The Human-Undead War Trilogy (Book 1): Dark Intentions

by Jonathan Edwardk Ondrashek

  He inched ever closer to the end of the hallway, where it spilled into the reception area. His breath came out in shallow puffs. In between siren wails, he heard muffled whispers. He held his Ashmore steady with his good hand and tensed.

  He inhaled, mustered up his courage, and pounced around the corner into the reception room.

  And smacked into a body that barred the way.

  Without meaning to, he fired his Ashmore point-blank into the intruder’s shoulder. There was a grunt, then a fist slammed into his chest. Keith flew backward and sprawled onto the floor in the hallway he’d just exited.

  Another figure emerged from the darkness behind the first one. Both stepped forward, bathed in the red glow of alarm strobes.

  Keith gasped.

  Brian and Ruby gasped in return.

  “That’s no way to greet an old friend,” Brian shouted above the sirens. He looked thinner yet more muscular.

  Was it the red hue from the sirens or did he look paler too?

  Keith jumped back to his feet and shouted, “You guys scared the shit outta me. You should’ve announced yourselves.” He motioned with his crossbow at the arrow jutting out of Brian’s shoulder. “Sorry,” was all he could think to say. He glanced around, still tense. “Stay behind me. There’s been another breach.”

  “No need to call in the big guns.” Brian reached over and pulled the arrow out of his shoulder without wincing. The small wound sealed over with new skin instantaneously.

  Keith stared, slack-jawed.

  Brian dropped the arrow to the floor and grimaced. “Can we please turn these alarms off before my ears start to bleed?”

  Chapter 28

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  Brian shifted on his feet, glad the general was incapacitated in the body cast. “I understand more about the Undead now. More than your—our—human research could ever show. I can use this in my studies. And I can finally create the platelet, whether it takes a day or a decade.”

  “You’ve fucking lost it,” Cannopolis grumbled, nodding.

  Ruby crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the general. If there was a stare and a stance that made Brian feel even smaller, she was the one who could pull it off. “I support his decision. You should too.”

  Brian willed his sight to infrared. Cannopolis was a steady red and yellow glow. Ruby was an intense multi-color wave.

  He wasn’t sure which one was more pissed off at that moment.

  “Wait until Strajowskie hears about this bullshit.” Cannopolis’ wheelchair whipped around. He headed for the door and exited into the hallway, mumbling obscenities.

  Ruby glanced at Brian, sighed loudly, and padded along after the upset general.

  Keith walked over to the island countertop in the center of his office. He’d remained silent since observing Brian loose the buried arrow from his flesh. Normally exuberant, clean-shaven, and presentable, he was now pale, haggard and worn. Brian checked his oldest friend’s emotions with his infrared powers. Keith’s innards fluctuated between red and purple, as though a part of him was dying inside with every passing second.

  “I always imagined us growing old, sitting on a porch, drinking beer and reminiscing.” Keith slumped onto a stool and buried his forehead in his good hand. “Wow.”

  A bitter twinge of regret flashed through Brian, but he urged it to disappear. “What happened to your arm?”

  “I followed your notes.”

  “From the red notebook?”

  Keith nodded and held up his fake arm. “It grew cold. Numb. Turned black. I flipped out and cut it off with a bone saw.”

  Brian shuddered. “I’m sorry, Keith. That shouldn’t have happened.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Brian cleared his throat. “Though the outward appearance of my decision seems rash, you must trust that my intentions are good.”

  “Using your scientific expertise to help them win the war was intentional?”

  “What are you talking about? I haven’t done any experiments or anything since I left.”

  Keith stood and stepped forward, his mini-Ashmore clutched in his white-knuckled hand. “Right, like you didn’t have anything to do with creating those fucking beasts.”

  “I didn’t. I swear.”

  “On your mother’s grave?”

  Brian gulped. Funny things, human emotions. Even when dead they still affected him. “Yes.”

  Keith stared into Brian’s eyes, then tossed the Ashmore onto the counter and plopped back onto the stool. He then described in detail what manner of creature had been set upon the unsuspecting Human Army.

  “Such a creature is impossible,” Brian commented.

  “Should be. But it’s as real as you and me. You should see the way they stretch. It’s insane. They’ve even got new powers we’ve never seen before.” Keith leaned forward as if sharing a secret. “They can withstand sunlight and reattach limbs.”

  Coldness encompassed the pit of Brian’s stomach. He envisioned the lab at Safehold once more. The gorillas and snakes. Barnaby reattaching his arm after the scimitar incident. The shared ability to withstand sunlight. He shook his head, not wanting to believe it.

  “I know. Crazy,” Keith said, oblivious. “When Cannopolis arrived, he showed us an interview with John Ashmore moments after he killed the first vampire. In it, John claimed the vampire reattached an arm after it’d been cut off. Just like the beasts can do. Think there’s a connection?”

  A sharp, warm pang emanated from Brian’s stomach and shot to his throat. He didn’t find it strange that his dead body could create acid and corrosion. It fit. “No,” he said, more to himself than to Keith. “He’s not as bad as everyone thinks.”

  “What? Who?”

  “Barnaby.” Brian swallowed the rising bile down. “He has those powers too. I don’t think he’s involved though,” he added as Keith’s eyes widened. “There’s no connection to the vampire John Ashmore killed seven years ago.”

  “Maybe not, but that’s still one hell of a coincidence. The powers.”

  “He wouldn’t unleash hell behind my back,” Brian said, eyes burning. His voice must’ve been full of menace because the amusement slipped from Keith’s face. “He wouldn’t betray my trust, my confidence. Not like that.”

  The words of justification were hollow. His body quivered. Wind whipped against his skin. He stood before a sink and vomited. It was black and reeked of rotten eggs.

  “I didn’t realize you guys could do that,” Keith said, fake forearm shielding his nostrils from the offensive odor.

  Brian cranked on the faucet, rinsed out his mouth, and wiped his face off. He turned around, unsteady. “Neither did I.”

  “Look, I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter who created the beasts. Strajowskie has a plan to get rid of them. A crazy plan, but a plan nonetheless.” Keith rushed to the door as if anxious to get away. “I’m going to check on Cannopolis and make sure Ruby hasn’t affixed him permanently to his wheelchair.”

  He exited, leaving Brian was alone with his thoughts. Could he trust Barnaby? What were Barnaby’s intentions? The Undead patriarch had proven he was a passionate, caring creature. He’d revealed some of his past, illuminating an emotional being beneath the image humanity had projected onto him.

  But he’d also revealed—though vaguely—the experiments performed in the laboratory at Safehold. What if Barnaby had created the monsters on the battlefield? That’d imply he wanted war, not peace.

  Had he been lying to Brian all along?

  And what about his trysts, leaving Haven in pursuit of other business? What dark secrets was he harboring in that regard?

  Brian had to get back to Haven. Too many questions flitted around inside his skull, and he needed answers. He needed to find out whether his noble and misunderstood teacher was truly the barbaric monster lore proclaimed him to be.

  Keith re-entered the office with Ruby and Cannopolis in tow. Their lips were pressed tight together, lik
e children who refused to share toys with each other.

  After an awkward silence, Keith asked, “So what do we do now?”

  Cannopolis grunted. “Fuck if I know. Strajowskie has some loony plan that probably won’t work. And Brian’s just as loony. Sawing off your damn arm might’ve been the sanest thing I’ve heard recently.”

  As much as he wanted to reconnect with his old friends, Brian didn’t have time to banter. “I came to get my notes.”

  Cannopolis maneuvered his wheelchair to block him. “Are you going to play the peacekeeper again? Is that why you wanted to be a vampire? Did you plan to infiltrate the enemy’s lines and show them the errors of their ways?”

  “I intend to do what I set out to do at the beginning. I just have fewer restrictions now. Nothing else has changed.”

  “That’s a bunch of bullshit, and you know it.” The general averted his gaze. “A lot has changed.”

  Brian cocked his head to the side. He could hear Cannopolis’ heartbeat, and it didn’t beat to the tune of anger. It sounded more like fear.

  Did the great impassive Army leader—who had killed vampires with his bare hands without remorse—have a soft spot for him? That’d explain why he’d always supported Brian’s research and experiments even in the midst of the President’s denials.

  Why hadn’t he noticed that before?

  He glanced at Keith and Cannopolis. Though it wasn’t the reunion he’d envisioned, he was thankful he’d returned. There was a division amongst them, yet he felt more at home than he had in months. They were a family not without its squabbles and differences. A quirky, stubborn, tight-knit group.

  He’d missed that.

  He smiled and placed his hand on Cannopolis’ shoulder. “I haven’t lost sight of my purpose.” He turned to Keith. “Sorry to cut this short, but we need to leave. I have work to reacquaint myself with. And lots of questions to ask.”

  Brian extended his hand. Keith pulled him in and they clapped each other’s backs heartily.

  When the quick embrace was finished, Keith reached into a drawer and handed the red notebook and several other folders to Brian. “All yours.”

  Brian gripped his life’s work. He would’ve sighed if he could still breathe. He wouldn’t have to start over, and that was a relief in itself. He walked toward the door, Ruby beside him. Then he turned and faced their friends one last time.

  “I’ll be in touch. Please keep me posted on the war and any anomalies that arise,” Brian said, meeting Keith’s gaze. “I’ll inform you of any answers I’m able to attain.”

  Keith nodded. “We’ll see each other again. Soon. Be safe.”

  With the farewells behind them, he and Ruby clasped hands, exited Keith’s office, and walked out of the URC of their own free will.

  Chapter 29

  Strajowskie kicked dying soldiers out of his path and nearly lost his footing. The fight had been raging at full speed for six hours, and he hadn’t seen the colonel again. Had his message been delivered? What would Keith and Cannopolis think about his plan? He smiled, certain the general would refer to him as “loony.”

  He snapped back to reality, spun about, and fired into the eye of an Undead. The creature shrieked and yanked with both hands on the embedded arrow shaft. Strajowskie chuckled, put his hand on top of the Undead’s, and snapped the shaft in twain. He then whipped out a shuriken and jabbed the vampire’s other eye. White mush gushed out. It howled anew.

  With his boot, he shoved the Undead into a group of entwined combatants.

  “Down!” Strajowskie shouted above the din.

  Human soldiers dropped to the ground. He fired the Ashmore at all those who remained standing. A few dozen Undead burst into flames, peppering him with flecks of ash.

  His soldiers jumped back to their feet and formed two circles around him. They pushed forward, rejuvenated by his presence. A throng of Undead hammered into them from the front but were hacked down within seconds by machetes and stabbing wooden makeshift spears.

  Strajowskie looked to the horizon. A lone silhouette stood atop a bluff in the center of the battlefield.

  “There,” he shouted, pointing.

  The soldiers renewed their forward surge. Strajowskie beamed, a proud parent. His soldiers stayed in tight formations, not giving the Undead any ground. They were holding their line, even against the giant atrocities and new vaporizing vampires.

  But it wouldn’t last long. Mechanized warfare was one thing; hand-to-hand combat was another. His soldiers needed their rest.

  He perused the front line. The Human Army moved forward steadily, one giant mass. They were overrunning the vampires on their own turf. Exactly where he wanted them. The closer to the Undead encampment, the better.

  The soldiers surrounding him buckled. The remaining soldiers fanned out, dodging wild swings from one of the giant armored beasts, which gripped and wielded a tree trunk like a baseball bat. With his outer ring of defense obliterated in one fell swoop, Strajowskie ducked beneath the tree trunk and dove forward. He crawled on hands and knees until he was at the creature’s feet, then brought forth his machete and sliced at the beast’s ankles. The blade slid off without causing any damage. He peered closer. Its legs and feet were also armored. Strajowskie cursed and glanced up.

  The beast held the tree trunk in a pile-driver position, set to ram down atop Strajowskie’s skull. It would’ve been a sickening end. However, one brave soldier pushed Strajowskie out of the way in time to avoid having his head bowed in. The soldier rolled away unscathed and the tree rammed into the ground inches from Strajowskie’s bewildered face. The trunk buried itself into the ground, leaving the beast weaponless.

  Strajowskie jumped up and jabbed his machete into a hole in the beast’s armor, beneath its armpit. It recoiled and swung a massive hand at his face. He stepped back at the last possible moment, avoiding another set of facial scars. Several nearby soldiers loosed a rain of arrows onto the creature. One arrow found its home. The creature wailed one last time and slumped to the ground, beside the embedded tree trunk.

  Strajowskie composed himself and set off once again for the bluff at the center of the battlefield. He didn’t wish to make it there during this particular battle. He just wanted Hammers to see him approaching. A metaphor for the doom that rested upon the Undead Army General’s head.

  Though he would always have utmost respect for Hammers, Strajowskie knew the way to destroy an army was to kill off the leader. If he could dishearten Hammers, he would already have the advantage when the time came.

  As he knew it would. He had resigned himself to that fate when he’d rushed to Cannopolis’ aide and met Hammers on the battlefield. It wasn’t something he’d want to do, but it had to be done. The war had droned on too long. The end had to be near, or else humanity was damned.

  Soldiers once more formed two tight circles around him. As before, they charged headlong into the main body of the Undead Army, oblivious to their own fates.

  ***

  The small band zigzagged toward the bluff. Hammers magnified his vision and chuckled. Nearby wolves howled in response.

  Strajowskie, you predictable old fool. The human shield was a tactic best reserved for minor skirmishes, not elbow-to-elbow battles. The ring of humans driving him toward his primary objective probably didn’t realize they were nothing more than fodder, either. Self-preservation had always been Strajowskie’s priority. His hypocritical mindset had been one reason Hammers had chosen to embrace the Undead as his family.

  Also, the old man had always favored the great Cannopolis. Cannopolis had always been better than Hammers. Smarter. Solider in mind and heart. Morally driven, perhaps the next in line to succeed the presidency should the time arise. Hammers had been the brawn, the oaf. Nothing more.

  But he was so much more than that now. Cannopolis was limited by the frailty of humanity, whereas Hammers held no realm in the living world anymore. Death was his bedmate. A decade of observation had made him keener, smarter. Better th
an his old brother-at-arms.

  Strajowskie would see that.

  He licked his fangs and glanced down the slope behind him. Hundreds of human soldiers lay on the grass, moaning, screaming, pleading. Their screams were met with salivating faces as the assigned jackals and mist wraiths watched over the prey.

  Most injured human soldiers were left to die and rot and bloat in the sun. Their living remains were the Undead’s spoils, a never-ending supply of food and recruits. The humans didn’t seem to understand they were helping fuel their own demise, but it came as no surprise to Hammers.

  Mortality had a way of sucking up potential wisdom in the brain.

  He turned his attention back to the action on the battlefield. The tight circle veered straight for the bluff, gaining ground. Hammers was impressed. Strajowskie was doing well in his reaffirmed role as an army commander.

  But his predictability played right into Hammers’ plans.

  ***

  Strajowskie ducked. Another of his protectors went airborne, batted away by an armored monster. Hundreds—perhaps a thousand or more—of the hulking monsters formed a barrier between his personal guard and the Undead’s probable campsite.

  Strajowskie came back up to full stature and bumped his nose into a refrigerator-like chest. He glimpsed a giant fist heading in his direction and dropped to the ground. Anticipating a follow-through stomp, he rolled to the right. Down came the expected leg. His teeth chattered as the ground trembled beneath him.

  He dropped his crossbow and latched onto the leg with his arms. Then he wriggled his lower body and wrapped his calves around its other leg. With all of his strength, he rolled away from the beast.

  It toppled. Strajowskie was caught beneath its legs. Had the beast not been top-heavy, he would’ve been crushed. But the momentum and girth of the creature lifted its ankles when it slammed into the grassy plains. Strajowskie’s breath raced out of his lungs. He released his grasp and fumbled into a standing position, gasping.