Angels and the Bad Man

by M. K. Gibson

  The big man stepped towards me and wrapped his massive arms around me in a hug, whispering, “Everything begins.”

  I tried hugging him back, but my arms didn’t make it around his torso. His skin was hot and cold at the same time. The war that raged in his broken mind seemed to affect his body as well.

  Releasing me, Chael walked backwards into the shadows and dissolved into nothingness. The last thing I saw was the white of his smile and his opaque, white eyes flash blue.

  I watched the shadows for a few moments, unsure of what had just happened or how to process it. I took a sip from the flask and stuffed it back in my pocket.

  Inside, the campfire was a dull glow. TJ was under his blanket, pretending to be asleep. I could hear his heartbeat and breathing. But I let him have his space, and said nothing. I collapsed into my bedroll. Throwing an arm over my eyes, I was asleep in seconds.

  ********

  A long time ago

  “Dad, I’m sorry! I’m so fucking sorry!” Isaac screamed. “Dad, say something!”

  Isaac’s father reached back and struck Isaac in the face as hard as his thin arms could. Isaac reeled back, bringing his arms up as he fell to the ground. Although a man, Isaac fell to the cabin floor and wept like a babe. Isaac’s father was never abusive. He was always a polite and generous father. Strict but fair. Encouraging both intellect and ingenuity.

  That was why what the strike hurt Isaac to his soul.

  “I’m sorry. . . I’m so sorry . . . I’m—”

  Abraham McMillan knelt down next to his son Isaac and no longer tried to strike him. Instead, he held him, and the two of them lay there on the cabin floor.

  “Dad, I—”

  “Me too boy, me too.” Abraham McMillan sobbed and whispered as he held his weeping son. “But now we have work to do.”

  It had been hours, and his father had not spoken. The tall wiry man gripped the wheel of the old Humvee until his knuckles were white.

  "Dad, please, let me—"

  "SHUT. UP. SON."

  Isaac looked at his dad from the passenger seat, hoping for some sign that his father still loved him. Abraham McMillan only continued looking forward, wringing his hands on the steering wheel. Isaac just put his head down and stared at his hands.

  Another hour went by in silence. Not even the radio. Just the hum of the engine. Isaac lit a smoke and rolled down the window. His Father glared at him and then took one from his pack and pulled a lighter from somewhere and lit his own. The two men continued to smoke in silence.

  "Dad, where are we going?"

  Abraham looked at his son, and his hard face softened slightly.

  "My original lab."

  "You mean, where you and Mom did . . . this to me?"

  "Yes. I still have equipment there that might work. If we make it in time. So, please, just shut up and let me drive."

  Isaac nodded. He looked over his shoulder in the back of the Humvee at the cargo they carried. The equipment seemed to be holding. They had to make it. They just had to. Isaac almost prayed to God for help. But that just wasn't the world anymore.

  ********

  I woke up fast, rubbing at my face. That damn dream. Why?

  Was it all the talk of family? Or was my subconscious trying to tell me that sleep was for the weak?

  I felt a weight on my lap. Switching my eyes to night vision, I saw my gun, the one I’d given TJ as a lesson. I looked over at where TJ slept.

  Kid was snoring with a big freaking smile on his face.

  I too smiled at that, then passed back out. We had a lot of miles to go and god knew what waiting for us when we got there. But at least we trudged on with hope in both our hearts.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Too Much Blood

  Day Nine of The Wild Hunt

  Grimm silently watched from his hidden position as his copy was destroyed. He felt little sympathy for tricking his twin into thinking he was going a different direction. It was a required deceit.

  Grimm had to see her.

  The Wild Hunt departed the scene, leaving only a few stragglers behind to bring up the rear. The mage could see a few picking through his clothes and collecting bets.

  Good. He was hungry.

  Camouflaged thanks to the magic in his tattoos, Grimm slowly climbed like a spider down the tree towards his prey, his hunger beginning to overwhelm him. Below him, he saw the elves. He saw the goblins. But they ceased to be Fae.

  They were food.

  Delicious. Warm. Bloody. Food.

  “How do I look?” one of the goblins in hunting leathers said, picking up Grimm’s hat with her comically oversized hands and placing it atop her bald, lumpy, misshapen head.

  “Stupid,” a tall male elf said, picking up the cassock and boots.

  “Don’t be an asshole, Honeysuckle,” another elf, a blonde female, said. “You look good, Grta. Keep it.”

  “Thank you, Thistlewind. I think I look good as well,” Grta said.

  “You look . . . delicious.”

  “What? Ahh!”

  Father Grimm leaped the remaining distance, falling over ten feet directly into the wide-eyed Grta. Grimm slammed into the smaller goblin with such force and ferocity, his hat flew from her head.

  Faster than the elves could track, Grimm rolled with the attack, picked up the stunned Grta, and clamped his teeth down into her neck, tearing away the flesh in one bite. Spitting out the chunk of goblin meat, Grimm once again bit into the now-flailing Grta, gulping down as much of her blood as he could while watching for the elves’ reaction.

  “Grta!” Thistlewind yelled, leveling her spear while lifting her wooden shield. The elf charged Grimm, who remained on the forest ground, sucking down Grta’s life’s blood and watching the charging elf like a hungry animal.

  “Yah!” Thistlewind cried, leaping into the air while thrusting her spear.

  Grimm, waiting until the last second, rolled away while pushing the near-drained Grta into the oncoming spear. The leaf-bladed weapon pierced Gerta’s heart, her body dragging the weapon to the ground.

  “No!” Thistlewind screamed as Grta lay on the ground, dead.

  Honeysuckle shook off the shock of the scene, drew his twin curved short swords, and dashed in at the near-naked intruder.

  Grimm crouched and waited as blood dripped from his mouth.

  The male elf spun his weapons in an intricate manner, demonstrating his fighting skill. As the complex attack came, Grimm touched one of the tattoos on his shoulder and simply melted into the ground, leaving only a dark pool of shadow where he once was.

  “What, what was that?!” Honeysuckle asked.

  “I think—” Thistlewind paused, closing Grta’s eyes and pulling her weapon from her friend’s body. “I think that was Father Grimm.”

  “Impossible. He can’t use magic here.”

  “Fool,” Thistlewind scolded. “You saw his double. You heard Chimera. He’s found a way.”

  “Did you see him?” Honeysuckle asked.

  “He is a demon in man’s form.”

  “No,” Honeysuckle chided his ally, holding his weapons at the ready. “He was covered in markings. Tattoos. He touched one and then it vanished just as he disappeared. He is using stored magic. Which means he can run out. We have to tell Chimera.”

  “What about Grta?”

  “What about her? She’s dead and there is nothing we can do about it.”

  “He was . . . eating her. He really is the monster they say he is. The Nightmare of the Fae, as the old ones claim.”

  “Then let us not be here when he comes back. We have to tell Chimera,” Honeysuckle said as he put away one of his swords and pulled on Thistlewind’s arm.

  “That would be an excellent plan,” Grimm’s voice called out from the darkness. “But I am afraid it would be counterproductive to my plans.”

  “Come out and face us!” Honeysuckle yelled, his voice cracking as he did.

  “I plan to,” Grimm’s voice said from
a different direction in the dark springtime forest. “For I am still hungry.”

  “You cannot run from The Wild Hunt!” Thistlewind yelled into the night.

  “I do not intend to run,” Grimm said from the shadows. “Instead, I will do what no other has ever done in the history of The Wild Hunt.”

  “And what is that, monster?!”

  “I will hunt them.”

  Grimm sprang from the darkness with impossible speed. Hitting Thistlewind in her shield, the elf was launched into the nearest tree. Bark exploded from the impact and the elf fell to the ground, unconscious.

  Turning sharply, Grimm snatched his hands outward, catching both of Honeysuckle’s wrists before the elf could strike him in the back. The elf tried to slip his grasp, but Grimm clamped down harder, preventing escape. With a twist, Grimm snapped both radial bones in the elf’s arms. Honeysuckle screamed in pain and dropped his blades from his now useless hands.

  Grimm bore down on the elf, forcing him to his knees. “And my hunt begins now. With the two of you.”

  Honeysuckle lowered his head in defeat. “Do your worst, monster.”

  With the influx of fresh blood, Grimm felt his mind return. He was once again in control of the monster within. Grimm knelt down and placed a gentle hand on the elf’s face.

  “I intend to. But understand, I do not wish this. I did not choose to be here. Yet you hunted me. I was once the monster under the bed of the Fae, but I brokered a peace long ago. A peace I never broke, lest I was provoked or your kind disobeyed. It brings me no pleasure in what I am about to do. You will not suffer,” Grimm promised.

  Grimm’s pulled the elf in close, his voice barely a whisper. “But I am still hungry.”

  ********

  Chimera slapped the rocking elf in the mouth with the back of her gauntlet. “Snap out of it!”

  Either Thistlewind ignored the strike, or it simply did not register to her. The elf continued rocking, staring into nothing, her arms wrapped around her knees as she sat upon the blood-soaked ground. A slight tremor manifested as a head tic, a subtle chin spasm every few seconds.

  “He . . . he butchered them,” Thistlewind said, not looking at the Hunt Master. “He drank Grta’s blood . . . broke Honeysuckle’s wrists.”

  “And then?” Chimera asked.

  “‘And then?’” Thistlewind said, slowly focusing. Looking about, she gestured weakly. “Then all this.”

  Chimera looked around the entire site. What was left of the two Fae decorated the trees and bushes. Entrails and viscera hung in wet, dripping clumps. The Hunt Master brought her attention back to her shaken Fae.

  “And yet, you live,” Chimera said rather than asked.

  “He charged me and knocked me into the tree. I was knocked out and when I came to, he did this. H-he is the monster of legend.”

  “No. He is just a man. A powerful one, yes, but a man nonetheless,” Chimera said. “Get up. Now.”

  “MISTRESS,” the giant armored form called out. “HERE.”

  Chimera left the shaken elf to rejoin The Hunt and crossed the ground towards her massive companion, who stood just past the site in a small clearing.

  “What is it?”

  “MESSAGE,” the giant said, pointing downward.

  Chimera knelt down and touched two fingers to the ground, bringing them back and sniffing the blood on her fingers. She took a moment to read the words. The message left behind from Father Grimm to her.

  “When shall we three meet again, in the thunder, lightning or in rain?”

  “Bastard,” Chimera whispered.

  “MACBETH,” the large being said.

  “Yes, Act I, Scene I. He always knew it was my favorite play,” Chimera said with a slight smile to her face. “‘When the hurlyburly’s done, When the battle’s lost and won.’ He’s basically telling me to stop the hunt. Or else there will be more death.”

  “CONTINUE?”

  “Of course, old friend. He’s the reason we’re here. He left us. We move on Caern Frigia. Gather The Hunt, get them ready.”

  “HER?” the giant asked, nodding towards Thistlewind.

  Chimera looked at the she-elf, who finally stood from the bloody ground and took her place among the rest of The Hunt. “I believe he spared her to spread fear among us.”

  “KILL?”

  “No, not yet. But keep an eye on her. Something about this scene doesn’t sit well with me. I’m not sure what, but something isn’t right.”

  The titanic armored creature swept its bright blue eyes across the ground, then turned back to Chimera. “BLOOD.”

  “What about it?”

  The giant pointed at the bodies. “TWO.” And then he pointed towards the entrails, the organs, and lastly, at the ground.

  “You’re saying there is too much blood?”

  “YES.”

  Chimera considered what her ally said. If Thistlewind was to be believed, then Grimm drank some of Grta’s blood, and then eviscerated her with Honeysuckle. Then . . . why was there so much blood on the ground? A body, even a lithe elf, only had so much blood.

  But the ground was soaked with it. A couple of bodies’ worth. Forcing herself to really look at the remains of her Fae, Chimera realized there was too much of . . . them. Too many pieces of her hunt to add up to only one elf and one goblin. There had to be at least one more.

  At least another elf’s worth of body and blood.

  Chimera snapped her head towards the Hunt. “That’s not Thistlewind.”

  An explosion of fire erupted in the center of the Wild Hunt. Chimera threw her arm up, protecting her eyes, as the night sky was lit up by a fiery blossom of destruction. She saw Fae creatures thrown into the forest from sheer force of the explosion, while others screamed as they were burned alive.

  A second explosion sounded as Chimera’s chariot exploded outward, sending pieces flying like shrapnel, killing more of the hunt.

  “Follow if you dare!” Grimm’s voice boomed an echoed through the night. His warning was accompanied by laughter.

  “ORDERS?”

  “We follow,” Chimera sneered.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  A Big Ass Farm

  Now, in the Waste

  Over the next day, TJ and I cruised across Nebraska and into Kansas. We took turns driving and sleeping. We also avoided the previous night’s campfire discussion. Based on his smile and his insistence of dominating the music from Grimm’s digital library, I believed he understood what I was trying to tell him.

  It wasn’t the most ideal road trip. Especially considering that we had next to no food, I was low on smokes, and we were traveling through the wasteland of America. But you know what? That didn’t matter. The landscape, while scarred from neglect, was still beautiful.

  We watched the sun set over the land in a beautiful tapestry of red and gold. Night fell in hues of purple, blue, and black. The moon hung high and full, with streaky clouds and pinpoint stars twinkling. Everything before us was a canvas of nature’s glory.

  Now, if I could only convince my travel companion that he was incredibly wrong on a very important topic.

  “I’m just saying, that while I respect your youthful opinion, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “But all the historical documents say I’m right. All the legends, all the old movie and TV clips say I’m right,” TJ countered.

  “Listen kid, I lived before G-Day. And while there are those who would agree with you, I’m telling you, it just isn’t true.”

  “Come on,” TJ said as he drove. “Even Grimm agrees with me. Just look at this collection.”

  I sighed. “For the last time, The Beatles were a very good band and some would call them influential. But it’s one of those things where people said they were the greatest band of all time. But no one really meant it.”

  “Oh bullshit,” TJ said with a smirk and a shake of his head. “Just listen to that,” he said as he turned up “Revolution”.

  “Ov
errated,” I said crossing my arms. “That freaking band has got by on mass hysteria, hero worship, and John Lennon’s assassination. I knew tons of people who claimed The Beatles were the greatest, but I never once heard them actually listen to The Beatles. Hell, that opening guitar riff was ripped off from Chuck Berry’s “Johnny Be Good”.”

  “OK, who’s better?”

  “You’re missing the point, kid.”

  “OK, what’s the point, old man.”

  “Simple,” I said, flipping off that damn band and turning on The Dropkick Murphys’ cover of “Fields of Athenry”. “You hear that?”

  “That noise? Yeah.”

  “That is one of my favorite songs. I saw this band play tons of times live back in the old days. By their own admission, they sing like shit and aren’t the greatest musicians.”

  “And you’re saying they’re better?”

  “No, damn it. But the point it, how it makes me feel. You can argue all day about who, or what, the best is about anything. But if it doesn’t mean anything to you, then it’s pointless. Find what you like and what you enjoy and screw what’s best. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah, I understand you lost an argument to a thirteen-year-old.”

  “That’s it!” I yelled, switching the music. “This is Manowar. And you now have to listen to all twenty-eight minutes of “Achilles, The Agony and Ecstasy in Eight Parts”.”

  “What is this?!” TJ yelled over the music.

  “One of the greatest power fantasy metal bands of all time!” I yelled back.

  TJ slammed on the brakes and I slammed my forehead against the dashboard. The Collective activated the shield, but I still saw stars.

  “Damn kid, I’ve just got myself put back together, are you trying to take me apart again? Fine, I get it, you don’t like the music,” I said, rubbing my face.

  “Salem,” TJ said, turning the music off.

  Looking up, I saw why TJ slammed on the brakes, and it looked like I was going to need every ounce of power I had left.