Lycan Fallout (Book 2): Fall of Man (29 page)

“Azile, what are you doing?” I asked the wind. I should have realized the whistling wasn’t right, but it made sense as soon as rocks the size of cannonballs started smashing into things. “What the fuck!?” I thought it was hail until I saw the stars above my head, and oh yeah, now that I’m thinking about it, who does that shit? I mean, who in their right mind looks up during a mega hailstorm? Me, that’s who. The splintering of beams was run roughshod over by the screams of people having their bones broken or legs crushed.

The storm was brief but intense. At least three buildings I could see were reduced to a sum of their parts. I noted the hotel had not so much as been scratched, which was pretty profound considering I saw at least four boulders lying around its foundation. More Azile or just dumb luck, I didn’t know. I ran to where I heard the loudest screams, figuring they had the best chance of being saved. At least four people were already there digging through the rubble. I was about to tear into it myself when the rifle fire began at the far side of town. A section of the wall had been struck, and I was certain I would find several platoons’ worth of enemy soldiers making for the breach.

Our defense was hampered by the lack of light. Can’t shoot what you can’t see. When I got there, the fighting had been reduced to hand-to-hand combat, and we were on the losing end, being outnumbered nearly two-to-one. Reinforcements were coming, but not before some of the men coming in would be able to get into the town and create havoc. A man who had fought his way through the initial defenders was coming my way. He was a good-sized man, looked like he was a lumberjack by trade. Long, scruffy beard and over-sized hands held a large, two-sided axe. His face, which should have had a lazy, carefree smile, was pulled back into a mask of hatred and anger as he raised his weapon up in an effort to “fell” me.

I had more than ample opportunity to shoot him, but that would of course mean that I had my rifle with me. Which was not the case. I had been going to see Azile and didn’t much think I would need it. However, since I was going to be around a woman, I should have thought to take one as defense. I caught the handle of the axe as it was on the downswing. I think the tree feller was surprised with the strength at which I held him at bay. He was screaming at me in a language I was sure was full of all manner of unspeakable acts, but, for the life of me, I couldn’t figure it out. Sounded something like Cajun mixed with Portuguese and maybe whale song added in. The word “mercenary” flitted across my mind. I would have thought a little longer on it, but I was fairly busy at the time.

I twisted to the side, dodging the blade as I let it crash to the ground, necessitating a sharpening at some later stage. I punched the side of the man’s face hard enough to send two teeth spiraling into the air. Not sure if that was as big of a coup as it sounds, since I don’t think oral hygiene was high on his list of priorities—not if his rank breath was any indication. If anything, I only seemed to anger him more. He was bringing the axe back up and turning towards me. This time, I hit him with a left hook flush in the nose. Blood spurted out in a 360-degree arc. I had a hard time believing I’d been the first to break that hooked beak, but the blood told the story. It flowed in rivulets down into his moustache and beard. His eyes watered over and, if he lived long enough, they would blacken for sure. The axe was forgotten for the time being as he tried to orient himself. I moved in, placing both my hands behind his head, I pulled his head down and shot my knee up, crushing what was left of his nose into his face. He gave a strangled ‘ung’ sound, fighting to get air as blood flooded his airway. He fell down and away from me. I brought the heel of my boot down on the now tenderized portion of his face. The bones had already been traumatized and yielded easily enough to my stomping.

It won’t matter how long I live or how many men I kill, no matter what they did or who they were trying to hurt. The sound the skull makes when it’s being crushed will always turn my stomach. He was dead before I could separate my foot from him.

I would have thought my savage act would have made the next man reconsider his choices in life, it didn’t. He was screaming in that same bizarre mixology of language. My knuckles were split and hurting. Hitting someone in the face bare-knuckled is a painful experience; don’t ever let anyone tell you differently.

I reached down and quickly picked up the axe. Whoever these people were they didn’t care much about anything. His eyes didn’t even grow in the least as he saw me now armed like him. I wouldn’t have thought it possible if it hadn’t happened to me. We had both swung at the same time, our blades at slightly differing angles, as they slammed into each other, notching the hardened steel and fusing the two together for a moment. I pulled mine free with a grunt before I swung again, my attacker slower to respond. The edge of my blade rode up the wooden shaft, cutting off splinters as it did so, before entering into his fist, easily cutting off his index, middle and ring finger. He caterwauled in pain, but didn’t let go of the axe. He was going to have a hard time wielding the thing with one hand. Through all the din of war around me I heard his fingers fall to the ground, sounded much like you would expect it to. I guess if you thought about wet salami striking a tile floor then you nailed it.

His blade dropped down and his blood-coated hands lost their grip. I had already pulled back and was delivering the deathblow. I hit him just below the sternum, opening him up like a sidelong-gutted fish, my swing only interrupted by his spine. I had easily gone through his clothing, lungs, and stomach. His eyes rolled up and, as he began to go down, I kicked him away while I pulled free. He didn’t just bleed; his innards evacuated his system as organs rolled out of him like the tide. It was with a sick horror I watched him as he blindly tried to reel in what had spilled out.

His arms were still moving when the third man moved in, this one armed with a sword. He was slicing back and forth looking for an opening. He knew how to use the blade. Never had a problem with ninjas, that was, of course, until I had to face one. The blade came in incredibly fast, cutting through my shirt and exposing my torso to the cool night air. I found myself involuntarily backing up as he twirled that fucking thing around like a baton. Another cobra-quick strike left my arm bleeding. I was through with this shit. My fangs elongated. I got the first response out of him that I could call surprise. However, if I thought revealing who I was would magically allow me to kill him, I was sadly mistaken. If anything, he moved quicker, knowing that killing me would greatly increase his side’s chances of victory. At least a moral victory, I suppose.

He thrust again, coming within hairs of cutting through my stitches. I was in a bit of trouble as any gains I’d made in the healing department were quickly becoming unraveled. He was going to kill me dead by a thousand cuts. His only mistake, as far as I could tell, was when he looked over my shoulder to the approaching Talboton defenders. But it was enough. I swung for the fences. Would have had the homerun if he hadn’t been just a bit quicker. He was able to bring his sword up to deflect the blow, neatly cutting my axe shaft in half. I think he would have been able to kill me if the trajectory of the axe half hadn’t brought its forward momentum smashing into the side of his head. He staggered back from the blow. I was left holding a sharpened stick, which I proceeded to shove into his neck like I was trying to skewer his Adam’s apple and pull it out as if it were a holiday Hors d’oeuvres. He still managed to scrape his sword along my ribcage before he let it go to wrap his hands round the wooden shaft protruding from him. Shots were being fired around me as the usurpers were pushed from their ingress. They’d lost twenty to our eight, but those were losses they could afford to take. We could not.

“You alright?” Bailey asked, looking around.

“Been better.” I was basically talking to the wind. When she realized I didn’t need help, she’d already moved on to check on the wounded and the broken wall. “Your great-grandfather would have at least waited for a response before walking away!” I shouted to her. The latest crisis had been averted, but Talboton was in the thick of it now. Between the fire arrows, and catapult or trebuchet, or whatever the fuck was chucking those rocks (probably a column of damned giants with slings if current luck was any indicator) we were screwed. I headed back to see Mathieu a little sooner than I had intended. Some of my new wounds were deep enough to be classified as a bona fide injury.

“Have you ever thought of perhaps a new profession?” Mathieu asked as he rubbed some foul smelling concoction on my side. I thought I heard a sizzling sound to go with the skin frying sensation.

“Maybe it should be you who rethinks what he does.” I was trying to pull away from him as I questioned his doctoring skills.

“How’s it going out there?” he asked, taking on a more serious tone.

“We hold out two more nights, I’ll be amazed. I mistakenly thought we had this thing all sewn up, having the advantage of rifles on our side. That’s what I get for being cocky.”

“Perhaps it would be wise to just give them what they want and send them on their way.”

“I’m not so sure that would work anymore.”

Mathieu arched an eyebrow at me as he pulled a stitch tight.

“They’re winning, and they know it. They won’t be appeased with their initial request. At this point, they’ll want everything. Plus, I think they have mercenaries, and nothing short of this town being bled dry will satisfy them.”

“Mercenaries?”

“Men whose services are procured for the specific reason of fighting. They have no allegiance to either side; they do it primarily for monetary gain.”

“Such a thing exists?”

I nodded sadly.

“Men will fight for no cause other than coin?”

“Been happening since history was recorded. There have always been people who love to fight, and if they can be paid to kill others, all the better.”

“I thought I understood the harshness of this world. I was mistaken.”

“That’s exactly why beer was created, my friend. Well…that and women.”

He snipped off the excess thread from the stitch and I stood. I thanked him and decided to sit out the rest of the night. My dreams were surprisingly tranquil considering the maelstrom I was currently in.

The next morning I awoke pretty refreshed. The night had not been broken by any attack, at least not by anything that disturbed my sleep. I stood, stretched, and was about to scratch what always had an itch in the morning when I heard someone yell out, “Flag!”

I didn’t know what it meant, but it warranted an investigation. Luckily, I’d had the foresight to not undress before I went to bed. I was outside fairly quickly, though Azile, Bailey, and even Gount had beaten me. Azile looked better than she had the night before, but not great. Whatever she’d done had taken its toll. Bailey looked worse, I was convinced she had not slept at all last night, maybe not the previous either. Her face may have looked drawn but her eyes burned with fierceness. Even sleep was too terrified to take her on. Gount was rested but worry was deeply etched upon him.

“What gives?” I asked when I got to the makeshift meeting.

“Envoy,” Gount said.

“They surrendering?” I asked, trying to maybe instill some morale into the glum expressions that were looking back at me.

“Quite the contrary,” Gount started. “They are here seeking ours, and I am inclined to give it to them.”

Now I knew why Bailey looked like she wanted to bite through nails.

“We’re not out of this,” I told him. It was not quite a lie. Close but not quite.

“How many more citizens do I have to let die before I acquiesce? I will gladly give up the rifles if it stops the killing.”

I wanted to tell him it would do no good and relay to him what I’d told Mathieu, but I had a feeling he already knew and was now trying to buy some time. For what, who knew.

“Let’s go,” Azile said. “Bailey, I have your word you won’t do anything rash?”

“Maybe she should.”

Azile shot me a glance that I swear I felt. “Do not instigate further trouble, Michael.”

“We’re in the middle of war, what more could she and I instigate?”

“I know enough about you, Michael, that the words are justifiably spoken.”

“I’m coming with you. Someone needs to keep an eye on Bailey,” I said when Azile started to protest.

“I wish you would both stay behind,” Azile said as we headed out.

“It’s my town,” Bailey and I said in unison. It was Gount who gave us the strange look.

***

It was the usual suspects when we got out there: Saltinda, Biddings, and Alden, plus a couple of guards and a new guy. He hung back a pace or two, but he had that same Cajun lumberjack look I had seen among those I’d killed.

“Who’s your friend?” I asked of Saltinda.

“Michael, this is a serious negotiation, and I would appreciate it if you would treat it as such.” Azile grabbed my arm and pulled me a step or two away. I don’t know how a woman can “yell” at you without raising her voice. It’s a talent.

“I was merely asking him a question.” But she’d already returned to the talks, such as they were.

“Negotiation?” the Cajun man asked, although when he said it the “g” was missing in the pronunciation. Took me a couple of seconds to figure out what he was saying. “Full surrender.”