A Dark Night in the Smokeys

[Pillow]

Lucus Crawford gently patted the shotgun under his arms. As he rocked on his front porch, shafts of moonlight from a slightly obscured crescent moon crept through the midnight blue clouds. The mountain cabin was one of the few that dotted the Kentucy landcape. Lucus' nearest neighbor was about two miles away. The nearest town was twenty-five miles out. Lucus rarely went to town though. He had lived in this five room cabin nearly all his life, except for a brief stint in the Army during Vietnam. He was only there for three months before being sent home for a bayonet wound to his stomach and shrapnal from a grenade that decorated his back with several scars.

 

The quiet of the evening was broken by the rumble of a truck in the distance coming up the dirt road. Lucus had a good idea who it was. He smiled to himself before getting up and going inside the cabin. As he walked in, he set the old single barrel shotgun next to the door. The room was a collection of rustic antiques. On what served as a 'nick-nack' shelf was a framed tintype photo of a Civil War calvery officer posed with sabre drawn. That was Rufus Crawford of the 32nd Georgia Calvery of the CSA. He was Lucus' great-great grandpa. Lucas continued walking throught the house, until he got to an alcove where a tarp covered object sat, coated with a thin layer of dust. He took the tarp off to reveal a high powered electrical generator. He hated using the thing, disliking the intrusion of technology upon his backwoods paradise. Flipping a switch, the generator hummed to life. Lights from the ceiling came to life, illuminating the house. Sighing, Lucus got up and went to the door, hearing a truck door slam.

 

Lucas opened the door and stepped onto the porch, seeing a slightly beat up Dodge Ram painted white. Walking up the narrow stone path leading up to the house was Lucus' neighbor, Waylon Davis. He was a little taller then Lucus and about thrity years younger. "How're doin', old man," came Waylon's voice with a think North Florida accent.

 

Lucus grunted and replied,"I'm doin'. What brings you over here at this hour?"

 

"Well, it seems some of the local residents at the local cemetary don't feel like staying put," Waylon answered.

 

"Really," Lucus asked,"I haven't seen anyone strange in the area. An' the ground don't feel tainted." Lucus thought for a moment, then stretched out his hands and closed his eyes. He let all things within his mind cease, allowing Universal Flow to cause him to drift. The ebb and flow of the Tide of Nature soon brought a twinge of unnatural darkness, a darkness created by something twisted. Lucus tried to focus on the source, but couldn't pin point it. Before returning to himself, he drew in a heavy dose of earth energy, which gave him an increase to his magical abilities. Even if he didn't know right away what they were going to run into, he thought it best to have at least a minimal reserve of energy just incase.

 

"Feel better," Waylon asked.

 

Lucus nodded,"There's a bit of the 'creep' around here." The 'creep' was a slang word for unnatural or tainted magical energy. It was a good indication of someone using necromancey or of a sinister being such as a vampire or demon being around."I couldn't find it right off. Might be Ol' Longtooth," Lucus suggested.

 

"I sure as hell hope not," Waylon commented,"I dealt with enough of them to last a life time."

 

"I though you boys in Florida cleaned 'em all out?"

 

"Nope," Waylon answered,"We got a bunch of them, but even with the Bloody Paws we couldn't take them all. Some escaped."

 

"I still don't see how you could be on the same side as werewolves."

 

Waylon took out a rough cut cigar, lighting it with a match. He puffed on it for a couple of moments, getting a nice burn on it."You know what they say,'the enemy of my enemy is my friend.'

 

"I still wouldn't trust them," Lucus shook his head,"We've been huntin' 'em for generations. I just doesn't make sense to me is all."

 

"Given the circumstances, we had no choice," Waylon explained," Besides, the Bloody Paws are a civilized pack. They don't harm people." Waylon and Lucus both knew that Waylon's family had a truce with the Bloody Paws that had lasted since the Civil War, or as 'hunters' from the Southern United States called, the Great War. There were hunters all thoughtout the world, but outside of the Third World, the Southern United States had the largest amount of active hunters in the world, with Germany a close second.

 

Hunters, as people who know about them call them, have existed since the begining of civilization began. They are the ones who specialized in keeping foul creatures at bay, allowing humans to survive and prosper. Almost every culture had hunters in one form or another, wiether they were warriors like the Russian Tzekev or Roman Catholic exorcists. Even the occasional sidewalk preacher that seems to be a slight irritation to society during the day may be a hunter who protects you while you sleep soundly at night.

 

The Great War, as it is called by hunters, was more then a war between North and South, but a war between man and monster. As the war raged from state to state, turning green fields crimson and rivers run red with the blood of the dead and dying, hunters fought behind the scenes with all manner of beasts drawn out by the smell of blood and the call of death. Those were dark times indeed.

 

The last publicly known hunter was a man in England around the 1890's. He was a bit of an eccentric, though he was an effective hunter. However, he had the annoying habit of telling everyone he met what he did, which eventually caused him to be locked up in an insane asylum. Before he was put away, however, he managed to plant a seed inside the head of a man named Bram. The rest of that story is history.

 

"If it is a Longtooth," Waylon remarked," We might want to get a few more people and some firepower. We still have to find and destroy the zombies that were raised."

 

"Me and you can do that," Lucus said," Besides, zombies are easy to track. Just follow the god-awful smell." Both Lucus and Waylon laughed at the comment.

 

"Where do you want to start looking," Waylon asked.

 

"This is mountain country," Lucus stated,"and since zombies ain't very good at climbing, I suggest we try lookin' in the hollows and valleys."

 

"Want me to round up some dogs," Waylon offered," Might make it easier for us to track the zombies."

 

Lucus shook his head," I got that covered already." Lucus closed his eyes and knelt down to the ground, placing both hands down infront of him as though he was praying. Once again, with amplified power, he let the Universal Flow take him once more. Searching his mind touched the minds of a small group of coyotes looking for game a few hundred yards away. Lucus offered them an easy (and very filling) meal if they would help him track down the zombies.

 

After a moment's thought, the alpha male of the group agreed. The pack of coyotes, about a dozen in number, edged in from the line of trees that surrounded Lucus' cabin. Lucus, now awake from his trance, knelt down in front of the alpha male with his eyes averted and right palm stretched to the coyote. The animal approached with caution that came with being a wild creature. He sniffed Lucus' hand twice before licking it, a sign of friendship accepted. Lucus turned his hand and scratched behind the coyote's ears, then stood up. "They'll help us track down the zombies," Lucus said," get yourself a machette and a couple of flashlights. We're going hunting..."