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

by Jonathan Edwardk Ondrashek

  Suddenly, the leader floated up beside Brian, eyes crackling anew. No blood, nothing. Brian grimaced. Two fists pummeled his right oblique, then there was a sharp pang beneath his ribcage. He looked down and gasped.

  The leader’s fingers were buried in Brian’s body, to the knuckles. Blood gushed into his upward-facing palm. The leader jerked his fingers out and rotated his arm, palm down. Brian’s vision magnified against his will. Blood poured out of the leader’s hand.

  Brian’s vision magnified tenfold. He could see ripples on the blood’s surface as it plummeted.

  The blood landed on the ground, and a river of the darkest red filled his sight.

  ***

  His hand was cold and wet. It had been eons since he’d killed another vampire. The unfeeling, dead blood of the Undead did nothing to arouse him. But alas, the young lad had to die. Not only for causing him harm, but also for the humans such a kill would yield.

  The scientist stared past him, then to the floor. Then he hung there, stiff and taut, still weighted down by Gunther. Vincent waved his bloodied hand before the lad’s face. Not so much as an eye blink. “Let go,” he said.

  Gunther didn’t move.

  “Let go, fool.”

  Gunther sighed but did as instructed. Like a good dog.

  The lad remained frozen in place, hovering. Vincent scratched his head. Had he gone into such extreme shock that he was paralyzed? Was he just that damn powerful that Vincent couldn’t detect any signs of unlife, no draft from his levitation?

  He pulled his arm back, ready to plunge in elbow-deep and squeeze the lad’s dead heart. It was the most exciting way to kill a fellow vampire. The look of shock, jaw snapping in disbelief. The dust showering his skin.

  The lad suddenly tensed. His eyes crackled, azure. A ripple of energy radiated before the lad’s chest.

  Vincent cried out “Get down!” before the ripple erupted outward, slamming into him. His sight blurred.

  A stone wall on either side. Open air. More stone walls on either side. Collision. Ceiling. Wracking pain.

  Darkness.

  ***

  Brian watched the ripples push the leader through the intersection, down another full-length hallway, through another intersection. The lanky Undead landed face-up on the dirt floor. He remained there, unmoving.

  Excitement rippled through him as he realized his powers could be used as a weapon. Warmth had crept through his body, massaging, targeting his injured ribcage. A nearly invisible ripple had cascaded outward from him as his inner cry for help dissipated. And that was when he’d recognized the waves’ potential.

  Curious, he’d demanded his body to continue healing. His body innately refused and the ball of warmth grew in strength, nestled in his chest. Stubborn, impossible to contain.

  Then he’d screamed at the strange power to leave.

  And it had, with tremendous results.

  The two lackeys lay on the dirt floor beneath him, huddled together like lost children. Brian descended to the ground and stalked toward the whimpering buffoons. Thoughts of a peaceful resolution were null.

  He smiled, basking in the strange waves of energy coursing through his being. Nothing else mattered. Only the power.

  The fat one stood, mouth agape. Brian stepped to him. His consciousness screamed, blurting out something about morals and humanity.

  He brushed the annoying inner voice aside and gripped Rufus by the ears. Chins quivered like gelatin. Brian’s eyes crackled—crackled!—anew. Adrenaline surged through him unabashed. He giggled like a child. The power intoxicated him unlike any drug he’d ever encountered.

  He tilted his head, smiled at the fat face, and tugged.

  Rufus’ head came off with a sickening suction noise. Blood and gore splattered Brian’s feet. The torso burst into flames, leaving in its eruptive wake a pile of ashes. The shorn head imploded in his hands. The skin of his palms sizzled and he demanded that his body heal.

  The power obeyed without resistance.

  There was a gasp, a skitter of hands and feet trying to find traction on the floor. Brian whirled, balling up the healing energy. The muscular one sprinted down the hall in the opposite direction. Brian sped after him, engulfed by fury, rationality neglected.

  He stopped in his tracks and unleashed the energy. It rippled out in massive torrents, overtaking the fleeing Undead. The muscular vampire smashed into the ground face-down as if hit by a semi-truck. Dark blood pooled about him. Bones snapped. The Undead cried out, body twitching spasmodically.

  Brian stepped over the vampire. It would have a gimp leg. A separated sternum. Immortal handicaps.

  It was best to put it out of its agony.

  He drew his fist back and smashed through the back of the vampire’s head. Cold blood gave him no pause. It screamed, but its cries of “Please, no!” did not phase Brian. He was aware that he’d gone animalistic.

  Yet he cared not.

  He pulled his fist back again, reversed direction, tensed his fingers on the forward thrust, and jutted through the sniveling vampire’s back. He pushed down, down, until he felt a sloppy wet mass. He squeezed and tugged.

  The body erupted into ash before the heart he clutched in his hand disintegrated.

  A gasp echoed in the dark hallways. His eyes adjusted. Ahead, heat. Yellow billowing upon red blotches. A hint of roses wafted in the windless tunnels. His heart churned. A steady buh-bump invaded his senses. His night vision kicked in.

  Ruby stood at the end of the hallway, hand over her mouth.

  Chapter 35

  Brian looked at his hands, at the ashes strewn around beneath his feet. He glanced at Ruby again.

  Such horror etched on her visage. He wished he were dead. Truly dead.

  He choked back malnourished excuses and apologies. He opened his mouth to speak, to offer her consolation that he was fine. That he was Brian again. That the animal she had just witnessed had fled.

  A shadow flitted into his peripherals. He ducked. A breeze passed overhead. Another gasp, a whimper. A dark chuckle.

  The lanky leader of the defunct trio held Ruby by her neck, razor claws burrowing into her skin.

  Brian’s stomach dropped. Those perfect lips, shaking. Flawless skin altered by dripping drops of tears. The faint scent of those tears made him jittery.

  He knew then what he’d feared all along. Seeing her helpless and in danger had confirmed nagging suspicions that he’d just as soon ignore altogether.

  “I owe you a few more now, lad.” The vampire sniffed at Ruby’s neck like a rooting hog. “Mmmm, fresh scared human. A delicacy these days, wouldn’t you agree? Especially one as fine as this, mind you.”

  Brian’s upper lip twitched. He’d promised he would never allow his personal life to intermingle with his career. Ruby had gotten close in both aspects of his life. The lanky Undead had sensed a weak spot and was using it to his advantage. Was it that obvious?

  “Let her go.”

  “Tut, tut, lad. What makes you think you have the upper hand, to bark an order at me?”

  “Let. Her. Go.”

  The lanky vampire chuckled. His pink tongue slithered out, lapping at his blood-covered fingernails. “I came to kill both of you. Might as well start with her.” He tightened his grip.

  Brian’s sight blurred. His body burned with pure, raw energy. Muscles bulged. He felt twice his normal size. Nigh invincible. When he regained clear vision, he was levitating.

  And his entire body was ablaze.

  ***

  Blue light flashed in the lad’s eyes. Crackling energy split the silence. Bolts arched out from his eyeballs and down his cheeks, splitting like branches on a tree. The lad levitated. Bolts lanced down, engulfing him until he was a bright ball of floating crackling light.

  Vincent tried to keep his mouth closed. He hadn’t seen an Undead that powerful since Barnaby.

  Hell, he wasn’t so sure Barnaby had even shown such power before.

  The light died out and the bolts
skipped backward, back into the lad’s eyes. He looked disoriented, hanging in mid-air, wind whipping his hair like some romance hero. “I said, let her go.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible.” At least, not with my back facing the innards of the Keep. Vincent urged the female human forward, nudging her with his shoulder. She circled right, as he directed. Good girl. He was mindful not to dig his fingernails deeper. She was obedient. No wonder the lad liked her. “I prefer to have a safe exit once we begin our negotiations.”

  “There will be no negotiations.”

  “Oh, there will be. I have something more that you want. More than just this delicacy of a human woman,” Vincent taunted. His back was finally to the intersection. Three ways to escape. If he did everything right, he’d be gone before the woman hit the lad. He’d find Ashmore. Throttle the wretched thing until he paid his debt. Disappear to the countryside, six meals in tow. Live eternity void of Barnaby’s rule.

  “There’s nothing you can offer me aside from her.”

  Vincent cocked his head to the side. “No? Not even a secret that’d release you from naiveté, eh?”

  “Nope.” The blue electricity crackled in the lad’s eyeballs again. “Let her go, or I’ll pry her from you myself.”

  Vincent guffawed, released the woman, and shoved her at the lad. But he didn’t bolt. The entertaining jest of a brawl made him too curious to flee.

  The lad finally descended to solid ground. The woman bumped into him. The lad gripped her shoulder with one hand and stroked her hair with the other.

  How sweet.

  The lad nudged her behind him and squared his stance, locking gazes with Vincent.

  Vincent dipped his head to the lad. He respected any who wished to take him on. He respected this man much more because he was still in Undead infancy, ignorant to the true source of his powers. Should he tell him? Should he rip the lad’s world apart?

  Hell. Why not?

  “Ever wondered about your levitation? Your healing powers?” Vincent narrowed his eyes. “That wave of energy you just unleashed on my buddies?”

  The lad blinked but made no rebuke.

  “Oh, that’s right. You’re a scientist. I’m certain you have a plausible explanation for everything.” Vincent interlaced his fingers and tucked his thumbnails under his chin to break skin, careful not to move lest blood leak out. He forced the powers to heal and build in strength. Within milliseconds, the ball of warmth he enjoyed so much became insistent for release.

  “Explain this then!” He dropped his hands, threw his head back, and sent the energy out in waves.

  Smart lad. He must have anticipated the attack. He turned to shield the woman as the energy crashed over them. They were airborne, the lad holding the woman tight. They landed harshly and became dislodged from each other.

  Before Vincent could do anything else, the lad was up. Vincent caught sight of the waves before they reached him. He rolled into the left hallway, stood, and watched them pass by. Even safe from harm as he was, he felt the power contained within.

  Impressive, but it still wouldn’t be enough.

  He called upon a tumultuous wave that was sure to decimate the naïve youth. The lad’s waves’ strength waned and Vincent jumped around the corner. A fist connected with his chin and his powers fizzled out. He rocked backward, two steps. Another fist. A step back. A foot. A step back. Angered and disoriented, Vincent brought his forearms up to block his face.

  The lad bear-hugged his waist and drove him backward. Vincent’s back crunched against a stone wall. Dust choked the dank air. The lad lunged forward and shoved a forearm into his throat. Vincent tried to laugh, but the damn kid was crushing his larynx. He brought his knee up into the lad’s groin. The lad stumbled back, clutching himself.

  Vincent sped forward, arm out, and clothes-lined the lad at a speed that put jets to shame. The lad toppled to the ground but was right back up, face expressionless. The poor fool looked stricken, confused, lost. Faint waves pulsated around him, dissipating quickly.

  Vincent scoffed. He wasn’t going to fall for that one again. He jabbed his nails into his forearm. He let the energy build, circling the lad at an insane speed, hoping to buy enough time to unleash his own powers before the lad could figure out how to control his.

  The lad screeched and his face contorted into a fierce snarl. Waves poured out, heading at Vincent with the speed and power of a locomotive. Vincent brought his energy forth, levitated parallel to the floor, and unleashed his own waves, which pulsated from ceiling to floor, like a web. The lad’s energy struck Vincent’s own and rebounded. The lad’s countenance switched to extreme shock before he was blasted back down the hallway, landing near the woman. His screams died out. Not even a finger twitched in the deafening silence that ensued.

  Vincent chuckled. Yes. The lad was good.

  But he was far better.

  Vincent’s feet settled once more on solid ground. The hallway cracked and crumbled from all the energy they’d loosed within the catacombs. He usually enjoyed the destructive nature of his powers, yet he was procrastinating in his duty to kill the lad. Though Ashmore had assured him the night watch would be scarce, the rumblings and cackling energy were certain to draw unwanted attention.

  It was time to finish the job. Vincent stalked forward and stepped over the lad. He bent and grabbed the lad’s hoodie. “It’s been nice tousling with you, but alas, I have a job to do. I wouldn’t feel so bad if you understood the true nature of your power.” He leaned forward and whispered, “It’s quite magical.”

  The lad recoiled. Vincent smirked. Was he really that ignorant?

  He released his hold and stepped back. “You have no fucking clue, do you?”

  The lad didn’t respond. Looking upon the questioning Undead, Vincent felt something he hadn’t felt in centuries: Remorse. He didn’t care for the feeling. He was about to kill an infant Undead before he could learn the true nature of the birthright that coursed through his veins.

  Pity. Vincent raised his hand. The lad inched backward like a crab.

  Click.

  A sharp pain hit him between the shoulder-blades. Had the cavalry finally arrived? Vincent smiled and whirled around. His smile disappeared.

  Ashmore stood behind him, a large crossbow steadied in both hands. Vincent looked down. An arrow tip protruded from his sternum.

  He turned back around to face the woman and lad. Pain burned deep into his core, a hungry fire. It spread. He looked at his mottled hands. His skin cracked like arid desert land. The pain was unbearable. He screamed.

  He moved his mouth, allowing the one word that kept running through his mind to bubble out. “Ashmo—”

  ***

  The leader of the dead trio burst into flames. Ash peppered the air before Brian, but he kept his eye on the leveled crossbow.

  The hooded figure stepped into the billowing cloud of ash and muttered, “They always talk too damn much.”

  A tell-tale hawk-like nose stuck out from beneath the hood. Hairy feet confirmed it: The figure was their original Safehold liaison, the one Ruby suspected had broken into her room several weeks ago.

  Brian was exhausted, but he wasn’t done. Three vampires had tried to kill him in the last few minutes. None had succeeded. He wasn’t about to let some hooded servant take away his immortality.

  He bolted, speeding toward the unknown assailant. Chop to the right side of the neck. Quick jab to the left temple. The figure crumpled. The crossbow skittered along the floor. Before it came to a rest, Brian snatched it up and loomed over the figure. He placed the tip of the crossbow under the hood, above the long pointed nose. The hood slipped backward, revealing the weathered old man beneath.

  A normal-looking elderly fellow. Still oddly familiar. Human. Brian didn’t need assistance from his infrared vision; heat rolled off the old man in torrents. Humans were unmistakable like that.

  He recalled how he’d attempted to fit into the crowd upon arrival at Haven. He felt foolish
, now. It was impossible to hide humanity amongst the Undead.

  He glanced at Ruby. She looked as though she wanted to tell him to stop, to leave the poor old man alone. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t allow himself to live in fear in a place that was becoming his home.

  “Do it!” the old man pleaded. There was no fear in his voice, only hatred. He shook his head. “Fucking kill me, scientist. Take your place by the Master’s side.” The old man shook his head again, speaking as if an aside. “No, it’s over.” Another head shake. “It’s too late! The plan has failed!” The old man whimpered, tapping his temple as if juggling something loose. “Nobody will remember me, don’t lie to me!” His face screwed up in angst and he fumbled to sit up on his knees.

  Brian stared down the length of the crossbow into the eyes of the heretic. The telltale trademarked ‘A’ symbol glinted on the tiller. His stomach churned. He stared at the old man again. The crossbow in his hands.

  “Ashmo…”

  Brian had seen that face before. How could he have forgotten? Newspaper clips. History books. A deity among the living. The crossbow wavered in his hands. “Ashmore,” he whispered.

  “No!” the old man screeched. Then just as suddenly he stopped pummeling his own temple. His eyes glistened.

  Brian lowered the crossbow.

  A sad smile parted the old man’s trembling lips. He nodded and spoke, voice cracking. “Yes. Yes, at one time. John. John Ashmore.”

  And then his face was in his hands and he sobbed on the floor at Brian’s feet.

  Chapter 36

  Strajowskie felt the ground rumble before the herd of Undead ambled into view. Nearly midnight. As good a time as any for war.

  He stood at the intersection of Sixth and Eisenhower, the decrepit high school several blocks to his left, a gas station to his right. Cannopolis was beside him, his arms out of the casts. It’d been too early to remove them, yet Cannopolis had insisted. He had also insisted that he be the commander of the retreat once Strajowskie ordered it.

  The president had obliged without hesitation. The general needed to be on the battlefield. It was in his blood.