“Guys, this is not a good idea,” Jack added, “the sun is almost down, we should beat feet and get the fuck out of here.”
“We’ll be alright, Jack,” Frank assured, “we have the equipment to defend ourselves. Besides, if we run now they’ll catch up to us within a matter of hours. It’s best if we try to finish this as soon as possible.”
Frank began to walk toward the cornfield and, after giving his father a defiant sigh, Jack followed.
Benny looked at his wife and saw her stumble a little, reaching for the headstone for support. “Autumn, why don’t you get in the car and try to relax.”
Autumn nodded and returned to the car while Benny went to work on the stone slab with the tire iron.
The graveyard and the cornfield were separated by an old, broken down picket fence. Frank and Jack found a fallen section and stepped over to the other side.
“We should split up,” Frank said.
Jack shot his father a surprised look. “Umm, I…you know…I really think that’s a bad idea there, Dad. As a matter of fact I think it’s about the worst fucking idea I’ve ever heard.”
“Calm down, Shaggy, we’ll only be a few isles of corn stalks apart, so if you and Scooby get in trouble just give me a holler and I’ll come a running.”
“That’s real funny, Old Man, it’s just a shame you have to finally get a sense of humor right when we’re about to die.”
Frank smiled, “Just remember; move quietly, stealth and surprise are our biggest allies.”
“Right,” Jack said, but he didn’t sound convinced to say the least.
They put about forty rows of corn between them and then entered quietly.
Approximately twenty yards into the field, Jack rea-lized he’d never been so completely and utterly terrified in his entire life. He noticed his breathing was forming a steady stream of steam in the cold evening air and made a conscience effort to calm his nerves. He kept walking deeper and deeper into the maze, trying hard to resist the urge to call out to his father. He stopped and looked back to the west. In the distance he could faintly hear Benny still struggling with the stone slab on the mausoleum and wondered if his brother noticed that the sun was now down.
Further and further into the field he walked, his breathing was now short and jagged and he was sure he could hear himself whimper from time to time.
Suddenly, Jack could hear a low, grumbling sound that seem to come from all around him. He stared around wildly, but could see nothing but corn stalks in every direction, and the stalks were too high to see over. Luckily, the night was clear and a full harvest moon shone its light down, making things a little easier to see. Jack thought if it was any darker he would have gone mad with fear by now.
The grumbling sound seemed to be getting louder. No, that’s not quite right, he thought, it’s getting closer. Slow-ly, he pulled a 9mm pistol from his belt (taking a split second to ask himself why he had waited this long to do so) and cocked a bullet into the chamber. Looking to his left, he tried desperately to peer through the rows of corn stalks to find his father, and at that moment, the stalks began to sway.
For a second he still didn’t see anything, but as his eyes focused he could finally make out the dark, hulking shape of the creature moving toward him.
Jack quickly raised his gun and pulled the trigger.
Frank heard the gunshots break the eerie silence of the night, only moments before a bullet whizzed by his ear.
“Jack,” the Old Man shouted, “use your sword or we’ll end up shooting each other.”
Pulling his own sword, Frank caught movement in his peripheral vision and turned to see an angry werewolf moving toward him. He swung the sword up and the blade moved cleanly through the monster‘s neck. He watched the head roll and come to rest at the large feet of another werewolf. Looking around, he now realized they had been lured into a trap. The cornfield was full of werewolves and they were closing in fast.
Benny heard the shots being fired in the cornfield below, as well as his father’s shouts afterward. Dropping the crowbar and grabbing his sword off the ground he sprinted for the old picket fence at the bottom of the hill, with every inten-sion of helping his father and brother. He had nearly reached the fence when he heard the low sound of cement sliding against cement. He turned slowly and beheld the ghostly form of Odin Sway emerging from the open doorway of the mauso-leum.
A primal rage seemed to awaken inside of him and he ran back up the hill, using his free hand to draw a 45 semi-automatic pistol from his belt as he went. The weight of the gun felt positively exhilarating as he raised it to aim at the monster’s head. He was going to enjoy this kill most of all.
He pulled the trigger and the force of the blast nearly caused him to fall over. The bullet struck the side of the mau-soleum, where Odin’s head was a split second earlier. It ap-peared his father wasn’t exaggerating about the vampire’s speed.
Benny stopped, dropped his sword back to the ground, and steadying his feet, he brought the heavy gun up again, this time holding it with both hands.
“You missed,” Odin said. He was now crouched atop a headstone to Benny’s right.
Benny took aim and fired, but again the vampire was moving with unbelievable speed. This time he stopped with his nose only a half an inch from Benny’s. In a flash the gun was removed from Benny’s hand and when Odin moved again, he left the pistol at Benny’s feet, broken into pieces.
It was at this moment Benny felt an immense hope-lessness set into the pit of his stomach and threaten to swallow his entire body. He was breathing hard and somehow, he knew that Odin Sway was standing behind him. He turned to face the vampire and found him leaning his right elbow against a tall, eloquent monument that stood about ten yards away
“You have a sword there,” Odin said, “why don’t you use it?”
Benny thought the villain was toying with him, trying to trick him into doing something stupid, but it was hard to tell. Odin’s face showed no emotion at all and Benny once again felt that strange attraction trying to take over. He knew it was only his overwhelming hatred for the creature that kept the spell in check.
Slowly, Benny stepped toward his sword and as he bent down to retrieve it with his right hand; he slipped his left up to his side and gripped the butt of an Uzi. With amazingly quick reflexes (for a human) he brought the Uzi up to fire. Before he pulled the trigger the gun was violently ripped from his hand and Odin Sway appeared back in front of the mausoleum with the weapon held up to his cheek like an actor in a buddy cop film.
Odin appeared to be taking no pleasure in this fiasco, nor did he seem angered, he merely tossed the gun aside and spoke to Benny in a low emotionless tone. “Guns are so unci-vilized Mr. Writeman, please, show me your skill with that beautifully crafted blade. It’s been so long since I’ve had any-one challenge me.”
“Somehow, I don’t think your desire for a challenge would be fulfilled,” Benny said, unable to hide the anger in his voice.
“Perhaps,” Odin returned in the same monotone voice. “Nevertheless, you seem to be getting nowhere with your popguns.”
From a short distance behind him, Benny could hear his brother shouting some obscenities, followed by an inhu-man howl of pain. It sounded as though they had things under control, he found that at least a little comforting.
Benny reached down and picked up the sword. “Fine, have it your way.”
Odin Sway pulled his walking cane apart to reveal a gleaming blade from within. The sight of the blade only in-creased Benny’s rage, knowing full well this was the same one that killed his wife and shattered his world.
He pulled his sword out (tossing the sheath aside) and gripped the hilt with both hands, raising it up into a defensive position.
Odin Sway held his thin, long blade up with his right hand and placed his left behind his back, crouching in a classic fencing stance.
For a moment the two men only stared at each other, each one trying to predict the others first move.
It was Benny that struck first, swinging his sword in a wide arch from his right side. The vampire blocked the attack without much ef-fort, as well as the two blows that followed.
In a blur of motion that left Benny surrounded by a cyclone of fallen dead leaves, Odin sliced a long gash in his left shoulder blade. Benny’s cloths began to feel sticky with the warm liquid that was pouring from the wound. He spun, bringing the sword upward as he turned, but Odin was no longer behind him. An instant later he felt his right thigh split open and a blossom of fresh pain rack his body.
Benny dropped to his knees just before another cut appeared on his right cheek. Suddenly he was on all fours, watching his blood dripping on a large orange leaf. He felt an urge to stay there and see what kind of fascinating image would appear before Odin ended his life. Odin, however, was standing nearby, patiently waiting for his prey to stand back up and ready his sword.
With Great effort, Benny got to his feet and looked the vampire in the eyes. He couldn’t let it end here. Avenging Autumn was the only thing that had kept him alive the last 24 hours. He had to prevail somehow.
“Why do you stand?” Odin asked, “can’t you see that you’re beaten?”
Was that a hint of sympathy Benny heard in this creature’s voice, or was the loss of blood affecting his perception? Are these beings even capable of such feelings?
Benny raised his sword once more but a quick swing of Odin’s blade ripped the weapon from his hand. Suddenly, Benny found himself without a weapon and the cold, long blade of Odin Sway’s sword pressed against his jugular. Ben-ny looked into the vampire’s eyes and was again astounded by the lack of emotion there.
“I’m sorry, my friend,” Odin said, “but this has gone way too far already, it needs to end now.”
Benny closed his eyes and began whispering to him-self as he waited to feel the blade rip into his throat.
With a suddenness that even made the vampire jump, the back door of the hearse flung open and Autumn stepped out.
Odin stared at the dead girl, and as he slowly backed away from Benny, a real emotion finally took over his stern face. That emotion was pure horror.
Autumn began to speak, but Odin’s reaction to seeing her seemed to catch her off guard and her words were forgotten. Instead, her jaw only remained slack with shock.
Odin was still backing away when he tripped over a short headstone and (much to Benny and Autumn’s surprise) continued to scuttle and kick himself away from the approaching dead girl.
Benny was so surprised by this turn of events that he only stood there for a moment, staring at the hysterical vam-pire as it scuttled away from his wife. With an effort, he shook off the shock, picked up his sword and darted for Odin Sway. This was his best chance to kill the vampire before he could escape.
As Benny swung the sword, Odin quickly smacked the ground with both hands and raised himself up into the air. All Benny could do was watch, as his wife’s murderer flew away and disappeared into the night sky.
Frank had killed three werewolves and was trying desperately to find Jack through the tall corn stalks. He had heard the gunfire from the graveyard and decided against the urge to go help Benny. He knew Benny’s determination would keep him on his toes; however, his oldest son was having trouble dealing with this little adventure they were on. He was nervous, apprehensive, and, sometimes, just downright scared.
“Jack,” he shouted, “where are you?”
“Over here,” he heard Jack call back from his right.
“Keep talking, I’m coming to find you.”
“Hurry up, Dad, I need your help.”
Frank moved through the stalks as fast as he could and a few rows over, nearly ran into his son.
“Jack, are you alright?” Looking around, Frank saw two dead werewolves back the way Jack had come.
“I’m fine,” Jack replied, “for now.”
The old man followed Jack’s gaze and he could make out the dark shapes of five more werewolves closing in on them.
“C’mon,” Frank said, “back the way I came.”
But as the two men turned, they found more monstr-ous figures moving through the stalks toward them. Frank grabbed his oldest son by the arm and turned back toward the graveyard, but again their path was blocked. They were com-pletely surrounded by the beasts.
“What…What do we do now, Dad?” Jack whispered. “What do we do?”
Frank could tell he was on the verge of losing his composure. The Old Man quickly stowed his sword back in its sheath. “Guns!” he exclaimed, trying hard to put some meas-ure of confidence in his voice. “Put your back against mine and start firing. Don’t stop until we’re the only motherfuckers standing in this cornfield. Do you understand?”
Jack swallowed hard, “Yes,” was all he said.
“And whatever you do, don’t let one of them bite you.”
“Right,” Jack said, replacing his sword on his back and pulling two 9mm semi-automatic pistols from their hol-sters. Frank thought his oldest boy sounded a little surer of himself.
The Old Man pulled an Uzi that was strapped to his back and began to fire, holding the grip of the weapon with his left hand in an effort to control the kick.
The Uzi spoke in short barks, tearing through cornstalks and werewolves alike. Frank could hear the rapid fire of the two 9’s Jack held as well as the satisfying cries of pain from the creatures moving in on them. They may just make it out of this one.
Just then, Frank noticed something that turned his blood ice cold. The werewolves they shot were falling dead, but there were more moving in behind them, only these were not creeping, but running at full speed.
The clip on Frank’s Uzi went empty and he dropped the gun and pulled two .45’s from his belt. The werewolves were getting closer and there seemed to be an endless stream of them hiding in the giant cornfield.
Frank turned to his right in time to see a large were-wolf leaping toward him. He raised the .45 in his right hand and the cannon like blast sent the creature reeling back the direction it had come with the top of it’s head torn off.
Jack kept his pistols blazing until they were both empty. He then tossed the guns aside and pulled two more 9’s from shoulder holsters. The werewolves were unlike anything he had ever imagined. Oh, how TV and movies had lied to him. These things walked on their hind legs and at full height were nearly ten feet tall. Now that they were on full attack they weren’t bothering to lay low and hide in the stalks. Be-sides, there weren’t a lot of stalks left to hide behind, especial-ly where Frank had used the Uzi.
As the werewolves drew closer, they began to swipe at them with long, hideous claws. They didn’t seem to be mindless killers at all, but organized, intelligent beings.
Suddenly the werewolves were coming at them in waves, and Frank and Jack both knew the next time they ran out of bullets, they were dead.
One of Frank’s .45’s blew a gaping hole in a were-wolf’s chest, while another’s eye exploded from Jack’s 9mm slug. This one’s throat erupted in a volcanic shower of blood. That one’s crotch caught a searing round and it let out a high pitched squeal as it fell. This one got the 45 point blank in the mouth, covering the monster behind it with brain and shattered teeth. That one got the 9mm point blank and it’s heart disintegrated in it’s chest. On and on it went until finally, Frank and Jack’s guns were clicking on empty chambers.
This was it.
Both men knew they were about to die.
Jack closed his eyes, while Frank only stared up de-fiantly at the werewolf in front of him, it’s claw raised in preparation of tearing the old man’s face off.
With the suddenness of a lightning crash, there was an eruption of automatic gunfire and the werewolf that was about to strike Frank was being riddled with bullet holes. Frank and Jack (as well as all of the werewolves surrounding them) turned to see were the shots had come from. A smile came over the Old Man’s face as he watched the hearse plow through the cornfield with his youngest son laying flat on
the roof and firing an AR-15 into the large crowd of werewolves.
Frank was not one to let an opportunity like this pass by. “Swords!” he yelled pulling his sword from its sheath once more.
Jack followed suit, and the two men began hacking away at the surrounding creatures as they cleared a path to the hearse.
The oldest Writeman boy could feel all the fear start-ing to rush from his body as it was replaced by pure adrena-line. Now that he had the sword in hand, and for the first time noticed the ease at which it sliced through their attackers, he knew he was lost to the total carnage. Although it shamed him to admit it, killing werewolves was something he could get used to.
After turning back toward the graveyard, the hearse came to a stop well clear of the pursuing werewolves. Benny jumped off the roof and yelled to his Father and Brother. “Get in the back, I’ll cover you.”
Frank and Jack opened the door and jumped in the back of the car while Benny picked off the werewolves with amazing accuracy.
After the two men were in the back, Benny ran for the passenger side door and jumped in.
“Go!” he shouted.
Autumn laid her foot on the gas and the car wheels began to spin in the soft soil of the cornfield.
“Shit!” Benny exclaimed, “Just try to pull out slow-ly.”
Autumn let off the gas and then began to press the peddle back down, lightly. She glanced into the rearview mir-ror and could see the monsters were closing in fast.
Looking in the back, Benny saw his Father hand Jack an AK-47 and then grabbed a belt that had six fist sized balls hanging from it.
“Ha ha, watch this,” Frank shouted maniacally, throwing the belt out the back window. Two seconds later, there was a large explosion and about twenty werewolves fell dead.
“Holy shit!” Jack shouted.
“Silver shrapnel grenades,” the old man said, still grinning.
Autumn had the car moving well now and soon they were back in the graveyard’s narrow, winding road. She felt the car pull as they hit a curve and knew she had to slow down or they would end up hitting one of the many surrounding trees.
Avenging Autumn: Seasons Change Book 1 of 4 Page 8