Chapter 3 – Trees & Blood
Darian held his left hand flat in front of his mouth. Leo nodded, as he understood he had to stay as silent as possible. As nimble as ever, the boy was sitting on a large branch, in the heights of the forest.
The Others were walking in close formation, probably travelling rather than hunting. This was a good thing. Darian had learned not to overestimate them: they weren't invulnerable. They had sharp reflexes, deadly weapons and a good training, but so did he. He also knew the terrain.
Darian could not risk being seen, so he stood in place, watching the boy attentively until he raised his hand. They had all passed him. The man grabbed his spear-thrower on his side and reached for the dart next to him. He had made the lever himself, it was long and solid, made in his image, and he probably could have clubbed someone with it.
The 8-foot arrow flew through the air, with fletching made of the remains of a plastic bottle, and a fire hardened tip. The Other fell on the ground before he could scream, his thigh pierced by the missile. They immediately spread to make another shot more difficult and turned back, to watch the woods from which the first one had been fired.
Many thought that the Others were omniscient, for their improbable ability to read their settings, but Darian knew it wasn't true. He had fought them many times, ever victorious, often wounded. He lied still, hidden under the bed of the forest. His eyes once again rose to watch the boy: his look-out.
Leo raised his left hand and stood still.
The man felt the adrenaline rush through his system. Though he didn't know the existence of that hormone, the feeling was familiar. His heart pounding, the strange downward motion inside him, like everything went to rest before the sudden surge of energy in his arms and legs. It was hard to stay hidden, hard to keep his breath as calm as possible, hard not to act.
Leo's hand fell.
Darian's spear rose.
The scrap metal struck the Other in the back of the neck and he fell backward when Darian drew it back. For good measure, the man rotated his weapon and plunged it in his opponent's throat, but there was no struggle for air. The light was still fading in his eyes, but his limbs were already dead.
The fighter did not bother to look around him, and once again turned to his sidekick. The boy pointed behind him.
Darian turned and rushed forward, only to jump back a moment later. The Other's machete had almost struck him. The blade allowed quick movement and was very useful amongst the trees, but it was also a poor choice of weaponry when facing someone with a spear and the means to use it. The Other was trusting his armour, his metallic mask too. Darian waited for him to attack.
The man shifted his weight on his left leg and leaned forward, dodging the slicing motion has he drove the spearhead in the Other's ankle. He let go of the shaft and turned to avoid the backhand blow, drawing his dirk at the same time. The sturdy knife slipped beneath the darkened metal and cut the neck, but the Other grabbed his arm before he could slit his throat.
Darian hit his head on a root as he fell forward, propelled by his enemy. The sound he heard when he did was scarier than the injury itself, and he did not bother checking for blood when he hastily tried to rise back on his feet. His hand found the bark of a tree and he stood up. His vision came back in an instant, soon enough that he folded his arm before it was chopped off by a vengeful blade.
The man grabbed the Other by the shoulder and held his head down, so that he wouldn't get his nose broken by a head-butt served with a helmet. He knew that his dagger wouldn't get though the armour, but he knew where to strike. The dirk entered the Other's leg like it was butter and exited it with much bloodshed. Darian didn't know the name of the femoral artery, but he knew its existence as well as its importance. He tightened his grip on his opponent's shoulder in order to obfuscate any attempt at using his machete in any meaningful manner.
A cry from above.
Darian pushed with all his might on the Other's torso and grabbed his spear. He threw it with precision, but sadly his new assailant's armour stopped it and it fell on the ground.
This was the last of them, and he probably would have taken Darian out if Leo had not been here to warn him. The boy might have been a mouth to feed, but he was a reliable companion.
The Other jumped on Darian, armed with a knife, but the blade skid against the titanium of his jerry-rigged hair-pipe breastplate.
Darian was not insane and so he was fearful. It might have been that fear that explained the sudden energy rush, the inexplicable strength, but with a single strike of the elbow against the aggressor's chin, he killed the Other.
Darian looked at Leo.
The boy nodded.
It was over.