After The Fall: Children Of The Nephilim

by Paul Freeman

  Panting for air, he quickly scanned the ground for his gun, snatched it up and ran back to the house. He tossed some wood on the dying fire and nursed it back to life, all the while his head swiveled every which way as he expected another attack at any minute.

  With the fire a substantial blaze in front of him, he huddled close into the orange glow, hugging himself while rocking gently. “Shit, shit, shit,” he mumbled as he fought to calm the terror threatening to overwhelm him. He didn’t blame Amy for running. He just hoped she’d found somewhere safe to hide and that he would find her in the morning. The dogs were still making a racket a cacophony of growls, barks and yelps.

  He buried his head in his hands and felt tears welling up. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried and he’d be damned if he’d start now. “Man up, you idiot,” he chastised himself and threw another piece of wood onto the fire, despite the heat coming from it and bathing him in warmth he still shivered. In the distance a crimson tinge crept into the sky just above the horizon. Morning would break with the color of blood leaking into the dark clouds.

  *

  Amy was sleeping when something made her wake, some instinct that tore her from a dreamless slumber. She opened her eyes just as the feeder appeared in the doorway. Like a shadow propelled by wind it glided towards her. She screamed and it lunged at her, over the dying embers of the fire. Beside her Logan was propped up against the wall with his head drooped onto his chest. She wasn’t sure if he was sleeping or dead. Panic swept through her in a rush as she brought her hands up in front of her to ward off the vampire. In an instant its hideously corrupted face was inches from hers. Dark hungry eyes bored into hers as if it could suck the blood from her with its intense gaze, she was repelled by it, frozen in fear. She could smell its putrid breath as its mouth widened, revealing the elongated incisors it would use to puncture her flesh to get at her blood. She did not want to become a godless, soulless creature, an undead condemned to eternal damnation.

  She wanted to block out the sight of the vampire glaring at her but she was mesmerized by its eyes and couldn’t tear her gaze from them. As it loomed over her it was suddenly knocked off her. Something pounced onto the feeder a bloodied rock in hand: Logan. She slid away from the two struggling shapes – man and monster – and ran from the house. Tears streamed down her face as she ran blindly into the night, not caring or thinking where she was going, simply answering an instinct to get as far away from danger as possible. It did not occur to her that she should help Logan and together they could kill the monster, she simply followed the compulsion to flee.

  She ran without looking back, until her legs felt as if they would collapse beneath her, until her chest ached and a stitch in her side made her slow and gulp in deep breaths. She heard her name floating on the wind but when she went to get her bearings all she could see was the blackness of night all around her, if she answered the call who would find her? Moonlight turned every rock and bush into something far more sinister – demons waiting to pounce and condemn her to everlasting damnation.

  She heard a growl and tensed. Her heart was in her mouth. Then she heard barking. Animals not vampires, she thought. She remembered the pistol on her belt and slowly drew the gun. She listened trying to make out the voice in the darkness. Surely it was Logan. Who else would be calling her? Unless it was ghosts luring her to her death. In a world ruled by vampires was it so unbelievable to imagine malevolent spirits trying to trick teenage girls lost in the night? She was afraid to call out to him and give away her position to whatever demons and wights, animals or men were out there hunting her. The voice went silent only the barking of the dogs remained, getting closer. She heard panting and imagined a huge beastly hound with lolling tongue breathing its hot breath on the bag of her neck. She imagined fangs and claws ripping into her. She imagined formless ghosts floating in the air around her, sucking her life-force from her, leaving her body an empty husk to be preyed on by scavengers. She imagined the world bathed in blood and pain, a ghost land devoid of life, ruled by the undead.

  And she ran.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Pastor took two cautious steps into the dimly lit room, the flickering candles throwing his shadow across the floor. The woman stood stoically still, showing no signs of fear or surprise. The girl stepped out from a door behind the altar and joined the woman who put a protective arm over her shoulder. His gaze searched the dark brown eyes of the woman, finding a confidence and a hint of amusement there.

  “Perhaps you could lower your weapon,” she said. He detected a faint trace of an accent: Spanish… maybe. He lowered the shotgun – he hadn’t even realized he was pointing it in her direction. “My name is Eva Gonzalez Castello. This is my home and you are welcome.”

  “Where’s everybody else?” Jeb said, stepping into the chapel and standing beside Pastor.

  “There is nobody else,” she answered.

  “Just the two of you?” Jeb said, skepticism lacing his words. The woman simply nodded. Her dark hair fell over one bare shoulder.

  Pastor’s eyes were drawn to the crucifix hanging around her neck. Their eyes locked. “And the girl,” he said, “is she your daughter?” The woman shook her head. “You are her guardian?”

  “Heavens no. It’s the other way round,” she said and laughed. The girl looked up and then towards Pastor, her face expressionless.

  “Why did she lead us here?” he asked.

  “Would you like some food? You must be hungry,” the woman said, ignoring his question. “Or some wine to clear your throat?”

  “Are you shittin’ me? You’ve got wine… real wine made from grapes?” George said, his mouth agape.

  “Yes,” she answered with a nod of her head and a warm smile. “Please, follow me.” The hem of her dress swept along the floor as she briskly walked from the room. The girl waited until Pastor turned to follow and then she too ran after the woman.

  Although he followed in silence his mind was a torrent of questions. Not least of which how a woman and girl could have survived alone for so long – assuming she was telling the truth. They were strange and dark times they lived in; he felt they were only getting stranger. There was something not right about the woman, aside from the situation. Her bearing had a casual aloofness to it, unlike all other human beings he’d met since the Fall, all of whom had a wary haunted look about them. She carried herself like she was queen of the world. Was it possible to be so carefree in the midst of the apocalypse?

  She led them into a large room that was once likely the dining hall of the monastery. It was empty now of furniture apart from one long wooden table with benches to sit on either side. Laid out on the table was an array of food – bowls of fruit and berries, loaves of bread and as the centerpiece a roasted fowl, a turkey judging by its size, its skin brown and crisp, the meat white. Pastor’s mouth watered at the sight.

  “You made all this?”

  “The fruit comes from orchards here long before we moved in, tended to by the brothers who once called this their home, we have simply maintained them. It is not as if we have a lot of pressures on our time. The forest is full of game, although we do keep some animals here. And the bread I baked myself this morning.” She smiled warmly before holding up a dark green bottle. “And this comes from the good brothers’ well-stocked cellars, far more than I could ever drink. It pleases me to be able to share it.”

  “You baked bread this morning and roasted a bird.” She nodded once in reply. “You knew we were coming. How is that when we did not know ourselves?”

  The woman glanced at the child whose face remained expressionless. “Sit, eat,” she said, beckoning them to take a seat at the table. She pulled the cork from the wine bottle with a pop and filled four glasses. It was a long time since Pastor or any of the others had drunk from a real glass. “To new friends.” Eva held up her glass in toast and drank. Pastor looked into his own the rich smell of the wine drifted up, the sight of the red liquid bringing something al
together different to mind, when he drank he half expected a coppery taste hitting the back of his throat. Instead it was delicious, the alcohol adding a sense of warmth he could feel go to his head.

  “Have you always been alone here?” Jeb asked as he crammed bread and turkey into his mouth.

  “Not always. People come and go.”

  “And feeders?” George added. “How have you managed to survive that plague?”

  “I assume you are talking about the vampires who have overrun the world. They don’t bother us here.”

  “They don’t bother you?” Pastor said, finding her last statement hard to believe. “If blood runs through your veins then they will bother you. It seems somewhat… implausible that you could be so lucky to avoid them over so many years.”

  Once again she glanced at the girl. Pastor got the distinct impression that something unseen and unheard passed between them. What it was he could not tell. For the first time he really looked at the girl, her arms in particular and noticed spider webs of scars up both, a mass of crisscrossing wounds. She saw where his gaze had fallen and she pulled down her sleeve.

  “We have learned ways to distract them from seeking us out,” she answered.

  “The blood on the door,” Pastor said. Eva gave a non-committal nod. “It was her who painted the cross on the door.” He nodded his head towards the girl. “Did you also leave the symbol of the door on the church we spent the night in?” he said directly to her.

  “She can’t answer you,” Eva said, her voice tinged with sadness.

  “Why not?” Pastor pressed, his eyes never leaving the girl. She returned his stare with the same expressionless look on her face. Her eyes were impossibly blue, almost as if they were shaped from some precious stone and inserted into her head in place of her real eyes.

  “She doesn’t speak. She never has.”

  He switched his attention to the woman. “How can a child’s blood deter the feeders? It’s what they seek, what they crave for.”

  “The child’s blood?” George said, a look of horror on his face.

  “Her arms,” Pastor simply answered. They all looked at the girl who simply regarded each of them back without emotion.

  “What is your name?” Eva suddenly asked, catching him off guard.

  “Most folk just call me Pastor,” he said.

  “That is not your name. What is your real name?”

  It was so long since anybody addressed him by his real name it took a moment for him to remember. “My name…?” It was a simple enough question but for some reason unbeknown to him he flustered over the answer, unwilling to share it as if by knowing his name she would have some sort of power over him, like a witch from a fairytale. “Michael,” he answered. “My name is Michael.”

  “God’s general,” she said.

  “What?” Pastor snapped irritably.

  “The Archangel Michael – God’s general. Are you a warrior of God, Michael?”

  “I’m no angel, just a man seeking some answers.”

  “Who knows what we all carry in our hearts.” She reached out a hand and placed it over his. “Secrets even unto ourselves.”

  He felt the warmth of her touch on the back of his hand and pulled away. George elbowed him then and pointed towards a painting hanging on the wall behind Eva, dominating the room with a hard stare was a man dressed in a black cape and white habit of a monk, laced through his fingers was a set of rosary beads. The woman seeing where they were staring turned around.

  “You know, Pastor,” Jeb began, scratching his chin, “there’s a similarity between you two.”

  “Pah!” Pastor spat dismissively and looked away from the painting. He suddenly became aware of Eva watching him. If he was uneasy before he was becoming decidedly uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

  “His name was Miguel Martinez, a Dominican monk. They are often known as the Black Friars.”

  “Was this his monastery then?” Jeb asked.

  “Oh no. His time was centuries before this place was built. He lived in Spain during the fifteenth century. The Dominicans were at the forefront of combating heresy during the middle ages. Brother Martinez was a… strongly devout man.”

  “You mean he’s got blood of heretics on his hands,” Pastor said. Eva smiled but did not answer.

  “There is more than a passing resemblance, Pastor, you sure your family didn’t come from Spain?” George’s words were said in jest. Pastor wasn’t laughing.

  “He lived through a turbulent time that left many challenges for the church,” Eva said.

  “You’re speaking about the inquisition. I’d call that more than a little challenging, people tortured and murdered for their faith.”

  “Yes, you are right. Brother Martinez was an inquisitor.” She stated it matter-of-factly with no attempt of defense nor any sign of embarrassment or apology in her words.

  “Yet you keep his portrait hanging in your dining hall.”

  “All men have layers, some go deeper than others,” she answered.

  “Who are you?” Pastor suddenly said, leveling his own hard glare on the woman. She didn’t flinch.

  “I told you my name is…”

  “Yes, we know your name, but who are you and why did you bring us here? And what sort of girl wanders through vampire infested woods, painting her blood on doors to deny entry to those same vampires?”

  “You are a man of God,” she said, her dark eyes focused on his.

  “Once perhaps.”

  “I understand what it is to have a crisis of faith.”

  “This has nothing to do with what I asked you.”

  “Do you know where the vampires came from?” she asked, ignoring him.

  “Turned by other feeders. A never ending cycle of evil and wickedness. These are the days of the end time, the last days of man. They are the spawn of the devil.” he said.

  “No. They came from God, from Heaven. Have you heard of the Nephilim, Pastor? Of course you have, you have studied the bible. You are as intimate with its pages as the secret places of a lover.” He shifted uneasily in his seat. “The man behind me and others like him… men like you, Pastor, knew where they came from, knew how to fight them.” She turned away from the hard gaze of Pastor and towards the other two men. “When Lucifer was cast from Heaven he did not depart alone. Up to a third of the angels fell with him, many of these Fallen bred with human women on Earth and those unions produced super-human offspring called the Nephilim. It is said that when God sent the great flood to wash away the sins of man it was the Nephilim he was trying to eradicate. With their bodies drowned and their spirits denied access to Heaven they became something else, with no corporeal form and no where to go they became demons. Yet, it is thought some of them survived the flood and in turn they too bred with human women.

  “Brother Martinez understood this, as did many of his kind before him and since. He knew there were ways to protect oneself from these... Children of the Nephilim, ways to fight them, ways to stop them. The church called them the Mortui Viventes – the living dead.”

  “The church?” Jeb said.

  “The Vatican,” Eva answered.

  “You trying to tell me that all those blood-drinking monsters out there are descendant from angels?” George raised bushy eyebrows in incredulity.

  “No, not those poor damned souls. They are simply victims, but at their heart you will find far more sentient beings far older than anything you can perceive of.”

  “You’re either well informed or full of shit,” Pastor said. Eva rewarded him with a smile.

  “That sounds a lot like what that talkin’ feeder was sayin’,” Jeb said, slowly putting down the piece of meat he held in his hand.

  “Ah, so you’ve met one!” Eva said, glancing at the girl. “A child of the Nephilim. You are lucky to be still alive.”

  “This is bullcrap! You want us to believe that these creatures, these… monsters are half angel – half human?” Pastor raised his voice.

&nbs
p; Eva’s eyes narrowed. “If you believe in the words of the bible. If you believe that Moses led God’s children from Egypt and parted the Red Sea to allow them escape the pharaoh’s chasing army, if you believe in Heaven and Hell. If you believe Jesus Christ, the only son of God, gave his life on a Roman cross to save us from eternal damnation. If you believe that sinners will face everlasting punishment and torment and that the righteous will claim their eternal reward and sit at the right hand of God in Heaven. If you believe He sends His angels to look over us, that such creatures exist, is it such a leap to believe in Lucifer and his fallen angels? You can’t have one without the other.”

  “Well if they have come from the loins of angels, what does that make us?” he said.

  “We were created by God in his own image. Perhaps they are jealous of this. They – the sires of the Nephilim I mean – rebelled against him and were banished from His sight for it.”

  “Whereas we have been abandoned by Him,” Pastor answered. A long silence followed. He rounded on the girl then. “And what is she, I saw her fangs. Is she a feeder? Has she lured us here in order to feed on our blood?”

  Eva looked from the girl and back to Pastor. “No, she is not a vampire.”

  “Then what is she? What are you?”

  “I don’t know what she is. As to me, I am simply a woman who has made a lot of choices in her life – not all of them good ones.”

  “Well excuse me, ma’am, but I think you’re full of shit,” Pastor said and pushed his chair back before standing up.

  “Wait!” Eva stood up with him, her chair fell back. “Did he give you his name?”

  A muscle twitched in Pastor’s jaw as he held back his anger. He did not like the feeling of being manipulated, certainly not by a child. Perhaps his initial assessment had been right. Maybe he should just kill the child and be done with it.