by Mark Tufo
At any rate, I had no doubt I was in a fight for my very existence, my life meant little without my soul, but my physical existence? Well, that meant everything; without it, I stood no chance of getting back what was mine. This was a battle where I could neither run nor lash out. Kind of put a nix on the whole fight or flight response. I was not a shaman nor a spell conjurer. What was in my repertoire that would give me even a remote chance of walking away from this?
A face somehow began to crowd forward through the congealed mass, making room where there had been none. Looked like an old fucking train in India, the apparitions were piled on top of each other, jostling for position. My breath caught in my throat even as my heart rate accelerated, definitely not a good combination.
“Melanie?” It was my niece, specifically, my brother Ron’s daughter. She had died at nearly the onset of the zombie invasion. Of all the people I’d personally put into the ground, she could in no way be included among them, could she? I’d had the vast misfortune to stumble upon her in her zombie form. I’d put a bullet in her head with the intention of ending her obvious suffering. But we never really knew...could she still have been in there? Was she conscious when her uncle ripped through her thoughts with a lead booster? Any confusion over why I killed her could definitely lead to enmity.
“I’m so sorry.” If not for Oggie in my arms, I would have tried to reach out and touch her. Tears blurred my vision. Her mouth opened incredibly wide, to the point where it looked cartoonish, though there was nothing funny about it. It was the cavernous opening to an unheard scream. Or so I thought. A single word, so soft it could have been delivered on the wings of a moth, flitted by my ear.
“Run.”
Your dead niece shows up in a sea of your enemies and tells you to run? I didn’t question it. I was on the fucking move in the millisecond it took to send the signal to my muscles. She hadn’t been specific so I figured one direction was as good as another, or maybe she hadn’t had the time to be overly detailed. The spot I had just vacated lit up in a firestorm of arcing blues and yellows. As I broke through the first ring of figures, I felt an icy compression around my heart as if someone had reached in and were squeezing it off-rhythm in an effort to cancel out the pumping of my blood. I stumbled, I was going down; having your heart tortured by a freezing grip tends to trip you up. I twisted to the side, mindful not to hurt Oggie. He launched from my arms before I landed. My hip struck what I figured was the ground, this was immediately followed by my elbow and then a concussive blow to my head. Oggie’s muzzle wrapped around my upper arm as he began to pull me farther away from where I’d fallen.
My head was spinning like I’d downed a twelve pack of cheap beer and then had the good fortune to get kicked by a mule. Like a prize fighter on the mat, I knew that to have any chance of winning I needed to be vertical and the tempest raging around me wasn’t going to give me a ten count or a standing eight to get my shit back together. Oggie was pulling, I was scrambling. My legs were kicking out as I reached for dirt, roots, anything to grab a handful of and keep moving. A chorus cry of anguish arose on the air from the spot I’d left. Could have been they were celebrating what they assumed was my demise, or maybe they’d just discovered they had not succeeded. I did not think going back to get a clearer explanation was a good idea. My extremities and my heart were moving at unparalleled speeds yet my actual movements seemed to be mired in mud. I was feeling like a cartoon coyote flailing in mid-air to keep aloft. I don’t know if it was the place I found myself in or that my attempts at locomotion were too spastic, but I had no form of coordination nor forward momentum.
What I did know was that the blue arcs were spreading out, looking for yours truly as I started to roll. Tucking my appendages in and spinning my torso seemed about the only way I could get some steam going. Oggie was barking like mad; one second he was next to my head going off so loud I thought my eardrums were in danger of bursting, the next he sounded like he was at the end of a long tunnel, then not half a revolution later, silence. Well, except for the crackle of lightning looking to fry my ass from this small sliver of hell. I kept going, vertigo was playing havoc within me, but that meant I was still alive, so I rolled with it. (Horrible pun—but that’s how I think when I’m terrified.) I was in the midst of a battle with an enemy that was already dead. What could I possibly do to stop them from harming me? The ground sizzled next to me, a puff of burnt something wafted over me, it was completely unpleasant, and I’m being serious here—it had a distinct sulfur scent to it.
I was nearing my physical limits, when the strong smell of Satan’s ass was replaced by pine...and elm...and oak. And best of all, lavender. It was Azile. She was standing above me, a look of astonishment mingled with relief on her face.
“You come here often?” I said suavely as I came to a stop on my back and looked up at her. I lay perfectly still. My stomach and my head were in concert, if I moved even a fraction of an inch more there would be penalties assessed. I was breathing heavily and trying to make it look like everything was fine and I was in complete control.
“I specifically said do not get into any trouble, Michael!” Azile said, she was producing her own fireworks; at least they smelled good.
My eyes were closed as I did my best to halt the spinning. “Yeah, because we know that’s going to happen.”
She turned away from giving me a hard time. Her hands were up; she was doing something witchy, speaking an incantation in hushed tones. Then it was my turn again. “This your doing?”
I didn’t answer; I think she already knew. I hoped this was just her concern bleeding through. Plus, to say something at that moment would have entailed talking through the sweet water that was accumulating in my mouth. What’s that, you ask? Well, sweet water is those jets of spit that shoot up from the back of your throat to lubricate the works before you send up the more violent jet sprays of bile. Clear enough? Should I continue? Suffice to say I stayed silent.
“Bailey, Mathieu, could you please move him farther away?”
Bailey leaned down and grabbed my shoulders, she pulled back quickly. “Are you alright Michael Talbot?” she whispered as she did so. These were the first kind words she’d spoken to me since the tunnel. She finished with, “It appears that even the underworld is afraid of you.”
“It’s a start, I suppose,” I said as she roughly deposited me a good fifty feet from where she’d started. I felt good enough to sit up.
“Would you like some jerky?” Mathieu had got down on his haunches and was looking me in the face.
I smacked my lips. I couldn’t tell if I was hungry or sick. Hunger won out, I grabbed a fistful and shoved it in my mouth.
“You alright?” I asked after eating my piece and thanking him for it.
“I do not suffer any after-effects, if that is what you are asking, although I was only in there a short time in comparison to you.”
“You beat me out by a few minutes. By the way, how did you get out?” I asked.
“It has been three days Michael.”
“What?” I stood up quickly, maybe a little too quickly. My head swam, I wobbled. Mathieu had stood with me and steadied me on my feet.
“Bailey, myself, and your betrothed have been here the entire time. I confess that I have slept on occasion, but the other two have not. Bailey had to be restrained from getting a hunting party and going in after you.”
“Really? Bailey needed to be stopped? I figured if she was going to get a hunting party it would be to finish me off.”
“She loves you,” he said as he tore through a large piece of dried meat. I swear his teeth elongated and sharpened as he fought through a particularly fibrous hunk. Did he have that sort of mastery? Was he getting to the point where he could turn at will, like the Lycan? I was trying to decide if that was terrifying or terrific. The phonetically similar words went back and forth in my mind; their meanings were so different. Yet perhaps it was both.
I was finally able to let go of Mathieu’
s shoulder. Behind us in the woods, the angry red pulsing that was the death mass had calmed down to a bluish purple, a color that reminded me of an aging bruise. I briefly considered asking Azile if she needed any help, but for once I let higher reasoning work through my frontal lobe and dictate a semblance of sanity. I wisely hung back and watched. Mathieu had turned to watch as well. I felt powerless, but on top of that, I was spent. I honestly don’t know how much I could have done, even if I was called upon.
“Only you, Michael, only you!” Azile had turned and was looking at me.
“What the fuck did I do now?” I asked of Mathieu, quietly. He backed away two steps and then moved to the side.
“I have seen that look before, my friend. I am going to see if I can stick my head in a boiling pot of water somewhere. That seems safer.”
“Asshole,” I told his retreating form.
“A benign confluence turned to a murderous swirl of poltergeists!”
“I didn’t do anything,” I said weakly in my defense.
“You...you don’t need to do anything. Your presence alone alters all around you. Your fate is so tightly tied to that of the world that you pull everything along with you!”
“How the fuck is this my fault? You came and got me! Tommy came and got me! I wanted to be left out of this shitfest! That was my desire, to wither away into obscurity! To be mired in my own pity and self-righteousness! I do not want this war and I certainly don’t want to drag others along for the ride!”
“You have no choice!” I could feel a charge building around her, whether she meant to or not, she was summoning powers.
My voice got low. “Do not, do not ever tell me I do not have a choice. Xavier can eat to his fucking heart’s content, he can swarm all over these shitty little settlements. These people, these cattle, mean nothing to me. Look how well they care for us! Not so very long ago they were trying to kill us, even as we attempted to help them. Now that we need them, they watch as we die outside their gates. In less than two weeks we will find ourselves stuck between their walls and the gnashing teeth of a werewolf army. I have given my wife, my children, my family, my fucking soul for war. What has it given me in return? Eternal damnation? The scorn of those around me? These people. They either hate me or are afraid of me or a healthy combination of the two. And to be honest, they are right to have those feelings. Most times I can’t decide if I want to turn away or kill them where they stand. That’s the line I walk every second of every day. I don’t have the energy or desire to keep up that kind of restraint.”
“Where are the things,” I said, softer now, “that make us better humans? Music, not to drive armies but to stir our hearts; poetry that moves our souls; literature that inspires our minds.... Art? Where the fuck is Art? Are we not human? Why has only the worst in man survived? How is any of this worth saving if none of the good can rise above? While the French were lopping off heads, Michelangelo was painting the Sistine Chapel; light has always stood to counter evil. Eating, sleeping, shitting, procreating, that’s not enough! I will not give what’s left of my humanity without the hope of securing something better from our victory in return! Always, in every fucking alien invasion movie I have ever watched, they could not or would not kill all the people because mankind has this inherent goodness, a will to create magnificent things. Beauty lies somewhere in our hearts and it supersedes all the depraved actions that we are capable of, and unfortunately, act upon. I want—no, I fucking NEED to know where good is! Otherwise, fuck it.”
“Are you done railing on the poor injustices that have befallen your world?” She asked. I think I would have rather she said nothing, though I don’t think it would have mattered what she’d said or done. There was no right or wrong answer.
I laughed, I laughed heartily. I mean, to the point tears were coming down my face. “Thank you for that,” I told her once I finally got myself under some semblance of control. “Let’s go, Oggie.” Nobody said anything as we left, though I could feel their eyes on us. I walked towards the remnants of the Talboton inhabitants, through their encampment, past the gates and walls of Denarth, and into the woods. I was going home.
Chapter 3
Xavier
“I DO NOT know what it is about their roasted meat that tastes so succulent.” Xavier pulled a charred ribbon of muscle off a large thigh. He was sitting on a bench in the center of town. Normally, it could accommodate three people; he was having a hard time getting comfortable. Once he was done stripping the meat, he tossed the bones to the side and grabbed another shank from the captive woman that had been tasked with preparing his meals. She was terrified every time she got anywhere near the beasts, but especially this one, the one they called their King.
“The clans have not eaten this well in a very long time,” Teton, the second in command said.
“I told you this was the way of it. We have our slave werewolves do the work and we collect the bounty.” He drooled as he masticated a large gristly piece.
“I have heard grumblings, Xavier.”
“Are they never happy? We are near to ruling the world and yet they complain?”
Teton continued. “They do not like that we turn so much potential food stock into the tainted ones.”
“Would they rather be on the front lines themselves? Dying by man’s fire sticks? Is that better than going a bit hungry?”
“We are not shepherds, Xavier, nor farmers. We do not tend to livestock or grow crops. We do not allow others to provide for us when we can do for ourselves. We are hunters, Xavier.”
Xavier stopped eating and looked at Teton. “Is it really others grumbling, Teton, or is it you?”
“I do not like having my food burned. I do not like these filthy peasants handling what I eat. They reek of fear and shit.” He threw a bone towards the servant, who cowered at the edge of the firelight.
“We are becoming civilized. Do you not like being civilized?” Xavier snapped a femur between his powerful jaws as easily as if it were a toothpick. “If you do not like the direction I am bringing the clans, then perhaps you should do something about it!” He grumbled as he stood, his chest puffed out, his long powerful arms hanging by his side. There were a few tense seconds as Teton debated his next course of action. Finally he turned his head away and displayed his neck in an act of submission.
“I thought as much.” Xavier sat back down. “Has the Talbot man been found yet?”
“We have searched everywhere, but these beings all look the same. I have a hard enough time just telling the men from women, they are such small, pathetic looking things.”
“This one is different, him you will recognize. The Old Ones cannot be mistaken for chattel. They are more like us than they are their own kind. And I...I have a certain respect for this one. I believe when the time comes, I will kill him quickly. I have a feeling that he will welcome that release.”
“When do you wish to begin the march on the next settlement? Our brother, the moon, will be at his high point in seven days.”
“I would like to stay in my conquest for a couple more days. We will push the people hard as time dictates.”
“We will lose more than a few if we move before they have turned.”
“I care not of their deaths. They should be content that they are dying for such a noble cause as ours.”
Teton could only think of the waste of so much delicious human flesh, though he was wise enough to stay silent. He had tested his boundaries enough for the day, to further his complaints could end up with him being replaced in a most prejudiced way.
A battered, naked man, barely able to stand, came trotting over to the two Lycan.
“What do you want, food?” Xavier asked with contempt.
The man trembled as he spoke. “I was sent to tell you that people have come and they are out in the field.”
“More food? Wonderful,” Xavier said as he stood and rubbed his large paws together. He pushed the man over violently. There was a loud snap and screams as the man
cradled his broken arm; Xavier smiled at the sound. He strode onto a section of the ramparts that still stood. His pulse quickened as he looked upon a hundred or more humans, all in possession of weapons. “This is impossible!” he roared. “Talboton and its inhabitants have been destroyed!”
“They carry with them a white cloth,” Teton pointed out. “They wish to parlay.”
“I do not discuss terms with my food. Does the bear ask the fish for its demands? The mountain lion heed the rabbit? No! Ready the Lycan.”
“The humans are armed for battle. It is not our way to war.”
“You are quickly outliving your purposefulness.”
“It hurts nothing to talk with them while we prepare ourselves; it may throw them off their guard.”
“Your words carry wisdom, though I cannot detect whether they are spoken in fear. Perhaps you need a lesson in courage.” Xavier jumped over the wall and landed gracefully outside the relative protection of the town walls. A wave of alarm spread through the people yet they stood their ground as the massive Lycan approached. A woman clad in leather armor stepped forward to meet him.
“I am Inuktuk of the Landian tribe. Your presence here intrudes upon the peace and tranquility of this land.”
“I care not for your peace. What was once yours is now mine. Everything that you once held dear will be gone.”
“I see that you do not know the depths to which we will go to protect our mother earth,” she said forcibly.
“The scourge of man will finally be brought to heel!” Xavier said as he raised his arm high.
Inuktuk looked to her left and gave a slight nod. In seconds, horrified screams could be heard coming from within Talboton.
