Lycan Fallout: Rise Of The Werewolf

by Tufo, Mark

  “I hate you,” Herrin said with his final words.

  “There is no hate in Lycan only fear and death, and tonight you will suffer both,” Xavier said as he tore into Herrin.

  Five years later he was allowed on the hunts a full ten years before most. Even in his youth he was nearly the size of the elders and almost as smart. The winters where the pack lived were severe; it was not uncommon for temperatures to reach forty below, but no one groused. First off, because it wasn’t in their nature; and secondly, they didn’t know another way. That was the way it had always been.

  Two separate events would shape Xavier. He was in his twentieth season, leading a hunting expedition; something that was normally reserved for someone much older. There was a village fifty miles to the south, normally the hunters would wait until a group of men separated from the larger village, going out on their own hunts, usually for seals and fish. At some point, man would separate from the group and the Lycan would take him down. If they were lucky, they may be able to get two without getting discovered.

  For three days, Xavier and his pack lurked around the shadows of the community waiting for someone to depart. By the fourth night, he became too impatient to wait any longer; he warily walked onto the snow-lined streets.

  “This is not how it is done, Xavier,” Guerros, his second-in-command, said.

  “Should we wait another Moon Day while our clan starves, Guerros? I don’t like hiding from these inferior creatures. We are their masters, not the other way around.”

  “Man is dangerous,” Guerros said.

  Xavier pinned him up against a structure. “I AM DANGEROUS!” he commanded.

  Guerros deferred. Xavier’s mouth began to water as he smelled the sizzling of rending fat in one of the wooden huts. He smashed the door open with his head, an Inuit boy of about seven stared back at him, dropping his fried blubber onto the floor. Xavier tore him in two with one bite. The boy’s mother came out from behind her counter, filet knife in hand. She had not been expecting to see an animal nearly thrice her size. Xavier grunted as he charged, the blade striking off the top of his shoulder. He crushed her spine as he pushed her into a wooden post.

  Guerros was next in, and any issue he had with this type of hunt were lost as soon as the blood lust struck his nose. He tore through the house and found a girl of middling years hiding under her bed. She screamed as he slammed the structure out of the way. That was quickly cut short as he bit through her skull. The small band grabbed their kills and raced home. The feast had been of near mythical proportions as, two other hunting parties had also succeeded; the clan would eat well.

  Yutu the Claw, came home to a community in mourning. He was the l S He cut shoreader of his village; it was his house that Xavier and his hunting party had sacked. He had cried even as he prepared to follow after the savage animals that had done this. Almost all of the men that were of age joined him for the hunt. Xavier had made great time getting home, but the weather was not on his side, with no wind or fresh snow to cover his tracks, he gave the hunters a perfect trail to follow. With dreaded determination Yutu urged the dog sled teams on.

  When the Inuit’s began to notice more tracks than the four sets they had been ruthlessly pursuing, they knew they were getting close. They put up the sleds, tied the dogs down and advanced slowly on foot. Within an hour they heard the noises of a great many guttural beasts. They swung to the left to ensure their scents would not be picked up. They crawled up a small incline that overlooked the encampment. None of them had been prepared to witness what they saw. They had believed they were chasing large timber wolves. A blind man at night would have a difficult time not knowing the two animals were different. Human carcasses littered the ground and clothes were strewn about. Heated conversations and arguments erupted over various morsels of meat.

  Xavier looked up when he heard the first of many metallic sounds. Men were priming their weapons, not that he knew the sound at that time, it just sounded foreign and dangerous. He saw the wisps of smoke a split second before he heard the loud percussion of bullets being expended. And still he did not know the danger; at least until he saw the head of the elder next to him mushroom out as it absorbed a bullet. The exit wound splashed onto the side of his face as Zugrut fell to the ground in an awkward, splayed out position. His pack was bounding around, unsure of what to do next. Xavier knew where the threat was coming from and was attempting to circle around when a bullet caught him in the hindquarters. He had never before in his life felt the extreme pain like that which was coursing up his side. It tore at him every time he moved, but to stay motionless meant death. He headed towards the stream. The loud sounds that hurt his ears continued on for many more minutes.

  He could not move, so he let the water clean and numb the wound. When he was finally able to venture out, the men and their weapons were gone. Fully two-thirds of his clan had been destroyed; the rest scattered as they ran to save themselves. Xavier sniffed at the wounds the weapons caused, the smell of burnt flesh sticking in his nose as he did so. He looked up towards the small ridge and limped towards it. He sniffed around when one scent in particular caught his attention. It was a familiar scent, smelling much like the boy he had eaten. He had brought this death upon his people. For the first time in his life he howled in pain, not an external, but rather an internal one that could not be assuaged.

  Hunters were fair game when they went out into the wilds. The unspoken rule Xavier had broken was attacking a family at home, and his clan had paid dearly for his transgression. It took Xavier a full week to heal from the leaden bullet. When he was ready, he followed the diminishing scent of The Destroyer. For two weeks he prowled around the edges of the human habitation waiting for a chance. He watched as the people had their strange custom of burying their dead; which he found amusing since most of the dead were in and out of his belly by this time.

  It was the fifteenth night when people finally stopped showing up at the hunter’s house. Xavier hated what he was to do now – and as of yet had never do S haoplne it. His body lanced with pain as he forced it into change. His entire body began to shrink, feet, hands, snout, everything.

  “At least that has stayed the same,” he said with a snarl as he looked down. It was long moments before he felt he could move; and even then he looked to have the drunken gait of a sailor on shore leave.

  “I feel weak,” he mumbled. He had observed enough of the human customs to do what needed to be done to gain entry. He knocked heavily on the door, rattling it within its frame.

  “Come in,” A voice drifted out.

  Xavier pushed against the door. It moved slightly, but did not budge.

  “It’s unlocked.”

  Xavier growled, his hand came in contact with the doorknob. He fumbled with it until it turned and the door swung open.

  The hunter’s eyes grew wide for a moment in surprise then returned to their saddened state. “I had heard rumors of shape-shifters. I always thought it was tales to tease the children.” A smile creased the hunter’s face. “I was wondering when you would come. Next time you may want to consider bringing clothes with you. Not too many people, even the hardy Inuit walk around in the snow without clothes.”

  Xavier looked down at his body, where he was used to seeing dense fur he saw only a light sprinkling of hair.

  “And your ears, they are much too large to be considered human.” Yutu said, tipping a bottle of something into a glass. The smell of it was very astringent to Xavier’s nose. “Care for a drink?” he asked, showing Xavier the bottle.

  Xavier spoke the human words, something he had been taught in his younger years. At first it sounded like he was dragging them through weed-choked mud. Finally he lost his throat clapping tones and moved to more of the soft lilt of human speech. “Are you not afraid of me?” Xavier asked.

  “Petrified,” the man replied. “But I am also ready to be reunited with my family.”

  Xavier thought the human was crazy. How did he plan on doing that? �
��After I eat you, should I shit in the same place I deposited your son? Is this the reunification that you speak?”

  Yutu’s eyes narrowed in anger. “I figured a savage animal such as you would not understand a higher power. But then again, why would you? You have no soul…there will be no ascension for you. When death finds you that will be the end. Blackness.” He slammed down the drink he had poured for himself and quickly refilled the glass. “You sure?” he asked again, showing the bottle.

  Xavier took a step closer.

  “Hold on,” Yutu said. He pulled a large rifle up from under the table. “I want you to know that I could have killed you at any time since you walked in that door…even sooner. I’ve smelled your funk for more than a week. Out there slinking around like a common coyote.”

  Xavier snarled.

  “I didn’t kill your entire clan because I had hoped for this meeting. If I had the courage to kill myself, I’d kill you fi Sd kI drst. Come here and do what you intended, my family awaits,” Yutu said as he once again quickly drank his whiskey. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

  Xavier was turning back into his true form as he approached. His less-than-Lycan teeth ripped into Yutu’s neck. He did not eat the man in the off chance that by somehow eating him he would allow the man to reunite with his kin.

  “I am no coyote,” he said as he pushed the man over. Blood ran freely from the hole in Yutu’s neck.

  A smile formed on Yutu’s lips. “Epnic? Braytura? It is good to see you again.”

  Xavier looked about wildly for intruders. “There is no one here,” he said to the hunter, but the man would not be saying anything again, not in this lifetime. Xavier walked out the door and ran into the night.

  When he returned, what remained of his clan ha

  d come back to the killing grounds. Most wandered around, without a leader they were unsure of what to do next. With so many lost at once, the ordering within the pack had been lost, Xavier came in and quickly placed himself amid the top of the tribe despite being too young. The others followed because it helped to restore order into their worlds.

  Some of the elders that still lived protested mildly, but they were in no position physically to vie for the role. Xavier decided that eating the boy had been the best thing he’d ever done, the loss of his mother in the subsequent revenge hunt meant nothing to him. There were not families in the pack, only individuals with three common goals: eat, survive, and procreate.

  CHAPTER 11 - Mike Journal Entry Seven

  We were on the road again. Bailey joined us, she was sent as an emissary of Talboton or, more likely, a spy to report back what she discovered. I did not harbor any secret notion that Talboton was going to willingly join in any fight. And honestly I didn’t blame them; as of yet, nothing had happened except stories from strangers they did not believe no matter who they were. Lana seemed overly morose with the addition to our party. Oh, she got along fabulously with Oggie and Tommy, but Azile and Bailey were threats to her.

  Oh, I love women in all their flaws and foibles. I’d learned long ago that women aren’t in competition with men; they are in competition with each other. Constantly sizing each other up for battle, but not with swords, knives, and guns….no, nothing that crude, they use something much more dangerous: their looks and their biting wit.

  “I’ve heard the Red Witch devours her mates,” Lana said to me as we were riding along.

  I laughed. “I don’t doubt that at all,” I told her.

  “Then I shrink their heads and stick them in this saddle bag,” Azile said from twenty yards up. Not sure how she had heard, but I laughed again.

  We traveled the next three weeks from town to town; with pretty much the same result we had suffered in Talboton, scorn and derision. We were sitting just outside the city limits of Harbor’s Town – a name which made absolutely no sense considering they weren’t anywhere near a body of water. Tommy an Vd kIord I were sitting in the back of the wagon watching Oggie run around in the grass.

  “Gonna have to check for ticks tonight,” I said.

  “Why won’t these people listen, Mr. T?” Tommy asked.

  “Because it’s easier not to. Who wants to think the end of the world is around the corner. If you had come to me a week earlier before the zombies showed I would have called you crazy and shut the door.” I paused. “No…that’s a lie. I probably would have invited you in and at least listened to your entire story.” I paused again. “Shit, who am I kidding? I probably would have quit work and started prepping the house that night. Okay most people don’t want to think about doomsday scenarios.”

  “What now, Michael?” Bailey asked, as she approached.

  I looked over towards her. She was framed in a midday sun. “God, you remind me of him, and you’re beautiful. You’re really messing with my head, you know that? He would kill me if he knew I was looking at you like this.”

  “You’re not really my type,” she said.

  “Too pale? Vamps aren’t really known for lying out in the sun. I could try and find some spray on tan.”

  Bailey smiled.

  “Is it an age thing? I mean…because what’s a hundred and something years among friends? It’s all subjective. It’s how you feel, and honestly I don’t feel a day over eighty-six, ninety-two tops.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.” She continued to smile.

  “I don’t know really. I’m not even sure why I’m out here. It’s Azile’s game as far as I can tell.”

  “He loved you,” Bailey said.

  “And I him,” I told her, my head sagging a little.

  “I’ve read all his writings at least a dozen times. Said you were crazier than a rabid bat, but always found a way out…no matter how bad the odds.”

  “Not always unscathed,” I said, pointing to where Tommy had bit me and then lifting my shirt to show her where I had gotten shot and where the Lycan had raked his claws against me. “And the same cannot always be said for those that choose to stand with me.”

  “Do you believe the Lycan are amassing for a war?”

  “Azile believes it…that’s good enough for me. I just haven’t completely decided on my role.”

  “That does not sound like the man BT wrote about,” Bailey said.

  “That man died on a rooftop,” I said.

  Now Tommy’s head sagged.

  “I have no soul, Bailey. Do you know what that does to a moral compass? It’s like having a fan on a pinwheel – thing spins around crazily,” I told her. Bailey had a look of confusion on her face. “Fan or pinwheel?” I asked, realizing she probably didn’t know either one of the words.

  “Both.” She replied.

  I laughed.

  “But I get the idea without any further clarification,” she said. “Know what I think?”

  I nodded my head in response.

  “I think you made up your mind the moment you left your home.” And with that, she pulled her horse away.

  I watched her leave. Lana was up next.

  “We should have gone fishing,” I said to Tommy.

  “Want one?” he asked, pulling a gummy fish out of his pocket.

  “I’m good.”

  “What do you see in her?” Lana asked.

  “Besides being a bronzed goddess, what else do I need to see?” I asked, egging the girl on. It wasn’t often I could claim a position of superiority with a woman and I was going to relish it for at least a little while.

  Lana snorted and walked away.

  “Why?” Tommy asked.

  “Why not?”

  “You have been alive too long to have learned nothing,” he said as he hopped down from the cart.

  “Don’t choke on that candy,” I told him.

  I hopped off as well, figuring I’d go down by the small stream and see if I could catch some dinner while we waited for Azile. We had traded in the previous town for a small net, some hooks, and a thin line that looked like it would snap if anything bigger than a sunfish snagged
the hook.

  Oggie’s head stuck up as he heard me walking off. He came bounding over. “Want to go take a nap with me?” I asked. Of course he did, as he stayed next to me.

  I found a decent pole – looked like hickory from the feel of it – tied the line and hook and tossed it into the water. Without bait, the only way I was going to catch something was if it got impaled on my hook. I dug a small hole, jammed the pole into it and braced it with a couple of rocks. I wasn’t quite sure why I had gone so far with the illusion of fishing, but I was already ‘in’ so I might as well make the most of it.

  I leaned up against a tree; I think the same one that had yielded my fishing prop. Oggie’s head immediately rested on my chest. I draped an arm around his neck and pretended to slumber almost as much as I pretended to fish.

  I ‘lived’ in the past; today meant nothing to me, tomorrow even less. I was constantly reliving things that had happened. My brain, which should have been so much oatmeal by now, had been honed into almost a hard drive of information from which I could retrieve data within an instant and with as much clarity as the day it happened. Another ‘benefit’ of the vampire half of me. No wonder Eliza was such an evil bitch, she never had the luxury of forgetting all the bad that had happened to her. I, however, was weighed down with all the good. I could not forget the love and touch of my wife, the laugh and twinkle of my daughter’s eyes. The growth into manhood of my sons. Henry the air-fouling wonder Bully. They were as real to me now as they had ever been. Like a ghost, I could walk in my memories with them. Always seeing but never touching. I knew this to be one of Dante’s circles of Hell. And not just any circle…but the most torturous of them all. To constantl [ Toghost, I y see your loved ones and never be able to touch them or interact. To never be able to have their memories diminish, yup, pretty much hell.