After The Fall: Children Of The Nephilim

by Paul Freeman

  He walked over to the small stream and bent down to the water bubbling over well worn stones. He cupped his hands and brought the cool water to his lips and then splashed some on his face and back of his neck. He remembered the girl shrieking into the small clearing trying to chase away the dogs. She’d never spoken a single word to him in that time.

  “Which way?” Jeb asked.

  He stood up, sniffing the air. The chill of uncertainty crept into his heart. Being out in the wild was an invitation to trouble since the Fall, yet, he loved the unending wildness of the world now. Is it wrong to feel at peace when so many have lost their lives… and souls?

  He chose a small trail that went north and west, the same narrow path the girl had emerged from as the pack of wild dogs circled him. Intuition or just a shot in the dark? A little of both.

  They walked for a long time, until their backs and legs began to ache and their feet grew heavy. The forest wasn’t terribly dense or tough going but with trails drifting off in different directions and none of them going in a straight line it was becoming harder and harder to maintain their sense of direction and to keep their bearings.

  “Am I so hungry that I’m now imagining the smell of roast meat?” George said. The first words any of them had spoken in over an hour.

  “No, I smell it too,” Jeb said.

  Out in the wilderness with the smell of cooking food wafting in the air all three men took hold of their weapons. They were deep into the forest now. It was a time when people hid behind walls and out of the shadows. A time of fear and death, and meeting strangers out in the wild was often an invitation to both. Assume the worst first that way you lived longer.

  Slowly they walked into the small clearing, spreading out and scanning the trees for any trouble. A small camp had been set up at its center with a fire and skinned rabbit roasting on a spit above it. There was no sign of anyone.

  “Perhaps they ran and hid when they heard us comin’,” Jeb said.

  “Perhaps,” Pastor grunted. He had a queer feeling about the camp, not a sense of imminent danger – an intuition that had saved his life on many an occasion – but an eerie sense he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He walked over to the fire and sat on the small log beside it. Three round discs of wood roughly carved sat stacked beside the fire. Jeb and George joined him, quizzical looks on their faces. “Here.” He passed each of them a plate before lifting the roasting meat from the fire and taking out his knife.

  “You think it’s safe?” Jeb asked, slowly sitting opposite.

  Pastor shrugged, did he think it was safe? Maybe. It felt like an offering – a gesture of hospitality. But then, wouldn’t the best trap be disguised as such? He portioned out the meat and the three men ate in silence, savoring every bite. Not much to be fair, but very welcome. They washed it down with water when they were done.

  “World always seems a brighter place after a feed,” George said, wiping grease from his beard with the back of his hand.

  Jeb strode over to where the trail continued on the far side of the clearing to where they had entered. He held up a small piece of cloth he’d found snagged on a branch. He handed it to Pastor who turned it over in his hand. It looked much the same as the dirty coarse material the girl had worn, but then, it could have come from any number of garments worn by folk in Colony or anywhere.

  A small woodland creature scurried, unseen, through the undergrowth. A bird squawked from a lofty perch high up in the trees, while insects flittered past. “Don’t reckon there’ll be much more daylight left. Maybe we should build that fire up and make camp here for the night,” George said.

  Pastor shook his head. “We press on,” he croaked, not waiting for a reply. Jeb looked at George and then shrugged before following after their gray-haired leader. They quickly found more clues that their host had passed through the forest: snapped branches, disturbed leaves, even some small footprints where the earth became soft and spongy.

  “Ever get the feeling we’re being led somewhere?” Jeb said as he plucked another piece of material from a thorny bush.

  “Yeah but where?” George said.

  “There,” Pastor answered.

  The trees opened out as gray walls covered in vines and moss almost blended into the forest. Rising above the walls they could see the tips of slate roofs and a large bell tower stretching up to loom over the smaller buildings. Facing them was a heavy wooden door and a clear paved path leading up to it.

  “What is it?” George asked with awe in his voice and not a little fear.

  “Looks to me like it might have once been a monastery or convent,” Pastor said looking up at the tower, beyond the arched open spaces to the cross perched proudly at the top.

  Beyond the monastery was a lake where sunlight shimmered golden on the surface, and across the calm water dark jagged rocks rose above the forest, an imposing dark wall against the clear blue sky.

  They approached the main entrance cautiously, noticing that the heavy wooden door at least was well cared for and the entranceway kept clear of debris and the green grasp of the forest. One side of the thick double doors was left slightly ajar.

  “Look,” George said in hushed, almost reverent tones as he pointed at a red cross painted onto one side of the door. Just like the symbol they’d seen on the door of the church they’d spent the previous night. He pressed his finger to the marked door and it came away red. “Blood.”

  “Well we’ve come this far,” Pastor said. He could feel his heart rate increasing as he stepped into the crack between the two doors.

  “We got less than an hour of daylight left. Do we want to spend the night in the forest or in this place?” Jeb said, looking to each man in turn.

  Pastor could see each man’s doubts written plainly in their eyes. It was wise to seek shelter once darkness began to creep over the world, when the terrors of night became real and monsters who lurked in the shadows by day came out to hunt. A night spent out in the wild of an untamed forest was an invitation to the creatures of shade. Yet, the monastery was an eerie place and one where creatures who seek the shadows when the sun rose might find sanctuary away from its lethal rays.

  He stepped through the doors into an open courtyard. The open space appeared well enough maintained. There were some broken paving stones and natural erosion of the manmade building materials, but in general the colonization of the forest had been kept in check. The courtyard was surrounded on three sides by arched porticoes which supported an upper storey with narrow slits for windows. A small disused fountain surrounded by an empty pool sat at the center of the courtyard. Several wooden doors led from the colonnade into the building, all seemed closed.

  “I don’t like this place,” George muttered. Pastor heard the gentle click of a rifle hammer being pulled back.

  In one corner of the courtyard stood a stone statue of a man dressed in the robes of monk. His sandaled feet stood on a square plinth, in one hand he supported himself with a simple staff, his other clutched a rolled up parchment. Pastor brushed the polished stone with the back of his hand as he walked past and climbed the few steps towards the main entrance door. As he reached for the large brass handle there was an echo through the courtyard – the sound of a door being hauled open.

  “No!” he called as he saw George raising his rifle to his shoulder. “Don’t shoot.”

  The girl stood in an arched doorway to his left. He met her ever-so blue eyes for the briefest moment and once again felt that he was being measured, as if that brief shared gaze had opened his soul for examination. She turned then and disappeared into the gloom. “Wait!” he called after her.

  “I don’t like this,” George said. Pastor ignored him again and ran after the girl. The boots of the running men echoed off the paving stones and tiled colonnade as they chased after the girl through the door she’d left open.

  Inside was cool and gloomy with little natural light coming through small arched slits in the wall. The floor of the corridor was tiled, w
hile paint and plaster flaked off the walls. It smelled of dust and age. Jeb and George bunched up behind him and he put a finger to his lips indicating silence, and he listened. He could hear footsteps echoing down the corridor to his left and he set out after them.

  He pulled up sharply at a door that had been left open, yellow light glowed from within. Slowly and with his head urging caution while his heart yearned for speed he stepped into the room. A dozen rows of wooden pews filled either side of the small space. Behind a marble altar, where fat candles flickered, a large wooden crucifix hung on the wall. Lining each wall were paintings depicting the Stations of the Cross, the trials and torment of Christ during the procession to Calvary.

  A woman stood at the altar. Long dark hair fell in curls over bare shoulders. She wore a dark green velvet gown that swept to the floor. A golden cross and chain hung from her slender neck resting on her chest, rising gently as she breathed. “Welcome to my home.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Logan dropped some more wood beside the fire and sat opposite Amy, grimacing as spears of pain stabbed his ribs. She had her knees pulled tightly into her chest while she stared into the fire. Tear trails glistened on her dirt-smeared cheeks, making him feel awkward and uncomfortable, unsure what to say. They’d ridden hard from the woods, leaving behind the bodies of six men and more importantly they’d left Colony and sanctuary far in the distance. He knew there was an old church somewhere Pastor had often spoken of, one that he had used as shelter while travelling to and from Colony. He had hoped they might find it before night fell and avoid been caught out in the open. Instead they’d found what was left of a house. A collection of jagged brick walls with no roof and a lot of debris piled on the floors. They’d cleared a spot in one corner and gathered what wood they could find before darkness fell.

  “You okay?” he ventured.

  She looked up and nodded. “Do you think we’ll find my pa tomorrow?”

  “I’m not even sure which way they went.” He shrugged and poked at the fire for no other reason than for something to do with his hands.

  “So what’ll we do?”

  “There’s a church Pastor sometimes uses. I don’t think it’s too far from here. I thought maybe we could hole up there for a time until they come back that way.”

  “I’m hungry,” she said, “and cold.”

  He looked up, the first and brightest of the stars had already come into view. He had no supplies left – not having planned on fleeing for his life from a gang of marauders. “Wait here,” he said and ventured outside to where they’d tethered the horses. He rummaged through the packs strapped to the back of each of the worn leather saddles. He came back with two blankets and some hard biscuits. “Not much, but better than nothing,” he said.

  They ate in silence, washing the tasteless biscuits down with water from Logan’s flask which they passed between them.

  “Might as well be eating rocks,” she smiled briefly. It was the first time she’d done so since he’d found her… or rather she’d found him.

  “Next time I’ll come better prepared,” he said with a grin on his face. She responded back with another smile before pulling the blanket around her shoulders. “Why don’t you get some sleep, you must be exhausted.”

  She shook her head and blinked away the tiredness from her eyes. “I…” she began before faltering.

  “You’ve had a bad time lately, Amy, I get it. I’ll keep watch while you sleep. We’re safe here.” He wished he was as confident about that as he made himself sound.

  Amy settled herself into a corner and closed her eyes, while he watched the flames dance to the movement of the wind. He felt his chest constricting when he pictured Elaine’s face and how her eyes sparkled when she smiled, even if they were a little more lined than they once were. Guilt and anger flooded through him when he thought about her trapped in Colony with the marauders. He wanted to ride in there and rescue her, but he couldn’t abandon Amy, and besides the girl was right, he’d not help anyone by getting himself killed. Even so, it didn’t hurt any less and he wondered if his wife would ever forgive him for leaving her there. It was almost enough to make him climb aboard his horse and head straight back. He could go into Colony with all guns blazing and if he died in the process at least he would have tried. Surely that would be better than doing nothing, hiding waiting for Pastor to return and fight his battles for him. He stabbed at the fire with a stick, sending sparks into the night air. Amy stirred and mumbled in her sleep.

  There were few enough moments of joy to be savored in the days following the Fall, but his wedding to Elaine had been one of those. The population of Colony had been smaller then and he was ever grateful that they’d taken him in. Pastor had officiated at the wedding, in the days before he’d fallen out with the Lord he’d been a great source of spiritual strength. The whole town turned out, each person bringing something to the feast. He smiled at the memory, one untainted by death and fear which had become so commonplace. It was good to have treasured moments in a world gone to hell.

  With good memories come the bad, two sides to the one coin. He pictured some of the faces who were there that day: Joe Marcello who’d played the banjo all night. A year later he’d been drained of blood by a small vampire clan who’d come over the walls of Colony one night. The following day Pastor had ridden out and hunted them down to their lair, but it was too late for Joe. Audrey Palmer, she’d died that same year in childbirth, complications that would have seemed minor before the Fall when towns and the folk who lived in them had access to medical facilities and supplies. There were others who’d died over the years, some whose faces and names he’d forgotten, to his shame, others who would always be remembered.

  He could feel the heat of the flames on his cheeks as their hypnotic dance lured him into the past and the hard memories he’d tried to bury there. It was so easy to allow the heavy mantle of despair to drag him into the dark abyss of hopelessness. What is the point of going on? There is no future for man or God… any god.

  He was dreaming about Elaine when her screaming woke him up. He tried to cling onto the dream, to wrap himself in the warm comfort of it, but it slipped from his mind like mist drifting through his open fingers, all memory of it lost. His mind felt clouded as he drifted between sleep and wakefulness. Elaine was still screaming, something was wrong. The dream had been a good one, he was sure of that, up until she cried for help. When he opened his eyes the dying embers of the fire glowed before him, his half-awake mind tried to tell him a dying fire was not a good thing, but Elaine was still screaming and he couldn’t concentrate.

  The fire! His mind was suddenly fully conscious. It was still dark, the fire was dead and Elaine was still screaming… no, not Elaine. A dark shadow enveloped Amy as she howled for help.

  “God damn it!” Logan cried out as he fumbled for the pistol on his belt. The weapon slipped from his grasp. Instead he snatched up a rock and hit the feeder hard in the back of the head. The vampire screeched and turned its grotesque gaze on him. He reeled back from the evil mask, fear washing over him at the sight of the fangs and hungry, dark eyes.

  Amy kicked it off her and slid away. Moonlight caught the glistening tears on her cheeks and in her eyes. A glance at her expression was enough to see the fear there. The vampire lashed out at Logan with long, blackened claws, hissing at him as it did so. He scrambled away and snatched the dropped pistol from the ground. The explosion of noise momentarily deafened him as he fired. The feeder was thrown back from the force of the close range shot. Logan jumped up and stood over the monster, firing two more shots, one into its chest and one into its head. He sensed a movement behind him and whirled around. It was Amy. She turned and ran into the darkness.

  “Amy! Wait!” he called after her, a sick feeling pooling in the pit of his stomach, disgust with himself for falling asleep. Not only falling asleep but allowing the fire to burn down. Unforgivable. He ran from the house – if what was left could still be called a house –
and after Amy. “Amy!” he shouted into the darkness, not caring who or what it might attract. “Come back, it’s not safe out there.” Not much safer in here with a fool for a guardian, he thought.

  With only the moonlight to see by darkness was like an impenetrable curtain all around him, his vision limited to a few yards. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked, it was impossible to tell from which direction. “Amy!” he called again, but there was neither sound nor sight of the girl. The dog barked again, or maybe it was a second answering the call. A shiver ran through him as a third dog howled in the distance. Wild dogs roamed in packs all over now, reverting back to an older age as primeval instincts took over. They were usually hungry, often diseased and always a danger. He hated to think of Amy running alone, in the dark into a hunting pack. He dismissed the thought. Damn girl can probably take better care of herself than me.

  A sound from behind made him whirl around. A shadow shifted in the darkness, a shape moving in the blackness. A snap of a breaking twig. His heart began to thump as he battled to stay calm, an impossible thing with coursing blood beating a drum at his temples and his hands beginning to shake. The night was the realm of the vampire, fear its ally. Darkness the enemy of man and he was stranded alone. He felt a compulsion to just give up, to lie down and take whatever comes, terror trumping survival instinct. He heard the familiar hiss and throat rattle and knew he was not alone. His eyes darted right and left, he turned his head at every noise, real and imagined. In the distance the dogs were still calling to each other. He sucked in breaths of air, feeling his heart leaping in his chest.

  It came at him fast, a dark shadow, hungry for blood. Before he had time to react he was knocked from his feet, an open maw looming over him. Strong arms bore him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him and sending shooting stabs of pain through his body, reminding him of his broken ribs. With his pistol fallen from his grasp he grabbed his knife from his belt and rammed the blade into the leering mouth. The vampire shrieked, a sound so grating he felt as if his ears would explode. He managed to kick the monster off and fell on it in a stabbing frenzy, hacking and stabbing until its chest was a bloody mess and the black heart ceased to beat.