Lycan Fallout 4

by Mark Tufo

  “We buried you, Michael,” she said evenly.

  “I didn’t like the spot. Too much sun—that whole southern exposure thing. The neighborhood was turning to shit as well; a family of bad badgers had moved in, dragging down the market value of the whole place.”

  “This Azile’s doing?” She was having some difficulty coming to terms with what she was seeing.

  “I think that my body not being a rotting corpse might have been, but getting back? I’d like to take a fair amount of credit for that.”

  “One doesn’t simply pass over into other realms, Michael, and venture back whenever they please.”

  “It wasn’t quite that easy, Bailey.”

  “I would imagine not.”

  “How long have I been gone?”

  “You don’t know?” she asked.

  “Well, they only had one clock in purgatory and the thing was stuck at midnight. Figures, right?”

  “Eight…” She swallowed. “Eight months you’ve been dead.”

  “Technically seven. I’ve been traveling for a month.”

  “You look thin,” she said.

  “Is there any chance you could invite me in? Possibly fatten me up a little?”

  “What kind of food are you talking about?”

  That was a fair enough question. If I was indeed still a vampire, I could wreak havoc within those walls. “I am as human as you, Bailey.”

  “How?” She’d said it so softly she’d nearly only mouthed the words.

  “You get me a damn cheeseburger and a beer and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  She motioned to someone below her to open a door I had not previously noticed. It blended in perfectly with the wall. Two men and a woman, all armed, came out to escort me. None of them got overly close.

  “Am I considered a hostile?” I asked Bailey as I strode closer to the town.

  “You have been dead for nearly a year, and yet here you are by my gates. Can you fault me for being cautious?”

  “Well, shit, when you put it that way.”

  Chapter 3

  MIKE JOURNAL ENTRY 3

  *

  IT CERTAINLY DID seem like I had been gone a lot longer. It looked as if they had started rebuilding the day I left and had not stopped since. In fact, there were multiple places where construction was very much active, although almost all heads turned to look at me as word spread.

  “And so the legend of Michael Talbot grows,” Bailey said as we walked in the town square. She was awkward at first but finally said “screw it” to formality and wrapped me in a hug I could have got lost in. She then pushed away slowly and without blinking, hauled off and punched me as hard as she could in the shoulder. I just about went down.

  “Fucking oww, Bailey,” I said as I rubbed what was sure to be a sore spot.

  “I barely hit you.”

  “I guess the question is why did you barely hit me?”

  “Part of it was for dying on me, I guess. I have just recently finished the mourning process. But partly I needed to know if you were indeed flesh and blood.”

  “You were hugging me, Bailey. Could you not tell then?” I was vigorously rubbing the muscle that was definitely going to swell up and turn a dark purple along with being tender from some serious deep tissue bruising.

  “The vampire part of you would have shrugged that off. You are human once again.”

  “Didn’t I tell you I would explain it?”

  “Sometimes a demonstration is needed.”

  “Guess I should feel lucky you didn’t shoot me.”

  “I thought about it. Come. We will talk in the new meeting hall.”

  I was looking around at all the people; there were too many. Bailey saw my questioning gaze.

  “Many things have happened since your death, which was apparently grossly exaggerated.” She smiled at that last part. “The Landians have been assisting our rebuilding efforts and some of them now live here on a part-time basis. We had some Denarth citizens come back with the Talbotons they were taking care of. And the biggest surprise was the Cajunites. After the war, Jangrut, the leader of the Cajunites…remember him?”

  “I remember him perfectly.” I was thinking back to the tunnel where I had turned the tides of that conflict by spilling the blood of half his army. It was not a pleasurable reminiscence. How many little old ladies would I have to help across the street to right that giant wrong?

  “The war was not good for him. According to his people, his brain broke.”

  “PTSD. Post-traumatic stress disorder,” I said absently.

  “Perhaps,” Bailey answered, never having heard the term before. “Whatever it is to be called, many of his people left as his actions became more erratic and dangerous.”

  “Why would they come this way? Of all places?”

  “They must have thought it safe; you were supposed to be dead.”

  “News gets around pretty quick for a world without the internet.”

  “Are you hungry?” Bailey asked as she showed me to a seat.

  Before I could answer, she was telling someone in the kitchen to get me some food. It wasn’t quite the burger and the beer, but the stew and cider were magnificent nonetheless. I almost hate to say it, but I could have eaten a whole ham right there and then. I had to tell her I was sorry almost a dozen times as I shoveled food into my mouth.

  “Sick of squirrel,” this with my mouth full. “Rabbit kind of sucks too.” Some bread crumbs shot from my mouth as I said this. “Nice to not have to boil water,” this after a big gulp of the apple drink.

  “You do not need to keep up a conversation as you eat, Michael. One look at you is all I need to know how hungry you are. You look fifty pounds lighter than I remember.”

  “Being dead does that kind of thing to you.” I did not look up from my bowl as I speed-spooned more food into my mouth.

  I spent the remainder of the day telling Bailey all that had happened since Xavier had stopped my heart. She would, from time to time, prod me for clarification on a certain point, but not once did she question or doubt my story. Proof was in the pudding, I guess, because here I was. Not sure how I could have even come up with that story if it wasn’t true.

  By now, we were outside on the steps of the central building enjoying the comfortable night air.

  “No more trouble with the Lycan?” I asked after a while. I was enjoying the quiet and the company, simultaneously.

  “The Lycan? No. We have some werewolf problems to deal with on every full moon, though they become less with each cycle. What now, Michael? When are you going back to the Red Witch?”

  “I don’t know if I can, Bailey. I love the woman; it has taken me a long time to get to the point where I can admit that. But, I’m a man now, a regular flesh and blood man. I’m going to age and die in the blink of an eye to Azile. I…I don’t think I can stand to put her through that. She’s had eight months to mourn my passing; if I come back into the picture now, it’s just like resetting the clock on a deathwatch.”

  “How do you propose to keep your resurrection a secret?”

  “As far as I know, only you and myself are privy to that.”

  “You cannot be so naive can you?” she laughed.

  “I’ll be as naive as I want to be until someone proves me otherwise,” I told her indignantly.

  “Let’s put this another way, Michael. If your Tracy could have come back for merely one day to tell you how much she loved you, would you have taken advantage of that?”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “It is the exact same thing. I know that you care deeply for Azile, of that there is no doubt. But her love for you knows no depths. Your death nearly destroyed her.”

  “You said nearly, Bailey. How could I possibly put her through that again?”

  “How? Just imagine what will happen to you if she finds out you are alive and did not seek her out. Come, the night grows longer and I am tired. I will show you where you can sleep and I will leave you al
one to ponder my last question.”

  “Gee thanks.”

  “Is that not what friends are for?”

  “I still think we should shoot for the ‘friends with benefits’ thing. If we could have a kid before I die again it would be spectacular. I would so rub it in BT’s face when I see him. Can you picture how pissed off he will be when he finds out I got a relation of his pregnant?”

  “You realize at some point I would have to explain my actions to him as well?”

  “That’s your problem. If you had any discretion you wouldn’t have jumped in the sack with me in the first place.”

  She kissed me tenderly on the cheek once she got me a place to sleep. “If you could possibly stay out of trouble this night I would appreciate it.”

  “I’ll do my best. No promises, though.”

  “It is good to have you back, Michael.”

  “You say that now. In a week you’ll be tossing me out the front door. I’m serious about Azile, Bailey. I don’t know what I’m going to do. If you could just not send a carrier pigeon or a smoke signal or a voodoo mind gesture for now, I’d appreciate it.”

  “I will not, but suppressing the news of your rising will be like trying to stop a charging moose with a rose bush.”

  She’d left me with a lot to think about and on a normal night, I may have run circles in my mind contemplating it all. But I was exhausted from my journey and I had a full belly; the pull of the less than comfortable bedding was strong, and in a matter of minutes I was deep asleep. It was still very dark when I awoke. I’d be hard pressed to say whether I’d been asleep for a few minutes or a few hours, though I was thinking it was at least a few hours because the compound was extremely quiet. It had that “dead of the night” feel to it. I wished I’d used a different turn of phrase, but much like my rising, it was out there and I couldn’t put it back. The problem with having a belly full of cider is the need to ease some of that pressure. I’d never thought to ask Bailey where the latrine was, and civilized folk mostly looked down on others’ opening their front doors and pissing on the streets.

  Not sure how many decades they were removed from indoor plumbing, but I checked anyway. Worth a shot. The night was a little cooler than I had expected; a plume of breath left my mouth as I stepped outside. The press of urge was heavy and I was in the midst of saying fuck it while I fumbled with the front of my pants. I was fairly convinced I knew how this was going to go down. I was going to whip my junk out, and a long fat stream of urine was going to travel from it across a five foot span of space and land squarely on the Captain of the Guard, or more likely, a traveling dignitary from some important and exotic place who happened to be out for a leisurely stroll while I showered them with my golden drops.

  So there I stood, not to be entirely too graphic, but dick in hand, wondering if I should just go for it. Then I realized just how quiet it was, like, an absolute quiet. Like the kind of quiet from the place I’d just left. I started to let my mind dwell on it and I became more than convinced that everything around me was a lie. I had not escaped and was still very much a prisoner within that realm of Hades. I let the stream fly.

  “Couldn’t do that before,” I said happily as the pressure was taken off my full bladder. I was shaking free those last few stubborn droplets that have a tendency to get the inside of my pants wet when I noticed a guard walking his station up along the wall parapet. He didn’t seem in any sort of distress, and I was about to turn back in and go about my business of looking at the insides of my eyelids when I noticed him stop. He turned, and at first I thought he was looking at me and that my transgression had been discovered. We all know pissing outside is a crime punishable by death in every realm. That’s just the way this world works. I could only hope my small puddle would dry before they could rouse a CSI team to collect evidence. I would claim I had been merely scratching. Then he leaned away. Nope…not away; he had been facing the other way all along. He leaned against the wall; he was looking at something outside the town.

  My blood froze as I looked above his shoulder to the bright blue, incredibly large full moon. You can call me paranoid if you like, but I had reason to be. And now the guard had obviously noticed something. I was already on the run to his position when he cried out in alarm. Talboton was like a well-oiled machine—men and women poured out of barracks and domiciles like ants from a burning hill, pulling on the last bits of their clothing and armor and heading to pre-assigned stations. This routine had been practiced a lot; I wondered how many nights of sleep they had lost to drills. Though to their credit, none of them groused—not like myself and my Marine Corps buddies had. One thing Marines hate even more than an enemy fucking with the liberty of the country we loved was losing sleep or an opportunity to eat some chow. Screwing with either of those things will put you on our shit-list. Nothing, as of yet, had happened as I shouldered past a few soldiers. My goal was to get to the original spotter. It was at this point I noticed I had brought an axe to a gunfight.

  “Michael!” It was Bailey down in the compound.

  “Here,” I waved.

  She came up and gave me a spare rifle she had brought with her.

  “How did you know?”

  “I should have known all along to give you one. We have had no conflicts in nearly a year and then you show up on the day of a full moon. Predestined seems like the right word.”

  “You aren’t blaming me for whatever this is, are you?”

  “No, that is not what I meant. It is fortuitous for us that you are here; it appears more that you are a herald.”

  “That’s not exactly making me feel any better, Bailey. How many people are going to open their doors to the person to whom misery, destruction, war, and death follow closely behind?”

  “You do not bring it with you, Michael. It is more that fate has allowed you to intercede for those who would not have had a chance otherwise. The war would show up at our doorstep whether you had or not; you have been placed in an effort to thwart it.”

  “Not many are going to see that subtle distinction.”

  “Perhaps not, but I do.”

  All was quiet, we were on high alert, but as of yet we had nothing to direct our rapt attention to.

  “Beltron, what did you see?” Bailey asked.

  “I am not sure, Chair Person Tynes.”

  “So formal,” I interjected. I could live to be two hundred and I still wouldn’t know why I act so juvenile.

  “Yonder was a glowin’, a ways back in the woods. A first I thought ‘that’s a fire, that is,’ ‘cause it was a radiatin’ a dull, reddish. Slowly-like, it shifts…blues, yellowy grays. Then I think it’s a…well, now I’m just not square with what I saw.”

  “You’re a Cajunite?” I asked him. His accent was the giveaway.

  “I am a Talboton now,” he said proudly.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. You are from the South. If not, you would have known you had just received your first glimpse of the Watchers,” I explained.

  I think he thought by their very name that they weren’t much of a threat, but he was to learn rather quickly that wasn’t the case. Much like myself, they only showed up with a battle at their heels.

  “Who could possibly still want to war? Who is left?” I asked.

  All was quiet, a lone figure emerged from the woods.

  “Werewolf,” I said under my breath. I had a faint streak of hope that maybe it was just the one but I knew the Watchers wouldn’t waste their time. They needed a lot of death to fuel their desires, whatever it was they were, and whatever their desires were as well. Sure enough, another werewolf emerged, this one ten feet from the other. They popped out in rhythm like this until there were over fifty of them standing out there.

  “This is too orderly,” Bailey said.

  Werewolves weren’t known for their restraint.

  “Lunos.” There was no hesitation or doubt in my mind. “This has got his stench all over it. If these were lone werewolves they woul
d already be on the move.”

  “I thought talk of the man-wolves was nothing but a myth… a tale to keep us vigilant during the long nights, keep our younglings from wandering as such,” Beltron said. He seemed shocked that what he was seeing was indeed based in fact.

  Every five to ten seconds another werewolf would appear. I knew what the crazy Lycan was doing. It was a classic move of intimidation.

  “Two can play at that game,” I said as I rested the barrel of my weapon on the wall.

  “It is over six hundred feet out to those trees,” Beltron said.

  I let my bullet do the talking. Well, maybe not that first one, it was low and to the right. I did a quick adjustment on the sights. The werewolves had still not moved. My next shot was high and to the left. “Gonna go with over compensation there. See, Bailey, this is where your great grandfather would pipe in about some large truck I drove,” I said as I dialed my sights in again. Still more werewolves poured from their inexhaustible pitcher. My third shot hit one somewhere high in the chest or low in the neck. Either way, it put the rabid thing down.

  “Hey, Lunos you miss me?” I shouted at the top of my lungs. There was no response. “Come on, we’re like old pals you and me. Don’t you recognize my voice?”

  “You are dead, Michael. I relieved myself on your grave many times,” Lunos replied.

  A light went off in my head. “That smell. That was you? You should maybe see a doctor, Lunos, whatever you have coming out can’t be normal—smelled like you were pissing old cheese.”

  “It is indeed you, though I know not how,” came the echoing reply. Murmurs of excited conversation sprang up all along the wall.

  “Could have been your urination, it was potent enough I wanted to get away from it. Wouldn’t that be a hoot if your discharge was the cause of your demise?” I told him.

  “The giraffe is out of the potato sack,” Bailey said.

  “That’s not quite the saying, but the point is taken,” I told her. “Just one more reason to hate his mangy ass. Plus, he pissed on my grave. You heard him. Who does that shit?”