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After Earth Went Dark; Part II Chapter 11
"Move the wagon!" Marcel shouted as people rushed forward to push it out of the gate.
Elliot jumped down from his perch to make it quickly to where Tyr was stumbling for the fence. As he got closer he saw freshly bandaged wounds on Tyr's arm, hand, and stomach. Rushing towards him, Elliot pulled up short, not wanting to launch himself at Tyr who was obviously weakened.
"What happened?" Ida pulled up right next to Elliot. "Are you alright?"
Tyr grunted, spit a gob of blood, and nodded. "I'll live."
Even though he hated seeing Tyr in so much pain, Elliot's shoulders sagged in relief. "But... how?" He indicated Tyr's wounds. "How could they do that I mean you're... you..."
Giving another grunt that sounded almost like a laugh, Tyr forced a smile but was interrupted before he could reply.
"I'm sorry my dears, but we need to begin securing this place at once." Marcel was already directing the removal of the bodies from inside the grounds. "This is where we make our stand. Ida, can you see to Tyr?"
Ida nodded, and Elliot scowled. Tyr was hurt, and Marcel seemed to be treating it trivially. Ida caught his shoulder as he was about to retort.
"Come inside with me and help me get him bandaged properly." She instructed. "Marcel has a lot of people to keep safe."
Elliot grumbled and glared at the back of Marcel's head as Ida led him in. The inside of the police station was a bloody mess. Elliot couldn't count the number of bodies exactly, but the two that stood out were piled in the center of the room and were so badly damaged that it took him a moment to recognize them as two of the Carvers. One of them was missing an arm and the opposite hand, the other one appeared to have its eyes gouged out. It was a truly gruesome sight that nearly made Elliot puke.
"Jesus..." Ida whispered as she took in the carnage. "What happened here?"
Tyr gesture weakly to one of the desks where a small pile of glass tubes were stacked. When Elliot approached he saw that they were syringes filled with a transparent yellowish fluid.
"It's... a drug." Tyr mumbled, sinking heavily into a chair and holding the cut on his arm. "Makes the Carvers faster. Stronger. Not sure how."
Elliot's eyes widened. That explained how they were able to hurt Tyr so badly. "Should we use it?" He thought about what it would be like to be faster than everyone else.
Shaking his head emphatically, Tyr winced at the pain. "No. It's probably what drives them mad. Best to get rid of it."
"You tore them apart though..." Ida noted looking down at the corpses.
"Barely." Tyr wheezed out. "They don't feel pain, or don't recognize it as pain anymore. They don't go down easy."
Ida grimaced. "Well you'd better patch up quick then because there's three more of them out there and they'll probably be here before morning comes."
Groaning in response, Tyr peeled away the bandage from his arm. "Change this for me? Wrap it tight."
Elliot looked at the wound underneath and winced. Tyr saw his reaction and reached over with his good arm to pat Elliot's shoulder.
"It isn't as bad as it looks." He promised. "And that's the deepest one. They surprised me is all."
Ida set to work rebandaging Tyr's arm. At Tyr's instruction, Elliot began clearing the bodies out of the police station. Outside, Marcel was already directing the fortification of the fence. They piled the dead militiamen by the fence to reinforce it. It was macabre but practical.
Elliot took advantage of the time to hunt down his knives. He found that most of them had hit home on the bodies they piled up. Only two looked like they could have been fatal though. It was strange. He had expected to feel more strongly about killing a man, but the distance of it combined with the acute stress off the situation made it feel surreal.
"They will be coming for us soon." Marcel was saying to Carlos. "It's going to be a long night."
Marcel was not wrong. Less than thirty minutes later, a line of torches appeared at the far end of the street. More and more rounded the corner and Elliot's heart jumped into his throat. There were so many of them.
"They're here. Take cover!" Marcel shouted. Troupe members quickly drew their weapons and hunkered down behind the hastily built fortifications. The wagon had been taken apart and the wood was used for protection. Several of the desks from inside the building had been brought out for the same purpose. They had placed two of the burning barrels in the gateway to form a makeshift bottleneck.
A gunshot rang out before the mob even came into view. The bullet tore through part of the barricade only a couple of feet from where Elliot knelt. He flinched as several more shots were fired.
"Good." Marcel muttered. "Let them waste their bullets."
Elliot realized what he meant. These shots were meant to scare them, not to actually hit anyone. Ammunition he knew was rare these days, so every round that went flying into the barricade was one that wouldn't be harming any of their people.
"Hold!" Marcel called as several of the group poked their heads out, hefting their weapons impatiently.
The militia continued their approach in a semi-organized march. Now that they were closer, Elliot recognized the shabby uniform of Captain McCoy in the front. Behind him were rows upon rows of armed men. Well over fifty of them, if Elliot had to guess. He gulped and pulled two of his knives from his belt.
"This is your only chance." Captain McCoy called out when they were close enough. "Put down your weapons and surrender and some of you may live."
Suddenly, Ida was beside Marcel and Elliot. She had slipped out of the police station soundlessly. Her bow was noticeably absent.
"Is he ok?" Elliot asked with concern.
Ida nodded. "It's going to take more than that to keep him down." She looked to Marcel. "Start it."
A sly smile spread across Marcel's face and Elliot frowned in confusion. Suddenly, Marcel began to beat the flat of the hatchet he held against the wooden barricade in a slow steady rhythm. Ida joined him, using the hilt of her own knife.
"Tyr!" Thump, thump, thump. "Tyr!" Thump, thump, thump. They chanted in loud but low-pitched voice. The other group members looked surprised at first, but quickly caught on. Elliot felt goosebumps rise on his arms as the call was took up across the yard, chanting and beating in time. All their voices together made for an intimidating sound. Elliot could see several of the militiamen shifting uncomfortable.
Suddenly, with a soft whistling sound, two of the men in the front lines cried out in shock and pain before falling over dead. Less than two seconds later, two more dropped, then another two. Dark shafts of arrows protruded from the bodies. Elliot turned to look up to the roof where he could just make out the shadowy figure holding Ida's bow and raining down death two arrows at a time.
With a collective cry of outrage, the mob charged. Marcel increased the tempo of the rhythmic thumping. "Steady!" He yelled.
When the militia had closed most of the distance, Marcel leapt up. "Now!" he called. All of the troupe members with thrown weapons rose with him and began peppering the charging line with everything from knives to large rocks. Very soon, the militiamen realized the flaw in their plan when they came up against the fence and found primitive wooden spears in the hands of several of the defenders.
The only way through was the bottlenecked gate. The rest of the men were pressed against the fence, unable to retreat due to their comrades behind them forcing them forward. The ones that made it to the gate were met with machetes, axes, and makeshift spears as they tried to flood into the yard. Tyr continued to pepper the crowd with arrows.
At first it looked like they might be able to hold them back, but soon the fence began to sag inward. The bottleneck was pushed down, widening the gate and allowing more militiamen to stream through. Gunshots rang out in the night and cries of pain. Elliot saw several of the troupe members stagger and fall bleeding to the ground.
Marcel and Ida seemed to dance through the battlefield together, covering each other's backs and whirling away from deadly swipes from baseball bats or pitchforks. Their combat was reminiscent of their act during the performances and was beautiful to watch.
So distracted was he that Elliot didn't notice a man creep up on him with a large hunting knife, poised to stab him in the gut. Bringing up his own knife, Elliot knew he was already too late, and he winced anticipating the pain.
Suddenly, a large dark shape landed on top of the man and Elliot heard bones break. The man went limp, and Tyr stood in his place. With Ida's bow he batted aside another attacker before sticking him in the throat with the arrow he held in his other hand. In lightning fast movements Tyr fed the arrow onto the string and sent it sailing directly into the heart of another militiaman.
"Fall back!" He yelled as he fired off arrows and fought his way through the mess. "Inside! Now!"
The group began to stream past Elliot into the police station. Nearly half their number had been cut down and there were still dozens trying to get into the yard. The fence on both sides was leaning heavily and men were beginning to climb it, ignoring the barbed wire wrapped around the top. Elliot knew that it would not stand for much longer.
"Go!" Tyr shouted at Ida and Marcel as the last of the troupe made it inside, dragging several wounded with them. He rapidly fired off the last three arrows at men who were trying to block the path to the police station. Ditching the bow, he pulled out his axes and easily dispatched two more that had come up behind him.
"Inside!" He repeated to Elliot who had been nearly frozen watching Tyr fight. Elliot nodded and dashed toward the door with Tyr following behind.
Inside the police station their numbers looked even smaller; only a little over a dozen of them altogether with two badly wounded. It was with great pain in his heart that Elliot realized he did not see Jay among the surviving members of the group. He rushed to the window, but it was too dark to see much. The fence gave out with a metallic crash.
"Get away from the window!" Tyr yelled as he pushed desks in front of the door. Just as he said it, a gunshot sounded and the glass in the window shattered.
Elliot cried out in shock and dropped to the floor. Tyr was immediately by his side.
"I'm alright." Elliot shakily felt himself all over for wounds Fortunately the windows were barred as well, but Tyr still instructed that desks and cabinets be put up against them.
The sound outside was terrifying. Men were pounding on the door and shouting all sorts of threats as well as incoherent rage-filled roars. Ida was tending the wounded and Marcel sat in a chair looking off into space.
"Now what?" Elliot asked, trying to sound brave. Marcel didn't respond. He didn't even seem to hear Elliot's question.
"The door won't hold them forever." Carlos noted. He was nursing a cut on his arm but was largely unharmed. The same could not be said for Jim however who was nowhere to be seen.
"There will be a back door." Tyr said confidently. "Find it and see if it's clear."
Carlos nodded and dashed off. Tyr strode over to where Marcel sat. Without a word, he unceremoniously slapped Marcel across the face.
"Get it together." He ordered coldly. "These people need you."
Marcel rubbed the reddening mark on his face and gave Tyr a glare out of the corner of his eye. He rose slowly from his chair and looked around the room. "What people? Half of us are dead already!" He shoved Tyr with both hands. "This is your fault! I should never have listened to you. I knew we were not ready!"
Tyr retreated a step although to Elliot it seemed like the shove had not had much effect on him. "You can hate me if you want." Tyr spoke quietly. "But live to do it. You need to lead these people."
Just then, Carlos came rushing back. "The back door leads down an alley to the parking lot on the street behind. They haven't gotten to it yet."
Still glaring daggers at Tyr, Marcel took in a deep breath. "Alright!" He turned to face the room. "We are taking the back alley as fast as we can. Get the wounded on their feet."
Tyr was first into the alley, checking all directions before motioning for the others to follow. The commotion from the yard could still be clearly heard as they stole quickly out into the night.
"They're escaping!" Someone shouted. A single man had rounded the corner and seen them making their exit. He tried to continue yelling but a knife appeared lodged in his throat. The damage had been done though. Several more men followed and raised the alarm.
"Move! Fast!" Tyr roared as he whipped two more knives at their pursuers.
The two badly wounded members could not move very quickly though. Cursing, Tyr scooped up both of them, one on each shoulder and began jogging out ahead.
"Ida! Cover the retreat!" He ordered. She nodded solemnly, and Carlos passed off his bow to her. As they ran, she took down anyone that got too close. It was not a sustainable solution however. Ida began to run low on arrows, and more and more men closed the gap between them.
Elliot looked up ahead and to his dismay saw three figures blocking the street ahead of them. By their silhouettes and the fact that they stood alone, Elliot recognized the three remaining Carvers.
There was nowhere for them to go. Even though there were only three ahead of them, if they were as dangerous as Tyr had said then they would no problem slicing through the group as they tried to get by. They slowed their retreat and Tyr lowered the wounded to the ground. The troupe members formed a ragtag circle as the pursuing horde drew closer. The three Carvers took up a leisurely stroll toward their waiting prey.
Elliot saw a streak of orange arc through the sky toward their pursuers. The sound of glass breaking was accompanied by a spout of fire lighting up the night, directly in the middle of the charging militia. More of these arcs of flame began to fly and as they landed and shattered and sent up plumes of flame and smoke Elliot realized what they were; makeshift bombs.
Over a dozen firebombs crashed into the militiamen and their screams turned from rage and bloodlust to shock and pain. The bombs had come from behind the angry mob, and now, rounding the corner at speed was a second mob, launching more fiery projectiles as they came on. The militia slowed its advance and began to turn to face this new threat. They were sluggish and surprised however, and the deadly flames that continued to erupt in their midst caused panic and terror in the ranks.
All Elliot could do was watch in confusion until a flare up from one of the cocktails illuminated two familiar faces entering the fray. One of them, gleefully swinging a wood-splitting axe, was Jay, and next to him, armed with a double barrel shotgun was Erik. Now Elliot remembered Jay darting off just after Tyr had been taken. The new mob was not some other threat for them to deal with. It was the village, taking back their freedom, just like Tyr had predicted.
Elliot's hopes soared. "Now!" He yelled out, gripping a knife in each hand. "Get them!" In a surge of bravery, Elliot led the charge at the surprised militia. The other troupe members soon followed, taking up a shout of defiance.
"Go." Tyr instructed Ida, then turned back to the three figures now trotting toward them. "I'll handle these three."
This was the first time that Elliot had been in up-close combat. The adrenaline coursed through him and he could hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears. He remembered the things Tyr had taught him as he dodged nimbly out of the way of a swing from a heavy hatchet. Taking the advantage, he slashed at the man's arm, causing him to cry out in pain and drop the weapon.
Fear did not ever cross his mind as he caught a machete blade on his two crossed knives. The morale had been restored and his sense of duty had overtaken any uncertainty he may have had.
Meanwhile, Tyr pulled out his two axes as the Carvers drew near. They each had crude likely handmade weapons in either hand. The first one tried to shoulder his way through Tyr, using the spikes fixed to his armor. Tyr spun to the side, aiming an axe stroke at the back of the assailant's neck. The Carver was fast though and turned in time for the blade to catch him in the shoulder instead. With the padding he wore it was little more than a scratch. It did however serve to infuriate the three madmen.
They didn't speak, but they made plenty of noise. Guttural growls and screams of inhuman rage would have caused any lesser man to flee in terror, but Tyr did not falter. The Carvers were far quicker than any normal person, but Tyr had the element of surprise this time.
As the second attacker aimed a slash at him, Tyr dropped one of his axes, jumped and kicked both his feet into the man's chest. As he fell toward the ground, Tyr ripped one of his tiny knives out of his belt and sent it flying straight into the Carver's throat as he topped backward from the impact of Tyr's kick. Tyr used his momentum to carry him into a handspring, picking up his second axe as he did so.
If the two other Carvers were at all disturbed by their companion's death, or by the incredible feat they had just witnessed, they did not show it. They gave their fallen comrade only a brief look before coming for Tyr again with their weapons swinging fiercely.
With his internal calculus running as fast as it could, Tyr judged that there was no way for him to manage to avoid all four of the wildly flailing weapons that were coming at him. Based on their trajectories Tyr could tell that one was aimed for his head, one for his throat, one for his side, and the fourth for his leg. As his mind calculated probabilities and potential outcomes at a mile a second Tyr concluded that the first two would be almost immediately fatal if he allowed them to land.
The third strike seemed unlikely to kill him instantly but had potential to bleed him out. The fourth hit to the leg was certainly not a mortal wound in and of itself, but the cut would damage the muscle and slow him down significantly, which could very well lead to losing the fight.
After weighing the odds, a task that would have taken the normal mind several minutes but was only fractions of a second for Tyr, he decided that the one to slip through his guard would have to be the slash to his side. It was aimed low enough that it likely would miss anything vital, but it would be a difficult wound to close afterward. It was however the injury that seemed least likely to affect his ability to deal with the Carvers, and furthermore the positioning granted by parrying the other three hits left the Carver on his right open to retaliation if he was quick enough.
As the engagement unfolded just the way Tyr had predicted, he caught one weapon on the haft of one axe and drew it downward so that it intercepted the second strike as well. With his other hand he pushed the Carver's hand out of the way, removing the threat of the strike aimed at his throat. As he felt the bite of the blade cutting into his side, he brought his axe up under the chin of the Carver that had wounded him. It sank into the man's jaw, sending blood and bits of bone flying and the man toppling over backwards from the force of it.
Tyr staggered slightly as he felt the blood begin to run down his side. The third Carver had already aimed two more slashes at him, but Tyr dropped his axes and caught the man's wrists in either hand. Like a wild animal, the Carver pushed forward, gnashing his teeth and trying to get at Tyr's throat. Twisting the two wrists until he heard joints cracking and the two weapons fall to the ground, Tyr brought his knee up into the Carver's stomach.
With his two hands dangling uselessly, the Carver swung a haymaker at Tyr, snarling incoherently. Tyr dodged the attack before mercilessly choke-slamming the madman into the concrete. The Carver that had wounded Tyr rose slowly to his feet. His ruined jaw hung partially off his face and quivered disturbingly as he screamed in rage.
He rushed Tyr with weapons wind-milling. Tyr pulled out one of his boot knives and caught the handle of one of the weapons inches before it sliced into his face. Thrusting his knife viciously upward under the man's ribcage, he twisted it causing irreparable and fatal damage. The Carver's cry of insane anger turned to gurgling as blood welled up in his throat. The second weapon that he held overhead fell from his loosened grip and he toppled over.
Tyr picked up one of his axes and with a grunt of effort brought it smashing down on the throat of the Carver with the broken wrists, who had been trying to find his feet again despite having been brutally pummeled into the street. The force of the blow nearly took the man's head off.
Finally, with the three of them dead, Tyr put a hand to his side, feeling the blood flowing freely down his leg. Suddenly lightheaded, Tyr sank first to one knee before eventually collapsing entirely, surrounded by the corpses of his foes.