They wanted more? It’d been difficult enough to convince General Hammers to send extra prisoners the last time. John had pulled out his wildcard and informed the general his son was missing just to get those six additional bodies. Hammers had taken the bait. But six more? Were these buffoons serious?
“I still have the other three hidden away,” he said. “That’ll have to suffice.”
“Oh, I intended to take the remainder of our original payment. Tonight. But we want double the overall payment regardless.”
John shook his head. “I can’t arrange that.”
“Then the deal is off.”
The three assassins turned to leave.
“No! Wait!” John called. He couldn’t allow failure. The Master was gone. The scientists were ripe for the killing. The Master must return to an empty castle, void once more of any human aside from John. The Master must be unaware of the duplicity. Revenge must be subtle yet satisfying.
He must take his rightful place at his master’s side once more.
He gulped. “All right, I’ll arrange it. I may have to make the requests over several shipments, but you’ll get them.”
Rufus clapped at the entrance. “That’s more like it.”
Vince shushed the overweight vampire and smiled. “I trust we’ll have more preparation time this go-round?”
“Just do it before he returns. Safehold is yours. None will stand against you, unless by happenstance you run into your targets. Then, I’m afraid, you’re on your own.”
“Watch your back, old man,” Vince said, his voice a dark timbre. “Barnaby can’t protect you forever.”
He can’t protect you forever, either. Maybe you and your goons will die at the hands of the scientist and we can be rid of you once and for all.
John relished in the voice’s idea. Perhaps they’d all kill each other. The scientist would be gone. There’d be no assassins creeping up on him in the middle of the night.
He padded his way through the tunnels. One voice whispered over and over: They all must die!
None argued in return.
***
Lester burst into the room. The door slammed against the wall. Keith pushed off the countertop. His cheek stuck fast, creating a sucking noise as he rose to sit upright on the stool. Cannopolis craned his neck and grimaced, probably stiff from sleeping in his wheelchair.
“He needs it right now.”
Keith squinted against the pale luminescent lighting. “What?”
“The mix. The President wants it dropped now.”
Cannopolis wheeled for the door, calling over his shoulder, “Let’s roll.”
Keith shook the remainder of sleep away and rushed out of his office, eager to discover the purpose of Strajowskie’s strange request.
Chapter 31
Strajowskie ducked beside squatting soldiers, avoiding a spray of rounds from an automatic. Bullets clanged off their shields. The ringing ceased. They rose as one cohesive unit and rushed forward, shields raised.
Strajowskie bowled over three equipped Undead. Before they could turn to mist, he sliced through two of their throats with random machete slashes. The third Undead got to its knees, attempting to rise. He kicked it back into the dirt and beheaded the two gagging-yet-recuperating vampires. They both burst into ash. He then loomed above the third one, brought his machete up and down, and cleaved its head from its neck.
The soldiers encircling him pressed outward, gaining a foothold in the overwhelming masses of bodies. Gunfire rang out anew. Several soldiers dropped, screaming. Strajowskie ducked behind his shield to fend off any other stray bullets. Gunfire dissipated and rose again.
He gritted his teeth. Mechanized slaughter was costing them precious able-bodied soldiers for the front line. They needed to close the gaps and take the weaponry out of the equation.
With his shield held before him, he rolled forward, then launched ahead and sprinted toward the gun-toting line of vampires standing yards away. His soldiers followed suit. Bullets whizzed by, but they rushed on, undeterred.
As expected, the vampires tossed their weapons to the grassy plains and charged.
Strajowskie dropped his shield and laid out the first vampire to cross his path with a haymaker to the left side of its jaw. The next vampire stepped forth. He followed with a left cross and knocked it down as well. Then he whipped out his Ashmore, fired into both of the fallen Undead, and smiled at the irony of his methods.
Another soldier fell before him. Strajowskie lunged forward and thrust out with his machete. The blade slid into an Undead’s stomach. He gripped the handle with both hands and forced the blade upward. Then he planted the sole of his boot against the creature’s chest and removed his weapon. The vampire flopped to the ground, slashed from midsection to throat. One mighty swipe and its head tumbled away.
A sudden commotion disrupted the vampire front line. Fighting ceased as members of both races stared at the intrusion. Strajowskie stepped onto the still-intact body at his feet to find the source of the disturbance.
A new wave of Undead foot soldiers appeared behind the front line of vampires. Giant armored Franken-vamps flanked each side, grasping tall poles. The poles bore flapping flags with crude Undead emblems stitched onto them. They marched until they were ten feet from the battle lines. Then they stopped and clicked their heels together in unison. The loud clap reverberated across the plains.
Infantry vampires filtered away from their skirmishes and into the ranks of their brethren. A palpable silence hung over the battlefield.
Fanged foot soldiers widened their stances. The giant beasts dipped the tips of their flagpoles. The Undead sprinted forward.
Strajowskie scooped his shield back up and braced himself behind it. He gripped his machete tight, glad he’d had the foresight to replenish his shuriken and Ashmore ammo. It was going to be another long battle.
The first wave of Undead crashed into his shield. He dug his heels in. The pressure flowing against him faltered. He shoved with his shield and sprang forward, slashing his machete at the first body he sighted.
The blade passed through the creature. Up and down the front line, human soldiers stabbed and thrust to similar results. For the length of a football field, the Kansas grasslands were hazy. Only a few ambling giant beasts were stationed throughout.
Otherwise, all other nigh-invisible bodies shimmered.
Droplets cooled Strajowskie’s hand as he prepared for the backswing. He twirled the machete handle with his fingers. With the blade facing up, he lifted it to a mid-point in the wavering clear mass before him, hoping to cleave its heart in two when it re-solidified. He pulled up as its limbs and outer silhouette took shape.
He jumped back and his machete flew free, cleaving nothing but droplets and air. The creature remained a clear mist at its core. With the weapon still raised high above his head, Strajowskie twirled its handle again and sliced in a crossing downward arc. The blade slid through the left side of the creature’s formed neck, passed through mist, and exited the solidified right side.
The head, without facial features, slid to the ground. As it connected, the entire face solidified. Blood and indiscernible parts splattered on Strajowskie’s boots. The body solidified in entirety and plopped to the ground. He raised his shield and stepped back as vampires pressed around him.
Strajowskie stole a glance skyward, peering into the bright midday sun as it unsheathed itself from its eastern hold and beat down upon them.
Where are they?
***
Cannopolis gripped the handles of his wheelchair, which was affixed to the floor of the Cessna 208B Super Cargomaster. “Watch the fuckin’ turbulence!”
Keith chuckled. The general wasn’t moving, but he was certainly throwing a good fit.
“I’ll do what I can. But we’re in the middle of the continent, carrying our maximum load and flying low. Winds are to be expected,” Lester said.
Keith peered out a side porthole window. An hour prior, the
roads below had changed from red to black as they transitioned from Oklahoma to Kansas. Now, no roads could be seen. Stretching north to south, never-ending, forever-ebbing waves of ant-sized shapes scurried about, obstructing most views of the land itself. He’d seen pictures before, but to be right above it was numbing. The true vastness of the armies involved couldn’t be summed up in satellite images.
“How much longer?” he asked Lester.
“About thirty minutes.”
Shit. Two hours had already passed. Lester had been bright enough the night prior to order the cement mix and locate a modified gaylord to fit inside the custom Cargomaster, which had saved time. But another thirty minutes could be detrimental.
He hoped Strajowskie could hold the lines long enough to wait for them to spring the wild trap he’d planned.
***
The soldier’s head burst into a mess of blood and body parts. The Undead beast swung the shotgun away and kicked the torso to the ground.
Strajowskie charged, machete raised. The giant creature pumped the barrel with one hand, then held the shotgun out with the same hand and aimed. It pulled the trigger. Strajowskie ducked, placing his shield square to the ground to protect his entire body. Pellets blasted against Kevlar. He jumped up and charged once more. The beast performed another one-handed pump, and he crouched behind his shield again.
The shotgun roared. A soldier beside him was lifted and flew backward into fellow humans. A hole gaped in his torso, eyes wide and already glazing over with death.
Strajowskie took off in a sprint and closed the gap between himself and the shotgun-bearing beast. Unable to bring a weapon to bear, he collided with it. His head slammed against the inside of his own shield. The beast didn’t budge. It dropped the shotgun and brought both of its arms up in an overhead axe swing, its twelve hairy fingers interlaced. Strajowskie dropped his shield and reached for his Ashmore. He fell onto his back and fired at the beast’s chest as it began its downward crushing blow.
The downward blow didn’t stop.
He gripped the Ashmore and rolled to his left. The ground rumbled as the beast’s fists dug into dirt and grass. He pushed up with his arms. Then somebody kicked the exposed right side of his ribcage.
Strajowskie followed the momentum of the kick and rolled back to his right, again looking up. The beast was fine. None of the arrows had infiltrated its armor. He looked to the left and grimaced. A tall, chubby vampire loomed over him as well.
The chubby vampire flickered. Sunlight shone through it, a full spectrum of colors reflecting in its shimmering mist. It re-solidified and squatted, ready to pounce.
The beast raised its hands again. It reached the apex of its upward swing and paused, head turned skyward. The mist vampire also stared up, paying no heed to the opponent lying at its feet.
Strajowskie spotted the heavenly distraction, smiled, aimed his Ashmore, and fired into the mist vampire’s chest. It burst into ash. He sat up and pulled his machete from its sheath. He stood and jumped, sliding on his knees through the beast’s legs. Twisting, he slashed the machete once, twice. The beast screeched, attempting to turn about.
But Strajowskie had severed its calf tendons. The beast toppled. The president jumped to his feet, raised the machete out behind him, whirled to face the beast, and brought the blade down onto the beast’s unarmored shoulder blade. There was a sickening crunch as metal bit down to bone. He raised the blade and sliced down again, lopping the vampire’s head from its body. Black blood squirted.
The Cessna passed overhead, flying low. Strajowskie raised the machete over his head once more. Cold blood dripped onto his forehead in the warm afternoon sunlight. He bellowed like a savage animal and turned to the east.
The plane kept flying.
Nearby soldiers renewed their offense, driving the vampire forces back inch by inch. Again surrounded by a ring of loyal soldiers, Strajowskie glanced once more at the plane, which was still eastward-bound.
He hid his disappointment from his soldiers and kept attacking.
***
Hammers stood inside a shallow crevice on the bluff he’d inhabited the night prior. Sunlight stretched deeper into the shadows. He stood on the very line of the shade, careful to avoid direct sunrays.
He’d felt that pain several times. Never again.
The plane circled back around above him.
What was Strajowskie up to now?
***
“If I wasn’t in this damned wheelchair, it’d be open by now,” Cannopolis said.
Keith stepped on the release button, then pushed on the lever. The rigged cargo bay wouldn’t open. He then kicked the lever, but it still wouldn’t budge.
“Damn it, Manera, you need to work out more,” Cannopolis muttered.
“Not all of us are naturally gifted with muscles.” Keith knew the general was frustrated. He was unable to assist when his brute strength was needed. He’d been in the same position himself, after severing his arm. “If I unclasp you, can you manipulate your way over here?”
Cannopolis threw a furtive glance at Lester. “If he keeps it steady enough, sure. This chair may be automatic, but it still doesn’t have good traction on metallic surfaces. Especially ones that are constantly fucking moving.”
Keith held laughter at bay and stepped over to Cannopolis. He released the clasp holding the chair to the aft wall, then stooped and released the floor clasp. The wheelchair hummed to life.
“What do you want me to do?”
Keith gestured at the contraption. “I owned a Cavalier that had trunk issues. A wreck jammed the latch. Someone had to press the release button while I simultaneously pulled up on the trunk.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt to give it a try.”
“And what if it works?”
He bent and gripped the lever, then nodded at Cannopolis. “Let’s hope we’re in the right spot when it releases.”
***
Archers unleashed a volley of wooden missiles. Arrows poured down and passed through the mist vampires as they transformed. The beasts swatted them away like annoying mosquitos. Strajowskie grumbled under his breath as arrows sank into a dozen human soldiers, injuring some and killing the others.
The archers provided little more than a defensive curtain and were becoming a deadly nuisance overall.
The arrows stopped raining. He wrenched a shuriken from his waistband and let it soar. It flew through a mist vampire and sank into the chest of an unarmored giant beast behind it. The beast roared, flailing its arms. He rushed through the mist vampire with his Ashmore in one hand and the machete in the other. He burst out of the wet form and slashed with his machete. As the giant beast brought its arms up to deflect the blow, he shot his Ashmore once, twice, three times.
He dodged to the side. The beast teetered. The mist vampire solidified, turned, and then the behemoth beast toppled and smashed it into the ground. Limbs twitched briefly.
A wild-eyed Strajowskie perused the battlefield. His soldiers faltered all along the front line. For every human soldier who fell, three vampires appeared out of the masses. The humans were dwindling quickly.
Strajowskie roared anew and slashed a mist vampire that solidified with its back to him. He shot several arrows into it, then grinned as it burst into ash. Several nearby soldiers fell, their shouts cut short. A ring of vampires appeared around the president, previously unseen, using their mist powers to close in.
Strajowskie grunted and widened his stance.
All eyes suddenly looked to the sky.
The plane flew overhead, travelling west.
Yet still nothing fell.
***
Lester banked sharp-right. Cannopolis and Keith pressed against the right wall, and then the plane leveled out again. Keith grabbed the lever once more.
“Put some weight into it, Manera!”
He leaned his upper body over his arms for torque. Sweat dripped from his brow. His left arm shook.
“Son of a bitch!” He stood and kicked the
lever, lost his balance, and stumbled backward.
Cannopolis roared and smashed the release button with his right foot. Wires and plastic chunks clattered across the metallic plane floor.
The door opened.
***
Hammers shrank back deeper into the confined crevice. Skin on his forearm bubbled from exposure. He gritted his teeth. He would need to seek cover in the series of underground tunnels he and his brethren had dug. Soon.
He watched the plane as it turned about again, over the main encampment. Silhouetted against the sky, clouds billowed out below the plane. The substance blanketed the front lines. He focused on the combatants below and enhanced his vision.
Powder.
He smirked. The old bastard was smart.
The mist wraiths’ stealth would be useless if they could be seen.
***
Something plopped onto Strajowskie’s head. He extracted his machete from the neck of his latest assailant. Dust sprinkled down.
The mist vampires paused, covered in the substance. They blinked at each other, then guffawed. In unison, they closed about the president, ready for the kill.
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Strajowskie muttered, poised to take them all on. He arced his machete around in a circle to fend them off. As he’d hoped, the vampires turned to mist and the machete sliced through their ranks unheeded.
The powder fastened to mist droplets. Their forms oozed like mud, churning masses of goopy gray liquid. Sunlight bombarded them. They rubbed at their bodies for half a minute, confused. Then they laughed in mockery and stepped forward again.
They halted as the sun dried the MegaKrete mix.
Strajowskie swung his machete. Statuesque vampires exploded into shards of chalky rubble as the blade rang against them.
***
All across the battlefield, vampires became rooted in place. The jackals glanced around in bewilderment as human soldiers rallied, pulverizing the frozen mist wraiths into dust.
The Human-Undead War Trilogy (Book 1): Dark Intentions Page 23
