Lycan Fallout 3

by Mark Tufo

  “I see that you yet live.” I looked up to Mathieu who was looking down at me. He’d heard it as well. Got to admit, a part of me was really hoping it was an auditory mirage, like, maybe amid all the terrible cacophony, my mind had pieced together random screams and curses and came up with Xavier’s cruel voice.

  “Any chance I could get my axe back?” It was a shout over the din, though I had a sneaking suspicion I could have whispered it and he would still have caught it. Probably had those giant bat fucking ears tuned right to me like those concave microphones they used to use during football games. The better to hear the concussive blow of some poor running back’s head being slammed into the turf.

  “You could come down and get it,” he offered pleasantly enough.

  “A true friend would bring it to me.”

  There was a grunt in there; I hoped he was in a great deal of pain and that even now a fungal bacterial virus of some sort was festering in his wound making some spongy yellow pus leak out in copious amounts. And then maybe that diseased fucking brain of his would melt from the mind-numbing temperatures his body would cook at. I have dreams. I’m entitled to those.

  “I want Mathieu,” was his terse reply. He was definitely in pain, he could try to hide it all he wanted, but an axe to the hip tends to hurt like a son of a bitch, or so I’m told.

  “Having an office mixer and are in need of a brewmaster?” I asked. More than a fair chance Xavier didn’t know what a quarter of that sentence meant.

  “If you hand over Mathieu I will withdraw my forces. No more blood need be spilled here.”

  That got me thinking, which in itself is a feat. Why Mathieu? Then the realization hit without really that much effort on my part. He’d seen Mathieu turn at will. What an unbelievable asset that would be to Xavier if all his forces could do that. He would not be tied to one battle a month. He could attack anywhere at any time.

  “No,” I said simply.

  As if my words now carried a special spell or something, the werewolves pulled back quickly. Inuktuk looked over at me, her chest heaving from exertion, as were a few dozen others that had been actively fighting and not just trying to out climb the attack.

  “You will allow all these people to die Michael?” Xavier’s words rang out in the resultant silence.

  “I’m not the one directing this battle, Xavier. Come out and we will settle what we started earlier.”

  “Alas, I fear that I will not be able to play with you just now. That particular path has been closed off for the time being.”

  “Pity. I was so looking forward to having some stew meat for tomorrow’s dinner.”

  “Come, come, Michael. Are you going to hide in trees like monkeys or are you going to come down and act like the apex predators you mistakenly believe yourselves to be?”

  I looked over to Inuktuk, she shook her head decidedly. Well, at least, I knew she was in agreement with our present situation. More of us, possibly all of us, would die if we were on the ground.

  “I think we’re going to pass. But I’ll let you in on a little secret, Xavier. In eight hours, when this moon goes down, we are going to hunt you into extinction.”

  I thought maybe my words had struck a chord, because what happened next was unexpected. They hadn’t left; the normal forest sounds hadn’t returned, but they also weren’t attacking. And for an army that was so intensely tied to a schedule, that in itself was amazing. We waited anxiously in those trees, but like I’ve said before, it is difficult, if not impossible, to keep up that sort of vigilance. The stress of it just becomes too great and a person does what comes naturally, they relax. Hours later we were completely caught with our hands in our pants. Those damn werewolves thundered back out of the trees like they’d been shot by a cannon. We’d let our guard down and more Landians were knocked from their perches in those next couple of minutes than had been previously during the onslaught. We were besieged; there was not a single tree where the inhabitants were not fighting for their lives. I can look back now and realize it was a ruse, a distraction, whatever, to give us a false sense of security. Xavier had already shown me what he wanted, the fact that I chose to ignore that very basic fact makes all that happened next on me.

  Lycan had come to join in the attack. Everybody, including me, had not noticed them in the din that was all around us. As noted, Lycan are much bigger than their stunted brethren, and one other critical point of contention—they are much better climbers. Or maybe just better jumpers, didn’t matter. One was on the branch next to me before I even had the chance to react. The crack of the back of his hand sent me reeling; my cheek felt like it was shattered. I was acutely aware of the intense pain as I spun to the ground, fifteen feet below. One happy piece of luck was that my body weight broke the neck of one of the werewolves below. I don’t know what exactly I’d been expecting in those next couple of minutes but it certainly wasn’t what actually happened. I’d been thinking that the moment I hit the earth I would be descended upon by the rabid dogs and pulled apart like a slow cooked pork roast.

  Instead, I’d no sooner rolled off of the werewolf I’d inadvertently killed when they began to withdraw. It was Oggie’s barking that caught my attention. I looked up to see him; he was looking off into the woods where two Lycan were dragging an unconscious Mathieu. I brought my rifle up, I nearly snapped the trigger in half. It was not going to fire without bullets no matter how hard I pulled.

  “We have to go!” I shouted to Inuktuk who had just dropped down from her tree. “Now!” I added when she didn’t move fast enough for my liking. I was so focused on getting Mathieu back I did not take into account what was going on all around me. There were dozens of broken and bleeding bodies lying under the trees or tossed to the side. The Landians were doing their best to care for the ones that could be helped and comforting the ones that could not. I followed Inuktuk around, debating if I should just go after Mathieu alone or wait. When she began talking to some of her people about burying the dead I almost said: “What difference does it make? They’re not going anywhere.” I did the next best thing I could, which was probably just as foolhardy.

  “Inuktuk, I have to go get my friend back. Follow when you can.”

  “I do not think that wise.”

  “Yeah, me neither. Can I grab some weapons?” My rifle was basically a paperweight now and as far as I knew, my axe was still lodged in a Lycan’s hip. This was a dicey question as well, Landian dead were buried with their weapons so that they could protect themselves on their journey to that deep fat fryer in the sky.

  “Talk to Tartar. He will get you something.”

  “The guy whose spear I broke and that wants my neck? That guy?”

  “I must tend to my people, Michael. So yes. That guy.”

  I thought about just picking up any of the dozens of abandoned weapons all around me, I was still defending the living; what more punishment could be heaped upon a death sentence? Instead, I sought Tartar out. He was bathed in blood, fortunately not his own; he was tending to the injured. I felt strange asking a man whose hands were pressing on the particularly nasty puncture wound of a fallen comrade for a spear. Life goes on for those that are still living it, and so does the war. I’d be damned if I was going to let Mathieu pass quietly into the night while I still stood.

  After all the time I have lived and all the events I’ve witnessed, my general way of dealing with things is brusquely. I am a jaded being in an apathetic world. My first instinct was to just demand what I needed, take it, and be on my way. But when he looked up at me, there was a pleading in his eyes. Tartar was valiantly trying to stuff the innards back into the gut of a man he obviously cared deeply about and in that moment, I felt for him, for both of them. If I had even a third the skills for healing that I had for killing…well, maybe I could have saved that man’s life.

  “My friend has been taken, I have to get him back. Do you have a weapon I can use?”

  He nodded to the left with his head. All I saw was what had t
o be his replacement spear.

  “Are you sure? I’m already on the hook for the last one.”

  “Get your friend. Do not let him die and whatever debt we have with each other I will consider paid.”

  I nodded, grabbed the weapon and vanished into the night, I was heading away from Talboton and into the unknown.

  Chapter 12

  AZILE

  AZILE WALKED QUICKLY into the encampment. “Bailey, Councilman Saltinda has agreed to my terms. Those that wish to stay or cannot travel will be allowed within the gates. My wish is to hunt down Michael and either help him or smack the side of his head hard enough to see if whatever is causing his brain damage can be knocked loose and possibly flushed from his thick skull.”

  “I would go just to witness that.” Bailey stood. “When do you wish to go? Although judging by your stance, I would say now.”

  “If at all possible I would like to leave before…”

  “I’m here!” Lana said breathlessly.

  “It is already too late,” Azile said.

  “I understand. I will get my people ready.” Bailey was smiling.

  “Only those that sincerely wish to come, Bailey. There will be bloodshed,” Azile clarified.

  “For right or wrong, Azile, I do believe every able-bodied person here would follow Michael to their death.”

  “Let’s try not to let that happen. We leave in fifteen minutes.” As Bailey departed, Azile turned to Lana. “You really don’t need to come. It’s much safer in the fort.”

  Lana put on her best pouty face. “If I don’t come, neither do they.” She pointed behind her where a hundred soldiers were running out of the fort to keep up with their charge.

  Azile looked over Lana’s shoulder. She was weighing the options of losing a significant fighting force or putting up with one teenager. If the stakes weren’t so high she would have sent the girl packing. “Fine, but do not interfere.”

  “You’ll hardly even know I’m here,” Lana smiled.

  “I somehow doubt that,” Azile muttered as she went off to help with the preparations to leave.

  “Oh goodie, another adventure!” Lana did a twirl. She watched eagerly as the Talbotons packed up the meager possessions they were able to take with them upon their escape.

  The sun was directly overhead as they departed. The morale was as high as could be for people heading back into danger and battle. It was a chance to go home and to potentially repay those that had sent them running into the night. For seven hours they marched, taking two small breaks to change socks and get a bite to eat. Azile would have pressed them on, deep into the night, if she hadn’t noticed the fatigue on some of the older people and those still on the mend from various injuries. Eleven people had to be escorted back to Denarth.

  “I fear at the pace you are setting, Azile, that we will lose more tomorrow,” Bailey said, walking towards Azile who stood in a small clearing.

  “Do not step any closer!” Azile warned.

  Bailey stopped, she waited and watched as the Red Witch went through some incantations and a series of cryptic hand gestures. She involuntarily gasped when she saw a face impossibly dark appear against the night sky. The only reason she could see it at all was that it had obscured the starlight behind it. Its mouth moved; she could not hear the words it spoke, and for that she felt thankful.

  When it was over, Azile seemed to sag before she could right herself again. She walked out of the small clearing and past Bailey without speaking.

  “You going to tell me what that was all about?” Bailey asked when she caught up with the other woman.

  “It is of no concern to you, Bailey.”

  “What would have happened if I had stepped into that circle with you?”

  “Let’s hope that is something we never have to find out. Is there some other reason you have sought me out? Preferably one that does not deal with the spirit clearing?”

  “The pace, Azile. We cannot keep it up.”

  Azile looked at the canopy of branches and leaves above her head. A slight breeze passed through, the rustling sounded like the whispers of the dead. Bailey felt a chill wind across her cheek, an ill omen within her heart.

  “I fear we must move faster, Bailey. There are forces at work that are conspiring against everything we are attempting to do. If we are late, there will be no opportunity to correct our course. Take stock of your people; ascertain who among them is strong enough to do what needs to be done. We leave at dawn.”

  Azile had hoped the early hour she had set for their departure would dissuade Lana from joining, but the Denarthian was first in line with ninety-eight of her finest soldiers. Two had gone back with the Talbotons.

  “I was so excited when I found out we were leaving early!” Lana was nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet.

  “Most teenagers enjoy sleeping in,” Azile said with no small measure of disdain.

  “What about me, Red Witch, reads as normal?” Lana’s easy smile had disappeared for the briefest of moments and was replaced by a look of determination and grit.

  “I will keep that in mind.” Azile could hardly believe the girl had unnerved her.

  Five more had turned back before they could even start. Azile had expected more to desert them, but the day had not even begun; she still might, reluctantly, get her guess.

  Lana had kept pace easily even as she chattered on incessantly. Azile did her best to pass the young woman off to whomever she could for as long as she could. Invariably the girl would always find her way back and would resume their conversation exactly where she’d left it off, as if they’d at no point parted ways for a spell.

  It was two hours past sunset when Azile had finally called a halt for the evening. She might have continued farther, if not for the pleasant thought that she would finally have some peace and quiet away from Lana.

  “At some point do you think we will be able to shake her?” Azile asked Bailey.

  “Doubtful. She has more energy than either of us.”

  “Get some sleep, Bailey. I fear tomorrow will be a long one.”

  Of the two hundred and sixty-two souls that started out that morning, only half would see the next night.

  Chapter 13

  MIKE JOURNAL ENTRY 7

  THEY HADN’T HAD much more than fifteen-minutes head start. An army of that size should have been easy enough to follow and catch up to. In theory, they should have only been able to move as fast as their slowest runner. But the Lycan had other plans. Xavier must have known there would be pursuit; his plan was to set up roadblocks in the form of small werewolf packs. What did he care? They were disposable assets. I’d been so intent on speed I was hardly paying attention to where I was going. For fuck’s sake, I was on a path, where the hell else was I going to go? And with three hundred or so giant pawed animals crashing through, it was an easy enough trail to follow. I came around a sharp bend and ran straight into the closest of three werewolves. Now, I don’t mean I “nearly collided.” I’m saying my head bounced off its chest. Have to admit, there was a part of me that was happy he staggered back a foot or two, of course, I bounced like a golf ball hitting a brick wall. Although in hindsight, this probably saved my life as the two other werewolves swiped with their claws at the air that I had just vacated.

  I reeled, and would have pinioned my arms if I hadn’t been holding on to the spear like the lifeline that it was. My ass hit hard and I skidded a couple more feet on the turned up soil. The first to react was the one I’d hit, he bounded back and impaled himself on my outstretched spear like that was his plan all along. The shaft vibrated in my hands as it pierced the skin of his chest easily enough and then punched a hole into his thick chest plate. His momentum and weight pushed the sharp barb through his lungs and out his back. He would have landed atop me if I hadn’t of rolled out of the way. The problem now was that I was dealing with two werewolves and no weapons. A growl was immediately followed by an attack; the one to my right had leapt and took a savage swipe
at me, tearing through the heavy material of my jacket. I was spun to the side. Another claw whistled past where my face had just been. I’d not even seen the other launch at me. These werewolves sure were being accommodating in regards to trying to spare my life.

  The first werewolf was off to my side, face down on the ground, his left arm reaching behind, trying to pull out the enormous splinter he found himself impaled on. I was going to help, in a fashion. He’d snapped the shaft in half when he’d fallen. I grabbed at the shortened spear and yanked, pulling the werewolf up off the ground as I tried to remove the weapon. Apparently he’d broken the end, but it had not broken off cleanly. Now it was acting like a hook. I did the only thing I could—I broke off the end that was sticking out of his back. He screamed bloody murder as I rocked it back and forth twice until it yielded its prize. I now had about a two-foot long spike and a deepening case of spear envy. I was just twisting to face my adversaries when I was knocked hard in the head. I forcibly tumbled to the side; once again my friend had saved me from his cohorts’ savage attack. Massive jaws snapped shut right where I had been not a nanosecond earlier. Would have been mighty difficult to fight without a head, although, any number of women throughout my life would have told you I’d been doing it that way from the very outset. A chunk of tooth bounced off my cheek as the large canine derivative broke one off, slamming its mouth hard enough to have decapitated me.