“Ulfr,” I said, pointing at the drawing. “That’s a wolf.”
“Ulfr,” he echoed, saying it slowly.
Gesturing at the picture on the ground, he then pointed at me with a scarred finger.
“Ulfr,” he said, indicating me.
He was calling me a wolf. Then he held up one finger and repeated the word. It dawned on me what he was saying; one wolf or lone wolf. He was calling me a lone wolf. Somehow I had earned a name among these Skraelings that I could not understand. No. Not Skraelings. They were warriors, too. They might have looked different from my people, but they were definitely warriors. They had earned my respect, as well.
Tossing the bundle at my feet, he nodded at me gravely and turned to walk away. As he did, I saw the intricate pattern that had been woven into the back of his tunic. It was comprised of leather strips and beads, making a striking image of two ravens perched on a tree limb. Yet again, I was seeing the ravens. The Gods were giving me a sign. I would accept his gift in the spirit it was intended.
I picked up the bundle and opened it slowly. Inside was a cloak made out of a wolf’s skin, with the head as a hood. That would help to keep me warm. In addition, I found a crude pair of boots made from what looked to be deer-hide. I also found food. It was dried meats, berries and some sort of bread. Although it was unfamiliar to me, it smelled good. I tried a small piece of each and discovered it to be very tasty. There was enough food to keep me going for quite a while. Game was plentiful in this new land, so I knew I wouldn’t starve.
As I headed off to the north-east, I glanced back at the hilltop where we had stood against so many of their warriors. Although I was leaving behind two great warriors, I knew that their place in Valhalla was assured. Now I had to make it back to tell their tale. I would make the journey alone, but I felt their strength inside of me. Now I was more than I had been at the beginning of this journey. No longer was I Wygliff the warrior.
Now, I was Wygliff the Wolf.
Chapter Eleven
Dark Waters
“They died hard, those savage men - like wounded wolves at bay.
They were filthy, and they were lousy, and they stunk.
And I loved them.”
- Douglas MacArthur
When I awoke, the rain had passed. The sun had not yet peeked over the horizon, but the crimson line on the sky promised of the day to come. Although the air temperature was still cool, I felt more refreshed than I had expected. As I was sitting up, I noticed the tracks in the mud around me. They were large padded paw prints. It was either a very large dog or a wolf. Then I remembered my dream from the night before. I remembered letting the dogs crawl under the blanket with me. Was it a dream?
I thought about it briefly, but didn’t have time to dwell on it. I needed to cover some serious ground today and put as much distance between me and the fallen FOB Warhorse as possible. I wasn’t ready to face the big warrior. If he was in fact Hrimthurssar, then I needed to be ready for the fight of my life. I had to force him to fight me somewhere the dead would not be a factor. I needed to find a way to give me the advantage.
Moving overland, I headed for the only place that I knew I could move safely. I headed back towards the Missouri River. If I could reach the river, I could float all the way to the Mississippi River and head south from there. I needed to get past St. Louis if I had any shot at getting to safety. Once I cleared the metropolitan area, I could move overland with relative safety. I might even be able to sneak onto Fort Leonard Wood, if it wasn’t overrun by the dead.
My visions from the Old man had led me to find Shura and Irina. I knew that was the reason I had been led this direction. The question remained, was it the only reason? I was beginning to doubt that it was. The closer that I got to the river, the more convinced I became that there was more that I was intended to find. I also had the feeling that I was heading the right direction.
I moved quickly throughout the day, using the trees to my advantage. I avoided buildings and any place that looked like it might possibly be crawling with the undead. It was nearly sundown and I was passing through a very well-to-do subdivision of expensive looking houses. That was when I caught my first glimpse of the river. I was fortunate enough to find that there was also a large dock nearby, which had several big boats tied up to it. Two were obviously fishing boats, a couple of pontoon boats, and two cabin cruisers.
I was going to take one of the cabin cruisers. Not only would it afford me transportation down the river, it would also give me a place to sleep. I could drop an anchor in the deep part of the river and sleep in relative safety. I knew that the Hrimthurssar had several of the Stalkers with him, but the current was swift enough that I doubted they would be able to find my anchor line, much less climb it. Anchoring in deep water might well be my best chance to get any real rest.
Moving down to the dock, I brought up my silenced M-4 and checked the load. It was hot and ready to go. I made certain to walk heal-to-toe, rolling my feet on the ground rather than taking heavy steps to minimize the noise that I would make on the wooden planks. I did a quick check of every boat I passed, grabbing the fuel tanks each time and setting them out on the dock. Whichever cabin cruiser I decided to take would need fuel for the trip I had in mind.
I searched both cabin cruisers and ultimately decided on one that I liked the color of better than the other one. I know it was an arbitrary way to decided, but they both had more room than I needed. I quickly brought the fuel on board and scavenged for supplies. Placing everything I found onto my chosen boat, I headed for the wheelhouse.
This one was a little tougher to hotwire, but in a few minutes I was casting off the mooring lines while the engines rumbled. I shoved away from the dock and idled out towards deeper water. Once I was well clear of the dock, I headed down river to get away from the dock before throttling back and finding a good spot to cut power.
After I set the anchors, I let the boat drift until the anchor lines pulled taut and made sure it was going to hold. Then I shut down power and headed down onto the deck. Taking out my binoculars, I began sweeping the shoreline for any sign of the dead. Although it was difficult to use binoculars with only one eye, it wasn’t completely impossible. Once I was sure that the area was clear, I put away the binocs and headed below. I had to smash the locks, but I was beyond caring at this point.
The main cabin was very well appointed and had all the comforts of a rich man’s home away from home. This boat made my Caitríona look like a garbage scow. For all the good it did the former owner, it must have cost close to a million dollars. Now, its worth was confined to how much protection it afforded me against the undead. The opulent luxury seemed as out of place in this world as my appearance was among it. I definitely looked odd in this rich floating palace.
Sinking onto one of the couches, I began taking off my gear and placing it on the table. I spent some time cleaning all of my weapons and oiling the sword. After spending the night in the pouring rain, I needed to make sure that everything was in order. I couldn’t afford for my weapons to be out of commission because I failed to maintain them. That would be a fatal mistake.
After the weapons, I checked over all of my equipment. I had extra weapons from the wreckage of the Humvee, but little need for them all. What I really needed was the ammo. In fact, I needed more ammo if I had a shot at getting back to the others. Whatever task the Gods had for me, I wanted to get it over with and get back to my family. Our time was running out before the Fimbul Winter set in.
Glancing around the room, I saw a glass case that held nautical items on display. No doubt, they were part of an expensive collection that the former owner proudly displayed. I didn’t really give a shit about that. What I did care about was that one of the items on display was an antique nautical telescope. It was made from brass and wood, and was collapsible. The entire thing slid inside itself and ended up only about eight inches long.
I smashed the glass case and removed the spyglass, examining it
thoroughly. It was the real deal, not just a mock-up. It had good magnification, too. I folded it up and slipped it into my pack. Then my eyes fell on the liquor cabinet. In a glass case on the back was a bottle. I opened the case and removed it, reverently. I had heard of this but I had never actually seen one. It was a fifty year old bottle of Glenfiddich Scotch. That bottle cost more than I had earned in a year as a C.O. There was no way that I was not going to have some of this.
Pouring myself a generous glass, I sat back on the couch and removed my body armor. Glenfiddich made one of the world’s premier scotches. It was smooth beyond compare, totally eclipsing even the best whiskeys I had ever tasted before. I could be eaten by the zombies now and I would count myself blessed for having tasted it. All of my years enjoying whiskey had led me to this moment. Unfortunate as it was that it took the zombie apocalypse to get me here, I was grateful for this one taste. It was simply amazing.
Despite the knowledge that one glass cost more than I earned in a single paycheck, I had a second glass. It went down as smoothly as the first. After that, all I wanted to do was lay down and think about Scotch. I couldn’t bring myself to have a glass of anything else, much less eat anything. I didn’t want anything to spoil the flavor in my mouth. I could eat later.
The gentle swaying of the boat on the water and the sheer comfort of the couch was enough to put me into a very relaxed state. I didn’t fall asleep, but just lay there enjoying the wonderful feeling of warmth that had spread throughout my body. I let my mind wander and tried to think of better times, but all I could think about was losing Leffingwell and the fall of FOB Warhorse. All the loss of life could have been avoided if Hadley had done his job and posted the perimeter guard. He’d earned himself a place among the dishonored dead.
I was beginning to drift off and didn’t notice the noise at first. The second time I heard it; I sat up and shook my head to clear it. I quickly turned off the lights and grabbed my M-4, then stepped out onto the deck. The wind was picking up and I could smell rain in the air. We were in for another storm tonight. I could see the lightning lighting up the clouds in the distance. On the wind, I could hear the clear note of a call. It was a signal horn.
At first it rolled out in the distance, clear and unmistakable. It was miles away from here and not on the water. It was somewhere back towards FOB Warhorse. As I listened, it was answered by a second and then a third horn; each a different direction. I felt a cold chill run down my spine. If it was the Hrimthurssar, then there was more than one of them. One was bad enough. I wasn’t sure I could beat him, let alone three of them. If they came after me all at once, I was doomed.
Slipping back inside, I made sure that all of the portholes were covered so that no light could be seen from the outside. Unless they knew the boat was there, they wouldn’t be able to see it. They would have to be specifically searching for it. Without the running lights, it would be hard to spot in the middle of the river. Even if they did see it, they would have a difficult time reaching it without a boat of their own. They would have to paddle out, because I would hear a boat motor coming long before they got to me.
I briefly considered pulling up the anchors and heading down river. I decided against it, though. The Missouri could be a treacherous river to navigate during the day by an experienced river pilot. I definitely didn’t have the skill or the knowledge to try it in the dark. I’d either run aground or sink myself on some hidden obstruction. No, it was dangerous to wait, but far more dangerous to risk traveling in the dark. I would have to wait until first light to move.
Returning to the cabin, I left the lights off and opened one of the windows. The cool night air was refreshing, but it also allowed me to listen for more sounds. I heard the horns sound again, but after the third time they stopped sounding. I did notice that they seemed to be getting farther away each time.
As I leaned back against the couch, I began to consider all of the things that I had learned. I now knew that the Hrimthurssar were real and that they somehow either controlled the undead or could move among them without problems. It did seem like they were able to direct them, so I had to assume that they could control them. That was not good news. They were also apparently very tough to kill.
I knew that the damage I had done to the one I fought was extensive. If I had been wounded like that, I would have either bled out or taken weeks to recover. He seemed no worse for wear just a couple of days later. I could assume that they healed much faster than I did. They were also bigger, stronger and faster than me. My only advantage was in training and intelligence. Ok, maybe just in training. I wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed.
If I was going to win a fight against one or more of them, I had to fight smarter and inflict massive amounts of damage in as little time as possible. If I didn’t, I’d be outmatched fairly quickly. I couldn’t hope to beat them with sheer power. The only reason I had done so well the last time was that he underestimated me. I was more than confident they wouldn’t make that mistake twice.
I needed to find terrain that suited my purposes and quickly. The sounds of the horns told me that they were hunting me. If they could control the dead and used them to do their dirty work, then the Trackers would be able to follow me easily. Well, they might not be able to follow my scent through the rain. They definitely wouldn’t be able to track me on the river, but they might lead the Hrimthurssar to the dock where I took the boat. I’m sure that they would figure it out from there. Oh well, I took all the fuel. Good luck following me in one of those boats.
I’m not sure when I drifted off, but the next thing I knew the sun was trying to peek through the clouds. The day was still heavily overcast and it was still raining steadily, but it was light outside. It was gloomy, but I decided it was good enough. It was time to head downstream. I would either discover what I was meant to find, or get back on my way home.
I slipped my gear back on and did a quick weapons check. Once I was sure that everything was ready, I headed out onto the deck. That’s when I realized that the boat was no longer sitting still. It was moving slowly downriver. That meant that the anchors had come loose and we had been drifting with the current for the Gods only knew how long.
I ran over to the bow of the boat and grabbed the first anchor line and began pulling on it. I was astonished to find that it came up freely without any kind of resistance. After only a few feet of pulling, the end of the rope emerged from the water. It was neatly severed at about six feet in length. I could tell by the way the ends looked that it had to have been cut. It wasn’t snapped in two.
A sick feeling began to emerge in my stomach as I reached for the other line. When it too emerged from the water with a smoothly cut end, I felt the pit of my stomach lurch in alarm. Not only had the lines been deliberately cut, the perpetrator could very well be nearby or on the boat with me. It wasn’t the work of the dead, either. Something very sharp had severed those lines.
Spinning around, I reached for the grip of my XVR. My hand froze mid-way when I realized that I was looking down the barrel of a massive handgun. Sitting atop the rail that led into the wheelhouse was the giant warrior that I had fought before. He was dripping wet from the rain, but it didn’t seem to bother him. If anything, he seemed to be reveling in it.
“Hello, Grant,” he said in his deep resonating voice.
“What the fuck do you want?” I demanded, pretty sure I already knew the answer to that one.
“The world,” he said, smiling a predatory smile. “But I’ll settle for your head.”
“How long have you been aboard?” I asked, dreading the answer.
“I could have killed you in your sleep,” he replied, “if that’s what you’d like to know.”
“What stopped you?” I said, cautiously.
“Oh, I want more than just to kill you, Grant,” he said, softly. “I want to beat you and make you beg for death.”
“Better than you have tried, asshole,” I replied. “So, are you going to shoot me or t
alk me to death?”
“No guns,” he said, standing up. “We’ll use blades, the way the Gods intended it.”
He was bigger than I remembered. He looked like you took the body of a bodybuilder and stuck it on an NBA player’s frame. He had to be well over seven feet tall and pure muscle. His skin had a bluish cast to it and he was covered with tattoos. When he removed his shirt, I could see that there were more than I had previously seen. Bind Runes were cast into his skin with what looked like a branding iron. He also had a massive depiction of Odin being devoured by the Fenris Wolf on his chest. Although I could not see his back, I was certain it had more of the same.
I sat my weapons on a nearby couch and began removing my gear. I removed my armor, leaving only the sword and boot knife. I observed that he was doing the same. When he drew his wickedly curved black blade, I saw the design up close for the first time. The blade was curved slightly, almost like a scimitar, but still obviously Norse in design. The tip of the blade was double edged for stabbing and turned into serrations about six inches back from the tip. This was a weapon designed to rend flesh.
The blade was as black as the night sky with etched runes down the length of it. The hilt was the head of a dragon with rubies for eyes. From the symbols carved into the hilt, I was sure that I recognized the dragon. It was Nidhogg, the dragon of the underworld. In Ragnarok, it would feast on the bodies of the fallen. According to the texts, it would survive Ragnarok and live to torment men in the next world. Not a very reassuring prophesy.
“I see you’re admiring Thor’s Bane,” he said, turning the sword for me to get a better look.
“You might want to brush up on your reading,” I replied. “Nidhogg doesn’t kill Thor.”
Ragnarok Rising Page 21
