Authors: Jack J. Lee
Aidan shook his head in wonder, “None.”
I frowned. “How is that a slaughter?”
Tim looked like he was about to burst. Aidan took pity on him and waved at Tim to answer my question. “It was the Jotunn that got slaughtered, and it’s because of you! The Boise Oath Brothers saw what modern firearms could do when you had your trial by combat with Paladin Samson. When a paladin dies, the minions move in and the Oath Brothers usually die like flies. That prospect helped convince Father Mallory try something new. Two days ago, the Boise armorer called and asked us for advice. Master Aidan told him to get semi-automatic assault rifles and tracer rounds.
“When the Jotunn attacked the Boise Brotherhood Sanctuary this morning, they were armed with the usual swords, axes, and spears. They met twenty Brotherhood guards armed with AKMs. They cut the Jotunn to pieces. The news is traveling like wildfire through the Oath Brother grapevine. If you hadn’t come up with the idea of using modern firearms first, none of this would have ever happened. You’ve been a paladin for just seven days and you’ve changed everything. Everyone is talking about you.”
I didn’t know how to respond. I got up and went to the coffee maker on the counter and poured myself a cup. I took a sip. I decided I didn’t give a crap if I’d changed everything and if everyone was talking about me. I just hoped that word of where I was didn’t get back to my old enemies. It wasn’t like I couldn’t handle them, but I didn’t need the extra hassle. I shrugged.
Drew pounded his fist on the table and guffawed. He put his hand out, palm up, toward Tim and Aidan. “I told you that’s how he’d react to being told he’s a seven day wonder. Gimme.”
Tim and Aidan handed Drew a twenty each.
I asked, “So guys, what happens now?”
Tim and Aidan looked at each other and then back at me. Aidan spoke, “Sure lad, things go back to normal. Tim and I will be moving back to our own places today. I assume Drew will stay here with you. As long as Salt Lake City is minion free, your time is your own.” He smiled widely, “My boy, we’ve won!”
Chapter 31: Aftermath
Three people in the Sugar House area claimed to have seen the Ghost Rider—a burning guy on a motorcycle—being chased by a dragon. As expected, they became laughingstocks. B had magically removed all the damage that Signe had caused. It’s possible that more people saw us, but they had the brains not to admit it.
Drew told the Russian mercenaries that we didn’t need them. They were only mildly disappointed. They got to keep five hundred thousand dollars for doing nothing. The bounty I got for Signe more than made up for cash I gave the Russians.
We no longer had the Jotunn prisoner. I considered just killing him, but I didn’t have the heart to kill a troll with the mind of an infant. I had Aidan transport him back to a random village in Jotunheim. I left it up to his own people if he lived or died.
It has been a few months since Mina’s death. Father Mallory and his men never recovered her body. Over a period of weeks, Drew took the magic Etch A Sketch out two hundred miles in all directions from her last location outside of Snowville. He never found anything either. If I was the kind to believe in miracles, there’d be a little part of me praying she might still be alive. I could say the exact length of time I’ve been without her, but I like to pretend I’m not still counting the hours.
It’s been fairly quiet since then. On average, I kill one minion a week. Since I never give them the time to gather in groups, they never give me much trouble. I have plenty of time to study for my job. I know exactly what it is I’m hunting and how best to kill it.
At first, I let Tim help me on my jobs. Despite his disclaimers, he’s not really a coward, and he is an extraordinary swordsman. He’s become very good with an M1A SOCOM 16. The problem is; he’s a SPAS. When he’s absolutely certain he’s going to die, he’s more than competent. At all other times, he has Senseless Panic Attack Syndrome. He gets too excited and makes too many potentially deadly errors. We were both relieved when I told him to support me in a noncombat role where he’s most effective.
Most inter-dimensional portals have a fixed locus. Over the years, the various paladins and Oath Brothers have identified and marked thirty-seven of them. Tim developed one of my favorite anti-minion traps; a claymore mine with a hundred and one of the magic Jotunn-killing buckshot pellets for the payload. It arms when a portal opens but only triggers if something live and roughly human size steps through. They’re all GPS linked, and the location comes up when one trips. Most of the minion gets blown back through the portal before it closes, which also simplifies clean-up.
Turns out that a paladin’s enhanced physical abilities aren’t that much of a big deal when compared with those of most minions. Even when combined with Jehovah’s gifts, the long term survival rate for paladins is low. Tim’s traps cut down on the number of minions who make it into my city, but I still have to work for a living.
Four days ago, a ghoul entered the Salt Lake City sewer system through a previously unknown inter-dimensional portal. It knew how to evade magical sensors, but it ignored all of the infrared cameras. So far to date, I haven’t come across any minions that understand human technology.
According to my research, this ghoul would be my toughest, most formidable opponent since Signe. This particular ghoul was at least four or five times faster and stronger than me, and invulnerable to just about everything. Penetrating puncture wounds seal instantly; blunt force impact weapons are worse than useless. Heat could kill it, but it had to be subjected to steel-smelting temperatures for at least ten minutes.
It’s essentially a man-sized slime mold. The only solid parts of it were its teeth and claws. Its hearing was as good as mine and its sense of smell was as good as a bloodhound’s.
For all of its strengths, it has one doozy of a weakness: sodium chloride—ordinary table salt. Force an ounce or so of salt a couple of inches below its outer surface, and it dissolves into goo. Despite this weakness, they’re very, very hard to kill. All the reference works I’d read agreed that this kind of ghoul was twitchy, skittish, and super fast.
‘Ghoul’ isn’t the name of any particular species; it’s a catch-all term for any roughly man-shaped, intelligent predator that consumes rotting human flesh. Ghouls don’t play The Great Game; they’re not on a mythic hero quest. They’re just predators.
This particular species likes to play with its food. It hunts attractive human women of child-bearing age and tortures them to death. These ghouls feed on pain and fear as much as they do the rotting flesh. Some of reference texts claimed that it had sex with the woman’s corpse until her flesh had rotted enough to make a great meal. Others claimed that it probed the dead woman’s orifices to accelerate the decomposition process. Either way, it was disgusting.
All ghouls are dormant during the day. Like most solitary predators, they hunt at night. This particular ghoul was methodical and intelligent. It spent its first two days casing the Salt Lake City sewer system. I shadowed its movements above ground waiting for it to come out to play. It’s a point of honor for me to never give a target an even break. There was no way I was going to hunt in a closed, cramped environment where my target could smell me before I ever saw it.
If Drew had still been in town, I would have had him set up on a rooftop with a good view of the most likely manhole covers, then nail the ghoul with a custom made, salt filled fifty caliber round as soon as it poked its head above ground. My money would always be on Drew’s ability to stay stealthy over a minion’s twitchy speed. But Drew went home to California two months ago. Once I fixed his back and knees and he got off his meds, he wanted to take Mr. Happy exploring again. Now, his first priority was sex, and his second was to learn as much about magic as he could without getting trapped by the Hero’s Curse. If I called him and asked for help, he’d come, but I had enough of asking for help.
The ghoul spent all last night hanging out and casing a bus stop that had three bars within two blocks. Conveniently, there was a blind alleyway about ten feet from the bus stop. I was geared up, and waiting in the shadow of the alleyway while Aidan and Tim gave me updates on the ghoul’s location through my Bluetooth earpiece.
The street was completely empty when the ghoul came out of a manhole about a half block away. I saw it sniff the air. Although I didn’t see it cock an ‘ear’, I was sure it was listening also. It probably would have picked up my scent if I hadn’t dowsed all of my gear with the urine from a cat in heat. According to my reference books, piss from a cat in estrus was one of the best scents to mask mine. To complete the illusion, Aidan and Tim built me a device that made it sound like I had the heart rate of a typical household cat. The device listened to my heartbeats and then interspersed fake ones until it got to one hundred and twenty beats when I was resting—faster as my heart rate increased.
It’s funny where life takes you. I would have never guessed that one day I’d be standing in a dark alley soaked in piss, pretending to be a cat in heat.
When I saw it move from shadow to shadow, I knew that it would be almost impossible to hit in motion with any kind of projectile weapon. It moved so fast it was a blur. It would have been perfect if it had chosen my alleyway as a place to conceal itself; I had Sanguinis up and ready. Instead, it chose a shadowed shop doorway twenty feet away from me.
The ghoul didn’t so much as twitch while two guys waited at the bus stop. A few minutes after they caught their bus, a lone brunette in a server uniform and a short down jacket walked up to the stop. The ghoul moved so fast, I barely had a chance to react. It lunged forward, grabbed the waitress by the neck, and hauled her into my alley.
Conveniently, it made a beeline for the darkest shadow, which was where I was waiting. It almost impaled itself on Sanguinis’ muzzle. I fired two rounds of rock salt into its chest. It had just enough time to look surprised as it melted into a puddle of goo. Normally, I’d have walked away, but the ghoul’s teeth and claws were useful. I sent my gear away. It was a relief to finally get rid of my urine soaked leathers. The shots I’d fired were almost completely silent. There was a chance the waitress hadn’t even noticed me shooting the ghoul. I helped her step over a puddle of goo, and out of the alley into the light, and then asked, “Are you alright?”
I saw her eyes widen as she saw my face. God, I hated that response. She was tired and scared. Her throat was turning purple with bruises, but she was almost as pretty as me. She wasn’t as full figured as Mina, but even in her coat I could tell she was proportioned perfectly. I expected her to cry or become hysterical.
Instead, she swallowed twice and then whispered as loudly as her traumatized throat would allow, “Thank you for saving my life. What was that thing? It couldn’t have been human!”
Shit! It was turning out to be one of those nights. She had seen me shoot the damn thing. I pulled out a metal coffee to-go cup and a pair of chopsticks from my field jacket pocket. I stepped back into the alleyway and carefully picked up all the ghoul’s teeth and claws from the ground. I put the top back on the cup and stowed everything away. I looked down at her and finally answered, “I’m sorry, but it’s best that I don’t answer your question. But I’ll wait with you until your bus comes.”
It took less than five minutes for her bus to come. Every few seconds, whenever she stole a look at my face, I met her gaze with a gentle, reassuring smile. While we stood in silence, I thought of all the things I’d do if I had free will. As much as I loved Mina, she was gone and I’d never been without any kind of sex for this long before. Even worse, there was celibacy in front of me as far as my mind could see.
If I could, I’d do my best to seduce this girl. She was beautiful, courageous, and level headed. She had everything I desired in a woman. I’d just saved her life and I looked like a movie star. The odds were excellent I’d score. Then I’d leave for another city so there’d be no chance of us getting close. I’d experienced true love. It wasn’t something I ever wanted to feel again. There was too much risk; it hurt too much.
Every time the girl next to me tried to speak, I silenced her with a sad smile. Magic is enforcing your will upon the universe; I willed her to be silent. It helped that her throat was so sore she could barely talk. By the time the bus came, there was a part of me that hated her for making me want her.
Because a part of me hated her, because I’m flawed and petty, I made my farewell by gently caressing her cheek. I mustered the most tragic smile I could and said, “I wish…” Then I turned and walked away into the darkness, without looking back. I knew she’d remember my smile, touch, and words for the rest of her life.
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Year of the Dead Sample (Jack J. Lee’s First Novel)
Crushing a throat is not as easy as it might seem. The thyroid cartilage—the medical term for the “Adam’s apple”—can wiggle or move out of the way if you don’t hit it just right. An off-angle hit will just move it, causing moderate pain and a gag reflex. When fighting something stronger and faster than you, you’re playing the percentages; you don’t have time to waste on a blow that may only be annoying. I’d already hit the vampire with enough force to knock down a human, but it hadn’t budged. So instead of trying to crush the vampire’s throat, I chose to rip it out.
If you grab the Adam’s apple like I was planning to, it’s exposed without bone or muscle protecting it. In positioning my right hand as if reaching for a cup, I imagined I was reaching for the vamp’s spinal cord, placing my thumb to one side of its Adam’s apple and my fingers to the other side. It was charging at me as fast as it could. I went into the classic thrust position of fencing—left leg pointing straight behind me, left knee locked, and left foot braced perpendicular to the line of my leg. My shoulders were in line with my legs—right arm straight, elbow locked, and shoulder positioned so the entire weight of my body was supporting my arm.