Operation Z-Day (The Raven Falconer Chronicles) (13 page)

The Huskers worked the potentially violent encounter like a pack of wolves; the more aggressive and larger members moving into position to mount an assault whi
le the others hounded and faint-charged the youngsters.  Husky, throaty grunts mixed with inaudible screams filled the air as Nathan closed the distance and prepared to act.  The boy, dressed in a hooded sweatshirt with Banff scrawled across the front, bared his teeth and lashed out with the branch he’d secured as a weapon.  The girl, dark haired and likely pretty, did the same, shrieking indistinguishable words at the top of her lungs as the intruders advanced.

As the circle of villains collapsed and a blood-encrusted brute mounted the stairs, Nathan burst into action, running the twenty yards that separated him from the melee, swinging the head to clear a path to the young Huskers.  A woman was taken by surprise, the bowling ball-sized head catching her in the jaw and sending her to the ground.  Another stepped in his way but was easily discharged with a dipped shoulder landing firmly in his face, breaking his nose and sending teeth flying.  At the top of the stairs, the larger and supposed pack leader held his ground, waiting for the rushing Nathan.

Sensing an opportunity for escape, Shlomo and his sister, Elina, dashed for the opposing steps but were cut off by two men, still salivating over their potential dinner.  The Jewish duo halted their mad attempt and cowered against the railing, Shlomo pushing his sister behind him.  An innate voice drove his actions, loud and unrelenting, pushing him to keep the girl safe from harm.

Though unexplainable
, a bond existed between the siblings, linking their roles and future.  Not unlike the Huskers that sought to kill and consume them, the two were the only survivors of their own pack, willing to stalk and kill but having an intrinsic affection for one another.  This would ensure their survival until game was scarce and hunger drove their behavior, forcing the strong to devour the weak.  A pathetic form of natural selection was at play, pitting the carnally driven huskers against their morally bound brothers and sisters, in a war that neither side had a chance of winning.

At the gazebo
, Nathan acted as a stampeding battering ram, meeting the Husker’s leader on the top step, slamming their meaty hulks together in a bone-cracking thud.  They rolled, and then disengaged, standing ten feet apart with Nathan’s frame overshadowing the little ones.  Huskers suddenly appeared, ascending the steps and reforming their pack. Fortified, the leader, dressed in flannel shirt and coveralls, lunged at Nathan, his bare hands outstretched and clawing at the air.  The Olympian swung the woman’s severed head in an upward arc, catching the attacker in the chin and snapping his head back.  His feet continued where his head could not, resulting in his body going prone three feet off the ground before he returned to the platform in a loud, painful clatter.  Undeterred, the Husker rolled, then scrambled to his feet, shaken but not submissive.

Before another charge, Nathan lifted the grotesque trophy and dangled it before the pack of Huskers.  He shouted, squaring his chest and swinging the blade, “Stop . . . No!”  Additional words formed then vanished, hanging on the tip of his tongue but he had said enough.  Something animalistic touched at the very fabric of the group, who retreated a step or two
, before their flannel-clad leader bolted forward to take down the newcomer.  Nathan instinctually anticipated the move and threw the head into the man’s arms.  As the husker’s hands naturally folded around the gruesome object, Nathan lifted the small axe high above his head and then, with all the strength he could muster, pounded the metal object into the assailant’s skull.  The brute dropped like a concrete block searching for the bottom of a lake.  The once proud Olympian pulled, wrenching, and finally yanking the blade from his victim’s cranium, opening a fissure and exposing the man’s steaming brain matter.

The champion
turned and looked at the siblings, unharmed but still sensing a degree of dread.  He then directed his attention to the now quiet but unsure mob and spread his hands wide, blood and tissue still dripping from the weapon.  “More?” he roared.  There were no takers, each of the Huskers understanding their place in the new order and willing to accept the barbaric leader.  Nathan slowly returned the hatchet to its sheath and motioned for the children to join the others.  It took some coaxing with a firm hand but all stood before him now, shaded from the moonlight in the shelter of the gazebo.

The sensation of pleasure was unattainable for the man but something stroked his ego and fulfilled his rapacious needs.  In a hoarse, almost rasping voice he commanded his followers, “Come . . . hunt.”

To be continued . . .