Lycan Fallout (Book 2): Fall of Man (25 page)
“Won’t happen. Everyone who fights thinks they’re doing it for the right reasons. Both sides can’t be right or they wouldn’t be fighting at all.”
“You’ve been thinking about that all day? Talk about wasting time.”
“No, actually I’ve been thinking about toasted coconut marshmallows.”
“So, dwelling on some long gone food was a better way to spend your day?”
“Tell me what I should have been thinking about, Bailey. Perhaps my family and friends who I long to see again with all my heart and lost soul? Or maybe I should think about all those poor bastards I have killed or will kill soon. Would that be better? I’d rather think about the silky sweetness of the marshmallow and satisfying texture crunch of the toasted coconut adhering lovingly to the sides.”
“Sounds good.”
“Yeah, it does.”
Bailey didn’t say another word. She sat there for about another ten minutes before getting up and yelling at someone for loafing off. I felt bad for the guy—he was probably using me as his model. I closed my eyes once again; and like trying not to think about a “pink elephant”…I saw all those I had loved flit through my memory. Another added bonus of having vampire blood run through me was my brain function would never fade. I would never be blessed with Alzheimer’s disease; I would always hold tight the images of those I’d known.
I’m sure at some point in your life there was someone who meant everything and more to you. First love maybe. You couldn’t imagine your life without them they evoked such strong feelings within you. Then, for whatever reason, things change. You realize they’re an asshole or maybe you are, and they finally figured it out, doesn’t matter. After a few years, you can barely recall an image of the person that isn’t a vague sort of representation. You remember events, things you did together, places you went perhaps, but a true clear mental image? Not so much.
Not me, though, it was like looking through a fucking photo album in my head. Shit, even that’s wrong, as I could pull up mental movies, in HD. Every moment my brain had ever recorded I could retrieve. Sounds fantastic, doesn’t it? It wasn’t. I could, if I wanted to, shut out this present life and relive my past over and over. I’d be an observer, almost a voyeur as I looked on. Like an alcoholic who worked as a bartender, it took everything I had not to descend down into that realm, because to do so would lead to madness. Ultimately, I have to think this is what happened to Eliza. She lived for close to six hundred years, and she still could never escape the brutalities her father had inflicted upon her.
I did not wish to spare the memory of Eliza more than a cursory glance, for if I did it would invariably lead me down the path to Tommy and that wound was entirely too fresh. I was spared any further retrospection with a shout of alarm.
“Here we go again,” I said as I stood up. “What the fuck is that?” I asked as I turned to look. It was familiar enough but certainly not in this setting.
The trio all turned their heads as they heard a howl nearby.
Are there more of them?
Oggie wondered with resignation. He would hurt these two as much as he could, but the conclusion was already foregone. He was a large dog, but even so, each of these Lycan were nearly three times his size.
Padder and Mythros had nearly forgotten about their quarry. Oggie had thought about retreating as quickly and quietly as he could, but he was afraid any movement on his part would break the strange spell the Lycan were under. If more Lycan came, he would deal with it as best as possible. Right now, though, he was alive; and that was all he could hope for. The lone howl was joined by a chorus of others. They were all around the small détente that was happening. Oggie took note that the two Lycan kept exchanging furtive glances between them. If he knew enough about their gestures, he would have said they were nervous.
Noise was coming from behind him and to the front of the Lycan. Oggie moved slightly in order to see this new threat while also keeping an eye on the Lycan. The brush stirred. It was not Lycan nor werewolf that emerged from the brush, but rather three large wolves, their yellow eyes trained on the two Lycan, savage teeth bared.
“You should know better than to hunt on our grounds, forsaken ones.”
“We hunt where we want to now!” Padder shouted, though Oggie thought he seemed unsure of himself.
More wolves emerged from the sides. Oggie did not have an accurate count, but he thought perhaps as many as a dozen wolves now inhabited the small clearing.
“Many years ago, instead of wiping your scourge clean from the planet, we allowed you the arctic wastelands to scratch out an existence. You should have stayed there,” Mane, the first to show himself and alpha male of the wolf pack, said.
“Times change, ground-hugger. Maybe your energy would have been more wisely spent keeping man in check rather than your own cousin,” Padder replied.
“We aligned with man many years ago
because
of you. Your kind are like wayward pups who know not the basic rules of survival, nor when to stop. You were taught once and will be done so again.”
“Hah!” the Lycan burst out. “By whom? There is nothing and no one that can stop us now! Xavier has united the Lycan, and we are the new masters of this world! Beg to me, wolf, and perhaps I will allow you to go slinking off into the night with your piss-covered tail buried between your legs.”
Mane growled. Oggie did not see the signal Mane had given, but the wolves moved in unison. The Lycan held their ground at first. When the first snapping of teeth struck Mythros’ thigh, they rethought their strategy. A wolf was sent spiraling away with a backhanded blow but quickly righted himself. By the time the two Lycan were able to break free and run, they had over a dozen blood inducing bites between them.
“Mane, do you wish that we pursue and kill them?”
“No, Cloud, I want those two to bring their story back to Xavier. I want him to know that we have chosen sides, and it is not his.”
“What of this one?” Cloud looked over to Oggie.
“What of him?” Mane asked.
“He’s a dog,” Cloud said distastefully.
Oggie had known he wasn’t out of danger just yet. He’d traded one potential death for another was all.
“This dog was prepared to take on two Lycan by himself,” Mane said with a lilt of amusement.
“He was spent. He did not choose to take on two Lycan so much as he did not want to run any further. Even a squirrel will turn and fight when all other options are taken away.”
Oggie growled and Mane laughed at the insult.
“Perhaps. What of it, dog? Why should I not allow Cloud here to kill one of our bastardized cousins?” Mane turned to ask Oggie.
“It is not even smart enough to speak. I will be doing it a favor,” Cloud said.
“You try and I will rip your throat out,” Oggie growled.
Mane laughed again, but Cloud did not see any amusement whatsoever in their present situation.
“You have bravery,” Mane started. “But we do not suffer dogs very often. I will allow Cloud his wish unless you can give me a reason not to.”
“I know where people are,” Oggie replied.
Cloud scoffed. “We all know where people are, they stink so bad and make so much noise, it would be impossible not to. Look, Mane, it just wishes to be back with its master and have food handed to it. Again, I tell you, I would be doing it a favor by putting it down.”
“People that are fighting Lycan,” Oggie clarified.
“What good does that do us, dog?” Mane asked. “Just because we fight a common enemy does not make us friends. The humans have forgotten the language of the earth. We could never communicate with them to let them know. They would attack us like they would any other aggressor.”
Cloud moved closer, expecting his pack leader to issue the order soon.
“What is going on here?” Jayer asked. She was the alpha female and mate to Mane, and she’d just broken into the clearing.
“We are about to finish what the Lycan were interrupted from doing,” Cloud spoke.
“I do not think killing the dog wise, Mane,” Jayer said softly.
“It is only a dog. What is the harm?” Mane asked his mate.
“It is subtle, but there is another scent you should smell before you make a decision.”
“I smell nothing!” Cloud roared. “He must be destroyed.”
“You forget your place.” Jayer leveled her gaze upon him. He backed down.
“Mane?” Cloud asked.
“You have always been better at detecting scent, Jayer. I am having a hard time getting past the scent of the dog and his most recent kills.”
“It is a haunted scent, old…almost earthy.” Jayer had moved closer to Oggie and was pulling in more trace through her nose.
“I smell man...no, a man, yet it is more than that.”
“Let me kill him and you can breathe in a lungful of whatever it is Jayer detects.”
Mane quickly stepped back. “It is an Old One!”
Cloud looked around wildly as he crouched and bristled simultaneously. A low whine escaped his muzzle.
“How do you come to know an Old One, dog?” Jayer asked, not moving back or forward.
“My name is Purpose, not dog. Before Cloud sheds his fearfulness and wants to say something about the name given to me, it was man-based and not natural or earned, the name was indeed given for a reason by an Old One for my friend, another Old One.”
Cloud snarled at the barb. “Men and dogs are not friends. It is a master and servant relationship and nothing more. He says jump and you do it. Mane, we should kill him now more than ever. What are you waiting for?”
Mane growled at Cloud. “My mate was right for questioning your placement. I will do what is right for the pack.”
“Mane, Old Ones have long memories. He is not the type of enemy we would want to have, especially with everything we know being threatened by the Lycan.” Jayer soothed her mate.
“I could make him understand you,” Oggie spoke.
“Why? So he could kill us like the Lycan?” Cloud asked.
“Michael Talbot is no friend of the Lycan. He has personally killed at least four.”
“The Old One has killed four Lycan?” Mane asked incredulously. “By himself?”
Oggie nodded.
“Why are you not with him?” Jayer asked.
“We were separated. He was trying to save some human children from turning.”
“He raced the moon? Did he win?” Jayer asked.
“Partially. The girl was saved, the boy was not. When the woman and the girl were safe, I went back in search of my friend.”
“And?”
“I have not found him yet.”
“We will help you.”
“Jayer!” Mane exclaimed.
Cloud looked as if he would go mad from Jayer’s declaration.
“If the Old One cannot help us, we will at least have them both together. Perhaps then, Cloud, you can get your wish. I will prepare the pack for traveling,” she told Mane. Jayer made sure her tale swooshed past and under Cloud’s nose lest he forget she was the alpha female.
If Oggie thought Cloud had some animosity towards him, this paled in comparison to what the pack displayed, though they were less vocal about their protests once it was known that his presence was being permitted by the alpha male and female. Just because he was allowed to be with them, did not mean he was accepted—that was as far from the truth as could be. The wolves gave him a wide berth while also keeping an eye on him. Oggie had not felt more alone than he did right now under the watchful gaze of an entire pack of wolves.
Chapter Seventeen – Mike Journal Entry 10
“Where the fuck did they get a snowplow blade, and just exactly what are they doing with it?” I’m not even sure why I asked the question. Maybe it was to hear my harmonious voice. I knew exactly why they had the damned thing; the thick steel would easily deflect the lead projectiles we would be shooting at them. I did a quick look from side to side as more moving barricades came out of the woods. They’d planned this invasion for a long time. There was never at any time going to be a diplomatic solution. I saw Bailey running across the center street coming my way.
She was no sooner up the staircase before she spoke. “They have more of this steel on the other side. I have told everyone to not fire. I do not wish to waste bullets on something I know will be useless. Do you have any ideas?”
“Oh, I don’t think a few bullets used will be wasted. The noise alone when it impacts will be enough to shatter any thoughts they might be trying to formulate, and it will give them a little fear as well. Fear may lead to panic, and panicking people make mistakes all the time.”
“This is your best strategy?”
“The best I have right now. I’m not some battlefield general. I basically know how to shoot really well. That doesn’t make me a fucking tactician.”
“Nor tactful it would seem.”
“Watch and learn.”
“I’m watching.” She rolled her eyes.
I put my rifle to my shoulder and, lining up a shot, put four rounds in quick succession downrange. None of them hit metal.
“I thought you said you were a good shot?”
“Those things are heavy, have to be a bunch of men hefting that thing by handholds, which means their feet are very near the front of that blade.” Almost immediately came the distant sounds of screams. One of my four shots had ricocheted like I’d hoped and most likely crashed into the foot of some poor, unsuspecting slob. The plow blade had, for the moment, stopped moving forward.
“Oh,” Bailey managed to say.
“Now to really mess with them.” I shot three more times. The resultant impacts sounded much like the gonging of a bell. Probably sounded like the bell tower at Notre Dame where the attackers were. If they made it through the battle, it was safe to say that they would suffer permanent hearing loss.
Bailey didn’t need any further convincing; she quickly disseminated the tactic to the rest of her personnel. It played out in some cases with more success, but for the most part, it was just a giant noisemaker. The mobile fortresses still approached, even the one where I had hampered a man. I felt a little bad for the pain he must be going through, especially not having anyone to tend to his wound. The barricades stopped in the forty-yard range or so and just sat there. Nothing happened for maybe close to an hour. Then, off in the woods, there came the beating of a large drum. Should have known that was a signal, however, I was too wrapped up in the drama of it. I’d only ever heard drums in battle in movies. It actually was pretty impressive in person. The invaders stood up from the fortifications and loosed bolts from crossbows.
They were exceedingly accurate, and with most Talbotons caught unawares looking for threats elsewhere, more than a few fell. There was screaming and cursing from the wounded and for the fallen. I had been scraped along the side of my face from the corner of my temple to past my ear. The wind of a moth’s wing beating, had it the chance to affect the flight of the arrow, would have been enough to send that bolt through my eye socket. It would have been lights out at that point. I ducked down like everyone else on that wall. Well, almost everyone. There were those who were in shock or just figured that the immediate threat was over—it wasn’t. The second set of archers stood and loosed the more traditional arrows from bows. A bunch of William Tell wannabes were in attendance. Those unlucky bastards who had kept standing now found themselves falling. Most would never be able to pick themselves back up.
We’d lost at least seven men and women on this side. I had to think the numbers were similar on the other sides. In one fell swoop, we may have just lost close to twenty percent of our fighting force. It was the opening salvo of a war, and we’d been dealt a devastating blow.
“How can this be?” Bailey asked, looking at the wounded and dead being tended to by the townsfolk who were rushing to their aid. “We’re going to lose.”
“They’ve been thinking up an offensive strategy for a while, Bailey. The diplomatic ruse was probably just so they could get a good, final look at our battlements and make sure you hadn’t changed anything.”
“What do we do now that they haven’t already got a counter for?”
“You and your men stay low, but cover me. If anyone from that snowplow blade pops their head up, I want you to shoot them.”
“What are you going to do?”
I had already grabbed a couple of magazines and jumped down the ten-foot wall. I was thankful the earth on the outside was soft and absorbed the brunt of the shock to my knees.
Bailey knew better than to loudly cuss out my actions and give away my element of surprise, but I still heard her call me an idiot right before she told her men to cover me. I don’t know if one of the men was precognizant or heard something (I wonder what death sounds like), because he popped the top of his head over the lip of the plow blade. His eyes grew wide as he saw me rapidly approaching.
“Shit.” I still had a good ten yards to go. If they all stood and fired, I was as good as a human pincushion. Two more stood up to see and were immediately met with a hail of bullets, which sent them scurrying back down. I silently thanked Bailey. I was swinging out wide to the right of the barricade, about five yards or so. The men hiding behind it caught sight of me just as I came up to their side. I was firing as soon as I had more than a horizontal angle to them. Their bodies danced like palsy-suffering puppeteers were manipulating them, as I gave them extreme lead poisoning. Three arrows were shot my way, one of which was now neatly protruding from my thigh. The pain had yet to catch up with my nerve center as adrenaline pushed it to the side, but that was only going to be a temporary respite. By the time I’d emptied the first magazine, twelve of the thirty men were dead…or at least soon would be. Another five or six were wounded enough that they would not be a factor in this fight.
That left more than enough to deal with me. I truly hadn’t been expecting those kinds of numbers. I depressed the magazine release button, as men were scrambling to notch arrows or pull back on drawstrings. I already had my hand on the replacement mag before the spent one clattered off a rock below me. Arrows notched, strings were being pulled back and bows subsequently rising. I slammed the magazine home and hit the bolt release button. If the chambered round needed a tap of the forward assist, it was going to be all over for me. More arrows were coming my way, and I’d been hit again. I was reflexively firing from the hip
a la
Rambo, and not because I thought it was cool or would be demoralizing to the enemy, but because I didn’t have enough time to bring it up to my shoulder. And, oh yeah, the fact that I had an arrow protruding from my shoulder probably had something to do with it as well.
I was screaming in pain and rage as I fired (and maybe even in a little bit of animalistic savagery) as I approached, destroying those poor souls before me. The 5.56 caliber round made short work of those still living. I could sense that more than a few still had a beating heart, and right now, if I wanted to survive the severing of a major artery in my torso, I was going to need all the help I could get. I descended on the damned with all the fury of a wraith. My screams were intermingled with theirs as I drove my body down with enough force to push the arrow through my back. The men’s screams quieted quickly enough as I drained the remaining life out of them. I was in so much pain; I nearly chewed through the neck of the man I was blooding.
I heard bullets whining over the top of me. At first, I mistakenly assumed that the Talboton defenders still thought that I needed help. Well, I did, just not from where I was thinking. Men were coming out of the woods, attempting to get a shot at me as I was in a relatively exposed and vulnerable position. Blood pulsed into my elongated teeth as I deeply pulled in the fluid. The crossbow bolts were getting particularly close, and there were no more of the living near me. I could not afford to take another strike.
The muscles in my thighs were cramping up around the arrow I had yet to deal with. I stood with a fair modicum of success. I ran, well dragged, as fast as my damaged leg would allow, which wasn’t half-bad. But then again, I was main-lining adrenaline and blood, so I had a fair amount of energy. Within a few steps, I thankfully found myself on the other side of the steel away from the piercing barbs.
“Are you alright?” Bailey screamed at me.
I must have looked the sight. My right leg was soaked in blood as was my chest and most of my face. I wiped away my offenses as best I could while I also waved to her to let her know I’d make it at least until the next minute. A few more bullets zipped overhead before the opposing side realized that covering a two hundred and fifty yard open expanse against bullets was not necessarily a good idea. The arrow in my leg was to the outside of my bone, but not by much. The head was sunk in a few inches, so this was also going to require me to push it through as opposed to pulling it. I was in essence going to have to create more internal damage before I could begin to heal. Not an appealing prospect.
“I’m fine, but I could go for a little whiskey right now!” I yelled back to her.
It really wasn’t worth the effort. All I did was aggravate the injury to my chest region and it wasn’t even funny, plus I hate whiskey. I let out an involuntary yell, well, more like a manly grunting, as I pushed the arrow through. No, hold on, okay, it was more like a screaming. For whatever reason, it hurt more than the other arrow, maybe because that other one was almost all the way through before I drove it out. I was breathing heavy, and blackness was encroaching on the periphery of my vision as I began to feel the outline of the arrow head pushing the muscle and skin out on the back of my leg. It was not a sensation I would recommend. Sweat was pouring from my head, stinging as it dripped into my eyes, making it impossible to keep them open. I would have spared the time to wipe away the offending fluid, but I was afraid I wouldn’t have the courage to continue what I was currently doing.
Just when I thought the pain could not get any more intense, the arrow came free and proved just how wrong I was. I lost a few seconds in the all-encompassing haze of hurt. Nothing else could even begin to matter as the pain ravaged across the synapses within my brain. I don’t want to say I became one with the pain like some Zen bullshit, I’m just saying, if breathing and circulating blood weren’t automated processes I would have forgotten to do them.
“Michael?” a voice rang out; crystalline, considering the circumstances. It was Azile, and when I could do more than pant like a rabid dog trying to slake an unquenchable thirst, I sent her a half-hearted wave. My head was still slung forward, my chin nearly touching my chest.
“Can you come back?” she asked.
It was a few more seconds before I had the strength or, more like the desire, to respond. Plus, I wanted to make sure I didn’t screech out an answer like a thirteen-year-old boy in the midst of his hormonal transition.
“Not yet.” I don’t think I said it much louder than a conversational tone, and the majority of that was directed at my lap where my head was pointing, but Azile heard it. I was going to have to learn some magic, seemed like a useful tool.
I heard approaching footsteps. I was convinced it was the enemy, and was sort of hoping they’d just put an arrow in my brain bucket and I could move on. When I felt hands wrap around and under my arms I figured it to be Talbotons.
“That was pretty stupid, Michael,” Bailey said as she half dragged, half carried me back to the wall.
“So much for dignity.” My left leg was dragging uselessly behind me. Another soldier had taken up position on my right and was assisting Bailey. Two more were covering our tactical withdrawal, which sounds so much better than retreat.
“You’re going to hate this then,” Bailey said as she wrapped a makeshift rope harness under my arms. “UP!” she shouted. The pain was excruciating, even with her and the other man bearing most of the weight.
Hands reached down and pulled me over. I was back to the dog panting level of hurt. I would have been better off with the obliterating threshold as Azile got down to look me in the face. It would have given me a reason to ignore her question.