Michael Spradlin - Blood Riders

He waited. The sound of her running had stopped. She was being cautious. He could smell her, but…

Shaniah exploded into the room. She came in low, rolling through the door, and his mighty swing of the blade hit nothing but air until it caught in the wood beam that supported the doorway. He worked to pull it loose, but as quick as a cat, she was on her feet and staggered him with a kick to his midsection. He regained his footing and she crouched as they faced each other, circling slowly like two rams about to charge.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said.

“Yes, you did,” Shaniah replied.

He lunged at her, swinging his blade, but she dodged easily away, pulling her blade from her boot.

“We don’t need to fight,” he said. “We both want the same thing.”

“No we don’t, Malachi. We never have. I want our people to survive. What you want leads only to their destruction.”

“You couldn’t be more-” He slightly lowered his weapon as he spoke, giving her the opening she had been waiting for and she swung her blade with all of her might. But he ducked it easily.

“As I was saying,” he said, backing farther away from her. “You couldn’t be more wrong. The Council is full of weak and ancient fools. They ask us to live like cattle.”

“What they ask is that we survive.” They continued to circle each other.

“Survive.” He spat out the word as if it tasted bitter. “We are Archaics, a race far older and stronger than humans. We conquer. We do not succumb.”

“No, Malachi, you are wrong. We are dinosaurs.”

“Dinosaurs? I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the term,” he said. Shaniah lunged at him, swinging her blade, but he blocked it again easily, pushing her violently into the wall of the chamber. His strength was incredible. It was the Huma Sangra. It had restored him. She scrambled to her hands and knees, trying to stand, but she had hit the wall solidly and it had stunned her. Before she could move again or react, he was behind her, his hand grabbing her hair and pulling her head back exposing her throat. He held the blade close to her, wanting her to be afraid as the steel kissed her skin.

“Do you feel it, Shaniah?” He yanked her by the hair, pulled her head back so far she felt the muscles of her neck strain to the point where she was afraid they were going to snap.

“It is the power of the Huma Sangra, Shaniah.” He tightened the grip on her hair and with the hand holding the blade he held his wrist close to her nose. “The Huma Sangra flows through my veins. You can smell it, Shaniah… taste it… go ahead. You can feel it.”

And the truth of it was, she could feel it. And part of her wanted it. She knew it was wrong, she had resisted it for centuries, but now

… so close… so near Malachi and his power. It was overwhelming her.

“No… I… will… not,” she said. Her free hand went to his wrist holding her hair in a twisted mass. She tried hard to break his grip but it was like iron. She twisted and struggled and clawed at his hand, but found she was loosing her strength.

There was a loud explosion. Suddenly Malachi’s grip was broken and he flew through the air, hitting the far wall with a hard thump.

Hollister and the Ass-Kicker had arrived.

Chee had watched as Hollister and Dog disappeared inside the mine. The major was following Malachi and Shaniah. Unless Chee acted, and soon, Jonas Hollister was going to die. He pulled back the slide on the Gatling and loaded a new belt of wooden bullets. Hollister had found an opening in the Archaic line and made it to the entrance. But there were another twenty or thirty Archaics still standing, and they needed to be dealt with first.

He pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. This was not good. He pulled the slide open and immediately saw the problem. One of the wooden bullets had fractured into several pieces and jammed the action on the gun. He tried clearing the splinters but there were too many. The gun was momentarily useless.

The Archaics realized the shooting had stopped and slowly they ventured closer to the shed. Chee tried desperately to free the action of the gun. No time. With the butt of the Henry, he knocked open the crate of dynamite left on the cart. He removed two sticks of dynamite and lit them. There were howls and shouts coming from outside as the Archaics grew bolder. The fuses on the dynamite hissed as he stepped back to the window and was shocked to see how close they had gotten. He tossed the dynamite through the window.

The Archaics were hit full-on from twenty yards by the concussion wave of the explosion. A few of them tried to turn and run when they saw the sticks spinning through the air, but they had ventured too close to the shed and they were blown down like dead stalks of wheat. Chee poured it on, keeping the flame working over them until there was nothing left but piles of charred flesh.

Looking out through the opening in the shed wall, he could not see an Archaic standing anywhere. He picked up one of the Henry rifles and hung it on his shoulder. Monkey Pete had designed the Gatling to be released from the cart by untwisting a large screw. He took the sling from the spare Henry and fastened it to the Gatling gun so it hung at his waist. Looping a belt of ammunition around his shoulders, he left the building. He worked his way through the mass of destruction and dead bodies that lined the ground between the buildings and the mine.

At the entrance he looked behind him, making sure there were no signs of life among the bodies on the ground. Archaics could heal quickly, and he wanted to make sure no one was left alive to attack from the rear. The Archaics in the field lay still. Their weapons had reaped mass destruction on these creatures. He and Major Hollister had brought killing machines to this fight. And they had won. At least this battle.

He heard noise up ahead, coming from deep inside the mine shaft. It sounded like a fight.

Hollister was never happier in his life than when he saw Shaniah still alive. If he could rush to her right at this moment and hold her in his arms he would. But that would get them both killed.

Malachi should be dead. Or at least unconscious. But after receiving a direct hit from the Ass-Kicker, Malachi was climbing to his feet. Shaniah was crawling around on the ground looking for the blade she carried.

“Holy shit,” Hollister muttered as he watched Malachi, now standing.

Malachi had changed. His jaw was elongated, the fangs had descended, and his eyes had turned red. He charged at Hollister, who barely had time to work the action and shoot before Malachi was upon him.

Dog came to his rescue again and charged at Malachi. Malachi laughed at the thought of the hound attempting to stop him, and when Dog leapt for his throat, he backhanded him across the head. Dog spun through the air, hitting the chamber wall with a loud yelp and fell silently to the ground.

Hollister fired the Ass-Kicker a second time and Malachi tumbled backward, the shell catching him square in the chest and knocking him down. He had to be dead now, the shot should have felled a bull elephant. Malachi lay on his back, not moving.

Shaniah rose, the blade now in her hand.

“I think that did it,” Hollister said.

“No, it is not finished. Not yet,” she said. Holding the blade in both hands, she walked toward Malachi. Hollister remembered what Van Helsing had said. Decapitation was the surest way to kill an Archaic.

Standing over him, she raised the blade over her head and brought it down in a vicious whistling arc.

An inch before the blade reached his neck, Malachi caught it with both hands. He leapt to his feet, twisting the blade from her grasp.