by Mark Tufo
Chapter 10
MATHIEU MAKES GOOD THEIR ESCAPE
“YOU WERE GETTING beat up pretty badly; I did not believe you long for this world. I was hoping that your end would be swift and merciful,” I began.
“I would rather you had jumped in to help,” Michael replied.
“If I had, Oggie would have joined me and they would have killed him instantly.”
“Valid point.” Oggie was fierce, of that there was no doubt, and he’d somehow struck an accord with wolves, that proved something. But one strike from a Lycan and this most trusted friend would be no more. And that was just not acceptable.
“When your shoulder gave way, I was almost of the mind that we should begin our own fight. Xavier would never let us out from there once you were gone; we had little to gain by staying put. The other Lycan were distracted and I had some confidence we could make it.”
“Leave no man behind.”
“Again, Michael, it was not your life I was attempting to protect. Nor mine. Oggie would have died in a vain attempt to save yours, and dead or alive, you would have never forgiven yourself. You are already angry for letting your family members age, something which you had no control over. May I continue?”
Mike magnanimously waved me on.
“It was the shriek that Xavier made when you broke his foot that was our turning point. It was getting close to early evening; you perhaps do not remember this because you were on the verge of passing out.”
He sarcastically thanked me for reminding him of that.
“Fortuitously, the full moon was rising early and with it came the changing of the werewolves.”
“I still don’t understand how that was a good thing,” Mike said.
“You really do have a difficult time letting others speak when you are around,” I told him. He seemed to hear my words; whether he would heed them was quite another matter. “Confusion in a time of war can be a good thing if you are on the losing end. A distraction, so to speak.”
“I suppose.”
“One sentence, Michael. I got one sentence out before you interrupted me.” This time he just shrugged his shoulders.
“You have any more beer? This stuff is horrible.” He grimaced as he took another pull.
“If I brewed as much as you could drink I’d have time for little else.” Michael belched and laughed at the same time to my comment. “Where was I? Oh yes, the werewolves. They were coming to Xavier’s cry like suckling babes to a teat.”
“He said teat.”
“You are nearly two hundred years old. How can you be so juvenile?” Azile had come to join us around the fire, just in time to hear Michael’s revelation. He shrugged again and pulled a long drink from the bottle I’d handed him. She kissed him on the side of the face and warmed her hands over the blaze.
“When the werewolves broke into the clearing, I told them to attack those who had enslaved them. I did not dare to believe it would work quite as well as it did. They needed very little prodding. Four attacked the nearest Lycan, two were killed almost instantly by the bigger beast, but the third had jumped onto the back of the Lycan when he turned to fend off the smaller animals. It wasted no time sinking its canines deep into the relatively soft flesh. He tore a chunk away nearly as big as his maw. The Lycan went down as the fourth werewolf ripped into his abdomen, pulling his intestines out through the hole he’d made.”
“Lycans getting a little dose of their own medicine. I fucking love karma,” Michael blurted out. His words were beginning to take on a slurred quality. I had not taken notice of how quickly he was drinking the Landian alcohol. The week had been quite difficult on all of us. I grabbed the bottle from his hand, partly so I could have some and partly to ensure that he would stay awake to hear the rest of the story he’d pestered me for. I watched Michael for a moment as I took a drink. He cycled between petting the sleeping dog on his right and grasping Azile’s hand as if he were afraid to stop touching them, that one or both would disappear. I could understand that fear. We’d both lost so much; it was unbearable to think we could lose more. Lana had come to join our small party. I’d caught her the last few days looking at me, she would turn away quickly when she realized I knew what she was doing. I will not lie; I was attracted to her, even though I had nearly a dozen normal years on her. I will not count my accursed ones. When I had told Michael of my concerns he had nearly pleaded with me to take her off his pile of problems.
“They were attacking another, but I was already on the move. The fog I’d created would not last long. I ran past the fallen Xavier and lifted you to my shoulders. Neither the Lycan nor the werewolves pursued, at least not then.”
“You should have killed Xavier when you had the chance,” Michael said.
“If I had done that, none of us would have made it,” I explained.
“I, for one, thank you for the choice you made,” Azile said.
“As do I,” Lana added, as if she did not want to be left out. She quickly grasped my arm and rubbed her hands up and down it before letting go. She smiled nervously before dropping her gaze.
“He may still die from the wound you inflicted upon him,” I continued. We had been waiting a week for any word to come of the Lycan leader’s death. Every day that we did not receive that news felt like a minor defeat.
“He’s too mean to die. Just a little harder, a bit more leverage and I could have taken his damned leg off. I never thanked you for what you did that day, Mathieu.”
“We were a little busy. I have forgiven you,” I told him. I had never doubted his gratitude.
Chapter 11
MIKE JOURNAL ENTRY 6
I SEE NOW that it is nearly impossible for someone else to narrate while I’m anywhere in the vicinity of a story being told. I thought Talbot narcissism had died with my mother, many long years ago. I could not have been more wrong. Well, I’m sure I could have, but I prefer to be overly dramatic for the sake of my entry. I’m digressing; it’s a vain attempt to avoid continuing with this rather painful tale as I remember it. True to the central theme of those last couple of weeks, we were on the run. Technically, Mathieu was on the run; I was going for a ride, unceremoniously tossed over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I distinctly remember my face bouncing off his hairy shoulder blade. There was an excruciating pain every time my nose made contact with that bony protrusion, yet it seemed more difficult to twist my head to the side than to just let it continue.
“I can run no farther with you upon me,” Mathieu had grumbled after some indeterminable amount of time. He set me down; I’d like to say gently, but it was more like I was that aforementioned potato bag. In his defense, I’m sure he was tired, but he looked angrier. Of course, it is tough to get a read on a werewolf.
Oggie was panting but he still looked like he had a good measure of run left in him.
“We do not have much of a lead. Will you be able to continue on your own?” Mathieu asked. He was hunched over, his hands on his knees, his back arched as he dragged in heavy breaths.
“I’m in better shape than you are, obviously.” I pushed up off the ground and got unsteadily to my feet.
“Yes, you look it.” He’d turned slightly to look at me. I don’t give a fuck if I make it to a thousand years; there is no way I am ever going to get used to a werewolf not only talking to me, but giving me shit. Kind of like watching a chipmunk make an omelet. You’ve seen a chipmunk, and you’ve seen an omelet being made, but definitely not by the little critter.
“I’m good.” I had one hand touching a tree. I couldn’t figure out why that damn tree was moving so much. Right at that moment, I would have said there was no way I could run. Then we heard the howls of pursuit. Apparently the Lycan had righted their ship and were coming our way. I don’t know if you can “sober up” from a concussion, but I was starting to see things a little clearer. Death by teeth tends to motivate you. I lightly smacked Mathieu’s shoulder and nodded to the path and the direction we needed to go. He sighed an
d we were off. Those first three or four hundred yards were something special as I wove across the entire width of the path, then the soft shoulder, sometimes using the bushes that lined the path as my personal bumper assistants. It got so bad at one point that Mathieu got behind me and grabbed my shoulders, doing his best to keep me going in as straight a line as possible.
About a mile in with one more to go, I was finally able to get a stride going that didn’t involve a side step. The pursuit was still on, no closer, yet no farther. By this time we had run into sentries, we let them, with their fresher legs, head back to warn the rest of the Landians. By the time we got back, the message had been spread and the Landians were preparing for a war. It was difficult to look upon that poor arsenal of weaponry they possessed, spears, knives, hand axes, and not think they weren’t about to get slaughtered. Inuktuk was offering words of encouragement.
“The trees, get them up into the trees,” I said breathlessly. She looked over to me, her eyes in a questioning stare. “Your people can’t stand against what is coming with what they have.”
“We are warriors!” she shouted. This was met with an answering war cry of “Mickey D’s!”
I was thinking that a laugh right now would be warranted, but I just couldn’t breathe well enough. “Not like this, Inuktuk. Amy, they won’t make it. So many of them will die. Get them high up into the trees. We wait until the moon goes down.”
“Run? Hide? That is your suggestion?” she asked. She was about to paint her people into a very difficult and deadly corner.
“Pride? Is that what you’re going to tell the grieving widows and orphans when this is over? You cannot withstand a charge from this enemy by standing your ground. They will wash over your position in minutes. What will you have gained except the drenching of the ground in blood? Wait for the moon to go down, Inuktuk. We strike at their weakest. There is no shame in that.” I thought about telling her that Xavier had waited until he was at his strongest to hit us but, I did not think she would appreciate me equating her people with that of the enemy. I watched her get angrier, her eyebrows furrowing, shades of pale pink going to deep reds. The scream of a sentry being discovered and subsequently torn to bits spurred her into action.
“Up! Up! Everyone into the trees, get as high as you can!” Her people seemed confused at first but did what they were told soon enough.
I tucked Oggie under one arm, grabbed a low hanging branch and pulled myself up. When I was standing on a branch I looked down at Mathieu who had not moved. “You coming?”
“I cannot climb,” he growled looking at his oversized paws that were much more suited to doling out death and punishment than for the dexterity needed to ascend.
“I hate to be Captain Obvious, but, umm….maybe you should change form.”
“I have gained the ability to manipulate my transformation whenever I choose, however, not during a full moon.”
“Shit, shit, shit. You can’t stay down there. Inuktuk! I need rope!” While I was waiting for that I went up another ten feet and found a good sized crook to place Oggie in. He looked over the side, he seemed none too pleased with his present locale. “Sorry, buddy. I’ll be right back.” In less than thirty seconds I was back on the ground and given a decent coil. It seemed strong enough but this wasn’t some store-bought carbon nylon fiber stress-tested for a thousand pounds line. This was a braided hemp. I was busy tying a harness underneath Mathieu’s arms.
“What are you doing?” he grumbled.
“Making a werewolf piñata. These were all the rage in France. Gonna dangle you out there like a prized piece of candy.”
Mathieu started pulling against the rope. “I will not hang uselessly from a tree like a monkey!”
“Just kidding, relax. I’m just going to get you high enough up that you can get a foothold onto the tree yourself.” We were running out of time, the party was about to be crashed. I climbed a good thirty feet up that tree before I realized just how much I hated heights. I draped the rope over a branch, quickly climbed down, and began to heft his heavy ass up into the air. A bag of rocks would have been easier to move. Mathieu liked leaving the ground less than Oggie and kept shifting around making the tough job even more difficult. “Feel free to grab branches and help,” I grunted. “And maybe next time think about cutting some carbs you fat bastard.”
Inuktuk and another Landian came to help and with Mathieu, pulling some of his weight. We had him nearly twenty feet up before the branch we were using as crux cracked loudly.
“That’s as high as the elevator is going Mathieu! Move closer to the trunk and hold on.” I thanked my two helpers and urged them up before I myself went. Ten feet did not seem nearly enough. As I got to Oggie, I grabbed him and we went another five feet. I would have gone more, but that was the last decent place for Oggie to sit relatively comfortably. “Don’t move.” I squished his muzzle, he licked my hand.
The werewolves had gotten so close that we could hear them crashing through the woods but suddenly they’d gone silent, which was scary. They were all about noise and intimidation; this was much more chilling, like they were stalking us. I climbed higher and when I got up to Mathieu, I reached for his rifle.
“What are you doing?” he asked. He looked terrified, his eyes wide.
“I’m taking your gun.”
“I may need it at some point”
“Okay, when you let go of the tree that you look like you’re getting intimate with, by the way, I’ll let you have it back.”
He thought on my words for a moment. “Fair enough.” He moved just enough to allow me to get the firearm over his head before resuming his tree hugging posture, his long claws were dug deeply into the bark. Even the normal night noises had gone deathly quiet. There had been times when I’d sat in Ron’s dilapidated basement and looked out at the yard, a heavy snow falling soundlessly. If not for the sound of my own breath, I would have thought myself deaf; there was nothing to vibrate my eardrum. Right here, right now, it was exactly the same. Well, not exactly the same. There were over a hundred Landians in the trees around me and a couple hundred werewolves and Lycan appearing from the woods directly below us. How that many beings in such close proximity could exist with so little resonance was astounding. Even the breeze did not dare to stir and change the direction of a leaf.
The werewolves were wary; they could smell us, they knew we were around, they just couldn’t figure out where. It was the Lycan leading them that finally let the cat out of the bag. Ever notice how letting a cat out of a bag is usually a bad thing? That’s because whenever the little caretakers of the underworld are set free, they bring the shit storm with them. Or that little Giovanni has just let his parents know that he’s more attracted to Petrov than Diana. What the fuck? Yeah, I don’t know why I think of this random stuff under high-stress circumstances; even less why I need to say or write them down. I put the rifle to my shoulder and just as the Lycan was looking up and pointing to where Inuktuk was, I put a round into his temple. His face crashed in on itself around the high-speed, heavy projectile. Amazing the devastation a small metal object moving twenty-eight hundred feet per second can wreak when it collides with tissue and bone. He was dead, but we’d been discovered.
For a few seconds I thought we were going to be okay when the werewolves looked up at us in utter confusion like we were an unobtainable prize. Then one of the smarter ones jumped up at a low hanging boot. From a complete standstill, he raked a claw nearly fifteen feet above him. A serious number of Landians were at this threshold, making them extremely vulnerable; low-hanging fruit, if you will. I blew two holes into the next Lycan before they moved into the shadows. Fuck I hate them. If anything, the noise seemed to stir the werewolves into a frenzy and it looked like I was about to get very popular at the dance. I shot those that I could, but there were far too many. The cries of those being dragged from the trees began to dominate all else. Anyone under twenty feet high was in danger, Oggie and myself included. Some started climbing up
, but plenty of others didn’t have that choice; they were as high as their trees could bear them. They were making the best defense they could as werewolves scrambled up trunks or took running leaps. Even when they missed they would sometimes do enough damage to the person’s perch that it would give out and send the Landian tumbling to the ground.
Tree trunks were being stripped clean as werewolves frenetically attempted to climb, their claws shredding bark like the world’s largest exfoliating pad on a fat man’s callused feet. Smaller trees swayed sickeningly as they were beaten against, knocking more than one Landian to his death. Instead of saving these people, I feared that I had made them objects of a deadly arcade game. I blew holes through chests, through heads, I splintered arms and legs but still the werewolves attacked. The savagery with which they tore people apart was horrifying to watch; they were not just trying to kill the warriors they faced but obliterate their very essence. It was as if their humanity represented an affront to everything that they were, or could never be. Screams for mercy went unheeded and, in fact, seemed to enrage them even more. We would have been better off making a last stand as opposed to this, being picked off like ripe apples. Four Landians died in one fell swoop when the tree they were on was snapped at the base. Twenty or so werewolves descended on the fallen men.