A Moonlit Night - The Complete Saga (8 page)

Emily looked up towards Tyler, who was
smiling at her. She playfully pushed him aside, and thanked him for
cheering her up.

“So I take it you’ve decided to stay home
from school?” Tyler asked. “Well at least it will be comforting to
know you’re close by, incase trouble comes crawling back.”

Tyler walked in the kitchen, sat down, and
grabbed the local newspaper.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve read this
thing,” said Tyler, thumbing through the sports section.

“It’s been awhile since you’ve left the
house,” Emily replied.

“Wait…what’s this?” asked Tyler, flipping to
the cover. “Oh my god, Emily; what the hell is going on?”

“The attacks have been happening since Simeon
died,” said Emily, sitting down across from him. “Innocent
civilians have been found, torn apart in the woods. Their bodies
were strewn about the forest, for everyone to find.”

“What do you think it is?” asked Tyler, with
his eyes wide open.

“I don’t know,” Emily said. “But whatever it
is, they’re trying to make a point—.”

Noticing Emily’s somber expression, Tyler
decided to change the subject. Smiling, he said, “Where’s Steven? I
barely see him these days.”

“I don’t know where he’s been going,” said
Emily, standing up and grabbing a beer from the fridge. “But every
night he strolls in the house, around three in the morning,
stinking of booze and piss.”

Chapter Three

“I’ll have another,” said Steven, signaling
to the bartender.

The Midnight Riders was located at the edge
of the town, a frequent destination for all the lowlifes and
degenerates passing by. A sleazy bar, with gussied up meth addicts
offering specials to any man foolish, or drunk, enough to pay for
their services.

From what Steven could see, at least a dozen
men were packing heat, ready to open fire on anyone that tried to
stop them. The perfect place, Steven thought, to wash away his
sorrows.

“I think you’ve had enough, Chief,” said the
bartender, withholding the liquor bottle.

“I’ll tell you when I’ve fucking had enough!”
shouted Steven, slamming empty glass on the counter.

The bartender gave him a puzzled look, leaned
over, and said, “You better calm down, friend. Do you have a death
wish?”

Steven stared the bartender down, refusing to
budge. The bartender was right, he thought, maybe he had a death
wish after all.

“You’ve got balls, kid,” the bartender
grinned, handing the bottle over to Steven. “Here, have the whole
thing.”

Steven grabbed the bottle, brought it to his
lips and took a swig. The liquor burned his throat, and he slammed
the bottle to the counter. It was good to feel pain, he reflected,
it was just good to feel anything at all.

The front door swung wide open, sending light
beaming into the dimly lit bar. Steven looked over, and saw the
silhouette of a man walk through the door. The man wore a Stetson,
and long tan coat. Finally, someone even more out of place than he
was. Steven smiled, taking another drink from the bottle.

“You’re a long way from the range, cowboy,”
said one of the bikers, which caused the entire bar to erupt into
laughter.

“Your hog, is it outside?” another biker
asked. “Or did you get here by horse?”

The man walked over to the counter, and took
a seat beside Steven. He didn’t give his tormentors any
satisfaction, and motioned for a drink. He looked at the bartender,
and said, “I’ll have a whisky, neat please.”

“What’s your name, stranger?” asked Steven,
looking over to the mysterious man. “Where are you from?”

“Well, my name is Samuel Anderson; and let’s
just say I’m from a place very far away,” said Samuel, taking a sip
of his drink.

“Well if that’s not mysterious, I don’t know
what is,” Steven grinned.

“And what brings a man like you, into a
shithole like this?” asked Samuel, looking Steven over.

“I’m looking to wash away some pain,” said
Steven, with a solemn look on his face.

“…In a sea of vomit and blood, yeah, I know
the pain,” said Samuel, patting Steven on the shoulder.

The two continued to drink for awhile,
sharing tales of pain and suffering. Steven caught the odd glimpse
of the bikers, leering at the mysterious stranger; their devious
expressions saying more than enough.

“Hey, bartender,” said Samuel, calling him
over from the other side of the counter. “Can I ask you some
questions?”

“You can ask,” the bartender replied. “But
don’t expect much in the way of answers. We’re not exactly the most
open kind of people.”

“Fair enough,” said Samuel, nodding his head.
“What do you know about the recent attacks?”

“What are you, a cop?” asked the bartender,
alerting every biker in the club to their conversation.

“Do I look like a cop?” asked Samuel, pulling
on his jacket. “I’m… a mercenary, looking for any leads on the
killer. I don’t want any problems.”

“Well it won’t be a problem,” said the
bartender, polishing a glass. “I don’t have the information you’re
looking for.”

“What about any guys coming in here with
bright red eyes?” Samuel inquired.

This question piqued Steven’s interest, and
he found himself listening intently to their conversation. The vile
ghouls had not left his mind since he first encountered them one
week ago; their blood red eyes piercing through his very existence,
while they tried to tear apart his house, family, and everyone he’s
ever cared for.

“Bright red eyes?” the bartender asked, with
a puzzled look.

“Blood red pupils,” said Samuel, pointing to
his eyes. “The kind that will light up a room shrouded in
darkness—.”

“Hey, partner,” said a biker, tapping Samuel
on the shoulder. “Nice hat you got there. Mind if I give it a
try?”

The burly biker grabbed the Stetson from
Samuel’s head. He placed it upon his own head, and danced around
the room.

“Look at me, everybody!” shouted the biker,
as he pranced about the aisle’s, to a chorus of laughter. “I’m a
fancy cowboy! And did I mention…I fancy cowboys!”

Samuel slowly put his drink down, and lifted
himself up from his seat. He turned around, and stared down the
biker.

“You got something you want to say?” asked
the biker, staring back.

Samuel looked towards Steven, and smiled
devilishly, as if to say that he had everything under control.

Without warning, Samuel turned and struck the
biker in the face. He was sent crashing to the floor, as the
patrons at the bar went crazy.

“Fight!” screamed one of the meth addicts, as
they scrambled out of the way. “We’ve got a fight!”

Chapter Four

Samuel dodged one of his attackers, and sent
another back with a boot to the sternum. Three other men joined the
attack as they circled around him, waiting to make their
pounce.

He moved with grace and agility as he avoided
the blows, and countered with his own. A fist sent one flying
across the room, a kick sent another crashing out the front window,
and a vicious head butt sent the last tumbling to the ground.

“Who are you?” asked Steven, whispering under
his breath.

Samuel smirked, as the last of his aggressors
fell to the floor. He looked towards the others, and taunted, “Well
then, anyone else fancy themselves a cowboy?”

Many of them seemed to fancy themselves a
cowboy, as at least a dozen more bikers stood up, and begun walking
towards Samuel.

“C’mon guys,” said Samuel, backing away from
the group of angry bikers. “One at a time, please.”

They closed in on him, from every possible
angle. He looked around the room, figuring out his next course of
action.

Two of the bikers rushed Samuel, which he
sidestepped, allowing them to collide with each other. He used the
commotion to leap forward with a jab, sending another biker to the
floor.

Steven watched on, in amazement, as Samuel
made quick work out of the roughnecks. Then, in the corner of his
eye, he noticed one of the bikers grab a pool cue from the
rack.

“Hey!” shouted Steven, grabbing the biker by
the shoulder and spinning him around. “I don’t think so!”

He struck the biker in the face, fully
expecting him to fall to the floor; after all, Samuel made it look
so easy. The biker, instead, gave Steven a blank, expressionless
look.

“Oh, boy,” smirked the biker, wiping the
blood from his lip. “You’re on the wrong side of town, kid.”

The biker charged Steven, sending him
smashing into the wall. He pinned Steven against the wall, while he
pounded Steven repeatedly in the stomach. Steven tried to escape
the biker’s clutches, but couldn’t evade him as he wrapped his
hands around Steven’s neck.

“Ah, you big, dumb oaf!” shouted Steven,
barely managing to choke the words out as the biker’s hands closed
in around his esophagus.

Steven could feel his energy fade, as he
desperately tried claw his way free.

Suddenly, a beer bottled smashed against the
back of the biker’s head. His eyes rolled into the back of his
head, and he went down like a sack of potatoes.

Steven looked up, seeing Samuel smiled back
at him. The moment didn’t last long, as the rest of the bikers
closed in on the two of them.

Samuel moved with cat-like speed and ferocity
as he knocked the bikers down one by one. With each one he knocked
down, another would take his place. He was in over his head, and
knew there would be no end to this encounter without bloodshed.

Samuel continued to subdue his attackers,
when he heard a metallic click from behind him; a sound that was
unmistakable to the well trained Samuel.

“You think you’re real tough, don’t you?”
asked the bartender, brandishing a silver pistol. “Let’s see just
how tough you really are…”

Samuel slowly walked towards the bartender,
daring him to pull the trigger. He smiled, inching closer, and
said, “If you plan on shooting me, you better do it right now.”

The bartender paused for a moment. The sweat
beaded down his face as he contemplated the ramifications of firing
on the unarmed man.

“Too late,” said Samuel, reaching into his
duster, and before the bartender could react, used his concealed
blade to slice down on the gun.

The bartender stared back blankly at Samuel,
as he held the gun, which was now no more than a handle and
trigger.

The rest of the room was equally as
bewildered, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

Samuel used this opportunity to fling back
his coat, revealing a small cache of weaponry. He pulled out a
large desert eagle, looked the bartender in the eyes, and said,
“Mine’s bigger.”

Grasping the pistol tightly, Samuel held the
rest of the bikers at bay. He knew they were all packing heat as
well, but figured, after his display of skill, that the rest of
them would be less than willing to be the next one to draw their
weapon.

“Get away from him!” shouted Samuel, pointing
his gun toward Steven. “Back up, nice and slow.”

The bikers dropped Steven, who they had
pinned up to the wall. He was beaten and bloodied, but still alive.
He coughed up some blood as he smacked against the cold concrete
floor.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” said Samuel,
walking over to Steven. “I’m taking my friend out of here, and if
any of you tries to stop me, I’ll have the rest of my team come in
here and open fire.”

Samuel grabbed Steven by the shoulder, and
carried him past the rows of angry bikers. They all eyed him down
as he passed by, exiting through the front door.

“T—thank you,” stuttered Steven, unable to
raise his head as the blood poured down onto the gravel parking
lot. “There’s more…of you?”

“Not really, but don’t tell them that,” said
Samuel, looking back towards the bar. “Which one is your car?”

“The…red one,” choked Steven, reaching into
his pockets and grabbing his keys.

“Good,” said Samuel, taking the keys from
Steven. “I’ll drive.”

Chapter
Five

Emily and Tyler were sitting in the living
room, when the door came swinging open.

“What happened?” asked Emily, rising to her
feet as Samuel carried in a battered Steven. “Oh my god, is he
okay?”

Tyler ran to Steven’s aid, and together, they
helped Steven to the couch.

“A bar fight,” said Samuel, taking off his
hat. “He’s pretty roughed up, but he’ll be okay. You just need to
give him some time.”

“E—Emily,” stuttered Steven, slowly raising
his head.

He could barely see out his left eye, and the
right was swollen shut; looking up to Emily, he said, “Red eyes…he
knows about the red eyes.”

With those words, Steven lowered his head,
and drifted out of consciousness.

Emily pulled back, in shock, and turned
towards the dark figure standing across from Steven.

“What does he mean? Just who the hell are
you?” injected Tyler, grabbing his bat from beside the couch.
“We’re going to need some answers.”

“Put the bat down, Tyler!” shouted Emily,
grabbing hold of the bat. “This man may very well have saved my
brother’s life…your best friend’s life.”

“I seem to have stumbled upon a touchy
subject,” said Samuel, holding out his hands in submission. “I
meant no harm, I promise you that.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just…we know about the
monsters, disguising themselves as humans behind those red eyes,”
said Emily, placing the bat in the corner of the room. “How do you
know about the red eyes?”

“Their kind is dangerous,” Samuel said. “I’m
here to make sure they don’t hurt anyone.”

“Now, if I may ask, how did you come to hear
about them?” Samuel asked.

“T—they attacked our house last week,”
stuttered Emily, remembering in vivid detail, the events of that
horrifying night.