Lycan Fallout (Book 2): Fall of Man (30 page)

The “l” letters were missing and the “d” was an “n”. Phonetically it was “fuh surrener”. I’ll write his words down the way I figure they were supposed to be written; otherwise whoever picks this thing up is going to need an asshole-to-English translation dictionary.

“Thisun all r’s nah.”

Sorry, had to one more time. “This is all ours now,” I figured he said, or maybe he said something about his underwear being too tight.

“You got some banjo strings in your mouth?” I asked him. “Maybe some of your sister’s pubic hair?”

I don’t think he knew what a banjo string was, but his sister’s privates? Yeah, that part he got. There was no warning, no teeth bearing, no grunt, nothing. He just attacked. One second he was standing there looking all hillbilly swamp smug; the next, he had brandished a blade and was prepared to drive it through my throat. He almost caught me too, he’d moved so fast. It was more of an instinctual upward thrust of my left arm that knocked his blade-wielding arm to the side. Once I regained the advantage, my right arm shot out and I gripped him tightly around the throat, well, at least the front part of his windpipe. The man’s neck was as thick as an alligator. I guess it makes sense, as you are what you eat. Although, if that was the case, he should have had a slender neck like his female sibling…well…then again, she would be like what she ate, so it stood to reason his neck was that thick.

He did not seem overly daunted that I was trying to stop the flow of air to his lungs. He was kicking his legs, not in a desperate bid to suck in much needed air, but in a way to do me potential harm. By now, Azile and Biddings were trying to pull us apart. I noted that Bailey had tightened her grip on her weapon. She was not going to intervene, if anything, I had to believe she hoped I’d kill him. I couldn’t get enough of my hand around his damn tree trunk thick neck to lift him off the ground. He was able to bring both his arms up and knock mine away. He pulled back, the only reaction I got from him was a larger than normal intake of air. Could have been yawning for as distressed as he looked.

“Stop this!” Gount shouted. Standing between us, he almost ended up with a knife in his belly for his troubles. If not for Azile knocking the stranger’s arm askew that might have been exactly what happened. I think he would have done it on purpose as well and blamed it on the heat of the moment as Gount laid in a pool of his own intestines. The savage looking blade was curved and could have been classified as a short sword.

“We are here to prevent more killing, not add to it!” Saltinda got into it now. “If you had just given us what we wanted and it had worked, this could have all been prevented.”

“Bullshit!” Now it was Bailey that was getting riled up.

I stepped to the side so she could get in closer. Denarth guards came closer as well.

“If we had given you working rifles, you would be using them against us right now. You have been preparing for this war for a long time. This is no spur-of-the-moment engagement.” She was looking down at Saltinda, her arms pulled back. If she got any closer, they could potentially be considered dancing, although Saltinda didn’t look like a willing swing partner.

“You cannot be expected to hold all the power in the region and others not want their share,” Saltinda answered evenly.

“We have never used it as a means to expand our control, only as a way to defend ourselves against transgressors!”

“Be that as it may, we also have no desire to influence the rest of the region, just defend our borders against this threat which we all share,” Saltinda said more diplomatically.

“Yet here you are, on our border,” I tossed back at him. “Men and women dying on both sides; even children now that you’ve decided to toss burning arrows and stones into the mix. You know you’re really a piece of shit, all of you. So what do they call a pile of shit? Does that have a unique name? You come hear preaching unity and peace while killing and striving for power. You can shove the surrender you seek up your ass. Come and get it. Oh wait, you won’t, you’ll send in some poor farmer’s son to do the dirty work for you. Or maybe this hired gun asshat and his stupid asshat mercenaries. Makes no difference. I’ll plant them all. Blood makes incredible fertilizer, rich in iron. These fields will be fertile come next season. Fuck you all.”

And with that I walked away. Bailey came up next to me within five feet. I was seething. If I had a vent on the top of my head, steam would have been issuing forth from it.

“You have a certain diplomatic flair, Michael Talbot.”

If her voice had been a little deeper and she wasn’t so damn beautiful, I would have thought it was BT. Her words had been delivered with such dryness and with a perfect timing that she had to be a relation of his. I couldn’t help it, my hands went down to my thighs as I hunched over and just started laughing. It got worse when I thought how much that was probably compounding the problems behind me. I had just a moment ago told a peace seeking committee to go screw themselves, now I was laughing so hard tears were coming down my face. It got exponentially worse when Bailey joined in with me.

“Oh boy, we are going to be in so much trouble when we get home.” I was doing my best to get away from the meeting. Bailey had wrapped her arm around my midsection and was guiding me back. We were both laughing like a couple of kids. Well, Bailey sort of was one, and I suffered from a severe case of Peter Pan Syndrome, so I guess it was all right.

Azile found Bailey, Mathieu, and I in the hotel lobby bar a half an hour later. I had not as of yet lost the mirth Bailey had instilled in me. I was fairly convinced by the end of the night the three of us would be singing crude tavern songs.

“Are you two happy with yourselves?” Azile was attempting to berate Bailey and myself.

I clinked my mug against Bailey’s. “I am. Are you?” I asked Bailey.

She seemed a little more reserved with Azile staring her down, even though she about doubled the witch’s size. Azile had that influence on people. It was tangible. “Looking back on the encounter it was, perhaps, not the right thing to do.”

“Perhaps?” Azile questioned. “Oh forget it; I can’t pretend to be mad. I think I should have just let you kill Jangrut and let the chips fall where they may.”

“Jangrut was the name of the asshole I take it?”

She nodded as she sat down and took my mug from my hand. She downed my beer before I could even protest.

“That was my beer.”

“It was. When you get another one please refill this.” She handed me my now old mug, then placed her hand up to her mouth and burped lightly. “Excuse me.”

I was back quickly. We were the only ones in the place and the barkeep really loved the gold coins I kept giving him. I probably should have just bought the hotel by this point.

“What now?” Mathieu asked upon my return.

“We keep fighting. This meeting wasn’t about making an accord. It was a test of our resolve. They wanted to know if we still had fight left in us. I believe you answered the question eloquently enough.” Azile held up her mug before drinking from it.

“See, Bailey, I told you I know what I’m doing.” I grinned at her.

“You lie.”

“They have given us today to mourn our dead. Tomorrow, we either surrender or they said they will resume the catapults.”

“What do you believe their surrender would entail?” Mathieu asked.

“Complete capitulation.” She wiped her mouth and handed me her empty mug again.

“Oh wait, let me get that for you,” I said sarcastically.

“Thank you.” She either hadn’t picked up on it or didn’t care. “They will want all of our weapons and, they did not come out and say it, but I believe that partial payment to Jangrut’s band would be enslavement of a fair number of Talboton’s.

I thought Bailey was going to split the table in two she brought her fists down so hard. “I will cut out his asshole and stick it in his mouth for speaking such words!”

“Easy there, Killer, you damn near spilled my beer. And can you technically cut a ‘hole’ out? By definition it’s an empty opening.”

“You know what I mean!” She pulled a knife and pointed it in my direction.

“It’s never going to happen…the enslavement part I mean. I fully expect you to make good on your threat. Azile, do you have any idea what else they have in store for us?”

“I do not. It is safe to assume it will not be anything good for us. Hurry up with my beer.”

“Your legs broken?” I mumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing. Be right back.”

On my return trip, the beer in my hand rocked violently. “Day to mourn, my ass.” I nearly tossed the beverage to the floor before realizing how egregious an act that would have been. As it was, I felt badly for the little that had sloshed out. As I placed it on the table, I grabbed my rifle and headed for the door.

Then…more rocks hit.

A fruit cart blew apart into splinters, sending one woman to the ground with pieces of wood imbedded in her back. She’d live, but until she got that stuff removed she would be a fire hazard. Bailey raced me to the parapet and the direction of the offending missiles. We could see two of the catapult arms being reset, the third had just let loose its volley.

“I could send men to attack them.” Bailey was fuming.

“Why go out there?” I grabbed a bullet and began to depress the detent, a spring-loaded catch used to adjust the front sight post for distance.

“Michael, those catapults are easily four hundred yards away.”

I looked over my shoulder to the giant wooden structures. “Yeah, so?”

“That is too far away.”

“Huh? What are you talking about, Bailey? An M-16 has an effective range of nearly a thousand yards, more if you know what you’re doing and maybe have a scope. Four hundred is nothing.”

Bailey’s head sagged.

“Oh, you guys haven’t ever shot that kind of distance, have you? Well, I’ll give you a lesson.” I brought my rifle up and rested it in between two of the pickets. I shot my first round to get an idea of where my bullet was going to go. Bailey and I watched as a puff of dust shot up twenty yards short and to the right of the first catapult.

“Are you attempting to clog their noses with sprayed dirt?” Bailey questioned.

I gave the front sight post a couple of more turns, then adjusted the rear sight for windage. She didn’t mock me when the next round was three yards short and just slightly to the right. The man at the lever arm to the catapult looked around. Another quick adjustment.

“This is going to suck for you,” I told him as I took in a breath and released it slowly. I had him centered in my peep scope as I lightly squeezed the trigger. My shoulder rocked back as the bullet was expelled. I looked over the sights in time to see the man stagger back, his hands moving up to his chest just as he fell over. Men rushed to him; and when they realized what had happened, they looked over to the wall at where we were. I waved.

I killed five more men in this manner before they got the idea that going near the catapults was suicide. The bombardment had stopped…for now. It was only a temporary reprieve. In a few hours it would be night and they would be able to shoot to their hearts’ content. They already had their range and didn’t need to see what they were shooting at anymore. Much easier to hit a town in the night than it is a person.

“I had no idea,” Bailey said with a look of astonishment. “I mean, I guess in theory I knew they could do that, we just never had the rounds to practice like that.”

“You’re right, it does take a fair amount of practice and a steady hand. You will find that some are more likely to pick up the skill than others, concentrate your efforts on them.”

I gave her the quick rundown on how to correct the sighting apertures and the bare bones basics of good marksmanship. She, in turn, grabbed twenty of the best she had and relayed the info. Me, you ask? What was I doing during all this instruction? I was playing God, deciding who lived and who died. The opposing army had mistakenly thought that being near the catapults equated to death. I gave them something more to consider. Merely being on the other side was reason enough. I killed twelve more men with long range sniping before they figured out to go to ground or hide behind something.

The ones on the ground were much more difficult to hit, I’d gone from aiming at a torso to aiming at a head. But the effects on the enemy were devastating. I was spraying their friends’ memories all across the ground. After a couple of minutes of this, those still on the ground and not behind an object hadn’t moved because they couldn’t. Funny thing about war, though, is that stuff needs to get done in preparation for it; weapons sharpened, food prepared and eaten, orders given, messages passed. An army cannot sit still for long. Slowly and tentatively, after a half hour of peeking their heads around corners to see if I was still shooting, one by one they began to come out of their respective hiding spots. I waited until I figured as many of them were out there as was going to happen before I fired again. This time I only took down two before they ran
en masse
.

The second man had only been wounded. It appeared that I had hit him in the knee. His leg looked like it was bent at an unnatural angle, but it was impossible to tell for certain from this distance. What I could tell was that he was screaming bloody murder for help. Arms would reach out from behind trees or carts, but unless they were Stretch Armstrong action figures they would not be able to bridge the twenty-foot gap to their fallen comrade. My intention had not been to set up a death lure. In fact, I was lining up a head shot to put the man out of his misery when the first of his friends, or maybe it was just a braver than smart fellow-in-arms, tried to help. He was leaning over and had come out from the left. Two shots later he was still; the only thing moving on him was the blood pouring into the ground.