Field of Blood by Wilson, Eric (pdf e book reader .TXT) 📕

The spray of blood and brain matter turned black against the watchful moon—a blossom of death, emitting a gagging odor. The body slumped to the ground. Fell facedown on the near side of the road.

A freight truck roared around the bend and clipped the backs of his legs, never even slowing on its journey.

This, Gina thought, was going to be easier than she thought.

That’s when she spotted a plump woman with short hair coming up from the riverbank. It wasn’t Erota. Perhaps another from the Akeldama Cluster? Hadn’t Cal mentioned someone named Auge? A bereaved widow? The woman ascended the slope and stepped over the train tracks, becoming visible in sections as though rising from the soil itself. Bright green roiled through her eyes. Like a witch’s brew foaming in twin cauldrons, some of it spilled over.

Or was that just Gina’s mind embellishing the scene?

No, there were droplets oozing down the revenant’s cheeks and dot-ting the earth at her feet. Tears of sorrow? Of anger?

To the side, Cal and Shalom were faced off in the parking area. Dov moved closer to Gina, still trembling, still wielding an MTP. She gave him an encouraging wink, and they drew a breath in unison.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said.

Which plucked the very words from her lips.

Dov stepped forward, the spike gripped in his small fist. He raised it to shoulder level, ready to carve in either direction. The dagger’s handle was sweaty in Gina’s grasp, despite the chill of the mountain breeze.

“It has its own symbolic power . . .”

Cal had directed her to guard the entry to the bus, but a rush of motherly instincts told her to join the attack. The numbers were in their favor, three against two. Cal could hold his own. She and Dov could deal with this stout, weepy-eyed aberration before them.

A deep-throated growl cut through the night.

“What was that?” Dov asked.

The sound came from a stand of trees near the river’s edge, and Gina ran through the possibilities. She knew her country was full of all sorts of wildlife, and the Carpathians—including these Bucegi Mountains—formed a topographic horseshoe that was home to the only dense carnivore population in central Europe. Wolves, hawks, lynx, and . . .

Bear. Ursus, in Romanian.

She couldn’t bring herself to verbalize that fear. Local brown bears were not uncommon near Sinaia, and not particularly aggressive toward humans, but under the guidance of a Collector, one could be a fearsome predator.

Above, shear winds drew a curtain of cloud across the moon, and the inky shadows exploded with activity. Veering toward Gina’s position, Shalom sprinted across the pavement, pursued by Cal, while the revenant from the river accelerated from the other side on stubby legs.

At the center, Dov and Gina stood guard before the charter bus full of hidden, yet audibly whimpering, orphans.

Tomorrow’s Hope was under attack.

Weepy Eyes crested the riverbank, chin down, knees churning. Dov took three quick steps toward her, then ducked to the left and swung with his right arm as their paths converged. The MTP grazed the Collector’s side, and the creature swiveled to respond to this threat.

Around the front end of the vehicle, Cal feigned a similar attack on Shalom, then spun round and slashed at her extended left limb. He took it off at the wrist, showering the pavement with her blood—the ingested life force of others, tapped and absorbed for her own vile existence.

Gina turned away.

Evil could not be endured. She knew these creatures, if not repelled, would keep coming, keep attacking, feeding and drinking to satisfy a need that could never be met. Still, it was hard to watch.

Don’t even feel sorry for them, she reminded herself. No mercy.

Nearby, Dov stood and took another swing at his opponent.

The Collector snarled at him.

Not on my watch!

Activated by this new resolve, Gina looped behind Weepy Eyes, detecting salt and sulfur and the fetid odor of demonic rage. She wasn’t sure, though . . . Would her dagger be more effective going through the head, the neck, or the heart? She was familiar with vampire legends, but they seemed upended by these Jerusalem’s Undead.

She swung the blade, but the woman spotted her and pivoted with a backslash of tapered fingernails. Gina ducked beneath the blow as a lock of chestnut hair was clipped from her head. She stumbled forward, felt a knee hit the pavement.

A little lower, little faster, and that could’ve been lights out. Back to your feet. C’mon, get up.

Dov, to the rescue, grazed the stout woman’s elbow with the spike. As she reared back in pain, he hurled it at her and impaled her flabby upper arm. The green tears splashed and sizzled on the ground.

She was still alive, though. If that word even fit.

“Through the temple,” Gina shouted at Dov.

He brandished another MTP and took aim. The Collector looked from Gina to Dov, chose the smaller threat, and charged again at the orphan boy. Gina was a mother bear, intent on protecting her cub, but her attention was yanked away by a screech from a bus window. She turned and saw Petre Podran’s swath of black hair as he squirmed through the opening. Despite Pavel’s attempts to grab at his legs, Petre kicked at his twin brother and dropped to the pavement.

“No!” Gina shouted. “Back inside.”

Petre scrambled to his feet. He had armed himself with a thick walking stick, probably taken from one of the older muncitors. He looked so small, only nine years old, and yet his eyes glowed with stubborn loyalty.

“No, Petre. Stay back.”

“I can fight, too,” he said. “Like Dov.”

On Gina’s left, Dov was in a deadly dance with the Collector. His every move was parried by the stout creature’s slashing arms and brutal fingernails. He stumbled, slipped to a knee, and Weepy Eyes advanced.

With dagger raised, Gina ran to intercept and if possible blunt the attack, but the beast spun past her, past Dov, and instead targeted the small-est