Something was happening at the mine. The crowd was parting. Malachi emerged. Even after all this time, Hollister had no trouble recognizing him. It was the same man who had killed his men. His hair was longer and even from this distance he seemed taller. But there was no doubt in Hollister’s mind it was him. He stepped up on some crates that had been pushed together like a small stage, as if he were about to give a sermon at a revival
“There he is.” Hollister turned to tell Shaniah.
But she was gone.
Malachi looked out at the crowd of his Archaics, their faces eager for him to lead them. They were hungry and desperate to feed. He would send them to destroy the train and then . . .
He was about to speak when images of Shaniah flooded his brain. She was here, and very close by. He knew she had been coming but this surprised him. He studied the woods and the nearby mountainsides. To the south he smelled horses. But she was not there. Even after all this time, he would know her scent anywhere. The woods surrounding the mine clearing were also devoid of her presence. Where was she?
His eyes settled on the buildings. They were less than one hundred yards away from where he stood. She was not there either, or was she? Strange smells came from the structures. Had she masked her scent somehow? Someone was there, and from the buildings came another odor he faintly recognized. Whoever it was would need to be dealt with. Quickly.
“Listen!” he said loudly and the Archaics surrounding him quieted instantly. “We have been discovered. Shaniah is here. And she is not alone. We must find her. Those buildings hide those who seek to destroy us. Kill them.”
The Archaics turned in concert, readying themselves to charge.
The buildings were just far enough away that neither Hollister nor Chee could hear what Malachi was saying. When the entire group of Archaics looked at the buildings, they knew they been discovered.
Hollister wanted to wait until they got within forty yards before using the Fire Shooter to make sure they were within range. First, he started picking them off with the Henry. It was extremely accurate at this distance and he’d chosen the load of wooden bullets dipped in holy water. Whenever he could hit one directly in the heart it made for an agonizing death.
Once Hollister had fired off a few shots, the group targeted his building. Hundreds of them running and leaping across the ground. To Jonas it felt like they would be upon him in seconds. Until Chee opened up with the Gatling.
It cut them down like a scythe in a wheat field. Archaics might be stronger and faster than humans, but they were not immune to pain, and the sound of their screams echoed off the surrounding mountains as they went down in waves, twisting and writhing on the ground.
Yet, some still made it through and while Chee kept the big gun chattering away, Hollister opened up with the Fire Shooter. It caused mass confusion at first, then more cries of agony as body after body burst into flames. In the course of two minutes, they had greatly reduced the numbers heading toward them.
Hollister still saw no sign of Shaniah, but he could see Malachi standing on the crates, watching the devastation take place before him. Hollister kept the trigger down on his Fire Shooter because there were still Archaics charging forward. But he looked at his Henry rifle leaning against the wall and for a moment toyed with the idea of picking it up and taking a shot at Malachi. From this distance, if he could hit him in the heart, he could end this whole thing. But he couldn’t risk it. There were still too many of them coming and they could be on him before he could get the shot off.
He looked at the gauge on the Fire Shooter. It was already down by half. This was going to get interesting in a hurry.
Chapter Seventy-one
Malachi could not believe what was happening. His followers, the army he had sired, gunned down and burned to near death before his eyes. How? This was not Shaniah’s doing. He knew that. It was humans who had created weapons that killed and maimed his people. Impossible.
He remembered centuries before, when the Old Ones had decided that mankind had grown beyond the ability of the Archaics to treat them simply as prey. He had argued against it then and he had opposed it again when the Council chose Shaniah to be their leader. We are Archaics! He had reasoned. Humans should tremble before us! But the Council had been too weak. They had always been too timid. Afraid of tiny beings no better than insects.
When the decision to avoid human contact was made, the Archaics fractured. Most went along to the high mountains of Eastern Romania. But a few scattered, never to be heard from again. There were times he wondered about those who had chosen freedom; had they survived? Had they lived and prospered in the human world? Did they still feast on the Huma Sangra?
Malachi had decided to wait. He went along with the others to the high mountains. But one day he would become an Eternal. Then he would take control of his people. And he would show them that humans were not to be feared. Humans were nothing more than food.
Once he left, after Shaniah’s ascension to leadership, he had quickly learned on his journey to this place about the advances of humankind and their remarkable ingenuity. He had seen human weapons up close. Had felt them cut his skin and pierce his flesh. And he had found them to be no match for a true Archaic. A mosquito bite. Even those humans who had learned control of the elementals did not instill fear in him. He was unbeatable.
To Malachi, humans were nothing more than walking meals. He remembered that, a few years ago, he had been on the plains of Wyoming and his band had killed a group of soldiers. One of the soldiers had shot him several times. He felt the bullets stinging his skin but hardly slowing him down. The soldier had no idea how close he was to death. How Malachi would feast on his blood. But the sun came up and he did not have time to kill and drain the man.
Archaics owned the night. Another reason they could decimate the human race when he raised his army. Humans feared the night. Darkness was a great disadvantage to them. They could not see, did not feel or hear the presence of an Archaic stalking them until the fangs sank into their necks. And they died, as they should.
He had come to America to get away from the very Archaics like Shaniah and the Old Ones who could have stopped him if he had stayed in the old country. Every step of the way he had planned carefully, turning followers when they were needed, but carefully planning and growing.
He was close to unleashing his full fury on the human race, but now he saw before him these puny creatures that stood toe to toe with his Archaics unafraid, with weapons he could not imagine. The cries and screams of agony of his people brought him back to the present.
He was angry and confused, and for a moment not sure of what he should do. Should he retreat? Let his soldiers die here and start afresh somewhere else? All he needed to do was live three more days and he would be an Eternal. Nothing, no weapon, no spell, no elemental could kill him after that.
“I tried to tell you this would happen.”
The voice from behind him actually startled him, but he showed now sign of it as he turned to face her.
“Hello, Shaniah,” he said. “It is good to see you again.”
Chapter Seventy-two
Hollister emptied the Fire Shooter and then shrugged the other one onto his back, twisted the knob, and pulled the trigger. Fire shot out of the barrel and more Archaics screamed and died. In Absolution, Shaniah had said that fire would not kill an Archaic. He had to consider the possibility that she was lying or withholding something in case she needed some tactical advantage later. Because to Hollister it looked like the Fire Shooter took the flesh right off their bones. He wondered if they were able to regrow skin. Maybe they could come back to life as skeletons or something. Or maybe Monkey Pete had put something in his “mixture” to give it a little extra kick. Holy water, maybe? Whatever it was, the Archaics sure looked dead.
The ground between the two buildings and the mine shaft was littered with bodies. By Hollister’s count there were maybe only sixty Archaics left alive. It was almost over. If the
y killed the rest of them, he could go after Malachi. He checked the gauge on the Fire Shooter and it now was about a quarter of a tank full.
He was swinging the barrel back and forth, the fire knocking down Archaics like bowling pins. Up near the mine entrance he saw Malachi still standing on the crates. It was like he was glued to the spot, forced by someone to watch his army crumble before his eyes. Suddenly Malachi broke for the mine shaft, and Hollister thought for sure he saw someone in a dark coat and flash of blond hair following him. Shaniah. Going into the mine after Malachi. A bad idea. Really bad idea. He couldn’t let her do it alone. She had taken a part of him. His heart, his soul. He just knew he couldn’t let her face Malachi alone.
He glanced across at Chee in the shed, still working the Gatling.
“CHEE!” he hollered, hoping he could be heard over the sound of the gun. The sergeant looked in his direction.
“I’m going after Malachi. You clean up the rest!”
“Major! I don’t think—”
“Shaniah is in there with him!”
“Sir! Please don’t, she will be able to . . .”
But Hollister was no longer paying attention. He slung the Ass-Kicker over his shoulder. For good measure, he put a couple of bundles of dynamite in the pockets of his duster. He grabbed the Henry with one hand and kept the barrel of the almost empty Fire Shooter in his other. He glanced out the open wall. He had a clear path most of the way to the mine. Chee was still working the Gatling and Hollister reminded himself to thank Monkey Pete for packing so much additional ammo.
Hollister broke through the door frame and cut to his left around the building. There weren’t any Archaics closer than thirty yards away, so he sprinted toward the mine. Five or six noticed he was out in the open and came his way. He pulled the trigger on the Fire Shooter. And as often happens in dangerous or combat situations, a strange and silly thought entered his mind. He really didn’t like the name “Fire Shooter” for Pete’s weapon. He made a mental note to work on a new name for it.
The fire shot out of the barrel and drove the advancing Archaics back, giving him time to run toward the mine shaft. And he would have made it just fine if he hadn’t tripped and fallen face-first into the dirt. He wasn’t hurt—mostly embarrassed, and afraid he was going to die like a fool, letting six Archaics jump on him and tear him apart. When he got to his knees though, he saw how close he was to serious trouble and his embarrassment disappeared. An Archaic had seen him tumble and lunged in his direction. Hollister swore they could cover twenty yards in a single bound. It would be on him in an instant. He dropped the Fire Shooter and tried to bring his Henry up so he could shoot, but the slings and belts were all tangled up from the fall. Only ten yards left, he pulled his Colt and was raising it to fire when Dog knocked the Archaic flat on its ass.
The creature had once been a young boy, and though he possessed newfound strength and agility with his new Archaic abilities, he was no match for the massive, enraged animal. There was no question Dog had developed a passionate hatred for Archaics. He wasted no time, grabbing the throat and shaking the creature as easily as he might shake a rabbit. Hollister staggered to his feet, raised the Henry, and shot the Archaic in the heart. It exploded into a cloud of dust. If it was possible for a canine to look disappointed, Dog did.
“Sorry to ruin your fun, boy. I appreciate you saving me and all, but I’m in a rush,” he said.
He checked the Henry and both pistols. The dynamite remained in the pockets of his duster. But the barrel of Fire Shooter was now clogged with dirt. He knocked it on his boot trying to clear it, and some of it came loose but it was still plugged, deep in the barrel. He shrugged out of the apparatus and left it there. He didn’t have time to try to fix it and it was almost out of fuel. The Ass-Kicker was probably a better choice anyway. He slung the Henry on his back and pulled the Ass-Kicker around to his waist. He worked the action, heard the small hiss of steam as the round chambered and locked in place. He was ready to go. All of his preparations had taken place while Chee continued firing the Gatling, keeping the remaining Archaics at bay.
“Thanks again, Dog,” Hollister said. “I’ll see you on the other side.”
He ran toward the mine shaft, surprised to find Dog loping along beside him.
The Archaics had been whittled down to a few clusters scattered between the shed and the mine shaft. Hollister ran as fast as he could while shooting with some level of accuracy. Dog worked like an anti-sheepdog; when an Archaic approached, he chased it away, never getting too far away from Hollister.
Finally he reached the entrance. It was dark inside, and he wished he’d thought to bring a torch. He glanced quickly around, but there was nothing serviceable nearby. Luckily he had Dog.
“All right boy, let’s find Shaniah,” he said. He tried to think of how Chee addressed the animal, compelling it to do what the sergeant commanded. He remembered something Chee always said to the giant animal.
“Dog! Hunt!” he said.
Chapter Seventy-three
As Malachi ran deeper into the mine, he could hear Shaniah following behind him. The Old Ones had sent her to kill him. He assumed they would just let him go, figuring that a human with a new weapon or an elemental would eventually kill him. Yet, here she was. Impressive. The Council had decided he was too dangerous. If he succeeded with any part of his plan, he would bring human wrath down on the Archaics. From tonight’s events it looked as if he had miscalculated and the Council of Elders had been right to be concerned about the advancement of the human race.
The mine was played out long ago and no more gold remained, but the structure of it and its darkness made it ideal for Archaics to use. And he and his followers had made some modifications. Up ahead they had dug a wider, more open space. A chamber most often used when they brought captured humans here for feeding. It was perhaps forty feet by forty feet and well lit by torches.
Shaniah was getting closer. The blade was at his belt. Where the shaft widened into the larger, open space he stopped and stood to the side of the entrance. It was an old trick, but she had been tracking him for years, and hopefully, her exuberance would make her foolhardy. When she ran through the entrance he would kill her. Poor Shaniah. The Council had sent her, but she had accepted her assignment and her fate was her responsibility. He gripped the blade.
He waited. The sound of her running had stopped. She was being cautious. He could smell her, but . . .
Shaniah exploded into the room. She came in low, rolling through the door, and his mighty swing of the blade hit nothing but air until it caught in the wood beam that supported the doorway. He worked to pull it loose, but as quick as a cat, she was on her feet and staggered him with a kick to his midsection. He regained his footing and she crouched as they faced each other, circling slowly like two rams about to charge.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said.
“Yes, you did,” Shaniah replied.
He lunged at her, swinging his blade, but she dodged easily away, pulling her blade from her boot.
“We don’t need to fight,” he said. “We both want the same thing.”
“No we don’t, Malachi. We never have. I want our people to survive. What you want leads only to their destruction.”
“You couldn’t be more—” He slightly lowered his weapon as he spoke, giving her the opening she had been waiting for and she swung her blade with all of her might. But he ducked it easily.
“As I was saying,” he said, backing farther away from her. “You couldn’t be more wrong. The Council is full of weak and ancient fools. They ask us to live like cattle.”
“What they ask is that we survive.” They continued to circle each other.
“Survive.” He spat out the word as if it tasted bitter. “We are Archaics, a race far older and stronger than humans. We conquer. We do not succumb.”
“No, Malachi, you are wrong. We are dinosaurs.”
“Dinosaurs? I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the t
erm,” he said. Shaniah lunged at him, swinging her blade, but he blocked it again easily, pushing her violently into the wall of the chamber. His strength was incredible. It was the Huma Sangra. It had restored him. She scrambled to her hands and knees, trying to stand, but she had hit the wall solidly and it had stunned her. Before she could move again or react, he was behind her, his hand grabbing her hair and pulling her head back exposing her throat. He held the blade close to her, wanting her to be afraid as the steel kissed her skin.
“Do you feel it, Shaniah?” He yanked her by the hair, pulled her head back so far she felt the muscles of her neck strain to the point where she was afraid they were going to snap.
“It is the power of the Huma Sangra, Shaniah.” He tightened the grip on her hair and with the hand holding the blade he held his wrist close to her nose. “The Huma Sangra flows through my veins. You can smell it, Shaniah . . . taste it . . . go ahead. You can feel it.”
And the truth of it was, she could feel it. And part of her wanted it. She knew it was wrong, she had resisted it for centuries, but now . . . so close . . . so near Malachi and his power. It was overwhelming her.
“No . . . I . . . will . . . not,” she said. Her free hand went to his wrist holding her hair in a twisted mass. She tried hard to break his grip but it was like iron. She twisted and struggled and clawed at his hand, but found she was loosing her strength.
There was a loud explosion. Suddenly Malachi’s grip was broken and he flew through the air, hitting the far wall with a hard thump.
Hollister and the Ass-Kicker had arrived.
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