Michael Spradlin: Blood Riders

“I don’t like this,” Hollister said.

“I know,” Shaniah replied. “But you made a promise to me. Do you intend to keep it?”

He looked at her, memorizing her face because he knew he might not see her alive again.

“All the way,” he said.

M ore and more Archaics flooded out of the mine. Through the collapsed wall of the building, he could see Chee in the shed, hands on the Gatling gun, ready to wreak havoc. He couldn’t see Dog, but he imagined him next to Chee, coiled and ready to attack anything that moved when given the command.

At the Point he’d been trained to determine enemy strength by counting a group of ten, getting a read on the size of those ten then roughly counting the number of groups that size in the force arrayed against you. Using the technique, Hollister guessed there were about three hundred Archaics. He’d expected more, so he was somewhat relieved; but killing them wasn’t easy, so he’d count his blessings. He readied the Fire Shooter.

Something was happening at the mine. The crowd was parting. Malachi emerged. Even after all this time, Hollister had no trouble recognizing him. It was the same man who had killed his men. His hair was longer and even from this distance he seemed taller. But there was no doubt in Hollister’s mind it was him. He stepped up on some crates that had been pushed together like a small stage, as if he were about to give a sermon at a revival

“There he is.” Hollister turned to tell Shaniah.

But she was gone.

M alachi looked out at the crowd of his Archaics, their faces eager for him to lead them. They were hungry and desperate to feed. He would send them to destroy the train and then…

He was about to speak when images of Shaniah flooded his brain. She was here, and very close by. He knew she had been coming but this surprised him. He studied the woods and the nearby mountainsides. To the south he smelled horses. But she was not there. Even after all this time, he would know her scent anywhere. The woods surrounding the mine clearing were also devoid of her presence. Where was she?

His eyes settled on the buildings. They were less than one hundred yards away from where he stood. She was not there either, or was she? Strange smells came from the structures. Had she masked her scent somehow? Someone was there, and from the buildings came another odor he faintly recognized. Whoever it was would need to be dealt with. Quickly.

“Listen!” he said loudly and the Archaics surrounding him quieted instantly. “We have been discovered. Shaniah is here. And she is not alone. We must find her. Those buildings hide those who seek to destroy us. Kill them.”

The Archaics turned in concert, readying themselves to charge.

T he buildings were just far enough away that neither Hollister nor Chee could hear what Malachi was saying. When the entire group of Archaics looked at the buildings, they knew they been discovered.

Hollister wanted to wait until they got within forty yards before using the Fire Shooter to make sure they were within range. First, he started picking them off with the Henry. It was extremely accurate at this distance and he’d chosen the load of wooden bullets dipped in holy water. Whenever he could hit one directly in the heart it made for an agonizing death.

Once Hollister had fired off a few shots, the group targeted his building. Hundreds of them running and leaping across the ground. To Jonas it felt like they would be upon him in seconds. Until Chee opened up with the Gatling.

It cut them down like a scythe in a wheat field. Archaics might be stronger and faster than humans, but they were not immune to pain, and the sound of their screams echoed off the surrounding mountains as they went down in waves, twisting and writhing on the ground.

Yet, some still made it through and while Chee kept the big gun chattering away, Hollister opened up with the Fire Shooter. It caused mass confusion at first, then more cries of agony as body after body burst into flames. In the course of two minutes, they had greatly reduced the numbers heading toward them.

Hollister still saw no sign of Shaniah, but he could see Malachi standing on the crates, watching the devastation take place before him. Hollister kept the trigger down on his Fire Shooter because there were still Archaics charging forward. But he looked at his Henry rifle leaning against the wall and for a moment toyed with the idea of picking it up and taking a shot at Malachi. From this distance, if he could hit him in the heart, he could end this whole thing. But he couldn’t risk it. There were still too many of them coming and they could be on him before he could get the shot off.

He looked at the gauge on the Fire Shooter. It was already down by half. This was going to get interesting in a hurry.

Malachi could not believe what was happening. His followers, the army he had sired, gunned down and burned to near death before his eyes. How? This was not Shaniah’s doing. He knew that. It was humans who had created weapons that killed and maimed his people. Impossible.

He remembered centuries before, when the Old Ones had decided that mankind had grown beyond the ability of the Archaics to treat them simply as prey. He had argued against it then and he had opposed it again when the Council chose Shaniah to be their leader. We are Archaics! He had reasoned. Humans should tremble before us! But the Council had been too weak. They had always been too timid. Afraid of tiny beings no better than insects.

When the decision to avoid human contact was made, the Archaics fractured. Most went along to the high mountains of Eastern Romania. But a few scattered, never to be heard from again. There were times he wondered about those who had chosen freedom; had they survived? Had they lived and prospered in the human world? Did they still feast on the Huma Sangra?

Malachi had decided to wait. He went along with the others to the high mountains. But one day he would become an Eternal. Then he would take control of his people. And he would show them that humans were not to be feared. Humans were nothing more than food.

Once he left, after Shaniah’s ascension to leadership, he had quickly learned on his journey to this place about the advances of humankind and their remarkable ingenuity. He had seen human weapons up close. Had felt them cut his skin and pierce his flesh. And he had found them to be no match for a true Archaic. A mosquito bite. Even those humans who had learned control of the elementals did not instill fear in him. He was unbeatable.

To Malachi, humans were nothing more than walking meals. He remembered that, a few years ago, he had been on the plains of Wyoming and his band had killed a group of soldiers. One of the soldiers had shot him several times. He felt the bullets stinging his skin but hardly slowing him down. The soldier had no idea how close he was to death. How Malachi would feast on his blood. But the sun came up and he did not have time to kill and drain the man.

Archaics owned the night. Another reason they could decimate the human race when he raised his army. Humans feared the night. Darkness was a great disadvantage to them. They could not see, did not feel or hear the presence of an Archaic stalking them until the fangs sank into their necks. And they died, as they should.

He had come to America to get away from the very Archaics like Shaniah and the Old Ones who could have stopped him if he had stayed in the old country. Every step of the way he had planned carefully, turning followers when they were needed, but carefully planning and growing.

He was close to unleashing his full fury on the human race, but now he saw before him these puny creatures that stood toe to toe with his Archaics unafraid, with weapons he could not imagine. The cries and screams of agony of his people brought him back to the present.