[Demonworld #4] Shepherd of Wolves

by Kyle B. Stiff

  “Damn, I just thought of somethin’,” said Chris. “We’ll have to beat the shit out of each other and dump all our ammunition, to prove that we fought with some dogmen.”

  Cedrik shook his head. “Naw man, we’d have to knife Jake up and kill him to prove somethin’ like that. Dogmen are tough, crazy tough. Nobody’d believe it without a dead Jake in the truck.”

  “True,” said Chris, “but I kinda like ol’ Snake. Ol’ Wiggly Snake Herndon.”

  Wodan remembered fighting a dogman pup long ago in the Black Valley. It was the first real fight he’d ever been in, and it had nearly been the end of him. He wondered how young the pup had been, and how big they grew up to be. He thought of mentioning it to the others and showing them the slender scar between his neck and shoulder, where the pup’s short, heavy sword had hit him. He decided that they would never believe him.

  Just then Cedrik perked up. He sat still for a long time.

  Wodan heard movement below, looked, and saw Sylas wandering up to them.

  “What’s up?” said Wodan.

  Sylas looked up at him for a while, then said, “We got the second bridge wired up. I let the others move on to the third.”

  Wodan turned away and saw that Cedrik had been motioning to him, silently, but he did not know for how long. Wodan leaned forward and Cedrik unlooped the binoculars from around Wodan’s neck.

  “What?” said Wodan.

  A long silence, then Cedrik said, “Aw, hell.”

  “What?”

  “Awwww - HELL.”

  “What is it!”

  “Dag wammit hail, man, there’s a jeep on the other side!”

  Chris quickly brought up his scoped rifle and leaned over to peer through the thing while Wodan took the binoculars from Cedrik. He saw only blurs, readjusted - then a sharp report rang out on the stone beneath them. Everyone jerked, then fell flat on the cold ground, hearts blasting wild.

  “What did you see!” hissed Wodan.

  “Jeep! It came to a stop!” said Cedrik. “People inside! Dogmen maybe! Hell! I dunno!”

  Wodan’s mind raced with terrible realization. They had grown so lax during the past few weeks of inaction that none of them bothered to carry their hand-held radios, most of which were tucked away in the supply truck far from their position. Wodan’s own sniper rifle was “conveniently” packed away on his bike.

  We’re idiots! he thought. Like children on a vacation! How could we be so stupid?!

  “What do you see, Chris?” said Wodan.

  Chris leaned hesitantly against his scope. “I saw some people get out of a jeep, somewhere near the second bridge, but they ran every which way... fuck, it’s hard to see out here!” He pulled away from the scope and went back to it again and again.

  “Scouts!” said Wodan. “Goddamn scouts!”

  Wodan knew that he, and most likely the others as well, had imagined that they would be facing a large army, a slow and ponderous thing that could be spotted from miles away and easily avoided. He realized, in horror, that a large army would, of course, employ scouts – hardened fighters who ranged out from the herd, and were better suited for independent thought than regimentation. Wodan knew that decently armed scouts could tear through them like pulling cooked meat from the bone, all because they were unprepared.

  Wodan leaned over the edge and saw Sylas lying flat in the sand. They felt an impact against the stone beneath them, then heard the shot ring out in the distance. They knew that they were dealing with a sniper. Wodan leaned out again, more carefully than before, and said, “Sylas!”

  “Yeah!” Sylas replied, his voice muffled.

  “You gotta get to the truck! I don’t think they can see you down there, or they would have shot you already. You have to get to the big radio set in the truck, and blow the bombs!”

  “What about Justinas and the others? They’re probably still on the last bridge!”

  Wodan thought for a moment, then said, “Give them a little time to get clear, but man, we have to blow these bridges. If these scouts make it across, they’ll tear right through us. We can’t let them have access to these bridges! You understand that, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I do,” said Sylas, turning about in the sand. Wodan hated it, but he hoped that Sylas would have the heartlessness to blow up the bridges without any assurance that Justinas, Jon, and Jake were at a safe distance from the bombs. Sylas crawled away and Wodan was relieved, at least, that the contour of the land prevented the sniper from targeting him.

  Wodan saw that Cedrik and Chris were scanning this bridge and the next with scope and binoculars. “I’m going to try to get to my rifle,” said Wodan. “If I can make it to my bike, I’ll keep watch on the second bridge. Chris, why don’t you concentrate on this bridge that we’re on? It’s a straight shot from your position.”

  Chris nodded slightly. Wodan prepared himself to jump from their perch. He hesitated, then said, “Chris! Give me some cover!”

  At once Chris blasted several times in a row. Wodan rose into a crouch, then swung out from the stone perch and dropped to the ground. The bikes seemed impossibly far away as he pulled himself along on his elbows and pushed up with his knees occasionally, fearful that his ass would get blown off at any moment.

  “I dunno if any of ’em got to our bridge,” said Chris. “It rises up in the middle, so I can’t see the other goddamn side! I’m gonna try to find that sniper bitch. Ced, make sure nobody creeps up on this bridge here.”

  “Damn, man,” Cedrik muttered, switching back and forth from binoculars on the second bridge to normal vision on the first. “Wodan! You better fish that rifle out quick, man, ’cause I see some assholes on the second bridge.”

  Gunfire erupted in the distance. The third bridge! Wodan thought. If only we’d carried our goddamn radios!

  Wodan reached the bikes, rose to a crouch, found the case with the Hargis rifle, and pieced it together quickly. He crawled back in the direction of the gorge, and could hear distant gunfire on either side. Just as he reached a rise in the sand where he could set up, he heard running, then saw Cedrik hauling ass to the bikes.

  “Cedrik!” he shouted. “The hell are you doin’?”

  “I’m not gonna sit around with a pair o’ noclars glued to my head!” he shouted, then hopped on a bike and started it loudly. Wodan cursed and turned away from him, then stared down the sights of his rifle. He got the second bridge in view, then turned back when he heard Cedrik’s engine tearing through the night as he raced toward the third bridge. Just then a shot rang out, then the bike flipped over sideways and churned up sand in a great cloud.

  His heart was torn in half by the need to help, but then he felt something sharp click into place inside of him. He turned back to the rifle and scanned the second bridge. Though the scope was not properly adjusted, he immediately saw shadowy forms running in a crouch across the bridge. Without really aiming, Wodan fired and felt the long rifle kick against his shoulder. He looked through the sight again, adjusted it, but saw no one.

  He laid at an angle to the bridge and took a long time in scanning the length of it. Eventually he could see movement, but the men crossing the bridge were hunkered down and difficult to target; he realized that if he’d kept his cool with his first shot, he could have made a kill and given the others pause for thought. He fired again and sent a round over the forms. They hunkered down, and he was glad that he’d at least slowed their progress.

  Wodan trained the scope near the front of the bridge and, just as he heard an exchange of gunfire between Chris and the sniper, he saw a dark and primal form lurching surprisingly close to their side of the gorge. The thing must have crawled with inhuman speed – it was surely a dogman, and Wodan ignored his fear and his frustration that he’d only tried sniping at immobile targets during their long journey. He could not follow the movement of the other, so he trained the rifle ahead of the dogman, waited, saw empty blue sky, slowed his breathing down until it was like a long thin wire pulle
d from his throat–

  As soon as he saw a blur enter the field of his scope, he fired. Felt the kick and the terrible thunder; he pulled his eye from the scope and saw, far away, a lifeless form tumble down into the mist below.

  I hit him, he thought. I actually hit him.

  He glued his eye to the scope and angled about again. He saw the tops of crouching forms edging nearer. He fired over them once, twice, then fired another shot without aiming. Again the forms sat still, waiting for an opportunity. Blood pounded in his ears. Just when the stillness began to exhaust him, he heard Chris shout, “OH LORD! OH HELL, GODS BELOW, OH-” as he fired over and over again, then explosions blasted all around and echoed within the gorge as if the earth was tearing itself apart.

  Wodan lifted his head and saw dust streaming off the limbs of the shattered bridges. All three of the bridges had been blasted. Wodan knew that he might be the only one left alive… as well as the sniper on the far side.

  “Chris!” Wodan cried out, barely able to hear himself.

  He saw tall Chris running toward the bikes. Wodan rose and ran as well, hunched over, feet pounding quick and light like a rabbit with a wolf not far behind. As they joined up, Chris mumbled, “Man oh man they sent a fuckin’ crew at me man, I blasted ’em like you wouldn’t believe, oh man, how they fit all them sumbitches in one jeep that ain’t no joke man!” They mounted up in a frenzy, fired up the engines, and Wodan blasted into motion with the rifle laid across his lap.

  They rode nearer the fallen motorcycle and Wodan shouted, “Keep riding!” but the words proved unnecessary as Chris flew ahead of him. Wodan grinded his bike to a stop, then leaned over and dropped into the sand. He threw his head about, saw a still form on the ground, then ran to it in a crouch. Cedrik lay still, eyes staring into the night.

  “Cedrik!” Wodan shouted.

  A pause, then, “Yeah.”

  “You okay, man?!”

  “Uh.” Cedrik lifted up awkwardly. “Shit, man,” he offered.

  “You look okay. Your bike must have been hit!”

  “Must have been?! You better believe it got hit!”

  Wodan laughed with relief while Cedrik held the side of his head and gritted his teeth. Cedrik stumbled onto Wodan’s bike, then mounted up behind him and they rode on.

  They saw the others clustered around the truck, and as soon as Wodan cut his engine he heard Chris and Jon arguing loudly, both of them pale and wide-eyed.

  “Mine counts for more!” Jon shouted. “That sumbitch was up close an’ personal. It was him or me!”

  “One dogman?!” Chris yelled, forcing out a laugh. “I just killed like twenty!”

  “You said there was one jeep! How’d they fit that many in one jeep, asshole?!”

  “Well, it wasn’t twenty, but I swear by everything that’s holy that at least five hairy bastards woulda had my scalp if I hadn’t laid ’em out cold!”

  “You’re all alive!” said Wodan, laughing.

  “Wodan my friend,” said Justinas, laughing and shaking, “I tell you truly I have never hauled ass from a more situation of great danger. A dogman shot many bullets at us and I thought all of them, my names were on them. But Jon Best, never was a truer son of bitches to be found. Snake the Jake, he did not help out so much, but I know that he at least could have distracted my killer while I got away, so I will not fault him.” Justinas clapped Jake on the back, who stood in numb silence with his rifle hanging slack in his hands.

  They piled into the truck and Wodan rode beside them while they joined up with the other bikes. They mounted up quickly. Justinas leaned out the window, shouted, “Where is other bike? A dogman has stolen it!”

  “Naw, man,” said Cedrik, leaning against the truck, head in hand. “It got shot.”

  “Shot? Repairs, maybe, can be done.”

  “No!” said Chris. “That sniper might still be out there. We got to jet now.”

  “Fine,” said Justinas. “Then my friend Cedrik, you will ride with me from now. You can tell me all about the “black” experience for we do not have folk of color in my land. And I for my part, my friend I will tell you of many things that I think about - thoughts which often go unheard, for I ride a lonely in my truck. Until now!”

  “Bet you wish they’d gotten you instead of the bike, huh?” said Sylas, laughing while Cedrik shook his head.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Carnival vs. Emptiness

  By the light of the waning moon, Khan Vito stood at the edge of the abyss with his leashman Naarwulf, the human Ric Ramos, pale Bloodnose and Frigidskin, and noble-blooded Ganson. They stared at the ruins of one of the thin bridges and Vito felt something like dread mixed with excitement.

  “Them bridges,” said Ramos, “from what you can see of ’em, doesn’t look like they would’ve amounted to shit anyway. How long you think it would take to get an army over ’em? And how many pups you think woulda fell over the side, just from bein’ idiots?”

  Vito nodded slowly. “True. But the bridges were a symbol. Instead of waiting for days or weeks on this side while a few of us could trickle over to the other side, now it’s going to take practically the same amount of time to walk around the gorge. Dogmen are going to start complaining. The shamans are going to say that the land itself is against us.”

  “It’s not the land,” said Naarwulf. “Humans did this.”

  “That’s true. But you never would have made a great leader of dogmen, Naarwulf. You’re altogether too practical. Ganson!”

  The blond dogman barked, a high-pitched note.

  “We’re going to have to stop for the night, so start making the rounds. I’ll leave it up to you, you’ve a nose for it.” Vito turned to Naarwulf. “Go to some of the others and say we will make camp early, on the pretext that we’re debating our next move. There will be no change of plan, of course, but I don’t want to deal with fights breaking out, panic spreading, and so on. Talk to the chiefs, Naarwulf, but send the shamans directly to me, one at a time. Move fast; I don’t want them conferring with one another until after I’m through with them.”

  Naarwulf and Ganson bowed and left. Vito glanced at the “blood brothers” Bloodnose and Frigidskin for a moment, then turned back to the impassable gorge.

  “Vito,” said Ramos. “What do you want from me?”

  “From you? I need you to be Ramos.”

  “That’s all I ever am.”

  “I want you standing nearby when I speak to the shamans. I want you looking imposing. Feel free to drink while you do it.”

  Ramos smiled wickedly and slapped Frigidskin on the back of the neck, knocking the pup near the abyss.

  * * *

  They began skirting around the gorge, and it happened much as Vito thought. The dogs were no longer heading in a straight line toward a weak enemy and inevitable plunder; now that they were frustrated, thirst, heat, and the cold, biting wind cut straight into their resolve. Vito knew that in the heat of battle a dogman was a terrifying sight to behold, but during the long trek around the gorge he saw them as completely pathetic. With every breath they took, a complaint was given voice. Every step taken brought them closer to something bothersome that had to be discussed long after it was passed. Vito only fought one challenger while skirting the gorge, but the rival seemed like an afterthought thrown at him by a group of worn out dogmen who were unexcited by the fight and unmindful of the outcome. After Vito stomped open the back of the dogman’s head, no more rivals were sent while they skirted the gorge.

  But it was not a single rival that Vito feared; he feared the horde turning against him altogether. The chieftains who allied with Vito were useful for managing the tribes and the smaller clans, in that Vito did not have to worry about settling bitter disputes over lost boots or the constant accusations of homosexuality against one another that could quickly escalate into violence. The chieftains were necessary, but they were mostly untrustworthy. They kept in touch with one another, they argued and agreed with one another, and if one sh
ould be in a bad mood and hint at sedition toward their strange human Khan, then Vito feared they could all turn against him in a day, or even in an hour. The whole must be maintained. To do that, Vito knew that troublesome individuals within the pack would have to be convinced - one way or another.

  * * *

  Outside of the camp, pale Bloodnose and gray Frigidskin hugged the face of a dune with rifles in hand. They watched the warrior Blooddrinker and his boy-love Dormin walking away with some others. The blood brothers kept an eye on the two not because of their illicit sunrise rendezvous, but because they were troublesome rabble-rousers. The fact that other warriors walked with them now could only mean one thing.

  Bloodnose tapped his younger brother’s shoulder, then growled. Frigidskin laid against the great .50 cal sniper rifle that he’d gotten from the fall of Hargis. The dog calmed himself and breathed slowly. Bloodnose peered through his binoculars, watching – then there was a deafening crack, and Blooddrinker jerked and fell in a heap. Little Dormin wailed loudly and the other warriors wheeled about, crouching, guns in hand. The wails of the pup went on and on; another sharp crack rang out from Frigidskin’s rifle, then little Dormin fell as well.

  Bloodnose raised a loudspeaker and shouted, “Loyal dogs! Those two were sinners. They were homosexuals. You are loyal dogmen.”

  The distant warriors hesitated, and one shouted, “Why do you fire at us? We are loyal dogmen!”

  “You are loyal dogmen,” shouted Bloodnose. “Return to your pack. Those two were homosexuals!”

  “How do you know this?” came the challenge.

  “I can take them all,” Frigidskin growled to his brother quietly.

  “Khan would be angry,” whispered Bloodnose. “Most likely, they are embarrassed to be caught in the middle of such mischief.” He thought for a moment, raised the loudspeaker, and said, “Loyal dogmen, check the penile member of the sinner Blooddrinker.”