He had always known a time like this would come. The reason why, with scalpel precision, he and Logan had trained so hard to find the perfect way out. Back to back, a pistol in both hands, circling as they fired and moved in tactical tandem towards their exit. ?Kelley,? Jo called, unable to ease the panic from his voice when another headshot tore through one of the rotting undead before it could amble any closer to him. ?If we make it through this I'm never comin' back ta this continent again. You hear me??
The sun had risen and fallen a few times before, and Jochin came to realize in that unrelenting heat, he would never settle his debt. ?The Mog? the soldiers had called it the first time the government had openly sent the American military here. Now, years later, the Rotary had sent their best zombie clean-up crew to stave off stumbling and mindless masses that thronged through each dust ridden road. Years ago the public had heard of this conflict. A tale of warlords who subjugated those who could not, and would not fight. Photos of fly infested and starving children colored TV screens world wide.
The reality was actually much uglier.
Negede Dhondeh had risen to power in the interim between his father retiring and Jo stumbling his way through self-destruction to taking up the mantle. The Freemasons had spun a story of sending aid to starving refugees caught in a war torn third world state. What they hadn't added to that story was the hell Dhondeh had unleashed all over Somalia in the name of every last terrifying thing this world couldn't contain. The Knights were sent first to quell the overwhelming tide before it destabilized the entire region. Dhondeh, one of the oldest and rumored to have hunted Jochin's ancient Egyptian ancestors, had also unleashed a zombie horde.
It was no big deal to the Masons. Just send the Rotary's best to control the outbreak and eventually the cavalry would arrive. What they hadn't expected was his coterie of Suckers. Vampires as lieutenants and warlords who turned child soldiers into too skinny, dark skinned, prepubescent killing machines that stalked the street when the sun went down and were deadly accurate with those AK-47s they normally had difficulty controlling. No amount of training had prepared the Knights of Columbus for this.
They let Jochin off of his leash. With a cadre of Knights he had trained with personally for this mission. None of them more trusted, and like an extension of his own thoughts, than Logan Kelley. The others took the term too seriously even though it was no longer burnished armor and horses. Born and bred from nobility, their fathers before them high ranking members of the Freemasons or Knights themselves. It was Kelley who knew the perfect time to crack a sarcastic remark, dirty joke, and was too eager to get himself absolutely wasted when he tried to drink Jo under the table.
Sent to beat back the tide of literal hell on Earth packaged pretty in pictures of a United Nations aide mission.
And now only Jo and Logan remained.
?Kelley!? Jo called, an all too familiar click marking the fact that the pistol in his hand was now empty. ?Sword!? Back to back, a swirling tempest that was fighting back the largest swells and surges of drudging undead bodies. The din too loud to make out anything but the constant crack of hand gun fire and groans. Without missing a beat Jo dropped the pistol then felt the familiar grip of the pommel of a broadsword make its way into his hands. The Hail Mary, they had named this. Even both beginning to recite, reverently, beneath their breath. ?...blessed art thou amongst women..? while they circled and left a swath of destruction in their wake. The throng of bodies never ceased, rushing, coursing, flowing until they were almost trampling one another to get to them.
The smell of rotting blood filled his nostrils. But not the kind that was beginning to coagulate. No. This was a fine vintage. A tempered flair that all Suckers had for the dramatic and fine society. Even though they smelled like rot it was the most pretentious rot he had ever experienced. Bending the laws of physics in a blur of motion only Jo could make out another child soldier moved from the shadows. Using that AK-47 in his hands, and all the enhanced talents a Sucker could possess, strength, sight, speed, to rain down a semi-circle of accurately placed bullets. There hadn't been times during that long, crazy trip across the U.S that his mom had forcibly injected into his veins he had made many friends. But the bullets were barreling down and Kelley couldn't possibly perceive them with the Sucker moving that fast. Sword hefted defensive, it cleaved a few rounds, then deflected them, with that stalwart alloy blade. The rest struck all that massive center mass. Rifle rounds, he realized, in a cold panic, would pass right through him to the best friend he had ever known. The Hunter could make a really good meat shield with the way he healed. Yet the rounds were big enough, and had enough velocity, that the desperation play they had pulled might just end with a sole survivor.
The sun had risen and fallen a few times before, and Jochin came to realize in that unrelenting heat, he would never settle his debt. ?The Mog? the soldiers had called it the first time the government had openly sent the American military here. Now, years later, the Rotary had sent their best zombie clean-up crew to stave off stumbling and mindless masses that thronged through each dust ridden road. Years ago the public had heard of this conflict. A tale of warlords who subjugated those who could not, and would not fight. Photos of fly infested and starving children colored TV screens world wide.
The reality was actually much uglier.
Negede Dhondeh had risen to power in the interim between his father retiring and Jo stumbling his way through self-destruction to taking up the mantle. The Freemasons had spun a story of sending aid to starving refugees caught in a war torn third world state. What they hadn't added to that story was the hell Dhondeh had unleashed all over Somalia in the name of every last terrifying thing this world couldn't contain. The Knights were sent first to quell the overwhelming tide before it destabilized the entire region. Dhondeh, one of the oldest and rumored to have hunted Jochin's ancient Egyptian ancestors, had also unleashed a zombie horde.
It was no big deal to the Masons. Just send the Rotary's best to control the outbreak and eventually the cavalry would arrive. What they hadn't expected was his coterie of Suckers. Vampires as lieutenants and warlords who turned child soldiers into too skinny, dark skinned, prepubescent killing machines that stalked the street when the sun went down and were deadly accurate with those AK-47s they normally had difficulty controlling. No amount of training had prepared the Knights of Columbus for this.
They let Jochin off of his leash. With a cadre of Knights he had trained with personally for this mission. None of them more trusted, and like an extension of his own thoughts, than Logan Kelley. The others took the term too seriously even though it was no longer burnished armor and horses. Born and bred from nobility, their fathers before them high ranking members of the Freemasons or Knights themselves. It was Kelley who knew the perfect time to crack a sarcastic remark, dirty joke, and was too eager to get himself absolutely wasted when he tried to drink Jo under the table.
Sent to beat back the tide of literal hell on Earth packaged pretty in pictures of a United Nations aide mission.
And now only Jo and Logan remained.
?Kelley!? Jo called, an all too familiar click marking the fact that the pistol in his hand was now empty. ?Sword!? Back to back, a swirling tempest that was fighting back the largest swells and surges of drudging undead bodies. The din too loud to make out anything but the constant crack of hand gun fire and groans. Without missing a beat Jo dropped the pistol then felt the familiar grip of the pommel of a broadsword make its way into his hands. The Hail Mary, they had named this. Even both beginning to recite, reverently, beneath their breath. ?...blessed art thou amongst women..? while they circled and left a swath of destruction in their wake. The throng of bodies never ceased, rushing, coursing, flowing until they were almost trampling one another to get to them.
The smell of rotting blood filled his nostrils. But not the kind that was beginning to coagulate. No. This was a fine vintage. A tempered flair that all Suckers had for the dramatic and fine society. Even though they smelled like rot it was the most pretentious rot he had ever experienced. Bending the laws of physics in a blur of motion only Jo could make out another child soldier moved from the shadows. Using that AK-47 in his hands, and all the enhanced talents a Sucker could possess, strength, sight, speed, to rain down a semi-circle of accurately placed bullets. There hadn't been times during that long, crazy trip across the U.S that his mom had forcibly injected into his veins he had made many friends. But the bullets were barreling down and Kelley couldn't possibly perceive them with the Sucker moving that fast. Sword hefted defensive, it cleaved a few rounds, then deflected them, with that stalwart alloy blade. The rest struck all that massive center mass. Rifle rounds, he realized, in a cold panic, would pass right through him to the best friend he had ever known. The Hunter could make a really good meat shield with the way he healed. Yet the rounds were big enough, and had enough velocity, that the desperation play they had pulled might just end with a sole survivor.