by Siara Brandt
Also by Siara Brandt
The Ashes and the Roses
The Belly Dancer and the Border Agent
Blood Scourge: Project Deadrise
Dark of Peace
Kadar’s Quest: The Legend of Iamar
The Meadow and the Millpond
The Patriot Remnant: Return to Freedom
A Restless Wind
The Shadow’s Fall
Stealing Cady
Tales from the Water Lily Pond
Tangled Vines
The Water Lily Pond
BLOOD STORM: DEADRISE II
Siara Brandt
Copyright © by Siara Brandt
First Edition. All rights reserved. Except for use in any
review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole
or in part in any form is forbidden without the written
Permission of the author.
BLOOD STORM: DEADRISE II
ISBN-13: 978-1502897794
This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Printed in USA
For J, my forever inspiration.
Chapter 1
_______________
Sometime before 6 am, Lochlain Sayres stepped out of his tent into a moonlit landscape. He liked rising early when all the world was wrapped in stillness and he could be alone with nature and with his thoughts, so he got his camp stool and drew it up to the banked fire.
The half dozen tents of his unit had been set up in a small clearing high up on Creyvan Ridge. The place was still a virgin wilderness, almost untouched by human habitation, so it was just as wild and picturesque as it must have been hundreds of years ago. The moonlight was bright enough for Lochlain to see a faint mist rising from the deep hollows all around him. From up here he could also see Snake Creek winding its way through the trees in the valley far below him. At least he could see the creek wherever the moonlight glinted on the water and the mist was not too thick. He could see the town of Creyvan, too, which at this hour was just a few lights scattered in the darkness.
You had to stretch your imagination to actually call Creyvan a town. It sat between Arundel and Willow Grove and was just a couple dozen houses and a handful of businesses hugging the creek. The creek was a shallow, meandering little stream at the moment, but it could quickly turn into a raging torrent after heavy rains. Luckily, there was no rain in the forecast for the weekend. Though a cooling breeze blew against Lochlain, it promised to be another sultry day, an unseasonably hot one for September.
Not far from their encampment was the old Creyvan house for which the town had been named and the grove of black walnut trees that surrounded it. Built in 1859, the big stone house was in dire need of repairs. Joshua Creyvan and his four sons had fought in the Civil War and two of those sons had been buried on the battlefield of Gettysburg, so the family cemetery included two empty graves. Because the house had a long and colorful history in the county, the Willow Grove historical society had begun restoring the old structure and the surrounding outbuildings. This weekend’s reenactment was about raising funds for the project, so the house, and the camp, would be open for tours by the public.
Lochlain had been a Civil War re-enactor for more than half of his twenty-one years. The Civil War had been a passion with him ever since his grandmother had first told him about “the dream”. When she had been a young woman, she had visited the Gettysburg battlefield. That same night, she had dreamed that she was in the midst of a terrible battle. It was well known among re-enactors that the Gettysburg battlefield was one of the most haunted places in the country, and Lochlain believed that his grandmother had had some kind of otherworldly experience. She had been a practical, down-to-earth woman, and not particularly imaginative, as was common with the people of her generation. And like most people her age, she rarely talked about the past.
But the dream was different. She would describe the scenes in vivid detail, bringing the fury of the battle to life for him. She would tell how the blood ran in little streams from the rocks and gathered into pools on the ground. She told him of the soldiers, of their cries, their groans and their awful shrieks, and how, through it all, shells were bursting in the air. How terrible, she would whisper, as if after all those years the vision was as clear to her as the first time she had seen it. She would go on to tell him of the deafening thunder of the muskets, and how the acrid smoke was like a choking cloud all around her through which she could hear the shouting of the officers and the neighing of terrified horses.
Her hand would fall on his arm and she would say to him in a hushed voice, “It was like I was really there, Loch.” This was said with such conviction that there had never been any question in his mind that she was telling him the truth. He had always believed that she had experienced some anomaly, some glitch in the normal flow of time where the past had overlapped the present.
Undoubtedly, his grandmother’s experience had led to his deep love of history, American history in particular. He had traced his own ancestors back to the Civil War. He had even been named after one of his ancestors who had fought in the war. For all those reasons, Lochlain took his Civil War reenacting seriously. He even carried the Sullivan Ballou letter in his pocket. Right next to his Bible.
He lifted his arms over his head and was enjoying a leisurely stretch when Hollis Clayburn pushed back his tent flap and joined him. “You up already, Loch?”
Hollis was older than him by nearly three decades. Hollis knew more about the Civil War than any man Loch knew. A tall, lean man with broad shoulders, Hollis’ beliefs ran deep. They were firmly rooted in old-fashioned faith and values. Not much shook Hollis. He knew himself and he knew the world too well.
“Peaceful up here, isn’t it?” Hollis said as he shrugged into his canvas suspenders and sent his gaze up to the still-dark sky. “Stars are sure bright,” was his next observation. He nodded thoughtfully as he slipped on his wool jacket and continued his contemplation of the heavens. “Yep, nature was made to make us wonder.”
There were nine men in the unit, including Loch and Hollis, in addition to two new recruits. Hollis was usually up before daylight and had coffee going by the time anyone else was awake. And he’d already have a hearty breakfast cooking over the campfire before the last man set foot outside his tent. Hollis set about building up the fire and soon it was blazing brightly.
The two men sat watching the flames as they talked quietly about the upcoming weekend and the skirmish they would put on for the spectators. They talked about the same things men would have talked about a hundred and fifty years ago. About the state of the nation, and how things were just as divided today as they had been then because the politicians kept things stirred up. And they talked about how the government was getting too big and too powerful, at the expense of the common American.
Just like their ancestors before them, Loch and Hollis wore blue because they believed in preserving the union. But they had a deep respect for the Southern cause as well, which had more to do with men having a right to govern themselves than it did the issue of slavery.
“This fresh air sure gives a man an appetite,” Hollis said as he poked at the fire. “Why don’t you go get that new saber you bought, Loch, and let me have a look at it.”
Loch brought the saber out of his tent. As Hollis tested the balance of the weapon, Loch said to him, “You used to ride with a cavalry unit, Hollis.”
Hollis laughed shortly under his breath. “That was some years ago.”
”You miss i
t?”
“Oh, sometimes.”
“Olin said you would have been a real hell-cat in a cavalry charge in your day.”
A humorous gleam came into Hollis’ eyes. He chuckled softly as he handed the saber back to Loch. “Probably. And no doubt I would have paid for my foolishness with my life.”
Loch slid the saber back into the scabbard but he didn’t put the weapon back in his tent just yet. To the east, a pale radiance tinted the horizon creating a subtle blue glow that lightened the entire sky, but the brightest stars were still visible. Soon the sun would come up and it would begin dissipating the mist. At the moment, however, the world was still shrouded in shadows.
A log collapsed. The fire snapped and popped, sending a shower of sparks spiraling upward in a whirling vortex of smoke. Hollis worked at the fire some more.
“Did I tell you?” Loch said absently as he stared down at the fire. “They want me to get more shots this coming week.”
“More shots?” Hollis shook his head.
“They say they’re mandatory and I won’t be able to work as a firefighter anymore if I don’t get them.”
“So they think shots will make you do your job better. Now that is foolishness,” Hollis said. “If the government is pushing something, it’s something I don’t want. No, there’s something wrong with- ”
Hollis had stopped abruptly which made Loch look up, too. That’s when Loch noticed that the woods had grown unnaturally still. The fire was still crackling and popping. But the crickets had stopped chirping. Even the birds had grown silent. Usually the woods came alive with the approach of dawn.
Hollis slowly rose to his feet while keeping his gaze fixed on the woods before him.
“Wha- ” Loch began, but his words were cut short by Hollis holding up a hand and motioning him to silence.
With the firelight playing across his features, Hollis said in a low voice, “I hear something out there.”
Loch didn’t hear anything, but Hollis knew these woods inside and out. He had been born and raised on Creyvan Ridge. He’d hunted and fished here all his life. If Hollis said something was out there, it was out there.
Loch strained his eyes in the half-light. He couldn’t exactly say why he suddenly felt so uneasy, but the thick fringe of forest before him had suddenly taken on a new, almost menacing aspect. It was like something was out there watching them. Maybe stalking them.
Moonlight was still glinting on the black limbs of the trees, making them look like gnarled claws that were reaching out towards them. And the mist glowed with an eerie luminescence as it rose slowly up from the ground.
There was a sudden, frantic beating of wings which startled both men. A night bird, flushed from some hidden covert in the brush, had taken flight. Silence fell again.
A prickly feeling suddenly and unaccountably ran along Loch’s nerve endings. The sensation was light as a feather, but it caused an involuntary shudder to pass through him from head to toe. He tried to shake off whatever it was. There was no sense in letting his imagination run away with him. The sun would be up soon, and there was probably nothing more dangerous than a possum out there looking for an easy meal.
Except that Hollis was still alert and his voice was strained as he whispered, “There’s something out there.” His words trailed off as a freshening breeze sprang up and the leaves were set in motion. Loch heard Hollis inhale deeply. The smell of wood smoke mingled with the familiar scents of the woods. Of damp earth and decaying leaves and thick vegetation. And something else.
The wind carried something foul and putrid on its breath. Something that reeked of . . . death.
He shot a quick glance at Hollis who still hadn’t moved.
What was out there? Loch wondered. What could smell like that? They’d heard rumors of bears being let loose in these woods. And cougars. Government foolishness, Hollis had called it, and plain dangerous for the people who lived here. Coyotes were always a possibility. But what could smell that bad? Was something dragging a kill with it?
Whatever it was, it was making a lot of noise for a predator. Loch heard it now, too. There was a soft, rhythmic rustling sound as if something, or someone, was shuffling through the dry leaves on the ground. He heard another sound that put him on instant alert. It sounded like breathing.
The heavy, wheezing breaths grew louder. From the corner of his eye, Loch saw Hollis pick up a good-sized chunk of wood from the stack beside the fire. It was the only weapon available. Except for Loch’s saber.
Loch swallowed hard as he peered intently into the shadows, not knowing what to expect. Shadows could be deceptive, he knew. In the dark, shadows could move because you thought they were moving. And the drifting mist didn’t help, either. Blinking hard, he forced his eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness and the soft haze that permeated it.
In the dense maze of timber before him, Loch could have sworn that a shadow moved. Or had he imagined it? A dead twig snapped. He heard a low moan, a sound that was almost a rattling growl. Loch didn’t know any animal that made a sound like that. If there was a wounded animal out there, it could be dangerous. He looked around for a weapon himself.
While his back was to the woods, something crashed out of the trees without warning. Loch spun around. It wasn’t a bear. Or a cougar. It was something far more terrifying. Something that froze him to the spot.
A briar-like web of shadows from the tree branches dissected the cadaverous face before him. The sunken flesh was pale. Bloodless. Deathlike. Where the bloody sores weren’t oozing. Colorless eyes gleamed with a bluish, milky sheen in the last of the moonlight as they fixed on Hollis. On him.
“What the- ” he heard.
That was as far as Hollis got. He had barely lifted the piece of firewood when the thing rushed forward.
Loch saw a gaping mouth and the flash of bared, bloody teeth at the same moment that a pair of arms reached wildly for Hollis. He saw the convulsive, greedy grasping of claw-like hands.
It all happened so fast. Before Loch could even move, Hollis brought his firewood crashing down on the head of their attacker. Immediately it went down, crumpled on the ground and didn’t move. But before they could fully recover from the attack, they heard more rustling in the bushes, and a snarl, as yet another figure emerged from the woods. It was a shadowy blur but it was just as aggressive and as ferocious as the first one had been.
Oh, hell, Loch thought frantically. Oh, hell. How many more were out there? And what were they? What did they want?
He turned, going for his saber. It had rained the night before last. It had been a hard, drenching rain and the ground was still soft. As Loch lunged for the saber, his brogans slipped and he landed dangerously close to the fire. He felt the breathless rush of heat close to his face, but adrenaline was already pumping through his veins and he was quick to react. He righted himself at the last instant and warned himself that he couldn’t afford to do that again.
Behind him he heard another sharp smack of wood against flesh and bone. He spun around, his saber in hand. Wherever this attacker had been hit, it hadn’t slowed him down. What Loch’s mind was now calling a ghoul was showing no signs of fear or injury. It looked like it was intent on one thing only. Going in for the kill. Loch was pretty sure Hollis hadn’t hit the thing anywhere near the face. There would have been a lot more damage with such a heavy blow. But the wide-open mouth was dripping with dark, clotted blood.
Were these drug addicts? Loch wondered. As a firefighter, he had seen people so high on drugs that they didn’t feel pain or fear. Whatever was wrong with these people, they were messed up. Really messed up.
Like he was going for a home run, Hollis swung the chunk of wood once again. It connected solidly with the attacker’s chest. Loch watched the ghoul stagger backward. A kind of shudder went through its body. But to Loch’s astonishment, and surely to Hollis’ as well, the thing recovered almost immediately and came on again, snarling viciously like a demon set loose from the deepest reaches of h
ell.
At the last second, Hollis did the only thing he could do. He grabbed the ghoul by the throat and tried to hold it off that way. Fighting for his life, Hollis drove the piece of wood he was still holding with his other hand straight into the violently-thrashing ghoul. The end of the wood was sharp and jagged and it pierced the ghoul’s chest. Dead center.
Both Loch and Hollis stared in shock at the impossible. The impalement had no effect whatsoever.
Hollis shoved harder. With a mighty groan, he pushed the wood deeper until it went clear through the ghoul and came out its back. This brought both men almost chest to chest. The one skewered like a shish kabob and Hollis defending himself the best he could.
Hearing the commotion, the other men were coming out of their tents. The upper rim of the sun was showing itself now and its rays were piercing the branches of the trees to the east. The men seemed stunned for a moment as they tried to make sense out of the nightmarish scene being enacted right before them.
To their horror Hollis was struggling with something that looked like it had stepped right out of a horror movie, something that was flailing its arms and tossing its head wildly from side to side as it tried to get at Hollis. At the same time, it was snapping and snarling like a rabid dog.
The men moved as a group to help Hollis. Loch had already rushed forward. Making a split-second decision, Loch raised his sword. There was one target open to him, the only one where he wouldn’t hurt Hollis. With a single thought in his mind, that of saving Hollis, he shoved the blade deep into the ghoul’s throat.
It went clear through. Blood immediately spouted from the wound and sprayed out of the ghoul’s shrieking, gurgling mouth. To Loch’s horror, even that didn’t stop him. Desperate, Loch yanked the saber out, feeling the scrape of steel as it slid against bone.
Ignoring the fresh flow of blood running down the saber and over the back of his hand, Loch gripped the sword in both hands and plunged it deep into the ghoul’s single, colorless eye. The other eye was already gone with only a bloody socket where it had once been.
