"Sure, Mom."
****
The next day, Tim grabbed a beer, strutted out to the pool, and almost went back inside. Margaret lounged under an umbrella, watching their son throw the ball into the water then race the dog for it. Screw it. It was his house, the sun was shining, and his beer was cold. Margaret smiled a greeting when Tim walked up to the chair beside her. Her smile dropped when he dragged it a few feet away.
"Betcha can't throw it to the deep end, buddy." Tim took a long swig of his beer.
"Just watch!" Josh threw the ball then raced after the black lab. The dog beat the boy to the water with three feet to spare. Once in the pool though, the boy gained ground with every strong stroke of his twelve-year-old arms.
"Careful, honey, Jake looks like he's getting tired."
"Who cares?" Tim took another drink. "If the dog drowns, he can bring it back."
"That's wrong, Tim, and you know it. He shouldn't use his gift like that."
"Holy shit, are you seriously going to start again? Using his gift like that is what got us all this."
"And cost us our family."
"Our—"
Oliver entered the pool area from the house, followed by the gold-toothed thug who worked for Mister Bosco. "Excuse me," Oliver said. "This… gentleman demanded to see Joshua."
"Name's Goldy." The man smiled. His gold tooth flashed in the son. "We met at the morgue. Mister Bosco's had me keepin' tabs on Joshua since Reginald's first visit. I feel like I know more about Joshua than I do my own mother. That's why," he reached inside his suit jacket and drew a pistol that looked capable of shooting down aircraft, "when the boss ordered him killed, I volunteered."
"What? Tim, do something!" Margaret waved Josh away.
Oliver stepped to one side, clearing the line of fire.
"See," Goldy continued, "Reginald and I couldn't let that happen."
The gunshot sent shockwaves concussing across the stone patio. Blood, bone, and gray matter exploded from Oliver's forehead. Tim jerked, spewing beer from mouth and bottle. Margaret's squeal mingled with Jake's yelp of fear.
Goldy raised both hands, allowing the gun to dangle from one index finger by the trigger guard. "Ollie worked for Mister Bosco. Told him about Ed Racer." The thug turned to Josh and knelt. "We should be serving you."
"Holy shit. What?" Tim levered himself from his chair.
"Joshua, come here, honey." Margaret held out a hand.
"You're one of those nuts," Tim said.
Goldy raised his head. "Your son is a gift from God."
"We need to go away." Margaret wrapped a towel around their son. "We can't let them hurt Josh."
"Wait. No. Are you stupid?" Tim grabbed his wife's arm.
"She's right," Goldy said. "Mister Bosco won't stop. Joshua needs to disappear. He's resurrected some powerful people. If we get to them first, we can make them help us."
Tim bobbed his head. "Oh, we use them all right. We use them to get protection. Then we can charge more… to cover expenses. "Josh, buddy. Tell the nice man to do what I say."
"No, Tim," Margaret said. "Joshua and I have been talking. We miss the way things used to be. You know, when we were a family."
"Are you nuts? We are freakin' rich." Tim held out a hand. "Josh, come here, buddy. Your mother is crazy." Josh sobbed. Twelve and still crying like a little girl. God, she was turning their son into a drama queen.
"Josh, honey, you know what you need to do."
"Goldy, kill my dad."
Tim didn't hear the gunshot. He did remember it though.
"Please don't die." Josh had one of his hands clasped in his.
Tim lurched, attempting to stand, but Josh was faster.
"Don't move and don't talk, Dad, just listen. Mom is right. I want us to be a family again. For now on, you will love Mom and me, and you will only want to make us happy." He started to stand, but stopped when Margaret cleared her throat. "Oh, and you will do whatever Mom tells you to do."
"Good job, honey." Margaret rushed in and gave Josh a hug. "Get up, Tim."
Tim stood. Unable to help himself, he ran his eyes over his wife, wondering how he'd gotten so lucky. Grinning, he reached up and ruffled Josh's hair. He couldn't believe he'd been on the verge of risking his family over money. On a level buried too deep to change anything, his mind screamed, "They shot you!" It begged him to strangle the life out of his wife and son. Instead, he said, "We need to disappear," because he knew it would make them happy.
13
Midnight Sun
By Doug Dandridge
Wulfhere stood waiting at the entrance to the caverns. Waiting for two things to happen in succession. First for the sun to go down below the horizon, so the light that the blood suckers feared would be extinguished from the sky. Then for the creatures to come shambling from their hiding places.
Will this work, was the thought that kept running through his mind. He had spent most of the day working on this plan. Everything he could think of he had done, but that didn’t mean he had thought of everything. This would either work, or he and his men would fight their last stand on this Gods forsaken island, to possibly rise again as undead, but surely to never reach Valhalla.
The Viking was as prepared as he could be. He had left his helm and shirt of scale back at the wrecked ship, not wanting to be weighed down by them in case he had underestimated the speed of the creatures. The sword passed down to him by his father, carried by his grandfather and great-grandfather in battle before him, was in his hand. He refused to leave it behind, in case his dying still offered an opportunity to enter Valhalla. Without his sword he could not prove to Heimdall, the guardian of Bifrost, that he was a true warrior, and so enter the halls of Odin.
“Odin, grant me strength,” he muttered at the thought of the God. Surely the All-Father could not condone the existence of creatures such as these, and would help his true sons to strike them down. Surely, for these must be creatures of Loki, whom all the Gods justly hated.
The sound of feet scuffing rock came to his ears. The twittering as of bats, or some other rodent, followed. They were on the move, as the globe of the sun sank below the horizon, moving through the caves under the hill that provided them with shelter. Their instincts must have told them of the approach of night. Would they be as strong at the approach of day?
The first appeared in the cavern mouth, its nostrils expanding as it tested the air. It stopped and looked at the man before it with red glowing eyes, as if confused at the foolhardy behavior of its prey. Long fangs gleamed in its mouth. The rags of clothes were draped upon its form. One of the original monsters, surmised Wulfhere, and not one of his risen men.
It shuffled forward as another monster bumped it from behind. This was also an original, one of those who dwelt here before the coming of the Vikings. The next two were not, and Wulfhere shuddered as he looked into the faces of those who had been his companions, who had been drained of their blood and forced to a nightmare existence as one of the vampires. One wore the shirt and breeches he had on when killed on the first night. The other wore a scale hauberk that had not protected him on the second, when they had tried to fight off the monsters with fire, and found it just as ineffective as swords and axes.
Wulfhere started walking backwards as the creatures came on from the cavern. They looked wary as they checked their flanks, expecting some kind of attack. When they saw none the leader opened its mouth and let loose a high pitched rattling scream, its arms outstretched as it came after the living man before it, its food.
Wulfhere turned and started to lead them, keeping to a jog as the creatures came behind him. So far they were not moving very fast. The slower the better, he thought. The more time it took them to reach the other survivors, the more chance of success.
After a couple of hundred yards the creatures' attitude changed, their primitive senses telling them that this night was different. They scanned the twilight that was the closest this night would get to darkness. Howling like
a pack of wolves, they ran toward the Viking, as fast as their legs would carry them. Not as fast as a man in his prime, such as the Viking leader, but fast enough.
Wulfhere sped before them, arms pumping as his booted feet slapped the soggy ground. He had always been reckoned as fast among his people, and he was thankful that his speed hadn’t completely disappeared with his youth. The Viking had to slow his pace as he approached the halfway point, so the creatures would stay close enough behind him to keep the scent of living blood fresh in their noses. So their hunger would override their survival instincts.
This had to work, was the thought foremost in his mind. Legends told that creatures like this were destroyed by sunlight. He hoped the legends were true, and he wasn’t wasting his time, and possibly the lives of his men, in a foolish attempt. There was really nothing to lose in such an attempt though, since doing nothing would also lead to their deaths. Maybe a few days later, but men like he and his crew did not wait helplessly for the end. They took charge of their finish.
On he ran through the twilight over the gentle hills of the treeless island, the pack of several dozen vampires on his trail. At one point the leader of the creatures pulled away from the others, his clawed hands stretching out to snatch at the Viking before Wulfhere knew it was there. The captain swung his sword back in full stride, striking the vampire hard on the shoulder. The creature stumbled and fell, jumping swiftly back to its feet as the others of the pack caught up to it.
Wulfhere ran full out now, his lungs drinking in deep the air that smelled of putrefied flesh. He could hear and smell the nearness of the sea. Ahead he could make out the dark shape of the long ship, propped up on the sand, the ship that had brought them to this cursed island. The Viking pushed himself with every ounce of his reserves, lengthening the gap between him and his pursuers.
The sword went up over the side before him, and he sprung up as high as he could jump, hands grasping the hard boards of the gunwales. Strong arms gripped his, and he was pulled over to safety, moments before the first of the vampires reached the sands.
“Here,” yelled Hrut, running over and helping Wulfhere into his hauberk of scale. The other man swiftly laced the armor into place, while the captain placed his conical helm upon his head. Picking up his sword he moved to the side to look down at his foes. He felt elation sweep through him. He had brought them here, to a place where his men held the high ground. Where they could stand and fight, and not cower in the rocks, waiting for death to come. They had the advantage over the creatures, and only need hold them for the specified time.
The vampires stood there for a few minutes as the Vikings kept a close watch. Wulfhere didn’t think any of them would go out into the water, where the hole in the side was awash in the waves. But he wanted to be sure that they didn’t, for the entrance of the vampires into the hull of the vessel could spell their doom.
He could feel the hunger directed at him by the upturned faces, as the figures continued to wait in the twilight. Then they began to move with no warning, up to the sides of the ship, claws grasping at the wooden hull. One jumped, high in the air, its great strength propelling it waist high to the gunwale as its hand grasped at the wood to pull it over. A Viking thrust with a blade into the creature’s chest, keeping it from getting aboard. Another of the men struck at the vampire with his ax, hitting it hard in the shoulder and knocking it back to the ground.
Wulfhere knew the blow wouldn't do the creature any permanent harm. The creatures healed any damage done to them. Even severed limbs and heads were miraculously reconnected if put back in place by the injured monster. He had seen it himself on the first nights of attacks, something that had frozen the blood in his veins.
Arrows flew into several of the undead, thunking into chests that no longer breathed, with no effect. Spears had little more effect, but at least the creatures stopped long enough to pull the heavy shafts from their bodies. It was a battle of keeping the creatures from the deck of the ship, a battle that in most cases was won.
One of the resurrected Vikings made it to the deck, scrambling over before anything could be done to stop him. There were too many of them, and the Vikings were spread out too far to stop all attempts. Wulfhere had designated himself the one man reserve, and he moved to cut off this one before he took a man from behind. He recognized the creature with a start as he stepped in front of him. Leif, a boyhood friend who had sailed with the captain for years, first when they crewed together under Erik the Beardless, then recently as one of Wulfhere’s own crew.
A clawed hand struck at Wulfhere as the Viking backed away. He swung his sword with both hands, catching the arm at the elbow and cutting it away from the vampire, to land twitching on the deck. Leif swung his other arm, not discomfited in the least at only having one limb. He hit Wulfhere’s shoulder, pitching the Viking onto the deck, to land heavily on his back. Blood dripped from the Viking’s shoulder where a scale had been rent and pushed through the leather undercoat it had been sewn to.
The creature seemed to go mad when the smell of blood reached its nostrils, leaping forward on the deck with extended fangs. Wulfhere rolled from its path and was on his feet in an instant, bringing his sword overhand and into the neck of the vampire, slicing through the dead flesh and bone. The creature’s head rolled across the deck, its mouth opening and closing, eyes still burning with fire. The body groped its way back to its feet and went in search of its head. As it reached the railing Wulfhere hit it hard in the midsection with his shoulder, knocking it over the gunwale and back to the beach. It got back up and tried to get into the ship, attempting to walk through the wood of the hull and bouncing off on each attempt. The captain pinned its head to the deck with a dagger through its mouth, then drew another dagger to do the same to the severed arm. He would not have this particular vampire at full strength if he could help it.
“Captain,” yelled Hrut, his second in command. “They’re trying to break through the hull.”
Wulfhere looked over the gunwale and saw that his mate had spoken truly. The creatures had stopped trying to gain the deck, and were instead hammering at the overlapping boards that made up the hull. One got a purchase on a long board and pulled with its great strength. With a wrenching sound the board pulled free at one end, and several more joined the first at pulling it away from the ship.
“Hrut,” ordered Wulfhere. “You take three men down there and keep them from getting through. We’ll watch the deck.”
The sturdy Viking nodded before beginning to tell off his three picks. They opened the deck hatch and dropped below. A sound of splintering wood announced that the creatures had torn another board loose. They were working on a third when a spear pushed one of them back onto its back, and a second lost a hand trying to reach into the gap. Hrut and his men were in place, and the vampires would have a hard time taking off more of the hull without the loss of limbs.
Now the vampires redoubled their efforts to make the deck, and Wulfhere faced them with a little over two thirds of the men he had minutes before. Were the creatures that smart, he wondered, to work out a plan to split his forces, or were they just the recipients of luck? He fought hard. They all fought hard, striking at vampire after vampire as they tried to get over the gunwale and onto the deck. A success on reaching the deck would allow others to make it, they all knew. So a success could not be allowed.
He wondered if the twilight had become a little lighter, and how much time they had to keep fighting the demons. The creatures must have noticed the same thing. Without warning they turned and started away, heading back across the heath of the island, back for the shelter of their caves.
The men started to cheer, waving their weapons in the air, the feeling of victory sweeping the deck. Wulfhere, looking to the horizon, realized that it was too soon. They were retreating too soon. This night had been their best chance of victory. If they couldn’t win on this night, they never would.
Hrut and his men were piling on to the deck and adding to the
cheers. Wulfhere looked at them, wanting them to feel like they had won, wanting to join the celebration, but knowing they had not.
“Quiet,” he yelled. “Quiet, you fools. It’s too early for them to retreat. We must stop them from getting to cover.”
The men looked at him with blank expressions, recognition of the problem slowly dawning in their eyes. They jumped up and down, yelling at the creatures, trying to attract attention, but the vampires continued to shamble on. Not very fast, noted Wulfhere, and the creatures gave backwards glances as if warring with their hunger. But they moved on.
“Let’s go,” he yelled, vaulting over the gunwale to land crouched on the beach below. Hrut followed immediately, followed by half a dozen more. Shields were thrown down to the beach, followed by the remainder of the crew.
“We need to block them off, before they get into the caverns.”
The Vikings ran after the monsters, angling off enough so they would be out of reach as they passed. Shields and gripped weapons became heavy quickly, even in the arms of these iron men. They had fought a battle, after a restless day of hard preparation. Now they were running in their armor to fight another.
Wulfhere felt the rush of the battle madness course through his veins, the strength that came to men when they needed it most. The others must have felt it as well, and they kept up with him, running over the low hills of the island. Wulfhere thanked the Gods, especially Thor, for gifting them with that strength. They would need all of it shortly.
The Vikings passed the vampires in the middle of the island. The creatures continued on single-mindedly, though they glanced over at the living men with hungry looks. Self-preservation must have been foremost in their minds though, as they never deviated from their straight line toward the caverns.
Wulfhere thought they could still make it to the lower entrance of the caverns, where they had come from tonight. There would not be time for the creatures to make it to the other side of the cliffs, so the lower entrance was where the Vikings would make their stand.
Fight the MonSter: Find a Cure for MS Page 17
