by Tufo, Mark
“Coming in hot!” I yelled to those waiting in the town. I was running like the hounds of hell were chasing us, which was pretty much a truism.
“Fools!” Bailey yelled as her rifle began to shout its protests.
I could hear thuds of animals falling behind me. If I stumbled, they would have be on me. I thought darkly of the old zombie adage, ‘I didn’t need to be the fastest to get away, just faster than the other guy’. Unfortunately right now Tommy had two steps on me. It was hard reconciling how a kid of his size could be so damn fast. We were through the first balustrades; Bailey’s men had taken to arms giving us more of a cushion.
“Have fun?” Azile asked as I got to her.
“A lot of words,” I said breathlessly, “that I could use…fun ain’t one of them.”
Azile’s face was flushed, I watched her as a trembling went through her body. She raised her arms over her head. Light flooded her hands; a fire that produced no heat enveloped them. With a heavy exhalation she thrust the cold flame forward. The yelps of the werewolves could be heard as the flame hit the ground and spread, sending up a yellow-red wall of wildfire nearly ten feet tall. Unlike Azile, those that were caught in it began to burn. The animals ran wildly looking for a way to extinguish the conflagration.
“That’s handy,” I said, catching my breath. I could feel the intense heat even from this distance.
“It won’t last,” she said with great pains.
“Game on.” I tried my best to get put a brave face on.
The ones that had been chasing us were merely one of the many cells of werewolves; we had decimated that group, but there were plenty more to take up the fight. Futility seemed like a pretty good word. The four gunslingers had to pull back and were repositioning from the heat. A lot of the townsfolk had that look in their eye that had me doubting if they would stand their ground. However, there weren’t too many choices – stand and die, run and die. One just made you more tired when you went to meet your maker.
“They’re comingeyie,!” someone off to our right shrieked.
My son Justin would have been so proud. We had affectionately called him Captain Obvious for always ringing out what was right in front of you. How I wished I could good-naturedly call it to his face. The witch-fire began to flag, much like a propane tank on its last legs and always just as you put the steak on the grill. The many-legged, furry blur loping towards us was in a frenzy, all snarling mouths, and long teeth flashing wickedly. Claws upraised, they raced across the small clearing. So intent were they on their prey that they paid no heed to the logs planted into the ground. The first wave slammed into them, with more than a few impaling themselves all the way through.
Their bays of frustration broke the still of the night. The moon was hanging swollen and pregnant, shining brilliantly upon the horizon as the war for Wheatonville had begun. Werewolves began to hurdle over their fallen brethren and into our second surprise. I had instructed Bailey to dig a trench about ten feet wide around the entire fencing structure we had erected. It wasn’t deep – just enough to drive wooden spikes into, pointy part up. Werewolves leaped or scrambled up and over our first line of defense only to find their feet impaled.
Three or four townsfolk would run in and deliver deadly blows before the monsters could extradite themselves. Cries on both sides rang out as werewolves fought savagely even stuck to the ground as they were. One swipe from those thickly muscled arms was enough to decapitate a full-grown man. Bailey’s men held onto their bullets as long as they could before sending the precious projectiles downrange, it would be mere moments before they joined us in the sword brigade. It was starting to look like the world’s largest and deadliest steeplechase as werewolves propelled themselves over first the logs and then their dead and dying kind stuck on the impalers. The first ones over the stone wall and into the town seemed almost lost at first as they were trying to acquire targets.
None were close just yet, but that was only a matter of time. Azile’s arms shot out to my own. I turned to look and noticed that she seemed exhausted to the point where she had done so to keep from falling over.
“You alright?” I asked, only sparing a glance, anything more than that was not wise at the moment.
“Fine, fine,” she told me.
I begged to differ. “Want me to get you to somewhere safe?”
“If you know of some place, let me know.” She smiled wanly.
“The fire, she needs to recover,” Tommy said, filling in the blanks.
And then, we were in the thick of it. I don’t know if we looked tastier than the rest, or if the werewolves had particular instructions. Maybe we looked like the biggest threat and they wanted to be rid of us. Five of them were heading our way. Tommy and I silently separated slightly lest we inadvertently catch steel from each other.
“What I wouldn’t do for my AR,” I said as I dug in, hunched down to make a smaller target, keeping the edge of my blade outward. This wasn’t the all-out assault we were used to seeing; they were approaching cautiously, almost tentatively. They knew something, this seemed like containment, keeping us bottled up while the rest laid waste. “Fuck that!” I yelled as I ran at them. Tyan atipical Talbot, act first think later. One against five was going to get me killed no matter my prowess. Two against five was about even as Tommy caught up.
“I’d almost forgotten how you go about your business,” he said wryly.
“Damn fool!” Bailey shouted coming alongside.
“She knows,” I told him, and then I slashed out, severing a hand right above the wrist.
I spun and was able to put my sword up in time as a heavy arm sent me sprawling. The beast pounced thinking I was down. I drove the sword through its chest, and once again found myself on the ground, this time pinned under roughly two hundred and fifty pounds of something that smelled strangely like wet dog. The thing flicked off of me as Tommy grabbed it by the scruff and tossed it away. Bailey had drilled one in the forehead and now it was three on three. It just kept getting stranger as the three remaining began to back up, Tommy advanced.
And then it struck me, if I took longer than a blink to think shit through I would have figured out what was going on. It was a diversion, and Azile was the target. No matter how lofty I thought of myself, I was just hired muscle as was Tommy and Bailey. Azile was the prize – if she went down, everything would fall apart. It really is a chore being this damn stupid. No sooner had I pulled myself free from the werewolf and I was up and sprinting back towards the way we had come. Tommy hacked at one that was determined to follow and stop me. Bailey couldn’t get off a clean shot and was using her bayonet to hold the other two off.
Three I hadn’t seen before had circled around and were approaching Azile from the back, she seemed completely unaware. Her eyes half-closed, hands held up about to her waist, palms facing heavenwards. It was possible she was saying something, but I was running entirely too fast to make out such a small detail. The shockwave caught me mid-flight. I had launched when I realized I was going to come up short in my intercept course. One moment I was leaping headlong towards Azile with the express intent of knocking her over, the next, a wall of wind forced me off course. It was like a bomb had gone off and I was caught in the concussive wave. I was really getting sick of being knocked off my feet.
The werewolves who had been closer seemed to be suffering more. They were stirring – but not quickly – blood leaking from their ears. When I realized I could hear nothing, not cries nor screams, or the clang of metal, I figured my eardrums had been punctured as well. I did not have the time to reach up and touch the sticky fluid I knew would be coming down the side of my face. I wasn’t entirely sure what was keeping Azile standing. She was swaying like wheat in a gale. The maneuver had bought me some time, it looked as if one of the werewolves would never move again, I wondered if she had fried his brain. Then I wondered if I had been close enough that she had done that to me, although with all the illegal substances I had used over the years, i
t would be doubtful if anyone would notice a difference.
I had no idea if she had planned it this way, but she collapsed just as a mighty paw swept over where her head had been. It would be cool to think she pulled off a ninja move like that, but she hit the ground hard and didn’t look like she was going to get up for a while. My sword caught the werewolf between the third and fourth finger and sliced through its hand and halfway up its forearm. It was a gruesome injury, half of its forearm sloughed off. It wrenched back pulling my sword with it. I was without my weapon and hadned h anfway upt felt quite so naked since that one time I had almost been caught with my girlfriend back when we were both sixteen and her father had come home from work early. The couch had seemed like a perfectly acceptable place to have a heavy petting session. Hell, at sixteen, where doesn’t seem like a good place?
***
The werewolf was swinging his arm back and forth trying to dislodge the steel imbedded in him. Blood was spraying in great arcs as he did so. A kid, who I guess was trying to make a name for himself, came to my rescue. He had a pitchfork, a fucking pitchfork! It was like the Polish riding into battle on horseback against a German Panzer division. The kid saved my ass, but I’m sure in no fashion he had ever figured on.
The werewolf sheered half his face off. The young man’s left eye rolled upwards even as that half of his face fell away. I’d seen some inherently disgusting things in my long life, and at this very moment, that had the dubious award of being the worst. A deli meat slicer couldn’t have done it with any more precision. Facial muscles rippled wetly and glowed dully in the moonlight; damaged just enough that he couldn’t pull that side of himself into a scream. It looked like a doctor’s diorama, and that’s what I was going to go with no matter what my nightmares said to the contrary.
His weapon of choice was flung from his hands and to my feet…which I gladly picked up. The handle was slick with blood, and as far as I was concerned it was werewolf blood and not facial. Again, I’m entitled to dilute my horrors as best I see fit. I rolled and jammed at least three of the tines through the soft skin under the lupine’s chin, driving its muzzle to a closed position. The handle shuddered as I went further and then through the roof of its mouth and into its brain where the beast finally stilled.
The boy had fallen next to me, his one undamaged eye looking up, pleading with me for help or to help him end his misery. Neither thing could I do for him now as I yanked the pitchfork free. My sword was tantalizingly close; unfortunately, the next werewolf was even closer. I only had enough time to hold the handle up in a defensive posture, which it summarily bit in half.
“Not cool,” I said as I backed away.
His teeth were snapping faster than those stupid little chattering gag teeth we all thought were so cool when we were seven. Now, well…not so much. From the way I had pivoted, I could see that Tommy and Bailey were not going to be able to help anytime soon, and I saw no more wannabe heroes heading my way. I hurled the broken wooden half at the werewolf. He, she…it…shrugged it off. I had about a foot of handle attached to the end of my pitchfork. It was about as unwieldy a weapon as I’d ever held, and yet it was all that separated me from certain death.
The only thing I had going for me was that they were fairly predictable – forward it would come. But now it had the reach, if this was a prizefight, advantage went over to him. A claw raked across my chest, ripping through my heavy jacket, my burlap shirt, and across my chest, leaving a trail of blood and fire-lanced pain. I winced and stepped back before he could open the wound further. This was not going according to plan, although that’s a huge assumption. I mean the part about me having a plan to begin with.
ince size="+0">I knew what I had to do, but just because you know you have to get a root canal doesn’t mean you want to. I had to take one for the team; I let my guard down just enough that the werewolf’s next swipe caught me flush on the top part of my arm. I’m not sure how it didn’t break, but I didn’t have too much time to think about it as my feet lifted from the ground. For two shining seconds I was Superman as I flew through the air. I sure as shit didn’t get as high as a tall building, though. I landed close to my sword and THAT was actually what I was hoping for. I may have lost a millisecond or two marveling that it had actually worked as I reached out and snagged it.
The werewolf was on me before I stopped rolling. This time, though, I had a weapon in each hand. With my right sword-clad hand I returned the favor to his mid-section; although I think I paid him back with some interest as I saw the thick muscle walls peel back. The slice was nearly a foot across and an inch or so deep. Might as well have shot him with a bb gun for all the ‘give-a-shit’ he gave.
“Well, if that didn’t get your attention…this will.” I jumped, driving the tines of the pitchfork into its open mouth. He tried to howl, but when your uvula is pinned in the back of your throat it can be somewhat of a bitch. I slit his throat to save him the trouble. As he dropped down, I grabbed my pitchfork and pulled it out. It was a crappy weapon for the most part, but I liked the comfort it afforded me. As much as I wanted to celebrate my small triumph, I did not have that luxury. I turned towards Azile. She was still lying on the ground in her crumpled form. A massive werewolf stood over her swiping furiously.
It looked to me, like he had horrible depth perception, because he was few inches short of his mark. He snarled when he saw me coming, but that did not deter him from his single-minded mission in the least. Fine with me. I pulled my arm all the way back before I swung. My blade bit deeply into his neck. I severed head from body as neatly as one can do something so grisly. His body fell forward, sliding down whatever barrier Azile had between herself and the outside world, blood smeared the clear cocoon.
“Azile?” I asked softly. She was unmoving.
I dropped the pitchfork. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to get around the shield, but apparently it was not designed to stop vamps. I grabbed her around the waist and, as gently as I could, saddled her over my shoulder. She seemed so light, like maybe she had drained herself of substance. I didn’t know if that was possible. But I knew as much about witchcraft as I did about women in general, so not so much.
I stood up. I did not like what I was seeing; werewolves were pouring in and people were pulling back. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard a shot, but now that I looked on the scene, I wasn’t hearing much of anything. I ran back to the final rally place, the Church of Bob – I’m not going to even go into that at this point. Let’s just call it the last sanctuary for the old and the young. There were men nervously patrolling the building that wasn’t much more than a log cabin. The walls were stout enough, but nothing short of a foot of concrete was going to stop the werewolves.
“Get her inside!” I needlessly yelled into the ear of the man closest to me. He heard me just fiarde werene. “She dies you die!” I shouted again. He blanched. I truly hadn’t meant it as a threat; I was merely implying that the only way they could get through to her was over his dead body. Whatever worked I supposed. If we didn’t stop the werewolves, nobody was going to be around to defend anything.
He nodded vigorously. “Ye-ye-yes, sir.”
“Where are the archers?” I asked, trying my best not to shout in his face. I saw how little I was succeeding by the amount of spittle I shot at him. He pointed towards my left. The archers were basically old men not capable of wielding anything heavier, although the bows at a seventy-five-pound draw, were no joke. It had been decided to use them as a last means of defense. I determined on the spot that, by that time, it would be too late.
“Let’s go!” I told them, motioning with my arm. There were eleven or so. “The arrows!” I said after more than a few left their baskets of projectiles behind. “You have got to be kidding me.”
The fight was waging all around us as I headed for the city gates. “Alright, we’re going to do this like the British,” I told them. They stared at me, probably wondering if the blood leaking from my ears was mixed w
ith my brain matter.
“Six in front, here!” I pointed with my sword. “Five right behind them. When the front bowmen shoot, you will get down and nock an arrow. While you’re doing that, the back row will fire. We will keep doing that until you’re out of arrows or dead. Do you understand?”
“I’m hard of hearing,” one of the older men shouted back, “not stupid! Let me take Dellard’s place. He’ll never be able to squat and stand.”
“Fine, fine hurry up.”
Werewolves were attracted to a group this size. Maybe we wouldn’t be the tastiest morsels out there, but there were enough of us to make it worthwhile. A group of them were heading our way, knocking each other over in an attempt to get to the feast first.
“Fire!” I said needlessly as the front line loosed their first volley. Yelps of pain erupted from the throng coming our way. It was funny that, of all the things and noises going on, the one thing I heard distinctly were the pops and creaks of old knees doing things they were unaccustomed to as the men knelt.
“Fire!” I told the second group. Werewolves skidded to a halt with arrows protruding from their bodies.
A couple of men stayed on the ground and fired from there. I was surprised at the strength they exhibited to do that. One of them was laughing as if this were the funniest thing in the world. Or the craziest, I figured.
“Fire at will!” I shouted, not that they were listening anyway, they had figured the rhythm of it out easy enough. Shoot or die, pretty basic.
“Don’t shoot me!” I begged as I moved off to the side and slightly in front.
“Don’t get in the way,” one of them replied.
“Comforting,” I replied as I hacked at a werewolf coming. He had one arrow driven straight through his cheek and another lodged deep in his calf. It would not take a third to drop him as I struck his upper thigh, my arms shivering as the steel collided with femur. We were on the main thoroughfare, the buildings keeping our flanks relativelank and anoty protected. The werewolves only had one avenue of approach, and I was going to use that to our maximum advantage.
