End of an Age Page 7

  “There’s the Mike I know.” Tracy matched my smile, hers much more angelic than I could manage at my best.

  “It’s not too much farther, baby—I promise.” She was looking to her sides and sometimes behind, but mostly she watched over on me as I struggled. I noted that she was barefoot and hovering an inch or two off the ground. Nothing else mattered to me except to look upon her, to watch her, to see her. I would run until my heart exploded, until my lungs burst; her image was all I would focus on. Otherwise, I knew the immense pain would break through, the overwhelming fatigue would take permanent hold...the bleakness would plant its roots.

  “Baby? You never call me baby. How bad is this?”

  She shrugged.

  “Wait a minute...apparitions don’t shrug...isn’t that against the ghost code or something?”

  “My time here grows short. I’ve been discovered.”

  “Discovered? By whom? Tracy—no. Stay with me, please. I can’t do this; I can’t do any of this without you.” I was temporarily blinded by the stinging tears I wrung from my nearly dry reserve. I felt a coolness on my cheeks as her hands reached out to stroke them. A warm kiss planted on my lips spread through my limbs; for a moment, I was almost as weightless as my beautiful wife. For just that moment, I once again felt the union of our souls. My lips were still pursed when the bright light that illuminated her had been extinguished. She was gone and I was alone. Or so I thought.

  Chapter 5

  Mathieu

  MATHIEU DID HIS best to dive to the side, but his exhausted legs just caved in on themselves. He collapsed and fell over. Instead of the controlled leap he’d sought and no doubt pictured, he ended up rolling down the embankment. He could hear Mike panting and the zombies moaning right behind him, and he knew that he was not completely concealed—he just couldn’t do anything about it. His muscles were firing off independently of what he willed them to do. His legs twitched painfully, they alternated between seizing up and flopping like a landed fish. No matter how hard he sucked in, he could not get enough air to satisfy his lungs. He could not remember a single point in his life when his body had insisted on betraying him as much as it was right now. At least, when he turned into a werewolf he drew on the inner strength of the single-minded intentionality of turning into the beast. Right now his body and mind were in opposition; so many things were going wrong he could not even identify them all.

  As the zombies thundered right above him, he’d almost cried out when his hamstring pulled taught, effectively halting all thought and breathing. The charlie horse threatened to sever the large muscle neatly in two. He bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood as he fought to keep his leg straight and his mouth shut. He didn’t know how long he struggled with that muscle, but the zombies had passed by the time the contraction eased. A full ten seconds passed between the herd leaders and when the slowest of them lagged past.

  “There are more than a couple of dozen.” Mathieu was looking up at the stars. “I’m sorry, Michael. Good luck, brother.” With those last words, he passed out, dehydrated and completely spent.

  He awoke with a start some time later when he realized he was not alone. He took a moment to orient himself, keeping still until he could recall where he was and what had happened. There was no part of him that was neither stiff nor sore. He did his best to sit up quietly, hoping not to draw attention to himself. Whatever it was, was close, he couldn’t possibly escape an enemy in his present condition. Night was giving way to dawn, but the light was still not good enough to peer deeply. He was close to changing into his larger, predatory form when a sharp, short bark burst out.

  “Oggie? Is that you?” The big dog rushed out of the brush directly in front of him, wagging his entire body. “I am glad you are an ally,” he said when the dog came up and licked the side of his face. “Are you feeling as I am?” Mathieu asked as he grunted to stand. “We will need to get some water; then we will go and find our friend.” He could only hope that there was something left to find. The dog seemed fine and Mathieu was convinced that Michael and Oggie had a connection; if something had happened to Michael, Oggie would have known.

  “You ready?”

  Oggie barked in answer. Mathieu looked up the hill like it was Mount Everest, sighed, and then climbed it to get back on the path.

  Chapter 6

  Azile

  “IT HAS BEEN three days. I think we can safely assume he is not coming back.” Bailey had searched dawn to dusk for the missing trio, to no avail.

  “I thought he was just going to blow off steam.” Azile’s eyes expressed her deep concern.

  “If he were my man I would not have let him out of my sight.” Lana strode up. “What?” she asked innocently when she saw Bailey’s angry glare.

  “He could not truly have gone home,” Azile said.

  “You basically told him to stop being a bitch; I have never known a man to appreciate that,” Bailey said.

  “I didn’t mean it that way...I meant for him to quit his bitching.”

  “Nonetheless, the words you spoke conveyed a different meaning.”

  “Of all the things Michael is, a bitch isn’t one of them,” Lana said dreamily.

  “Give it a rest, will you Lana? He’s nearly thirty times your age!” Azile was getting riled up. Mike and Mathieu were gone, Denarth had still not opened her gates, and Xavier would be there soon.

  “Perhaps we should follow Michael to his home,” Bailey said.

  “Yes, I would love to see his home,” Lana cooed.

  “Wouldn’t you maybe like to braid your hair or possibly oil your breastplate?” Azile asked. Lana looked confused. “He did not go home.”

  “That is what he said,” Bailey interrupted Azile’s thoughts.

  “I know what he said. I figured he was just going to center himself and would come back in the morning. When Mathieu and he did not return, my unease began to grow.”

  “So where then?” Bailey and Lana asked together.

  “Mathieu would not have gone to Michael’s home, not with all that we are about to be confronted with.”

  Bailey stood quickly. “Is he insane?” she asked once she understood what Azile was thinking.

  “Clinically, he very well could be. Oh, Michael! What have I done?” Azile said. She sat down heavily, her head bowed, her face in her hands.

  “What are you two talking about?” Lana stood with her hands on her hips, her bottom lip protruding in a pout.

  “I fear he may have gone to take matters into his own hands,” Azile said.

  “That would be just like him. BT often said that he would do things that no sane, rational man would.” Bailey was grabbing her gear.

  “You can’t possibly catch up to him,” Azile said.

  “I must, at least, attempt to aid him; I would be dishonoring the legacy of my ancestors if I did not.”

  “Adding sacrifice upon sacrifice will not win this fight.”

  “You of all people, Azile, should not dissuade me from this course of action.”

  “They are three against a Lycan army. They cannot possibly succeed. I will have to live the rest of my days knowing I sent my love off to his death. I will not add another. You must remain here. Your people need you here to lead them.”

  “There are not enough left to lead, and I will not stay here while our backs are broken against the Denarth walls.”

  “My father is a proud man, but he is not a fool. I will talk to him again; I will make him understand.”

  “You have until tonight, Lana. Then I must take my people as far from this place as possible before the moon once again becomes full.”

  Lana turned and left without another word.

  “I do not know if he has a hero complex or suicidal tendencies; I do not think even he knows himself.”

  “Those are nearly the exact words my great-grandfather used, he wondered and worried all the time about Michael’s true intentions and whether they revolved around saving others or killing himsel
f. He will find a way back to us.”

  “I just hope it isn’t on the spiritual plane,” Azile said, as she abruptly walked away.

  Bailey looked toward the direction of Talboton; she very much wanted to gather a small force and pursue Michael, if only to find out how he died and perhaps retrieve his body. It was duty that kept her where she was. She owed it to those that were left to do her utmost to ensure their continued survival no matter how much it pained her to do so.

  Chapter 7

  Mike Journal Entry 4

  I DON’T KNOW how much time or how many miles passed, but the dark of night was being replaced by the burgeoning dawn just as I was emerging from the wooded path into a large field. I thought that perhaps my mind was playing tricks on me; there were people—hundreds maybe. I wanted to shout to them to get the fuck out of here. I couldn’t even wave at them. It seemed that every function of mine had been rerouted to just keeping my legs running. I’ve murdered them...I’ve murdered them all, I thought sadly. That was my bitter thought, until I saw their Lycan masters. I’d stumbled straight into the heart of the werewolf army. I would have laughed or cried, both seemed appropriate responses. The poor bastards ahead of me paused when they saw the pied piper of doom approaching. I could hear the cracks of whips as the Lycan attempted to keep their ragtag column moving forward to Denarth.

  “This is really going to fuck with Xavier’s well-laid plans.” I ran right past the lead man, he did not watch my passing; instead, he turned to follow. He didn’t make it far. I was halfway through the army when the slaughter began. Shouts of warning were almost immediately replaced by screams for mercy and then the piercing cries of those being torn apart. I had a moment of pain at the loss of so many people, then a current of worry shot through me when I thought about the potential for werewolf zombies; I could only hope the two viruses could not survive in the same host, otherwise I had just added an entirely new nightmare to this already fucked up world.

  People were scattering in every direction. The few Lycan assigned to keep them in order were scrambling to do so. Probably would have been able to get them under control eventually if the zombies hadn’t decided that the big hairy beasts were also on the menu. A Lycan could tear a zombie in half, one on one, but the zombies’ preferred method of attack involved overwhelming their foes with superior numbers. Three Lycan fell before they could retreat. I understood their cowardice, and it worked out in my favor, but it made me think even less of them, which I hadn’t thought possible. I don’t know what I was complaining about; if one confronted me there would have been nothing I could have done except fall at its feet. I took a quick glance around me to see what was happening. The zombies hadn’t just smashed headlong into the column, they were attempting to encircle their prey; I didn’t realize they could be so organized in their hunt. I was still in a race for my life, attempting to outpace the lasso that was rolling up on either side of me. By now I’m sure my adrenal gland looked like a raisin; there was nothing left to squeeze from that asset. The only reason my legs were still moving was because they didn’t know what else to do.

  Thinking clearly was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Survive, that was it, that was all I had, and survival entailed running. There were werewolf-people and Lycan alongside me, we were all allies for a moment, avoiding being eaten alive was our common bond. The Lycan quickly outpaced me, as did pretty much everyone else, save some very old folks and some very young ones. I had not even the strength within me to feel pity for those about to die. The Lycan were making a straight line back to Talboton, and I, luckily, had enough presence of mind to veer off to the side, now following the same orders I’d given to Oggie and Mathieu. The zombie net had tightened around the vast majority of the people they’d been trying to ensnare. There were a few stragglers, myself included, that had just missed the clenching jaws of that monster. I’d escaped by no more than ten feet. The zombies, thankfully, did not bother to track down those they’d not captured. I made it another two hundred yards and burst through the tree line. Okay, stumbled.

  “Just a little farther,” I urged my legs. I received a huge “fuck off, Michael” in the form of a massive muscle cramp that threatened to tear my fucking thigh in half. My left leg seized up so violently, it caused me to do a complete three sixty on my right leg before I fell over into a small pile of leaves that had strategically hidden a good sized rock. What little wind I had left was completely knocked out as the stone gut-punched me. I was sucking in forest floor debris, unable to move even the slightest. Pain receptors tore through every fiber of my being. Hardly more than a tenth of a mile away, people were screaming for their lives. I was very much in danger of joining them if I could not move soon and move fast. Right now, death meant the end of pain; I guessed that wouldn’t be such a bad trade-off, truth be told. Finally, like all bad things, like all good things, like all things really, the pain began to subside. I could start to taste the dirt that was being sucked into my mouth and up my nose. I wasn’t fond of the tang, even some of Tommy’s woe-begotten Pop-tarts sounded better than what I was eating right now.

  Moving my left leg was out of the question; it was strange to be bothered by an injury that had occurred a century ago, while I was once again running from zombies. To do anything more than concentrate on keeping it as straight as a board was tantamount to incurring a death-dealing injury. My breathing had slowed to something closer to a hummingbird pace, I’d partially pinned my right arm under my side and it was beginning to lose circulation. Just rolling over enough to release it almost seemed more than I could muster. Even when I got it free it was like trying to hold a piece of cooked spaghetti aloft. Pulling myself out of harm’s way using these worthless appendages was out of the question.

  “Yeah, that’s right, just stay here,” I started taunting myself. “Mouth full of dirt, rock in the gut. Left leg as stiff as…” (Well, some mornings as I laid next to Tracy and the curve of her body was perfectly silhouetted against the morning light…maybe never mind.) Somehow, I never figured this would be the way I went out. I was picturing standing on a cliff’s edge, flowing locks blowing in a western breeze, a bloody sword in my arm, gold armor over my torso. With a final savage cry erupting from my lips, I would strike down the epitome of evil. I paused to consider this possibility. “Wait...did I just riff off the fucking Lord of the Rings? I did. Oh, fuck it. Nobody around here knows that story. Holy shit! If I get out of this mess I could become the greatest story teller of all time. I could plagiarize all the best, and no one would be the wiser. They’d think I was a fucking genius! I could redo Star Wars without Jar Jar! Moby Dick, Romeo and Juliet, Twilight for God’s sake! They’d all be mine. Okay, maybe scratch Twilight. People would sing my praises for generations!” Then it all came crashing down; there was one that could unravel my hastily made daydream. “Azile. Hmmm...maybe I could buy her off.” I smiled at my thoughts; the ideas were one thing, penning them, quite another. It would be better for me to stick with what I knew best. Getting into shitloads of trouble.

  With my right leg I pushed my foot against the ground. I may have moved an inch or two but more likely I just rocked back and forth because my stomach was high-centered on the stone. “Going to have to do better than that,” I berated myself. I didn’t care. The screams of the damned were still piercing, the carnage was in full effect. Why, then, was I hearing the sound of approaching footsteps? I twisted my head to the side and did my best to blow off the wet leaves that had stuck to my face and beard. It was a zombie. A hundred and fifty fucking years later, monsters everywhere, and I was going to be done in by a zombie. Obviously I am one big joke to the Universe. What were the odds? That’s like vacationing in Burma in the 1990s and some ancient Japanese soldier who has no idea World War II has ended because he has been living in a cave for the last fifty years eating a diet of salamanders and spiders hears you hiking around and runs out and sticks a rusted out bayonet straight through your heart before he dies. Yeah, it was kind of like that.


  The zombie got closer. I was going to lay here passively while this thing worked its jaws through me like a redneck on road kill. I would live for a fair amount of time, which would seem like forever, while he devoured me, probably starting with the leg I couldn’t fucking budge. “Sucks” did not even scratch the surface of how horrible this scene playing out was going to be. Cursing seemed like a reasonable thing to do right now, I just didn’t give a big enough shit to do so. The zombie’s dirty, blackened foot fell less than three inches from my nose. The stench of defecation and death was strong in this one.

  “Let’s get this over with,” I mumbled. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of getting eaten alive but as it was, I had no other options; I was simply out of gas. The thing leaned down, its face no less dirty than its feet, and if possible, the stench was somehow worse. “Gotta admit, I was kind of hoping you’d start somewhere else, like maybe my ass. There would be some poetic justice involved there.”

  The feet shifted and I felt a hand wrap around my wrist, or, at least, try to. The zombie was on the smaller side.

  “What’s the matter, the seating arrangements not up to your standards?” I asked of my devourer.

  “I wish you would stop talking. The Lycan are close.” It was a female voice, she was whispering and I had to assume because she was talking that she was not a zombie. “Before you ask a thousand questions, I will tell you who I am. Then you will remain silent until I tell you it is safe.”

  I couldn’t guarantee I would not talk, that’s pretty difficult for me; it’s just not in my nature. But for now, I was all ears, intact and uneaten.