Dust--Chapter 12, PG-13

[librarian_7]

Disclaimer…any guesses? Yeah, the usual. Now, on with the story!

Dust

Chapter 12

“How will we know where they are?” Slade demanded. He wasn’t ready to let go of his anger. He could feel it in his bones, that he was changed, that something precious had been taken from him. And he was ready to unleash it, in whatever direction offered itself.

“You can see, can’t you?” Josef snapped back. “Besides, you have other senses. Take a deep breath. Smell the night.”

Slade inhaled, almost choking on the overload of scent. He concentrated, trying to process what he was sensing. He could separate out the green aroma of vegetation, a smell of decay—oddly not unpleasant—stemming from Constantine, and a strong reek from the northeast, borne on the night wind. Horses. And riders, smelling of woodsmoke, sweat, and an underlying, delicious whiff of something that made his teeth ache. He pivoted toward Constantine, a question on his lips.

“I told you, later.” He paused. “If you’re angry, take it out on those men.”

Weston said nothing. He wasn’t even sure what he should feel, at this point.

Josef took a deep, sensing breath of his own. “Idiots,” he said, almost affectionately. As he’d hoped, the Colonel had sent Roberts out to make his previous mistake good. These religious types…always following a principle of atonement, instead of putting the incompetent aside, and letting a better man in. He was briefly grateful that none of the robber barons back East had looked beyond the accumulation of wealth, to the accumulation of political power. That could have been dangerous. But back to the matter at hand. Josef thought this might be almost too easy. Roberts was a thug, not a tactician, and he was assuming a simple frontal assault on a weak, unarmed enemy would overcome them. It had been centuries since Josef had learned the military arts, when he was mortal; his teachers would have scorned this.

Josef crouched in the rocks, close to Slade, and felt the old, familiar pleasure at impending combat. He’d not been in a pitched battle for many years—it was his practice to avoid such things, if possible—and his body, if not his brain, rejoiced in the prospect. He’d spent a few minutes, earlier, gathering up a number of rocks, about fist-sized. He might be out of practice, but his eye was good, and he thought that might suffice.

The riders were nearing. Josef no longer needed to feel the faint vibrations through the soles of his boots. Their scent was growing stronger by the minute. Josef filled his hands with stones, readying himself for the arrival.

The patrol wheeled around the shoulder of the rocky outcrop suddenly, an indistinct mass of horsemen in the deep shade of the cottonwoods. All of them had rifles couched in their arms. Most of them had seen the carnage at the main camp. Cassidy and McCarty struck down, and those other guards slaughtered as well. Sure, the perimeter sentry’s throat had been slit, but there were rumors that something was odd. Cut a man’s throat, these men all knew, and you got blood. A lot of it. The ground under the sentry was clean. And the guard by the picket wire. How much strength did it take, to snap a man’s neck like that? Through the long hours of pursuit, they’d listened to Roberts brag on what he would do, when they caught up to Constantine, but none of them paid him much heed. They were men who believed in what they could see, not vapor in the air. They left the dreams of empire in the heads of their superiors, opting for the reality of a group to belong to, with steady food and discipline to hold them together.

And in shadows this deep, anything could happen.

Roberts reined in his horse, peering into the darkness. “We know you’re here, gambler,” he bellowed. “You might as well come out.” He waited for an answer, but the only sound in the clearing was the stamping of the horses, the swish of their tails, and the creak of their leather saddles. “Dammit, Constantine, you can’t get away.”

The rock winging out of the night was silent until it struck the horseman next to Roberts in the forehead, with a meaty thunk. His horse, spooked with the sudden pull on the reins, coupled with the boneless slide of the rider to the ground, snorted and jumped, colliding hard with Roberts’ horse. The first rider was followed in a scant few seconds by the man on the leader’s other side, dead without a shot fired, without negotiation.

Roberts roared in surprise, and the clearing lit with muzzle flashes as he fired his handgun up into the rocks, one hand fighting for control of his rearing horse. The other men fired as well, and the night rang with the sharp crack of bullets against the rocks.

The next two rocks were not as accurate, but they hit marks nonetheless, and the patrol turned from a tight formation into a milling mob. No one even noticed the man at one side, pulled from his horse by relentless iron hands, until yet another riderless horse broke from the group. Slade pulled a second man down, fighting his urge to put his fangs into the defenseless human’s throat, to feel the hot red life pouring out into his mouth.

The man struggled in his grip, and Slade marveled at how easily he held his enemy. He readied himself to snap this man’s neck, as well. A flailing hand struck against the rocky soil, grazed the sharp edge of a stone, and the rich copper tang of blood scent spilled across Weston’s senses. It was the last push away from humanity. He had thought his alien fangs monstrous, but now they were the focus of his existence. He heard a growl coming from the depths of his chest, and without thought, without volition, buried his teeth in the man’s neck, oblivious to the chaos around him, blind and deaf to everything but the crimson song of the blood pouring hot and thick into his mouth. He pulled hard, and in a shockingly brief time felt the man’s pulse stutter and die.

He cast the body aside and rose. He had to have more. “Feast on our enemies,” Josef had said. Well, he’d sampled the first dish, and liked it, and now he wanted seconds.

Josef had not been idle. He had followed his volley of stones with an assault as swift and deadly as Weston’s. Two more men had fallen to his merciless hands.

The clearing was tangled now, loose horses shying at every movement, and trying to avoid stepping on the inert bodies in the dust. The two remaining horsemen were unable to see enough to take a clear shot at the slicing shadows that attacked them.

Slade leapt with a roar at a man who’d tossed aside his useless rifle and drawn a handgun. A flash of light split the darkness, and Slade recoiled at the strike of the bullet hitting high on his shoulder just before his momentum brought him to grapple the man from his mount. He could feel the bullet plough through his flesh, tear its way out the skin of his back, like a flare of fire, but it faded almost at once. As he wrestled the man to the ground, he realized he felt nothing but the thirst for more blood. He smiled at the man who’d shot him, and reveled in the scream that ended in a choked, dying moan. The blood was good. Slade felt stronger than ever, more powerful than a man had any right to feel. Earlier, he’d wondered what was wrong with him. Now he wondered why he’d thought anything was wrong. Everything felt right, felt natural.

Even without enhanced night vision, Josef thought, Roberts would have been easy to find. The patrol leader pulled his protesting, snorting horse in tight circles, waving an impotent pistol wildly, as he realized his men were falling around him. A torrent of curses streamed from his lips. Josef knew, as he moved closer, that one or two of the fallen still lived, but they were out of action, and he was counting on Weston’s burgeoning bloodlust to account for any further killings needed. For now, he was going to take down Roberts, and he planned to enjoy every one of the final heartbeats of the man who had caused Iris Beaumont’s death.

“I’m so glad you came to this little dance, Roberts,” he said, pitching his voice loud enough to be heard above the commotion.

Roberts reined his horse toward where he thought the voice emanated from, but the next comment echoed from another quarter.

“I’ll enjoy killing you.”

“Fuck you, Constantine!” Roberts screamed, but Josef heard more fear than fury in his voice. Roberts squeezed off another round, a wild shot in the dark.

A blur of shadows, and Roberts’ horse reared as Josef landed in a cat-footed crouch before it. Roberts swung his pistol down to aim squarely at Josef’s chest. “I’ve got you now, you bastard,” he snarled, and pulled the trigger.

Only to hear the hammer click down uselessly on an empty chamber.

Josef laughed, showing his fangs. “I don’t think you understand,” he said, and Roberts froze, seeing the silver eyes of the vampire. “A bullet wouldn’t stop me.” He seized the headstall of the horse’s bridle, and with an expert, powerful twist, brought the animal down.

Roberts scrambled away, kicking free of the stirrup and his fallen mount. With a tiger’s leap, Josef landed on the panting man’s back, knocking the rest of the human’s breath from his lungs with a noise somewhere between a gasp and a squeal. His face smashed against the rocky soil, he pulled in a lungful of dust, and coughed uncontrollably.

Then a hand fisted in his hair, and pulled his head back. He cried out, voice thick with dust and fear, "Oh God, oh God, please--!"

“You think God is going to help you now?” a voice hissed in his ear. “The only mercy you get is a faster death than you deserve.”

There were times for finesse, times to make the vampire’s bite a thing of pleasure and grace. And times to make it an instrument of terror and harsh justice.

Josef reared up, pulling Roberts’ back into a torturous bow, before he struck with all his strength, tearing at the great vein of the neck, and gulping in the flood of the bandit’s blood. It was bitter with fear and anger and hate, and Josef swallowed it all, ruthlessly aware of the heart struggling to beat, fighting fruitlessly to survive. Robert’s hands beat the dirt, as though he could dig his way free, as though he could pull himself away from the nightmare that was devouring him. He’d spent a lifetime in a downward spiral of crime and whiskey, and never thought himself anything but a normal, ordinary fellow. Doing what needed to be done. And now, as his sight faded into deeper and deeper red, he still only thought how unfair life had always been for him. How unfair…and then the red went black.

Finally, it was over, all Roberts’ debts settled in blood. Josef thrust the body away, frowning at his own savagery, and rose, brushing the dust from his clothing. He looked around to see what Weston was doing.

Aside from the horses, he was the only being moving in the clearing. There were hearts beating here, yet, but no other presence. Weston was nowhere to be seen.

From the rocks above, Josef heard a sudden pop, as the sound of a small caliber pistol shot cut through the night.

[one.zebra]

Oh! nice (literal) cliff hanger!!!

Lots of juicy action...(sorry,/snicker/ feeling a little punch drunk from all the blood flowing...)

[tucutecats]

Oh thank you thank you for the update. I love this story, this Joseph. the pop was it from Sallys gun. Weston was probably crazy with bloodlust.. O h Please don't make us wait for another chapter. I feel like I was there watching it all take place. Lovin this story so much.

[RangerCM]

Very satisfying chapter Liked all the references to "dust" in this one. Not surprised in the least that Slade would fall into this lifestyle like a natural, although I suspect he still has much to learn and he won't be an easy fledgling.

[francis]

I writed you a comment, but the internet eated it.

Okay, again:
This was a very satisfying action-filled chapter. I love the descriptive parts that really gave me a picture of what happened, like watching a movie. Slade got a first taste of what being a vampire could mean, and revels in it. This was great, and I guess self-control will come later in the schedule. For now, Slade is unleashed and has now the power to do what his character would have done anyway if he had the power. I hope Josef is not mistaken in Slade and he can reign him in.
And I hope the cliffhanger doesn't mean that Sally is in danger...

Wonderfully written, as always!

[wpgrace]

Uh oh!

Cool fight scene, but now, uh oh!!

[wollstonecraft61]

Well worth the wait, Lucky. This is visceral!!!! I can see this scene play out as if I were watching it on screen. Very well done.

[jenstc2003]

It's always fun to see Josef getting his hands dirty- even if it is the last thing he would prefer. Well done, Lucky!

[LadyAilith]

Wonderfully crafted Lucky! I love that Slade is reveling in what he has become. He's the demon in the dark... I do hope that Josef is able to rein him in.

Slade's gone after Sally, hasn't he? That's what the small caliber "pop" was - her little derringer - wasn't it? I hope that she was able to buy enough time for Josef to come to her rescue.

As always, I'm looking forward to the next chapter in your saga. Thanks so much for sharing your amazing talent.

LadyAilith
.:~Dare to Dream~:.

[cassysj]

Wonderful update. Slade slips into his new life naturally and Josef unleashes his inner vampire. I am concerned about Sally.

[moonlight_vixen]

Exciting chapter! I'm not surprised to see Slade fit into his new lifestyle naturally. I also love to see Josef getting his hands dirty every now and then...

[allegrita]

Oh, man--I waited to read this till I had the time to savor it, and I'm glad I did. What a great, action-packed, vamped out chapter! Everything went just exactly right... until that little "pop" at the end...eeeeeek...now I'm very scared for Sally. All I can think of to comfort me is that she's a heck of a good talker when she needs to be. I hope she can bring Slade back from the abyss before it's too late!

Lucky, your writing is cinematic. I can see, smell, taste, feel, and touch everything you describe. I choked on the dust right along with Roberts, and I gloried in the blood (oooh, gorgeous-- "hot red life"!!) with Slade.

I love the way Josef muses on things as he readies for the fight, and even as he is fighting. It's so Josef--he always was a good multitasker, I guess. And your description of Slade as he begins to understand what has happened to him--the way his attitude changes--are just devastatingly wonderful. You're such a word-painter!

[Phoenix]

Finally, it was over, all Roberts’ debts settled in blood. Josef thrust the body away, frowning at his own savagery, and rose, brushing the dust from his clothing. He looked around to see what Weston was doing.

Aside from the horses, he was the only being moving in the clearing. There were hearts beating here, yet, but no other presence. Weston was nowhere to be seen.

From the rocks above, Josef heard a sudden pop, as the sound of a small caliber pistol shot cut through the night.

Oh bloody hell.

[tucutecats]

I always have to read your stories several times they are so delicious. I sit here reading and I can see it all before my eyes. Like I was watching in real life. you are a champion, thank you for the wonderful gift of your writing.

[librarian_7]

Thanks so much for the comments! I always struggle a bit with "action" scenes, so it's especially gratifying to get such positive feedback.

It's funny so many have mentioned this as being cinematic....because what I try to do is let a fight scene play in my head as though it were on screen, and then try to describe it. I've even been noticing that sort of scene in movies and books, and tried to think about what was going on and how I'd describe it. Part of the problem, when you have a group fighting, is that there is just so much going on, it's hard to capture a lot of simultaneous actions in something so linear as language.

Thanks so much for your support, and I won't keep you all hanging on this cliff too long!

Lucky