After The Fall: Children Of The Nephilim

by Paul Freeman

  “Bastard,” he spat. A cold sensation snaked down his spine as his heart beat wildly in his chest. The hall had too many pillars, was too dark and too damned drafty. Statues of angels and nameless monks were set into recesses around the walls. His mind wandered to his own simple church which bore none of the elaborate trappings of the monastery, no ostentatious displays of wealth and power. If Jesus were alive today his church would be a simple cabin in the poor end of town.

  He moved through the corridors of the monastery, the irony of doing battle with God’s nemeses in His own house not lost upon him. Assuming the Lord even cared that is. Hadn’t He turned his back on His children, abandoned His flock?

  Lost in thought, he didn’t see the shadow move… not at first anyway. At the last moment he brought up his saber and lunged forward in a stabbing motion. It connected with something solid and he took a step back. The massive vampire stood before him with blood trailing from a wound in its chest. The main difference between it and the other feeders, aside from its size, were the eyes. They were the same bottomless black, but where the others’ were lifeless its eyes glowered at him. Although the demon was human shape it was clear that it was not human. Its skin glowed white, not pasty white, dead flesh of the other feeders but like snow. Black hair fell to its shoulders. With full dark lips Pastor found the vision compelling, beautiful and sensuous even.

  Asbeel – vampire, demon, lord of the undead – stepped forward his black eyes full of hatred. “I have lived on this world for centuries… millennia, since before time began. Humans were our prey when they scratched in the dirt for grubs and lived in trees. I have fed on the blood of man since before they learned to use language. We were here before God banished your kind from his garden and we will be here long after you have turned to dust.”

  Pastor said nothing just lunged forward with his saber raised, lashing out at the vampire. Asbeel used flailing arms to parry the strikes of the sword, the blade seemingly having no effect on the rotating arms of the demon. Pastor kept up the attack, but his opponent’s defense was like a whirlwind, even the wound on his chest appeared to have stopped bleeding. He felt his arms tiring and his breath becoming more ragged.

  Asbeel leapt back an enormous jump away from Pastor. “You are clumsy and untrained,” he taunted. “I have dueled with the finest warriors in history.” The vampire’s voice was like tearing metal, grating to Pastor’s ears.

  “You’re an arrogant son of a bitch,” he said as he dropped the saber and unslung the ancient crossbow from his back. Eva had said the tips of the bolts had been made with the nails used to pierce the flesh of Christ and fix him to a wooden cross. The crossbow was a simple enough instrument and felt more likely to break than to actually deliver a holy weapon. Perhaps it was a test of faith and faith was something Pastor had long since turned his back on.

  “Pastor!” He glanced over his shoulder to see George running up behind him, his rifle in his hands. He fired twice the explosion of gunfire echoing in the hallway. The bullets struck the demon in the chest – George was nothing if not a good shot – he grinned when his shots found their mark. “I ain’t lettin’ you do this on your own.”

  “God damn it, George,” he said softly. He was annoyed that George had made him lose his shot. He’d no idea if the crossbow bolts would have been successful, but he suspected the bullets wouldn’t. He was right.

  Asbeel was like a blur his movement was so fast. Pastor felt a wind whoosh past him and in the blink of an eye the huge vampire was at George’s throat.

  “Noooo,” Pastor screamed and brought the crossbow up again, but it was a weapon he’d never used before and he was as much afraid of hitting George as he was of missing altogether. He saw George’s eyes open wide as the dark shape of the monster lifted him into the air. At first he thought he was pinning him to the wall with his fist, but then he saw blood bubbling from George’s mouth and saw a red stain spreading across his shirt. He felt bile rise to his throat and had to fight twin urges to run and be sick as he realized Asbeel had rammed his fist into George’s chest. George’s face was a mask of stunned agony as the vampire’s claw pierced first his flesh and then broke through bone.

  Asbeel dropped George’s lifeless body to the ground and turned towards Pastor, his arms outstretched in triumph. In one fist he held the blood-red heart of Pastor’s friend. “We are the rulers of this world,” it snarled.

  Pastor’s hands were shaking as he raised the crossbow. Asbeel stretched out to his full height, his eyes regarding Pastor hungrily. Behind him he could hear the hissing snarls of other vampires. Their own hunger and instinct to kill somehow held back by the massive demon. Pastor saw Asbeel relax his stance and he somehow knew that the vampire had unchained the bloodlust of the other feeders. Inwardly cursing at missing the chance for a shot, he lunged towards a window and crashed through it out into the courtyard. He rolled and scrambled to his feet just as four feeders followed him through the window.

  A yellow spear of light illuminated the distant horizon, bathing the feeders in a golden glow. The vampires screeched and fell to the ground as their flesh began to blister and steam. Pastor only had eyes for the interior of the building as he searched for any sign of Asbeel. A shadow moved in the gloom of the corridor. He fired the crossbow through the window at the movement, ignoring the agonized wails of the dying vampires.

  He looked beyond the tiled roof of the monastery towards the mountains in the distance. Sunlight poured through the valley between two peaks as the tip of the golden orb showed beyond the jagged line of the hills. He had no time for sight-seeing, beautiful and all as it was, and he leapt back through the broken window, shattered glass crunching under his boots. His first sight was of the slumped figure of George. He cast a glance each side of the hallway but Asbeel and any other vampires were nowhere in sight. He saw the crossbow bolt lying on the floor just beyond the window.

  “Oh George, damn you,” he sighed as he knelt on one knee beside the mutilated body of his friend. His saber lay on the floor near the arrow and he strolled over to retrieve it; he had one more job to do before he went in search of the demon. He knelt by the body once again. “Lord, we ain’t been seein’ eye to eye of late and that’s down to me, but I beseech you, if you are still there, still tendin’ to your flock, accept this soul into your kingdom.” He stood up then and with a grunt struck the head from George’s shoulders. Would he have risen again without a heart? Asbeel had not actually drunk of his blood, but Pastor wasn’t taking any chances.

  “Oh dear God no.” Pastor looked up and saw Jeb standing there his face frozen in shock. Eva was by his side. He suddenly retched and vomited. Pastor could hardly blame him, he’d come close to doing the same himself. They’d both seen a lot of gruesome and hard things since the Fall, but the mutilated body of a friend is never easy to take. Jeb straightened up and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “He insisted on coming to help you.” Pastor had no answer other than a solemn nod.

  “The Mortuus?” Eva asked.

  “Still here. He can’t escape the monastery now that the sun has come up. He’ll need to stay in the shadows.” He turned sharply to Eva. “That is true ain’t it? He’s like other feeders and the sun is deadly to him?” She nodded her head. He noticed her glancing out the window and shrinking into the darker side of the corridor. He put it from his mind for the moment; he had enough distractions. “He’ll go to ground, he’s a creature of the shadows. He has no choice.”

  “The crypt,” Eva said softly.

  Pastor nodded, feeling suddenly very tired. He was sick of death, sick of constantly living in fear. “Let’s kill the bastard and go home,” he said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  When Logan woke his jaw and head ached like he’d been trampled by a bull. When he tried to raise his arm he realized he’d been tied to a chair with a length of heavy rope. He heard raised voices before he opened his eyes and was reluctant to do so and reveal whatever shit storm he’d brought down on himself.
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br />   “Good morning, shithead. You killed one of my men.” Okay, so pretending to still be unconscious wasn’t going to work. He opened his eyes and realized they were almost sealed shut by a sticky mess – his blood he supposed.

  A huge man stood before him with arms folded across his chest. Logan’s gaze was drawn to the scar running the length of his face. In one hand he held Logan’s pistol. The woman he’d ‘rescued’ stood beside him along with two other marauders.

  “Kill him, Jared,” the woman spat with venom in her words.

  Logan opened his mouth to speak but the words came out in a croak from his dry throat. He wasn’t really sure what he should say anyhow. He figured he was dead one way or another. The betrayal by the woman whose story he believed hurt more than he imagined it would have. He’d given her the benefit of the doubt, trusted her and felt sorry for her; damn it he was prepared to risk his own neck to help her.

  “Speak up, boy,” the big marauder, Jared said.

  “My wife…” he began, wishing for one more moment with her before he met his maker.

  “You got a woman in this town? Well I guess that’s worth killin’ for, maybe even dyin’ for.” Jared scratched the coarse dark bristles on his chin.

  “You gonna let him live after what he done?” the woman snarled.

  “She’s got a point,” Jared said, “and we got some others gone missin’ too. Don’t suppose you know anything about that?” Probably wouldn’t tell us even if you did.” He dragged a chair across the wooden floor, reversed it and sat facing Logan with his arms resting on the back. “I’m wonderin’ what kind o’ man you are, mister.”

  “You can’t be meanin’ to let the bastard live,” the woman raged.

  “Now hold on here, Debs. Good men ain’t that easy to come by, and if this here gentleman was simply fixin’ to rescue his wife maybe he’s the sort we could welcome to our little community.”

  Logan glanced from the raging woman to the seemingly calm leader of the marauders, scarcely believing his ears. He’d killed one of them hours before, not to mention the bodies in the woods and the one he’d stabbed earlier, and they were considering recruiting him into their murderous band. It occurred to him then that maybe their kind were his true soul mates. Was he that unlike them? Not in the least.

  Before he had a chance to speak the door opened. Another man walked in, his mouth curled into a distasteful sneer when he glanced at Logan. “Jared, we found a body. Sam Beeston, he was gutted real bad. Jared didn’t take his eyes from Logan while the newcomer spoke. He stood up then and walked to a table where Logan could see his gear piled on top. Jared picked up his hunting knife and walked back over. He flinched and tried to stretch away as Jared brought the knife up to his face, inches from his eye.

  “Sam Beeston too, huh?” His expression remained unchanged as he dragged the flat of the blade across Logan’s cheek. Logan flinched when the tip of the knife drew blood.

  He realized he was looking directly into the eyes of a madman. Somewhere along the line Jared had lost the plot. Who knows, maybe he never had it. Either way Logan was threading a very thin line that could sway either way. Hell, who wasn’t a little insane these days? Surely no man, or woman for that matter with the whole of their faculties could bear to live in a world where vampires ruled the night and the dregs of humanity vied for dominance in the daylight hours. He could feel sweat trickling down his brow, stinging his eyes. He wasn’t sure but would not have been surprised if he’d wet himself when Jared brought the knife up to his face. He fought an urge to beg for his life, knowing that it would do no good. His fate was now in the hands of an unhinged mind.

  “Maybe he ain’t alone,” one of Jared’s men said, before spitting a string of dark phlegm onto the floor.

  Jared’s eyes opened wide and he nodded slowly. “You got more friends out there, mister?” No one had asked him for his name, which for some reason Logan felt was not a good sign. He shook his head in answer, too scared to form words. “I don’t believe you.” Jared smiled; it was not a nice sight. He suddenly flung the chair he was sitting on away and smacked Logan backhanded in the jaw, sending him and his own chair toppling to the floor. “Get him up.” Two men hauled him back into a sitting position. “I’m gonna ask you again and then I’m gonna start shootin’ some o’ them folks we got restin’ up in the church. Hell I might even fire the damn building.”

  “Please, no,” Logan whimpered. He was a beaten man and he knew it. “Pastor,” he said, shame burning to his core.

  “What’s that now? I didn’t quite hear you,” Jared said in a reasonable tone as if he were discussing some mundane chore with a work colleague. He picked up the chair he’d thrown away and sat back down facing Logan.

  “Pastor is the leader of our community. He and two others are due back in a couple o’ days.”

  “That right now? So you good folk have a minister to attend to your spiritual needs. That’s real nice,” Jared said and smiled. He patted Logan on the cheek affectionately. “Take him to the church and lock him up with the others.”

  “You gonna let him live?” the woman snarled. “After what he done.”

  “I didn’t say that, Debs. Truth is I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

  Logan’s bonds were cut and he was hauled up between two men. As he was dragged from the room he couldn’t help looking into the eyes of Jared and the woman Debs. The marauder leader regarded him almost jovially, giving him a nod as he staggered past. The woman on the other hand had nothing but hatred and anger for him.

  As the heavy wooden doors of the church creaked open the crammed mass of people inside stirred and a ripple of murmurs travelled like a wave through the crowd. It was dark and the air heavy inside the church with the only light coming from the high, arched windows along each side of the church. He reflected on the last time he’d been inside the chapel. He’d witnessed the self-inflicted torment of Pastor, the community’s rock – how they needed him now.

  “Logan? Logan!” He knew that voice so well and tears sprung to his eyes. People began crowding around him, firing questions at him, wanting to know where he’d been and where Pastor was. Any answers he had were choked back when Elaine stood before him, fighting her way through the throng of people. The two men who’d frog-marched him to the church closed the doors behind as they left, adding to the gloom of the makeshift prison. Elaine flung herself at him squeezing him close until she realized how hurt he was. “I thought you were dead.” Her eyes glistened with tears.

  “What happened?” he asked once they’d released each other unwillingly.

  Elaine shrugged. “It all happened so fast, before we knew anything they were inside the walls and shooting people in the street. Some of them looked like monsters in the darkness.”

  “Yeah, I heard about them from Amy.”

  “Amy… she’s alive?” Logan had no need to answer, his look said it all. His legs trembled then and the world felt as if it were starting to spin. “Oh you’re hurt!” Elaine cried and helped him sit.

  All around him people he’d known for God knew how many years crowded in desperate for news, desperate for hope. The pressure of their pleas and need for hope was just too much for him to handle at that moment and tears streamed down his cheeks. Amy, Amy, Amy. He’d failed to save one teenage girl, how the hell was he expected to be the savior of the entire town?

  “For the love of God give him peace, can’t you see he’s hurt,” Elaine berated the thronging crowd.

  The noise of the crowd clamoring for pieces of him became a distant din as pain washed over him, inside and out. He’d suffered innumerable hurts over the past few days both to his body and mind; of all the traumas he’d suffered since the Fall he reckoned that first sight of Amy coming at him out of the dark, hungry for his blood, was probably the one thing he’d find the hardest to put from his mind. And, boy, had he seen a lot of bad shit over the years.

  “Did they… are you…”

  “I’m fine,” Elaine answere
d.

  “Thank God. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”

  Elaine dropped her head then. “They took some of the other girls… the younger ones. We heard their screams. Who are they, Logan? Are they going to kill us all?”

  “They’re just men, evil, black-hearted men. The product of a godless world.” He put his head back and wished he had some comforting words for his woman and the people imprisoned in the church with him – people he’d worked alongside to build a community. Was it all for naught?

  He dozed for a time and when he woke the dried blood and dirt had been washed from his face. He forced a smile when he saw Elaine watching him. “They’ve been feeding you then,” he said as she handed him a flask of water and a crust of bread.

  “Barely,” she answered.

  “We have to get out of here.”

  “They said they’d kill us all if anyone tried to escape.”

  “We’ll die here anyway if we stay,” Logan said grimly.

  “Maybe they’ll just move on when they grow tired of being here. They don’t look the sort that would want to take over farming the land we’ve worked hard on.”

  “No,” he agreed, “they’ll just take what they want and that could include people.” Elaine flinched at his words, her thoughts plain on her face as she imagined what life would be like if the marauders took a shine to you.

  “Will Pastor come?”

  “Yeah, he’ll come. But he won’t know what he’s walking into.”

  “He’ll know what to do. He’ll save us just like he always does.”

  Logan thought about the moment he walked in on Pastor, remembered the grief on his face when men died in the tunnel. Now more than ever he realized that Pastor was just a man, and every man had his limits. The weight of an entire community bearing down on one pair of shoulders was a lot to bear. He’d borne a fraction of that burden and failed. Pastor had more inner strength than any man he’d ever known. There wasn’t a man, woman or child in Colony who didn’t look to Pastor’s strength in dark times and he always came through for them.