Дмитрий Мансуров - Invasion

And now it turned out that some of the vampires survived. The strange thing was, five thousand years had passed after the end of the war, and the vampires still hadn’t conquered this planet.

‘Maybe two or three vampires from the last months of the war survived,’ the captain guessed when he finally regained the ability to think logically. Now they roamed at night, behaving differently, not like they used to. Did they not want to attract attention to themselves or did something prevent them from attacking properly? A young star, for example.

Yaroslav and Artem saw Babak, Alena, and Ivan off to the edge of the village and went back. They really wanted to leave, to let the stupid peasants deal with the vampires by themselves, but the princes suppressed this impulse. After burying the miller, who had died from his injuries, they stood over his grave for a while. They were about to make an observation point on a high tree when a tired mongrel with glowing green eyes ran up to them. Yaga’s mind control had lost its power a long time ago, but the mongrel liked this new look so much that it stayed with him forever.

Hunter ran to the grave, sat down, and howled wistfully.

“Isn’t he Alena’s dog?” Artem asked. “She talked about her mongrel missing.”

“Let’s check!” Yaroslav knelt down and called, “Hunter…”

Hunter ceased howling, turned to face them, and waved his tail uncertainly. The space around them was filled with another heartbreaking howl.

“Yeah, it’s him.”

“I want to howl, too,” Yaroslav said.

“Then do so,” Artem suggested. “What’s the problem?”

“I can’t. It won’t be as effective as when Hunter does it.”

The princes paused, then put on their helmets and left. Hunter joined them.

The second group of scouts got close to the village about midnight, stimulated by the complaints of the vampires who had escaped yesterday. They were dying to sink their teeth into the impudent little people. Humans had won before, but those victories were so rare and insignificant that the vampires only laughed ironically. Every night, they went out to battle, and if people won over a small group, they returned there with a detachment of several dozens of vampires. No warrior could resist such an army. They were simply crushed and turned into similar creatures. Good warriors were valued anywhere.

The vampires decided to refrain from a fight with the mysterious old woman in the middle of the woods. There was no use in it. In the villages, people were simpler, and unlike the old women, they were an easy prey. Some got turned into vampires, others died or were burned in the morning. And no huts with legs that kicked painfully.

The vampires ran to the village and stopped, perplexed. It looked as if it’d been abandoned a hundred years ago. All the windows and doors were boarded up and there wasn’t a soul around. The vampires stood, thinking, and then spread across the streets.

Quiet noises, barely audible sneezing, muffled coughing, inarticulate swearing… nothing escaped the vampires with their sharp hearing. They all rushed to the first house, tore off the defenses, and broke inside. The frightened owners bombarded them with household utensils, but the forces were unequal and the supply of utensils soon ended.

The smell of blood teased the hungry vampires. They cracked open the houses like nuts, attacked people hiding there and feasted on them, unable to get enough of fresh blood.

The village was filled with screams and cries.

The bearded man was sitting quietly on a stool. The splinters lit up the empty room. His family didn’t dare to stay. He let them go. His wife, his daughter, and his two sons. And now he was glad he had done it. The screams grew louder and closer. The vampires approached, sowing death left and right, catching up with those who tried to run, killing them.

The jugs with fuel mixture from the forest swamps formed an arch over the front door. Eight more stood on the table, waiting for their fate. Another ten were placed around the house. A candle was burning in man’s hands. When the first blows came, he didn’t move. But when the wood crackled, he lit the wick of the first jug and began to wait. As soon as the door was thrown open, he threw it at the enemy. The uninvited guests turned into living torches. The liquid spilled on the floor and a burning stream flowed to the broken jugs.

The window cracked, and the wind that broke through it made the fire blaze brighter. Someone’s blood-covered mug pushed itself into the house, and the bearded man threw another jug at it. The inflamed mug retreated with loud yelling. The liquid spilled in front of the window. The house was engulfed by black smoke. The third and the fourth jugs followed. The shouts increased significantly, and the jugs at the entrance exploded. A powerful wave of flames swallowed the house. The bearded man coughed. It became difficult to breathe as the temperature was rising rapidly. The fire engulfed almost everything at this point.

“Screw it!” the bearded man cried out, throwing the last jug. The howling of the vampires overcame the screams of their victims. The fire spread to the bearded man, but he didn’t pay any attention to it. Instead, he rushed through the flames toward the doorway. He jumped, somersaulted, threw away the burning blanket that he used to cover his body, and jumped outside. The vampires were running around like flaming torches, and no one cared about him.

The powerful blows were knocking the vampires off their feet, the club crushing their skulls like nuts. From his very childhood, from the time of fairy tales, the bearded man dreamed of becoming a hero. In these last hours, the memories of his childhood came flooding back, and he forgot about the everyday life with all its hardships. He could hear the voices from the past echoing in his head, reminding him of the old, almost forgotten stories. He felt like a hurricane capable of crushing all obstacles on his path.

Seeing that he wasn’t fighting alone as some of his neighbors joined him, the bearded man smiled.

‘Maybe we were stupid and ignorant,’ he thought, ‘ but no one will say that we gave up without a fight…’

The neighbors bludgeoned at the vampires with whatever they could find, but their ranks were steadily getting thinner, and soon, the bearded man was one of the last remaining few. From his house, the fire spread to the neighboring ones, making the night as bright as the day. The cries of the wounded were no longer heard. The vampires were randomly rushing from the dead to the dying, drinking the remnants of their blood, while the bearded man kept beating at them with all his strength. The voices of his family sounded louder and clearer…

And when he was surrounded by a large crowd of vampires, when he was knocked down and they began to drink his blood, he didn’t feel pain any longer. With his last efforts, he threw a club forward and smashed the vampire’s face. Then he fell back, exhausted, muttering, “Finally…”

The familiar voices became even louder. The vampires around him melted away in a blinding glow, and his dead parents and friends stood in front of him instead. They smiled happily and greeted him.

“Come on,” the miller said. “You did a good job. It’s time to have a rest.”

“Did I kill a lot of vampires?” the bearded man asked hoarsely.

“Most of them,” the miller said. The others nodded.

“I wish you’d gone with your family,” his father said. “But don’t be sad.”

As if through cotton wool, he heard these last words and grew confused, not knowing whether to rejoice or to grieve.