by Paul Freeman
“No. You can’t leave.” Her words were said matter-of-factly, yet Pastor felt their weight bearing down on his soul. He had no wish to kill the woman, even if he had set out on this journey to find the girl with murder in his heart. He gripped the dagger tightly in his fist and swung back around to the woman.
“Are you fixin’ to stop us?” he said softly but with menace in his words.
She shook her head. “No, of course not. Your actions are for you to choose, including accepting the gifts offered to you along with their burden. Besides, how could I?”
His eyes narrowed as he regarded her. He suspected she had many ways of stopping him if she so wished, despite her attempts at playing the helpless damsel. “Then what?”
“Look out the window, Michael. The sun has gone down and the forest is shrouded in darkness. It is not safe to wander abroad, even for a Venator… a vampire hunter.”
He frowned as he walked to the window and drew back the heavy drapes. A yellow moon hung low in the sky, barely above the dark silhouette of the treetops. Night had fallen while they dined and talked which meant those creatures who used the darkness as a shield against the deadly light of the sun would be hunting. Even so, he still wondered if he would be safer outside away from the monastery and its strange inhabitants. He suspected Eva and her girl companion were just as if not more dangerous than any vampire clan.
He nodded slowly. “Looks like we’re stayin’ the night then.”
“We have plenty of spare rooms,” Eva said as her face creased into a smile.
“One will do,” Pastor answered.
*
“What’s goin’ on, Pastor?” Jeb asked as the three men rolled out blankets and pillows provided by Eva.
Pastor simply shook his head and lay back on one of the foldout cots that probably hadn’t had a body sleep on it since before the Fall. He closed his eyes as Eva’s words repeated themselves in his head. He dismissed them as utter nonsense, yet they kept tumbling through his mind. Was there even a hint of truth in them? It was true feeders did not induce the paralyzing terror in him that most men felt when confronted with the undead monsters. That’s not to say he did not have a healthy fear of them, but he knew how to quell it, how to look past the nightmare and see a beast that needs putting down. Eva spoke about the vampire hunters – the Venators – as if they were some sort of divine superhero… that he most certainly was not.
Cometh the hour, cometh the man?
No… he would not allow her to turn him into some sort of avenging angel.
“I’ll take first watch,” George said. Pastor opened his eyes and saw him stoking up the fire in the grate. Light from several candles and an oil lamp bathed the room in a golden glow.
He nodded his agreement and gave thanks with a wave of his hand.
“Brought me another bottle of that wine if anyone’s interested,” Jeb said with a smile, brandishing a dark green bottle.
“Sure,” George said with a grin, holding out his hand to take the bottle.
The words of the men drifted over Pastor as his eyes grew heavy. The heat from the fire was a pleasant warm glow on his face as he drifted into a dark, ghostly world of sleep.
He first became aware of her presence when he felt her breath on his cheek; it smelled of berries and of the forest. He opened his eyes and saw her face inches from his own, her dark brown eyes regarding him with a penetrating glare, as if they would see past the man right through to the very heart of his soul. She placed a gentle finger on his lips, silencing any words forming in his mind. He felt her hands on his chest, searching for the buttons of his shirt and undoing them one by one, all the while she maintained the link between them with her dark eyes. He was already aroused by the time she began undoing his pants, caught, unable… or unwillingly to move in her snare. She leaned in and kissed him. Her lips tasted of strawberries and wine.
“You are the guardian now. God’s warrior,” she whispered in his ear.
He glanced over to the other cots where Jeb and George were sleeping soundly. Her dress slid from her body, pooling at her feet and all thoughts of his friends were forgotten. Her skin was soft unmarked, like caramel crème. He yearned to taste it, to feel her warmth pressed against him. Warning bells went off in his head, an inner voice yelled at him to push her away lest he become her prisoner, his soul trapped for an eternity in bondage to her. But, he could no more banish her and the moment than he could stop breathing. He wanted her more than he’d wanted anything in a very long time.
She was on top of him then, straddling him. He reached up and cupped her breasts; they were soft and warm. She threw her head back as she writhed on top of him, her face creasing in ecstasy. He ached for release.
Her hands gripped his shoulders, her long, manicured nails digging into his flesh, leaving red marks and tracks of blood on his skin. Her lips were painted red and glistened in the light of the fire. He pulled her towards him pressing his own lips to hers. When she pulled away he could taste blood in his mouth, could see a single drop of it on her chin. Still she squirmed and rode him, he dug his own fingers into the soft flesh around her hips and slid them up to squeeze her breasts. He was a runaway train, a rampaging bull, no force in Heaven or on Earth could stop the impending moment. He flipped her over and drove into her as she screamed and tore at his back with her nails. The pain only added to the heightened sense of pleasure as he neared the longed-for release.
“You are truly the flood sent to drive evil from the world,” she said with a smile on her face as he collapsed on top of her. She closed her eyes and sighed.
And I will execute great vengeance upon them with furious rebukes; and they shall know that I am the Lord, when I shall lay my vengeance upon them.
“Hey, Pastor, everything okay?”
He opened his eyes and looked over to where George was sitting in a chair leaning back against the wall; his rifle lay across his lap. Jeb lay in one of the beds, his chest rising and falling in the rhythm of sleep. Of Eva there was no sign, although he imagined there was a hint of berries floating in the air. “I’m fine,” he mumbled.
“Sounded like you was dreamin’,” George said.
Pastor rubbed at his eyes and gently slid back the blanket – he was still fully clothed. “I’m fine,” he repeated, “just a dream.”
“So what now, Pastor, we found the girl. What’s the next move?”
The next move… hell if he knew. He wondered then how far George and Jeb were prepared to follow him. Would they kill a child and a woman just on his say so? That kind of power and influence suddenly scared him. What if he made the wrong call? It was bad enough to carry a black mark on one’s own soul, but to be responsible for the soul of another…
“Get some sleep, George,” he said.
George nodded, stood up and stretched. “This ain’t such a bad place you know. Big enough to accommodate several families too. I don’t suppose they’d fancy the company of some more folk here? It’s an awful big place for just the two of ’em. We’ve got plenty to offer ourselves in the way of company and protection.”
Before Pastor could answer they heard the sound of glass breaking. Both men looked up sharply. Pastor’s hand fell to his side where his gun belt would normally be, had he not just woken up.
Then they heard a scream.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
A hill gently rising behind the ruin of an old house marked with a simple cross of two pieces of wood was imprinted on Logan’s brain. The memory of Amy coming at him out of the night, bloodied fangs bared, dead white skin glowing in the moonlight, made him squeeze his eyes shut. But nothing could dispel that image. He’d ridden from the house with the sun coming up behind him turning the grassland into a fiery sea, the dark silhouette of the old house standing out from the burning prairie, the small grave dominating the landscape… in his mind anyhow. How could he break such news to Jeb? Truly there was no end to suffering and torment in the world.
He rode towards Colony with no clue what he would do
once he got there. His mind was too wracked with grief to form a plan. In truth if the marauders ambushed him again he reckoned he’d welcome the release from his misery. A bullet to the head, end it all in an instant. What was the point in going on anyway? Those not already dead or turned into blood-drinking monsters were already doomed. He cursed himself for not having the guts to do the job himself. God knows he tried often enough, the taste of the barrel of his gun was as familiar a taste to him as were the loaves of bread baked by his woman in their small cottage in Colony. Elaine, he thought then, his beautiful Elaine who had made the apocalypse bearable for him. What had been her fate when the marauders broke into Colony? What had been the fate of them all? He should never have left with Amy when he did. “Coward,” he whispered to the breeze.
His eyes narrowed as he approached the cornfield. He’d ridden most of the day without even noticing the time pass. Ridden across open grassland as it changed to a more rocky and hilly terrain, over streams and past woods. All of it had passed him by unnoticed. Just the image of a simple wooden cross on top of a hill behind the ruin of a house had stuck with him.
He hauled on the reins to bring his horse to a halt. He scratched his chin, itchy now that his bristles had grown longer than he would normally wear them. He needed a bath and a shave. He needed advice and support from Pastor and maybe some of the other men. He needed Elaine. He checked his weapons. Ammunition was in short supply; he had a handful of bullets remaining for his rifle and pistol. They’d run out of most things over the years, the more powerful weapons had long since become obsolete, the more complicated… and deadly, the quicker they’d broken or exhausted parts and ammunition for. Wouldn’t be long before they were making bows and arrows and fighting the feeders with spears, he supposed.
His stomach rumbled and he realized he hadn’t eaten all day. Any supplies he had were gone, shared out the night before with Amy… Amy. He had to wipe away tears from his eyes as they blurred his vision. Why was the world so cruel? He looked up towards the blue sky, could feel the heat of the sun on his upturned face, in other circumstances it would be a beautiful day. A day to thank God for. Maybe Pastor was right after all. Maybe He had turned his back on them.
He slid out of the worn saddle and pulled his horse into the trees, leading him deeper into the wood. He wondered if the marauders had discovered the bodies of their comrades, or were the bodies lying where they’d fallen, where he and Amy had gunned them down? The gray exposed brick of the abandoned farmer’s cottage peeked out from the trees. He could hear the ripple of water coming from the creek, an occasional splash from a leaping fish.
It was only a couple of days since Amy and the Davis boy had got themselves caught out after dark. To Logan that seemed like a lifetime ago. Will had lost his life and Amy made it back to Colony. She’d even escaped the marauder’s assault on Colony; saved him too by ambushing the bushwhackers who’d snared him good and proper. Only now she’s dead, her body cold and stiff and rotting in the dirt.
He drew his knife and walked down to the water. He splashed his face and then dragged the blade across the coarse hairs on his chin. Once he was shorn of bristles to his satisfaction he threw off his clothes and waded into the creek. The water was like ice on his naked form making him flinch. He took a deep breath and threw himself under. He couldn’t see his hand in front of his face as the water clouded up. He took long languid strokes pushing himself away from the shore… away from the past. Calmness and peace washed over him as he swam below the surface, imagining himself as part man, part fish, wondering what it would be like to live below the ocean and to have such freedom to swim anywhere, anytime, secure below the depths, lost forever in his own vast sea of amniotic fluid, forever protected by the unfathomable depths.
His head erupted into the air with water cascading over his shoulders as he gulped in ragged breaths. If only it were as easy to cleanse one’s soul as it was to wash the grime from a body. It wasn’t just the vampires who’d displayed their basest instincts. Humanity had taken a massive leap backwards, at a time when the population had been culled by an enormous margin life had somehow become cheaper. At a time when each living soul ought to be cherished, encouraged and nurtured to be the best and strongest that person can be, it had become a fight just to live. There was not a person alive who had not tarnished their soul in their own struggle for survival – especially at the beginning when running and hiding were the only option. Logan was certainly no exception to that. He had killed men who didn’t deserve to die for no more than a drink of water or a shadow to hide in. When the time came to be judged they would all be found wanting.
He emerged from the water cleaner and somewhat calmer. The knot in his stomach was still there every time he pictured the face of Amy. At least if she’d survived he could have somehow rationalized his decision to abandon Colony to the marauders… to desert Elaine. But she hadn’t, she was just one more soul lost to the legions of undead.
He made a small fire and settled down to wait for night to fall. It was a gamble to leave himself so exposed to the creatures haunting the night, but he figured his best bet of getting into Colony was under the cover of darkness. He closed his eyes and his mind drifted over memories he’d long suppressed. To a time when people were fleeing this way and that, all trying to find a safe place to hide out the Fall, a sanctuary from the vampires roaming and killing at will. No one knew where they’d come from or how to fight them, so they turned on each other; stealing and killing – man against man, nation against nation. He could recall how the basest part of him had taken over.
He squeezed his eyes shut as the memories flowed now that he’d somehow broken a dam. He could feel hot tears brimming as he recalled one such memory: He’d come across a young family, the mother huddling two small children to her – two mops of blonde curls pressed to her as she sought to shield them from a world gone mad. The father lay dead by the roadside, blood oozing from a wound in his throat… it was pretty obvious what had happened and Logan had no doubt the man would rise again the following night. That is not what concerned him, what he was interested in was the car, with the engine still running and the driver’s door open. The woman’s eyes pleaded with him not to kill them, he could see the fear written plainly on her face as he pointed his gun in their direction. The feeder who’d killed her husband was still in the vicinity and he knew it would be back. He made the family back away from their car and he left them there in the road, in the dark.
He cupped his face in his hands pushing the memory back into the box it had escaped from. There were others, more voices calling to him from the dark past. Would he have survived so long without a ruthless streak? Probably not. As the apocalypse wore on in those early years commodities became rarer and worth killing and dying for. He remembered one harsh winter he’d killed a man for his boots – the fact the man was half dead already, starving and almost frozen solid, made little difference to his conscience. Only the strong and ruthless would survive, or so he’d convinced himself. Pastor and the folk sheltering behind the walls of Colony proved him wrong. They showed him that a community built on sharing and looking out for each other was the way to survive the apocalypse. Now they needed him.
As dusk settled over the wood making sinister shadows of the trees where beasts and demons could lie in wait, he stood up and stretched. He clucked and whistled at the horse in a soothing tone as he led it away from the farmhouse and the creek. A rustle in the undergrowth made him freeze and drop his hand to the pistol on his belt. When nothing came out of the shadows he simply moved on and cursed whatever rodent had chosen that moment to scare the pants off him.
He felt a little safer once he emerged from the trees, but not much. In a world where light pollution was no longer an issue once night fell the witching hour became an impenetrable blanket of darkness. It was dangerous to ride a horse when he could barely see his hand in front of his face, but the trail back to Colony from the cornfield was a trip he had made so often in the past he
could make it, literally, with his eyes closed – which was just as well.
The shadow of the wooden stockade loomed ahead. He tethered his horse to a fence a little distance from the town. Far enough so any noise the animal would make would not give him away to any watchers on the wall – if they dared brave the night – but not so far that he couldn’t make it back quick enough to make a hasty retreat.
He approached the wall cautiously, although he doubted if anyone would be brave enough to remain outside the safety of brick walls and a large fire now that night had fallen and the moon had crept into the black sky. That thought alone made him look over his shoulder as the back of his neck began to itch. If there were feeders around he was completely vulnerable to them. It was a risk he had to take; it didn’t make him feel any more comfortable, or less alone. He knew every inch of the stockade, walked the length of it looking for weaknesses countless times. He’d helped repair it and strengthen it on many occasions down through the years. It was Colony’s first defense against vampires and humans alike. It hurt him to the core that it had been breached by a gang of thugs and murderers. Even more so that it was his decision to allow, what he believed, to be people in need of help – just as he’d approached those same walls years before, and been given sanctuary. Stout walls had been broken by subterfuge. Penny and Bart…
He dragged a discarded cart over to the wall. How many times had he berated people for leaving such lying around outside the walls? Why make it easy for an enemy? An owl hooted from somewhere above him. He heard a scramble of tiny feet and then a flurry of wings before catching sight of a ghostly apparition swooping down and gliding away back into the darkness. He pulled himself up and over the wooden stockade and rolled onto the palisade on the other side. He made his way down the steps, rifle cocked, and headed towards the bungalow he shared with his woman.
He had no idea how badly the citizens of Colony – his friends – had been treated by the marauders. It may even be a case that he would have to grab Elaine and flee. Maybe find a new sanctuary somewhere, anywhere away from Colony. As he neared the first house orange light glowed out from the cracks in the shutters, a warm safe glow totally in contrast to the fear and cold he felt outside. He could hear laughter coming from the building, and then a scream. He crept closer sticking to the shadows, trying not to think about what might be hiding there waiting on him. He inched his way along the outside of the building until he came to the window. Carefully he peered into the gap where the shutters didn’t fully join. He could see men he didn’t recognize. They were drinking, two he could see were fighting – if shoving and falling over could be called fighting – while the rest urged them on with whoops of encouragement and raucous laughter. The front door suddenly opened and he froze. A man staggered outside, a clay jug in his hand. He fell against a post supporting the overhead canopy of the porch and fell down giggling.