After The Fall: Children Of The Nephilim

by Paul Freeman

  “No, of course not,” Amy replied – idiotic woman.

  “Now, now, Kate, leave the girl alone.”

  “Screw you, Bob Wilson,” she lashed at the short, balding man who tried to intervene, “this little whore should be punished for what she done. My boy’s gone God damnit!”

  Amy felt a hand grab the back of her coat and yank her back. “Don’t you get it? He’s dead, you little slut!” Tears brimmed in the woman’s eyes. Amy could feel the salty sting of her own tears welling up.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” she protested, “I was just…” Her words were cut off with a stinging slap from Kate Davis. Amy took a step back from the anger in the older woman’s eyes.

  “My boy is dead! Did you open your legs for him in the woods? Was it worth it?”

  Amy had no answer. What Will’s mother said was true, her shame burned red on her face.

  “Leave her alone!”

  “And who the fuck are you?” Kate snarled.

  The language used by Will’s mother shocked Amy as much as her aggressive stance. It dawned on her then there was a distinctive aroma lingering in the air when she spoke – she’s been drinking, Amy thought. She didn’t recognize the woman who now stood between her and Kate, which was unusual given that everyone in Colony knew one another. Maybe they weren’t all close buddies with each other, but she was sure she’d know everyone who lived in the settlement at least by sight.

  “Come on, Kate, let’s go home.” Amy recognized the tall man with the dark eyes regarding her with scorn as Will’s dad. He steered his wife away, all the while glaring at Amy.

  “Hey, screw them,” the stranger said to her. Amy nodded her head as she felt the woman put an arm around her and lead her away. “My name’s Penelope, but most folks call me Penny. Me and my husband are new to Colony.”

  “Oh yeah? It’s been a long time since anyone new joined us here,” Amy said. “My name’s Amy,” she added as an afterthought.

  “Well it sure is nice to meet you,” Penny said with a warm smile on her face.

  “You know you probably shouldn’t have stuck up for me there. Kate Davis won’t forget that and she’ll have all the other women sidin’ with her.”

  “Oh hey, I can look after myself. I just didn’t like the way she was treatin’ you. Besides, all I did was tell her to leave you alone.”

  “I hope I didn’t make trouble for you, you bein’ new and all,” Amy said.

  “Oh hell I’ve bein’ gettin’ into trouble all my life,” Penny said with a grin.

  Amy smiled back. “I’d best be gettin’ home now. Thank you again.”

  “Oh hell no, why don’t you come home with me and meet my husband and baby. That guy Logan was kind enough to leave some supplies for us until we get settled and I have a stew on the stove. You can share it with us.”

  “You have a baby?”

  “Sure do, he’s just four months old.”

  “I’d love to see him,” Amy said.

  Penny led Amy into a timber house not too dissimilar to her own. It wasn’t the first time she’d been in the house. The old residents were Pete and Diane Szymanski. They were one of Colony’s oldest couples. Diane got ill and died a hard lingering death. Beth Patterson did what she could and spent a lot of time coming and going from the house but without the proper medicines and hospital equipment there was very little she could do. Soon after her death Pete just disappeared one day. She never did find out what happened to him. She remembered how Diane used to bake cakes using the fruit they planted and harvested in and around Colony – apple and pear pies, strawberry tarts. Just the kind of treats a small girl with no life experience outside of Colony’s walls was more than happy to run errands for. She was a nice woman; Amy was sad when she’d died.

  “This is my husband, Bart,” Penny said as she ushered Amy inside. Amy saw a man with shoulder-length dark hair and beard to match pushing bullets into a magazine cartridge before slamming it home into a pistol he picked up from beside the fire. He regarded her with dark brown eyes. “And this is Bart Junior,” she said as she lifted an infant from a wooden crib.

  Amy felt uneasy under Bart’s scrutiny and struggled to tear her eyes away from him. She forced a smile onto her face when Penny presented the baby. “He’s lovely,” she said.

  “Have a seat,” Penny said.

  “I’d best be gettin’ back,” Amy said, aware of Bart watching her.

  “Eat something first,” Penny said smiling and beckoning to a chair at the table for her.

  “I really should…”

  “You’d not want to be missin’ out on my wife’s vittles.” Bart smiled before leaving his seat by the fire and moving to the table. The smile, Amy noted did not reach his eyes.

  “Oh shush you.” Penny waved away Bart’s compliment with a smile. “If Amy wants to go that’s just fine.”

  “No, I’d love to stay for some food,” Amy said. She forced a smile and took a seat opposite Bart.

  “So what was that all about outside?” Penny asked as she passed plates of steaming food she ladled from a large pot on the stove.

  A cold feeling of dread washed over Amy as the question forced her back to a place she tried so hard to blank out. An image of the feeder holding Will in its steely grasp as it sunk its fangs into his neck flashed before her. Tears watered her eyes, blurring her vision. Kate Davis was right. It was her fault Will was dead. Her sin in allowing him to touch her had been punished in the cruelest way. Pastor said God had turned from them, leaving them to face the Devil’s demons alone. At that moment she truly felt alone.

  “Oh hey, honey, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Penny said.

  Amy wiped her eyes and smiled the best she could. “It’s okay,” she said, “that woman was my… boyfriend’s mother. We got trapped in the woods out by the cornfield after dark. Feeders came and…” She couldn’t finish the rest.

  “Oh hey, hon, take it easy, you don’t have to tell us nothin’,” Penny sat in the chair beside her and put her hand on Amy’s arm, giving it a little squeeze.

  “We… he and I… we.”

  Penny squeezed her arm again. “You lay together?”

  Amy nodded. Not sure why she was admitting something to this stranger that she’d not confided in anyone else. “We promised ourselves to each other.” Amy sniffled and wiped away tears with the back of her hands. “We fell asleep. The sun was shining. I felt so connected to him at that moment. Safe because I was with him. We were stupid.”

  “No, honey, you weren’t stupid, just in love.”

  “We were attacked by a feeder as we tried to find our way in the darkness. I just ran and hid, it was all I could think to do. The feeder was biting down on Will’s neck and I’d dropped my knife. I was so scared…” she trailed off.

  “So that woman blames you for the death of her son?”

  “It was my fault. If I hadn’t let him touch me in that way, we wouldn’t have fallen asleep, and he’d still be alive now. My pa came after me and found me where I was hiding. The man who came with him died too. That’s two deaths because of me, and now everyone not only hates me but they hate my pa too.”

  “Where is he now? Your pa I mean.” Penny took Amy’s hand in her own.

  “He rode out with Pastor this morning to find the vampire nest.”

  “What’s the deal with this Pastor guy?” Bart asked in a gruff voice.

  Amy shrugged. “Pastor binds us together. He has no fear of vampires. It’s always been that way.”

  “Have you lived here your entire life, Amy?” Penny asked.

  “Yes.” She nodded. Penny and Bart exchanged a glance. “Why do you ask?” An uneasy feeling began to creep over her.

  “Oh no reason,” Penny smiled, “it’s just that the Logan guy told us it would be up to Pastor to decide whether we stayed. We’re just hopin’ he won’t throw us back out. It’s not a nice thing to be forced out into the night.”

  Amy could sympathize with that sentiment having spent
a frantic and eventful night outside Colony’s walls. “Why would he not let you stay?”

  “We’ve met men like Pastor before. They have an inner power and an aura about them that most humans don’t. It’s like they were especially put here for these times, but they ain’t always good men. Many of them like to use that power to raise themselves up over others and to take from those they deem beneath them.”

  “Pastor ain’t like that,” Amy protested.

  “They’re all like that, honey,” Penny said. “I’ll bet he has y’all sweatin’ in the fields and providin’ him with the best of luxuries.”

  “No,” Amy insisted.

  “Does he get his pick of all the pretty young things? Does he summon girls to his home to receive his blessed sacraments?”

  “No.” She shook her head vigorously.

  “Was your young Will the first man to touch you, Amy or was it Pastor?”

  “No!” She slammed her fist on the table. “Pastor’s not like that.”

  “As far as you know…” Bart said.

  Amy stood up then. “I’m going home.”

  “Wait, honey, we didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just that we’ve been through a lot. And believe me, there are men out there who seem immune to the vampire’s ability to induce fear. Who seem to be stronger physically and mentally than the rest of us. Your pastor sounds like one of those. I just hope he’s a good one.”

  “He is,” Amy said defiantly. As she turned to leave a bell rang out across Colony.

  “What’s that?” Bart asked, looking around feverishly.

  “It’s the alarm,” Amy said. “That only ever gets sounded for feeders or…”

  “It’s not vampires. They ain’t huntin’ in the sunlight,” Bart interrupted.

  “Or marauders,” Amy finished.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Pastor realized the rest of the men had frozen when the vampire spoke in a voice like shredding metal. He was barely able to contain his own shock at hearing the first words he’d ever heard coming from the grotesque mouth of a feeder – maybe the first words ever uttered by an undead creature. Fear can be contained, overcome with control and discipline. But control can be like leaves on the wind, scattered far and wide in the face of a storm; and a storm is what this talking vampire was a harbinger of. A deadly and dark tempest was on the way. Pastor’s hands shook, even the child with the fangs of a vampire had not rattled him so much. And that was before he’d even heard the words and thought about what they meant.

  “We know you, Defiler, you who seek to slay us while we sleep, you who instill fear in the hearts of The Chosen. It is we who were hand-picked by God. We who are descendant from angels, God’s own children. It is we who He has given this world to live in. You, son of Adam, were cast from His presence, flung from the Garden for your sins. Now it is we, once cursed to live in the shadows, that have awoken.”

  He shook off the trance the words of the vampire lulled him into, like a blanket of silken cobweb strands snaking their way across the short distance and entwining the men in an unnatural state of compliance. He felt rage burn inside him then, anger at the presumption of this monster to attempt such deceitful methods of ensnarement. He slid his shotgun from its holster. The vampire growled, baring long and wickedly sharp fangs. He fired, emptying both barrels and was rewarded with a high-pitched screech.

  The gunshot and animalistic howl of pain broke the spell of entrapment pinning the other men to the ground. Before any of them could move the massive vampire lunged towards them. Black blood leaked from a dozen wounds on its chest and face, yet its speed was immense. It reached out a hand, grabbing Isaac Howard by the throat. Black nails dug into his flesh as he was lifted off the ground. The speed of the feeder was such that none of the men had time to react before hungry fangs bit deep into the neck of Isaac. He screamed.

  “Noooo!!!” Pastor howled as the feeder clamped its jaws onto Isaac. He flung the shotgun away and drew his cavalry saber. The air tasted of smoke and dust and blood. The only light came from the orange flame of the torches the men held in their grimy hands, casting flickering shadows up the walls and ceilings of the long disused train tunnel. Another smell prevailed in the background, so strong it was like a taste clinging to the backs of their throats: Rot. Rot and death.

  The tunnel was filled with the sounds of men roaring, of Isaac Howard screaming in pain as his lifeblood was drained by the feeding vampire; a monstrous, grotesque brute of a demon. In an instant Isaac’s limp body was flung to the ground and the monster snarled its defiance at the men. Pastor leaped forward with his blade gleaming in the torchlight. George, Jeb and Logan had barely had time to raise their weapons before Isaac was lying prostrate on the railway tracks. He looked on aghast as the feeder discarded Isaac’s body and turned a hideous, blood-smeared face on the remaining men. Pastor swung the sword at the feeder’s neck, the blade glinting in the torchlight as it flew through the air. The vampire moved with lightning speed bending its body away from the arcing blade, its great size no impairment to its agility.

  Pastor felt his wrist jar painfully as his sword clattered off the wall of the tunnel. The pain travelled up his arm, making him grimace involuntarily. The feeder lunged for him, grabbing the lapels of his greatcoat. He looked into the dark eyes of the monster, forcing himself to confront the hunger in those black orbs.

  “Your blood smells sweet, Defiler,” the vampire snarled. The words were jubilant as it opened its jaws, revealing gleaming sabers of ivory.

  At that moment Pastor felt old. He’d spent such a long time fighting the vampires, hunting them when most other men were afraid to walk the paths he readily trod. Let it end now, he thought. The world had gone to hell. God had abandoned them, turned his back and allowed Satan and his followers dominion over a land God’s own son had died on a Roman cross for. He almost smiled as he imagined his final act of defiance would be to willingly give himself to the vampire, to allow the evil to corrupt first his blood and then his soul. Truly that would be one in the eye for the Almighty who had betrayed his own people. Were we not fashioned in your own image?

  His nightly dreams were of ancient battles waged in hellish realms, where winged warriors fought each other with flaming blades and bitter tempests. His waking moments were even more demented, a life of blood and pain, of warring against evil. So much that he found it hard to distinguish between what was good and what was evil. The acts he himself had committed on the demons – the feeder was right, even the vampires were God’s creation – and worse on his own kind with malice in their hearts. Was it right that he rained down suffering on bad men as well as the monsters who walked the night? What right did he have to choose who had goodness in their heart or who possessed evil blackness in their soul? I’m ready, he thought, welcoming the moment he would greet his creator and ask the question – why?

  “Pastor!” He wasn’t sure who it was who called his name. Pastor, he thought, that is not my name. The title implied that he was a servant of God. And in a different lifetime, a different world he was. But no longer. “Pastor.” The same voice called again, snatching his mind and soul from the darkness. He opened his eyes staring into the yawning, mouth with the rows of wickedly sharp fangs. No. Not today.

  He brought his head back and then slammed his forehead into the face of the feeder. Pain erupted behind his eyes and he fell, fell from the feeder’s grasp and literally from the jaws of death. Gunshots exploded in the confines of the tunnel, creating a cacophony of ear-splitting noise. He gasped for breath while the three remaining men stood with open mouths and eyes open wider.

  “Don’t let it get away,” he gasped as he struggled to his feet. “We won’t get another chance.”

  The three men nodded in understanding and followed the massive vampire into the darkness in which it had fled. Pastor gave himself a moment to catch his breath and reloaded the shotgun before he followed after them. He could hear their footsteps echoing down the tunnel. And then he felt a familiar tin
gling at the back of his neck, an unsettling feeling. He stopped abruptly and turned. The tunnel was empty behind him. He raised the torch he was carrying over his head.

  The vampires were at home in the night, lords of the shadows. For the most part though, there insatiable thirst for blood drove them into an unthinking, blinkered frenzy. Driven by instinct and an overwhelming desire to feed, they were predictable, albeit dangerous foes. This one, he knew was different. Slowly he looked up. A dark shape fell from the ceiling of the tunnel over his head. He swung the shotgun upwards but it was swatted from his hand and he was thrown backwards with the force. He tripped over the train track and landed on his back. His sword twisted awkwardly in its sheath, sending a sharp pain from his hip and across his back. Then the shape was like a cloud enveloping the tunnel. He’d dropped his torch but it still burned a flickering orange light from its resting place on the ground. Sliding his knife from his belt as he rolled, he quickly regained his feet.

  “It is we who will inherit the Earth. Mankind’s reign will soon be at an end,” the dark creature said.

  “Not just yet,” Pastor said, flipping his knife in the air. Balancing the tip of the blade between his forefinger and thumb, he hurled it at the feeder. Before the beast had swatted the weapon away Pastor had his saber in hand. He stabbed the blade at the distracted feeder’s chest biting deep into the soft, undead flesh. The monster howled and staggered back. The death-like white skin on his face was almost translucent in the torch light as black blood spurted from the wound. Pastor staggered forward with his sword raised. The vampire snarled and slashed at him with an open palm.

  The world slowed down for him. The blow came at him in slow-motion, the feeder’s snarl echoed in deep guttural grunts. He easily dodged the venom-laced, black nails, rolling along the arm with the attack. For an instant he stood eye to eye with the beast, seeing himself reflected in the dark, dead eyes. He saw awareness, he saw awakening, he saw fear and as he brought down his sword to cleave the neck of the beast he saw death. His sword clattered off the hard earth of the tunnel floor, he blinked and the vampire was gone, a shadow disappeared into the gloom.