“Of course, my son,” said the Captain/Priest who was the chaplain. He said the words of blessing in a soft voice, while making the motions of the cross over the soldier and his offered sword. Paul felt something flow into him. He wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination or wishful thinking. But he felt stronger, shielded by something, and he got back to his feet and nodded his head to the Priest.
Behind him gathered other men, weapons in hand, approaching the Priest. The padre blessed a half dozen men before one kneeled before him with a heavy ax that had an evil look.
“Get rid of that abomination, son,” said the Priest, drawing back. “It is evil and will corrupt your soul.”
The now ashen faced soldier got to his feet and shuffled away, looking as if he meant to toss the ax into the woods. But after a dozen steps he was clutching the ax to his chest and looking around with a wild look, as if he would smite whoever tried to relieve him of the ax. Paul made a mental note to see to the soldier, and then watched more of the men get the blessing, some taking holy water along with them. The Priest continued to bless men, until he was almost out on his feet.
“Go get some rest, padre,” said the large Major to the man, putting his hand on the robed shoulder. “We might have need of your strength later tonight.”
“I’ve never felt anything like this,” said the bleary eyed Priest. “I could feel the energy flowing through me, the power of the Lord. But I also felt that it was draining my own energies.”
“Different world, padre,” said Paul, nodding. “Different world.”
* * *
Beate Terbourg sat at the large fire, the largest they could make, and looked back over her shoulder at the gathering dusk. She felt as frightened as she ever had in her life. After seeing a nuclear blast in her rearview mirror that was saying something. She put her hand in the box and ruffled the fur of Gertrude. The cat looked up and meowed, while the babies lay cuddled next to her.
“It will be alright, Fraulein,” said the old engineer who sat at the fire, the point of a sword in the ground while he twisted the hilt. The fire reflected off the silver inlays of the blade, the reason the middle aged man had chosen the weapon. “The soldiers will guard us tonight. And we can defend ourselves if something gets through them.”
Beate nodded her head, her right hand touching the hilt of the silver dagger she wore on her belt.
“I have never been a fighter,” said the young woman. “I never liked being around guns. When I grew up there were Americans in my town. Many times they carried weapons, when they were guarding their weapons site. And they worked with German soldiers. And all of the soldiers, American and German, scared me. I was just a little girl, and my father used to say the soldiers were there to help protect us, but I never saw anything to protect us from. Just the soldiers.”
“We are here to protect you, Fraulein,” said a voice from behind. A quintet of soldiers walked into the circle of the fire. “And we will do what we can. But we cannot guarantee that nothing will get through.”
“And what do we do if, something, gets through?” said a wizened old woman in a beach chair, a blanket draped over her body.
“Then you must fight, my Frau,” said the soldier, by his stripes a sergeant. “You must fight with all the strength in your body, to your last breath if need be. You must fight to survive.
Something howled in the night, followed by some large grunts as if from a monster pig. Everyone around the fire started, eyes grew big, and the soldiers checked their weapons.
“All of you sit tight,” said the Sergeant, looking around the fire. “We will do our best. Stay brave and keep the faith.”
And with that the soldier turned and strode off into the dark, to the perimeter that they had placed around all of the many fires that were warming the civilians.
There were more howls and growls in the night, mostly from some distance away. Beate looked down at the cats, wishing the night, which was just beginning, would go away, and the light of the sun would illuminate the world around them.
* * *
Breggara looked down his nose at the big man who stood before him, having to crane his neck to do so. He hated the damned shape shifters. They could move around during the day like normal people, and not be separated from the natural world by the fierce light of the sun.
“Dammit, the Queen of the Undead, Kilesandra Lishana, gave orders that we were to be in charge of this assault,” said the Vampire Lord, his red eyes glowing.
“And I and mine do not answer to that bitch,” said the hairy man, showing his strong teeth. “We are not undead. We are living. Totally living, and enjoying our strength.”
Breggara was tempted to grab the man and break his neck. Or suck the life out of his veins. In a very few minutes that option would not be open to him, as the first rays of the full moon would turn the man into a werebeast, strong enough to fight the Vampire toe to toe. And in killing the man he would set all of the man’s followers against him.
“Very well,” said the Vampire Lord. “But do not attack the large armored human. He will be too strong for you, and you will die for nothing. Only a Vampire will be strong enough to destroy one such as that.”
“I will show you the power of my kind,” said the man, and his snout began to grow, cutting off his ability to form words. The man raised his snout to the air and his limbs grew longer, and he became a massive beast of the night. He howled, then looked around at the camp of the humans, lowering himself to shuffle forward. He gave one last howl of triumph that was answered by a score more, then moved toward the humans.
Breggara smiled a cold smile, thinking of the target he had pointed the werewolf toward. The end of either would be satisfactory to his way of thinking.
* * *
Paul stalked the perimeter of the camp, fully armored, his newly blessed sword in his hands. He wondered about this world, so alien as compared to Earth, but so familiar as well. It was as if all the legends of Earth were manifested here. Why was that? Was there some mental connection between this world and Earth, so that what was real here lived in the imaginations of peoples on Earth? Or had such things really existed on Earth at one time, crossing over from here? Had they still been represented on Earth, while man forged his world of science and industry?
The large moon was rising above the surrounding hills, and Paul stared at the edges of the big orb, so unlike the lifeless world that orbited his home. He had watched it the night before, and the night before that, noting the swirls of clouds above the reflected sunlight on the oceans. And it lent a light to the night that was almost like a new day. Tonight it would be full and very bright.
His thoughts were broken by the yelling and screaming of men in the night. The screaming was followed by loud groaning, then beastlike noises. After some minutes of this the howling sounded through the night, from a dozen places. Along with it came loud grunting, and snuffling and other animal sounds. All loud and all moving toward the camp.
“Alert,” yelled Paul, jogging toward the part of the perimeter that looked to be hit the hardest, based on the oncoming noise. “Everyone be alert and ready.”
Spotlights on tanks and APCs burned to life, sending out their bright beams, as men manned auto cannon and machine guns on the vehicles. Men on foot took up their positions, while other bodies moved within the camp to station reserves where they would most be needed. And further behind, Paul knew, the civilians sought what shelter they could find in military and civilian vehicles.
“They’re coming this way, Johnny,” yelled the Major to the company commander, who he could see moving up with the company reserve platoon. The Captain waved back at him, the suit of gleaming mail he wore over his uniform shining in the moonlight. Most of the troopers who were not in vehicles wore armor they had salvaged from the field, and strapped on edged weapons, though they still carried their rifles and pistols and depended on them as their primary weapons.
Rifles cracked in the brightly lit night, followed by th
e explosions of launched grenades and the popping of thirty-five millimeter rounds as they detonated on their targets. Screams and roars added to the howls as the perimeter engaged any moving object. The cacophony of animal noises quieted for a moment, then rose back to a frightening crescendo.
The first shadowy shapes hit the perimeter. A large, shaggy beast leapt into a fighting position, shrugging off the rifle rounds that hit it, and tore apart the two occupants with sharp claws. An even larger beast reared up on its hind legs and swiped down at a man, taking off a head and dropping the spurting body onto the earth.
It doesn’t seem that the silver coated bullets are doing enough, thought the Major as he grasped his sword in two hands and ran toward the werebear. Out of the corner of his eye he caught another of the wolfish beasts, stitched from shoulder to hip by explosive rounds and flung back to the ground. Despite having the back of its head blown out, it struggled back to its feet, its wounds closing magically, until another burst knocked it back down. This could go on all night, he thought, yelling at the bear and waving his sword over his head.
The massive creature, which Paul estimated had to weigh six or seven hundred pounds, shuffled toward the large man approaching it. I wonder where it gets the extra mass when it changes, thought the British officer. He couldn’t imagine a man weighing that much who wasn’t a cripple to his weight.
The lycanthrope bear swung its right paw back, then swatted at the armored man to its front. Paul brought his sword down to his own right hip, and swung with all the power in his torso upwards at the descending paw. Sharp blade hit tough skin and bone. The sword probably would not have penetrated the rock hard bone of the creature, but Paul again felt the strength of several men coursing through his muscles, and the laser sharpened blade sliced all the way through the wrist. The paw flew to the ground along the arc of the strike. The bear pulled the injured arm back in while roaring its anger and pain. Paul could see that the wound was healing as he watched, new joints and digits growing out of the stump. He looked back and saw the paw, laying behind him and shriveling into nothingness.
So much for the blessed blade, thought Paul, jumping back from the swing of the other paw. He pushed forward, holding the sword like a spear and thrusting the terminal point into the chest of the beast. It roared its pain as the blade pushed into its heart, the human drawing it back with an upward cut. Blood spurted from the beast’s mouth and drowned the roar, and it staggered back, its head dropping.
Paul stepped back, holding his sword at a low guard position, and the beast’s head came back up and it shuffled forward, two good paws held out to its sides. Paul took a forward step and brought his blade up, then down in a slash at the leg of the creature. It went down to a knee on the injured leg. Paul swung his sword back up, cutting into the right arm of the creature, then down into its right shoulder. The blade caught for a moment in the bone, and Paul pushed a foot onto the hunched over monster and wrestled the sword loose.
With a roar the creature was back on its feet, shuffling in quickly to enclose the Major in the hug the bear was famous for. It thrust its sharp toothed muzzle at his throat, hot saliva dripping from the fanged mouth. Paul locked his right arm under the jaw of the creature and pushed with all of his strength. He was surprised that he actually pushed the monster’s maw back, his strength a match for the huge bear’s. He grabbed the head with both arms, ignoring the crushing embrace of the monster, and twisted with all of his strength. He could feel the vertebrae crack, and the monster went limp. Paul pulled away from the creature as it fell to the ground, raising his sword up for a strike at the skull. The sword swung downward, and the creature rolled away, the blade slicing into its arm. In an instant the bear was back on its feet and shuffling in.
This could go on all night, thought the Major again as he moved away from the bear, keeping his sword at a guard position. Or until I get too tired to move.
That was his last thought as a heavy weight struck him on the back and drove him to the ground. His head hit hard and he was stunned, by instinct attempting to roll over and get his defenses up. Something strong grabbed his arms, while something else pushed onto his chest and a hot, fetid breath blew into his face. Pulling his lower jaw in he frantically swung his arms in, trying to get them free, as ragged teeth gashed his chin. Something bit down hard on his right hand, crunching bone, and he couldn’t stop the scream from exiting his mouth, and his head fell back and exposed his throat. He felt a sharp pain on his neck, followed by the pressure of flesh and muscle ripping. And the world went dark.
* * *
Captain Johnny Peters shot the werewolf through the head with a pure silver bullet he had poured that afternoon. The Captain had been a private gun owner for years, by special licensing of the British Government, and had all of the molding equipment needed for all of his weapons. The only weapons he brought with him on tour were the matched pair of Dirty Harry .44 magnum revolvers, and he had melted enough silver from a regimental tea set to mold sixty rounds, which he had loaded into the two pistols strapped to his waist over the chain mail he had appropriated from a dead Elf.
The monster fell back, away from the soldier it had been savaging, to lay still on the ground. After an instant the shape began to shimmer and shift, like something was digging under the skin. Seconds later a naked man of slight build lay on the turf, the back of his head leaking blood and brains from the massive wound.
“You men,” yelled the Captain to a trio of soldiers, one with rifle in hand, the others holding a sword and a spear that seemed to glow more than normal under the moonlight. One man was pulling the spear from a large boar hog, the creature starting to shift and shimmer as had the wolf the Captain had just killed. They all ran over to him, the one with the sword throwing a sketchy salute.
“You two with the edged weapons walk in front of me,” ordered the Captain. “You. Simmons isn’t it? What kind of ammo do you have in that thing?”
“Silver coated bullets, sir,” said the Corporal, grimacing. “They knock them down but they don’t keep them down, sir.”
“You watch our backs then,” said the officer, holding one big pistol in his right hand, the other still holstered. “You hit anything that looks like it’s going to get through to us and we’ll take them out. This,” he said, holding the big pistol in front of his face, “has pure silver. It has taken out two of the bastards already. So let’s move.”
The men nodded and began to move out. They immediately came to a knot of men trying to fight off a trio of lycanthropes. The men were knocking down the creatures, but they were getting back up. A couple of sword thrusts and a stab of the spear took down the monsters, and the Captain ordered the soldiers to fall in and look for any more of the enchanted weapons. One soldier pulled a sword from a sheath that glowed in the night and joined the front rank.
The party moved through the moonlit dark, riflemen knocking werebeasts from their feet, sword and spearmen killing them, the Captain putting paid to any who struggled too much or were able to fight off the bladed weapon’s wielders.
They came across the body of the Major, lying on the ground, a large bear tearing at his arm while a wolf ripped at his chest. Captain Peters cried out and shouldered his way past the men he led. Walking quickly up to the wolf he put a .44 round through the creature’s head, blowing out its face and splattering the bloody form of the clearly dead Major. The bear let go of the arm and rose to its feet, to be greeted by a pair of shots to its chest and another through its open mouth. The monster fell over and began its deceased transformation back to man. A large man to be sure, but still lacking the size of the bear. Several of the men later remarked that they didn’t know where the mass had gone.
Peters looked down at the glazed eyes of the Major and shook his head. Mason-Smyth was a good man and a good officer, and the battalion would miss him. Wiping his eyes, the Captain replaced the cartridges in the pistol, then motioned for the men to follow him, so that others might live.
* * *
Breggara led his vampires in at another section of the perimeter, a hundred and eighty degrees from the lycanthropes, so they wouldn’t have to deal with the nasty creatures. They too were torn by fire from the strange weapons of the strange people. But silver was not deadly to his kind, and their wounds healed instantly.
There were cries of horror as some of the humans discovered themselves under attack by their newly dead brethren, who had risen after three days in the ground as newly formed vampires. And men died under their fangs, and those of the more elderly vampires that strode through the perimeter. And this time the immensely strong man was not there to fight them.
Suddenly a man stood up in front of the Vampire Lord, holding up an unknown symbol that looked something like what his Ellala masters crucified criminals on, and shouted out some unknown words. For some reason the symbol radiated with a power unknown to the Vampire Lord, while the words themselves impacted against the undead. His minions felt the shock of their power as well, and the Vampire remembered the first night of assault, when one of his minions had burst into flame on feeding upon one of the strangers. Possibly one such as this?
The Vampire Lord moved toward the human, intending to brush him aside. The unknown force beat on him, pain lanced through his head, but he pushed himself the final distance and swept the man away with a backhand. Several minions followed him and the Vampire gave them quick warning not to feed on the man before them.
Something flew out of the night and struck the minion on the farthest left. The thin skinned membranous object broke on impact, splashing the Vampire with liquid. The Vampire screamed into the night, a high pitched squeal of agony. Breggara turned toward the minion and was shocked to see the flesh dissolving from the creature’s face, while steam rose from the clothing.
More of the objects flew into the pack of vampires, most missing, but several striking the monsters with the same result as the first. Breggara caught a splash of liquid across his face, water getting into his left eye as the balloon burst on a nearby minion. Breggara screamed while the pain tore through him, his left eye going blind. The agony felt like fire, not water. Like nothing he had ever felt in his long unlife.
Refuge: The Arrival: Book 2 Page 8
