Strigoi

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Strigoi Page 27

by John O'Brien


  “Now if you please, Lynn. Everyone, take cover,” I call.

  I turn sideways behind the trunk of a tree, trying to make myself as skinny as possible. Overhead, the drone of the gunship is faintly heard above the continued crashing of vampires through the undergrowth. A rapid series of four faded chunks sound from above, followed seconds later by a string of explosions uphill. Shrapnel whines through the jungle, along with heavy thunks of steel embedding into the trees. Branches snap and fall all around.

  I take a small step to the side to keep the trunk between me and the next succession of explosions, doing the same with the final four 40mm rounds striking the jungle floor.

  Okay, now, I think, bringing my carbine to bear as I round the trunk to engage any remaining vampires.

  The mist has been cleared in sections from the heat, revealing a torn jungle with mangled bushes mixing with turned soil. However, it’s the vampire coming through the air that has my immediate attention. It’s in mid-air above me, having leapt from uphill. Its arms are stretched in front, reaching out with sharpened nails. The lips are peeled back in a grimace, revealing pointed teeth, its eyes glowing like liquid silver. Although the thought surfaces that all of the teeth in these creatures are sharp, it doesn’t remain for long.

  There’s hardly any time to react. I step inside the reach of arms and start rotating to the side as the vampire slams into me, snarling directly into my ear. We both crash to the ground, its claws raking my back. Sliding down the slope, my arm up by its throat in an attempt to keep the gnashing teeth away, I smell the stink of decay and the freshly turned soil as we roll and slide.

  My vest has kept my back from being reduced to shreds, but I feel where the nails have sliced through my clothing and gouged my shoulders, the shark suit seeming to do little to stop the damage. I can either try to fend off the clawing hands or reach for my knife, my carbine cluttering down the slope with us at the end of its tether. My neck and back of my head simultaneously sting and burn as a taloned hand rakes across them.

  We hit one of the raised roots and spin. Grabbing a handful of tattered cloth at the vampire’s shoulder while keeping my forearm across its neck, I push with one leg and arm to roll somewhat on top. Pulling one of the knives from my side, I feel more slices along my neck as I plunge the knife under the sternum and drive the blade upward. A quick gush of liquid pours over my hand, more spurting as I engage the blade. I hear a hollow thunk and feel the recoil as the blades extend.

  The snarling vampire stiffens, the blood continuing to flow. I’d normally rotate the knife back and forth in a cutting motion to do more damage, but with the blades pneumatically held in place, they’ve become stuck inside the rib cage. The glowing eyes of the vampire dull, and the viscous black smoke begins to rise.

  Leaving the knife embedded in the creature’s chest, I rise and see that the fight has moved downhill with me. Without taking note of who is near me, I launch up the hill, all injuries and burn from my legs pushed into the background. A vampire has rifted behind one of the team.

  I yell a warning, only to see Henderson turn too suddenly to counter the threat, one of his legs tangling on an upraised root. He trips and falls toward me, rolling to protect himself from the fall. The vampire moves in an attempt to come down on my stricken teammate. Pushing hard with my legs, I slam directly into the front of the creature, much like the one I was just fighting did to me.

  We hit with a crunch of bodies. My head crashes against the strigoi’s and I’m a little stunned from the impact. We both go to the ground and start sliding down the steep slope. Face to face with the pale skin and gnashing teeth, I’m able to keep my arms in front to keep some separation. Tumbling over ridges and rocks keeps us both off balance, but I’m on the downhill side, so it has the advantage of leverage.

  Its head keeps lunging forward with its teeth clacking together as they try to find flesh. Putrid breath flows up my nostrils, and it’s all I can do to avoid the vampire taking a chunk out of my face or neck. We come to an abrupt halt, my breath leaving my body in a forced exhalation as I slam back first into a tree. Our heads hit again and I’m both stunned and fighting for breath.

  Move…Move, now dammit!

  I’d like to say clarity returns, but it’s more like a less dense fog. I manage to push the vampire a little distance away while groping for a knife. I feel like someone has taken a metal bat to my back and I can’t get enough air. Claws rake on my shoulders and upper arms, and then a heavy weight is pinning me in place.

  Suddenly the heaviness is lifted and I watch as the vampire is thrown against the tree with enough force to shake leaves loose. A huge shape is holding the strigoi in place and thrusts a knife into its throat as if they were aiming for next month. I hear the metallic thunk, then liquid splashes on my face as a head drops to the ground beside me and rolls down the hill.

  The body is tossed to the side with smoke rising from it. A giant hand extends downward.

  “If you’re done playing grab ass, chasing butterflies, or whatever it is you’re doing, perhaps you can get up and do some of that soldiering stuff,” Greg comments.

  “What took you so long?” I say, rising to my feet.

  “Meh. I wanted to see if you were the superhero everyone thinks you are,” Greg mentions.

  “And?”

  “Jury’s still out.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but there’s no superhero here.”

  “Good,” Greg comments.

  The snarling, yells, and the sounds of the fight have stopped. There’s no noise except for the rustling of bushes and the soft drone of the Spooky circling overhead.

  “So, are we done here?” I query.

  “It would appear so. Two that were chasing those hogs perished outright with the 40s. Denton and Gonzalez combined to take out another, McCafferty finished one, you had yours, and this one was mine,” Greg says, his hand waving to the strigoi on the ground nearby, which vanishes in a flash of orange.

  “McCafferty, huh?”

  “Yeah, not a parade princess, is she?” Greg comments. “She packs a lot into that tiny frame.”

  “Yes, yes she does.”

  After a quick search of the area and confirmation from Lynn that the tracker is gone, we head toward the field and catch a ride to a hot meal and shower.

  * * * * * *

  The newspapers had all been aflame with news of a new cartel war heating up in Mexico, but then that faded as something else caught the media’s attention. We all spent a couple of days at the resort, debriefing and having our injuries seen to. I walked through the complex as if in a dream, still unable to believe that we lived through something I didn’t initially see as survivable. It’s obvious that I’ll have to revamp that definition. However, I’ll be fine if I never have to go through something like that again. Box checked, never to do again.

  I walk through the front door, the kids rising from their seats.

  “That must have been a hell of a date,” Robert says.

  I feel the healing scratches along my cheek, the deeper gouges crusted over with scabs. How do you tell your kids that the monsters you scoffed at, the ones they swore were hidden behind closet doors and under beds, are real? And, how do you tell them to be home before dark? How do you protect them in such a world? Now that I know what else prowls the night, I want to wrap them up and toss them in a closet. The frustrating part is that I know I can’t do that, either.

  “Yeah, you don’t know the half of it, and the nights I’ve had,” I reply.

  “Ewww…Dad!” Bri and Nic say in unison.

  # # #

  About the Author

  John O'Brien is a former Air Force fighter instructor pilot who transitioned to Special Operations for the latter part of his career gathering his campaign ribbon for Desert Storm. Immediately following his military service, John became a firefighter/EMT with a local department. Along with becoming a firefighter, he fell into the Information Technology industry in corporate m
anagement. Currently, John is writing full-time.

  As a former marathon runner, John lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest and can now be found kayaking out in the waters of Puget Sound, mountain biking in the Capital Forest, hiking in the Olympic Peninsula, or pedaling his road bike along the many scenic roads.

  Connect with me online

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  https://Facebook.com/AuthorJohnWOBrien

  Twitter:

  https://Twitter.com/A_NewWorld

  Web Site:

  https://John-OBrien.com

  Email:

  [email protected]

 

 

 


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