Lycan Fallout_Rise Of The Werewolf

by Mark Tufo

  And there he was, the ignorant, pig-headed Michael, fighting like a demon amongst devils. Tommy was right. He was in danger, and nothing short of a miracle was going to save him. She was running towards him, rifle set securely in her shoulder. The steel sights bobbing wildly, every step changing her point of aim; left foot was the werewolf coming up behind him, right foot was Mike. Her left foot came down and she pulled on the trigger thinking she may have yanked it back a little too hard jerking her even further up and off target. If anything, it had saved Mike’s life as the bullet caught the werewolf flush in the side of the head, sending a misty red spray acrorednking ss the throng. She dropped five more in various states of pain and death as she came up alongside Mike.

  ***

  Bailey had afforded a clearing and I was going to do all I could to get to the doors and keep them barricaded from the carnage that would ensue if they were broken open.

  “Used to love the night, the peace and quiet it afforded. Plus…no people,” I said, kicking out a knee from a werewolf that had gotten too close. “Now!” I shouted. “Not so much. All of a sudden six months of sun up north sounds pretty friggin’ good.”

  “The moon also rises there,” Bailey said from directly behind me.

  “Really? Buzz kill,” I told her. We were getting closer, the press of flesh getting to the point where effective fighting was becoming difficult. At least, for those of us that wielded weapons, the ones with mouths as weapons seemed to be adapting to the fighting conditions just fucking fine. I’d held on to a futile hope that the Landians would make a cameo and help out, but that appeared less and less likely as more time passed and more of us died. I’d have to thank them personally if I ever got the chance.

  When I finally fought my way through, I’d wished for a video camera. The look on the closest person’s face as I approached was priceless.

  “Yeah, and I smell just as good,” I told him, making sure he didn’t mistake me for an enemy. This it? I thought, looking upon the defenders-slash-survivors.

  Laughing Man was somehow still alive and had been restocked with arrows. Someone had the foresight to place him in a roughhewn chair. He was happily firing away. I could only hope that, when I finally slid over that precipice I was continually hugging, I’d be half as effective of a fighting machine. More than once I noted that, as I cut down a werewolf, they had been tentatively turning their heads. At first, I mistakenly assumed it was their masters calling them back, but then the truth of it hit me; it was the moon…or more clearly, its descent.

  Time, which is a mortal enemy to us all, had finally swung in our favor. I knew our new ally could be as finicky as hell. I wasn’t going to let the opportunity slide. We were literally fighting with our backs to the wall. We had been pressed as close as we could without being on intimate terms…or at least going to dinner and a show.

  “Wheatonvillians!” I shouted. It had no ring, it wasn’t like ‘Spartans’ or ‘Romans’ and I wasn’t even sure if it was Wheatonvillians. Seemed more like a village of bad guys than a townspeople name. What was the alternative Wheatonvillites? Even less savory. No matter, my shout had got their attention.

  “I know you’re exhausted, but we must press the attack! Even now the werewolves are in the process of turning back. You must not! WE must not allow them escape, for they will return!”

  I knew what I was asking. In moments, the beasts before us would once again become the men, women, and children they once were. Frightened, naked, and completely unaware of what destruction they had wrought, we would still have to destroy them. There was no rehabilitatio rend childn, even if we captured them; there was no chance of convincing them we were their friends and the Lycan the true enemy. Come the next full moon, the jailers would once again become meat.

  In terms of speeches it was horrible but, truth be told, I was too damn exhausted to do much more than force them forward. Werewolves began the painful process of reconfiguring their beings; muzzles fell back, hair receded faster than a middle-aged man’s. Razor claws were reduced to jagged fingernails. Pointed ears began to look more like a Star Trek prop (if you were alive during my era you’d get the reference, the name Spock will mean absolutely nothing to you now). Pain was etched on their features as things evolution would take millions of years to recreate were being done in mere moments.

  Swords still slashed, pitchforks still poked, arrows still pierced. The werewolves were falling in droves. Some tried to retreat as a means of self-preservation, but most were stuck with limbs in mid-transformation, unable to move as the Reaper unabashedly sought them out. People faltered as the enemy began to look more like them. I had no such compunction. All I noted was that it was now easier to behead them without the thick-corded muscles around their necks getting in the way. So much had been lost, and still this stupid town thought of mercy.

  “Fools!” I told them. “Do you think they will be so kind when they come back? How many of your friends…of your family members are dead?” I kept hacking away. Azile might be named the Red Witch, but I acquired the name ‘Red Reaper’ that night as I savagely ended their tormented existences.

  “Enough!” Azile said, being supported at the doorway to the church.

  My chest was heaving. If I had previously been coated with viscera, I was now my own walking pool of it. Save my eyes…they burned with a savage fury. Blood flowed around my feet as I turned to the voice.

  “You would stop me?” I asked. I wanted to fight, and right now it didn’t matter with whom.

  “Tommy needs us.” Bailey grabbed my arm.

  She had been alongside my genocide. She above all others knew the wisdom in defeating our enemy when the chance arose. There could be no quarter.

  Tommy, I thought.

  The bodies around me now more resembled the beings they had once been. In a matter of minutes, I could finish them off alone. I weighed destroying them with going to find Tommy. I won’t lie; it was a toss-up until Oggie came out of the church. He swiveled his head looking at the damage. He came up to me, somehow finding a clear spot on the back of my hand. He licked it and headed off to the main gate. That was really all I needed for the turning point. Whether they survived or not, little mattered what happened to the remnants of the werewolves. The Lycan’s next attack would destroy what was left of this once-thriving community.

  It wasn’t like the naked people on the ground would be able to atone for their sins. This would be the first time in my history I would actually agree with the temporary insanity plea. They actually had no clue what they had done. They were as much predators as I had been the night Tommy turned me into a hunting machine. I caught fragmentary glimpses of that night, but nothing more, notcluand it would be the same for these people. Might as well condemn the termite for eating your house. Sure, you could eradicate him, or at least try, but it wasn’t like he was going to have any clue as to why you were killing him. He was doing what he had been programmed to do.

  Tommy.

  He was all that mattered. My walk turned into a trot, and when I didn’t think that was fast enough I began to run. Oggie was still slightly ahead of me with Bailey slightly behind. Something was wrong. I could feel it in every fiber of my being. I had my line of sight slightly angled down. There were so many bodies strewn on the roadway, I had to watch my footing. It was Oggie’s savage barking that got my attention first.

  “No further!” a booming voice rang out.

  Oggie was bristled and looked near to charging.

  “Hold that diluted monster away,” the Lycan said.

  “Oggie, to me,” I said, taking in the scene. He took his sweet time doing it, but he was unlike most of the women in my life…he actually listened.

  Not more than twenty yards from me stood three incredibly large Lycan (I somehow forgot how big they were, the werewolves, who also dominated over humans, were stunted dwarves in comparison). Two were holding Tommy, more like suspending him. His leg hung at a grotesque angle and he had enough scrapes and cuts over
his bare torso to look like he had gotten caught in the world’s largest briar patch.

  “Tommy!?” I shouted in question.

  “Come no further, Old One,” the Lycan that was standing in front and to the side of Tommy said.

  I upraised my sword. The Lycan laughed, it was a menacing sound. His eyes glinted cold hard steel.

  “This is how it ends, Mr. T,” Tommy said with resignation. It looked like he had just enough energy to raise his head and tell me that.

  “You have lost here!” I shouted to the Lycan.

  “Have we?” he asked back. “I care not for the werewolves slaughtered here.” And then he spat a large voluminous phlegm ball to the ground. “The humans even less. When Xavier finds out I have destroyed an Old One, I will become my own pack leader for this.”

  “Find my soul.” Tommy begged.

  “Humans and their airy wishes,” the lead Lycan said. The other two laughed. Tommy struggled weakly against his bonds.

  “I will kill you for this,” I told him.

  “Perhaps, Old One, but not before it is too late.” He spun incredibly fast. Before I could even process what was going on, he had swung. Tommy’s head tumbled to the ground.

  It might as well have been my head spiraling down as vertigo threatened to drop me. Bailey gasped and reached out, holding me steady. I charged at them and they dropped Tommy’s lifeless body, running back to the hole they had crept out of. I was a few hundred yards out of the town when I realized I had lost them. They had melted into the woods, and unless they were wearing reflective clothing, I’d never find them.

  I howled a cry; frustration, anger and remorse were intermingled in that wail. I failed, I thought as I walked back. Bailey had taken off her jacket and covered Tommy’s head, I would imagine so that I couldn’t see the frozen expression of betrayal on his countenance.

  I knelt by his body and said a prayer that I had known from my youth. I don’t think I’d even got the half of it right. Oggie released a low keening as he rested his head on Tommy’s chest. Something inside of me snapped there and then; that it hadn’t happened much, much sooner was a mystery even to me. I stood; a wildness to my eyes.

  “What are you doing, Michael?” Bailey asked with concern.

  “Taking care of some unfinished business.”

  She reached out to stop me and missed. I put on a burst of speed she could not match. I knew what I’d find when I got there. The residents of Wheatonville were helping the former werewolves up or bandaging wounds.

  “Traitors!” I screamed as I came upon them.

  I meant the inhabitants of the town. I cut down anything and everything that was naked. They had no right to live while Tommy had died. Everyone fled from the ferocity and savagery I brought to bear. My sword was bathed in blood before Azile could be summoned from the church where she was tending to the wounds of friend and foe alike. I was just making her job easier.

  “Don’t you dare!” Azile shrieked as I pushed past her to get into the church. “They’re just children!”

  “They were,” I told her. I brought my sword over my head and was about to bring it crashing down on the skull of the one closest to me. Azile muttered something and I found myself frozen; or, more correctly, the air around the sword seemed to be solidified as if in a block of ice. It appeared I could do whatever I wanted as long as it didn’t involve my silver-gilded sword. I struggled for a moment longer.

  “If you are so willing to get the blood of innocents on yourself, do it with your hands,” She spat.

  “Innocents?” I questioned hotly. “You keep telling yourself that when they rip your throat out. Fine, you keep your little pets.” I released the sword. It hung for a few moments and then clattered to the floor. Azile kept an eye on me to see if I was going to pick it up or not. I thought about trying just to see which of us was quicker.

  “I’m going to bury Tommy and then I’m leaving.” I told her as I walked over to my meager pile of supplies. I grabbed my hand axe and made to leave.

  “I didn’t know,” Azile said aghast.

  “Yeah, more innocents did it,” I told her, hoping my words would sting. It wasn’t exactly the truth, but a lie was the least of my transgressions that day. “When I’m done, I’m leaving...ALONE,” I added as I walked out the door.

  Bailey had rounded up some shovels. She was leaning on one when I came back. She said nothing as I picked up his body and slung it over my shoulder. I bent my knees and bundled up Bailey’s jacket with Tommy’s head in it. I walked for hours like that. Bailey and Oggie trailing behind and thabehlunnkfully silent. When I finally came across a place I thought worthy of a resting spot for him, I gently laid his body down, placing his head on his chest. We were on a small pine-covered hill that overlooked a beautiful lake, small islands the only thing breaking up the mirrored surface.

  I plunged my shovel into the soft earth. Wordlessly, Bailey came up to me and began to dig as well. I knew I had found the right spot when we didn’t encounter any rocks bigger than a marble and no roots thicker than a worm. The digging was easy and we got down to a proper depth in less than an hour. Bailey got out of the hole and handed me Tommy. He felt so light in my hands. I began to cry, he was one of my children plain and simple, it mattered not that he was older than me.

  I thought about just having Bailey cover us both with dirt. Finally, I stood and climbed out, Bailey grabbing my hand and pulling me up. I had dug the hole slowly, not wanting to truly realize what it was that we were doing. Now I filled it in hastily in order to be done with this extremely distasteful event. Oggie pawed at the dirt mound when he saw that we were done. I thought he was going to try and get his friend back and then I noticed he dropped something in the small hole he had dug. I fell to my knees, wrapping my hands around Oggie’s neck when I saw the sun glint off the foil wrapper. I covered up what couldn’t possibly be there and stood.

  “What was that?” Bailey asked curiously.

  “Pop-Tart.”

  I knew she didn’t have a clue what that was, but she didn’t ask. I placed my hand over my heart. “Oh, Tommy, I thought I had saved you that day on the Walmart roof. Who would have known it was the other way around? I loved you like a father loves a son, and I will miss and mourn you along with the others until we are all once again reunited.”

  Bailey watched me silently as I spoke. She waited until I was done before she asked her question. “What now, Michael Talbot?”

  “I’m done, Bailey Tynes. I can’t take anymore. I’m going down to that lake, and I’m going to swim until I’m clean. Not clean on the inside, though, that, I cannot wash away.”

  I stumbled down the hill, my sight blurred almost to the point where I could not see. Screw sitting on my keys or getting pollen in my eyes, this was full-on crying. Bailey sat on the small beach as I sheared everything off of me. Oggie would bound into the water and out, repeating this numerous times. I left a plume of chum as I swam. Bailey was hardly recognizable when I finally stopped my swimming to see just how far I had gone. I could hear Oggie barking urgen

  tly looking in my direction. I don’t think he was pleased with how far I had gone out. I turned back around; the lake still went on perhaps another mile or two. I could just keep swimming until I couldn’t. Then I wondered, could vampires drown? Would I just be sitting on the silt-laden bottom, mourning the loss of another with only the fish and snapping turtles as company?

  It was not a plan that completely lacked in merit. I turned and began to swim back. Bailey seemed unruffled as I came out of the water naked. She had started a small fire in my absence.

  “You will need clothes if you wish to hunt Lycan,” she said as she tended to the flame.

  “And what of you, Bailey?”

  “It is my place much like BTe m/p>

  “If you remember correctly, that didn’t work out too particularly well for him.”

  Bailey looked at me queerly. “He lived a long life, surrounded by family and loved ones, and he had an inc
redible tale to tell his children and then their children. Would you deny me that?” she asked.

  “I would not.”

  “When do we start then?”

  “I suppose we already have,” I told her.

  Epilogue –The Story of Tommy/Tomas

  Tomas’ mother died during his birthing. His head, which had been abnormally large, had torn the lining within her birthing canal. She had bled out on the fur and dirt floor of their mud hut in 1500s Germany. His father had never forgiven him that. If not for Tomas’ sister Eliza, Tomas would have joined his mother in the afterlife. Henrick had wanted nothing to do with the baby. He had let it wail in the afterbirth for hours before he had allowed Eliza entry.

  “Shut that thing up no matter what it takes,” he told her in their severe sounding native language.

  Eliza was five at the time. She had run in and dropped down to her mother’s side. A small sob escaped as she looked upon the rapidly purpling body of her mother. A pool of blood spread between her legs, a fat cherub of a baby crying throatily. There was nothing she could do for her mother, but her brother she could love and would. They were all each other had. Henrick was a cruel man that ruled with fear, intimidation and often fists. Eliza figured her mother had probably welcomed the darkness when she saw it coming.

  She grabbed the kettle of hot water the midwife had been using, some clothes and more furs. She first grabbed the baby who immediately quieted down from the contact. She cleaned him up and then swaddled him in the furs.

  “What shall we name you?” Eliza asked the smiling baby.

  “How about leech,” her father had suggested, coming back into their hovel. “Another mouth to feed. She should have just taken the baby with her.”

  Eliza subconsciously shielded the baby; one never knew when an attack from Henrick was imminent. He had various trigger points some could be set off by no more than a cross look. And that was how it went for another five years, Tomas became attached to Eliza’s hip, wherever the young girl went so did Tomas. From an early age Eliza knew Tomas was different, he would often warn her when father was coming home. It was safer for them to feign sleep; he was less likely to strike them although that defense didn’t always work.