by Mark Tufo
Bailey gave a quick recounting of coming across the children and how she had pressured Michael into attempting to save them. She did not hesitate the retelling, even as she spoke about killing Nemmon, Breealla’s brother. “I waited for as long as I could for his return, but when it was clear to me that was not going to happen I felt it was my duty to get the girl to safety and to warn of what had happened.”
“This is my doing. I have gotten Tommy and now Michael killed. Two vampires who have lived for a combined age of over seven hundred years have both died within the last month because of me. What have I done?” The look of terror made Azile look more like the young woman she had been before witchcraft had unnaturally extended her life.
She was scared and now alone, as those who could understand her time and where she had come from were now gone. A war that they had previously had little hope of winning now looked futile. Azile felt like she was spiraling down a fast moving drain pipe.
“Azile?” Bailey had not yet let go of her forearm, thinking correctly that the witch had not yet secured her footing.
“What have I done, Bailey? I have doomed us all.”
“We will do what we have always done. We will fight.”
“Should I convene the council?” Chairperson Gount was looking on with a growing sense of dread and concern.
Azile had been a moment away from saying, “why bother?” but she reigned in her negativity. “Perhaps later. I am not feeling all that well.”
“Understandable,” Gount replied. “We are better off without him.” Gount had waited until Azile was well out of earshot before he spoke the words. Even so, he saw Azile pause and bristle. She did not turn, but continued on her current path.
“Better off in what way?” Bailey asked.
“I did not believe him to be who he said he was. And even, if by some cruel twist of fate, he were still alive, I believe that our town’s founder may have embellished the deeds to, in turn, make his own look more impressive.”
Bailey’s knife was out before she even realized she’d drawn it. The point of the blade was underneath Gount’s chin, pushing his head skyward. Soon he would look like a baby bird waiting expectantly for his mother’s return with a juicy morsel of regurgitated worms.
“How dare you question my lineage or that of Michael Talbot! He was as honorable and brave a man as I have ever met. While you were uselessly flapping your over-sized jowls, he was taking action and sacrificing his well-being for the safety of others. Now that he has paid the ultimate price for that, you would besmirch him? How about you get your lard packed ass out into the field and prove yourself.”
“I...I...I am too old,” Gount sputtered.
“And what did you do before your ‘advanced’ age?” Bailey sneered. “I mean, besides learn how to eloquently flutter your tongue inside your head? I’m sure the Lycan, when they come to our gates, will be just as enthralled when you speak as the populace here.” Bailey quickly sheathed her knife, a droplet of blood falling to the ground from where she’d just pierced the skin.
“There will be repercussions for this!” Gount shouted at her retreating back. He thought incorrectly that Bailey had used up all her anger; he was wrong and realized it when she turned around.
“What exactly do you mean by repercussions, Chairperson?”
Gount held his hands up in defense lest she brandish her knife again.
“You cannot threaten a councilman and not expect punishment. That is not the society we are building here!” Red flared up his cheeks.
“We are not going to have a society for much longer, Chairperson. When things really start to get bad, who do you think these people are going to want to lead them? Someone who knows what to do, or someone who can only talk about doing it? Keep that in mind before you act too hastily.”
Gount’s mouth slammed shut as Bailey looked down at him. Her fists weren’t quite closed, but they were moving in that general direction. Gount stormed off before the conflict could escalate any further.
Bailey brought Breealla back to her domicile after the child told her that she did not wish to go to the home of the village elder who could look her over for any injuries.
“He seemed mad.” Breealla was referring to Gount. She was seated on a small stool, watching as Bailey strode back and forth across the room stuffing clothes and supplies into a bag she had procured from a different room.
A knock came at the door a few moments later. Azile was standing on the entryway as Bailey opened the door.
“May I?” Azile asked, motioning her desire to come in.
“What do you want, Azile?”
Azile strode past Bailey when she realized she was not going to get an invitation. “Gount has called for an emergency session. It appears that he wants to have you thrown off the council and perhaps placed in custody.”
“He wouldn’t dare!” Bailey roared. “I should have shoved the knife up harder and maybe stirred some sense into that fat head of his.”
“Where are you going?” Azile asked, seeing the bag and a fair amount of drawers and cupboards open.
“I’m taking Breealla to Denarth. She will be safer there.”
“You have not heard?”
“Have not heard what, Azile? I have just returned from being out for over a month.”
“Denarth has closed her gates to all comers. They’d let in an infected person without knowing. She killed nine people before they were able to bring her down. There are rumors that they are preparing for war with Talboton.”
“War with us? For what reason? Have they gone insane?”
“They want the weapons.”
“Why don’t we just send some more riflemen?”
“They want them all.”
“They will be sacrificing their people in a vain attempt to get these weapons, and we will be using our already diminished supply of bullets to deter them. Even if they somehow won, the rifles would be nearly useless by that time.”
“It is a no-win situation, but no amount of convincing on my part would dissuade them from their present course of action. They believe Talboton to be sitting on a nearly limitless supply of ammunition. You could not even prevent the war by giving them the rifles, for they would still attack, looking for this supply.”
“This is madness. The world has gone insane.”
“Perhaps Michael was right; any world with man will always be unsettled. Is any of it worth saving?”
“Are you alright, Azile? I have seen you plenty angry before but never…never this. You seem defeated.” Bailey had calmed considerably when she realized there was someone in more need than herself.
Azile had her hands clasped in front of her down by her waist, looking intently at where her fingers were intertwined. “I loved him. I still do.”
Bailey knew enough not to question who, as it was obvious when Azile’s demeanor had changed so quickly upon hearing the news.
“He saved me. Not many know that. Well, I guess really only you and I, now that he and Tommy are gone. I’d been kidnapped, and he rescued me in this ridiculous outfit. Some clothes he’d found that were about three sizes too small.” She laughed a little while also wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “I fell for him the moment I saw him. Back then, he was close to double my age, so I guess it was more of a fatherly thing—him saving me and all. He was so kind and ruthless when he needed to be. He protected those close to him like a demon possessed.” She was crying now. Bailey pulled up another stool for her to sit on.
“I’m sorry,” she said after she finally composed herself. “I watched him waste away spiritually in that house for close to a hundred years, each year telling myself that this was going to be the one I professed my love for him. I think that I didn’t because I was so sure he was going to reject me. His love for Tracy almost bordered on the mythical. Two people could not be more soul-bound than they were. Their energy would find each other no matter the circumstances. I did not think that I could ever compete with that,
so I let him be. There was still a lot of the man I used to know, but there was also a large part that had been blocked off and had since blackened and rotted away like the skin of a dying man.”
“The Red Witch kept her tongue silent for that long? Please excuse me if I am having a hard time believing that.” Bailey sat down next to Azile. “I would not think that anything would intimidate you so.”
“He has that effect on people.”
“Perhaps it is so, even BT who loved and respected the man, was in some ways intimidated by him.”
“Really? BT intimidated by Michael? Now that I find hard to believe.” Azile had a soft, sad smile upon her lips. “The man was a walking battleship.”
“He did not come out and say it in so many words, but it was something about the depths of Mike’s resolve that sometimes bordered on insanity in his actions that I believe scared my great-grandfather.”
“Now you have an idea of what I was feeling. I did not know when it would be an acceptable time to tell him how I felt. Is a bond formed by soul mates ever broken? I did not want him to be angry with me like I was trying to make him forget about his wife. Now he will wander purgatory for all eternity never knowing how I truly felt. He will never reunite with his wife, his soul, or with me.” Azile hunched over, placing her face in her hands as she sobbed uncontrollably.
After a while, Bailey helped Azile into her guest room and laid her down.
“We don’t have time to sleep,” Azile protested mildly.
“Mourn, Red…Azile. The problems will not go anywhere untended to.”
“That is my concern.”
“Rest, Azile. You cannot show the weakness that is on your face right now to those outside. You are a symbol of something much stronger. If you look beaten down, my people will feel it as well.”
Chapter Thirteen – Mike Journal Entry 8
It was a couple of days more before Mathieu did more than grunt in acknowledgement to my presence. I think part of it was that he was pissed; I think another part was he had to remember to be human again. He’d been a ferocious, wild animal a couple of nights ago. Now he had to be a somewhat civilized human being, having conversation and niceties, and potentially raising his pinkie finger as he drank a cup of tea from a delicate floral piece of china. Had to be a hell of a transition. Shit, I was basically human most of the time, and I could barely pull it off.
By the morning of the third day, he was ready to travel; which was good, as I’d done a number on the deer and was feeling a bit like a couch potato. A little football on the television and a remote…I would have been all set.
Mathieu arose from the shelter. I was already up, actually hadn’t even slept now that I think about it. I was watching the sunrise before he stepped in front of it and began to stretch.
“You mind?”
“Haven’t you seen like fifty thousand of those?” he asked when he realized what I was looking at.
“Yeah, and every one of them better than staring at your pasty ass stomach.”
“I’m sorry for the way I have behaved the last few days.”
“I told you before and I’ll tell you again, don’t worry about it. Just leave it at that.”
“Should we get going?”
“Yeah, maybe I can work off the image you just indelibly fried into my mind as we walk.”
My leg, which had been tender when we had first ventured out, was getting stronger every day. The break had done me wonders and we were able to make some decent headway now that we were back on the road. I had made enough jerky to last us a good week or so; all we really had to do was make sure we replenished our water supply periodically. Other than that, we fell into a good routine of walking, talking, and generally just sharing each other’s company. I’d not been able to have that easygoing feeling with anyone since BT, and I was extremely thankful for it.
“How much longer you think until we get to this town you keep talking about?”
Mathieu had asked this question every day as we arose. I smiled. I think he was getting nervous with the prospect of being around other people. I think we hit it off because we recognized that within each other. I’d never been comfortable around other people even before I’d gone on my self-imposed regiment of isolationism.
“I can’t imagine it’ll be more than a week,” I’d responded with the same answer since he’d started asking. If he caught on to my ruse, he hadn’t let me know. Maybe he was more at ease with my answer than if I said, “We’re almost there.” Just like Little Orphan Annie it was always, “Tomorrow.” Shit, now I was left wondering if the writer of that song had meant it the same way I had.
In reality we were maybe three or four days out, wasn’t really sure. Stuff looked familiar, but then again, every poplar tree I’d seen looked like the next one. Seen one cedar tree, you’ve seen them all. I guess I was a treeist. I laughed at my own pathetic joke.
“Something funny?”
“I laughed out loud? That’s really the problem with being alone for so long, you lose social norms.”
“I haven’t.”
“Oh, really? That wasn’t you taking a shit in front of our lean-to two nights ago? The stench was unbearable. Thought I was going to choke on the thickness of it.”
“I’m sorry. It was all the meat.” His cheeks were hot and had a red, embarrassed hue to them.
I had him where I wanted him, and no way was I letting him off the hook any time soon.
“It’s not that you were relieving yourself, it was your choice of locations. I mean, I guess unless you were trying to send me a message or something. Like you no longer wanted to share the shelter. Really, Mathieu, you could have just told me. I’m a reasonable man, I would have understood.”
“I was half asleep, I didn’t know what I was doing,” he pleaded.
“You always hum in your sleep? Seemed like you were having a grand old time.”
“Can we possibly talk about something besides my misplaced bowel movement?”
“We could, but we’re not going to. Even beasts in the wild don’t do that, they have the common courtesy to step away from the habitat they share with others—”
“I GET IT, MICHAEL!” he yelled.
“Well, there’s really no need to get loud. I was just saying.”
He sighed heavily.
“Aren’t you glad we met?”
He did not immediately reply. I thought I was going to have to repeal my statement and apologize for antagonizing him, and then I saw what had captured his attention. We’d traveled off the main trail in search of a game trail. Maybe fry up some fat rabbits or even find some berries, which would be a nice change from the paleo-man diet. I loved meat, but a little variety would go a long way right now. I’d even eat some of those leafy salads Tracy used to push on me if given the chance.
“What is that?” he asked, pointing.
The structure’s walls were crumbling. Vines had crawled up a significant portion of what was left still standing. Fences that I’m sure at one time had been there had rusted away, leaving nothing more than a fine residue coating of red to stain their concrete footings. I wasn’t completely certain, but given the size, shape, foreboding look and the one gun tower still standing, it was a prison, which I told Mathieu.
“Did this hold all the bad people in the entire world?” he asked as he took in the scope of the thing. Even though only a portion was still standing it was enormous, easily spanning a few hundred yards across and double that to the back.
“Sadly, no. This one maybe covered the general area. There were hundreds, probably thousands more of these things across the country. I couldn’t even begin to tell you how many were in other countries.”
“Were people really that bad?” he asked as he strode closer.
“Some, I guess. Prisons had become something of a business in the end.”
“What?” He was incredulous.
“Yeah, the government spent huge amounts of money on the prisons to house the prisoners.
So you would have thought it would have been a good idea for the government to maybe invest in better education and work opportunities. Nope, didn’t happen that way. What did happen was these corporations that started running the prisons would give the law makers more money to make more laws with stiffer penalties thus ensuring that the prisons always stayed stuffed with humanity’s throwaways.”
“I think I’m happier I live in this time period, even if what half of what you talk about was true.”
“You should be. That is but one tale of greed and corruption, and on the grand scale of things, probably on the lower end. And if one half of what I talked about was true? What’s that mean?”
“I am having a hard time believing in machines that flew like birds and carried people around the world. Or boxes in every home that showed what you call movies or moving stories. Or a device that would let me talk to someone no matter where they were. What did you call that? A ‘jone?’ ”
“Phone, telephone. You lived in a nuclear bomb facility, yet you have a hard time believing those things? Hey, where’re you going?”
“Perhaps there is something in there that will validate the things you’re talking about.”
I knew he was just giving me a hard time. He’d seen all of that and more in the magazines he’d found.
“Mathieu, that place wasn’t safe to go into when it was new and it certainly isn’t now.”
“It is rare to stumble upon these relics so I think it is worth some of our time to investigate.”
“Don’t give me that shit. I know what this is about, you’re stalling.”
“Stalling?”
“Yeah. You don’t want to get to Talboton.”
“I do not know what you are talking about.” He was not looking at me when he uttered those words, because he would not have been able to hide the lie they were wrapped up in if I was able to see his facial features.
“This is sketchy,” I said as I placed my hand on the wall next to the entrance and a fair amount crumbled away and onto the ground.
“What are you worried about? You’re immortal,” Mathieu said as he stepped in.