Midnight Liberty League - Part I

by Brock Law

night. If the President was going to say anything, it wasn’t going to be a mere pleasantry. Pensive though his face frequently was, whatever he was thinking about wasn’t causing him any more concern than usual. With arms crossed, and despite his inclination to be on the offensive, he steadfastly imposed as much intimidation towards the night as its appointed stalkers did to him.

  Midnight was upon them. Just as last time, the overwhelming feeling of being watched was constant. At least now they knew what would come. If they stayed sharp for just a few more hours, it could end tonight.

  A fluttering burst erupted from the canopy of the trees. A great owl shot out of the leaves and frantically climbed into the sky. Its piercing screech jolted the men as it clamored to escape the field. It passed over and was heard hurriedly flapping into the distance. The beating wings were accompanied by a similarly constant thump from the woods. Paralyzed by the muted drumming, they stared into the trees. They searched for the enemy they knew was lurking. Even with that awareness, however, they couldn’t fight the fear that something was different. The approach was louder, deliberate and menacing. Now that the vampires had apparently decided to engage, they made no attempt to shield their tactic.

  Out of the veil, red orbs glistened like an army’s distant camp fires. All along the edge of the field they flicked on, keen to reflect back the intrusive light of the house. Bulging limbs parted the bushes, as they emerged and fanned out around the solitary stone edifice.

  Will could see the unsteady heaving of their chests, seeming perturbed and spastic. In place of an impressive display of military harmony, there was a desirous swaying along their line. Their heads laid low, shoulders arched, knees bent, spines bristled, fingers spread and gazes focused.

  “I don’t see Mengele,” Washington noticed.

  “I see Brunner,” Will answered with worry. “He looks…rabid.”

  “This doesn’t look like a negotiation,” Franklin surmised.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Will responded.

  Unified in force, the Nazis took several testing steps forward. The full line came out from the thicket in a hemispheric perimeter. Spying the meager resistance, they shambled towards the trio with flexing hands and biting jaws. Hungry eyes tugged up drooling lips to expose their gaping appetite. They approached together, no single monster separating himself to encounter the immortals and their companion. The Americans revealed their interpretation with a mutual back step.

  “I think we should quit this place with all possible haste,” Franklin suggested.

  “Agreed,” Will quickly encouraged.

  “On my mark,” Washington held with baited breath.

  “Ready,” Will choked.

  “Run!”

  They took off nearly on the tail feathers of the owl. Behind them the storming of boots clomped across the plain in hot pursuit. Washington’s long stride kept him in perfect step with the powerful quarterback, but Franklin was already trailing dangerously far. They dashed headlong across the pastures. Ripping along the grass they pulled themselves ahead in little spurts by pumping their arms. Will leaned forward, near falling over to push himself harder and prevent collapse. They sailed over the edge of a declining hill and lumbered down in huge leaps. Each bound sent a flaring pain into Will’s buckling knees. His ankles weakened from the gravity, cracked and wiggled when each joint impacted in succession from the weighty ripple of his upper body.

  “We need to get back to the truck,” Washington snuffed through hefty breathes.

  “We’re going the wrong way,” Will replied with the same exhaustion. “How are we going to get around them?”

  “Head for that grove,” Washington pointed, “we’ll have to circle back somehow. We can lose them in the trees.”

  Will threw a quick glance over his shoulder. The vampires had maintained the pace, but they were floundering wildly in a chaotic mosh. It was like one giant multi-legged creature piling over itself to chase them. How many exactly were following was unknown, but it was enough to extinguish the three of them, immortal or not.

  Will shouted back, “Come on Ben!”

  Franklin’s stamina, thanks to the blood in his veins, went unchecked as he chugged forward. The portly founder, although shuffling with Olympic tenacity, was outmatched. They were closing in on the woods, but he drifted further back. Will slowed to support him, but Franklin waved him on ahead.

  The vampires lurched over the hill. Their speed began to show signs of fatigue. They reeled erratically, got tangled up and pushed each other out of the way. Will made it to the base of a sturdy oak, just at the barrier of the woodland. Franklin was closing in, using the momentum of his waistline to stumble forward. Will waited, hopping in place, impatient for Franklin to reach him. Just as the immortal breached the trees, the two changed course and skated off in Washington’s wake.

  Weaving between trunks, they streamed through the foliage. The lesser plants caught Will’s feet, but he broke through as they whacked at his shins. He ducked under every overhang, dodged every pit and scraped along the leaves to let them tear off the burrs that jabbed through his jeans.

  From behind he could hear the vampires entering the wood with the same trouble. Their cries of hunger and pain dispersed throughout the dense brush. Whether teeth or brambles, the raucous gnashing came from all sides. Impossibly, they were being flanked as the Nazis caught up. Will didn’t look back, but he could hear the beating coming closer as he sprang over the rocks on the forest floor.

  “They’re everywhere,” Will shouted up to Washington.

  “Once we get through, keep going and lead them out,” Washington commanded. “I’ll get the truck. Run to the far end of the park where the highway intersects. I’ll be there.”

  They were closing in on the edge of the trees, beyond which was another open field. Will knew it was a bad idea to split up, but he didn’t have time to argue with the Commander-in-Chief. He bit hard, charged, and exploded through a mesh of vines.

  The welcoming soil beneath hastened his velocity. After only a few paces though, his footsteps were alone. Washington had circled back, and the slower Franklin must have taken cover somewhere. There was a brief moment of respite, until the jumbling uproar in the wood came towards him. Indulging in one quick glance, Will immediately saw the first pair of red eyes beam through and burst forth.

  Flat out, he torched his best sprint time, but he could feel his legs starting to give a little. He wasn’t much of an endurance runner, but being chased at full speed by murderers kept him going.

  The beleaguered hustle from behind continued. The Nazis frothed and growled, which released the instinctive hate in their relentless hunt. Will was still surpassing the odds, but these regular marathons were eventually going to overwhelm him.

  He checked his rear view again. They were amassing in formation, some twenty or thirty, running after the collegiate blur in the darkness. Will edged ahead as they wearied, but realized that he would soon be out of options. In the far ground the roadway approached. He needed to stop or divert somehow to save time. Maybe, though, he should keep pressing on. Washington had little chance to avoid those numbers. Even if he had escaped he could never get to the road in time to meet Will before he was overtaken. The situation was hopeless, Washington could have bailed. Will was the one with the most to lose. He just needed to keep running, faster, until he found a car or a house. He needed another outlet. No, it was George Washington, he was coming back.

  In the adjacent clearing was another of the park’s museum staples. Several replica huts used by Continental soldiers during the encampment stood. Feeling a cramp coming up through his calf, Will veered off towards the log village. He stumbled, his left leg inflamed. Each hobble begot a furious leap to keep up his drive. The vampires were falling back, depleting their unnatural source of energy. The cluster of huts came within reach. Will could feel the pain getting worse. Soon he wouldn’t be able to stave it off.

  The miserable looking shelters became unusually inviti
ng, much as he imagined they were for the freezing troops of 1778. Will entered the compound, and began to down shift his respiration. As he staggered through the rows of timber barracks, he frantically peered inside each for momentary cover before moving to the next. Most were barren examples of rudimentary battlefield architecture, but some exhibited sleeping platforms and musket racks. To his dismay, they only possessed one doorway.

  Finding one that had tiers of bunks against the walls, he paused and turned back to scour the landscape. No one had followed this far, nor was the tumult of the hunting party audible nearby. His misdirection must have worked, aided by his pressured distancing. The road was still a couple minute sprint from the hut, but reachable on short notice. Will fell back and plopped on a bunk.

  His legs were spent, breath short, and head on fire. His skin tingled from the salty expulsion of sweat, which splashed in the dirt between his feet. Ignoring it, he worked to tame his heart and lungs. The gears in his ventricles were still turning over, urging him forward despite being parked. He cupped his mouth and swallowed, stale coughs wheezing through his fingers. He packed them back down into his shriveled organs, and tried to deflate the desperate sputter.

  After a minute, the scratchy passage of air in his throat calmed enough for him to hear the tones of the fields