The Lost Garden (The Lost Garden Trilogy Book 1) (11 page)

She was surprised however, when he had fired rapidly, the gunshots echoing painfully loud in her ear. She turned immediately and saw the most unassuming of the Fallen slam onto the tiled counter. A man who held himself up briefly with his hands flat on the blue tile. Blood pooled and ran along the grout, moving swiftly like mice in a labyrinth. He coughed once, spat up more blood and then crumpled in a heap.

Morina shrieked and dashed to the man’s side and was so quick to almost be there in time to catch him from falling. She picked up his head and cradled it in her lap and rocked with him gently, but the man was dead.

The Fallen can die from mortal wounds, Jess knew. They did not have the benefit of the healing oil.

No one breathed and no one moved.

Jess saw the look on the Fallen’s faces. Most looked dumbstruck, looking down at the limp form of the little bald man, whose blood was pooling under him. Their weapons were forgotten, their direction lost.

Morina’s face streaked with tears and looked up at them from the kitchen tiles. Her knees were soaked in blood. To Jess, the stench of decay was ever stronger, as if the stench were contained in the blood of the Fallen. Perhaps it was. “Take the oil she wears around her neck,” hissed Morina in a controlled whisper. “Take it so that Gandil can live again.”

The other Fallen seemed to wake from their trance, given a purpose again. They turned back to Jess and Knight. The other woman, as big as Jess, was a stranger to her, although she was obviously of Cherubim stock. Before the Fallen.

Knight, who swung his weapon rapidly from one Fallen to another said, “What do we do, Jess?”

“We fight.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

* * *

They attacked as one, which didn’t surprise Knight. They seemed fairly mindless. He suspected that once they became Fallen, they lost much of what they had been.

Then again, that was only his opinion.

As they drew their weapons, a smattering of pistols and knives, Knight pinpointed first those who were removing pistols from inside their jackets. There seemed to be two and both were similar-looking males in trench coats. Both were coming from his left.

Without hesitation or conscience, he turned and fired first at the closest one and then, at the man behind. It had to be done. He had to eliminate these men and remove their weapons from the fight. Or Knight and Jess would have been eliminated themselves. The thundering explosion of his pistol rattled his teeth, as the gun bucked in his hand. He held it steady, squeezing the trigger, emptying the gun into the men until both had fallen to their knees, finally pitching forward.

The trigger clicked rapidly as he tossed it aside.

Morina was still cradling the head of their leader, weeping. Knight’s heart would have gone out to her if she hadn’t been about to kill them both.

The remaining attackers fanned out. Most were brandishing Bowie-style knives.

Knight tossed the gun aside and unsheathed his Tai Chi Sword. Beside him, Jess had her own short sword free. They were back to back, circling the blue-tiled area of his central foyer, in a place he had called home just hours earlier.              He and his dream girl were currently being swarmed by a stinkin’ pack of undead.

Not exactly how he’d planned his night.

As Jess pressed up against him, her backside pressed against his hip as they slowly rotated, he couldn’t help but think that the night hadn’t turned out entirely bad, either.

* * *

Jess noted that the Fallen who currently circled them were all brandishing machetes. All seemed experienced with the blades, but whether or not they were trained in the art would be a different story.

Certainly, the blades were used to kill and had probably killed many an innocent victim.

Suddenly, the circle collapsed and they all seemed to lunge at once. A tall man with slicked-back black hair was the first to her. Her sword clashed with his machete and sparks flew off in many directions. He attacked once and backed off. She immediately turned and parried a mid-level blow from the tall woman, whose blade hit hers with thundering force. Jess’s blade did not move from the collision and she met it with ferocity of her own.

The woman did not back off and for the moment, she held her ground and countered Jess’s block with a riposte designed to cut off her head. Jess ducked instinctively, feeling the whoosh of air swipe over her head and the faint whistling of the blade as it sliced through the air.

To her mild chagrin and a credit to Knight’s reflexes, he had turned away from his own fight with a tall man, and tripped Jess’s opponent from behind with a leg sweep. She fell to her back and hit the floor hard. Jess used that moment to avoid another machete coming at her as she stepped to one side. The blade caught the hem of her robe only, slicing it open, as she swung her sword in a big looping arc meant to do one thing only. Disembowel.

The eyes of her attacker, a tall man with a long ponytail, bulged as he reached down to his mid-section. Jess had a faint image of him holding his own intestines before he slid out of view and she met her next attacker.

The stench of The Fallen was made fouler by their spilled and tainted blood. She felt as if she were fighting along the sewage-lined streets of Medieval London.

Which, of course, she had.

She sensed her own bile threatening to rise. She took a quick glance at Knight, as he was currently staving off an attack by two opponents. He, too, showed that he was looking a little green. He kicked out and connected with the jaw of the smaller of the two attackers.

Jess turned back to her own fight and saw that she was again facing the tall woman. The woman had removed a particularly worn machete, with nicks and scratches and long gouges here and there. Of what she could see of the leather pommel, it was well-worn, too. Obviously, the weapon had come in handy and Jess doubted the woman had used the thing to hack her way through dense rain forests, or even trim up her trees at home.

Probably spent her evening sharpening the thing
, thought Jess,
while most people are at home watching TV.

Jess did not know the woman, but knew she had obviously been a Cherubim and must have fallen before Jess’s time. By the way she carried herself, Jess knew she had been taught well on how to fight. She allowed herself to grow soft and weak while feasting on the dead.

Next to Jess, another man collapsed and rolled against her ankles. She looked down and saw blood pumping from a puncture wound through his heart. She kicked him away and held her weapon before her, circling the woman.

The machete and short sword were about the same length. The former meant to hack and mutilate, while the latter was carefully constructed for combat and weighted perfectly for quick movements.

Jess knew she had the advantage.

“You were among the first,” said Jess. “to eat of the Tree of Good and Evil.”

Her opponent said nothing, yet simply positioned herself in guarded position.

“You are among the first Fallen,” said Jess. “I can see it and smell it on you. You were among Sulina’s original Fallen.”

The woman’s unusually flat face scrunched a little in confusion. “I know not what you speak. I have been alive a long time.”

“Do you even know your name?”

“I am called Dorina.”

Which was probably true. Much was taken from the Fallen, sometimes even their memories. “Dorina, you shall finally die and have your troubled soul be put to rest.”

Jess saw it for a brief moment. A flash of relief in the woman’s eyes. The way her shoulders briefly sagged and the breath escaping from her parted lips. The woman, whether or not she remembered her past or even who she was, was tired. So very tired of prowling the streets at night, looking for the dead, or creating their own dead, but they would never admit it. Jess briefly felt pity for the thing in front of her.

The moment of weakness was gone and the woman steeled herself for the coming battle. “You are mistaken. I do not die. Ever.”

“On this night, by my hands, you will.”

The woman attacked first, hacking down at an angle as if Jess were a hanging ivy vine. It was a sloppy, clumsy movement and Jess met the machete with her sword. The blades rang and a starburst of sparks appeared. Jess’s weapon was almost torn from her grip.

Clumsy or not, the woman was powerful.

Jess’s arm still shook from the vibration. The woman knew her strength was great and raised a bushy eyebrow. They circled again. Jess, with her back to the kitchen, tried to keep her vision on the still-mourning Morina, the one person she had no intention of losing track of, or turning her back on. With her head to the side, she caught a brief glance of Knight leaping over his sofa as a long Bowie knife, wielded by a blonde short-haired man, plunged deep into the cushions, shredding the leather.

That had to hurt. Poor guy.

Now as their circling brought her into full view of Morina, Jess attacked and lunged. The woman parried the attack easily and riposte. The machete coming in fast and low. Jess parried, while stepping to the side and shielding her body with the edge of her sword, then driving her sword point straight and true for the woman’s heart.

She would have none of it and turned to the side. She watched the blade slide harmlessly by, inches from her face.

Jess used the opportunity to drive her knee hard into the woman’s stomach. The blow hit home. Jess knew her bony knee always came in handy.

The woman doubled over briefly and Jess finished her off the only way she knew how. The only way she had ever been trained.

To fight and to kill. To protect Eden at all costs.

She must protect the Chosen One, although he seemed to be doing well on his own.

Jess chopped down hard and fast at the back of the woman’s neck. The blade passed through skin and bone, as the
thunk
of her head hit the floor without her body attached. Jess looked for the next opponent.

* * *

Knight was doing his best to preserve his artifacts and furniture. At one point, he risked life and limb to swipe up an ancient Hebrew scroll that he had found in a clay jar in a cave with feet of bat guano on a little hill above the Dead Sea. A parchment that may or may not have been one of the earliest translations of the book of Genesis. A parchment that only he knew about. It was a crime to remove it from Israel. Then again, if he were worried about committing crimes, much of the antiquities in his home would have landed him in jail many times over. Knight never considered his own pursuit of history a crime, and collecting the artifacts only increased his own knowledge. As a respected, although some would say
maverick
, historian, he felt the artifacts did the world just as much good in his home as they would in a museum or on the dusty shelves of a university.

At least, that was the justification that allowed him to sleep at night.

Now, with the hermetically sealed parchment under his arm, he parried his opponent’s thrust. The knife was almost as long as a short sword and the little beast really seemed to have precision-like control over it.

The parried knife blade stuck into the back of his sofa cushion.

“Son of bitch.”

The knife was pulled free, along with some stuffing, which spilled out like the intestines of the dead man on his floor.

Knight looked up from his disemboweled sofa and saw that Jess had her hands full with the Amazon-sized woman. Actually, they were very near the same size and he would like to wrap things up with these final two to catch a glimpse of the mother of all catfights. The Fallen were tougher and stronger than he would have guessed. It took all of his skill to not only defeat them, but to stay alive.

The two remaining Fallen, one a shorter man with a blonde goatee, the other, perhaps Middle Eastern, spread out to his right and left. They were planning to pick him off from a distance, one striking while the other retreated, the way hyenas wear down lions.

Not that he thought of himself as a lion.

Well, not really, although the comparison in this case was valid.

He needed something with range and he saw a Japanese fighting stick lying across the chest of the man he had killed just moments ago.

He used his sword as a spear and hurled it at the closest Fallen. The short man dodged to the left and smiled. As the spear stuck deeply into the wooden frame of the doorway leading down into his studio, Knight was already moving. He did a neat little back flip that allowed him to snatch the wooden fighting stick on his downward plunge with his hands.

He came up smoothly, holding the stick.

He spun and faced the two Fallen.

In the far distance, he heard sirens. Even though he nearly lived in seclusion on this patch of sand, with one side of his home cut off by a peninsula, someone had managed to call the cops. Perhaps the many gunshots had carried into the Malibu night. Or someone walking the beach had heard the commotion in his house.

Or, worse, perhaps someone had come across the body the Fallen had feasted on. That is, if they had managed to leave any of it behind.