The Forever Man: Axeman

by Craig Zerf

  ‘Hey, Stacey,’ whispered Nate.

  She squealed and fell over backwards.

  ‘Quiet, darling,’ continued Nathaniel. ‘We don’t want to draw any attention, do we?’

  ‘But you’re dead,’ said Stacey.

  ‘Apparently not,’ replied the marine.

  ‘But I saw you get shot. We all did. Everybody saw you die.’

  ‘Oh well, looks can be deceiving. Look, do you want to untie me here? I’ve got a hot date with a brigadier and I’d hate to be late.’

  Stacey crawled behind Nate and pulled at his bonds, working hard at the frozen rope. Eventually she worked the knots loose, Nate pulled his arms free and stood up.

  ‘Thanks Stacey,’ he said as he gave her a quick hug. ‘Now go home. Things are going to be happening here. Not sure how safe it will be for a while.’

  The young girl nodded and ran off. Nate headed for the guardhouse. He wanted his weapons back, particularly the axe.

  A light snow started to fall as he made his way along the fence towards the front gate, deadening sound and kicking up the chill factor. When he got to the front guardhouse he eschewed any form of subtlety and simply walked straight up to the first guard, Then, before the guard could even issue a challenge, Nate jerked his rifle from his hands and smashed the butt into his temple dropping him like an ugly stepchild. Then the marine stepped into the guardhouse and despatched the remaining two guards in similar fashion. Clinically and efficiently.

  He couldn’t remember the ticket number that his weapons were stored under but there were only ten lockers and they were unlocked, so he simply took a quick look through them. His axe and shotguns were in the fifth locker, so he removed them, strapped them on and strode from the room, heading for the brigadiers residence.

  The marine didn’t have much of a plan, but he did have one. It was fairly simple; kill the brigadier, then appoint a new commanding officer who would rule in conjunction with some sort of civilian committee.

  When he reached the residence the two guards at the door barred his way neither of them putting together the fact that this was the same man who was meant to be dead and tied to a stake on the village green.

  Nate pulled out his axe and laid left and right, twisting the blade at the last moment so that the flat side hit the guards in the head, dropping them to the ground. He kicked open the front door and strode in, heading towards the brigadiers office at the end of the corridor.

  The door was open sop the marine walked in. The brigadier was sitting behind his desk and warrant officer Clarkson stood opposite.

  When they realised who had just walked into the room the looks of utter astonishment on their faces was almost comic.

  Mister Clarkson simply stared at Nate, pointed and made an incomprehensible sound at the back of his throat. A combination between a gargle and a low cry of terror.

  But the brigadier, who was made of sterner stuff, stood up and berated the marine.

  ‘How dare you walk in here unannounced? You’re meant to be dead. Leave my office at once. Guards!’

  ‘The guards are indisposed,’ said Nate. ‘And now, as promised, it’s time to put your head on a stick.’

  The brigadier went for his pistol. But he was slow. Very slow. As slow as death.

  Nathaniel’s axe whipped through the air and struck the brigadier at the juncture where his neck met his chest. The officer’s head seemed to leap from his shoulders and a jet of deep crimson blood arced out and sprayed the walls and the floor with gay abandon.

  Nathaniel turned to mister Clarkson who had both his hands held up above his head.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘He made me do it. I wanted him to stop, it wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘Yes it was,’ said Nate. ‘You aided him. You abetted him. And now you shall join him,’

  The axe sang it’s song again, cleaving through Clarkson’s upraised arms and his neck. Bathing the room in blood and body parts.

  Nate wiped his axe on the curtains and then picked up the two heads, holding them by their hair, then he headed for the village green where he had been shot and left for dead. He knew that now was the most dangerous time. He had to keep a certain momentum going or else the soldiers would simply shoot him and then decide for themselves what to do next.

  He made the green in under a minute. The first thing that he did was cast Clarkson’s head on the ground in front of the stake that they had tied the marine to. Secondly, he jammed the brigadier’s head onto the top of the stake. Brigadier on a stick.

  Thirdly he drew one of his shotguns and fired twice into the air.

  Then he pegged the tips of the axe into the turf, lent against the shaft, and waited.

  Soldiers arrived first, both privates and officers. Then villagers, in singles and groups.

  Nathaniel stood straight and proud, his look commanding. Unflinching. For he knew that his demeanour was all that would keep the situation under control. A man with grey hair and a clipped moustache, sporting a major’s crown on his chest, marched up to Nate. Close behind him was another younger man with the three captains pips.

  The major spoke first. ‘What the hell is going on here? How come you’re still alive? Who did that to the brigadier and mister Clarkson?’

  Nathaniel stood to attention and cracked out a perfect salute.

  ‘Master sergeant Nathaniel Hogan, sir. Definitely not dead, sir. On account of being immortal, sir.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, sergeant. Nobody is immortal.’

  ‘Appears that I am, sir,’ continued Nate in his best high volume parade ground voice. ‘Something to do with the electrical pulse, sir. Long story, perhaps we can discuss it later, sir?’

  The major nodded, his expression more than a little puzzled. ‘Carry on.’

  ‘Sir,’ continued the marine. ‘Last night I witnessed the brigadier attempting to rape and beat an under aged female villager. When I attempted to stop the brigadier I was set upon, tied up and shot, as you know. This morning, when I had healed up, I went to the brigadier and mister Clarkson and voiced my displeasure to them. The brigadier went for his weapon and I was forced to defend myself. The result of which you see on this stick here, sir.’

  The major stared at Nate for a while. ‘The brigadier said that he had caught you attempting to rape the young lady,’ he said.

  ‘Foul lies, sir,’ retaliated Nate. He pointed out Stacey in the crowd. ‘Ask the lady in person, sir. She’ll tell you.’

  The major turned to face the young girl who nodded. ‘It was the brigadier,’ she said, her voice clear and loud.

  There was a swell of noise from the villagers who started to surge forward. The soldiers immediately brought their weapons to bear, their faces taut with nervousness.

  ‘Stand down, men,’ shouted the major. ‘What do you have in mind, sergeant?’

  ‘A committee, sir,’ replied Nate. ‘Six strong consisting of three villagers and three military. The military being one officer, yourself, a non-commissioned officer and an enlisted man. The civilians to have at least one woman. Food and rations to be equally shared amongst all and housing facilities to be reissued in a fairer way.’

  ‘Or else what?’

  ‘There is no, or else, sir. It simply makes sense, both morally and tactically. Hearts and minds, sir.’

  The major nodded. ‘I agree.’ He turned to face the villagers. ‘People, as you probably all know, I am major Robert Soames. You have all heard what the marine has advised and I, for one, agree. I put it to you that you all get together and elect yourselves a trio of representatives. I then propose that we meet in the main house in an hour and take it from there.’

  There was a general murmur of agreement from the crowd.

  The major nodded at Nathaniel. ‘Well, sergeant,’ he said. ‘You appear to have brought the winds of change with you. Will you join us at the house?’

  Nate shook his head. ‘No, sir. If you don’t mind I think that I will sit this one out. I won’t be staying and shouldn’t have
anything to do with who is elected. Not my place.’

  ‘You seemed to think that it was your place to decapitate the brigadier.’

  ‘That was different, sir,’ responded Nate. ‘After all, he did shoot me.’

  ‘True,’ admitted the major. ‘But don’t leave without seeing me.’

  ‘Will do, sir,’ replied Nate as he threw out another salute.

  The major turned and walked away, followed by the rest of the soldiers. The villagers crowded around Nathaniel, patting him on the back and shaking his hand. Stacey ran up to him and threw her arms around him.

  ‘Thank you, Nate,’ she said, kissing him on both cheeks.

  After a while the marine extricated himself. ‘Listen, guys,’ he said. ‘I’m going back to my digs. I’m going to have a shower and take a rest. I’ll see you all later.’

  He walked off to more backslapping and high fives as he went.

  Chapter 4

  Commander Ammon Set-Bat and chief mage Seth Hil-Nu sat in a large two-seater palanquin that was carried by eight orcs. The palanquin was fully enclosed with glazed windows and was large enough to sport two full size lounge chairs, a small cabinet for food and drink and a wash basin.

  The two Fair-Folk leaders were traveling to a human fishing village called Portnew some six miles from the main Fair-Folk encampment. Scouts had confirmed that the village held about three hundred humans and Ammon had decided that this would be the Fair-Folks first official introduction to the human race.

  He had initially decided that he would set out with Seth and himself together with a minimal guard. Perhaps ten battle orcs. However, after two battle groups had come across a couple of human warriors who had killed most of them before succumbing, Ammon had decided that caution would be the better part of valor. After all, he reasoned, what if they came across ten human warriors? So he had formed up a guard consisting of five hundred battle orcs and four hundred goblin archers. Wherever they were going, they were going in strength.

  ‘Right,’ he shouted. ‘Let’s move out.’

  The eight orcs picked up the palanquin and the rest of the guard formed up around it. Then they marched off.

  ‘So,’ said Seth. ‘How do you want to play this?’

  ‘Truthfully,’ replied Ammon. ‘We tell them were we are from and why we came. We tell them that we come in friendship and have no plans to conquer.’

  ‘So semi-truthful, you mean.’

  Ammon chuckled. ‘Semi-truthful, truthful. Semantics my dear mage. After all we do not seek full scale war, we simply seek domination, as is our right as superior beings.’

  Seth nodded. ‘Truly do you speak, commander.’

  ‘Now, when we meet, remember to glamour them. As your research has shown, we need them to see us as tall, human, attractive and powerful in an avuncular way.’

  ‘Of course, Ammon. Consider it done.’

  ***

  Tremain sprinted down the path into the village, chest heaving as he sucked air in. He stopped in front of squire Blamey’s house and banged frantically on the door.

  ‘Squire,’ he yelled. ‘It’s me. Tremain. Come quickly, sir.’

  There was the sound of running footsteps from within and the door was flung open. A large older man with cropped gray hair and a chest-long gray beard stood in the doorway.

  ‘Well, what is it, young Tremain,’ the man said. ‘Speak to me.’

  ‘People approaching, squire. Thousands of them. Well, not people. Things. Things are coming, squire. Monsters. Thousands of big ugly monster things. I saw them from my lookout post. They’re coming down the valley towards the village. They’ve got swords and bows and arrows and they’re all really, really ugly.’

  ‘Calm down, boy,’ snapped the squire. ‘Now, take a deep breath and start again. How many are there?’

  Tremain thought for a while his brow wrinkled in concentration. ‘About a thousand.’

  ‘Good. Now, you say that they are armed?’

  Tremain nodded.

  ‘How close?’

  ‘Twenty minutes away,’ answered Tremain. ‘No more.’

  ‘Alright,’ said squire Blamey. ‘Sound the alarm. Ring the church bells, quickly now.’

  Tremain sprinted off and, just over a minute later, the peals of the church bells started rolling across the village.

  The reaction was instantaneous. People ran from their houses into the street. Windows were thrown open. Five men pulling a huge wagon came into view. They pulled the wagon across the beginning of the main street into the village and then turned it onto its side to create a barrier. Since the pulses had started there had been numerous attacks from roving bands and the village was now well ready for defending themselves.

  All available villagers were out in the main street. Fortunately it was the only way into the village apart from access from the sea. A perfect defensive position. Although probably not against a thousand armed warriors. However, squire Blamey was more than a little skeptical about Tremain’s estimation regarding the numbers.

  By now the bell had stopped ringing and the villagers stood in relative silence. There were around two hundred of them. There were more who lived in the village but they were all out fishing. It was the fishing that had enabled this village to survive the pulse so well. A hardy bunch that relied little on modernity’s such as televisions and microwave ovens, they had simply converted their fishing vessels to sail power, reverted to the old ways of fish oil lamps and cooking over fires and life continued as before. Missus Johnston had been lost to her diabetes and old Bobby Holmes had died from a heart attack but apart from those two casualties, the village was as strong as ever.

  And now they waited for their next trial. All of them were armed, after a fashion. A smattering of shotguns, billhooks, cleavers, spears and pitchforks. Even the odd sword.

  They could hear the interlopers approaching, still hidden from view by the undulations in the road. But their marching footsteps were getting closer and closer. And, as they broached the hill, squire Blamey saw that Tremain had not been exaggerating. There were at least a thousand of them. And they were monsters. Broad gray, pig faced monstrosities. Piggy little eyes, holes instead of ears and nostrils of flapping skin. Behind them a horde of grossly misshapen creatures. Short with arms so long that they almost dragged on the ground. Massive pectoral and arm muscles that were totally out of proportion to their short bandy legs.

  There was a collective gasp from the crowd but, to squire Blamey’s pride, no one stepped back or left their position. They were Cornish men and women. Tough and proud.

  The horde of monsters came to a halt a mere twenty yards from the wagon barrier, crashing their feet down in unison as they did so. Then the ranks parted and eight of them walked forward, they were carrying an enclosed palanquin that they lowered carefully to the ground.

  One of the orcs opened the door to the palanquin and stood back.

  And from it stepped two men. Both stood at over six foot. They wore pants of brown suede leather, knee high boots and white, loose fitting cotton shirts. Both had long golden blond hair although one had it tied up in a ponytail. Their features were perfect. Chiselled with high cheekbones, masculine chins and deep blue eyes. Their hips narrow and their shoulders broad. They seemed to exude an almost palpable aura of power. There was a collective gasp from the crowd.

  Squire Blamey looked on the two men and felt small. Dirty and worthless. And then they smiled at him and all was good as he felt their approval, their concern for his feelings, their empathy.

  The two stepped forward.

  ‘We would like to speak to your leader,’ said the one without the ponytail.

  Squire Blamey stepped forward. ‘Well, that would be me then.’

  And the two Fair-Folk covered him with their golden presence.

  Chapter 5

  Nathaniel had spent another three days in the village. During that time the villagers and the soldiers had hammered together a committee that seemed like it would suit all i
nvolved. Houses had been repatriated, the kitchens had been combined and work was handed out on a more equitable basis. Also, the training of the children now included math, history, English and general studies.

  It was a working model and, bar any freakish acts-of-god Nathaniel was sure that the village would survive and prosper in the years to come.

  He left early on the morning of the forth day. Before sunrise. Without saying goodbye. Leaving only his legacy behind.

  As was his custom he continued to travel in a vaguely northerly direction. Following rivers when he could as they provided both water and more edible plant life.

  He met a small band of people after a week or so. Family based. Father, mother, six children, uncles, aunties. They had raised a small tent hamlet next to the river and built a crude wooden stockade around it.

  They were very wary of the marine but welcomed him into their enclave. There was no way that they could have stopped him, even if they had wanted to.

  Nathaniel gave them three rabbits, some wild carrots and potatoes and they made a fish stew. They also shared some of their poteen, a distilled white alcohol made from vegetable peelings. It smelled like paint stripper and tasted worse. But Nathaniel accepted his ration with grace. They didn’t talk much. It was as if there was nothing in the world left to talk about. They were alive. Many were dead. They would continue to exist until they died. And that was it.

  The marine left early the next morning feeling profoundly depressed. There were so few people left and the die back was continuing. As the winter became harsher he knew that it would claim many more lives. The family unit that he had just left would find it harder to fish as the river froze over. Edible plants and roots would be impossible to find under the snow and game would become scarcer. The weakest would go first. Probably the youngest of the children and the oldest adults. Unless they kept fires going constantly the cold would eventually kill them all, as their bodies grew weaker and less able to combat the effects of the low temperatures.