hairy. Protecting the two teens who were already under my care was cause enough for worry, and the last thing I needed was some dead kid on my conscience. Besides, I could see how Gabby might cause some friction among the three boys while we traveled. She was probably the closest thing to a potential girlfriend that any of these boys had seen in years. No sense tempting fate on that end, either.
We said our goodbyes, and Anna and Tuck gave us some provisions to replace those we’d lost in our flight through Southwest Austin. The night before, I’d talked Gabby into making the hard decision to leave Ghost behind. Much as I liked the mutt, he’d be a liability where we were going. She’d hugged the dog and told him to stay. Ghost had whined, but held his ground.
Before we left, Colin had taken me aside and spoke with me privately while the kids bid farewell to each other. “Look, about what we discussed last night—it’s not common knowledge around here. So, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to the boys about it.”
My brow furrowed as I spoke. “You mean they don’t know about your past?”
He looked around to make sure none of the kids had wandered over before replying. “No, and I’d like to keep it that way. Things are weird enough for these kids without them getting the idea that I’m their magic talisman.”
“You’re thinking of leaving them. Alone.”
He scowled. “It’s not like that. You may not understand this yet, but eventually it’s going to start to make sense. I have business that I’ve been putting off for some time now, in order to train these boys properly so they can survive. But if what you told us is true, then once they’re safely ensconced in your bat-cave, I’ll be able to start catching up on things I’ve set aside for too long.”
I rubbed my chin and nodded. “Well, if it means that much to you, we could use another fighter when we face the pack.”
He clapped me on the shoulder and smiled. “When the time comes, I’ll be there. Trust me. I’ll know when and where to find you.”
“Are you telling me you’re psychic or something? C’mon, Colin. Now the bullshit is getting deep.”
He chuckled and picked his teeth with his thumbnail. “Let’s just say I have a few tricks I haven’t told you about, and we’ll leave it at that.” He turned his head and gestured at the small crowd gathered in front of the castle. “Looks like they’re waiting on you.”
I smirked and flipped him the bird. “Fine, be a cryptic asshole.” Then I leaned in and extended my hand. “When the time comes, I’ll be counting my kills. Care for a friendly wager?”
He paused and squinted. “Top kill count cleans the other guy’s gear. Plus, they get their pick of the loser’s weapons.”
I kept my hand extended because I didn’t intend to lose. “Shake on it?”
He shook my hand and picked his teeth again with the other. “See you in, oh, say three days?”
We made good time after leaving their demesne, or domain, or whatever the hell they called it. The boys Colin sent were Sir Matthew, his oldest and most experienced fighter, and Squire Christopher, another of his stalwarts, as he called them. They spent the first half-hour trying to chat Gabby up, but she had good bush discipline and kept it zipped while scanning the woods. After a while, they got the picture and realized they were making fools of themselves. Soon, both boys were trying to out-do each other in terms of seriousness and mission focus. I had to hand it to Gabby; she sure had an instinct for handling boys.
About an hour after leaving the castle house, Matthew picked up someone’s trail. He squatted and pointed it out to me. “Human, medium build, packing light. Looks like he’s favoring his left leg.”
I motioned Bobby over, and he sniffed the ground near the tracks Matthew had found. Bobby nodded and looked up at me with a gleam in his eye. “It’s Pancho. I’m sure of it.”
Matthew gave him a skeptical look. “Seriously? You can track by smell?”
Bobby shrugged and gave a sheepish grin. “I made him pee himself the last time we saw him. Must’ve leaked out his shoe or something.” Matthew turned his nose up at him and walked several steps down the trail in an attempt to find more tracks. Bobby looked at me and mouthed “Sorry.” I motioned that he shouldn’t be worried about it. He made a coarse and very childish gesture at Matthew’s back and stood up.
Matthew called us over to look at something else he’d found. “Scouts from the Pack have been this way recently.” He pointed at two sets of rather large paw prints made by something on two legs and not four.
Gabby noticed what we were looking at and strolled over to me. Of course, she’d heard the entire conversation. “Scratch, if the Pack finds him before we do, we’re screwed. That pendejo is going to tell them we’re coming.”
“And we’ll lose the advant
age of surprise.” I turned to Matthew, who’d been joined by Christopher. “Gentlemen, where do you think he’s headed?”
Matthew looked ahead and scratched his nose. “If he keeps heading in that direction, he’ll end up in Kill Valley. We’d planned to skirt around it—we never go there.”
Bobby’s ears perked up. “You mean Death Valley, right?”
Christopher chimed in. “No, Kill Valley. As in, ‘kill or be killed.’ That place is a death trap. There’s a bloodsucker who claims it as his territory, and he controls an entire legion of undead there. Nobody who goes in there comes out again, and especially not at night.”
I looked at Chris. “This vampire, is he one of the pretty ones, or a nos’?” Chris looked at me in confusion, so I elaborated. “Meaning, one of the ugly ones.”
He bobbed his head. “Definitely one of the ugly ones.”
“Do you two know if he trades with the slavers?”
Matthew inclined his head. “Most assuredly. We stopped their traffic from coming in from the south, but they still come through from the north and west. He takes slaves in trade for goods and safe passage.”
I turned to Gabby. “What do you think the odds are that Pancho has done business with this nos’ before?”
She gave me a rueful look. “I’d say, good to certain. We have to catch him before he gets to the Pack and rats us out.”
“Correction: I have to find him before the Pack does. You guys are staying here.”
A look of consternation crossed Gabby’s face, but before she could speak, I pulled her aside and spoke quietly to her. “Gabs, before you get all pissed off that I’m leaving you behind, I want you to look at those boys for a second.” She glanced over, and both of them quickly averted their eyes and pretended to watch for movement from the trees. “I’d say you have two serious admirers there. Now, knowing what we know about their cockamamie, Knights of the Round Table sense of honor, what do you think would happen if you went running off with me into this Kill Valley place?”
