by Paul Freeman
“No!” Pastor gasped and turned towards the walls. Before he could cry out, or even make sense of why their own people were shooting at them he felt a piercing pain across his chest. The world turned upside down and he couldn’t breathe. He was on his back on the ground, unable to move. His eyes were closing and he was powerless to stop them, no matter how hard he fought. Icy coldness flooded through him starting at his feet and working up, red spots punctuated the black of his vision and then he heard a voice.
“Michael.”
He turned his head towards the voice and forced open his eyes. He was immediately blinded by a strong white light. A figure in silhouette emerged from the light. He felt tears welling in his eyes and a lump growing in his throat. He had no need to discern the figure. He knew the voice well enough, even though he’d not heard it for twenty years. “Alice,” he whispered. The wife he’d not seen since the early days of the Fall, her death had been the catalyst to the hardening of his heart towards his lord and god, fuelled his hatred of the feeders. Her death had made him the man he was. One sight of her and he rejected that man and all he had become. He reached for the light as she beckoned to him, his pain washed away as he was bathed in her radiance. This is the end, he thought and was not surprised to realize he held no regrets.
Pain wracked his chest and his body convulsed. The image of his woman began to slip away and then the girl-child was beside him, with her expressionless face and piercing eyes. Was it all just a dream? He reached a hand out to the fading image of his woman. The child reached out and gently took that hand into her own, his looking massive in hers. Her touch was cold and seemed to heighten the pain in his wound, sending spears of agony throughout him. Pain is life, to hurt is to live.
An image of Asbeel appeared in his mind then… no, not Asbeel but one who looked like him. Piled high around him were the bodies of countless people, all covered in blood, while the vampire used its fangs to rip into the flesh of a new victim, quickly discarding it and choosing a new one once it had been drained.
Pastor tried to cry out after the shrinking light and call back his woman, but the girl clung to him, her grip relentless. He knew she was putting images into his head but could do nothing to stop her. All he wanted was to close his eyes and be with Alice once again. But then she showed him his own church and the people of Colony, his people. Logan was there and others he instantly recognized. He was covered in bruises and blood where he’d been beaten. Armed men stood over them all, menacing and intent with their guns. They’ll kill them all.
“What do you want from me?” he cried softly. “I’m dying. Please, just let me go in peace.” But he could not dispel the image of Logan and the others. Nor could he put the thought of countless vampires ruling the world with no one to stop them. He’d killed Asbeel, but the vampire sired by a demon was not alone. How many angels are there in Heaven? As many as there are stars in the sky.
He pushed himself up onto one elbow. Jeb groaned but otherwise didn’t move. At least he was still alive, he thought. Something fell from his pocket as he moved. No! He turned towards the girl, feeling rage course through him, as he wrapped his hand around it, but she was not there. He and Jeb were alone bleeding and dying in the dirt. He heard another shot coming from Colony and could not help wondering who was on the receiving end of that one. Pain lanced through his chest. For the first time he looked at the wound and knew he would not survive for much longer. He turned back towards the light and yearned to follow Alice through, but it too was gone. He opened his hand and stared at the vial of vampire’s blood.
Will you be God’s champion? Eva’s words echoed in his mind.
“God doesn’t need a champion, but the world needs someone to stick up for it,” he said softly and brought the vial up to his lips. He’d asked Eva if she regretted drinking the dark elixir and prolonging her life. Every day, she’d answered. Well now she was no longer alone. He drained the dark liquid and closed his eyes, already regretting his decision. Fear washed over him as he contemplated a soulless life that would never end.
He immediately began to feel strength return to his body, but more than that, his senses began to improve. He could clearly make out figures on the walls of Colony, even though darkness was beginning to fall, even make out conversations between the guards. The pain of the bullet wound left him. He reached a hand out to Jeb who stirred at his touch but otherwise didn’t react.
More shots rang out from inside Colony and as darkness began to shroud the sky he could see the glow of fires coming from some of the buildings. He looked at the stricken form of his friend lying in the dirt, at the same time listened to the screams and jeers coming from inside the walls of his home. His heart ached at the thought of abandoning the injured Jeb, but others needed his help at that moment. A memory came to him then of the girl child using her blood as a ward against the feeders, and of how Eva had walked unmolested among them. With the fresh blood from his own chest wound he smeared a crimson mask across Jeb’s face, hoping that the vampire’s blood flowing hot through his veins would also act as a deterrent to any feeders hunting in the area.
He turned then towards Colony.
Twilight; a time for ghosts and dark spirits, neither night nor day, black nor white, but something in between. He could feel the power in his muscles as he ran, stronger now than they had been for a very long time, perhaps stronger than they’d ever been. He moved like a panther in the dim light of dusk. With a leap stronger than he ever thought he’d be capable of he grabbed hold of the top of the wooden stockade and pulled himself up and over, landing lithely on the other side.
He was swift and quiet, but not quiet enough. Two strangers, one armed with a shotgun, gazed in surprise at him as he dusted himself off. “Who the fuck are you?” one of the marauders growled. The second didn’t speak at all. He simply raised the shotgun and fired. Pastor was slammed back against the wall, his chest ripped open from a dozen wounds from the impact of the scattered shot. Pain was a raging fire in his chest and stomach. “Jesus, Walt,” the marauder said and then laughed.
The two men approached him slowly. Walt expelled the spent cartridges while his companion knelt down to examine the body. Pastor’s bloody hand snaked out, grabbing him by the neck. A choking, gurgling noise was the last sound he ever made. Walt fumbled to reload the shotgun. Pastor snatched it from him and flung it to the side before taking his head in his hands and twisting violently. There was a loud crack and Walt slumped to the dirt.
He heard a scream coming from a dwelling fifty yards to his left. He walked calmly towards the noise. One kick and the door slammed against the wall as it crashed open. Three marauders, one with a grotesquely deformed, bulbous head and blistered face, taunted a semi-naked woman. Kaitlin Tompkins, Pastor recognized the woman. The first marauder to react was the one closest, he drew a pistol from a holster strapped to his waist. In one motion Pastor drew the cavalry saber and slashed a bloody gash in the man’s neck. The scarred marauder ran at him with hands upraised. Pastor extended his arm straight out and the deformed man ran straight onto the blade. The third ran from the house, pulling his pants up as he did so.
The woman screamed as he drew close. He could see bruises on her face and body where she’d been beaten. A broken mirror hung on one wall and he caught sight of his own reflection. His clothes were shredded and every inch of exposed skin was stained crimson – most of the blood his own. “Kaitlin, it’s me, Pastor,” he said, lowering the saber to his side.
“Pastor?” she said, her eyes opening wide as she recognized the man beneath the bloody mask. He nodded and she dropped to her knees, sobbing, tears streamed down her face. He pulled her back to her feet, taking off his own coat and wrapping it around her shoulders.
“Where are the others?” he asked, feeling a rage building inside him.
“Most are in the church, some… some they… took,” she sobbed. He nodded his understanding.
“Go upstairs,” he said softly, “and don’t come out until
I come for you.”
She gripped his arm. “Don’t leave me. Please.”
“I’ll be back for you. Trust me,” he said as gently as he could with a fire of anger burning inside him.
He waited until Kaitlin had mounted the stairs and disappeared into one of the upstairs bedrooms. He walked calmly to the door, only his burning glare an indication of the raging torrent building inside him. The whitewashed church glimmered in the fading light at the far end of town. More shots were fired, filling the air with menace. He heard a shout coming from the street just beyond the porch he now stood on. The bare-chested marauder who’d run from the house stood there, his hands by his side, his head tilted back as if he were gazing at the faint flicker of overhead stars. Behind him a shadow enveloped him, leaving a trail of blood weeping from a wound on his neck and flowing over his exposed shoulder. He tensed, expecting the feeder to drop the marauder and come for him, but the night-dweller continued to feed on the man, supporting his weight in its own deathly grip.
Pastor walked calmly towards the feeding vampire and his victim. The marauder’s eyes pleaded for help as his face twisted in silent agony. The feeder regarded him with its own dark, malevolent gaze and then went back to feeding, ignoring him altogether. His heart pounded to be so close to a vampire and not to be threatened by the creature. He drove his sword into the body of the marauder and with a grunt pushed it through his body and into that of the feeder, skewering both on the blade. The monster screeched as it and the man fell together.
He could sense them now, a cold force passing over his soul – only he no longer had a soul. They were hidden from view, lurking in the shadows, unseen, but they were there. As full darkness quickly fell the screaming began.
The feeders ignored him while the marauders were too busy fighting for their lives to take any notice of a blood-drenched stranger walking in their midst. He struck both down with equal abandon, killing all who crossed his path, man and demon. When he reached the church he flung open the doors and stood, bathed in the silver glow of a new moon. His grim, hard eyes flowed over the sight of his oppressed people. Logan was the first to recognize him while all the others shied away from him, thinking him just another murdering marauder come in search of more sport, while others believed they were looking upon the personification of death.
Logan limped towards him, his face battered and bloody. “Pastor,” he said and the two men stood facing each other in silence for a long moment.
“It’s good to see you, Logan,” Pastor finally said, and meant it.
“You’ve no idea how good it is to see you,” Logan grinned and then grimaced as the smile hurt his swollen face.
“Quickly now, grab what guns you can,” he said, indicating several marauder bodies lying in the street, “and return to the church and stay here ‘til morning. There are feeders abroad. Hopefully they and the marauders will have killed each other by then.”
Once his people were back inside the church he drew his knife and cut a deep gash in the palm of his hand and smeared his blood across the door drawing a vertical crimson line and then crossing it with a horizontal one. He then turned and calmly walked back into the streets of death raging throughout Colony.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
When spears of sunlight pierced the overhead windows of the church Logan gathered the remaining citizens of Colony about him. He ached everywhere when he moved. The big marauder leader had returned to the church several times in the company of his men to dish out beatings and issue threats every day to the men that they would stake them out for the feeders and take their women for themselves. Logan didn’t doubt he was capable of doing just that.
His heart had been filled with joy when Pastor had first opened the doors, but now he was gone again, God only knew where, and they were still barricaded inside the church. Only this time they were armed with several weapons they’d retrieved from the bodies lying in the streets. Pastor had warned them that feeders had penetrated the town and they’d spent an uncomfortable night listening to the screams of the marauders, waiting for the doors to crash in and to be faced with the horror of vampires hungry for blood or evil men intent on slaughter. They’d not had to face either and now it was morning and the world outside the church had gone quiet.
“We can’t stay cooped up in here forever,” he said to the fearful faces looking back at him with the horror-filled eyes of people who’d already lost so much.
He was first out and he had no problem with that. The people of Colony were looking to him now and garnering strength from him. He had no wish to lead anyone to their deaths, but if he had to go down he would prefer to make a fight of it. He cocked the pistol in his hand and threw back the doors.
The sight greeting them was as bad as most of them had seen since the Fall. In those days the streets had run red with blood and it looked as if a similar fate had befallen the marauders. There was not a living soul left in the town. There were however a lot of bodies lying in the streets, most of their faces frozen in masks of terror, their throats bloodied red.
“We’ll have to dispose of these or they’ll turn come nightfall,” Logan croaked, his words catching in his throat.
He found Jeb unconscious in the arms of Kaitlin Tompkins in a house on the far side of town. She’d done what she could for him and must have spent a bad night alone with the injured man while the battle of vampire and marauder raged outside her window.
“Pastor brought him and said we’d be safe if we stayed indoors,” she said, visibly relieved to have someone else to pass the responsibility of the injured man on to. Logan nodded and smiled reassuringly at her. He could see that she had her own wounds to deal with, not as visible as Jeb’s but there nonetheless. All of colony would need to support each other. “Pastor told me to tell you that you can do it. That he believes in you,” she said. Simple words, yet he felt tears welling in his eyes. He’s not coming back, he realized.
Jeb groaned then and Logan knelt by his side. “You done good, Kaitlin,” he said as he listened to Jeb’s ragged breathing. If he recovered he would have to tell him about Amy. God damn it, Pastor, he thought.
*
Pastor lay in the shade of a tree watching as the huge marauder with the scar the length of his face led the survivors of his gang into a compound. With concrete walls and a raised guard tower it looked like it had once been some sort of military installation. The electric metal gate was gone replaced by large wooden double doors and the walls looked in need of repair.
“So this is home,” he muttered quietly as the doors were slammed shut behind the dozen or so mounted marauders.
Once he’d left Logan and the others safely barricaded inside the church he’d returned to the melee between the marauders and the feeders, joining in the slaughter. He didn’t discriminate, killing men and demon with equal relish. They were evil men who’d perpetrated a lot of harm on the people of Colony and they deserved to die. Then he saw the big one; the leader, the one they called Jared. At first he was going to pounce on him and unleash all the fury he had for the raiders on his head. But he stopped himself when he realized Jared was fleeing and intending to abandon Colony. He decided then to follow what was left of their band back to their lair and ensure that none of them ever again bothered his people. Jared had no idea the storm that was about to come down on him and the remainder of his followers.
His people… they were his people no more, not now, never again now that he had literally tasted evil. He was tainted for ever more, eternally removed from the sight of God. There was only one other like him in the world now, and when he’d finished with Jared he would search her out; the woman who had lived for centuries. “Eva Gonzalez Castello.” The whispered name somehow felt right on his lips. He had drunk from the same vial as she and would now suffer her fate.
But that is not why he drank the evil potion, just as he was on the cusp of peace, to be reunited with the wife he’d lost all those years ago, as death held him in its firm grasp. He was n
ot the same man who had been her husband, a preacher and guide to his flock. That man died long before he drank the vampire’s blood. Eva had called him God’s warrior and it was true they had enemies in common. There were others like Asbeel, spawn of the Nephilim, demons feeding on the remnants of humanity. The Lord had abandoned the world to the descendants of the fallen angels, and he had abandoned his god. The world needed a champion, it was not a role that sat well on his shoulders, but he would fight for that world.
He stood up and walked from the shade of the tree, he felt the sun burning his skin, blinding him. When the first light of morning had touched him he felt a moment of panic as he realized he would never again be comfortable in the golden rays of the sun. That which had prolonged his life and given him such strength as he’d never had before made him a creature of the shadows. He could tolerate the sunlight, it was not as if it would turn him to ash as it would a vampire, but he was not comfortable in the harsh light. He pulled the collar of his coat up and his hat down low to cover his face and walked, sword in hand towards the marauders.
His name was Michael. He’d almost forgotten it until he was pressed for it by a woman who’d lived for centuries. The world called him Pastor. God called him Venator.
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