After The Pandemic - Smith: The End of the World (7) Spoiler Alert – Smith dies! For real!! No, honestly, he really, really dies!!! And this one is long. (1081 hits)
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Submitted by Jack McCallum (View user info) at 2005-07-29 19:12:21 EDT
Related Tales...
ATP - Intro http://www.ubersite.com/m/61238
ATP - Background
-Corrigan http://www.ubersite.com/m/61296
-Variant C http://www.ubersite.com/m/61350
ATP - Smith tales
-Archangels 1 http://www.ubersite.com/m/61513
-Archangels 2 http://www.ubersite.com/m/61755
-Archangels 3 http://www.ubersite.com/m/61985
-Archangels 4 http://www.ubersite.com/m/62289
-Archangels 5 http://www.ubersite.com/m/62570
-Smith in D.C. http://www.ubersite.com/m/64167
-Smith at Sea http://www.ubersite.com/m/64857
-Smith: The End of the World (1) http://www.ubersite.com/m/66658
-Smith: The End of the World (2) http://www.ubersite.com/m/68176
-Smith: The End of the World (3) http://www.ubersite.com/m/69626
-Smith: The End of the World (4) http://www.ubersite.com/m/69714
-Smith: The End of the World (5) http://www.ubersite.com/m/69802
-Smith: The End of the World (6) http://www.ubersite.com/m/71864
=(7)=
Once inside the castle walls an unconscious Smith was thrown over the shoulder of one burly leech and carried up a winding road to the Great Hall.
The hall was filling with leeches in positions of power. They had been told Daric was in the chapel, but he would soon be in the Great Hall and he promised to provide them with another entertainment, as a number of Highlanders had been captured.
The leech dropped Smith onto a threadbare rug and slipped a key into a padlock, loosening the chains around the man.
Smith was left alone in the center of the room as more leeches came into the hall.
When the crowd around the unconscious man had grown considerably larger, the burly leech undid his pants and squirted a little piss on the unconscious survivor, a little squirt being all the piss the average leech could muster.
Smith was on his feet and reaching out even as the taste of the liquid trickling over his lips registered in his mind. He grabbed and snapped his wrist and the hall was filled with the laughter of the crowd and the horrified screams of the leech as it recognized its own penis in Smith's hand.
"Catch," Smith said. He tossed the torn-away organ, watching it bounce off of the stunned leech's forehead.
The burly leech recovered his senses and charged at Smith.
Smith leaned back as a swirl of sliver and gray appeared in front of him, the swirl settling into the shape of a man in a gray cloak, holding a bloody sword and watching the burly leech's head bounce across the floor. The assembled crowd of what passed for nobles in this society were now on their knees.
"My apologies," Daric said. "That was an inappropriate welcome. I am Lord Daric. This castle, this country are mine, and soon, this island will be under my authority as well."
Smith said nothing. So this was Lord Daric. Smith saw that, aside from leech strength and speed, Daric wasn't a whole lot to write home about. Pale. Thin. The shadows of old acne scars half-hidden by a failure of a beard. Under the cloak he was wearing fancy breeches and a coat of gold and scarlet.
"I'm Smith."
Daric gestured and led Smith to a table at the far end of the hall. The crowd got to their feet and watched in silence.
Smith took a seat, falling into it heavily, the breath whooshing out of him. He could feel sweat running down his ribs, and he felt woozy.
Daric sat at the opposite end of the table. Three ancient leeches in dark robes took stations just behind him.
A leech appeared with a tray and two drinks. Red liquid shifted behind crystal. Smith shook his head, and Daric laughed.
"Mere wine, I assure you. Please, partake."
Smith sniffed, sipped, swallowed, drank some more.
"Why are you here?" Daric tilted his head and gave Smith a smile. "Why?"
"The girl," Smith said, suddenly thinking of aspirin. The last time he had taken real aspirin he had been in his teens. His head was pounding.
Daric looked around the room. "Girl? What girl?" He tittered, and the crowd responded with soft laughter.
"Trina Klozy," Smith replied. "I'm here to save her."
"Ah," Daric said. "But to do that, you would have to go through me."
"Then you are already dead," Smith said, swallowing the rest of his wine and holding up his glass for a refill.
Daric frowned, forced a smile, and leaned back in his chair. The ancients behind him darted to his side, dipped their heads to his ears and flitted away, like birds feeding him information.
"...definitely him..."
"...full of fear and pretense, all an act of bravura...
"...diseased, likely rabid...."
Daric moved a finger. Smith's glass was filled.
"...modified muon catalyzed fusion..."
Daric looked surprised at that.
"What?"
The three who were advisors, counselors, seers, shrugged in unison. They didn't know the meaning of the words. They didn't think Smith knew. But the words were suddenly there, and they were an ill omen.
After a moment of contemplative silence, Daric whispered over one shoulder. "This man has both eyes, not one, as you foretold. Do you still think it is him?"
The three advisors nodded.
Daric fell silent. He studied Smith, the lifemap of scars and red-rimmed fresh wounds, the missing finger, the filthy clothes, the discolored, damp skin, the feverish eyes. He would never see what Trina saw in this man.
"I thought you might be of some value," Daric said. "Some interest. I was wrong. You will join in the evening's entertainment with some rebellious Highlander terrorists."
"You mean people willing to stand against you instead of serving you like domesticated animals?"
Daric chuckled. "The animal analogy is apt. These are beasts run amok, primitives barely out of the cave. I was an Englishman at one time, so it is only fitting I oversee these primitive highland tribes and usher them toward extinction."
"You won't win this fight, Daric. Your people won't win this world. Mine will."
"No," Daric said. "We will win. We will stop anyone who threatens us as easily as I will see you dead. I have seen your death in my dreams, Mr. Smith. My seers have seen it. You will die, tonight. Perhaps you will die at the hands of the lovely maiden you have come to rescue... she is, after all, what you would call a Variant C."
For the first time Smith was caught completely off guard, and it showed in his face.
Daric gestured, and two leeches rushed Smith, dragging him out of the chair and toward a far door.
"And so I say goodbye," Daric said, raising his voice. "Goodbye to you, goodbye to Highlander threats, goodbye to the human race."
From across the room Smith said, "You are a lousy host!"
Daric grinned. Inside he was in turmoil. This stranger no longer looked like a man so sickly and frail he was about to die.
The crowd gasped in shock at the blasphemy Smith shouted just before he was dragged out the door.
"I didn't get to finish my wine, holesuck!"
*
Smith was marched out of the palace and across cobblestones to a building that was half barracks for leech guards and half prison. He was shoved into a big cage with six Highlanders wearing grimy clothes, each bearing a swatch of tartan on his shirt or trousers.
The biggest of the Scots was staring angrily at Smith. Smith stared back.
"Whot the fuck are yoo lukin' at, ya wee cunt?"
Smith grimaced and replied, "The source of the smell that's turning my stomach."
Massive hands reached for Smith. Smith braced himself for breaking a few finger bones as a deterrent, hoping he had enough strength to do just that.
"Andrew."
The big man paused. An older man stepped forward, and big Andrew moved away.
"I'm Jim Stewart, these are my boys. Andrew, Arthur, Angus, Alan and Alistair."
Each of the young men nodded in turn. Their ages ranged from around eighteen to thirty.
Stewart had half a face. His right side was strikingly handsome, his silver hair woven into a long, thin braid. His left side was a churned and twisted moonscape of old scar tissue. His left eye and his mouth were pulled into a leer by an old burn that had healed badly. His body was slight, but he was all sinew, no fat.
Little wiry guys like this were dangerous. "I'm Smith." And I'm glad I never crossed you in your prime.
Stewart's one remaining eyebrow rose in surprise. "From America?"
"From what's left of it, yes."
"I won't shake your hand, Mr. Smith," Stewart said, turning his head so his right profile was facing the stranger. His accent wasn't as rough as Andrew's. "How do I know you aren't a quisling?"
Smith was about to reply when his vision darkened and he felt himself falling back against the bars of the cage.
"If you think I'm some sort of spy." Smith said weakly, "then kill me. Otherwise, go fu...."
*
Smith was being shaken awake. His clothes were soaked with sweat and his arms and legs were trembling. All of the wounds from his battle with the brock were burning, and when he looked under a bandage on his ribcage he saw a suppurating, black-edged tear in his flesh.
This was not going to end well.
"On yoo're feet man," Big Andrew said, lifting Smith like a doll. "The guards are here. Time for us to sing and dance for these shites."
Leeches carrying handguns snapped old manacles on the prisoners as each stepped out of the cage. Smith figured a few good blows with a hammer would pop the manacles.
The moon was lower in the sky, but there were still a few hours of darkness remaining.
Smith was secured, and shoved into motion, following the Stewart clan to the Esplanade he had seen from the drawbridge.
*
Trina was taken from her cell, up flight after flight of narrow, stone staircases, across a courtyard, into an imposing stone building, down long corridors, up a winding circular stair.
She emerged into a richly-appointed room. There was a table set for two, with goblets and fine linen. Logs popped and glowed in a tall fireplace. In an alcove, half-hidden by curtains of lace, was a four poster bed. Daric was sitting at one end of the table. He gestured, and she sat as well.
"I have a decision to make," Daric said. "Your brave hero will be dead soon... and I am not sure if I will kill you, or drag you into my bed to put to the test your promise to will yourself to death if I force myself upon you."
With her mind, Trina searched for Smith, called out to him.
Be careful. Please be careful.
After a moment, Smith replied.
I'll be just fine. Don't you worry.
Daric rolled his eyes, wondering if this woman who captivated him so was not completely mad. He snapped his fingers and Trina's eyes focused on him once more.
"Now. Drink. Please, just a little. You are too thin, too weak."
Trina looked at the goblet.
"Use your nose," Daric said. "It is deer blood, completely clean of virus or illness, taken from my own preserve."
Trina sniffed. She wasn't invincible. She raised the goblet and drained it, three quick swallows. A rush of revitalization moved through her as she set down the goblet, dulled sensations sharpening. She wished there was more blood, because now she was hungrier than ever.
Daric drained his own cup. "Three weeks old. Superb." He dabbed at his lips with a linen napkin and then stood, offering Trina his arm.
"Time for a show," he said, leading Trina through an arch.
She followed him up one final set of stairs and stepped out into the night, Daric's armed guards standing close by.
*
The Esplanade had changed. It was now illuminated by hundreds of torches and at least a dozen electric lights on high poles. The muted chugging of the generators powering the lights mingled with the excited murmurs of the crowd now assembled. Leeches filled the bleachers and stood three and four deep along shoulder-high wooden barriers that now encircled most of the Esplanade, separating the leeches and a great number of guards holding swords and pikes from the open area were the games would take place.
The crowd began to boo when they saw the prisoners coming out of the gatehouse and the high corridor leading into the safety of the castle.
It was in the shadows of the corridor that Smith took inventory. Every weapon, every blade, had been taken. The leeches had left his empty sling holsters, however. Moving quickly and watching the escort of guards, Smith freed the leather slings from his legs. He loosened two knots on each sling, looped one sling through the other, pulled two cords, and just like that he had a leather strap four feet long.
The prisoners were led to the center of the Esplanade. Along one far wall were a series of high, multi-colored curtains. Jim Stewart's sons were forced against five pillars in the row, their manacles passed through iron rungs fixed in the stone. Smith saw that Andrew was at one end, Angus or Arthur at the other. Two of the boys were secured fast to the pillars. Three had varying lengths of chain between them and the pillar.
The elder Stewart, and Smith, had their manacles removed, and their wrists were bound behind their backs with leather straps.
"What is this?" The moment the guards stepped away Smith was already working to loosen his bonds.
"It woo'dn't be very sporting to just lop of oor heids, now, would it? This is more sporting. We have a fighting chance. In theory."
"In theory?"
"It all depends on what awaits us on the other side of those curtains, mind."
"You've seen this before?"
"Aye. From afar. It ne'er ends well."
"I'm not a spy, you know."
Stewart laughed, a real laugh, no fakery. "I ken that now, lad. Now fight alongside me. We only need to hold the crowd's attention for a few minutes after the horn sounds."
"What happens then?"
"Then we attack," Stewart replied, one side of his face grinning with confidence, the other side twisting with a very human thirst for blood.
Smith looked around. A crowd of a few hundred leeches on either side. Armed guards every ten feet along the short wooden wall, a higher wall and a fence beyond that. Guards stationed on parapets, carrying guns for all he knew. Smith gave Stewart a curious shrug.
Stewart chuckled and whispered, "Catapults and parachutes, lad."
*
Trina and Daric took seats on a turret. Braziers filled with glowing coals gave off heat in the cool night air. Antique brass telescopes were mounted on tripods before each chair.
She gave one of the brass tubes a slow spin. "Afraid to get to close?"
Daric seemed to force a grin as he leaned into the eyepiece. "I prefer a lofty vantage point."
The turret showed signs of recent construction, making space for the ornate chairs and the guards who stood behind them. Below them was the great wall of the castle, the gatehouse, and the Esplanade. In the Esplanade were six Scots, recognizable by their worn clothes and long hair. A seventh man wearing dark leather and denim had to be Smith.
Trina looked through her telescope. The Esplanade was not far, and the telescopes weren't much more than simple magnifiers, but the man she had been awaiting for most of her life was there, now, and her heart leaped.
The scarred, weary face looked up toward the turret, for just a moment. Smith smiled.
Daric pulled back from his telescope as if offended. He pulled a white silk scarf from one sleeve of his coat.
Trina closed her eyes a moment, and returned the smile.
*
She's up there, Smith thought, the realization filling him with an energy he had not felt in many days. Piss on the fire and call in the dogs, its almost over. She's right there.
His elation did not last long. A horn sounded. A tiny swatch of white fluttered down from the turret. Along the far wall, the curtains dropped away to expose massive cages even as the cage doors were raised.
"Steady on now," Stewart said.
"Are you telling me you were captured on purpose?"
Stewart nodded. "It is the leech custom. Put on a grand show when there are rebels to be put doon. We wanted as many of them in the open as is possible."
"For what?" Smith asked, suspecting he knew what was coming.
"For the flash-bomb. The resistance haird that one of them was on its way here. We have one day to take the castle and root out all the vermin, driving them into the open. Then... poof!"
The Esplanade fell quiet save for two sounds, a mechanical rumbling, and the shuffling of many feet.
The rumbling became the roar of motors. Whips were cracked. Electrified prods snapped and popped. The shuffling feet broke into quick steps.
Munchers shambled into view, running from the cages. There had to be twenty, maybe thirty of them. Part of the wall was moved aside briefly, and two motorbikes and two automobiles roared through the gap. The men on the bikes were carrying swords. The front of each car was fitted with a framework of steel spikes.
The munchers reacted as one when they saw the bound men. They were stupid, hungry animals, and they trotted across the Esplanade toward fresh meat.
The bikes and cars accelerated, passing the crowd of hungry undead, closing in on Smith and the Stewarts.
Smith shouted, "Hold out just a few minutes, huh?"
"Aye!"
*
Trina saw what was in store for Smith and the Scots and turned away from the spectacle.
Daric rubbed his hands together and said, "What fun!"
*
A motorcycle accelerated ahead of the pack, the driver raising his sword. Smith slipped out of his bonds and dropped onto his back, seeing the sword swing low but not low enough, snapping the leather strap that was his sling holster like a whip. The end of the sling wrapped around the leech's wrist and Smith braced himself, digging his heels into cracks in the stone beneath his feet.
The bike lurched, the driver was yanked backwards, and Smith was pulled to his feet. The sword flew free.
The motorbike slowed and bumped a pillar just as Alistair, the youngest Stewart boy, stepped out of the way. The engine was still running.
Smith heard another Stewart, Angus perhaps, shriek and call for help. Two munchers were a few feet from him and he was one of the boys bound fast to the pillar. The boy kicked out at the munchers and the creatures hesitated, but more were coming. The kid was running out of time, and Smith broke into a sprint, hoping like hell that he didn't black out now.
"Upend the bike," the elder Stewart called to Alistair as he retrieved the sword. "Use the chain!"
The old man put a foot on the sword and raised the blade off the ground, slicing through the bonds and freeing his wrists.
The second bike was closing on him, one of the cars not far behind. He saw that the other car was circling around behind the pillars. Without hesitating the old man threw the sword.
Alistair turned the bike over so it was balancing on handlebars and seat. He nudged it so the throttle ground against the stone underfoot. The engine roared, and he held the steel links that connected the old manacles to each wrist against the motorbike's drive chain.
Smith looked over his shoulder and saw the sword whickering through the air. It removed the head of the second bike-riding leech from the nose up.
"Holy Jesus Christ," Smith said.
The second bike was thrown off balance by the dead weight of the body riding it and it slid to a stop.
The old man grabbed the nearest sword as he pushed the corpse out of the way and hopped on the bike, peeling out just as one of the cars was bearing down on him. He doubled back, snapped the other blood-smeared sword off the ground, and drove in Alistair's direction.
Smith leaped and kicked at the munchers trying to take a bite out of Angus, or was it Arthur? The munchers went down, one on its back, one on its knees. Smith stepped behind the muncher on its knees and jumped up onto its shoulders, looped his tough leather strap around its neck, and then pulled up as hard as he could. The leech's head popped off as expected, and Smith wasted no time stomping the skull of the other creature into discolored mulch.
Alistair felt the links between his wrists snap and wasted no time killing the bike's engine, turning it right-side up, and hopping on. He saw his father, and plucked a tossed sword out of the air.
"Coming, Arthur!"
Smith had seven munchers within spitting distance, and nothing that he could use on Arthur's restraints. He saw the boys' father race by, going around the far side of the pillars, one car after him, one car in his path.
"Fuck it," Smith said, wading in with nothing but his fingers.
Smith felt a half dozen nasty bites as he went for the munchers' eyes, jabbing his fingers into them until they popped like rotten fruit or ripping them right out of the sockets.
In the back of his mind he realized how ridiculous it was that rabies could kill him and the bug in each muncher bite could not.
As his father passed by on the motorbike, Big Andrew let out a cry like a madman and strained against three feet of chain until the pillar began to topple in pieces. One lump of stone struck his shoulder and he shouted, "Shite-eating cunt!" Another lump rolled into the path of the car chasing his father. One front tire hit the stone and the car veered away, slamming into the low wall. The spikes in front of the car pierced the wall and three leeches, who cursed and shrieked as they pulled themselves free.
The driver of the car climbed out and pulled a sword from the back seat. He ran at Andrew, sword held high.
Alistair stopped by his brother and hammered at his chains with the sword until a single link snapped in two. Arthur jumped on the bike behind his brother and was carried away from the crowd of munchers.
Jim Stewart cut the bike between two pillars, hoping to draw it away from his boys, but the driver wasn't taking the bait. The car accelerated, heading for Andrew.
*
"Right," Daric said, standing and pulling Trina to her feet. He was completely unsettled by what he was seeing on the Esplanade. "Back to the dungeon with you."
He dragged her down the stairs. She tried to resist, but she had grown weak without food.
*
Andrew looked at the piece of pillar at the end of the chain. His wrists were still bound. That chunk of rock probably weighed twenty stone. He braced himself, hauled on the chain, and began to spin.
The swordsman from the wrecked car had no idea what Andrew was doing, and didn't see the stone coming. His head literally exploded when the massive stone hit him.
Andrew heard an engine roaring, and saw spikes bearing down on him. He tried to run, but the stone that had just saved his life was now an anchor. Spikes pierced his right leg, his torso and his left hand as he was lifted off his feet like a piece of meat.
Smith heard old Stewart wail and saw that one of the kids who he had thought was completely in the clear was being attacked by a muncher. He broke free of the creatures around him and headed for the boy, already certain he wouldn't make it.
"Alan!"
Stewart's voice was raw with grief as he steered the bike toward his son. He knew the boy was already dead.
Like Arthur, Alan was secured close to his pillar. He kicked out at the muncher, but this one was in fairly good shape. It grabbed his leg and bit down with gusto.
Jim Stewart passed by the muncher and sliced it in two. He heard Andrew cry out and brought the bike around, looking Alan in the eye.
"I love you, boy." He raised the sword as the bike carried him to his son.
"I love you, da," Alan said, closing his eyes and lifting his head.
The blade cleaved the boy's exposed throat and snapped in two when it struck the pillar behind him.
The elder Stewart shook his eyes free of tears, steering the bike after Alistair and Arthur.
The car that had impaled Andrew was moving slower now, its motion erratic. The rock and chain still attached to Andrew had passed under the car. As the stone had been dragged along there had been a series of thumps and a moment later the driver cursed.
The chain finally broke free of the stone, but not before it dislocated Andrew's arms.
Smith saw the car coming his way. He also saw the still-moving halves of the muncher that had bitten Alan. He picked up the torso as the car roared by and shoved it in the driver's lap, head down. Smith winced when the emasculated driver let out a horrified yodel. The car grazed the pillar Angus was chained to and stopped.
The leech fell out of the car and crawled away. It was bleeding heavily from the crotch.
The bike carrying Alistair and Arthur slammed into and partially collapsed the low wall. A pike pierced Alistair's shoulder and another was thrust at Arthur, but Arthur managed to yank the weapon out of the leech's grip.
Arthur dragged his brother out of the way and swung the pike, clearing leeches away from the collapsed wall for just a moment.
Old Jim Stewart's bike rolled over the other motorcycle and the wall, and he gave the machine more gas, heading for the gatehouse.
That had been the plan all along. Cause a distraction. And if possible, get to the gatehouse.
The pampered leeches who had been watching began to panic, stumbling out of the bleachers and getting in the way of guards trying to reach the Esplanade.
Smith reached into the stalled car and found the sword he was looking for. He freed Angus and he and the boy pulled Andrew free of the spikes.
"Don't hold this against me," Smith said, getting guttural curses out of Andrew when he popped the big man's shoulders into place.
"Okay?" Smith asked.
"Aye," the big man said. "I'm a'right."
Smith gave Angus the sword, jumped behind the wheel of the car and tried the engine. Something was out of whack, but the engine was running, and that was good enough.
Jim Stewart slammed the bike into three leech guards who stood their ground in front of the gatehouse as he approached. He tumbled to the ground, grabbed a sword, and started swinging.
He inflicted a terrible wound on one leech, but two more took its place. He was sure this was the end when he heard an engine behind him and jumped out of the way. He caught a glimpse of Smith behind the wheel of the car.
Two leeches were impaled, and one had its chest crushed by the wheels of the car. Two still had some fight left in them, and Stewart raised his sword. He had to close the gate at any cost, with most of the leeches outside.
*
Daric was leading Trina toward the barracks and the entrance to the dungeon when a car skidded to a stop on the far side of the courtyard and Smith stepped out.
He threw the woman over his shoulder and ran.
Smith took two steps and staggered like a drunk. He paused to catch his breath, willing his heart to stop its wild motion. He heard the strangest sound and looked skyward.
"The old man wasn't kidding," he said.
The sounds he was hearing were catapults. Highlanders were being launched hundreds of feet in the air over the castle and unfurling small wings and parachutes. Many of them were dashed to pieces, when they hit the unforgiving stone, but a good number of them reached the ground intact. He heard more screams of alarm from the leeches and hoped Stewart and his boys would be okay.
*
Trina tried to fight Daric. He paused, put her on her feet before him, drove a fist into the side of her face, and threw her over his shoulder again.
*
Smith seemed to wander the bowels of the castle forever. He had no lights, no weapons. Three times he encountered leeches, three times he bested them, still working his way downward.
He could feel Trina, ahead, below. She was close.
He lost his footing and nearly brained himself rolling down a narrow staircase. He got up and went down a corridor. A ramp. Worn stairs. And suddenly he was in a hallway of ancient rock, seeing a rows of heavy metal doors, brown with rust.
Smith pushed open a cell door and she was there, lying on a cot. So slender. So frail. So beautiful. She opened her eyes.
It wasn't relief he was seeing on her face. It was alarm. Fear.
Shit, Smith thought.
He'd been so mesmerized by seeing Trina, finally seeing her for real, that he hadn't checked the dark corners of the cell.
He turned, too late, and there was Daric, grinning triumphantly.
The dagger was small, but it sank into the side of Smith's throat with ease.
*
Trina got to her feet, so full of horror she couldn't even scream.
She grabbed Smith as he slumped to the floor. She put her fingers over the wound in his throat, pressed down with her hands. His lifeblood continued to spill out of him.
Smith's eyes rolled wildly, feverish, weak from blood loss.
Daric stepped back to the door, flanked by two guards.
Trina looked at her hands, slick with blood. So sweet, so warm. Before she could even consider what she was doing she was on her hands and knees like an animal, sucking at him, drinking deep of him.
When she was able to get control of herself she realized Daric was laughing at her.
"We all drink, in the end," he said.
Trina looked at Smith. He was so terribly pale. She cradled his head in her lap, stroking the shock of white hair.
His lips moved. He spoke, softly.
"Last night I dreamed I made it to the promised land..."
Trina shook her head. "What?"
"I was standing at the gate and had the key in my hand..."
He was delirious. Trina wondered if these were lines from a poem, or an ancient deevee show.
"Saint Peter said 'Come in boy, you're finally home...'"
No. It was a song, she realized. An old, old song.
"I said, 'No thanks Pete, I'll just be moving along...'"
Trina waited for more.
She closed her eyes. In her mind she saw Smith dead at her feet. She also saw a very old man in a bed surrounded by family and dear friends, letting loose his last breath. The images overlapped.
She opened her eyes, touched Smith's face, waited for more. Just a little more.
There was no more.
Daric stepped forward, bent, placed a hand on Smith's chest, two fingers on his neck. Then he rose and moved back to the door.
Trina licked her lips, tasted Smith. Her stomach lurched.
"Leave the body with her," Daric said to the guards, as he stepped into the hall and the door was closed and bolted shut. "She is, after all, one who likes to eat as well as drink. Let her have at the meat of this man should she get peckish."
Daric and the guards moved away from the door.
Trina touched Smith's face, bent low as she had when she fed upon him, and kissed lips that were already growing cold.
User Reviews
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2008-06-29 17:07:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Bleechers, surely? And the whole Angus, Andrew, Alistair, Alan thing was a little distracting.
Submitted by zakalwe (user info) at 2005-10-07 19:20:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
the hero dies, his lifeblood spilling over the woman he has died to save. he sings a song, a song of death.
and from his life she drinks, taking strength in his death. power.
power.
Submitted by supadupapupa (user info) at 2005-08-05 05:52:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Excellent, too bad he had to go
Submitted by Falconer (user info) at 2005-08-03 20:14:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
*shock*
Whattaya mean dead!?
Submitted by hcp28 (user info) at 2005-08-03 12:36:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Maybe she can bring him back to life by infusing him with her blood or something. Perhaps there is more to Smith than meets the eye? Can't wait!
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2005-08-02 06:54:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
will smith come back to life? will he finally best the evil lord daric? will stewart's flash bomb suceed?
turn in next week, same time, same channel.
very solid my amigo. i loved the fighting scene, and the brothers. they did not get much description, but they still seemed vivid in my mind.
Submitted by nrduncan (user info) at 2005-08-01 13:18:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Awesome. Simply put.
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-07-31 02:39:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-07-30 19:24:59 (#)
Ranking: 0
"Maybe your friend here is only mostly dead..."
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"You seem a decent fellow. I'd hate to kill you."
"YOU seem a decent fellow. I'd hate to die."
Awesome.
Oh one other thing, I think maybe he wouldn't have been able to sing a song with a gaping wound in his throat. I really liked that, by the way, the little song thing while Trina was listening. That was cool.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-07-30 19:24:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Heh heh heh...
I have at least three set-ups for Pandemic-like group things... we'll see.
I have a few more Smith installments to do, one other far-future Pandemic one-shot story, and then I will have officially blown my wad in this world.
Smith has been fighting these things all his life. If you re-rred you'll see he has criss-crossed America a couple of times, and he was bred in a lab most likely run by leeches, so that was probablt ugly too. Remember, he is a failed Variant C... a variant D maybe? He is immune to leeches and munchers, so he doesn't have the fear of fighting them that the average person has and wades in. He also (usually) heals quickly, and probably ages slower than normal, other than that he is just a guy. But his immunity and quick healing allow him to take risks others wouldn't, including hand-to-hand combat. So what if he is bitten? He'll survive.
Geez... what about his early life... story-fodder... naw...
Of course Smith is dead now, but...
"Maybe your friend here is only mostly dead..."
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-07-30 18:16:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-07-30 11:27:26 (#)
Ranking: 0
I'm still playing with ideas for another group series like the Pandemic thing.
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DON'T YOU FUCKING DO IT. Look at what's happened to me!! I'm on part 20 for fuck's sake, and it's all your fault!!
At least wait until I'm done this life-sucking series. Should be about five more parts or so...maybe a month or two.
I liked the way you wrote Daric. He had some good lines. My comment about Smith's physical prowess specifically refers to how he was managing to take down leeches and munchers with his bare hands...I didn't think he was super strong or resistant to damage, BUT, I might have forgotten what his special abilities are because 95% of the time, he shoots stuff.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-07-30 11:27:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
T-
Your crit is on target. I was writing this at work (rushed, distracted), and wanted to do a biggish 'arena' type thing and give the impression that the Highlanders were fighting back and not just wallowing in their own shit... at the same time, I didn't want to end up with 30 pages of apeshit carnage, so I went with the tough old bird (James Stewart... hmmm, a possible future king of Scotland, like his namesake?) and his type-A sons. I just needed to give the story a big forward momentum and set up the last two or three installments, coming soon.
And remember, Smith's system was fighting a losing battle against rabies, so he was on a seesaw, up one minute, nearly dead the next.
Out of the whole thing, the only bit I like is Daric's 'peckish' line. What a fucker he is.
I'm still playing with ideas for another group series like the Pandemic thing.
Submitted by jack11058 (user info) at 2005-07-29 23:18:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
genius
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-07-29 20:33:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Dude, that wasn't a spoiler ALERT...that was a spoiler! Silly bastard.
Good tale. Though I could not keep all those Scotsmen straight, with their A-names. I just pictured a bunch of identical Scottish stereotypes. I found that action scene a little hard to follow, there was a lot going on.
I'm surprised at Smith's physical prowess, especially when he's unarmed and weak with fever.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2005-07-29 20:31:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Smith has died.
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2005-07-29 20:00:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by spedmonkey (user info) at 2005-07-29 19:22:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Whoa, you weren't kidding!
Submitted by darko (user info) at 2005-07-29 19:21:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
OMG SMITH DIES IN AFTER THE PANDEMIC!!!!1111111!eleventy!!!!!!!