Ragnarok Rising

by D. A. Roberts

  Motioning for the others to move up, I stood up and began to search the surrounding area for any other signs of movement. I was fairly certain that I had just taken care of the last of Westbrook’s men, but it was best to finish the sweep just to be sure. Complacency would get you killed, so it was better safe than shot in the back with your pants down.

  By the time we met up with the other team, we were fairly sure that there was no one left to worry about inside the ballpark. Well, other than Butcher’s men that is. I was going to worry about them until they proved otherwise. I knew that Janos had proven me wrong about judging people, but I still had the distinct feeling that there was still something left to settle between me and Butcher. He didn’t strike me as the kind of guy to just follow someone for no reason. At some point, he would either make a move against me or challenge me for leadership. Either way, it would only end with blood.

  When we had all returned to the main area, Mr. Wilder was still standing guard with his shotgun and a grim look of determination on his face. I just nodded at him as I headed back over to the main group and started taking off my pack. The others followed suit and soon we were all catching our breath and drinking bottles of water that one of the women had handed out to us as soon as we made it back.

  “That was a nice shot,” said Butcher. “You ex-military or something?”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “Army. You?”

  “Marines,” he replied. “Back during Desert Shield and Storm.”

  “Same here,” I replied. “We must have been over there at about the same time.”

  That seemed to make him think. I’m not sure, but that may have earned me some respect in his eyes. After that, he seemed to regard me with less contempt and at least a grudging respect. For my part, I’d try not to hold being a Marine against him. Well, maybe not. I still didn’t trust him, but it was a start. I was trying to be optimistic, but it’s usually not in my nature.

  By the time the sun was going down, we had worked out a rotation schedule so that we always had someone watching the perimeter. Once I had visually inspected the entrances to make certain they were secure, we pulled the group back into the main part of the stadium and started setting up places to bed down for the night. When things started to get quiet, I asked Marko and Butcher to follow me out onto the deck overlooking the infield.

  “Something on your mind?” asked Butcher as I found a comfortable place to sit.

  “Yeah,” I said. “We’ve got to start making preparations to leave here.”

  “Why?” asked Marko. “It’s secure, we have food and we can keep scavenging for supplies that we need. Why not just stay here.”

  I spent the next few minutes explaining to them about the two comets that had struck the moon and the coming hard winter. I tried to keep from using terms from my religion, but once I slipped and said Fimbul Winter. Marko looked confused, but Butcher looked surprised.

  “How do you know that term?” asked Butcher.

  In lieu of an answer, I just removed my Thor’s Hammer from beneath my armor and let it fall onto my chest. It was my turn to be surprised when he did the same. He wore an intricately crafted hammer made out of wood and hung from a dog-tag chain, along with a set of dog-tags. It was ornately carved out of what I would guess was Oak or Cherry wood and stained a red so deep it was nearly black. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship.

  “Nice hammer,” I said, nodding in appreciation. “Did you carve it?”

  “No,” he replied, almost sadly, “it was carved by a good friend of mine that I served with back in the day. He died in a training accident at Camp Pendleton in ’98.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” I said, and meant it.

  Butcher and I both took the next few minutes explaining the concept of Fimbul Winter to Marko. He didn’t interrupt, but listened intently and seemed genuinely excited to learn more about my religion. The more we discussed it, the more I realized that Butcher and I had many beliefs in common, but disagreed on some as well. That’s the beauty of Asatru. It wasn’t some dogmatic set of rules that were set in stone. It lived and breathed, fitting the needs of the individual kindreds.

  The moon was high in the sky by the time we finished talking about it. I could see a fundamental change in Butcher. We had a common bond now, not just a common enemy. More importantly, my opinion of him was changing as well. Strange how here at the end of the world, I was finding people who not only believed the way I did but embraced the warrior’s ethic. Although, it’s not surprising that warriors had survived and continued to fight the undead.

  Reluctantly, I changed the subject. I would have loved to have kept talking about the Old Gods with someone who truly believed, but we had more pressing matters to discuss. Like how we were going to move this many people the nearly two hundred miles to the stronghold we’d built at Bennett Springs. For that, we were going to need vehicles.

  Butcher and I both agreed that we needed more motorcycles for those of us who needed to be able to move and fight where we were needed. That meant at least six for Butcher and his people and one each for Marko and me. We wanted something with a little more range than the dirt-bikes that Westbrook’s people had been riding. We needed heavy road bikes and Butcher knew right were to get them.

  We also needed a vehicle large enough to carry the women and kids, along with a heavier vehicle to smash through obstacles and clear a path for the transport. That’s when I started describing my plans to build a custom vehicle. Butcher added his ideas to the bunch and soon we had a concept of what we wanted to build.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Wolves

  “Where there is no discipline, there is no honour.”

  - Viking proverb

  I sat alone late into the night up in the bleacher section overlooking the infield. I wasn’t tired and felt trapped inside the building. I craved the cool night air. The sky was becoming hazier as the days progressed. It was difficult to see the stars now and the moon was haloed in debris. The landscape of the moon was drastically different after the impacts of the two comets. The new craters were massive, easily seen with the naked eye.

  The temperature at night was already beginning to drop noticeably. Mid-summer nights in Missouri should be hot and humid, not approaching “seeing-your-breath” temperature. I estimated that at the current rate, we would likely see our first frost at night within the week. The Fimbul Winter was coming. You could almost feel it’s breath on your neck, like the hot breath of the wolves that were to devour the sun and moon.

  In the eerie silence of the night, I couldn’t even hear the soft moaning of the dead. We were totally isolated here and the emptiness seemed absolute. It was in this stillness that I found solitude and clarity of thought. I let my mind drift over the problems that we needed to overcome before we began our journey. The words that I had spoken to Spec-4, which seemed like a lifetime ago, came flooding back to my mind. It was a simple quote from the poet, Robert Frost. “Things to do and promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.” It had never seemed more appropriate to me than it did right at that moment.

  Almost subconsciously, I found myself holding the old beat-up harmonica and bringing it to my lips. In the stillness of the night, the haunting notes rang out all the clearer. Although I played softly, the music seemed to fill the air around me. Once again, I found myself playing Ashokan Farewell.

  The melody was the perfect counterpoint to the loneliness of the empty park. It had come to symbolize all that we had lost; the lives, the hopes and dreams. Our world was gone and it was time to say farewell. It was time to stop living with the pain of all the loss and time to start to rebuild our lives anew.

  As I played, the faces of the people that we had lost began to pass through my mind. There was Southard and Gunny, with me again in happier times. One by one, they all passed through my mind. All of them were family, some by blood and some by bond. Tears flowed unchecked down my face as I said goodbye to them all. It was time to let go and forgive
myself for their loss. It was time for redemption; not only for myself, but for all of us.

  As the haunting notes began to fade, I noticed something moving out on the baseball field. At first, I thought it was just shadows playing across the grass from the clouds passing in front of the moon. On second glance, I could see it was a person. I recognized the clothing and the hair. It was Bridgett Ulrich. I couldn’t help but wonder why she was out there alone, so I decided to head down there to find out.

  When I reached the bottom of the rows of seating and started to climb out into the grass, her movement changed. No longer was she merely strolling through the grass. She was dancing in the pale moonlight to music that I couldn’t hear. It was ethereal and strangely poetic in stark contrast to the ruined city around us. There was this young girl, dancing in the ruins to music only she could hear. Despite myself, I just couldn’t seem to turn away.

  As her dancing continued to become more intricate and graceful, I noticed movement in the shadows on the far side of the park. At first, they were only dark forms moving through the darkness, only becoming visible for the briefest of moments. As they got closer to the edge of the field, moonlight began to catch them. From the telltale glow of the eyes, I knew what they were. They were Stalkers.

  Leaping over the rail, I raced towards her at top speed. Panic filled me as I had little doubt that they would reach her before I did. I pulled my KSG shotgun off of the side of my pack as I ran, flicking the safety off. When the Stalkers reached the edge of the shadows, they didn’t attack as I feared they would. They crouched down and stayed hidden in the darkness, not moving or giving any sign of attack.

  Since I was running full-out with a weapon in my hand, I knew there was no way that they had not seen me. They were totally focused on the girl and remaining stock-still. That was out of character for them, so I knew that could only mean one thing. One of the Hrimthurssar was nearby. Suddenly, I wished it were just the dead.

  As I reached Bridgett, she looked shocked to see me and started to say something when she saw the look on my face. Instantly, she could tell that something was wrong. I grabbed her and pulled her behind me, brining the shotgun up to cover the Stalkers. I could tell from the gasp behind me that Bridgett had finally seen them.

  “Stay close to me,” I hissed. “If they attack, I’ll do my best to hold them off. I want you to run and alert the others.”

  “What about the sentry patrols?” she asked, her voice thick with fear.

  “Those are Stalkers,” I said, gesturing at the creatures hiding in the shadows. “It’s a safe bet that they’re all dead.”

  “I can help you fight them,” she said. “I have my bow.”

  “The best thing you can do is run,” I said. “We need to alert the others.”

  “She’s not going anywhere, Grant,” said a voice from the deeper part of the shadows. “And neither are you.”

  From the shadows emerged a giant of a man carrying a massive two-handed sword. Even with the hazy light of the moon, I knew he was Hrimthurssar. Although I had not seen him before, I knew instantly that this one must be their leader. He was more imposing than the others and had better armor. He was even bigger than Bergelmir, as well. This guy had to be close to eight feet tall.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I demanded. “And how the fuck do you know my name?”

  “Who am I?” he mused. “Who I am is unimportant, but I have heard all about you.”

  “I’ve fought your kind before,” I said, baiting him. “And I’m still alive. In fact, I’ve killed one of yours as well. Last night at the Arch.”

  “I’m well aware of that,” he replied. “I know of your exploits and your luck in battle. This night, you will not be so fortunate.”

  “Why is that, asshole?” I replied. “It’s going to take more than you and a few Stalkers to put me down.”

  “Then it is fortunate that is not all that I brought with me,” he replied, chuckling wickedly. “Observe.”

  He gestured around us, taking in the expanse of the park. I glanced around me to see three more of the Hrimthurssar emerging from the shadows. The one almost directly behind me was Bergelmir. The one to my left looked to be about the same size as the one I had fought at the Arch. He was wearing two smaller fighting swords and carrying a large bow.

  The one to my right was a woman, or more precisely an Amazon warrior. She was well over six and a half feet tall with the rippling muscle of a linebacker. Her movements were fluid and graceful, indicating that she was capable of far greater agility than her size would indicate. Her long blonde hair was in multiple braids and plaited around her head like a helmet. I could see a piercing on her ear connected by a chain to one on her nose. There was a lethal beauty about her that was more than a little frightening. On her hips were a matched set of long swords.

  “As you can see,” said the big warrior, “I did not come unprepared.”

  “Drop your firearms and face us like a warrior, unless you’re too afraid,” snarled the woman.

  “He’s no coward,” replied Bergelmir. “Do not underestimate him.”

  “Just because he beat you, TWICE,” snapped the woman, “there is no reason that we should be impressed.”

  “I’ll fight you, blade to blade,” I said, loud enough for them all to hear, “Just let these people go.”

  “No deal,” replied the biggest warrior. “When we finish with you, we will have our sport before we feed them all to the dead.”

  That drew a chuckle from the archer. The woman’s face did not change, but Bergelmir frowned at the comment.

  “Let his people go,” said Bergelmir. “We can find them later. He has agreed to face us honorably.”

  “You will do as you are told or you will join him in death,” snapped the big warrior. “Our orders are clear. Destroy the Einherjar and all who follow them.”

  “There is no honor in that,” replied Bergelmir. “No honor in slaughter.”

  “Do you question my orders?” demanded the big warrior.

  “If he is willing to fight us honorably,” snarled Bergelmir, “then we should grant him a warrior’s death. There is no honor in killing the others.”

  “You are Hrimthurssar,” snarled the woman. “Honor your vow to Loki!”

  “Grant is not the only Einherjar here,” said the big warrior, smiling wickedly. “There are others.”

  Others? That was news to me. Obviously, they knew more about what was going on than I did. I needed to play for time and see if I could get more information out of them. I also needed to keep them bickering amongst themselves. Maybe I could figure a way out of this, if I had a little more time. Then again, there were four of them and one of me, not including the Stalkers. The odds weren’t even close to being in my favor, but then again, beating the odds was becoming my specialty.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, looking at the big one. “I’m the one you’re looking for.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Grant,” said the woman. “We know about the four of you. There is no denying it.”

  Four? Who the heck were they talking about? Who were the others? I was only aware of Marko, for sure. I suspected Butcher, but wasn’t certain. I had no idea who the other one could be. I was hoping they would lead the others away while I tried to buy them time. The Hrimthurssar were big on using swords. Despite being Einherjar, I didn’t think that Marko knew how to use one. Then again, bringing down an impressive volley of automatic weapons fire wouldn’t go amiss right now either.

  “Look,” I said, glancing around. “I’ve agreed to fight you. Let the others go and I won’t try to get away. You’ll get the fight you came for, I promise you.”

  “No deal,” snapped the big warrior. “You will all die tonight.”

  “Fuck,” I breathed, shaking my head. “So be it.”

  I began dropping my gear. I removed my pack and let it fall, removing all of my weapons except the big XVR on my hip. Then I drew Ulfrbrandr from its scabbard
and brought it up in a guard position. I leaned closer to Bridgett so I could whisper without the others hearing me.

  “When I have their attention, I want you to run for the others,” I said softly. “Go slowly at first, but then run like Hel as soon as you’re clear. Tell the others to get out of here as fast as they can. Head for Lebanon, Missouri and then Bennett Springs. You’ll find my friends there.”

  “I won’t leave you,” she said defiantly.

  “If you don’t, we all die,” I said, meeting her gaze.

  I could see tears forming in her eyes.

  “I’ll buy you as much time as I can,” I said, gently. “Don’t let the others try to fight these guys. They won’t win.”

  “Neither will you,” she sobbed.

  “That’s not your biggest concern, right now,” I said, smiling. “Your need to get all those kids out of here.”

  “I don’t like this,” she said, wiping her eyes.

  “I’m not crazy about the idea, either,” I added and smiled at her. “We just have to do it. I don’t see another choice.”

  “I’m sorry…,” she started to say, but I interrupted her.

  “Hey, don’t be,” I said. “This is the way it has to be. Just get ready to go when the fighting starts.”

  With that, I stepped away from her and got into position where I could watch all four of them as they began to advance towards me. I had my back towards the archer and was mostly facing the woman. That put Bergelmir and the big warrior to my left and right, respectively. It wasn’t that I felt the archer wasn’t a threat, but he seemed the most reluctant to approach me. If Bergelmir had warned him about me and it made him wary, I might be able to use that to my advantage.

  “You do realize that you will die this time, right?” asked Bergelmir, shaking his head.

  I turned my head to look directly at him. I wanted to see the look on his face when I replied.