His wheelchair pitched forward. Both Strajowskie and Keith leapt to assist.
Cannopolis shook his head as they approached and glanced at his right foot. “A remote’s built in. Pretty nifty technology.” He glanced back up, grinning. “I only made the private wheel me in to keep him from fucking off. Gotta keep these knuckleheads on their toes.”
“You’re like a child sometimes,” Strajowskie said.
“Maybe.” Cannopolis’ grin disappeared, his voice grave. “I came here to recount the events that happened that night. Something I’ve failed to mention yet. We aren’t dealing with our typical vampire prototype here. Beheading won’t work.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because they can reattach their severed limbs.”
Keith scrunched up his face. He’d never witnessed nor heard of such ability throughout his years of research. Brian had never mentioned it, either. Perhaps the general was high on copious pain medications and wasn’t thinking clearly? Or perhaps the creatures had done more damage in the attack than was initially suspected?
“You flew all the way out here to report this in person when a simple phone call would’ve sufficed?” Strajowskie asked.
“I had to show it to you myself. As I lay on the hospital bed, something tugged at me. Something I thought I’d heard or read regarding this same vampire talent. Back when you and Hammers and I ran together.” He maneuvered his wheelchair to the countertop and motioned with his head at the handle on the back. “Keith, could you retrieve the manila folder in the backpack please?”
Keith grabbed the folder and set it onto the countertop. Strajowskie hovered next to the general.
“Check it out.”
Keith obliged. The top of the newspaper clipping showed the date of July 21, 2041. A long article was beneath it, with the headline Vampires Real!
“Everything turned to shit that day and this article went unnoticed. But I recall reading it in my barracks on Fort Riley while we were on R and R, hours before the SADAH missions began.”
Keith perused the article. It was an intense interview with John Ashmore minutes after he burst forth from the cave, fleeing for his life. The stunned old man had recounted the tale in fragmented sentences. It was clear he was still in shock and some low-life reporter had seized the opportunity to get the story first.
“Fifth paragraph from the bottom.”
Keith read aloud, “It took its arm. Horrible sucking noise. Reattached it to itself. Another ran at me…” he trailed off, rereading the sentences in haste.
“John Ashmore was clearly delusional at the time,” Strajowskie commented.
Cannopolis shook his head. “He was in great shock, but he wasn’t delusional. This is legit.”
“So what the hell does it have to do with these beasts?”
“There it is, in black and white. An unusual trait for vampires but not unheard of.”
Keith’s mind whirled. The same strange ability, nearly a decade later. One, a homely female. The other, some Frankenstein monster of a vampire. There was no connection. He let his eyes wander, and his mind did likewise until his sight rested upon the microscope.
Holy shit. “The DNA!”
Strajowskie and Cannopolis stared at him.
“The DNA is the same.” He raced to the microscope. “The DNA. From the female that Ashmore killed. It’s the same as this beast.”
“Impossible, Manera. She died then and there. And you don’t have a way to compare it anyway.”
“Maybe they were related before their transformations?” Cannopolis inquired.
Keith shook his head. “They can’t be. Human DNA is wiped from existence once the vampire virus takes hold.”
He slouched. What was the connection? Both the beasts and the vampire killed seven years ago had the ability to reattach severed limbs. It was the virus, he was certain of it. But there was nothing connecting the two creatures to each other, and without that information, the puzzle couldn’t be completed.
A commotion arose outside the tent, breaking Keith from his thoughts. Loud, panicked shouts split the silence of the encampment, followed by horrendous screams and guttural growls.
“What the hell?” Strajowskie raced toward the entrance. He held the tent flaps open. The horizon was a pinkish haze. Two hours, and it would be nightfall. Strajowskie suddenly ducked. “Get down!”
Keith froze. A figure flew through the air above the president and slammed into the nearly-immobile Cannopolis. The stricken general went down in a tangle, crying out in pain. Keith crept forward and glanced at the tent flaps. Strajowskie was gone.
The figure atop Cannopolis jumped up, blocking the sunlight. It charged. Keith instinctively swung upward with his right arm to defend himself. His pincers sliced upward beneath the figure’s maw and remained embedded in flesh. Liquid flowed down his fake arm. He was glad he couldn’t feel it. He’d never been much for gore.
The figure howled like a wolf, gripped Keith’s real arm, and hauled him off his feet. Keith dangled inches before its face. It was one of the beasts. Far uglier and more powerful than he’d given them credit.
His pincers were jabbed into the flesh beneath its chin, stuck fast. He was attached to the creature.
There was movement at the entrance. The creature spun, still gripping Keith by the arm. Keith peered back over his shoulder, his heart pounding. Strajowskie stood inside the tent flaps, a full Ashmore brought to bear, an arrow notched, finger on the trigger.
“Shoot it!” Keith screamed.
“I don’t have a shot.”
“Just shoot it!”
“You’re in the way!”
Keith faced the creature and stared into its eyes. Smoldering hatred glared back, as if it sensed he was human and hated him for being so. A forked serpentine tongue snaked out and caressed his cheek. He shuddered. “Fucking shoot the goddamn thing!” he bellowed once more.
He heard the soft click of the trigger and closed his eyes, waiting for the arrow to plummet into his body. Stiff arms wrapped around his legs and tugged down. A breeze feathered the top of Keith’s shaved head. An arrow ripped into the creature’s right eye and exploded out of the back of its skull. Gore splattered the tent behind it.
The force of the shot propelled the creature backward. Arms held fast to Keith’s legs and his pincers ripped out of the creature, tearing a large hole in its lower jaw. He fell to the ground. Someone grunted. The creature fell in a thud a few feet away. Keith hopped up. Cannopolis was beneath him. He had somehow reached up with his casted limbs and pulled Keith to safety.
“I owe you,” Keith said as the creature stirred. He shivered and stared at his pincers, still covered in fleshy material, dripping green and black liquids.
“Help me back up. I’m like a fuckin’ turtle on its shell here.”
Strajowskie cursed as he approached, then helped Keith maneuver Cannopolis back into the wheelchair. The president then side-stepped his battered comrades and strode up to the quivering, screaming creature. He placed the Ashmore against its chest and pulled the trigger several times, until the creature stopped flopping altogether.
“These fuckers can withstand sunlight. Ever heard of that before?”
Keith shrugged. “Not that I can recall. Where the hell did it come from?”
“Outside. There are more.”
“They’re openly attacking us? Are they insane?” Cannopolis asked.
Strajowskie wiped sweat from his brow and hefted his Ashmore. “I’m about to find out.”
Chapter 26
Strajowskie threw the flaps aside and stepped out of the tent. Soldiers scampered about, shouting at each other, toppling over tents, tables and supplies in their haste. Several beasts tromped through the center of the encampment. The beasts uttered what could be construed as laughter as they toyed with their prey in the mass confusion.
A group of soldiers ran by, a stretching gangly beast in close pursuit. One soldier turned to square off against the creature.
A stretched arm raked the soldier’s face with razor-sharp claws, bowling him over. A giant hairy foot squashed the poor private’s head into the ground like a tomato. The remainder of the group all wheeled about, miniature Ashmores and broken table legs in hand.
The beast kicked one soldier in the stomach, doubling her over. It then reached out with one hand and tore another soldier’s head clean off with one simple tug.
The creature was feet away, oblivious to his presence. Strajowskie stepped up behind it, jabbed the Ashmore between its shoulder-blades, and fired three times. The beast slumped forward and crashed like a felled tree. The hulking thing crushed the body of the headless soldier in a sickening thud.
“Stand and fight! Go for the eyes and the heart! Do not be cowards! Serve your country and your race as you should!”
The soldiers looked at each other in confusion.
“Triangular formations of twenty or more. Stand firm!” Strajowskie shouted above the din of screaming, dying soldiers. The soldiers he spoke to still stared, the fear like a shroud draped over them. His anger surfaced. “Do you want to fucking live?”
The frightened soldiers nodded.
“Then do as I say! Find your commanding officers and spread the word!”
He stormed away, toward another disturbance where one beast was tossing soldiers like pebbles. Strajowskie reached the outer ring of soldiers who were attempting to subdue the beast. He shouted for them to get into triangle formation. They obliged, lining up like bowling ball pins in front of the creature. The foremost soldier was immediately ripped in half by the outraged creature. The next two in the formation were knocked aside by horrendous blows. Strajowskie—at the rear and outer right tip of the formation—side-stepped his soldiers and sprayed four arrows blindly.
One arrow struck the creature’s shoulder, halting its advance. The creature reached for the shaft and ripped it out, bits of flesh and muscle strung on the tip. As soon as it paused, the soldiers fanned out into a single line and harped on it with arrows. The creature slumped to the plains as the removed arrow fell from its palm.
Strajowskie climbed atop an intact table and surveyed the encampment. Everywhere beasts leapt, ran, stretched and howled in pleasure. Soldiers milled about the beasts, attempting to assemble formations. Before they were able to, they were ripped apart in droves, the beasts killing fifty humans for every one of their kind that succumbed to death. The sun basked the plains to the east, where figures continued to rush toward their camp.
He sighted a beast in a small divot in the plains on the outer perimeter toward the east. The creature was being attacked by only a handful of soldiers yet seemed to be in disarray. It raised its arms skyward. Arrows rained down from the assemblage of soldiers who stood five feet above it. It swung and stretched its arms, howling. Not a single arrow had lodged into it, yet it flailed as if struck.
The soldiers surrounded it, containing it to the divot, drowning it in offensive maneuvers. The creature continuously reared its head back, as if trying to peer above its ledge-like brow.
Strajowskie guffawed. He’d found yet another weakness.
He rushed back to the tent where Cannopolis and Manera paced (or rolled, in Cannopolis’ case) back and forth. “Manera, I have an important job for you.”
Keith straightened his posture and stopped pacing.
“I need you to find the nearest valley in proximity to this camp. Something with high bluffs on each side. A narrow passage between two hills would be ideal.”
“What about me?”
Strajowskie regarded his loyal general. It was hard to look at him in his current state. He could empathize with Arthur’s frustration and impatience to get back to the battlefield. But he dared not keep Cannopolis around lest he find himself alone with one of the newest vampire freaks.
“Ride with him. Search together. And use your little cell phone trick to get Lester back here faster than I can kill a dozen of these ugly motherfuckers.”
Keith whistled. “I’ve seen him take out twelve holograms in three minutes.”
“That’s nothing. I’ve seen him take out twelve real ones with one arrow,” Cannopolis said. “We better get a move on, Manera.”
Strajowskie chuckled and raced through the tent flaps, forming a plan to hold the creatures at bay until he could get to the battleground he desperately needed.
***
Brian ran at the wall and jumped, his body parallel to the floor. He called upon the winds. They hit him where he beckoned, holding him upright and at the same time propelling him forward, so that he was running on the wall. He then brought the gust up beneath him and kicked out, soaring through the air toward Barnaby’s chest.
Barnaby grabbed his leading foot in mid-air and held Brian suspended where he was.
Just what Brian had expected.
He rolled in mid-air—charged by a rolling wind he’d perfected, a current that acted similarly to a tornado but not nearly as grand in scale. The roll brought him out of Barnaby’s grasp. He kicked out and landed a foot on Barnaby’s jaw.
The vampire leader grunted and backed away. Brian dropped the winds and settled to the ground.
Barnaby wiped the cuff of his white ruffled sleeve over his mouth and smiled. “First blood. Good job.”
Brian crossed his arms over his chest. Muscles bulged beneath his shirt. His arms and chest were cut and lean after a week of training and regular feeding from the moat. His stomach was almost a six-pack, his legs becoming solid like tree trunks. It was difficult to fathom that he’d been a flabby human just two weeks prior. He hardly recalled what it was like to be alive anymore, in human terms.
“I must commend you for your mastery of levitation manipulation, Koltz. I have never seen anyone become acclimated so quickly to that particular ability before.”
“I suppose, as usual, you still would’ve won?”
“Of course.”
They chuckled simultaneously and walked beside each other to the statue in the middle of the chamber. The gaping hole from their first sparring match had already been repaired. Brian wouldn’t have thought it possible to have such materials on hand, but Barnaby’s resources and finances appeared limitless.
“I apologize for the short notice, but our training sessions must be put on hold for a while. I have a business trip that will take me out of the area for some time. Father Stephenson will be the liaison in my stead. If you need anything, find him. He will be at the library as usual.”
Brian couldn’t contain his curiosity. “Do you mind if I ask where it is you’re going? In case anyone asks?”
“Everyone has secrets,” Barnaby said, waggling his finger, “and this one, unfortunately, I cannot share.”
Brian shrugged in understanding. He’d grown fond of Barnaby, finding the rumors of his abhorrent, vile personality to be heresy. Sure, he’d witnessed Barnaby lose his temper several times, had seen his eyes glow with unabridged hatred. But he also knew, as a vampire especially, emotions weren’t easily controlled. He had no reason not to trust the vampire leader, and his business was nobody else’s business.
“It has been an honor to watch your progression, but I must take my leave now and prepare for my journey,” Barnaby said as they approached the chamber door. “You may do as you choose whilst I am away. Ruby as well. The grounds are yours. I only ask that you keep commotions to a minimum in my absence.”
Brian clapped the Undead leader on the back. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about us.” He wished Barnaby a safe trip and they shook hands.
He sped out of the chamber, thrilled about besting his mentor for once. He was in his room within seconds. When he entered, Ruby hopped up from her bed, squealed, and ran at him. She jumped and latched onto him like a koala bear hugging a tree. He caught her legs around his waist with ease.
She kissed him passionately, then dislodged her lips and stared into his eyes. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
“How’d it go?”
/>
“Practicing here in our room paid off.” He beamed with pride and lowered her lithe body to the floor. “He played right into the flying kick.”
“You got him, then? You beat him?”
“One hit and it was over.” He stepped past her and fell onto the bed, neither weary nor exhausted.
“Does this mean you’ll be training more every day now?”
Brian shook his head and sank deeper into the down pillow. “I doubt it. And Barnaby’s leaving for a few days anyway. Said he had some kind of business trip to attend to.” He winked at her. “He also said you need to stay out of trouble while he’s gone.”
“Right. Like I’m the one who causes trouble around here.” Ruby plopped onto the bed next to him and ran her fingers through his hair. “So what are we going to do during your little vacation?”
He raised both eyebrows twice and Ruby slapped his chest.
“Okay, okay, so maybe nothing like that,” he said between chuckles. “I don’t know. Relax, view the sites. We haven’t had a chance to explore since our first tour of Haven. Maybe we could go out and play pool and drink beer like normal people again.”
Ruby giggled. “I don’t think we’ll ever be considered normal again.”
They lay in comfortable silence then, fingers laced together on Brian’s chest. Their relationship had flourished in the past few days, so much so that Brian could hardly believe they hadn’t always been this intimate. His soaring confidence had finally broken down his walls of solitude and allowed Ruby in. Closer than he had imagined.
Of course, their relationship hadn’t progressed to the level of intimacy a human relationship might. No human—aside from perverted necrophiliacs—wanted to have sex with a corpse.
But Ruby could’ve fooled him on that one.
Her smile faded. “What about your work? Isn’t that what this has all been about?”
He broke from his musings. The platelet mushroom. The negotiations. Saving the world. He’d forgotten about all of that, so wrapped up in his new life, his new body, his shifting emotions. “Shouldn’t I keep training and get used to being what I am first?”
The Human-Undead War Trilogy (Book 1): Dark Intentions Page 19
