The Caitlin Chronicles Boxed Set

by Michael Anderle

  “That’s one way to put it,” Mary-Anne chuckled. “Yet, despite everything, he does hold a certain charm.”

  “Easy now, Ma. Now’s not the time to go googly-eyed for the vicar.”

  “Pastor,” Mary-Anne retorted.

  “What’s the difference?”

  “A pastor is someone who is in charge of a church. A reverend is anyone who is a member of the clergy—”

  “Snore!” Kain interrupted, closing his eyes and throwing his head back.

  “Enough,” Caitlin snapped, rousing from her thoughts. “It doesn’t really matter what he says he is. We just need to decide what the fuck we’re going to do.”

  They looked at each other for a moment, Jaxon weaving between them all, vying for their attention.

  “Well, the town’s empty, right?” Kain asked.

  “Your point?” Mary-Anne said.

  “I say we take a look around.”

  And that’s exactly what they did. As the half-moon cloaked itself behind thin wisps of cloud, they prowled the silent streets. It was eerie, the dust kicking beneath their feet like phantom puffs of murky fog. The dim light of the moon cast spectral shadows all around. They had never experienced anything so quiet. It was as though the town had been entirely abandoned, though they knew that wasn’t exactly true.

  “I’ve got to say, it’s a hell of a defense mechanism,” Kain whispered as they rounded a corner and saw the creaking sign for the Horse & Master pub. The windows were boarded. Only a couple of windows with cracked glass remained unobscured.

  “What is?” Caitlin asked.

  “Pack mentality,” Kain replied. “Ring a bell and everyone flocks to your side to protect you. Go to church, and the entire freakin’ town goes, too. No walls. No fences. Just reliance on your fellow man. I’ve not seen anything like it before.”

  “You should know all about pack mentality, eh, Were?” Mary-Anne sniffed.

  Caitlin tensed.

  Kain snorted the remark away, walking ahead without a word.

  Caitlin thought about it. Pack mentality certainly seemed like an effective method. She thought of Silver Creek and her life hidden behind the wooden walls which surrounded the entire town. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed less like a town than a fortress. A cage. She began to wonder if the walls were more to keep the monsters out or to lock the people in.

  No wonder a coward like the governor would make his residence at the Creek rather than a town like this.

  They made a right and were met with another short row of houses—and what looked like an old apothecary store selling a variety of elixirs and wares—but Mary-Anne held the group back. She sniffed the air and, a moment later, Jaxon confirmed her suspicions as his head bent low, his haunches raised as he bared his teeth in a snarl.

  “What? What is it?” Caitlin asked, reaching automatically for her sword.

  But there was no need for Mary-Anne to answer. From the end of the street, two figures stumbled and hobbled towards them. By the demeanor of the Mad, they hadn’t yet spotted the four of them.

  “There you go, pooch. She can be your prom date,” Mary-Anne chided, pointing at the one on the left who still sported the shredded remains of a dress. Blood and grime had coagulated into the weavings of the fiber. One of her arms looked as if someone had tried to cut it off at the elbow but only managed part of the job.

  “I thought vampires were supposed to have good taste in women,” Kain whispered back. “Not interested in the fella?”

  The man by the girl’s side looked to have once been a fairly large man. Now, however, his fat had sagged through his time suffering from the Madness, and his skin hung down in long flaps which almost reached his knees. His mouth drooped in the corner, and his beard sported a mesh of twigs, leaves, and various other debris.

  “Not really my type,” Mary-Anne replied. “I prefer my men less…”

  “Dead man walking-looking?” Caitlin offered.

  “You got it.”

  As the two Mad drew closer, Caitlin, Mary-Anne, and Kain exchanged glances. They nodded their confirmation, then sprinted towards them. The girl was down in seconds, Mary-Anne using her vampire speed to dash ahead. In one fluid motion, she ducked low, avoided the girl’s grasp, and skidded along the floor as she held out her blade and sliced at the girl’s leg.

  As the Mad girl fell to her knee, Mary-Anne spun and plunged the blade into her back.

  The light extinguished from her eyes almost immediately, but that didn’t stifle her scream. The noise reminded Caitlin of the gunshot she had fired into the sky back at Silver Creek. A clap of thunder.

  “Save one for us,” Kain said, grinning at Caitlin as they ran side-by-side. The formerly obese man reached for them both, his nails long and sharp. They each took a side, Caitlin using all her strength to match Kain’s as they attempted to slice off his arms.

  Caitlin winced as the blade cut through the degenerating muscle and tissue with ease, clunking against the bone. Kain grunted, pushing his strength in his effort to hack the arm. The bone splintered with an awful cracking sound.

  Caitlin used one foot to steady herself on the fat man as she withdrew the sword and went in for another attack. This time, she managed it, though she felt Mary-Anne’s hands wrap around her waist and pull her back just in time to stop the man taking a chomp out of her flesh.

  “Thanks.” Caitlin breathed heavily, as much from the awareness of her narrow escape as from the effort of the fight.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “Aw, how lovely,” Kain said sarcastically. “Why don’t we save it until Tubs is down, eh?”

  “Right,” Caitlin agreed, bringing her sword back as far as she could. Effort stretched her features into determination. “Stand back.”

  She tore the sword through the air, swinging the blade in a triumphant arc aimed at Tubs’ neck. He turned in surprise at the whistling sound, only adding more power to her swing. The blade ate through the skin as though it were water, emerging on the other side in a thick spray of blood.

  A moment later, the man’s head thudded onto the ground, rolling a few feet before stopping to stare at the sky in horror.

  “I did it,” Caitlin said in surprise. “One swing, and he’s down.”

  Kain and Mary-Anne exchanged a knowing glance as if they were both thinking the same thing. With their Were and vamp strength, taking off heads wasn’t that difficult. Yet, Caitlin decided, even they would have to agree it was still impressive to finally watch her take one down in a single stroke. She didn’t have their abilities or strength, after all.

  “Humans. Cute, ain’t they?” Kain said.

  Caitlin beamed, holding her sword up before her. She would’ve kissed the blade had it not been covered in zombie blood.

  Jaxon barked and hopped around her legs.

  “I know. Mummy’s got the strength of ten thousand men,” Caitlin said, degenerating to baby talk as she stroked Jaxon’s fur and pulled his face to hers. “The wittle zombies need to be very scared, don’t they? Yes, they do.”

  But Jaxon pulled away, turning once more to the end of the street where at least another dozen Mad had emerged from around the corner, their numbers increasing as they filed towards them.

  “It must’ve been the girl’s scream,” Mary-Anne said. “The sound of it drew the others.”

  “Where have they even come from?” Caitlin asked as close to another dozen joined. Those at the front noticed the four of them standing out in the open, and a high-pitched keening resounded through their ranks.

  “Does it matter?” Kain remarked.

  Caitlin sighed. “Not really. Think we can take”—she began to count by pointing as the Mad at the front screamed and began to run towards them—“two dozen and counting?”

  “Perhaps. But is it worth the risk?” Kain said, already turning to run.

  “Probably not,” Caitlin said, turning to join him. “Maybe it’s time we tested the town’s defense?” She clicked at Jax
on to follow, and he streaked alongside them, a blur of brown and black. “See what the herd mentality works like when faced with a threat?”

  They turned right, several of the Mad hot on their heels—those who had clearly been recent victims of the Madness and hadn’t suffered from as much degeneration as the others. They passed the shadows of empty houses, doing their best to remember their way through town.

  Caitlin half-turned as she ran, catching the eyes of a man who, at one time, might have been considered handsome. He was around her age, with a physique built for running and fucking. She was surprised to see him gaining on them.

  She suddenly remembered the belt Ash had given her before she left Silver Creek. Without slowing her stride, she reached down and pulled out one of the throwing knives. It felt good in her hand. Light. Powerful.

  She turned, took aim as she ran, and threw it.

  The blade spun through the air, narrowly avoiding the man’s face and landing impotently on the floor behind him. He growled, his eyes blazing red.

  Caitlin reached for blade number two, took aim, and threw.

  This time, the aim was true, but the handle thumped squarely on the man’s forehead.

  “Shit,” she exclaimed.

  Two more blades remained. Kain and Mary-Anne took a turn which Caitlin followed without a thought. She stopped for just long enough to take aim once more, aware that this was one of her last chances with the blades.

  “Eat metal, shitbag,” Caitlin whispered, grunting as she released the knife.

  The blade hit its target, spinning furiously through the air and finding entry into the man’s skull. The knife embedded all the way to the hilt, immediately extinguishing the light from his eyes.

  “Bullseye,” Caitlin said.

  “Nice one,” Kain called from some way ahead. “Now, unless you got enough knives for the lot of them, get that skinny ass in gear and haul it!”

  Caitlin sprinted after them, Jaxon’s barks a beacon in the dark. They were not far from the edge of town now. By her reckoning, they couldn’t be far from the church. She wondered how much of the chaos the congregants would have heard inside the building and if they were at all prepared for the horde now being led straight to the residents of Ashdale Pond.

  Chapter Twelve

  Silver Creek, Silver Creek Forest, Old Ontario

  Dylan and Ash sat in the corner of Mother Wendy’s tavern, taking refuge in the shadows. It was quiet, with only a few groups of revelers lingering as Mother Wendy cleaned up after a long night.

  Dylan took a long drag of his pipe. It was a habit he hadn’t particularly had before, but after finding the object in the governor’s room with a decent stash of dried herbs beside it, he thought he’d give it a try.

  If the rest of the world is looking to set fires, might as well start a mini one of my own.

  He coughed gently, his lungs almost used to the gritty texture of the smoke through his airways. Beside him, Ash took a deep draught from his drink and set it back on the table, his eyes wandering to Mother Wendy’s mammoth behind as she bent to pick something off the floor.

  “You ought to watch that,” Dylan said.

  “What do you think I’m trying to do?” Ash replied with a grin. When Dylan’s face remained straight, he added, “I know. I can’t help it. I’ve never been tied down before, and it’s difficult to keep myself under control.”

  Dylan mulled this over. It made sense, really. Ash had been one of Trisk’s goons until recently. Even if he had the moral heart of a unicorn, he had always hung around with bad types. Some of that would have rubbed off on him over the years.

  That didn’t stop Dylan feeling bad for Alice, though.

  “Try harder. The CoR is unstable enough as it is, let alone the damn town. I hardly think a domestic between you love birds is going to help our cause, do you?” Dylan took a deep puff of the pipe, closed his eyes and reveled in the warmth of the smoke. “The last thing we need is for anyone to fall out or for word of a fracture to spread beyond our group. It’s all about confidence and the illusion that we’ve got everything under control.”

  “We have, now. Haven’t we?” Ash asked. “We’ve got them all—the missing ones. Everyone is accounted for and dealt with.”

  “That doesn’t mean we trust them. One of them tried to hide and sat in one of our houses, suffering from the friggin’ Madness. How can we be sure that no one else is at stage zero?”

  “Stage zero?” Ash asked.

  Across the bar, two gentlemen with thick mustaches and well-worn clothing chatted frantically, their heads so close to each other it looked like they were making out. A few tables behind them, a woman not much older than Belle sat, her body wracked with tears and a filthy cloth to her face.

  “It’s what we call the beginning stages of the Madness. Before the outward signs show. When it’s nothing more than a parasite swimming in your bloodstream, waiting for its chance to attack you from the inside out. Stage zero, by all accounts, is the worst.”

  “Which is why you’re so uneasy?” Ash said.

  Dylan side-eyed his companion for a moment, studying his face. Ash’s stubble had begun to sprout into the makings of a beard, and his eyes were tired and heavy. Though he still wasn’t sure how much he liked a man who eyeballed every woman within a five-mile radius—even within sight of his partner—he had to admit that he enjoyed the male company. Ash added something to the conversation which Sullivan could never manage, as hard as he’d tried.

  Dylan nodded. “Yeah. That, amongst other things.”

  They sat and drank together as the night wore on, sharing idle chatter, as well as thoughts and proceedings of the meeting they had shared with the CoR just a few hours before.

  Laurie and Tom had joined the six and had been questioned further about everything from Ashdale Pond to the Firestarters, to why the hell Laurie was able to shoot a bow with the best of them.

  It seemed that she had been something of a hunter and gatherer at Ashdale, risking her life around the forest’s edge, collecting meat and foods. She boasted of her skill in taking down elk and, in particular, the speed with which she could skewer a rabbit or a stoat.

  “The minute their legs quiver, they know they’re dead,” she bragged.

  “Surely that would’ve come in incredibly useful in saving your husband’s life?” Alice had prodded.

  Laurie had retorted with similar venom. “Did you see my bow when I got here?”

  “Do you see me ramming a fist up your—”

  “Okay, ladies,” Dylan interjected. Vex looked disappointed at the break up of what could have been a rather tasty argument to watch.

  They hastened to formulate a plan of action before the arguing started again and spoke with Tom at length over what he knew of the town and the Firestarters. Though he wouldn’t say much, he did say he’d be more than happy to lead the way for anyone wanting to go and claim back what had once been a peaceful town.

  “Peaceful? Under Trisk’s rule?” Dylan had choked.

  Though neither Tom nor Laurie responded to the governor’s name, Dylan saw something in their eyes which told him more than he wanted to know. Something was afoot, and their old enemy was somehow behind it all.

  When Ash’s glass was down to its final dregs, he stood and headed to the bathroom. Dylan chuckled to himself as his companion stumbled away, knocking into a couple of tables along the way.

  Dylan closed his eyes, feeling his own warmth from his beer and smoke. It had been a long day, and it hardly looked like he would get much sleep that night, either. If it wasn’t one thing in this town, it was another.

  He thought back to the thief he had caught earlier in the day. While on his way to see the Revolutionaries in training, he had watched the girl—no more than thirteen summers old—grab the trinket off a market stall and begin running before the owner even noticed.

  Dylan chased the girl, managing to catch her as she tried to climb through an open window in an old building down a side
street. After talking her down and threatening several days in jail—though secretly knowing he would never do that to someone so young—he managed to retrieve the trinket and hand it back to the stall holder.

  “Thank you so much, Governor,” the woman had beamed.

  Dylan thought about correcting the woman but knew there would be no point. That was his role now, really. As much as he denied it, that was how people would see him. The governor of Silver Creek, the one anyone could turn to at all times, night and day.

  Sigh.

  He felt someone sit next to him. When he opened his eyes, he looked into the dark eyepatch of Sergeant Tom Hitchcock.

  “You’re not Ash.”

  “Observant, fucker, aren’t we?” Tom grumbled, a grin on his face.

  Despite Tom’s cursing, Dylan couldn’t help but enjoy the man’s crass approach. It was refreshing to have someone speak to him like any other person, not as a reluctant leader of a town in the absence of his sister.

  “What are you doing here?” Dylan asked. “Meeting finished hours ago. You should be at home by now.”

  “Home?” Tom replied. “I don’t have a home anymore. You watch your world go up in flames, and it’s hard to call any place home. Even one strike of a match in this town and, poof, the whole damn thing goes up in flames. Bricks. Mortar. That’s what’s missing from this world. Craftsmanship and integrity. Everything we build these days is temporary. A small fix. A field dressing on a wound that hasn’t stopped pouring blood for years.”

  “That’s a cheery change of conversation,” Ash said, returning from the bathroom. “Who invited Bobo the Clown?”

  Dylan laughed—the first genuine laugh he could remember for days. He signaled for Mother Wendy to bring them three more drinks. “It’s only temporary if we stop trying to find a permanent solution. You, me, Ash, and even Mother Wendy all carry on because that’s what we do. It’s called survival. My sister is out there fighting to bring freedom and peace to this world again one town at a time because we know that there is good in this world. No amount of fire or flames is going to take that away. As long as we’re all together, fighting on the same side, that’s enough.”