The Human-Undead War Trilogy (Book 1): Dark Intentions (23 page)

One such heavy creature landed atop his shield and it drilled into his head. He heard a dull 
ting
, and then everything darkened. 

Chapter 30

Strajowskie awoke and remained still. His forehead ached, but otherwise he felt fine. The ground no longer shook, footfalls no longer rambling. He heaved the shield off himself and sat up. 

The other soldiers were all dead, trampled, shields astray. One stared with lifeless eyes, blood still trickling out of his mouth. His head and upper torso were still intact. Everything below that was squashed into the ground, a mess of raw gore.  

Strajowskie stood, withdrew his mini-Ashmore, and limped down the bluff. His soldiers had done their jobs, to the end. He couldn’t have asked for more. He stared forward, not risking a glance behind. The memory would suffice. 

He’d known Hammers would flee. Such a brute, yet sometimes downright cowardly. And predictable. He would attack before sunset the following day, not when it was dark. The beasts could wreak havoc all day long, but Hammers was smart. He’d let his soldiers rest, then strike several hours before the remainder of the hordes could frolic onto the moonlit battlefield. Strajowskie was certain of it. 

Hammers likely thought him predictable as well. He used to be, before becoming president. That title had made him see things from different perspectives. He’d played into his predictable image, only to lead Hammers on. 

There was no way the Undead general could predict what Strajowskie had in store. 

He stopped on the eastern side of the main battlefield, ten minutes from the encampment. The moon cast an ominous reddish hue over the horrific scene. Bodies littered the ground, strewn about like dandelions blown in the wind. There were beasts, humans, unrecognizable masses, piles of ash. Weaponry lay amidst the tangle of body parts, covered in blood, some broken, splintered to pieces.  

Something glinted and caught his attention. He stooped to pick up a Glock 9mm handgun and recalled the bayonet-wielding mist vampire. He’d thought the gunfire battle weeks prior had been a mere distraction for some grander scheme. Had he been wrong? Were the Undead planning to use modern warfare indefinitely? 

It smelled like a final act of desperation. Like they were preparing for something huge and needed the human race to dwindle away. Or maybe they were using weaponry to keep their own numbers from dwindling. 

The ruminations scattered as figures emerged, scrambling over dead bodies fifty feet away. Strajowskie tensed and wrapped his finger on the trigger of his Ashmore. He yearned for a cozy cot and didn’t want to fight anymore that night. But he would if he had to.  

The figures picked their way over fallen victims. Were they wild vampire scavengers searching for spoils from their enlisted brethren? Were they his own scouts and scavengers sent to locate the injured and proffer provisions from the battlefield? 

Only one way to find out. “Hello!” 

The figures paused. Shadows engulfed them.  

“Commander-In-Chief Strajowskie. State your business,” he called into the still night. 

Whistles rang out. More figures emerged from the carnage. Strajowskie gripped his Ashmore tighter as the shadowy strangers approached. Moonlight washed over the foremost of the figures.  

Strajowskie sighed and lowered his crossbow. Human Army fatigues. A familiar rank: The same colonel who had called the pilot.  

The figure saluted. “Sir, Colonel Drake, sir.” 

Strajowskie shook his head. He’d never had patience for the formalities of military etiquette. “At ease. I assume you delivered my message?” 

“Yes, sir.”              

“Any luck with survivors?” 

“You’re the first one, Mr. President.” 

“I figured as much,” Strajowskie said, unsurprised. 

“Mr. President, we thought you were KIA, sir.” Colonel Drake gulped. “Permission to speak freely?” 

“Granted.” 

“With all due respect, Mr. President, you shouldn’t be on the battlefield. Even without Cannopolis here to command, it isn’t your duty to lead. Not here. Rushing into the middle of their ranks in a suicidal mission was not the most rational idea either.” 

“That was a little too freely,” Strajowskie replied in a hushed tone. He furrowed his brow. “Do you doubt my abilities?” 

“Not at all, sir. I know about your past service, and I witnessed you in action earlier,” the colonel said. “But if something were to happen to you here on the battlefield, all of humanity would suffer.” 

An entire race, in his hands. The burden had always been there, since he had sworn into office, but it had never been so palpable.  

Strajowskie nodded. “Understood. But I don’t agree with you. I’m needed here now more than ever.” 

The remaining soldiers gathered about the conversing duo, oblivious to the implications the young colonel had brought to light. Humanity rested in the hands of an ex-military general who would use whatever means to destroy the enemy, even at the risk of his own life. Which could very well leave a nation without a leader. However, there were capable people left in the world to fill his void should the time ever come. 

Strajowskie hoped it wasn’t anytime soon. 

“While you’re out here, might as well grab any weapons or ammunition you can find,” he said. “I’ll send a battalion out to help you.” 

“Mr. President, we can handle it.” 

Strajowskie smirked. “No, you can’t. That’s not all you’re going to be gathering tonight.”  

***

Strajowskie arose from his cot. Groggy and sore, he stumbled to the tent flap. 

The middle of the camp was deserted. Snores filled the air, along with chirping birds. Gusts of cool wind swept through the encampment. He pulled his robe tighter, upset that he’d slept so long. The sun was almost overhead, its bright rays stretching over the grassy horizon. 

He stepped out and strolled along. Guards saluted as he passed. He nodded in return, mouth closed, breathing the scents in. The wind had stoked blazing fires through the night, and the sweet aroma of burnt wood and tall grass danced upon the gusts. 

The Midwest received such droll opinions, but he’d always found it to be a beautiful, warming environment. 

When at last he reached the outer eastern perimeter, he smiled. The soldiers had accomplished their goal. 

“Mr. President.” Colonel Drake jogged out of a small group gathered near the front posts. The inhabitants of the circle drank from a shared mug. They dispersed upon sighting the President, scampering into the main encampment.  

Drake saluted, then stood at attention. 

Strajowskie grimaced.  

“I gathered two more battalions to ensure enough for the first ten lines, sir.” 

Strajowskie smiled. “Why are you only a colonel?” 

“I’ve been told I speak too freely.” 

The President chuckled. “So I’ve heard.” Drake was of normal stature, not very muscular, but his solid character compensated for his lack of bulk. Strajowskie liked him. He reminded him of Brian: Intelligent, independent, someone who demanded respect. He’d followed new orders even when he hadn’t understood them. That earned him more than a modicum of admiration.  

“Mr. President, sorry for being so blunt, but I didn’t come to chat. I just informed my men to wake everyone up.” 

“What now?” 

“A quarter of a mile out. The entire force, like yesterday.” 

Son of a bitch
. Hammers had outsmarted him after all. The witty bastard was attacking at noon, not sunset. Strajowskie choked off panic before it could throttle his nerves. He’d never faced a situation he couldn’t adapt to. “Good call. Pass out the Kevlar.” 

“Done, sir,” Drake said, saluting. 

Strajowskie paused. The colonel’s eyes were bloodshot. “How much sleep did you get last night?” 

“Zero hours, sir.” 

“And the night before?” 

“Graveyard sentry.” 

“When we get through this—and I assure you, we will—I want you to look me up, colonel. I’ll ensure you and your family are well taken care of.” 

“Thank you, Mr. President.” 

“And stop with the goddamned pleasantries when we’re alone.” 

Soldiers burst from the encampment, pulling clothing and boots on as they rushed past. Drake barked orders to grab enough Kevlar to cover in a squat. They all followed without hesitation.  

“I have one more thing to ask of you. For now,” Strajowskie said above the din of hastening soldiers. “I need you to make a call again. The plan has changed. We need it now. Do you still have the number?” 

Drake tapped his head.  

Strajowskie took his leave and walked back to his tent. 

He’d underestimated Hammers, but Hammers still didn’t know what was in store. 

***

“He hasn’t returned yet.” Brian waltzed through the circular tower. “And it’s still too early to visit Father Stephenson.” 

Ruby stepped up to him and draped an arm around his neck. Her white blouse and tight leather mini-skirt did much more to accentuate her curves than the drab, grey sweat pants that had become her normal attire. “Well, he did say it would be longer than an overnight tryst. You have work to do, oh brilliant scientist. Hop to it.” 

“I do, don’t I?” 

She pulled away and batted her eyelashes. Emotions stirred within him, yet he remained rooted. They had kissed and hugged and caressed, but that’s as far as he could allow. Though he didn’t like the idea of being an immortal abstinence aficionado, lust was beyond the realm of the Undead. He held Barnaby’s decree that human-Undead copulation was downright forbidden in highest regards.  

Though, with the newfound information Keith had shared and through his own assumptions, he could rule out Barnaby’s philosophies as deceitful rants. 

They entered the laboratory. Ruby set the stack of folders and notebooks on a countertop, then meandered around the room.  

“Rather extravagant for an Undead who rarely remains in his own residence,” she remarked. 

Brian folded his arms over his chest and smiled. Wolves yipped, birds cawed, gorillas grunted. The smell of feces and urine overwhelmed his senses, but he doubted they even tickled Ruby’s nostrils with their horrendous scent. If his work progressed past one day, he’d have to find a surgical mask to keep the odor from driving him away. 

And of course, it would take longer than a day. A decade of research couldn’t be dissected in one mere day, immortal or not. Though he didn’t need to sleep during the daytime like his vampire cousins, sleep regenerated his body and mind much like drinking blood did. Eventually he would need to rest. 

He shrugged. Weeks, months, years. They mattered little to him anymore.  

A flash of respite tugged at him. He glanced at Ruby, who touched the iron bars of a gorilla’s cage. Amazement and curiosity sparkled in her blue eyes, and his guilt tugged harder. 

Ruby didn’t have weeks, months, or years to wait for him. The human race didn’t either. And if Keith was correct, then Barnaby had many dark secrets. That dwindled available time down considerably. 

Brian sat down on a stool and flipped his notebook open. Time to get reacquainted with his own work before delving into it. After every flick of the page, he glanced at Ruby, watching her movements, her radiating wonderment and innocence. 

The pages turned faster. 

***

“Something has come up that requires his undivided attention elsewhere.” 

“Won’t more sentries be posted in his absence, Ashmore?” 

John stared into Vince’s white eyes and withheld from scoffing. The Master feared nothing in his own kingdom. Haven was untouchable. The humans dared not bring the battle overseas, to a terrain better suited for the wily society of Undead. Plus, the Master was too egotistical to allow his personal garrison to be amplified in his absence. “No. It’d draw more alarm than it’s worth.” 

Gunther smiled behind Vince, his rows of shark-sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight. “So now’s the time t’get ‘em.” 

“What of our original deal? We have yet to receive what was promised, and, sadly, our stock has run out.” Vince leaned close and whispered, “Without your surrogate father here to wipe your ass and hold your hand, I think we could arrange a feast. If our demands aren’t met, anyway,” he said, leaning back once more. “We want double.” 

They wanted more? It’d been difficult enough to convince General Hammers to send extra prisoners the last time. John had pulled out his wildcard and informed the general his son was missing just to get those six additional bodies. Hammers had taken the bait. But six more? Were these buffoons serious?  

“I still have the other three hidden away,” he said. “That’ll have to suffice.” 

“Oh, I intended to take the remainder of our original payment. Tonight. But we want double the overall payment regardless.” 

John shook his head. “I can’t arrange that.” 

“Then the deal is off.” 

The three assassins turned to leave.  

“No! Wait!” John called. He couldn’t allow failure. The Master was gone. The scientists were ripe for the killing. The Master must return to an empty castle, void once more of any human aside from John. The Master must be unaware of the duplicity. Revenge must be subtle yet satisfying.