They're not mine. Please don't sue. Just borrowing them for some writing practice.
It's been a very looooong time since I last updated. Happy reading.
Elliot didn't recognize the voices he heard, but he did his best to listen to them. They were disconnected, speaking phrases over each other; a few spoke languages he didn't understand.
"Kuai dian!"
"J'ici!"
"Wait!" What... Lancaster will never stand for this...You have no right!"
"If we are to survive as a species we will have to take the offensive...no, we have no choice."
Elliot swallowed hard and focused his attention on the last voice; it was the one that seemed to dominate. A face began to take shape in his mind, a boy no older than seventeen or eighteen with a high forehead and strong chin and tight blond ringlets held in a ponytail. The body materialized dressed in a fine woolen cossack, breeches and stockings. The boy was angry, frustrated as another body materialized. This time a young woman with regal carriage and wearing a blue silk dress with a long-waisted bodice and ruffled sleeves that ended at her elbows. The braids of her blonde hair were coiled neatly at the nape of neck and a small lace cap graced the top of her head.
"Your majesty," said the boy. "This is our opportunity to wipe our adversaries from the map. Why not use the Americans' revolution as cover?"
"I cannot condone war," she replied. "We've had three hundred years of peace..."
"A tenuous peace at best. Do you listen to your guardian? The Nocturns are turning humans by the thousands and. . . ."
"Rumors." The queen cut him off. "There is no evidence. . . ."
The boy turned and faced Elliot. "What say you, Guardian?"
"Hyperbole, Mr. Lancaster," he replied, but it was someone else's voice; it was familiar to him. Jarek. "There is no evidence humans are being turned by the thousands. We have only noticed a slight increase in the Nocturns' procreative activities."
"Is there any indication they are preparing for war?" asked the queen.
"Not yet," replied the guardian.
"Yet," said Lancaster. "There is no indication yet, that they are preparing for war. Now is the time to strike. Stop appeasing them." His voice was tinged with both anger and trepidation.
Elliot felt something against is shoulder, shaking him. The figures in front of him faded away and he was left with a vague feeling that Jarek was trying to prevent history from repeating itself.
"Elliot!" Hardison shouted. "Yo man, where are you?
Elliot's fangs descended and he snapped back into the now. "What!"
Hardison looked at him. "Uh no. You put those things away. I am not your dinner."
"Let's go!" Captain Manning's voice boomed through the garage as he entered followed by Nate and Daniel who was cradling the staff. "Elliot, you and Daniel will ride with Nate and the Queen. We'll split up close to town and then meet up at your offices in Boston."
Daniel shoved Elliot into a black Toyota SUV and got in the back seat behind him next to Victoria who crouched down as far as she could to avoid being seen. The staff barely fit in the back compartment but it was wrapped in black cloth and kept out of view. As the garage door opened flooding the space with light, Daniel threw on a Penn State sweatshirt over his black paramilitary shirt. Nate followed the other SUV's and Hardison's van out onto the road.
"So far so good," said Nate as they reached the main road.
"Don't say that, Nate," replied Elliot. "You should know, every time we say that something goes to Hell." He looked out the side window, back to the house. He ran his hand through his hair, brushed it away from his eyes and leaned against the edge of the window. His eyes scanned the estate as they drove away, but his gaze settled on the road they were about to cross and the fleet of cars about to meet them.
A gunshot pierced the whirring of the tires on the asphalt. Another sounded, hitting the Toyota in the front quarter panel on Elliot's side.
"Stay down." Elliot placed his hand on Victoria's shoulder. "Sounds like they've got M16's."
"Military grade," replied Daniel. "You've got good ears."
More gunshots rang out in rapid succession. The drivers in front of them began to speed up to evade the assault.
"How many cars, Elliot?" asked Nate.
"Seven."
Daniel answered his ringing phone. "Yea...right...got it." Daniel closed his phone. "Nate, pass them on the left. You'll want to get in front of the line. The other cars will shield us."
Nate stepped on the gas and veered into the left lane. Elliot glanced down at the speedometer. Sixty. He turned to look out of the rear window and saw Hardison's van close in behind them as they passed. Gunshots got louder and closer together.
"MP5," said Elliot.
"We're returning fire," replied Daniel
Elliot glanced again at the speedometer. Eighty-five. In the drivers side mirror a Black SUV rolled end over end into the ditch and landed on its top, fire dancing along its exposed undercarriage. Nate saw it, too. Elliot could hear Nate's heartbeat as if it were in his own chest and ran his tongue against his fangs. He unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed into the backseat then to the rear compartment, hunger burning in his chest.
"Hardison! Sophie! What's going on back there!" Nate shouted.
Elliot listened but couldn't hear Hardison's response. "Nate, give me an earbud. I need to know what's going on.
"It won't work," said Daniel.
"Why not."
"Earbuds pick up electrical signals and vibrations in the jaw. You don't produce them anymore. You might be able to hear but you definitely cannot respond."
"Nate, what's happening back there."
"From the sounds of it, they are down three vehicles." Nate cleared the last of their convoy and sped away. "Hardison's cargo is fine, but the back up is finding it harder to hold them off."
"Sophie and Parker?"
"So far so good."
Elliot stared down at the staff in front of him. He placed his hand on it and the sound of gunfire faded into the background. Grey murk swirled in his mind. Voices chanted in unison in a language he didn't understand. He echoed the words; "Død beskytte mig. Død beskytte mig" The staff felt hot in his hand, shooting sparks up his arm, into his neck. "Død beskytte mig." He rolled his head back and looked at the ceiling. "Død beskytte mig." He squeezed his eyes shut and bared his fangs. "Død beskytte mig." He knew how fast they were going and how fast they would have to stop. The voices chanted louder and louder "Død beskytte mig." And then they were silent.
Elliot opened his eyes. "Stop the car, Nate."
"What?"
"Let the group get ahead of us then stop the car." Elliot stared at Nate's reflection in the rearview mirror.
"Are you crazy. Bullets may not hurt you but they'll kill me."
"It's okay. I think I know where he's going with this," said Daniel.
"Wait, aren't you supposed to be the body guard?"
"He's coming along a lot faster than we all expected. I think he knows what he's doing."
"Nate, stop the car!" screamed Elliot.
"Hardison. New plan. We need you to get ahead of us. Make sure the left lane's clear." Nate slowed the car and watched Hardison catch up and then pass them. "You think he knows what he's doing?"
"I know it."
Nate pounded the brakes and locked up the tires, skidding the car to a stop across both lanes. Elliot kicked out the rear hatch and climbed out staff in hand. The four remaining cars squealed to a halt a couple hundred feet behind them and as Elliot walked toward them, head down and cocked to one side, the drivers and passengers slowly exited their vehicles. Elliot counted the guns - sixteen - and then stopped.
He focused on one young man toward the front who seemed more frightened than the others and made eye contact, drawing him in. The man dropped his weapon and walked to Elliot never breaking contact with him. The rest faded into the background as silence surrounded them. No birds. No wind. Elliot honed in on the young man's heartbeat, feeling the flutter of fear and when he got close enough reached out and grabbed him by the neck and held him close. The young man struggled but not nearly hard enough to make a difference.
Elliot raised the staff in front of him level to the ground as the rest of the humans leveled their guns at him. He once again bared his fangs. "Død beskytte mig."
The sound of gunfire pierced the silence as time and space bent around the staff, capturing the bullets, and Elliot felt as though he were looking through beveled glass. He felt the staff's energy well up inside him and then out through his chest send a shockwave toward the cars and humans, throwing them back a few hundred feet into a pile of twisted metal and bones.
Elliot pulled the young man's head closer and whispered into his ear. "Tell your master the Queen lives." He drank from the man's neck until the heartbeat slowed and then dropped him to the ground.
Elliot took his place again in the front seat and out of the corner of his eye saw the horror on Nate's face.
"What?"
Nate reached into the console and pulled out a small box of Kleenex. "You've um. . . on your chin, and your shirt."
"What?"
"You're a messy eater."