Guardians of the Gates - Part 1, The New Breed by Jeff Schanz (best short books to read .TXT) 📕

Guardians of the Gates: Part 1 - The New Breed **SAMPLE ONLY**

 

 

A novel by

Jeff Schanz

 

Copyright © 2020 Jeff Schanz

All rights reserved

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This book is dedicated to my children, Jackson and Lauren.

They did a good job raising their father.

“The darkest demons are found within rather than without.”

Pleonastus, Roman philospher

 

 

Chapter 1

Something moved slowly along the tree line of the park. Salivating in feral hunger, it stalked its quarry with single-minded purpose. The evening was calm and cool, not cold enough for the condensation of breath to be seen far past the mouth. Moonlight filtered through the tree limbs leaving a muted patchwork of night camouflage. The “something” crept methodically, silently, avoiding making sound amongst the fallen brush and crisp winter-bitten leaves on the ground. Nothing crunched or snapped to alert the hunted. No animals flew away in a panic, or swiftly scurried to places to hide from the approaching danger. All the small living things that should fear for their tiny lives had already found safety and were quietly waiting for the hateful thing to pass. The “something” had a unique scent, powerful and foul, that preceded its arrival. It reeked of blood, visceral rage, and rotting meat. It was a harbinger of death and carnage which most anything that had any kind of keen sensory organ knew to avoid at all costs. Everything remained silent as the “something” stepped through each patch of moonlight in the darkened edge of the tree line.

The amber eyes focused on their targets. A base growl rolled through its throat with each measured breath, soft enough that it could not be heard at the distance it now kept from its victims. A bristly, hair-covered foot pushed into the ground carefully. The other foot lifted and was placed ahead of the first. Another silent step, followed by another, and another. The foot had toes like a man, but thick pads like a dog. Its long nails dug into the soil, ready for a powerful spring. But it was not time to spring yet. It took another stealthy step as the edge of the wooded border came closer.

Soon the thing would be at the point of decision, whether to change its tactic in stalking its prey, or to rush out to do what it hungered to do. It had already calculated the easiest ambush path and its prey would not be able to oppose it. Few things would be able to. It knew its strength was immense, its speed was unequaled by anything on two legs, and its claws and teeth could overwhelm any prey. It had no true need to hide and approach in stealth, but the instincts told it to anyway. Use caution and silence, approach unseen, attack swiftly, devour quickly, and disappear. These instincts would serve it well and keep it safe. It cared about its survival, but that was predicated on fulfilling its need, and that need was a mix of savage craving and voracious appetite. But the beast’s craving went so much farther than its instinctual need. It wanted to kill. Like a sex urge to a human, the beast had a carnal lust to kill and eat, then kill and eat more, until it was too gorged to further obey. Only then would it rest. And once rested, it would want to kill again. There was no shortage of prey and hunting was easy. It hunted and devoured the very things it used to be itself, although the irony was lost on its feral mind. All it understood was that it could do whatever it desired.

It hunted two humans.

 

 

 

 

A couple walked along the edge of a pond in the center of London’s Regent’s Park. The petite, reddish-brown-haired woman walked faster than the tall, blond man, the latter rushing to keep up between animated talking gestures. She kept her head forward, hands tucked in her cardigan sweater, steadily outpacing her companion. The man kept pausing to point out sights, like a realtor presenting a house.

“Jill, look at that star, right there. Gotta be Polaris. It’s so bright tonight. It’s beautiful. Come on, please wait a sec,” said the man in a crisp northeastern American accent.

Jillian turned briefly, not interrupting her pace. “It’s Jupiter. It’s bright every night.” Her English accent was the polished dialect of the well-bred and higher educated.

“Well, it’s pretty. It’s… Jill? Jillian! Come on, slow down. Let’s just walk together and enjoy the evening, huh?”

“Frank, I’m cold and I think I’d just rather go home,” Jillian said, without turning to address Frank.

“Jill, Jesus, slow down. Ok, ok, if you’re cold – here,” he said, removing his overcoat. “You can have my coat. Slow down for a sec.”

Jillian slowed, stopped, and sighed. She turned toward him. “I’m sorry, Frank, I really am. You’re a nice guy and I appreciated dinner. I’m just not ready for anything else, and I said I didn’t want to come to this park in the first place.” She sighed again.

Frank posed the coat in front of her, ready to be received. It was a Brioni overcoat that was knee length on Frank’s tall frame. It would’ve hung to her ankles.

“Thanks, but I don’t want your coat.” She smiled politely. “You need it. And I don’t want you to catch cold because of me.”

“Nah, it’s fine, really, I…”

“Frank. It was a nice night.” No, it wasn’t, she thought. “It’s getting late. I thank you for dinner. I’ll see you at work. But I need to go home now.”

Frank smiled, a little too paternally. “Jill, sure, of course, I’ll take you home. Here, take my coat. But, I told the driver to meet us over at the far exit. So – we kinda need to…”

Damn. Jillian turned quickly, without Frank’s coat, and began her speed walk again.

Frank sighed and draped the coat over his shoulders. He gained ground in only a couple of long strides. In two more strides, he was at her left shoulder. “It’s this way, just over the bridge and to the right,” he said, pointing open-handed like a tour guide. “I’m really sorry about this. I thought we could just talk awhile. It was so loud in that restaurant and we never get much of a chance to just talk at work.”

No “we” about it, thought Jillian. You talk just fine. It’s me that doesn’t get much of a chance. “Look, both paths end up at the exit,” she said, “and I think this one is closer, so I’m going to…”

“Nooo, no. That one’s way too dark. Let’s go this way, it’ll be safer. A lot more lights and I know the path better.”

Of course you do, probably because you take girls there all the time. And it’s closer to the pond where you can point more things out for me to stop and look at while you try to hold me and make me “feel the moment” with you. “Thanks, really, but I’m going this way.” Jillian veered right without a pause in speed.

“Jill.” Frank turned and regained his position to her left shoulder. “Ok, ok, you got it. At least let me lead just in case some lunatic is in the bushes or something.”

Jillian thought of something mean to say, then decided it was too mean, which resulted in a tiny smile. Frank had now gotten in front of her, leading the way in a stiff but slow stride, head swiveling to scan the landscaping for possible threats. Occasionally, he would wave his arm to the side, silently informing her it was safe to proceed. Good Lord, what was I thinking, she thought. Yeah, he’s hot, but he knows he’s hot. He thinks he’s God’s gift. And you knew he was a wanker. Ok, you thought he was a wanker and assumed one night away from work would prove he’s really just a sensitive gentleman who was only acting like a gigolo in front of his workmates. Ugh.

Jillian Stewart was wondering why her life lately seemed like a bad BBC drama. She had become desperate and had stooped to hooking up with the workplace Casanova, who probably had lava lamps and sensual massage oils in his apartment, plus maybe a bookshelf with a copy of the Kama Sutra and remote operated music player with Tom Jones in the queue. Oh, that’s brilliant, Jillian. Tom Jones? Really? Shows that I know bugger all about what current singer is supposed to make me swoon into a man’s arms. More proof of how out of the damned loop I am. Tom Jones. Brilliant.

As a welcome interlude from her pathetic life musings, Jillian tried to remember the names of more recent romantic singers as she walked. Michael Bolton? A bit eighties. Was he even still around? Harry Connick? Maybe. Michael Bublé? She had only heard of him and had never listened to his music. She liked old-time singers like Bing Crosby, but couldn’t imagine having sex while he sang. If it were her, she’d put on Norah Jones, but she’d rather listen to the music than make out to it. Now her mind was switching tracks, imagining Frank in a shiny silk shirt, open to the navel, with a large gold medallion hanging down, snug disco pants, and a horseshoe mustache. She was smiling to herself when she nearly stepped on Frank’s heel, who had halted directly in front of her. She quickly side-stepped Frank and passed around him, avoiding his outstretched hand which was meant to block her path.

“Hey, wait,” said Frank, probably noticing that his manly protective ploy might be failing to impress. He caught up in an exaggerated step, but this time stayed at her side, not bothering to lead. “Sorry, ‘bout that. I guess I should stay out of your way,” he said, smiling, but with a poorly hidden edge in the tone.

“Sorry, really,” said Jillian, somewhat surprised at her sincerity. “I’m just done for the evening. No games. I just need to get home, unwind, and get some rest for tomorrow. You understand?”

“Sure, Jill. The exit’s coming up around here soon. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Frank’s tone also sounded more sincere.

She smiled as part of a long sigh. “Ohh, I’m not upset. It was a nice evening, you’ve been very sweet,” that’s too thick, “and a perfect gentleman.” Way too thick. “I really do appreciate the dinner and I’ll see you at work.” There, conversation over. I think I can see the exit, so if we can just manage to keep to ourselves for a few minutes… What in the world is that? They look like eyes.

“Aw, well, thank you. It is hard to be a gentleman around such a beautif…” Frank paused, reading Jillian’s distant expression. “What?”

Jillian abruptly stopped walking, staring at something ahead. Frank’s momentum took him a couple of steps past her and he turned to face her. “What’s the matter now?” he asked, annoyance in his voice.

Jillian said nothing, but her mouth opened and drew in a sharp breath.

Frank turned to follow her gaze. Two amber eyes glowed behind a long row of hedges and trees.

The eyes moved toward them. Frank froze.

Jillian screamed.