by Paul Freeman
Logan drew his knife, the long blade gleaming in the moonlight. He had spent most of the afternoon reminiscing about the evil he’d done down the years; the lives he’d taken or shattered. The likes of the drunken marauder was not a life that would weigh heavy on his conscience. He waited for the man to pick himself up and walk into the shadows. He grabbed him quickly and in one swift movement jammed the blade into his throat. The marauder choked on his own blood as it squirted from the wound and poured in a dark flood from his mouth. Logan stabbed him again in the chest and caught him as he fell. He eased the body onto the ground and then dragged it to the back of the building. One less, he thought, wondering how many of them there were, and where the folk of Colony were.
He ran as quietly as he could across the town square, half expecting a shot to ring out and to feel a bullet bringing him to a halt. He made it to the other side and began edging his way along the various houses, sticking to the shadows. Not all of the houses seemed to be occupied and those that were held only strangers. He did not recognize one face, or one voice. He had heard several screams and prayed it was not the suffering of people he knew that he was listening to.
His own house, when he made it to the front porch was quiet and dark. He made his way around to the back and tried the door. It opened a crack and he steeped inside, closing it gently behind him. It was pitch black and one of the first things he did was kick something that skidded across the floor. He cursed himself for a fool as he froze, only his wildly beating heart making any movement or sound. When the door into the living-room didn’t burst open to reveal a horde of armed marauders, he cautiously made his way across the kitchen. He could feel heat coming from the stove and as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom he could see the remnants of a meal on the table. Then he heard creaking from above. His rifle was slung over his back and he still had the bloody knife in his hand. Slowly he drew his pistol and cocked it, and made his way into the living-room.
As he edged his way up the stairs he heard the low mumble of voices coming from his bedroom. He put his ear to the door and heard his bed creaking. He inhaled sharply as rage flooded through him, it took all of his control not to burst in blindly.
“Ah hell,” he said and gave free rein to his anger. He kicked in the door and rolled into the room. He came up on one knee as a man he didn’t recognize sat bolt upright in surprise and a woman he didn’t recognize rolled from under him gathering the blankets around herself to spare her modesty. “This is my fucking house! And that’s my fucking bed!”
The man raised his hands in supplication, his eyes opening wide in surprise and fear.
“Don’t kill me, mister, I’m not one o’ them,” the woman said.
“Where’s my wife?”
“Now take it easy, mister,” the man said, his voice quivering.
“They’ve got all the townsfolk holed up in the chapel,” the woman said.
Logan regarded the woman with a cold, hard stare, making her flinch and pull the blankets tighter. “What have you done with the people of this town?” He raised the gun and aimed it squarely at the man’s head.
“Your people are safe, they’re in the church like she says,” the man said, holding up his arms.
“If you’re not one of ’em what are you doin’ here – with him?” he added the last part with a sneer of distaste.
“He made me, mister. That’s what they do, they attack towns and take the women folk for their… pleasure, and they make the kids work for them.”
“And the men?”
She looked at him with tears glistening in her eyes and shrugged sadly. He didn’t like what he was hearing. He couldn’t tell if the woman was lying or a good actress, he supposed it sounded plausible enough. “If you’ve hurt her…” he began but couldn’t finish the sentence, or even the thought. He turned to the girl. “Get dressed.”
She scampered out from under the covers and began pulling on her clothes.
“They took me from my home a week ago, every night I was raped by a different man. I’d be better off dead.” Tears streamed down her face as she pulled on her pants and tucked her shirt into the waist. He really looked at her for the first time. She was young – early twenties maybe – and pretty, with long wavy brown hair. She had a bruise on one cheek. He gave her a nod and turned back to the marauder.
He’d killed one already and was so tempted to make that two. Rapist piece of shit. He might need him to get into the church though. Pastor would have had a plan, he thought. “You have family back at your town?” he asked the girl. She just shrugged and he didn’t press it. God alone knew what hardship she’d had to bear over the last days.
He grabbed a pair of discarded pants on the floor and flung them at the man. “Put them on,” he demanded. The marauder eased his legs out of the bed and pulled the pants on. “Now stand up.” When the man tentatively rose from the bed Logan smacked him hard in the jaw, sending him sprawling across the mattress. “Get up.” He got up, blood smeared his face.
“What the hell was that for?” he whined.
“You just remember who’s in charge here. If things go badly you’ll die first, believe me, you won’t get out of this alive. So you just do as I say when I say it. Got it?” The man nodded. “That way.” He pointed at the door with the pistol in his hand. As the man’s hand went for the handle Logan stepped up behind him and dug the pistol into his back. The man flinched and squealed in pain. “Remember, you gonna die first.”
When they reached the bottom of the stairs he sidled over to the living room window and glanced outside. “Are you fucking insane? We can’t go outside in the dark.” Logan hit him in the side of the head with the butt of the pistol. He went sprawling across the floor and came up bleeding from another wound.
“You first.” Logan watched as the man cautiously stepped outside. “Make a sound and you won’t have to worry about no feeders.” He motioned for the woman to follow.
Even in the dark the church stood out shimmering in the moonlight like some ghostly vessel looming over the town. They’d long since stopped burying their dead inside the walls of Colony but the old graveyard to the side of the building was as eerie as it had ever been. Stone gravestones – many with the dates and names long since faded – protruded out of the hard earth. With his gun trained on the marauder he crept to the large double doors barring the main entrance and turned the wrought iron handle.
Pain flared in the side of his head, making him stagger and swoon. For the briefest moment he forgot where he was and why he was there. It was an effort to gather his thoughts as the taste of blood filled his mouth. The marauder, still bare-chested filled his vision and he fired. The man flew back against the white-washed wooden wall and slid down, leaving a crimson trail. Logan staggered back and swung around as he heard a sound. The woman flashed before him, a wooden plank in her hand stained with his blood. She swung it again and all went dark.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Pastor burst out of the room. The moon poured silver light through the windows, pooling on the tiled floor of the long dark corridor. George and Jeb came up behind him, carrying candles and a lantern.
“Which way?” Jeb asked. Both men had their pistols in their hands. They heard more glass shattering down the corridor.
Pastor didn’t wait to answer as he took off in the direction of the breaking glass. He ran blind with the shotgun in his hands. He was forced to skid to a halt when a window exploded into the corridor, flying glass sprayed just yards in front of him. A dark shape flew through the opening – feeder. He brought the shotgun up and fired, both shells discharged in an explosion of noise and smoke. The vampire was thrown down the corridor with multiple wounds from the shot, some of which must have pierced its undead heart as it lay still on the floor. He flung the shotgun away, knowing he’d used his final two shells and drew the semi-automatic pistol he’d taken from the wandering marauder all those days ago.
More glass showered down onto the floor as another feeder sp
rung through yet another broken window. It lunged towards Pastor but went down in a hail of gunfire from all three men. “Behind you!” Pastor yelled a warning at Jeb as he saw a dark shape unfolding in the corridor at Jeb’s back. The feeder reached out grabbing his arm as its snarling maw opened. Pastor fired as Jeb hit it in the face with the lantern. Oil spilled and caught fire over the body of the vampire as it fell to the ground. “Leave it,” Pastor barked, knowing the oil would burn itself out on the tiles. Farther up the corridor he could hear the unmistakable hissing and snarling of vampires. The air in the corridor was becoming more oppressive as the stench of the undead hung thick around them.
They found more evidence of invasion as they ran along the corridor; more broken glass, the sparse furniture overturned.
“Why are we running towards them?” George panted between breaths, as the three men ran towards the sound of feeders gathering.
No one answered him and Pastor realized it was a pertinent question – why the hell would they run towards the vampires and not away? He pictured the face of Eva, her dark eyes and full lips. He was sure it was her who had screamed and he felt compelled to get to her, to play the hero. The weight of responsibility bore down on him. Did he have the right to lead these men to their deaths? Why the hell were they following him anyway?
“Pastor, look out!” Jeb roared.
He blinked dispelling his inner conflict and saw what Jeb was shouting about. The corridor was blocked with a knot of vampires, their dead flesh gleaming silver in the moonlight coming in shafts through the windows. He cursed himself for a fool for becoming distracted. Half a dozen monsters looked up at the same time, their mouths opening in demonic grins, exposing their needle sharp fangs. The three men fired, the sound of gunfire deafening as it reverberated along the corridor. The phalanx of monsters collapsed under fire, spraying the walls and floor with dark blood.
“I’m almost out,” Jeb said, ejecting a clip from his pistol and unslinging his rifle from over his shoulder.
“Yeah, me too,” George said.
More glass smashed down the corridor and then more on the other side, making any retreat impossible… not unless they fought their way through more of the demons.
“Head for the chapel,” Pastor said – an intuition that that is where Eva and the girl would be.
Jeb fired three shots in quick succession. Pastor saw the dark shape lying on the floor partially hidden in the shadows just a couple of feet away from him. “Sneaky bastard!” he snarled and kicked the body, before nodding his thanks to Jeb.
“Where the hell are they all coming from?” George cried out. “I’ve never seen so many damn feeders in one place.”
Pastor fired successive shots at shadows moving in the corridor ahead, he heard screeches of pain and knew his mark was true. He fired again but this time there was no explosive report. “God damn,” he said between gritted teeth and drew his old saber.
“You out, Pastor?” Jeb asked, he simply nodded with a frown creasing his rugged face.
A feeder crouched before him and then sprang. It covered a distance greater than an Olympic long-jumper of old would have been capable of and landed in front of Pastor. Without a thought Pastor stabbed once with the saber and in one fluid motion withdrew the blade from the vampire’s chest – its heart pierced, the weapon glistening with dark blood. The monster screeched a high-pitched wail and then crumpled to the ground. Beside him Jeb fired at more coming down the corridor until the sounds coming from his rifle were ominous clicks. “Shit,” he simply said and drew his hunting knife.
Up ahead a door opened. Pastor could see a wooden cross marking the door as the entrance to the chapel. Eva walked out carrying a candle. A feeder regarded her with evil eyes but otherwise ignored her. She stepped out into the corridor; more vampires came up behind her, hunched over as they stuck to the shadows, avoiding the woman and the open chapel. Pastor’s eyes narrowed as his brain refused to believe what he was seeing. Feeders were killers, driven by an instinct to feed on the blood of humans, never before had he seen anyone walk between them and not suffer the deadliest of consequences.
Eva beckoned to them with a wave of her arm. “Hurry,” she called out and retreated back to the chapel. George shot one of the remaining vampires while Pastor drove his sword into the chest of another. A third leapt at Jeb, forcing him back against the wall, its deadly fangs looming forward in search of its prize – to pierce soft, yielding flesh and sate its hunger on the warm, pumping blood. In its eagerness to taste its prize it failed to see the knife in Jeb’s hand and squealed when it was driven into its chest. Jeb was rewarded with a splash of dark blood spraying him. He grimaced as he pushed the dead vampire away and wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. The three men then ran, hurdling the bodies of dead vampires until they reached the open door. An orange glowing light welcomed them and Eva slammed the door behind them.
“He’s here. The Mortuus Vivens is here, they are drawn to him,” she said as she leant back against the door, taking in deep breaths.
“Why didn’t they attack you?” George eyed her with suspicion.
“Yeah, I ain’t never seen no feeder ignore a person before,” Jeb added.
“I…”
Pastor stood between them. “Let’s worry about that later.” He turned to Eva then. “Is there another way out of here?”
“Through the sacristy,” she said, indicating with a nod of her head a small wooden door to the side of the altar.
Pastor nodded grimly and then said, “Where’s the child?”
Eva shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“We’ll have to find her.”
“She can take care of herself… probably better than the rest of us.”
“Okay, let’s get the hell out of here.”
Eva led the way, holding a torch to light their way. They followed a narrow passage which opened out into a wide hall with a high ceiling supported by round pillars. She led them across the open space, their boots clicking on the tiled floor, to a large wooden door set into a stone archway. She unhooked a ring of keys from a belt around her waist. As the key rattled in the lock they heard a distinctive, terror-inducing sound.
“Feeders,” George sighed with resignation.
The door creaked open to reveal a wall of darkness. The air stank of age and dampness. Eva swung her torch into the entrance, revealing a set of steps and unrendered walls making them look far older than the rest of the monastery.
“What is this place?” Jeb asked.
“It’s the crypt,” she answered solemnly.
“You’ve got to be shittin’ me.”
“We’ll be safe here, at least until the sun comes up.”
Pastor regarded the yawning chasm of dark with more than a little skepticism. “George – Jeb,” he turned to the two men. He could see confusion and fear written on their faces. He’d led them into the unknown, possibly even their deaths and for that he felt a deeply profound guilt. He could claim ignorance, how the hell was he to know he was leading them into a den of evil, but he wouldn’t. He should have known that if men followed him they would likely die. He should have dissuaded them harder. “Take her down there and don’t come back up until you reckon it’s sunup. Lock the door behind you.”
“What are you going to do, Pastor?” Jeb asked, wide-eyed.
Pastor turned to Eva. “I’ll bet you’ve seen some things over the years. Do you regret prolonging your life?”
“Every day,” she croaked an answer.
He nodded and turned away from his three companions and walked towards the sound of the vampires in the dark. “What’s he doin’?” Jeb asked.
“He’s going to hunt the Mortuus Vivens and he’s going to try and kill it,” Eva answered. What he didn’t hear was her whisper, “God go with you.” As she turned and disappeared into the gloom of the crypt.
*
Pastor’s hand gripped the hilt of his saber until his knuckles turned white. Pictures from the Old Testa
ment hung on the walls, depicting chaotic scenes of war and flood. If what Eva said was truth he was looking for a character who would be well placed in those pictures, a descendent of a fallen angel. The world had become a strange place to live in since the Fall. His free hand reached for the handle of his sawed-off shotgun and found an empty holster. It was second nature for him to reach for the weapon when his anxiety levels were going through the roof. Their limited supply of ammunition had been exhausted, he wasn’t even sure if there was much left in Colony to replenish their personal supply. The world, scary as it was, seemed a whole lot scarier without guns.
It wasn’t long before he encountered another vampire hiding in the shadows, waiting to ambush him. It looked as if it had been turned a long time ago with any trace of humanity long since vanished. Its skin was almost translucent, its eyes dark and void of emotion. Its head and body were completely hairless and what clothes it wore hung in rags. It realized it was being watched and snarled in frustration. As it leapt at him he sidestepped and brought his saber up, lashing out with a slash to its chest. It howled in pain and frustration and turned towards him. Black blood oozed from the chest wound and Pastor drove his sword into its heart.