Guardians of the Gates - Part 1, The New Breed, Jeff Schanz [e book reader free TXT] 📗

paused. The man began walking toward the pond, shaking off the foaming stuff as he walked.

Jillian wasn’t sure she actually wanted the man to approach her, or even converse with her, but… bloody hell! The guy saves me from some weird beast, then walks away like I’m not even here? She watched him stoop down at the water’s edge and whisk his sword in the water for a moment. Jillian was utterly confused. She wasn’t expecting a fireworks show for an ending, but she assumed the man would at least ask her if she was all right, or something.

The man started back in her general direction. He wiped his sword off with a dark-colored rag, then lifted it over his back, where she assumed some sheath was there to holster it. Then Jillian stopped her breath short. The man looked directly at her. He approached her quietly, striding purposefully. Oh, dear. Be careful what you ask for. She swallowed, probably too noticeably as he stopped only an arm’s distance from her. Without hesitation or warning, he reached out with both hands and gently grasped the base of her head. He turned her head a little left, right, tilted both ways, and back.

I am going to die now. She told her arms to reach up and slap his hands away, but they didn’t move.

He nodded, seemingly to himself, and removed his hands, only to place them on her shoulders. His smile was thin and clinical. “You ok?” he said.

She stared at him in a stupor, knowing she was being rude and dumb, but for some reason, she absolutely could not look away from his eyes, nor lift her hands to remove his.

He seemed to notice and dropped his gaze slightly. “I didn’t see any cuts or blood splatter,” he said. “So, don’t worry, I think you’re safe from infection.” He paused momentarily, probably waiting for her response, but she was still frozen. He lifted his gaze and said, “Hello? You ok?”

Her swallow of spit was supposed to have been the words, “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.” She recovered and managed to finally say, “Fine.”

He smiled broader, a little bemused, then said. “Ok.” He took his hands back and adjusted the strap that cut across his chest. He had a good-sized chest, she noticed. She blinked back her stupor and felt suddenly capable of handling herself again.

“Umm, yes, I’m fine. Thank you. Thank you very much, for – the…” she gestured toward the creature.

Without following her gesture, he smiled again with that same amused expression. He nodded, stared at her a little longer than she was comfortable with, then turned and walked over to the creature’s body again. For all her fuss about him not looking at her before, she felt better that he was not staring at her anymore.

“Is it – dead?” she asked.

He nodded. No smile this time. “He’s not getting back up without his head,” he said. The man had a calm voice, American, with just a trace of something southern sounding in it. “I got a bead on this piece of sh… this guy a little late. I hoped to get to him before he – uh.” The man paused, grimaced politely, and cocked his head toward her. “Sorry about your friend. I wasn’t quick enough. Hard to predict their attack patterns.”

“Oh, he wasn’t…” …my Friend? It doesn’t matter, does it? “Well, yes, I’m – I’m sorry too.” She really was. Nobody deserved that. Wait a mo. What the hell was that thing, and who the hell are you? “I’m sorry,” she started. “Um, everything’s completely mad, and I probably seem barking,” she said, nervously laughing. He smiled again. He had a nice smile. “But,” she continued, “what the hell was that thing? And – and...”

“Who the hell am I?” he finished. He stood, mashing his lips together in thought. He was tallish, over six feet she’d guess, with dirty-blond hair, and greenish-grey eyes. He wasn’t young, but not middle-aged either. He was wearing some kind of black reinforced jumpsuit, which resembled something Batman would wear, then she recalled seeing similar things worn by motorcycle racers. Or was it ski racers? Several straps, some that held his gear to his back, and some that had little raised pockets for unknown items, cut across the chest, while small leather pouches attached to a belt might store other items. His face was smooth, but his hands were scarred. Or at least they appeared scarred under the combination moonlight and lamplight. His hair was medium-short and fell in scattered directions assumedly from the tussle he just went through. She somehow doubted it had ever been neatly combed. If she wasn’t so concerned with earthly nightmares attacking her, and how this strange man was associated with these things, and how he roamed around killing monsters in public with ancient swords, then he’d probably have turned her head. As it was, her thoughts were preoccupied with other things.

The man turned to the creature once again and stared for another long moment before he spoke. “Well, as for this thing – I can try to explain it, and it would sound crazy. There’s probably a much better technical term for what this thing is, and even though what you’re thinking isn’t accurate, it’s probably the easiest way to describe it.”

“What I’m...?” She stared at the body, then the severed head, then back to the body. With a forced laugh, she said “It, um, kinda looks like a werewolf or something, but...”

He smiled and nodded his head. She wasn’t noticing his nice smile this time though.

“Excuse me?” she stammered. “No. Come off it. I’m not an idiot. There’s no such thing as, umm…” she paused. Big dog-like creatures that stand on two legs, have a body like a man, and attack people? You sure, sweetie? One is lying right there.

She took a step closer and focused for a clear moment to better examine this dead thing that couldn’t possibly be a werewolf. The torso was very man-like and overly muscled like a freakishly hairy bodybuilder. The back of the body resembled the rear of a dog, except that it was elongated like it had been stretched on some medieval torture device. Mottled grey hair covered it, with the hairs being spinier along its back, like a porcupine. No skin showed through the hair except for the one remaining hand and bottoms of the feet. The feet had dark grey lumps like canine pads, and the knees bent backward like a dog. That little feature was a sharp, grounding realization. Not that she had truly believed it, but there was the lingering possibility that this creature was just some psycho in a well-made costume who was trying to live out his werewolf fantasy, or something. Even the best movie make-up artist isn’t going to be able to hide the direction the knees bend on a human. Ok, so it’s… it’s not human. And it’s no animal I’ve ever seen. Brief images ran through her brain of sensationalist shock-shows on TV that advertised real proof of Bigfoot, or Nessie, or aliens, or swamp creatures, all of whom only show themselves to people who never happen to have functioning cameras or stable camcorders with them. She didn’t have a camera either. Damn.

She moved slowly over to the severed head. Something about it made her nervous to approach, like it would jump up and fly at her without anything to propel it. She stood at a distance and craned her neck around to see each side of its hideous face. It didn’t jump up, or move in any way, but it seemed to smile at her. She knew it couldn’t, but she also knew there weren’t werewolves. She tried to ignore the head’s smile.

Though the ears were positioned on the sides of the head like a man, they stood up long and stiff like a Doberman. Its snout was also elongated like the legs, and had no cute button nose like a dog, rather almost slit-like tunneled nostrils like a reptile. The jaws were long and flat similar to a crocodile. Its slate-colored teeth were slender yet solid like steel, and so numerous that she couldn’t figure out if they overlapped like a shark, or were just random and crooked. And the eyes, now dark, were unnecessary to reexamine. Those she remembered all too well. They were burned into her mind when she had watched them come at her in slow motion a few minutes earlier.

It hit her again like a wave of nausea. I’ve been attacked by some insane creature, and it killed Frank. And I’m alive, talking to this man who saved my life with a bloody sword. And he knows what this creature is.

And I’m supposed to believe it’s a werewolf.

She regained her outward composure. “Well, whatever it is, I’m glad it’s dead. Thanks. Thanks, Mister…?” She angled her eyes at him to finish her question.

“No mister, just Sebastian.” He smiled again, albeit forced, and quickly turned his eyes from her. Talking to Jillian, though staring at the creature’s head, he said, “And as to who the hell I am, well, let’s say if you don’t believe it’s possible that this guy is a werewolf, then you probably won’t believe who I am.”

“Uhhh,” she started to laugh nervously. “You’re not a vampire, right?”

She figured he’d either laugh too, or bite her neck. Hoping for the returned laugh, she laughed louder.

“No,” he said, but didn’t laugh. “Just a guy. A guy with a sword and a black suit with gadgets on my belt.” He smiled, politely not genuinely. “I just need a mask and some pointy ears and I’d pass for Batman.”

Batman doesn’t have a sword, does he? “Right, then. Sebastian.” She noticed he smelled like a wet dog. Had he smelled that way the whole time and she just now caught it? It was kind of obvious. She made a face unconsciously.

“Sorry, about that,” he noticed. “Keeps ‘em confused about my scent, so they don’t… never mind.”

Jillian was looking around anxiously as the next wave of shock hit her. Her date was dead, this weird creature was dead, and now what the hell is she supposed to do? She slapped her thighs and blew out an exaggerated breath.

“Well, as I don’t have a camera to prove this thing attacked me, and I don’t have a mobile to call the police...” She stopped herself. Why in bleeding hell did you just tell him that? Now he knows I can’t call the police on him. What if he’s just faking concern for me? Maybe it’s some kind of secret government project I’m not allowed to see and they need to kill anyone who finds out. Dear God, how stupid can I be!

“Relax, there’s no conspiracy going on.” He paused to consider something. “Ok, there’s no conspiracy that you need to worry about.” He chuckled softly.

Carries a big sword and tells bad jokes. That’s just fantastic. Wait. How did he know what I was thinking?

“Hard to get camera proof,” he said. “These guys usually disintegrate pretty quickly. Not sure why he hasn’t started yet, but he should soon.” He looked at her, bemused again. “Thought everybody had camera phones nowadays.”

“I, um, left mine at home,” she said, dropping her gaze back to the purported werewolf. “I was just trying to unplug and be social, you know, get out for a change and have a nice night with no distractions, and – and wait, there are more of these things!?”

Still amused, he rolled his eyes. He walked toward Frank and examined him for the first time. “Yeah, unfortunately, that’s not the only one I’ve ever dealt with. They don’t all look the same, but they’re all pretty much as bad as this guy,” gesturing back to the werewolf-like creature, not Frank. Then gesturing toward Frank, he asked, “Boyfriend?”

“No. We were just, um, no.” She felt the strange need to say something more about Frank, like it was a makeshift eulogy.