by S T Branton
“Stick together!” I called. “But move fast. The fire will spread.”
Smoke already hung in the air, tinged with the acrid scent of burning hair. The screams of the dying followed us as I herded the flock of women and children away from the fight. Some of them covered their ears, and most of the kids wailed, but many of the mothers stood strong and resolute. They were tough. They’d seen a lot of shit.
I stopped in a place with clean air, far enough from the bloodbath that we’d have ample warning if the fire got out of hand. “Stay here,” I told the group. “We won’t move unless we’re in danger.”
“What’s happening?” Laurel’s boy asked me. “Are there more bad guys now?”
“Could be,” I said. I was grateful for the werewolves’ intervention—to a point. They weren’t all like Maya, but they could all wreak havoc like her. “I don’t know for sure, so we have to be careful, all right? Stick close to your mom. Keep her safe.”
He nodded gravely. Laurel scooped him into her embrace. I drew my sword and threaded through the trees toward the massacre but not too far from my group. The worst mistake would be to leave them defenseless. I glanced over my shoulder once to give them some sort of assurance, and at that moment, the best I could think of was a thumbs-up. They did not look very comforted.
“Nice one, Vic,” I said under my breath. “Now they probably think you’re a lunatic too.”
Lunatics can still have honor, said Marcus helpfully.
I sighed. “Thanks, buddy.”
The clash grew louder in my ears, and so did the crackle of the building inferno. Tongues of flame danced amid the trees, which were splashed with wolf blood and ashes. Through the thickening smoke, I caught an eerie silhouette of a Viking soldier torn to shreds by one of the beasts. A figure emerged from the melee and barreled toward me, wild-eyed. His beard was half burned off his face, but I recognized the Viking leader. His air of cockiness had been replaced with one of crazed fury and bitter desperation.
“You!” he shouted and fixed his blazing eyes on me. “You must have lured them here. You must have known.”
“Known what?” I asked. “That werewolves are insane and also super strong? Yeah, I’m not an idiot.”
He bellowed an anguished roar. “Shut up! Shut up!” The head of his hammer swung high and lit a corona in the surrounding smoke. “I’ll torch you.” His voice was hoarse, and his chest heaved. “That will fix it. I’ll end it all and wipe the slate clean. Gods forgive me—”
The last sentence was mangled by a grunt of pain as a huge, dark shape bore down on him from the side and crushed his body into the ground. The former Viking leader groaned and twisted futilely under the force of a great, grizzled paw. The creature that loomed over him was enormous, vicious, and covered in white fur. It was missing an eye and a foreleg. In place of the limb was a long silver blade.
The wolf turned to me and exhaled a furious breath. I stared into its face and asked, “Smitty?”
I’d never seen a Were smile before, but the old guy managed somehow. “Vic,” he said. “I thought you’d never return.”
Chapter Twenty
“Well, I’ll be damned.” I grinned. “Good to see you, Pops. Any chance you can get us the hell out of here?”
Smitty winked. “Sure I can. But I gotta warn you. It’s gonna get worse before it gets better.” His Were voice was deep and gravelly, a fitting match for the grizzled silver wolf who towered over us. Two other Weres appeared to take responsibility for the captive Viking. “No time to waste.” Behind him, the bloody battle climbed toward a crescendo. “Come this way. Don’t fall behind, now.”
With that, he led us to the right so we could circumvent the worst of the fight. I ushered the women in front of me in order to make sure no one was left behind. Smitty moved fast at the head of his new pack. He cleared debris out of the way with broad sweeps of his arm and his gleaming silver blade.
“It’s okay,” I said to the group. “Believe it or not, I know this guy. He’s a friend—and the best thing that could’ve happened at the moment.”
Nobody seemed totally comfortable, but no one argued either. Given the alternative, Smitty the friendly werewolf was quite obviously the lesser of two evils. As our band of escapees picked up the pace, I made my way back to the front and Smitty’s side.
“Where are we headed?” I asked. “Because we’re missing some people, and I really don’t want to screw off and let them fend for themselves.”
Smitty glanced at me. “I have my men already on it,” he said. “Trust me. They’ll be fine.” A grimace of disgust crossed his lupine features. “These warmonger jackasses don’t stand a chance.”
Heartened by his response, I let myself relax a little. “I’m glad to know you still have your community together,” I told him. “Maya will be happy to hear that, too.”
He smiled fondly at the mention of the vet’s name. “I wondered if that girl had come back with you,” he said. “It’s a pity she didn’t. There are a lot of folks who would’ve liked to see her back at HQ.”
“Sorry,” I said sheepishly. “She wanted to be here, but the fort couldn’t spare both of us. Someone needs to hold it down, right?”
He chuckled coarsely. “You have yourself a fort?”
I nodded. “An old military base in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. It’s a pretty sweet setup, but I needed someone there I could trust while I’m gone.”
“Makes sense. Tell me what you’re doing way out there in the wilderness. You were pretty set on getting back to your city last time I saw you.”
“I was,” I said. “And we did. We stayed for as long as we could, but the gods eventually ran us out. It turns out New York is a coveted battleground in this war, and I decided I’d rather save lives than hold my ground.”
Smitty nodded approvingly. “That’s a sign of wisdom,” he intoned. “We heard snippets along those lines from the girl on the radio. At least until all hell broke loose about a month ago.” He grinned again and bared his impressive fangs. “She and Amber were about tickled pink when they found out they both knew you. I guess it ain’t that surprising if you think about it.” His gaze made a quick circuit of the woods around our troop. “I’ll tell you more when we get settled. I can’t afford to get too distracted while we’re out here. Just because there’s a fight on doesn’t mean we’re safe.”
I craned my neck to look toward the canopy. The howling from the trees had faded somewhat as we relocated, but I could still hear it in the distance. The ones in our immediate vicinity hummed although they weren’t as loud or insistent. “Do you know what’s going on with this forest?” I asked. “I’ve never heard anything like it. A little bird told me it happens a lot when you’re around.”
“Yeah,” Smitty said. “They do that whenever any wolf is nearby, really. At first, I thought it was a fear thing like they assumed we would attack them. I saw it like the members of a herd protecting each other, alerting everyone to the presence of predators.” He brushed his claws lightly against a trunk. “Now I kinda think it’s a different story. They’re more like cheerleaders in their own way. And they scare the shit out of those damn matchstick men, so I don’t complain.”
I gave him a sidelong look. “You’re talking like these trees have feelings, you old hippie,” I joked.
He shrugged his grizzled shoulders. “Well, they might still. They were people once.”
I can confirm that the werewolf is correct. The trees in this section of the forest are souls that have been converted by Oxylem. Traditionally, this process occurred by their choice, but I am quite sure this has not been the case for some time as far as the vast majority is concerned.
I drew in a sharp breath. Suddenly, the disfigured trees seemed to stand out in much greater detail and commanded more of my attention. “These were all—”
Smitty put a finger to his lips. “When we get to where we're going, I’ll fill in all the gaps,” he said in hushed tones. “For now, I’d like us to m
ove a little quieter. We’re close, and I don’t want to be tracked.”
I shut my mouth, but thoughts raced in my head. It had not occurred to me that the creepy forest itself might be made up of its former inhabitants. The revelation that we had essentially walked through a living graveyard sent a shiver up my spine. I glanced back toward the battle we’d left. The prospect of a forest fire loomed even grimmer than before.
Smitty dropped until he was almost on all fours. At a distance, he could’ve passed for something like a real wolf. He was still too bulky, too shaggy, and too purely wild in face and shape, but he had clearly learned a hell of a lot about surviving in his current form.
I sidled as close to his furry side as I could get. “How far?” I breathed inches from his ear. He lifted one arm and pointed into an outwardly impenetrable wall of underbrush. I hesitated and glanced back at the women and children who trailed behind us.
He moved ahead, dove into the foliage, and opened a path down the middle as if it were water. Quickly, I motioned for the others to follow close behind and went in after him. We stayed low and waded through a scratchy sea of dead leaves and branches. The tunnel narrowed briefly before it widened into a more normal path.
At that point, Smitty straightened. He loped toward the edge of a bright, warm clearing. “That’s our home base there,” he said. The words were tinged with pride. “We worked hard to build ourselves up after that epidemic.”
I smiled, happy for his success and eager to be among friendly faces. “I can’t wait to see it.”
He stepped through the tree line. “You don’t have to wait, ʼcause here we are.” We paused to take it in. “Welcome to the resistance, Vic.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Wow,” I murmured.
The clearing, like every other location we’d seen so far, was massively overgrown and returned slowly to its natural state. Twisted tendrils of roots pushed their way through the soil as far as I could see, despite the fact that few trees grew beyond the point where we stood. In the center of the space, a huge stone structure soared into the sky.
The empty frame of a former window gazed down on us like a blinded eye to tell me that this place had once been a church. Time and the elements meshed its austere glory with the ethereal beauty of the wild. Vines twined over mossy stone, holes crumbled in the façade, and trees pushed through the eroded floor and reached for the roof. But its walls held firm, and the doors at the top of the sweeping entrance stairs were fortified with iron.
“A stunner, isn’t she?” Smitty remarked. “Someone smiled upon us when we found her more or less intact.” He wasted no time and herded our troop of escapees into the building, including me.
The towering doors creaked open, and a warm wash of light poured over our weary group. Smitty’s people waited across the threshold to welcome us with open arms. Some of the women burst into tears in the face of such hospitality. Others were joyfully reunited with the brothers, husbands, and sons who had made it here ahead of us.
“Damn,” I said to Smitty. “You weren’t kidding about having that covered.” I turned to pat him on the shoulder, but the wolf had gone. “Where the hell did he go?”
“Hey, stranger.” The grin that popped onto my face as soon as I saw Deacon was automatic, born of sheer relief. He pulled me into his arms for a quick squeeze. “Check these digs out.” He left his arm around my shoulders.
“You think they’re nicer than ours?” I asked. The church wasn’t as big as Fort Victory, but its sanctuary was nice and open and allowed enough room for beds and other things. Dozens of people milled around to settle the new arrivals. The smell of a hot meal in the making wafted down a hallway.
“Nah,” Deacon said. “But there’s more of a rustic charm.”
“I wouldn’t call this place rustic,” Brax interjected. He had appeared out of thin air, as was his wont, and as usual, he seemed thoroughly unimpressed. “Overbearing, maybe. There are a bunch of creepy statues near the front.”
I gave him the once-over. “I’m surprised you’re not literally on fire, Brax,” I said.
He folded his arms. “That’s a new one. Tell it again, why don’t you?”
I chuckled, released Deacon, and scanned the room once more for Smitty. He walked toward us, a wiry old blacksmith with a full white beard. The sword in his arm socket bore a sheath, and he smiled with his entire wrinkled face. Everyone he passed greeted him like an old friend—in many cases, he probably was.
He guided us toward the far wall of the sanctuary, where a closed door led to the church’s inner office. “Gentlemen,” he said and nodded to Deacon and Brax. “How are we doing? All in one piece?”
“Yes, sir,” Deacon replied. “Let me take this opportunity to thank you for saving our asses. You showed up in the nick of time.”
Smitty laughed. “We’ve had practice, my boy. Maybe too much of it.” His expression sobered. “And it didn’t start here. The fighting’s been on and off since you left Washington all that time ago, Vic.”
He parked himself in a metal folding chair and fished a pipe from the front pocket of his overalls. “The wolf disease spread farther than we thought it would,” he said. “More of ʼem cropped up in droves—overnight, it seemed. Our original clan did the best we could to track them down and try to talk it through.”
As he spoke, he pinched tobacco from a pouch and used his thumb to tamp it down into the bowl. “It was easier after Lupres was dead. All that mind control trash from before went out the window.” Smitty frowned. “But then again, that made it harder in some respects too.” He delved into his pocket for a match, which he struck on the sheath of his arm-sword. “Not everyone saw the same safety in numbers that we did. Many times, I was told to screw off, and they left to make their own way.
“Too many turned against us, and we had to wage our own civil war. I can’t tell you how much blood was shed in the early days, but it was a damn river. Lord knows I didn’t want to do it. I don’t think anyone did.” He paused to take a puff of the pipe. The blue smoke plumed from his lips. “Still, we knew we had to do it, so it got done.” He sighed and shook his head. “Of course, we buried them all. You go back there, and you’ll find a veritable cemetery. What a shame.” Another puff released a billow of sweet-smelling smoke. “The silver lining is that there was a surprising number who did come with me. That’s how we got here.”
“You have an awesome operation,” I said. “I’m impressed.”
He looked at me. “Things didn’t take off until the gods came back. First, it was that jackass with the hammer bigger than his head. Up until then, we got by however we could and lived off our wits and the good graces of the outdoors. We could turn and hunt or turn and stay warm if we needed to, so we figured we didn’t need to be tied to a base. We planned to head east to see if we could join a bigger piece of civilization.”
“Why didn’t you?” I asked.
“We heard New York fell, and it wasn’t long before that god came sniffing around to claim his piece of the pie. He looked like an extra in one of those hero movies and called himself Hyrrik. He and his soldiers swarmed the land like a plague, and they brought fire wherever they went. You saw the evidence.”
“We did,” I said and thought of the scorched forest on the way in. “It looked like someone had burned towns for fun.”
“That’s about the long and short of it,” Smitty agreed. “They rounded up all the residents first, though. Anyone who resisted was either restrained or cut down. Everything that couldn’t be stolen was burned.” He adjusted the stem of the pipe between his teeth. “The big boss is gone now, and we’ve done all we can to resist and to collect former prisoners. But it’s hard to make real progress when we don’t have the numbers to press the advantages we get.”
“Simple,” I said and patted the Gladius Solis. “Step one, we find this fucker. He can’t hide forever. Step two, I get in as close as I can. Step three, I end him.”
To me, the blueprint for our a
ttack was clear. But to my chagrin, old Smitty shook his head. “If it were that simple,” he said, “we would’ve done it already. When I say the boss is gone, I mean he’s dead because the first thing I did was lead a team in with the express intention to kill him. The fight was grueling. We lost many great people. But in the end, we got the bastard.” Smitty chuckled wryly. “The rest of them didn’t like that too much.”
“I salute your courage and your success,” Brax spoke up abruptly. He looked directly at Smitty. “Hyrrik was no weak fool. I know because he was the one who enslaved me the first time. He gave me a taste for violence and blood. And when I left, I took his hammer with me.” A smirk tilted the corner of the demon’s lips. “My only regret is that the beast is already dead—I would’ve enjoyed that sweet retribution myself.”
Nobody really knew how to respond to that. I could feel Marcus radiating incorporeal disapproval. Deacon broke the silence by asking Smitty, “Then what?”
Smitty puffed on his pipe. “Well, another god dropped by. A young one, nice looking, but he had a whole slew of monsters like I’d never seen that followed him around. It looked like the forest had come to life almost. But there was something wrong about it all.” The blacksmith leaned back in his chair. “We thought maybe he might be peaceful, or at least nonconfrontational, but no such luck. The rest of the fire guys defaulted to this kid’s command, and he simply picked up where the first left off. And let me tell you, they were hopping mad about us having the gall to challenge one of their own. The very first thing they did was purge a huge number of our forces as retribution. Hundreds, maybe thousands. That was when we ran into the forest and finally set up here.”
I had to keep my jaw from falling open at the end of his story. The gods I had known had been violent and greedy to an extreme, but I had never encountered this kind of wholesale destruction up close. An immediate wave of guilt surged through me. If I’d known that thousands of people struggled to survive on the west coast, I might have come sooner. “Damn it to fucking hell,” I muttered.
