Friends Down Low (ONC2022)

Chapter 11 - The Siege

I sprinted to the porch, tore the leather booklet from his pocket, and rushed it back to him. He flipped quickly to the photo and smiled as he studied it until his sight left him completely.

"Thanks for that," he said with a sigh.

"No prob..." my voice trailed off.

The Saint stood at the edge of the woods. She extended her arms, palms to the sky. At her bidding, the shadows swirled, taking shape as a mist, smoky tendrils searching out the bodies of her fallen. The corpses twitched as the darkness twined around them, tugging at them. Horrified, I watched as the dead rose, operated by shadowy puppet strings. They lurched towards us.

"McGavin, she raised he dead," I said.

"Damn necromancy. I'm sorry Finnigan. There's nothing I can do. I can't slay the unliving, so I can't even see them. Run. Leave me here."

I snatched his elbow and tugged him toward the house. The followers who had gotten past him now barred our path. We were surrounded. I tried to dodge them as I pulled him along, but there were too many. Hands clutched my clothing, dragging me to a halt. The mob pulled us away from each other and I thrashed helplessly against them. While they seemed content to restrain me, they afforded McGavin no such courtesy.

"I'm sorry Finnigan. Good luck to you!" McGavin shouted.

A zombie hit him in the head with an ax and he dropped in a spray of blood.

I howled. Rage fueling me but without benefit. I threw punches and pushed some away, knocked some down, only to have them replaced by two more. They dragged me across the yard towards the woods where I'd seen the Saint.

A deafening roar broke the night, and a massive beast broke from the forest, loping on all fours to us before leaping into the fray.

Clancy—more than just a hairy finger now, his entire body transformed. Dark, coarse hair covered him and his mouth, extended slightly like the snout of a wolf, was filled with massive fangs.

He tore into my captors, his claws and teeth taking off limbs. He snatched them away from me, tossing them across the yard like bags of rubbish. While he couldn't kill them again, he seemed quite capable of rendering them inert with massive damage. The undead fought back, but themselves were incapable of doing much. Their handheld weapons did little to Clancy's hide and even if the blades cut him, the wounds sealed almost instantly.

I'd lost hope when McGavin fell but now I felt something new replace it. Rage. Anger. A lust for revenge. The Saint's undead horde was no match for the werewolf.

The crack of a rifle broke the night and a bullet from an unseen shooter hit Clancy.

I'd seen Clancy absorb repeated blows from the weapon-wielding zombies and he'd shrugged them off as annoyances. But this proved different. The gunshot staggered him. He dropped to a knee, putting a clawed hand to the wound.

"What is it? Are you alright?"

He laughed grimly, a strangled sound with his mouth of oversized fangs. "Silver. They brought silver bullets. That's the problem with being a popular werewolf."

"Where is he? Where's the shooter?" I spun, searching the woods. A flash caught my eye. The moonlight glinted off something.

A badge. The sheriff. I could faintly see him, repositioning with his rifle for another shot.

A zombie snatched my jacket and threw me to the ground, but Clancy roared back to his feet and tore its head free with a spray of gelatinous shadows. The werewolf positioned himself between me and the remaining resurrected cultists. A second gunshot rang out, catching Clancy in the upper back and he stumbled again.

I crawled towards McGavin's corpse, desperate for a pistol to return fire, but it was like I was moving in slow motion. Two more zombies came at me, but Clancy was there again, clawed fists tearing them down. Another pounced on my back, pushing me into the dirt, as I finally grasped a gun. Clancy grabbed my assaulter, lifted it into the air like a professional wrestler, and slammed it down across his knee.

A third shot. The silver bullet struck him in the upper chest, and he wobbled backward. Another roar came from the beast, his head lifted to the moon. Using only one arm, the other dangling lifelessly, he ripped apart the last two remaining zombies as I rolled over and fired into the woods. The man dropped. I'd actually hit him.

"I got him," I pointed. When I received no response, I turned.

Clancy was down.

And changed.

He'd reverted into his fully human form and laid there, gasping for breath.

"I'm sorry Clancy. I was too slow."

"Not a problem," he panted. "It was a good brawl. Not a bad way to go out. Not at all." The bullet holes on his body steamed as if they burned inside. "Do me a favor?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't mix root beer with your booze ever again. My ghost will be ashamed of you."

One last, gruff laugh, and he was gone.

I had no time to mourn as at the edge of the woods, the Saint had reappeared. She smiled at me, her plain white dress almost glowing in the moonlight.

Then Sil came out of the darkness behind her, floating like a whisper. She snatched the Saint, her pincered fingers going for the throat, and pulled her out of sight into the dark woods. 

Chapter Words - 1540

Total Word Count - 20,073