Lycan Fallout: Rise Of The Werewolf

by Tufo, Mark

  “How long you going to stand there looking at me?” I asked, never raising my head or opening my eyes.

  “I sometimes forget how enhanced your senses are,” Azile said as she strode across the small stream. I felt Oggie stir, but he did not awake. “Fishing I see?”

  I shrugged.

  “I cannot get these people to listen to me, Michael.” She pulled up some bark and sat next to me. Due to the curve in the trunk, she was facing away slightly at an angle. “I fear by the time they figure out what is going on…it will be too late.”

  “You’ve warned them, Azile. You can’t force them to fight.”

  “I could,” she said absently.

  “Like zombies?” I asked, then dropped it. “You’ve warned them. And if I know anything, they will at least prepare. They may not believe you or want to believe you, but they will still want to protect their own even if the threat is minute. They will post more guards, they will make more weapons, and they’ll fix or improve any holes in their defense.

  “That won’t be enough. Xavier will lay waste to everything.”

  “Why do Lycan have names? That makes no sense.”

  “I see the way the girl looks at you.”

  This time I opened my eyes. “That’s an abrupt change of subject. Are you talking about Lana or Bailey?”

  “Both. Lana has fallen for you. Bailey eyes you suspiciously…she does not truly believe who you say you are or your intentions.”

  “Well, she’s the smarter of the two then.”

  “And what of Lana?” Azile asked.

  “Seriously, Azile?”

  “Then you won’t mind this,” she said as she moved in, kissing me tenderly on the lips. I almost pulled back – the betrayal to Tracy almost too much to bear. It was that contact, the basic human connection that kept me there. Although, on further reflection, I was a half-vamp and she was a witch. How much humanity was involved?

  Oggie had since gotten up and positioned himself so that his head was near to my own. Our kiss was broken when Oggie decided he wanted to join in. The magic was broken the moment that large swath of tongue rode up my chin, across my lips and the side of my face.

  Azile laughed merrily as I pulled away. Her face lit up as she did so, it was a side of her I had never seen. If I hadn’t known any better, I might have assumed she had an enchantment spell working. I felt something for her. The cynical side of me thought this was just a ploy on her part to keep me committed to her cause. The other part didn’t give a shit. If that look in her eyes wasn’t genuine, then she was an Oscar-worthy actress and I would do all in my power to find one of the now useless statuettes to give to her.

  “Does this mean I have to buy you chocolates for Valentine’s Day?” I asked.

  She smi [="+neled and tenderly touched my face before getting up and walking back towards our impromptu encampment.

  “I feel so used,” I told Oggie as I grabbed his face. He went for lick number two and I was able to pull back before he could make contact; he then sneezed abruptly. That, I could not escape as spittle peppered my face. I dipped my head into the stream and exhilarated at the feel of the cold water as it stung against my flesh.

  I stayed down there a while longer, trying to wrap my head around what had just happened and what I actually felt about it. When I decided I couldn’t come to a conclusive answer, I grabbed my line that not surprisingly had nothing on it and headed back up.

  Azile was as aloof as ever, which, considering the dynamic of our merry little band, was probably for the better. I think Lana was pretty good with her knife, and I’d just as soon not have her try and open me up.

  “Where to now, Azile?” Tommy asked.

  “One more town, Wheatonville, and then back to Talboton before the full moon.”

  I almost wanted to tell her ‘why bother.’ Until it happened, it hadn’t…and that’s how these towns would see it. Also, I was quickly learning that the Red Witch was not widely loved. I was going to have to get that story, soon.

  The trip to Wheatonville was fairly uneventful. Azile never once approached me and Lana wouldn’t stop. Bailey laughed at every one of the girl’s fumbling, inexperienced attempts.

  “You sure do have a way with women, Michael,” Bailey said, flashing a wide smile.

  “BT pretty much said those exact same words. He may have had one or more colorful phrases in there, and he certainly didn’t call me Michael, but other than that, pretty much the exact same,” I said as we both watched Lana stomp away, which was impressive considering she was on horseback. The girl really wanted nothing to do with me. I think it was that she didn’t want Bailey or Azile to win whatever game she thought we were all playing.

  “My great-great-grandfather wrote a lot about you and your family and the events that had happened up to and into founding our town…but he spoke very little of himself.”

  “Would you like to know?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “He was a large man.” Bailey nodded. “No, I don’t think you’re getting the full picture. He was huge and not in a cutesy hippo kind of way but in a charging Rhino sort of way. Man scared the hell out of me for the first few weeks I’d known him; thought he was going to pull my head off like a spoiled child pulls a doll’s head off.” Bailey nodded in understanding. “I take it that still happens?”

  “Mostly things younger brothers do to sisters, but, yes, it happens.”

  “So you can imagine how I felt.”

  Bailey laughed.

  “And he was no gentle giant. The man had no problem whatsoever using his genetic freak-dom to scare or intimidate people into doing what he wanted to do. Did he write that in his journals?”

  “Not quite that eloquently,” Bailey ans [ writewered.

  “On top of that, Bailey, I thanked God every night that, that man was on my side. Once we got over our pissing contest—”

  “Pissing contest?” she asked.

  “Yeah, kind of a non-life threatening way of determining who’s in charge.”

  “And what was the outcome of this ‘pissing’ contest?”

  “Oh, I think BT let me win. I’m not entirely sure why, but the man had more confidence in what I could do than I did.”

  “He said that you could get out of trouble with no more than a candle and a prayer.”

  “Did he also tell you about my penchant for getting into trouble?” I asked.

  “Yes, he did not leave that out.”

  “That man sacrificed everything to stay by my side. I know he had family he was never sure made it through.”

  “He considered you family after he lost his wife.”

  “He was married? He always gave me so much crap about it, I figured he was a lifelong bachelor.”

  “She died on that first night.”

  “Oh my God, that explains a lot of his surliness. I always thought it was because his shoes were too small and they pinched his feet.”

  Bailey looked up strangely at me.

  “Sorry…random thought,” I told her. “The longer you hang around me the more sense they’ll begin to make. I loved that man,” I said with a faraway look. “I considered him family – as much a brother as Gary or Ron.” A pang chased through my heart thinking about Gambo singing a Survivor song or Ron giving me crap for finding his secret stash of firearms.

  “He wrote that leaving you was singularly the most difficult thing he had ever done, but he could not watch as your affliction ravaged your soul. He said day by day it was taking a little more of you.”

  It wasn’t so much the vampirism that was undermining me it was the slow degradation of those around me. I knew with crystal clarity what was going to happen, and I was powerless to stop it. It is difficult to watch a grandchild be born and know without a shadow of doubt in your heart that you will outlive it. I didn’t know how to respond. I was thinking back to that day. I wished him well even as anger bubbled in me that he was leaving.

  I was saved from further reflection as
Azile called out. “Watchers!” She brought her horse back around to be with Tommy, who was directly ahead of Bailey and me. Lana had stayed directly ahead of the cart when she realized her advancements weren’t making any headway.

  “What the hell is a Watcher?” I asked, bringing my horse up. “Sounded like a different word for scout. Azile was pointing off somewhere to the left on the horizon. Tommy was straining to see what she saw.

  “I’m sorry, Azile, I don’t see it,” he was telling her.

  I thought I might have caught a ripple in the air – much like one would see heat rising from a roadway during the summer months – but there was significant chance that was exactly what I had seen. [en.g fspan>

  “There were a dozen of them heading roughly towards Wheatonville or perhaps Harbor’s Town,” Azile said, a look of deep concern was etched on her face.

  “What the hell is a Watcher?” I asked. Lana and Bailey both seemed to be doing prayers, different in words but with the same context. Tommy was still struggling to see the unseen. Oggie, bless his heart, was asleep in the back of the cart.

  “Watchers will usually gather before a great calamity. They play no part in it that I have been able to discover but, rather, are impartial observers”

  “Sounds like news reporters,” I told her.

  “The only difference is they show up before something happens.”

  “That is different.” I said. “How big a calamity?”

  “Many believe the Watchers are death’s tabulators. The more there are, the more death will be dealt,” Tommy said.

  “Must have been a lot of OT during the zomb-apoc,” I answered callously. “Should we warn the towns?” I asked, trying to cover up my earlier words.

  “The fools won’t listen,” Azile said. “They will just believe that I have ratcheted up my rhetoric.”

  “Should we stand with a town?” Tommy asked.

  “Which one?” Azile asked. “They are heading in a direction that could be any of half a dozen, and just because they are going this way doesn’t mean there aren’t more heading towards Talboton or a dozen other locations.”

  “I must get home!” Bailey said, tightening her grip on her reins.

  “The full moon is less than a week away, does this have anything to do with that?” I asked.

  “I cannot be certain, but it would appear that way. The Watchers generally arrive a few days before an event. They seem to thrive on the buildup, and then the subsequent destruction and carnage.”

  “Fuck…they are reporters,” I said. “Maybe worse because they know and do nothing…but not by much. Is it possible to stop a Watcher?”

  “Can one stop the rain?” Bailey asked.

  “You can get out from under it,” I responded.

  “Bailey’s right, we need to get back to Talboton,” Azile said.

  I turned to look one more time where the Watchers had been. I wouldn’t swear it on a stack of Bibles, but I was fairly certain one had stopped and was looking in our direction. Chills had raced up and down my spine. Whatever I was seeing was entirely too far away to get any refinement from; it was like looking at smoke in gale-force winds and trying to pick out a discernible shape.

  “Can’t it ever just be pissed off chipmunks or something like that?” I said as I turned my horse around.

  We spotted nothing amiss when we got back to Bailey’s home. There were two days before the full moon and everything looked, as it should in a thriving, healthy community. We weren’t [We o Baiexactly welcomed back with open arms. Bailey had spent the majority of the day in with the elders giving her account of what had happened the last few weeks. I figured by the time she got to the Watchers we would hastily be escorted from the city gates.

  Bailey came back a few hours later. “They said you could stay through the full moon and then must leave.”

  “Convenient,” I said sarcastically. “They make sure we’re here just in case and then, once the ‘all clear’ is sounded, we have to get out of Dodge.”

  “Would you rather be out there, or in here if something happens?” Azile asked.

  “You should probably remember who you’re asking that question of. The answer would have been the same even when I somewhat liked people,” I said.

  “When was that?” Tommy asked.

  “See? That’s comedy. Let’s go in, and the only reason I’m staying is because they have beer.”

  I don’t care what any of them said, the beer was still affecting me. Maybe it was just a remembered response, but I thoroughly enjoyed the numbness it afforded me. Word of what we had sighted had spread through the town like wildfire, and there was an expectancy that hung in the air. Part hope, part despair. Not many folks were going to sleep tonight. Me? I was going to be at the bar.

  That thought lasted until Azile found me that afternoon. “You coming?” she asked.

  “I’d rather not,” I told her in all honesty.

  She kept looking at me.

  “Fine.” I quickly downed my beer. Noon had long passed, shadows w

  ere growing longer. A coolness hung in the air that belied the date. If I wanted to wax poetic, I might have gone with “the cold finger of death was present” but that seemed a little much. Azile and I climbed up into a small turret, crowding in with two archers. It was normally a one-man job, but the council felt it wise to double up on at least this night.

  “If one of you starts farting I’m tossing you out.” I told the two guards, neither seemed overly amused with my light-hearted threat. Then I began to wonder how I’d feel if the threat of mass-extinction was hanging over my head. I really had the social grace of an ox. The only plus side to this whole evening was how close I got to be to Azile; she smelled like an earthy blend of sage and lemongrass.

  CHAPTER 12 - Harbor’s Town

  The werewolves were kept on short leashes as their Lycan masters led them through the woods – the smell of the humans nearly driving the untamed hoard into a frenzy. Muzzles dripped with long spools of spittle. Large, yellow curved teeth glinted in the burgeoning moonlight. Choke collars were pawed at as werewolves did their best to howl through the constricting devices. Fires were burning all along the human wall-way. The smell of the smoke incited instinctual responses in Lycan and werewolf alike. For the Lycan it was fear, for the werewolf it was the pang for what was familiar and n ^ wrsesow lost.

  “Wait,” Xavier said as he walked among the werewolves.

  He loathed that he had to use them, that his race was not yet strong enough to destroy the humans grated on him. To use mankind against itself was a brilliant leap on his part, but he longed to be in the midst of the fight and not watching from the sidelines. He wanted to be there when man fell; not need to have the information relayed back to him. The werewolves cowered when he was in their presence, their tails tucked deeply between their legs, more than a few groveling in their fear urine, some whining uncontrollably. It was not lost on him that he was sending cowards to kill cowards.

  Then he remembered back to Yutu. That man had not been a coward. In fact, he welcomed his journey into the underworld and the great passing. To be a great leader he would have to remember not to underestimate his enemy – something he had not grasped quite yet. He waited a little while longer until the moon in all its intensity and cruel beauty was overhead.

  “Leave the collars on and release them,” he instructed his handlers.

  Three hundred werewolves raced across the fields that led into the small city. Stalks and crops folded under the assault as they were ground into the dirt. Farm animals were the first to warn of the danger as the silent enemy bounded towards them. Sheep bleated and ran as the herds were torn apart.

  “Stupid werewolves,” Xavier hissed as the alarm was being raised. “They could have been over the walls before anyone knew it. Now there will be a battle. More of them will die.”

  “Does it matter, my Lord?” One of the handlers asked. “It is still man killing man.”

  Xavier spun. “Y
ou, of all Lycan, should know the resources that went into capturing this many of the hairless ones. Housing them, feeding them, training them. Once this attack is over, the humans will be alerted to what we are attempting to do and it will be twice as difficult to round them up in numbers. If this doesn’t go well, more of us will die.”

  Yelling could be heard from the village. Questioning words quickly became cries of warning.

  Torches began to blaze. The twang of arrows being loosed was quickly being replaced by the sound of steel being drawn as the werewolves drew close. The cries of men were intermingled with the stunted grunting of the werewolves on the prowl.

  The moon was making its final descent when the screams began to tail off and diminish into the wind that pulled them away. By the time the Lycan strode in, the village had been destroyed; some structures still stood but would not make it through a winter untended. Bodies and parts of bodies littered the small street that led down the center of town. Werewolves were in the process of turning back into their more familiar form. Some were languishing in guilt and horror at the travesties they had performed mere moments ago.

  The werewolves would remember their actions through a haze of confusion and feral feelings. Some, if given the chance, would find ways to make sure they could never again perform these atrocities. Werewolves and humans, alike, who had been injured in the fight, were disposed of with impartial justice by the Lycan. The werewolves who had survived were rounded back up and leashed. Nearly a hundred had died in the attack. The residents of Harbor’s Town had suff cTowhadered far worse. What remained of the settlement was huddled in the town center, in a small, steeple-capped structure that served as the religious and governmental headquarters such as it was. There was a minor skirmish as the Lycan broke through the doors, two old men with pitchforks tried to keep them at bay.

  The fight was over before Xavier strode over. Women, children, and the infirm were pushed into the far corner as four Lycan closed in.

  “Take the women and anyone of middling years or greater, throw them in the cages with the other infected,” Xavier said, his guttural language not understood by the congregation.