AWOL: A Character Lost (5 page)

This rendezvous point was at the spot where the road suddenly ended, not in jagged pieces of asphalt and debris, but a perfect straight line. This line ran across the road like someone had taken skillful hands and cut it with a blade. On one side there was the asphalt and the doubles lanes, on the other side, tall thick green grass. This grass covered a large 60 acre field.

A three-story castle sat in the center of this field, if you could call it a castle. It looked more like a long cylindrical tower or a glorified silo, round and circular all the way to the top with thick white granite walls. It had no windows, and only one way in and one way out – two intimidating double doors, which were brown, thick pieces of wood. They had long thick silver spikes sticking out of them, five spikes on one door, five on the other, running from the top to the bottom in a perfect straight line.

The character took a moment to look the castle up and down, somehow come to terms with it in his mind. It really wasn’t what he had been picturing. He thought it would be a sprawling gothic looking estate, with gargoyles and blacked out windows that covered acres upon acres of land, not just one white tower. It was a bit of a let down.

There were four werewolves left, and a couple of them showed clear signs of battle scars. When the fight on the road ended last night there were six, two had fallen in battle somewhere beyond that. These beasts guarded the door, lazily lounging in front of it, daring anyone to approach. They didn’t have their eyes turned on. With them off they looked a lot like a car’s headlights in the day time, the cars that don’t have daytime running lights. The character figured there must be a switch, like a light, that was turned on when it got dark.

He noticed something else, something he was unsure of because the light was growing so thin. This thing he was unsure of was splayed out high in the air, dangling just inches below the place where the castle ended in a sharp spike.

“Your eyes aren’t deceiving you,” the man replied.

The character turned to face the guy, who was big and stocky. “What?”

“The top of the point, you see it, right?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a sacrifice to their God.”

“A what?”

“Right at dawn, just before the sun comes up, and just before a feeding cycle, the leader of the vampires climbs up their and shoves some poor stiff down on that spike, letting him or her bleed out. So, when they wake, they smell the blood, and it gets them all fired up to feed. Just consider it a human dinner bell,” the man replied, smiling as he walked away.

The character looked up at the dangling figure, and did his eyes deceive him or was that guy still moving, writhing in pain. The character turned away before he puked.

“All right guys. We need to do this fast if we are going to do it.” Becky looked up at the sky as the night ate away the day. It wouldn’t be long before night had its feast, and it devoured every bit of light. The night in this world was like that now, very hungry. It rushed in and rushed in quick. It took no remorse. “We know their layer is deep under ground, that the tower is just a front, a façade. There’s nothing in it.”

She paused and looked at one of the guys, as the group gathered around her, the character included. “Are you ready?” She asked.

The guy produced a small package and showed it to her.

“What’s he going to do?” The character asked, as he looked across the field at the double doors, trying to ignore that guy hanging on the spike.

“Pick the lock,” Becky replied.

“It’s that easy?”

“Look, these guys are super smart when it comes to feeding and plotting and scheming and all that stuff they have to do in order to eat. What they don’t have is much sense when it comes to home protection. All that is holding that door closed is a common house lock. If we had a key, we could walk right in.”

“Let me guess. A little gift knowledge from the one you caught.”

“It wasn’t so much a gift, but he told us what we needed to know, with the right persuasion, of course.”

“Of course,” the character replied, letting the conversation stop there. This was an ugly time and ugly times sometimes called for ugly measures. It was best not to know what kind of persuasion they had administered to the vampire, but he knew it wasn’t pleasant.

Becky turned back to the group. “We know there is a small worn-out path that leads up to the stables this way.” She pointed to her right and then looked at the two guys assigned to this path. “You guys know what to do. Secure it and the stables. The rest of us will move out across the grass, making sure the key master is safe.”

They all nodded their heads.

“Let’s go then,” Becky replied, moving forward into the grass.

The two men (young, big and burly, easily in their twenties) assigned to the path and stables, quickly ran off, one with a cross bow, the other holding a sack full of wooden stakes. The character could hear the horses in the stable as they whinnied and whined. He wasn’t sure if they sensed the strangers or if they were just doing what horses normally do.

The rest of the group, 10 of them (6 men, 4 women), fanned out across the grass, and began to walk towards the tower. The key master was in the middle, rummaging through his bag. He was a tall guy, 6’ 4” in height, with dark hair, wearing a Boston Red Sox sweatshirt. He had on jeans and tennis shoes, and he wore black glasses over his eyes that held thick corrective lenses inside their oval frames.

Becky stopped them about halfway; they hunkered down, and waited for the next part of the plan to take place. She pointed at one man and gave him the sign to go. This was a tall guy with skinny features and a square jaw. He looked like a marathon runner, and he was dressed like one as well, with running shoes on his feet, wick away clothing covering everything else.

“He’ll be slaughtered,” the character replied.

“Nope, trust me on this one,” Becky replied, confident.

The man crouched down and got as close as he could to the beasts, making sure he was in smelling distance. When he was sure he was there, he leaped up, and took off running. The beasts, of course, took off after him – every one of them like big dumb dogs chasing a car.

When the beasts took off, the archer from the previous night, the one who saved the character’s life, stood up. His arrows flew true, and it only took four of them, one for each beast. They found their mark and killed the werewolves instantly. These beasts were now extinct.

The marathon man stopped running and looked back at the carcasses on the ground. He caught his breath and thanked the Lord above that he still had life in his lungs.

The character looked from the marathon man to Becky. “Why didn’t you shoot them at the door? That would have been easier than doing all this and it wouldn’t have put someone’s life in danger.”

“If you can believe it, they are easier to kill when they are moving.” Becky turned away from the character, and pointed to the key master who took off at a steady run. The rest of them followed behind, mindful of the tower, all eyes scanning for anything that didn’t seem right. Nothing moved or came after them.

They reached the door and gathered around the key master as he worked to break the lock.

Moments passed.

The light faded.

“Got it,” The key master said, as the lock clicked, and he swung one of the doors inward, which creaked slightly, as it made its way to a stop gently against the wall.

The first thing to greet them was the smell. Dirt, decay, and blood mingled and danced together as it escaped into the fresh air.

Becky shined a light around the room so everyone could see. The room was bare, no furniture, nothing on the walls, a dirt floor, and endless space above. There was also a door in the floor, which was open, leaning against the wall. That was it.

The light also revealed one other thing, something horrific, something none of them were prepared to see. It was a body, the old woman from the night before, Silas’ widow.

Becky went over to check on her. She was, of course, dead, a shredded mess of human flesh and bone. Being drug down a paved road behind a horse can do that to a person. Becky hit her knee. “The bastards must have dragged her all night!” She pointed to two guys in the group. “Take her outside. We will bury her on the way home.”

The two men did as they were asked. When they carried her body past the character, he could see the road damage on her, the imprint the hand from the whip had left around her neck, and one other thing. Her hands were bound with a thick rubbery rope. This rope had a hook attached to it. He turned away before he puked.

Becky walked over to the door in the floor, and the group followed her. She stopped when she got to the edge, and shined the light down inside. A set of brown wooden stairs ran down into the gloom and disappeared. The smell from before, of dirt, decay, and blood was flowing from here. That smell seemed to be calling this confined darkened space home. Becky put one foot on the first stair and descended, the others followed after her.

At the bottom of the stairs, when she stepped onto the dirt floor, she stopped; everyone behind her did as well, frozen in place, either on the stairs or just outside the entrance. Becky put her bag down. “Hold this,” she replied, holding the flashlight up to the character, who climbed off the stairs and took it.

She rummaged through her bag for a moment. A second later she produced another light and a small pole that could be pulled open so it made a longer pole. She stuck the pole into the ground and attached a hook to the top of it, screwing it into place. She hung this new light off the hook, and turned it on. The small area filled with light. Not enough to send blinding amounts of the yellow stuff out into the black, disturbing this sanctuary the vampires called home, but enough to at least see by, regroup by, and discuss what was the next part of the plan by.

The light, now a friend, also became an enemy. It showed her something they had not anticipated, something they did not learn from the vampire they captured.

“Key master,” Becky replied, concerned.

He climbed down to her. “Yes,” he replied.

She showed him the problem. “How come we didn’t know about this one?”

The key master looked down at their problem, another door in the floor. It was made of solid grey steel. Becky lightly banged on it to test how thick it was. Her knock didn’t even penetrate it, the sound dying right at her ears.

“Should we be banging on that?” The character asked, thinking the least amount of noise the better.

“I don’t think they can hear us. We were told their lair was deep in the Earth.”

“If the vamp didn’t tell you about this door then how can you trust anything he said?”

She took the flashlight back, and looked at him for a moment, standing there in her husband’s clothes, sounding just like his voice of reason. It gave her chills. “I guess he told us what we needed to hear, and he got lucky we didn’t ask him any more.”

While they talked, the key master steadied his eyes on the lock. He could pick it, but it wouldn’t be as easy as the door that led into the castle. He looked up at Becky. “I’ll need about ten minutes, and some light.”

“Do you have a shorter time frame?”

“I’ll do my best.”

Becky shined the light down for him as he went to work. She looked back at the rest of the group and motioned for all them to join her on the floor. They filed down like school children, one by one.

“We didn’t foresee the door, but while he works I need two of you on top. Who will stand up there and guard the door?”

“We’ll do it.” The man who said this was kind of tall, around 40 years of age.

“Sure. We will.” The woman, his wife, was kind of short and around that same age. They both looked fit and healthy, armed with crossbows, loaded with wooden stakes.

“Okay, thanks,” Becky replied.

They nodded and climbed back up the stairs to guard the door.

Eternity seemed to pass as they all waited for the lock to be picked.

“Got it,” the key master replied. He reached down and turned the handle, a handle that was shaped like a white ivory skull. He pulled up the door, and a rush of wind blew back his hair and curiosity became his demise. He leaned over the hole to see what was making the wind, and that was when he tripped the trap. A board of wood rose out of the dark at lightning speed. The key master had most of his upper body over the hole when it hit him. This board had six spikes on it, and they all found a nice home in his body. The board didn’t stop when it hit him. It instead lifted him off the ground, and slammed him into the roof above. People scattered as the key master’s body exploded from the impact and covered everything and everyone in human debris.

Out of the darkness, noises filled their ears, as they all scrambled to wipe the key master bomb off their bodies.

They turned their ears towards it.

Something was coming.

“Everybody hold the line. I think we woke them up,” Becky replied, crossbow loaded and ready.

Indeed, they had.

The vampires came pouring out of the door in a blind fury, like hornets flying out of their nest or ants scurrying out of their hill, awoken from their slumber, pissed because of that, pissed because of their hunger, and pissed because of these invaders, the ones who had violated their sanctuary.

The character looked and saw Becky impale one to the wall via a wooden arrow through the heart. The vampire screamed and screeched as it died a slow painful death.

Becky reached over and grabbed the character after she got another one dead center of the chest with a wooden stake. It fell back onto the ground, dying, screeching and crying like the last one.

“Take this!” She handed the character the flash light.

“Why?”

“I need you to get to the feeding chamber. We will handle this. We need you to get down there and give those people a fighting chance.”

“I’m not sure I’m the man for this,” the character replied, as a member of their group was decapitated beside him. A blood geyser erupted from the open wound, and the vampire (the one who dealt the fatal swipe) took a momentary blood bath in the warm salty crimson. Becky ended that shower with a stake to the heart. The vampire screeched away into the dark, dying as he went.