A Darkness Below - Chapter 17
My apologies for not getting this out in the usual weekly period, but, as I'm sure you've guessed by now, I'm terribly busy with law homework. I really should just stop apologizing and let it be assumed that all delays are because of school lol.
If you're just coming to A Darkness Below, you can check out the previous chapters here:
Sullivan threw open the door to Brennan’s room, shutting it behind him.
The older man was already awake, but he looked at Sullivan with eyes filled with terror. He wasn’t a fighter; he’d always been a diplomat and a mediator, and he’d been good in that role for the last forty-five years. Before becoming a member of the Triumvirate, he’d been in charge of the scribes, and he’d been a scribe himself before that. He hadn’t had any interest in frontline combat, and, while he’d been trained the same as every other member of the Order, it had been decades since he’d had to rely on those skills. The hand that held his pistol trembled, and Sullivan was quick to notice it.
“Steel yourself, for God’s sake, Donald,” he said, eyes narrowed and jaw set. Unlike the elder statesman, he had lived his entire life as a warrior. War with human beings had only sharpened his edge, and, despite his injury and the years since he was last an active hunter, that instinct hadn’t left him. “They’ve already stormed the barracks and they’re headed this way.”
“What are we going to do, William? If they get in here,” he started, but the look from the younger man with the cane stopped that train of thought in its tracks.
“We’re not staying in here,” he declared. “We’re getting down the stairs and to the armory. We’re arming ourselves, and we are mounting a defense; they are not taking the relics we have stashed downstairs. Especially not that sword. They cannot get their hands on that under any circumstances.” Brennan’s eyes widened when he mentioned it; the weapon they’d stashed in the armory that Jasen had been wielding when they’d captured him. They all knew what it was, and, despite the efforts of more than a few priests to purify the weapon, it had proved impossible to exorcise the demon that resided in the black-lacquered steel.
“What? You’re not seriously suggesting I go down there with you,” he said, incredulous at the notion.
“You’re going to let an old cripple make the trip alone? Find your bollocks, grab a hold of them, and fall in behind me. We don’t have time for this shit, Donald.” Sullivan was quickly losing patience, and every moment they wasted was another bloodsucker they’d have to fight their way through. The chastisement was enough to shake the older man from his terror, and, with no small amount of trepidation, he fell in behind the younger man with the cane.
Sullivan opened the door again and looked down the hallway towards the stairs. So far, none had made it to the second floor of the north building where the council had their quarters. Sullivan motioned over his shoulder for Donovan to follow him out as he made his way into the hall and toward the stairs. He leaned heavily on his cane, holding his pistol at the ready ahead of himself as he made way. Once they were at the top of the stairs, he cocked his head out to the side and gazed down. To his relief, the stairwell here was clear as well. Despite the speech he’d just given to Brennan, he wasn’t in any particular shape to fight off a horde of the undead, and the longer they could go without encountering any of them, the better off they’d both be. He started down the stairs, his cane preceding himself every step down the wooden staircase.
The sound of gunfire in the distance caught his attention, and Brennan practically jumped out of his skin.
Sullivan shot him a look, and the old man took a breath, trying to calm himself down. Despite his utter terror at the reality he now found himself in - a reality he never thought he’d witness - Sullivan was a source of confidence for the portly old man, and he drew on it as he made his way down the stairs, leaning against the railing as though his life depended on it. As they descended to the ground floor, his uncontrollable panic gave way to a steely resolve that he didn’t even know he was capable of. While still terrified, he decided that, at the very least, he needed to provide some support for Sullivan. He’d been enough of a Christian to save him, rather than leave him to suffer whatever fate God had in store for him in his room.
The ground floor, however, was as far as their luck held. Though the bulk of the bloodsuckers had chosen other buildings to ransack, there were four on the ground floor that comprised the offices of the hunter group leaders. They managed to avoid detection all the way to the floor, but no further; as soon as they cleared the stairwell, the four that had been rummaging around the offices on the ground floor caught wind of the two, and they came around the corner.
Unfortunately for them, Sullivan was waiting, and he was prepared. Pressing the handle of his cane square to his hips, he leaned forward and kept his pistol up, training his sights on the corner. As soon as the first rounded the wall, he placed a round square into its skull and stopped it dead in its tracks. The other three came all the same, taking advantage of their incredible speed to duck and weave, refusing to give the old hunter a target.
Thankfully, between both himself and Brennan, they had enough firepower to render their gifts moot. Rounds impacted center mass or winged their limbs, causing them to let out cries of agony as the blessed rounds seared their flesh. Another dropped to the ground, writhing in pain at the round in its gut, but the other two, despite their wounds, were insistent on their course. Now that they were closer, Sullivan identified the particular type of leeches these two happened to be, and it provided him no measure of reassurance. These two were animalists, and, now that they were empty and the two bloodsuckers were still standing, the fight would be far more deadly than he’d first hoped.
The first flew through the air at Sullivan, but he dropped down, rolling onto his back and grabbing a hold of his cane as the monster flew over him. A twist of his wrist unlocked the sword from the cane sheath, and he rolled backwards to put his feet back under him. It had been wounded; two rounds had rendered one of its arms useless, and another bullet had dug itself into its left leg, severely limiting its ability to move. Likely it was ignoring the pain through sheer force of will, as it gathered itself back up and snarled at him.
It lunged toward him, but he was ready. The blade, which he’d had constructed after he’d recovered from his injuries a decade ago, was just as deadly as the bullets, and he drew it down, slicing the beast’s forearm. The smell of searing flesh filled the air, along with its yelp, but he didn’t give it a chance to recover. Gritting his teeth through the pain shooting into his hip, he drove forward, thrusting repeatedly.
In this case, the hallway worked to his advantage. The leech had nowhere to dodge to, which subjected it to the severe pain of every stab. It swiped impotently with its one good hand at Sullivan’s sword, but it only aggravated its condition. Cornering the beast, Sullivan drove the tip of the sword into its heart, causing a choking sputter as the creature went rigid. He leaned his weight forward and grabbed a hold of its face, pressing back against its skull as he drew the sword back out and brought it up to the creature’s throat. With a clean swipe, the fine blade cut through the beast’s neck, separating the head from its body and causing the corpse to be consumed in smoldering fire.
Brennan was not nearly as prepared. The one he was now face to face with was significantly worse off, but for the portly old diplomat it might as well have been a demon brought straight out of hell with all its infernal vigor. He blocked a swipe at his face, but the bloodsucker, despite the numerous bullets now buried in its body, drew upon the last of its strength to jam its fist into Brennan’s torso. The old man let out a surprised gasp, and he stared down at the arm that now disappeared into his round gut in disbelief.
“Donald!” Sullivan spun around from the enemy he’d just dispatched, hobbling over to his old friend and the creature that was grappling with him.
The pair fell to the ground, Brennan squirming in a futile attempt to draw himself away. The bloodsucker refused to let go of his quarry, reaching out to grab a hold of his spine and send unimaginable pain shooting down his legs. Sullivan kicked the leech to its side, stabbing it in the heart before dropping down onto his knees. The cane sword was removed, and, grabbing the creature’s head by its hair, he quickly parted it from its body, reducing it to ash. Brennan cried out as the searing heat from within its body burned his skin, but it was a far less painful and immediate concern from the much more serious injury he was now faced with.
“W-William,” he sputtered, trying to move but finding his legs unresponsive. In one final act of defiance, it seemed, the beast had crippled him completely.
“Don’t speak, Donald,” Sullivan replied, sliding over so he could look at his friend in the eyes, shifting him up to prop his head up against the wall. He grabbed a hold of his hand and squeezed. “You need to make your peace with God now, old friend.”
“I...I never thought,” he stuttered, wheezing as a nick in his left lung cavity began to fill with blood. Already the color was leaving him, and blood was flowing freely from the hole in his gut. “You...you’re a good man. Never...never forget that.”
“So are you, old boy,” he said, squeezing his hand again as the old man returned, clinging to Sullivan with what little strength remained in his corpulent form. “Relax, Donald. You’ll be with the Lord soon, and you can be free of all the stress and concerns you had to shoulder here on this wretched earth.”
“Guess...that means...you’ll have to do it,” he started, choking a little before he continued, “for me. See you...in Heaven, William.” Another wheezing exhale, and the man’s body went still. Air left his half-open mouth in a faint whisper, the last sign of the life leaving his body. Sullivan grimaced, gritting his teeth and hanging his head. He gave himself a second to mourn one of the shrewdest men he’d known before he closed Brennan’s eyes and gathered his cane sword. Grabbing a hold of the sheath, he put it back together and forced himself up into his feet. The pain in his leg was now nearly unbearable, and he was beginning to regret having had to defend himself, but there would be plenty of time to suffer through it later. He had to make it to the armory.
If he couldn’t defend it, then he’d kill as many of these infernal beasts as he could on the way.
If you want to vote for me as a witness, cast your vote here! Scroll down until you see this text box and type in my name.
Like what you read? Follow me, @anarcho-andrei! You can also find me on PALnet and the Fiction Workshop on Writer's Block:
This is my first upvote for your series. I'll start reading it in the morning. Jumping to chapter 1, the first few sentences hooked me. Thanks!