by Mark Tufo
“You should not go out there.”
“You talking to me or the Silent Giant?”
“Both.”
“I have no choice. I will not stand back here while they murder my friend.”
“We will come with you.”
I shook my head. I would have protested, but she would have heard none of it and I didn’t have the compunction to stop her. Bailey had her own mind.
“How you doing?” I asked her. She looked like I’d interrupted her midway to getting her mummy costume on for Halloween.
“Better than you.”
“This a competition?”
Muncher snorted.
“The quiet one thought that was funny. Well, enough stalling,” I said. “Might as well get this show on the road.”
We were halfway across the field, sidestepping numerous bodies as we traveled.
“You are not alone, Michael.” This from Xavier.
“I thought the invitation said guest plus eleven. No worries. This is my posse; they go where I do. Anyway, I figured you wouldn’t be alone either and fair’s fair. Right?”
As if to reiterate this fact, two dozen Lycan fanned out behind him. My knuckles turned white as I gripped my rifle tighter, as if that was even possible.
“It does not matter,” he said. “I was only wondering if you had the same weakness as the humans.”
“Weakness?”
“Friendship. That is a weakness.”
“Yeah, I guess it is for those that don’t have any! Bailey, cover me a little. I want to see if I can get a shot off,” I murmured. I don’t know if it was a trick of the light or just a matter of my enhanced eyesight but Xavier was making a hell of a good silhouette right now. “This gun dialed in?” I asked Muncher. I heard material move. “Did you just shrug?”
I brought the rifle up, Xavier was already on the move. I fired way before I was ready. I saw a plume of spray and there was a howl of pain. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Xavier but rather the Lycan to his side. And just that quickly they were gone. I had no opportunity to get a second off. My heart had sunk somewhere into my stomach as I looked at Mathieu. He was not moving. For all I could tell he’d been impaled on a tree.
“What’s going on?” he growled.
Relief didn’t even begin to describe how I was feeling. Like the unthinking idiot that I can be, I ran up to him without checking any of my surroundings. Luckily, I had Muncher by my side. At some point he was going to wonder if giving me the opportunity to clear the slate was worth it.
“Michael? Is that you?”
“Coming buddy,” I told him.
His hands were tied and he had a blindfold on.”
Bailey was ordering her men to take up defensive positions. They came in closer but at a much more controlled and cautious pace.
I shouldered my weapon and pulled his blindfold down.
“You alright?” I’d spun him so I could undo his bindings.
“Surprisingly, yes.”
“You been brainwashed?”
“My brain has not been washed that I am aware of.”
“It’s an expression. I’m just wondering if you’ve been with your captors for so long you’re beginning to identify with them.” He snorted.
“Michael, we should leave.” Bailey had come up to me. She was scanning from side to side, ever vigilant. “We are most certainly not alone right now.”
“This whole thing an elaborate trap?” I asked Mathieu as we backed away.
“In that Xavier wants you dead? I think you’ve known that all along. Have you not?”
“If you didn’t know how to make beer I wouldn’t have followed much past a quarter mile. Come on. Let’s get out of here.” We walked backwards for twenty yards or so, I kept expecting werewolves to come running at us the entire time. They were there. Along with hearing them in the woods, there was the musky scent of filth they brought with them. Not because they were inherently filthy animals, but because as humans they’d been so mistreated and uncared for.
“He wanted to make sure that you had this,” Mathieu said as he reached behind his back. When he brought his hand back he had my axe.
“Why in the fuck would he do that?” I asked, clearly confused as I took back possession of a blade I knew to be special.
“He said something about wanting to pry it free from your cold dead hands,” Mathieu said.
“Huh. Strange turn of a phrase in this day and age but whatever. I’ll take it.”
“Why are they letting us go?” Bailey asked.
“No clue. Any idea, Mathieu?” He was as quiet as Muncher who was now pointing behind us. Hundreds of werewolves stood waiting along the tree line. “Guess that answers that.”
“I do not think that is the answer we were seeking,” Bailey said.
“Another half hour; that’s all we need to hold off for. Do you think we can make it Muncher? I will take your silence as a nod of approval.”
Lana had come out once again astride her horse; she led forty others. She was still majestic, but I noticed that her back was slouched ever so slightly and her sword was not held quite as high. She was tired and most likely hurting for the loss of her people.
“Welcome back, Mathieu.” She had us completely encircled within a ring of horses. Didn’t want to sound ungrateful, but I would have been happier facing the werewolves than I was being surrounded by the massive equines. We had made it back to the far side of the battlefield and still the werewolves had not been issued the command to attack.
Azile had Oggie by her side. She gave Mathieu a big hug. “We missed you,” she told him. Me? I got the stink eye.
Ever-observant, I came up with: “They’re not attacking.” Oggie, at least, had the decency to greet me properly. He seemed to be pretty happy I was there.
We stayed this way another twenty minutes: two armies staring across a field of death. Birds by the hundreds were circling, wondering when the living would finally depart so they could begin their feast. A soft, single beam of light bisected the ground between us. The breath I’d been holding for the last hour finally and fully released. I felt like I could take a full intake of air now. The battle was over and it coincided with my rib slipping back into place. The single finger of light began to expand. There were cheers from those of us remaining, that we would live to fight another day. We that survived had just been granted a reprieve, one final chance to be in the arms of those we loved.
I put my hand out and leaned against a tree, my head hung down in a silent prayer of thanks. Muncher tapped me on the shoulder.
“What’s up big guy? You want to take voice lessons?”
He was pointing to the far side. The werewolves were still there, even as the sunlight crept up to them. I became awash within a sea of dread. I knew why Xavier had given Mathieu back, I knew why he had allowed us to escape. I knew why he had not attacked during the night.
He’d flooded us with hope, with the false sense that we’d made it. We’d relaxed our guard—now he was going to grind that fucking feeling into the ground with the unyielding heel of his foot. He was going to give us just long enough to feel sorry for ourselves before unleashing the hounds. This time there would be no battle cry; Lana would not race out to greet the enemy. Not this time.
“Bailey, bring your people to me!” I shouted. “Lana! Get your people behind us!” We had a couple of minutes tops, for me to pull this off. “This is it?” I asked when Bailey’s sixty or so soldiers were mustered around me.
“The rest are too injured to go out and do battle,” Bailey told me.
“If they can hold a rifle get them out here, Bailey. This is a last stand; They’re going to be fighting for their lives whether they can stand or not.”
While I waited for everyone to form up, I grabbed Mathieu.
“What’s going on?” I asked, locking eyes with him.
“This is as much a mystery to me as it is to you.” He sounded sincere and I had no reason to not believe him, but still th
e coincidence of the circumstances left me in doubt.
“Did they take blood?”
“And do what with it Michael? They are not scientists or doctors, they did not synthesize a new drug from it.” Azile replied.
“I’m just asking, Mathieu. I’ve got this Helen of Troy vibe going on.”
“I do not understand the reference.”
“Helen was Greek, possibly the child of a god, it goes into some depth there, not the point of the story. Anyway, she’s either kidnapped or was running out on her husband with this guy from Troy. Her husband assembled the Greeks and they started the Trojan War. Eventually they win and get Helen home, but then nobody ever trusts her again because she’d been with the Trojans for so long.”
“Are you saying that there are trust issues between us?”
“Not really…” I backpedaled.
“Yet you just related a story to me that deals with exactly that dilemma. What else would be the point in that?”
“I very infrequently make sense, Mathieu. I wouldn’t read too much into it.”
“You just told me a story that has no other meaning except perhaps that Helen was unhappy with her husband and caused a war.”
“Maybe that was what I was going with.”
“Michael,” Azile stepped in, “maybe before you wedge your foot further into your mouth you should hear what I have to say.” She was alongside me staring across the field, as were we all.
“I thought I was doing a pretty good job of extracting it,” I told her.
“You weren’t. Does Mathieu’s face indicate that?” We both turned to look at him. He still looked mighty pissed and a little hurt. “It appears that magic of some sort is happening over there. I don’t know who, why, or how, but I do not believe Mathieu had anything to do with it.”
Suddenly I remembered that rescuing Mathieu had been my primary reason for coming.“Listen buddy, I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just trying to figure out what was going on.” He seemed alright when I placed my hand on his shoulder. “You’re like a brother to me, I would have followed Xavier into the damn Antarctica to get you back.”
“Arctic,” Azile said.
“Right now? Are you really correcting my apology speech right now?”
“How can you be sincere if you don’t even use the proper words?”
“Apologies aren’t about the details. They’re about emotions and feelings and shit.”
“If I accept your pleas for forgiveness will you finally shut up?” Mathieu rescued me.
“Good to have you back, buddy.” I pulled him in to a tight hug, something I’d yet had the time to do. He returned the gesture. He held it a little longer than was customary during my time. “People are going to talk,” I whispered in his ear. “Azile might get jealous.”
“Thank you, Michael. I did not believe Xavier when he said you were following; well, maybe for the first couple of days I did. But after we’d traveled hundreds of miles I assumed that for sure you had called off the pursuit. I have never had such friendship.”
“It’s almost smothering,” Azile quipped.
“You’re ruining the moment,” I told her.
“You two seem fine. Bailey is bringing the injured back.”
We finally released from our exceedingly manly hug. “Azile, is there any chance the magic is a glimmer and those people just look like werewolves?” I hoped beyond hope when I asked.
She shook her head back and forth as she thought on it. She didn’t seem completely sure, but I prepared for the worst as I looked at my newest seven warriors that were added to the mix. Three of them barely looked awake; two others were still bleeding.
“Alright, we’re going to use some tactics from the old war movies I used to watch with my dad. If it worked for the British it should work for us.” There was understandably a lot of confused looks, but they were listening. “Alright. We’re going to make two rows of semi-circles. The one in front can either sit, kneel, or lie prone.” I was looking at one of the injured who was swaying on his feet. “Help him into position,” I pointed to the man next to him. “Then I want another row right behind them, standing. Now, normally the British had three rows, one row would fire then pull back while the next got into position so the first could reload and so on. Obviously, we don’t have that particular problem; our issue is ammunition, or rather the lack of it. Every shot has to count. We don’t have the manpower to go toe to toe with them.”
“Fields of fire?” Bailey asked. She was getting it.
“Yes! What you see exactly in front of you is your responsibility, do not stray; let your fellow soldier worry about his patch of land. If you defend yours the rest will take care of itself. The person standing should only fire after the person in front of them has finished their magazine, this way we can prevent multiple shots to one werewolf, unless of course they need it. Once the person standing has fired off their magazine, give a little nudge to the person in front to let them know they are up. Controlled, well-aimed shots and we can still win the day!”
Lana had been listening the entire time. “And what of us?”
“Well,” I started, “when we run out of bullets it will be up to your people to save the day.”
“That we will!” There was loud whooping from the Denarthians.
“You would have made a great Field Marshal,” Azile whispered in my ear.
“You need to focus, woman. This is no time to get all googly-eyed for me.”
Azile smiled. “We are about to fight a battle with minuscule odds of success and you believe me to be flirting with you. Your ego is staggering.”
“I just call them like I see them.” She got up on her toes, reached a hand behind my neck, and pulled me down close for a kiss. “Where’s Oggie?” I asked when we parted.
“He’s guarding the injured.”
My heart ached. I wanted him up here where I could keep an eye on him and hopefully keep him safe but he had his own job to do. Anyway, I knew it was my own comfort I was thinking of, because he was indeed safer where he was at. A couple of minutes ticked by and still they had not moved. Waiting was never one of my strongest suits. I moved to the right of our defensive area.
“Michael?” Azile asked with an edge of concern. Anytime I deviated from the norm was cause to worry.
“Just reaching out to say hi.” I found a tree with a branch at the appropriate height. I rested the front of my rifle on it. Took a heavy breath, released it slowly, found my target, and slowly squeezed the trigger. A murder of ravenous ravens left the trees above the werewolves as one of them went down, a tunnel bored through the side of his skull. Still, they did not move. What the fuck? I thought. I took another breath, another slow, steady release, another target, acquired, another shot. A little low with this one. Organic material erupted from where the monster’s neck attached to his shoulders. It twisted down and writhed around in pain, striking out against those nearest to it. Still they did not move.
“We can play this game all fucking day long,” I said softly. I was following my routine and took down two more in similar fashion. One I gut shot, hoping that maybe one of their own screaming and howling in pain would be enough to turn them back or react in some manner. I was lining up my next shot when I saw a Lycan walking behind the rows of werewolves, he seemed to be screaming something at them. My barrel moved slightly back and forth as I tried to match my rhythm with the Lycan who was pacing. He was in the process of turning, his mouth wide open in what I could only assume was a torrent of praise, love, and compassion for his troops. I fired, the bullet flew right into the open orifice. His hands grasped at his neck; for the smallest of moments he looked like he was choking on a large bug that had the misfortune to fly down that gullet.“That ought to get them riled up a bit,” I said as I watched the brute fall over.
“I do not believe they need any more riling,” Bailey informed me. Muncher was nodding in agreement.
I killed seven more in much the same manner. The Lycan, wi
sely, on their behalf anyway, did not show up again within my sights. For the life of me I could not figure out what they were waiting for. Then sometimes you wonder why you ever even felt the need to think a particular thought. There was some shouting on their side and the werewolves were off and running.
“When do we shoot?” Bailey asked.
“When you’re sure you can hit them.” Thought about using “when you see the whites of their eyes” but first off, there was the plagiarism thing, and secondly, I wasn’t entirely sure they had any white to their eyes. That would be bad if my soldiers waited for something that didn’t exist.
The werewolves had been in long lines but that broke down almost immediately when they saw the small congealed mass of humanity. Every single one of them was coming straight for us, bending that line much like our semi-circle. Rifle fire exploded from multiple guns. We were back in battle.
“Jam!” one of the men shouted. The man behind him began firing. I stayed with the tree branch for now. There were some strange happenings going on out there. Some of the werewolves were flickering, switching back and forth from their Jekyll to their Hyde. One leg naked skin, the other covered in fur. Human mouths screaming out in pain as they were impossibly filled with the large canine teeth. Human bodies supporting huge werewolf heads. Large werewolf bodies running full tilt with an all too human countenance.
“Keep firing!” Bailey urged when she heard a drop off of percussion. I don’t know if there could have been a more disconcerting sight. And the closer they got, the worse and faster the changes became. I thought maybe it was because they were farther away from whatever source was causing the change, then I realized it was because they were getting closer to Azile’s sphere of influence. The treetops above us swayed as if they were in gale force winds, while all around us the day was still. Powerful forces were at play here. Fifty feet out seemed to be about the range at which the transformation spell from the other side was completely obliterated. Men, women, and children would run a few more feet towards us before they would look into the unyielding metal barrels of our weapons.
Many of Bailey’s people openly cried, but they kept firing. Those poor souls that survived the onslaught would turn and run to the sides or worse yet, back the way they had come, to the Lycan at the tree line. There was no escape for the human victims, they were things to be broken, to be destroyed, and slashed open. Yet still we fired. We were as uncaring about their plight as the Lycan. What choice did we have? A pile of malformed, disfigured, and ruined bodies began to pile up in front of us. Vicious, angry werewolves would jump over the death mound only to land as confused and frightened people. A distant horn sounded and as suddenly as the shit storm had started, it was over. None of us had the heart to shoot those that retreated.
