Immortality's Touchstone

by Mark Tufo

  For as bad as I was doing, Mathieu was worse. He could barely stay atop his horse. It had gotten so bad, that at one point Lana made him sit behind her and lashed his hands around her waist. After the third time he tried to pull her off with him, she’d given up on that strategy. I think he had the lowest tolerance of any brewmaster in history. Luckily, by about noon he started to come around. We stopped for a break and to get a small meal. Mathieu had lost some of his greenish tinge and was more a waspish...lily white at the moment.

  “Still too many impurities in the beer,” he’d told me. He had to hard swallow back a couple of times as he watched me tear into some rabbit jerky.

  “Want some?” I held out a piece that looked suspiciously like a foot. He gagged, I smiled. Guys are assholes. Of course, it was my obligation, damn near my duty, to kick him while he was down.

  “Why are you not sicker?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Maybe I’m not as big a baby as you.”

  I don’t think Mathieu liked my answer very much. “You told me you had a cold,” he said before flipping me off and walking away to give his stomach one more purging before he got back on his mount.

  “I really liked it better when no one knew what that meant, and maybe your beer has medicinal qualities.” I ate the jerky and searched out some stew that looked like it had been made from mole meat. I sucked that down, too.

  We mounted up and were heading back on our way. Scouts had reported that Lunos had taken up a defensive position some twenty miles from us. So, presumably he had his own scouts. That worked in our favor. At least Robert’s Land would be safe for a bit. Mathieu and myself had fallen back to the rear of the column; his head lolled about—that is, when he wasn’t peering at me.

  “What, man? I’m not the one that tried to poison us,” I entreated.

  “I will have to refigure the recipe. Something in the beer is not interacting well within me. I’m just not sure why it is not doing the same to you.”

  “Maybe you have an allergy or something.”

  “Or maybe you are not entirely the man you believe yourself to be.”

  “I have my soul,” I growled at him. “I stole that motherfucker fair and square and don’t you ever try and deny me that.”

  “That, Michael, is not what I am implying. Are you completely sure you cast out that...other part of you?”

  I didn’t even realize that someone could be so angry that they could be literally unable to verbalize that anger. I spit; I felt veins of heat rising up my back and spread across my neck, my throat constricted, my heart beat fast, red clouded into the peripheral of my vision. I felt the phantom cracking of canines as they ghost elongated. If I thought killing him could have taken those feelings away there was a chance I would have acted on them. I took a wiser course, which is not always the easiest thing for me. I turned my horse and went to the end of the column as quickly as I could.

  “I cannot allow anyone to stray from the column,” the rear guard told me.

  “I’ll just be a minute,” I grumbled. He did not move away but waited with me. “I need a minute alone,” I stressed.

  “Do not dally, Mr. Talbot. We are being followed.” Something in my expression must have told him not to press it any further, as he quickened his horse to catch up to the rest.

  I figured I had a few minutes where he would wait for me to return on my own before he sent word up to the front, then people would come back to retrieve my ass. Now it was just a matter of how much time that was. I wondered if what I was about to do would be classified as insane? Mathieu had given me food for thought and an opportunity had presented itself to test his assertion out.

  “Brilliant, Talbot. You’re going to listen to the words of a man that is so sick he threw up all over the side of his horse. Well, let’s just see how this plays out, I guess. I maybe should have asked the guard just exactly what was following us.” I was letting my imagination get the better of me; I was already up to battle elephants fully decked out in armor and a squadron of arrow-wielding ninjas riding aloft when two men came into view. Unlike the normal garden variety peasants, these two looked well fed and properly clothed. Both were tall and lean, I had a gut wrenching thought that perhaps these weren’t werewolves, but rather Lycan in their camouflage. My horse nickered as I brought my rifle up. He stomped his two front feet as the men looked at us.

  “Steady boy, steady.” There was a decent amount of tension in the air, though I think all of it was coming from me. I had the man on the left clearly in my sights, but now what? He was merely a man, and I, as of yet, did not have a justifiable reason to blow his fucking head off, though I was clearly seeking one. They were saying something to each other, and when they were done, they began walking slowly toward me. “Stop right there!” I told them.

  One shouted back to me in something that sounded a lot like he had a mouthful of food and had been punched in the stomach.

  “Is that even supposed to be language?” I shouted to him.

  I got the distinct impression of a questioning reply because of the uplilt at the end of his sentence, but what he was saying was unrecognizable.

  “I’ll blow your fucking heads off!” I gave them a good view of the gun. Maybe we didn’t understand each other, but that was a fairly universal gesture. Yeah...two hundred fucking years ago, maybe, I berated myself. As far as these two were concerned, I could have been shaking my cane at them like Old Mr. Farnsworth telling those darned kids to get off his dag-burned lawn.

  Still they came, albeit slightly slower; nobody wants to get whacked with a cane right? Who was I to tell them they could not pass? This was obviously a well-used pathway and it stood to rights that others would want and need to use it. How close could I allow them to come? The smart play now would be to turn my horse around and get gone. But if they were Lycan, they could change over and chase me down long before we could reach escape speed. And somehow the thought of turning tail and running from two men seemed undignified.

  Really, Talbot? You’re planning on bringing dignity into this equation? The men had halved the distance. They were no longer saying anything; their gazes still held firmly to my own. “Let’s see if I can get your attention.” I shot a round far to the right of the closest one. It ricocheted off the ground and whined into the woods. The two men looked at the impact point and then back to me, calm as could be like they were Nordic Ice Gods in the midst of a blizzard.

  “Yeah, that’s not too terrifying.” I was trying to calm myself down. “Maybe they just have no idea what happened.” It, at least, got them to stop moving for a second or two. They split as far apart as the path would allow and continued their approach. They had done no transgressions against me, they had not declared themselves an enemy. I could not outright shoot them simply because I was agitated. Blowing their heads off would be considered an overreaction at this point. Even in this lawless day and age, there was a good chance I’d get strung up for this. Plus, murder really looked bad in the loss ledger for one attempting a record breaking atonement. Wouldn’t put it past Lucifer to have thrown these poor bastards into my path to tempt me to fail in my quest.

  I could hear the rapid approach of running horses and so could my new traveling companions. They looked past me to each other and then darted off into the woods. I let out a long, low, steady breath as Bailey came to a skidding halt next to me; she had ten men with her.

  She looked out on the empty pathway and then to me. “We heard a shot. Is there anything you would like to tell me?”

  “Thought I saw a chupacabra.” I turned my horse around and rejoined the column.

  Chapter 6

  MIKE JOURNAL ENTRY 6

  * * *

  BY THE TIME we stopped for the night we could see the fires burning from Lunos’ camp; maybe they were as many as a hundred strong. Looked like a controlled forest fire. There wasn’t a man or woman among us that didn’t know the type of numbers those fires represented. Seems we’d brought the fight right to his doors
tep, yet none of us were quite ready to cross the threshold. Even Lunos didn’t seem in any big rush to engage the enemy.

  “One more night under the stars. You know what would make it even better?”

  “Fuck you, Mike. I finally feel human again,” Mathieu said. “If it is indeed one more night, I intend on being with the one I love.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about. I’ll go get our tent ready.”

  “How is it that your rebirth has already lost most of its luster?” He was smiling as he said this. He stood, leaned over, and gave my shoulders a squeeze then went to find Lana.

  “What we had was real, man! Ok! Well, I’ll miss your beer!”

  “The beer was almost poison, Mike.”

  “Not the first toxic relationship I’ve been a part of.” I was alone after he left. Bailey and Lana and a few of the officers were planning an offensive in the morning. I generally don’t get invited to strategy meetings, considering most of my ideas start with me running splat into the mix while screaming obscenities. I didn’t hang out much with the other military personnel, either. Just not a whole lot of common ground; no pro teams of any sort, no sports cars, no pictures of hot girlfriends or wives to pass around. Shit, there wasn’t even a deck of cards as far as I knew. Not sure what they do for fun, other than talk about Leather Satchel Weekly or something.

  The last image I had before I drifted off to sleep was that of the two men on that pathway. It was no surprise that my dreams were interrupted with the sounds of gunshots and men and women shouting commands. I sat up.

  “So much for dreaming.” I quickly reached over and grabbed my rifle. We were under attack, though I could not tell from which direction, as people were flying by me. I stood calmly, though every part of me wanted to start running pell-mell like those around me. More shots, some screams, maybe pain, maybe fear, off to my right. I went at a slight jog—quick enough that I could get there in time to help, but not so fast that I could not first ascertain exactly what I was getting into.

  A force of four men were tactically withdrawing from a group of ten werewolves. For whatever reason, only one of the men appeared to have rounds; the others were thrusting out with bayonet-tipped rifles attempting to keep the heavy animals at bay. One of the werewolves batted a rifle free, another leaned in and bit savagely into the shoulder of the unarmed man, lifting him out of the pack of people he was in. High-pitched screams shredded the air as the werewolf violently shook him back and forth. Another werewolf bit through the side of the man’s head; instead of the animals descending on and eating the downed man, he was discarded and forgotten like last year’s Christmas presents.

  I finally found myself enough in the clear that I could offer some fire support to that doomed trio. My first hasty shot took a chunk off the top of a werewolf’s ear.

  “Three hundred and fifty-pound beast and you pierce his ear. Nice shot, asshole...” I’d not finished my sentence when I sent the next round downrange, striking my target high in the chest. That one he felt. His massive hand went to the wound before he looked to where the fatal round had been delivered from. He took two more snarling steps and collapsed. Then there were nine.

  I killed two more in a similar fashion, though they had been busy too, pulling down another of the trio. What I had not been expecting was for five of the werewolves to make a break for me. Nor in the fashion in which they did so. This shit was entirely too coordinated as they fanned apart, and instead of coming at me in straight lines, they were zigzagging. Being a lone gunman against five incredibly fast moving targets in minimal light was not conducive to my continued survival. What little chance the two remaining men had rested on me holding my ground. Unfortunately, what little chance I had of my continued survival involved me running. I stayed. I know no other way. Maybe I’d die a hero, but that wouldn’t matter much to me because I’d be dead. What would matter a shit ton would be if I lived a coward. What good is saving your own life if you constantly feel like shit for still being alive?

  I sprayed the rest of my magazine, bringing down two of the werewolves. One was for certain dead as I’d taken off the top of his head to let a little star light shine down on his brain. The other I had severely handicapped by punching a hole through the side of its spine. He was still clawing his way to me, but this would be long over one way or the other before he got to me. I hit the magazine release and reached for a non-existent ammo pouch. Well, not non-existent, it definitely existed, I just hadn’t had the foresight to put the fucking thing on.

  Three werewolves, and me with a small, black, front mounted blade. I was thinking it was going to be over rather quickly and probably mostly painless—except for the stabbing pain where they tore into my flesh and then shredded it open like slow smoked pork. Possibly my intestines would spill out onto the ground as they tore into the warm meat. Sure, all that would hurt, but how long could pain like that really endure? I’m sure a few minutes of the most unimaginable misery couldn’t feel like weeks, well, not like months, anyway.

  These were some of the smartest bastards I’d ever encountered. The moment they realized I wasn’t shooting, their trajectory changed to a full-on assault, full steam ahead. I raised my rifle head high. The nearest was in striking distance; I let lose a savage yell as he bit at me. His head jerked back just as I drove the bayonet into the soft of his neck. I had a moment of difficulty reconciling the way my strike had sheared off the side of his head. Didn’t care as I removed the bayonet and was swinging to my right to get to the next one. He looked like a puppet with a palsied puppet master. He danced around before falling heavily to the side. The last one was bounding off in retreat.

  Reinforcements had arrived. I sighed when I looked over and realized that only one of the original four men had survived. The skirmish appeared to be over, though, for some, the battle for life was just beginning. They’d hit hard and fast, inflicting casualties and grievous injuries along our whole line. We still had forward scouts that had not reported back in and at this point, it was doubtful they ever would. The remainder of the night was spent on high alert; there were a few sightings and two brief encounters. Not once did I ever expect the entire thing for the ruse that it was. The dawning of the day brought with it the realization that we’d been duped. Lunos had kept our entire army pinned down with nothing more than some fires and a dozen or so werewolves. He and the rest of his horde were nowhere around.

  “All of this merely to escape into the night?” Mathieu asked. “I know that Lycan are cowardly, gutless beasts, but why not just slink away into the forest?”

  That was a good question and one that had been nagging me all morning as we walked among the ashes of the carefully constructed campfires.

  “Bailey!” I started running; Mathieu was close behind. She was with Lana. They were talking about which potential direction the werewolves had gone and how they were going to pursue. She looked up at my approach.

  I had to take a second to catch my breath. “Robert’s Land...this whole thing is a way to keep us busy while they strike Robert’s Land. The camp set up, the attack, everything!”

  Bailey looked at me. It took her two heartbeats to think on what I’d told her. There was no doubt in her voice as she ordered the men to mount up. We moved faster than I thought an armed column could. We were five miles out when we saw the smoke, two miles when the smell hit us. The dead littered the streets, townsfolk and werewolf alike. Lunos had suffered casualties, but Robert’s Land had taken a catastrophic hit. At least half of the town was engulfed in flames. Besides the bodies and the ghosts of those that still lingered, Robert’s Land was a wasteland. Nothing moved, save the carrion birds that were amassing. Huge turkey vultures soared high overhead; some found perches in the trees all around us, their watery black eyes drinking in the feast that awaited them.

  “They could not have killed everyone,” Bailey said.

  “What about converted?” I asked.

  “That would be bad,” Lana said. “There were over
a thousand inhabitants of this town.”

  “There is another less savory alternative,” Mathieu said.

  Luckily nobody voiced it, we didn’t need to. An army had to be fed and an army that size had to be fed a lot.

  “Do we...look for survivors?” I was feeling pretty impotent and I don’t toss that word around lightly. I expected a tumbleweed to blow down the center of the town and maybe the Sheriff to ask why I had come back to grace his streets. What I got instead was a rider on a horse slathered in sweat, with foam dripping from its mouth.

  “Battle!” he screamed. “Five miles! Survivors here squaring off against Lunos.”

  “Get him a fresh horse, you must get us back there now!” Lana ordered. We were a thundering herd of revenge, hell bent on collecting our due. I could hear little else as we galloped our way to the fray. As a little kid, I’d oftentimes played at Cowboys and Indians and been the cavalry sweeping in when all seemed lost and saved the day. I didn’t hold out much hope that we would get there in time or that we even had sufficient numbers to thwart the attack, but really, what were the odds that a hundred fifty years in the future I would be playing out a game that was three hundred years removed to the past?

  It would be nice if I could tell you that I was an experienced enough rider that I was leading the pack, but in reality, for the most part, I was holding on for dear life. The Denarthians, as the resident experts, were leading the charge. A couple of Bailey’s men and she, herself, were good enough to be in the vanguard. I found myself way in the back with some of the greener recruits and possibly injured horses. I can’t imagine John Wayne would be back where I was, but I was doing the best I could. At first, I thought the random pops I heard were figments of my imagination, or possibly my shoulders finally giving out as I pulled hard on the reins struggling to stay seated. We were slowing up and spreading out as we came to a large field. We’d flanked the werewolves, whose attention, for now, was undivided on their quest to obliterate the Robertonians who had their backs to a large lake.