Guardians of the Gates - Part 1, The New Breed by Jeff Schanz (best novels ever .TXT) 📖

The creature watched the humans approach his position. They had not seen him, heard him, or picked up his scent. Humans were easy prey. They could not smell him like he could smell them. He could sense everything. They sensed almost nothing. He was aware of most every creature nearby: The birds high above him; the field mouse under a shrub near his foot; a squirrel clinging to a tree. He could even smell a dog in the distance. A wet dog. Humans knew nothing. He might have mused on the fact that he had once been human if his mind wasn’t so consumed with bloodlust and hunger. Nothing remained in him except the hunger.

He readied his legs for the spring. The girl stopped walking. He wanted to kill the girl especially, he didn’t remember why. The man stopped too. They were looking in his direction, and their smell had changed to one of fear. It was a smell he liked because it signaled the beginning of the killing play. It did not matter that they saw him. They could not stop him. He growled in anticipation, then sprang.

He burst from a hedge gap, and, in two strong bounds, he was upon them. At full speed, he smashed his massive chest into the man, simultaneously burying his long teeth into the man’s throat. The flesh was soft and tore quickly away, and a spray of hot blood hit his palette. As the two bodies hit the ground, the creature’s head shook savagely, ripping away most of the man’s neck. The creature ground the squishy mass in his jaws, squeezing the sticky blood deeper into his mouth as the man lay convulsing on the ground in front of him, precious blood pouring from the base of the man’s head. Though the creature wanted to devour it immediately, he was not finished with the killing. The girl stepped backward, shaking, not running. He didn’t understand how humans could be too scared to run, but it did not matter. She would be caught if she ran. He was faster than any human. She would be easier to kill than the man. He turned and brought his feet squarely underneath him, then leaped at her.

Instead of impacting the woman, something impacted him. In midair, something collided with his ribs. He saw a flash in front of him, then felt a sudden searing pain in his left arm. He hit the ground near the woman, the unexpected angle causing him to land awkwardly and lose a moment of breath. But he was fast to recover. It did not matter what had engaged him, he could overpower it. He scrambled on all fours to turn and destroy the new enemy, but one of his hands did not touch the ground. He didn’t have a left hand. The severed red stump clopped to the ground, oozing his blood across the grass. A bolt of pain shot from his wrist to the base of his skull. His teeth gnashed in defiance of the pain, then in rage at the new enemy that he must destroy. A roar boiled in his throat as he turned to face the new hated thing. A man was there. Just a man with a long piece of shiny metal and the smell of wet dog. The creature launched himself at the man.

Jillian was choking on her spit trying to scream again. It happened so fast, she barely had time to register what was going on. The thing… creature… whatever the hell it was, had come out of what seemed like nowhere. She had seen the eyes in the bushes, then the thing was on them in less time than it took to turn and see it kill Frank. It tore Frank’s throat out. Christ, it tore Frank’s goddamned throat completely out! This had to be a dream! Her life wasn’t a soap opera, it was a horror flick! One with crazy visual effects where some insane, unnatural animal stalked people in one of the biggest public parks in London. There aren’t any monsters in Regent’s Park! Goddamn it, it’s just Regent’s Park, with swans, picnickers, lovers, sports, tourists... This can’t be real!

The thing had ripped Frank apart before she had even finished her screaming. It shook its immense head, flinging small parts of Frank in the air, and spraying the ground with Frank’s blood. Jillian’s hands went to her face as if they offered some shield to the terror. Her ankles trembled, barely able to keep her standing. Her feet haphazardly responded to her desire to flee by simply shuffling in the general opposite direction. But not fast enough.

The thing turned toward her. It squished some part of Frank’s neck in its jaws, then let the bloody mass fall to the ground with a sickly splat. Her mind raced, wanting to think of options or defenses, or a direction to flee, anything at all that might be helpful, but all it came up with was panic. I’m going to die. Oh, God, I’m going to die! Christ, it’s looking at me. Oh, God. Oh, God. Where... Where…? I’m going to die. Oh, God.

The rest happened in what seemed like slow motion with a high-speed camera, complete with slowed down audio. The thing leaped at her. It was huge! The beast was not recognizable as any animal she had ever seen in her life. Its maw opened and had long blood-reddened teeth projecting from every angle along the jawline. While the thing was in mid-leap, close enough for her to see the bits of skin stuck to the base of its teeth, her foot attempted to step backward to begin a retreat, but it moved even slower than the time-warped scene she was staring at. Her foot hadn’t completed its step when something flashed in front of her.

Her “deer caught in headlights” trance, staring at the slow-motion creature in the air, was interrupted by a figure of a man appearing between them, brandishing something long and shiny. The shiny object slashed quickly and the beast’s left hand separated, exploding red. The man’s body smashed into the beast’s side, driving the beast into the ground to the right of her. Then the strange man stood between her and the creature.

Time suddenly sped back up to normal. The man hadn’t said a word to her, but seemed like he was intentionally protecting her. He stood in some battle posture like a Samurai warrior and was holding what looked like a medieval long sword, waiting for the creature to make its next move. He didn’t have to wait long. The beast charged him, awkwardly without the grip of one paw… or hand… limb, nonetheless, fast. Christ, that thing is fast! But the man was ready.

The creature jumped at the swordsman, who deftly moved left, temporarily opening an avenue for the beast to strike Jillian instead. Shit! But her danger was short-lived. The man’s sword came in an arc from underneath and speared the beast in the center of its neck. Momentum pushed both the sword and the man toward Jillian, whose terror had finally been overcome, and her feet unfroze. She hopped backward, scrambling to the limited safety of a streetlamp. The creature, sword, and man all slammed into the ground, rolling into a tangled heap. Only the man emerged and regained his feet. His sword was wrenched free and he once again did his Samurai pose. The creature writhed and twisted, finding no footing. It spilled blood out of its neck while flailing at the ground, trying to get any purchase for its claws. There was only enough leverage to get its shoulders off the ground, and barely enough angry energy to turn its head toward the man and gargle what should have been a defiant roar. With amazing speed, the man sliced his long blade through the creature’s neck, completely severing the head from its torso.

The amber eyes continued to glow as the head fell away and clunked to the ground, sounding like an over-ripe coconut. It rolled along the concrete and into the grass, where it leaked both crimson and clear liquids into the soil. The beast’s body twitched, but it didn’t get up and start running around chasing them with arms outstretched like Jillian half-expected it to do. It would in a horror movie, wouldn’t it? Apparently, the man had seen those movies too, because he reversed his grip and drove the sword down into the creature’s back, through the heart – if there was a heart. The man let go and left the quivering sword upright, embedded in the creature’s inert body.

Jillian caught herself holding her breath. How long have I been holding it? Have I breathed at all since I screamed? She exhaled loudly. Oh, God. Now what? Is this guy saving me? Is he some kind of lunatic who runs around parks with swords and is going to kill me next? Maybe that thing was his creation. Maybe he’s a mad scientist lunatic with a sword that had a human-animal experiment go wrong and needs another human victim to experiment on… Bloody hell! Stop it, Jillian!

She had no idea what would happen next, but the B-movie script ramblings in her head weren’t going to help. She assumed that whatever did happen next, it wouldn’t be normal. Would the man stomp his foot on the dead beast and pose like he was Captain Morgan? Would he clap his hands together and tip his hat to her and wink? He didn’t have a hat. And he hadn’t looked at her. At all. Damn it, he hasn’t even said a single word to me. Not even a, “Stay back!” or “Look out!” or “Don’t worry, little lady.” And why am I imagining that he’s a pirate or a cowboy? I really watch way too much bloody TV. I need to get out more. She sighed in abrupt remembrance. Sorry, Frank. So sorry. You didn’t deserve this. You were just supposed to be my attempt to get out of my flat and be social again. Well, she was out alright, with a dead monster thing, and a murdered date, and a strange man with a big sword. Although she was fearful of calling attention to herself, she figured there was nothing that could possibly happen next that would be any scarier than the scene she had just witnessed, so she ventured a timid, “Hello?”

The man continued to completely ignore her. Instead, he walked over to the beast’s head, whose eyes were finally dimming their glow. He bent down, not touching it, simply examining it by leaning on the balls of his feet and craning his neck around. Seemingly satisfied, he stood and returned to the headless body. He wrapped his hands around the sword hilt and yanked the weapon free, making a mucky, slurping sound. Ok, he’s either going to put the sword away and come talk to me, or – swing it at my head. “Um, Sir?” she said after a tight gulp.

Nothing. The guy just stared at the beast’s body and ignored her. Worst of all, she wasn’t sure if that was a bad or good thing. But it annoyed her anyway. She released her death grip on the lamppost and took a tentative step in the man’s direction.

He removed something from a jacket pocket and worked it in his fingers. It looked like a little vial. He undid its top and poured it carefully on the sword blade. The streaks of blood on the blade started to bubble and foam, then dripped off the blade and onto the ground.

“Umm,” Jillian started, “Thank God you k…”

The man flipped up his palm toward her, but maintained his focus between the foaming blade and the dead beast. Not even an eye-dart in her direction. Did he just tell me to “talk to the hand?” She finished her step and