Hisao and Akira(?!): Walla Walla Bing Bang 10/31 Finale!

[Hoitash]

Found the error I mentioned to you:

We’ll show her what happens when you piss of Hisao Nakai.

Obviously, not in the place I thought it was.

Indeed, but, found and fixed all the same .

[SpcPotshot]

Part II:

“We’re gonna need the cheapest bottle of vodka you have, some rags, lighters, some empty beer bottles, the fireplace poker, some kitchen knives, anything sharp and silver—letter opener, maybe? And… that’s all I can think of.”

Whenever I hear of Molotov cocktails, I always think of this old Cold War manual I found laying in the break room during AIT (FM21-75, btw). I think that manual had the lamest names for explosives ever.


http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/ ... 5/Apph.htm

[Hoitash]

Part II:

“We’re gonna need the cheapest bottle of vodka you have, some rags, lighters, some empty beer bottles, the fireplace poker, some kitchen knives, anything sharp and silver—letter opener, maybe? And… that’s all I can think of.”

Whenever I hear of Molotov cocktails, I always think of this old Cold War manual I found laying in the break room during AIT (FM21-75, btw). I think that manual had the lamest names for explosives ever.


http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/ ... 5/Apph.htm

A wise man with a mouse once said that the name doesn't matter, as long as the item in question works.

And it's pretty hard to argue with high explosives .

For those wondering where the chapter is, there's been a small zombie outbreak in New England due to some Twilight fans getting hold of the wrong necromancy manual. It should be cleared up shortly, depending on whether or not being ordained online is sufficient to produce Holy Water.

[Hoitash]

“The way things are, we're always in a graveyard.” –Mike, The Walking Dead: Season 2

Previous Chapter

Chapter Five: Thou Shalt Not Suffer…


The last time I had helped Hisao deal with something straight out of a gothic novel, it was raining, we were armed with weapons I had no doubt were illegally owned and obtained, and the thing we fought had tried to eat us. I had also almost killed myself just to buy time, but I tried to push that memory aside.

On this occasion, it was dark but clear and bitingly cold, our threat was a crazy woman who could raise the dead, and our best weapons were homemade fire grenades and a souped-up blow torch. This all led me not to feel all too good about our prospects, but Hisao seemed confident; I learned why later, but at the time I thought he was just out of his mind.

Despite his medical condition, the uncertainty of the situation, and the lack of confidence from his temporary partner—I was still new to hunting supernatural beings—he had been a rock of confidence, even just before that werewolf had crashed through the front window. What should have been obvious at the time is that beneath that reflective pool of confidence—his seemingly unwarranted bravado was contagious—churned the murky waters of desperation and the choking silt of determination, and a parent's will to protect their family.

It was as we exited the house onto the snowy porch that I truly began to understand what Hanako had seen in him all those years ago: that he would do anything to protect those whom he loves, even without their knowledge. Admirable as that sounded, it seemed like a lonely existence; he always kept it as far from them as he could. That's probably why he continued his friendship with Kenji; it provided Hisao with someone to help carry that mantle, though I assumed it had probably all started with wily Kenji and his crackpot theories.

Deep in thought as I was, I almost missed Hisao’s instructions. “Stay close behind me, stay sharp, and do not split up unless I say so, or if I’m dead,” he said, apparently not wanting to sugar-coat the truth of the situation, “...in which case run, call the cops, and protect the family.”

Even though he couldn’t see me, I nodded. “Hate to be a wet blanket,” I said, looking down at the makeshift blow torch and sighing, “...but are you sure we can handle this?”

“Reasonably,” he responded, which wasn't much of an answer, but I guessed he didn't want to tell me the actual figures. Turning back quickly, he added, “Oh, and... don’t get bit.”

Nodding again, I suppressed a shudder; I had seen enough horror movies to know that if I were bitten, I really would want to blow my brains out, or, in this case, slit my throat with a kitchen knife.

“Noted,” I muttered, choking back the bile.

Hisao nodded again and looked down at his right wrist; perhaps the mention of getting bit made him reflexively look at the toothy bracelet. When he did he stopped walking, and I stopped as well. We hadn’t even left the porch.

“Hisao…?” I asked.

“…Everything has a price,” he muttered, “be it coin... or blood.”

As Hisao pulled off the glove of his right hand with his teeth, I blinked in confusion. Tucking the poker under his arm, he held the knife against his palm, grit his teeth, and before I could even gasp he had cut a red line through the soft flesh.

Finally collecting some air, I asked, “What are you doing?”

Squeezing his hand closed, then opening it again painfully, he replied, “Testing a theory...”

When blood started to ooze from the shallow wound, he coated the knife in it and held it out for me to take. As the blood started to drip down into the snow, staining the sparkling white with crimson, I raised my eyebrow and hesitated.

“What the hell are you thinking?” I demanded.

“Just take the damn knife!” he snapped, “My hand’s getting cold.”

“Snippy, snippy,” I grumbled, reluctantly taking the knife by the handle.

Once I'd relieved him of the knife, Hisao extracted another from his belt and coated it as well, this time keeping it partially gripped with his left hand. Just when I thought he was done, he took the poker and carefully ran his cut hand along its length. With that finished, he moved to tuck the poker back under his arm, but stopped.

“…I did not think this through,” he muttered. Turning to me, he asked, “I have some bandages in my inside pocket. Could you grab one of the big ones for me?”

“You turn more and more into Kenji each time we meet, you know,” I remarked.

“I have three kids,” he reminded me.

Nodding, I unzipped his jacket and found one of the bandages. It wasn’t too hard to wrap it around his bleeding hand, though he fidgeted a bit each time I crossed the cut.

“Stop movin', ya big baby!” I chided.

“Y'know Kenji has better bedside manner,” he retorted, flexing his hand around the bandage as I pinned it in place.

“Such a drama queen,” I muttered.

When I was done, I shoved the wrappings in my pocket and zipped his coat up for him. He nodded his thanks, placed the poker back in his right hand, and resumed walking. I took one last look at the house and its imagined safety, and followed him out into the snow drifts. Once we had gotten a short distance away from the porch, Hisao stuck the end of the poker into the ground and began swaying it back and forth, like Lilly did with her cane as he trudged through the snow.

“Why are you doing that?” I asked.

“Checking for ambushers,” he replied, continuing his scan unabated. When I didn't immediately nod, he added, “Like I said, she knows we’re coming for her, so we need to be prepared for just about anything.”

“How comforting,” I grumbled.

“Don’t worry,” Hisao stated, then grinned lightly and added, “I am reasonably certain that I know what I’m doing.”

“That does not comfort me,” I grumbled.

Hisao shrugged and kept moving, guiding the poker in front of him. I found it unlikely that a zombie would just be waiting in front of us, but it depended on how many of the things she had to screen our advance, I guess. As I realized how much ground there was to cover, I began to wonder just how many of those things might be waiting for us; there were at least a dozen that I knew of, but she could have had more waiting nearby.

Trying to keep the tremble, both from the cold and my anxiety, out of my voice, I inquired, “How many of those… things... do you think she has?”

Pausing for a moment, Hisao shrugged. “Hard to say,” he said after a contemplative moment, “there are too many variables, really, and I didn’t get a good enough look at that pile to guesstimate how many bodies she has to work with. Hell, with our luck? When her nose stopped bleeding, she probably summoned a demon.”

Eyes bugging out, I whimpered, “…Is it too late to go back to the house?”

Before Hisao could reply, the snow in front of him exploded.

Hisao leapt back, his shoulder jabbing into me as something the size of a man leapt from under the snow and lunged at us. The thing was dark gray and my body froze as I realized it was one of the animated corpses. An actual, bona fide zombie was jumping at us, its skinless jaws opened unnaturally wide as its decaying claw-like fingers reached out, grasping toward our throats.

Swearing loudly, Hisao drew back the poker and thrust it upward, straight into the abomination’s skull. The zombie shuddered for a moment, its deadened eyes bulging outward from where the poker had pierced its forehead, and stopped its advance, instead crashing down to its knees, where it crumpled backwards at Hisao's feet. Leaping back, Hisao planted his feet and yanked the poker back, which dislodged it from the zombie's skull with a sickening crack, leaving it split in half.

[Hoitash]

Part II:

After having nearly been pulled to the ground by the weight of the festering undead, Hisao stood with a hand over his heart and the other at his neck, breathing heavily. Keeping the knife, along with the gore-stained poker, pointed away to try and keep his coat clean, he panted visibly, the chill winter air making his raspy breaths plain to see. Fortunately, with the zombie taken care of, he started to regain control rather quickly.

While Hisao recovered, I looked around, trying to spot any more zombies that might be hidden beneath the drifts, but there didn't seem to be any nearby; the sparkling snow was deceptively calm. Of course, we hadn't seen the one that Hisao had split open like a cantaloupe before it pounced.

Resting backwards, the zombie was still oozing putrid gray matter from its split skull, the smell of which was thankfully dulled by the numbness resulting from the cold. Even seeing it so mangled, I couldn’t help feeling something else was out there, watching us, waiting for us to get close enough. It was unnerving to say the least, and made me grip the blow torch a little tighter.

When Hisao had recovered, he sighed, looked around himself to make sure we were safe, and turned around to face me. “I’m okay,” he stated, rolling his eyes, “Damn EA jump scares–this is why I never played Dead Space. Do you smell anything?”

“Huh?” I asked, “No.”

“Weird,” he said. Glancing at the corpse, he remarked, “You’d think an undead corpse would stink.”

“I gave up thinking when we left the house,” I remarked.

“Good to know a hit to the head works,” Hisao said, holding up the poker somewhat triumphantly, “Although who knows if that would’ve worked without my blood on it, or the iron...” he shook his head, “Way too many variables here. Anyway, on we go. You okay?”

“We were just attacked by a zombie,” I stated, mentally adding it to the list of things I never thought I’d say before I knew Hisao, “No, I am not okay!”

“Okay, fair enough,” he conceded, “I guess I should ask: are you hurt?”

“No, I’m–look out!”

Hisao spun and lunged with the poker as another corpse dove, seemingly from nowhere, straight toward him; this one appeared to have made a running leap. Instinctively, I dove out of the way as the two tumbled, Hisao hitting the snow on his ass as the creature tried to rip and bite him apart. With a loud grunt and a fierce kick and shove, Hisao managed to force the zombie off the poker, sending it sailing over his head to land in the snow a few feet away.

Dark blue, and much more mobile, this creature looked like the ones that had been serving as guard dogs. Chunks of scraggly, dead hair hung around its head, and dark fluids slowly dripped from the gash Hisao had torn in what would have been its stomach. Staring at Hisao with blackened eyes, it paced in a semicircle on all fours, seeming to size him up in preparation for another pounce. Its movements were much more fluid than those of the previous attacker, and it seemed more surprised than anything else that Hisao had deflected its initial attack.

Hisao hefted himself up and matched its stare just in time to dodge another lunge from the athletic zombie. As he dodged, he drew a line across the creature's back with the poker. The wound seemed to sizzle and the undead monstrosity growled in apparent pain. It turned partway through its lunge, facing Hisao and exposing its back to me.

Immobilized as I was by the terror from yet another zombie attack, my mind was still somehow functioning. As I watched Hisao stab and swipe at the creature with the poker, and the zombie in turn try and grab the poker away from him, I realized Hisao was screwed. At best he could only accomplish a stale mate, and at worst the creature would snatch the poker away and turn it against him. Either way, eventually the creature would wear him down, or more would arrive and we'd both be overwhelmed.

That realization unfroze my body, and, in what is either the bravest or stupidest moment in my life, I jumped on top of the zombie and drove the bloodied knife into the back of its skull. The zombie lurched in a half-buck before slumping into the snow.

“Thanks,” Hisao said, once again pausing to catch his breath, “Nice hit.”

“…I need a drink,” I managed to grumble.

As I yanked the knife out of the festering skull and fumbled to my feet, he replied, “When this is over, I'm buying.”

“I'll hold you to that, Nakai.”

Nodding, Hisao moved closer and gave the corpse a couple experimental pokes. “Hmm,” he said, “A ghoul. Naturally–too much to hope she was a one trick pony.”

Not knowing there were different kinds of zombies, I prompted, “A ghoul?”

“Smarter and faster than other zombies, and a bit tougher, too—more like scouts than foot-soldiers,” he described, shoving the poker through its head one last time, “Did you see it try to grab this thing away from me?”

Swallowing hard, I nodded. “Hope she doesn’t have too many of those....”

“Agreed. I wonder if she’s having to ration the power she harnessed from the storm,” Hisao said, starting to ramble, “That might explain why she hasn't just made a bunch of ghouls, or something worse. Or maybe the more powerful undead wear on her physically and mentally–she seemed to be some sort of conduit for the energy to awaken them….”

“We should get moving,” I said, both out of truth and to try and put an end to Hisao’s nerd moment, “Now that we’ve been pinned down, more might be coming.”

Hisao looked up at me and grinned. “Now you’re thinking tactically,” he said, his eyes shifting to glance over my shoulder, “Oh, and... don’t look behind you.”

Blinking, I quickly turned around and groaned. Five more zombies were heading our way with one of the dark blue ghouls in front. Apparently we had been scouted out.

“Damn it,” I grumbled.

“Told you so,” Hisao said. Turning around himself, he sighed and muttered, “Crap.”

Turning again, I looked passed Hisao and swore; four more zombies were coming. Thankfully there wasn't another blue one among them, but that wasn't much comfort. They weren’t as slow as you’d expect shambling corpses to be, but they weren’t very fast. As they lumbered across the snowy field, hands extended and decayed jaws open wide, I saw the limply hanging hair from their heads, and the decaying flesh dangling from their arms and legs.

Those things had been people, I realized, then more than ever, and that woman had taken their bodies from their resting place, perverting their remains for her own ends. My grip on the knife tightened as indignant horror became rage at her audacity. That was quickly replaced by terror again as I realized we were surrounded, though Hisao didn’t seem terribly upset.

Instead, he carefully held the knife in his right hand with a spare finger and pulled out one of his Molotov’s.

“I’m gonna hit the group with the ghoul,” he said, “Looks like the ghouls can lead the zombies, so if I take him out that might slow them down.” He began fiddling with one of the molotovs, muttering, “I wonder if the cold is slowing them down, like it did in World War Z–the book, not the movie.”

“Stop nerding out and throw the damn thing!” I snapped.

“Right, sorry,” Hisao said.

While I watched the four undead shamble towards us, Hisao shoved the poker in the ground to free his hand up so he could use the stick lighter. With a few quick clicks of the trigger, it sparked to life and he wasted no time lighting the vodka-soaked rag.

“Fire in the hole,” he called, and I crouched to steady myself.

[Hoitash]

Part III:

Tearing my gaze away from the squad bearing down on me, I turned to watch the cocktail fly. Hurtling through the air practically in slow motion, the light from the burning wick illuminated the gaunt, haunted face of the lead zombie, putting it into enough relief that I could almost imagine what its living face had looked like. The other zombies were too far to see much more detail, and before the light could be of any help the grenade crashed into them.

One of the zombies got the full brunt of it, becoming covered in burning alcohol that quickly expanded into a coating of flame. The zombie gave a gravelly yelp and collapsed onto the snow, twisting and spasming as the flame ate away at its decayed flesh. Another zombie was caught under it, also catching on fire, while yet a third tripped over them, joining the other two in the impromptu pyre.

While the three burned, the other two moved around them, still moving toward us as they regrouped. The ghoul snapped a look at the remaining two, growled at them, then turned back to face us and charged forward, it’s awkward four-legged gait unnaturally fast. Clearly it intended to prevent any further fire bombing, though I couldn't decide whether it was just dumb luck or tactical thinking on its part.

Hoping Hisao really knew what he was doing, I asked, “What now?”

“Get behind me,” he instructed.

Gritting my teeth as the smell of burning rot wafted over me, I swallowed hard and nodded. Moving to stand behind him, I asked, “What about the four behind us?”

Hisao quickly turned to check on the other troop, then shook his head. “They’re far enough off yet, so one problem at a time, please.”

Getting down on one knee, Hisao extracted the poker from the snow and turned it over, staking it in the ground like a spear. The ghoul kept coming, seeming to gain speed with each stride, its blackened eyes filling me with dread as it got closer. Eyes that had once been full of life now only had hunger for the living, and we were its promised snack.

Before I could let the sheer horror of our situation once again render me useless, the ghoul leaped and lunged at us, snarling as it flew. Hisao grit his teeth, waited until the thing was nearly on us, and leapt up, jabbing the poker forward to hit the ghoul through the skull. His aim was a bit low though, and he ended up getting it through the chest.

Hisao swore and ducked under the undead monster to keep its weight from crashing on top of him. Taking the poker with him forced the ghoul to do a twisted half-flip, and it landed on the snow on its head. Before the ghoul could force itself up–and the poker out of Hisao’s grip in the process—I dove forward to jab the knife into the thing’s skull, screaming and cursing as it twitched against the blade. It writhed for a few frighteningly long moments, then finally slipped into its second death.

“Nice assist,” Hisao complimented, helping me up by the shoulder. “I’ll handle these two, you get the other four,” he directed, turning away to face his group before adding, “Remember, think lighter with the flame adjusted all the way, not actual flamethrower.”

I nodded and turned around, fighting back a yelp at how close the four undead had gotten while we had dealt with the ghoul. On the other hand, that meant I could actually use the homemade flamethrower. Aiming it at the lead zombie’s head, I squeezed the trigger and averted my eyes as a blast of purple and red flame burst from the nozzle.

Quickly engulfing the zombie’s head in a blast of flame, I let go of the trigger to conserve fuel. Reeling back, the zombie staggered as its head and shoulders started to burn, filling the air with more noxious smoke. Still burning, the zombie fell back into one of the other undead, tripping it up and knocking them both to the ground. The third tripped over them, joining them as the one continued to burn. The other two didn’t catch fire themselves, though they seemed rather helpless for the time being.

Meanwhile, the fourth zombie managed to shamble around them, close enough I could see its yellow, rotting teeth. There I faced a dilemma: getting into clawing or biting distance with the knife didn't exactly appeal to me, and I didn't know how many more zombies we would be facing, so I didn't want to waste more fuel. Fortunately, I didn’t have to make that decision.

Apparently having dealt with the two remaining zombies on our other side, Hisao darted past me and charged into the last standing zombie, stabbing it through the head with the poker; I had begun to think he was having a bit too much fun with that thing.

With the main threat handled, I cautiously advanced on the three tripped zombies. The one I had torched was dead, again, the flames slowly working their way along its body. The other two undead were working to claw their way free, one on its back trapped under the burnt one, while the third had managed to get on its knees.

Before it could pull itself up I shoved the knife down into its skull. The zombie shuddered, went still, and slumped into the snow with a muted crunch. While I worked to extract the knife from its skull, Hisao came over and crushed the final zombie’s head in with his boot. It took several good kicks, but eventually his boot was covered in gore, and the final zombie of the group was dead.

Again. I kept having to tell myself they had already lived once before.

Looking up at me with an adrenaline fueled grin, Hisao asked, “Nice job. How you holdin’ up?”

Turning to try and return the grin, I opened my mouth to say I was fine, but the smell of burnt flesh, the images of the undead shambling towards us, and the thought of our families ending up like them, all congealed into a massive upsurge that made me keel over and throw up.

“Good summation,” Hisao declared.

If I wasn’t occupied vomiting up dinner, I would’ve slapped him upside the head.

When the vomiting became dry heaving Hisao came over to rub my back. I’m not sure it helped, but the contact was reassuring, and it didn’t take long for me to catch my breath. After wiping my mouth with my sleeve, I turned around to face Hisao.

“This is fucked up,” I declared, “It’s, it’s…..”

“Unnatural? Unholy? Depraved? Disgraceful? Disgusting? An abomination of everything both our religions consider sacrosanct were we not hardcore agnostics?”

Fighting the bile down with another hard swallow, I nodded.

“Well, she wants to do that to our families now,” Hisao stated, his eyes ablaze with paternal fury, “and I am not letting that happen. I know it’s disgusting, unnatural, they’re starting to smell now that they’re not moving, and this is one of the scariest things you could imagine, but we gotta do this, and we gotta keep our heads in the game, okay?”

Gritting my teeth, I rose to my feet, gulping back another wave of bile as I nodded. Part of me wanted to collapse to the snow and cry at the insanity of it all, but I didn’t have that luxury. All I could do was help Hisao end that Witch's abominable work and ensure she didn't turn any more of the dearly departed into her rotting slaves, especially not our families.

“Okay,” I said, “I’m good. Although, if you hadn’t broken her nose….”

“I regret nothing,” Hisao declared, “Now, let’s go give that wych a proper greeting.”

With a raised eyebrow, I replied, “What? Just walk up to her and her army of undead and her Tesla coil of magic energy?”

“When you say it like that, it sounds bad for sure,” he said with a reassuring smirk, “but, you forget, I have the Poker of Undead Smiting.”

Hisao waved the poker around for effect, making me cough from the chilled stench of iron, blood, and rotting guts and flesh.

“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?” I asked.

Hisao rolled his eyes and turned towards the hill. “C’mon,” he said, ignoring my accusation, “...and don’t worry. I've got a plan.”

“You said that about the werewolf, too,” I grumbled.

“Shoot the shit out of it was a perfectly respectable plan,” Hisao countered, starting to trudge through the snow.

“Whatever,” I said, moving to follow, “Let’s go, before I come to my senses and head back to the house to drink myself sick.”

Hisao stopped a short distance from the burning and mangled corpses to look around. There weren’t any other undead horrors, so either they were still lying in ambush, or waiting with the witch. Hisao physically steeled himself, taking a deep breath that I mimicked, then letting it out in a cloud of mist. Even being ill-equipped and outnumbered, for whatever else we were walking into, as we started marching up the hill, I almost felt prepared.

Averting my gaze from the rotten corpses as we passed deeper into darkness, I swallowed, grit my teeth, and swore I'd never end up getting roped into one of Hisao's supernatural adventures again.

Assuming I made it through the night, of course.

+++
Next Chapter

And lo, the 2014 Zombie Assault on New England was stopped not with a shotgun, but with a cupcake and bottle of cognac.

Technically it’s a +1 Good-aligned Undead Bane Cold Iron Poker.

This story of thrills and horrors will conclude with a Special Halloween Day Double Feature (hopefully)! Stay tuned!

[Helbereth]

awkward four-legged gate unnaturally fast

Gait* missed that one, sorry.

There's a few other hiccups that could have been ironed out with a second pass, but it's still passable. I give it a B+.

Incidentally, that's what they'd call the theatrical release - a B movie.

I'll stop now...

[Hoitash]

awkward four-legged gate unnaturally fast

Gait* missed that one, sorry.

There's a few other hiccups that could have been ironed out with a second pass, but it's still passable. I give it a B+.

When things have settled down send me a pm and I will work my LITERARY POWERS OF AWESOME to make it better

Incidentally, that's what they'd call the theatrical release - a B movie.

Right after the Wily Coyote cartoon.

[Mirage_GSM]

Nodding again, I suppressed a shudder; I had seen enough horror movies to know that if I were bitten, I really would want to blow my brains out, or, in this case, slit my throat with a kitchen knife.

Since those zombies were created by magic instead of some kind of unlikely disease, I would take my chances on them not being contagious before contemplating suicide. Besides, slitting the throat of a zombie has not proven to be a reliable measure regardless of the origin of the zombies...

Tucking the poker under his arm, he held the knife against his palm, grit his teeth, and before I could even gasp he had cut a red line through the soft flesh.
...
“…I did not think this through,” he muttered.

Indeed! Why did he cut his palm when he intends to wield weapons with it in the near future...

...stopped its advance, instead crashing down to its knees, where it crumpled backwards at Hisao's feet.

I have the feeling they will have to explain some corpses the next morning...

[Hoitash]

Nodding again, I suppressed a shudder; I had seen enough horror movies to know that if I were bitten, I really would want to blow my brains out, or, in this case, slit my throat with a kitchen knife.

Since those zombies were created by magic instead of some kind of unlikely disease, I would take my chances on them not being contagious before contemplating suicide. Besides, slitting the throat of a zombie has not proven to be a reliable measure regardless of the origin of the zombies...

True, but it would be hard to explain the wound in the morning. Besides, when it comes to magic, I'd rather err on the side of caution.

(And humans rarely instantly turn in these types of situations.)

Tucking the poker under his arm, he held the knife against his palm, grit his teeth, and before I could even gasp he had cut a red line through the soft flesh.
...
“…I did not think this through,” he muttered.

Indeed! Why did he cut his palm when he intends to wield weapons with it in the near future...

Because the blood of the right hand is the perfect counter to a witch using magic, and thus in tuned with the power of the Devil's Hand (ie, the left).

Like he said, everything has a price

...stopped its advance, instead crashing down to its knees, where it crumpled backwards at Hisao's feet.

I have the feeling they will have to explain some corpses the next morning...

I find your lack of faith in me... well, come on. It's me. I'm not completely incompetent at my job

[Helbereth]

I'm not completely incompetent at my job

I could beg to differ...


...but, I won't.

[Hoitash]

I'm not completely incompetent at my job

I could beg to differ...


...but, I won't.

Thanks . I think.

[Hoitash]

“Frak this! My soul’s my own, and I’m keeping it!” –Ciaphas Cain –HERO OF THE IMPERIUM

Previous Chapter

Chapter Six: …A Witch to Live


The closer we got to the base of the hill, the tenser Hisao seemed to get. Considering what was waiting for us on the other side, I couldn't blame him. The only problem was that seeing him so on edge put me close to panic mode, so I started talking through my nervousness.

“So,” I asked in a low voice, “Do we have a plan?”

“Stop any undead that stand in our way,” he replied, then added, “and bash in her skull.”

“…Do we have a Plan B?”

“Fire.”

After that, I gave up trying to get a reasonable response out of him; he was in hunter mode by that point, and my questions were probably just distracting him. It seemed like he was taking the matter personally, possibly because of the encounter with Refia before we left. That meant he was doubly determined, but I hoped his head was still in the game; the consequence of our failing meant that our families would pay dearly.

With blood in his eyes and on his weapons, Hisao growled and started marching up the hill, taking the purposeful strides of a father aiming to protect his family. Not knowing what else to do, and figuring that having him between me and the crazy woman with the lightning hands was a good idea, I paced close behind. When we crested the hill, I gulped; the pile of corpses had lessened significantly while the number of zombies and ghouls had grown.

Standing with their deadened eyes and slack jaws hanging open ghoulishly, the zombies swayed eerily, awaiting directions. Nearby, a troop of ghouls surrounded the witch, gnashing their teeth and fidgeting with nervous energy, while she worked on molding a large chunk of the remaining corpses into something big and disgusting. Its putrescent form, hashed together from at least a dozen different zombie's parts, groaned and flailed as she pressed chunks of flesh against its sides, apparently building it into some kind of amalgamated undead horror.

I tried not to think about it too much.

How she had noticed our approach over the crackling Tesla coil and buzzing lightning rod, I have no idea, but, the moment we were both at the hill’s crest, she turned around, her black lips split into a wicked grin. A couple of wadded tissues were shoved into her nostrils, which undercut the creepy, evil vibe a bit, but she still struck quite an imposing figure with her hair crackling and bracelets rattling—the amalgamated abomination behind her also helped.

“Ah, you made it,” she said, her mock-cheerful tone a mix of relief and annoyance, “I was worried my pets might have taken care of you before you got here.”

“Cold must be slowing them down,” Hisao said, pointing at the bloody tissues, “Nice nose, by the way—maybe it'll heal crooked like a real wych.”

The woman snarled and stuck out her hand, demanding, “Beg for mercy now, fool, and I promise to kill you first.”

Hisao rolled his eyes, muttered to me to stay behind him, and called to the witch, “Go fuck yourself! Seriously. Maybe if you got laid once in a while I wouldn’t have to deal with you.”

The woman growled and a blast of blue electricity sparked from her fingers toward us. It looked like lightning, arced like lightning, and I could even smell ozone like after a real lightning strike, but it moved slowly—relatively, at least. While my brain tried to process that impossibility, Hisao thrust the poker in front of him.

Staring in disbelief, I asked, “Do you really expect that to help?”

Hisao didn’t respond, didn't even blink, and before I could say anything else the lightning had reached the poker. It quickly latched onto the iron and laced its way along the rod’s length like a hundred crackling tendrils, digging into the metal and moving toward Hisao's hand. Hisao’s eyes widened, and I took a step back as I waited for the lightning to reach his body, expecting it to light him up like a Christmas tree.

Instead, the lightning swirled around the poker, casting a brilliant light that nearly blinded me. Once all the lightning was coursing along and around the rod, Hisao flung the poker to the left of us. The electricity blasted at the rows of undead, cutting through a large chunk of zombies. Although the ghouls had enough intelligence to leap out of the way, the slower undead caught the brunt of the strike, splitting several corpses apart and sending them crumpling to the ground.

In the wake of the explosion, several ghouls poised themselves to pounce, but the woman snapped at them in Spanish, or whatever language it was, and they stayed put, glaring at us with their hollow eyes, snarling and drooling hungrily. Obviously angered at how terribly her attack had backfired, the witch fumed and took a step back, glaring at Hisao with her hand still outstretched.

Her expression dumbfounded, she asked, “How… How did you do that?”

The slight tremble of worry in her voice made me smile, if only slightly.

Hisao grinned and spat, “I ain’t so easy to kill!”

Snarling, the witch wound up her arm and her fingers began to crackle. Then, casting her arm forward like a softball pitcher, she sent a ball of electricity hurtling toward us—it was the size of my head. In response, Hisao assumed a wide stance, standing sideways, and held the poker out like a baseball bat.

“Batter up!” Hisao yelled, seeming to enjoy himself more than a little.

With one swift swing, the iron rod didn't so much hit, but rather caught and redirected the energy ball, sending it back toward the witch. Her eyes widened as it neared, but one of the ghouls leaped in front of it before it could reach her, quickly exploding into a shower of ash and charred flesh. As its remains landed at the witch's feet and began melting into the snow, she seemed shocked, but not deterred.

“Nothin' but net!” Hisao yelled again, smirking as he mixed his sports metaphors.

The witch replied by hurtling another ball, which Hisao redirected into a group of zombies off to the side. Following that, she fired a volley of three in quick succession. At that point, I was still less than confident in Hisao’s batting skills, so I crouched low and waited. Instead of trying to return them like before, Hisao followed my lead and crouched as well, letting the energy balls sail harmlessly over our heads.

As I watched them ascend into the dark sky above, I heard the witch growl as her fingers snapped like a particular cousin of mine. The balls vanished at the sound, and I turned back to see her glaring angrily, clenching her blackened teeth.

“Didn’t think that through, did you?” Hisao quipped nonchalantly.

I don't know where he got his bravado, but it really bothered the witch.

“Tch!” she growled, starting to flex her bony, ring-studded fingers, “I'm just getting warmed up, fool!”

Sparks and jolts of energy crackled and danced along her fingers and hair, and the ghouls that remained at her feet began whooping in their gurgling, guttural voices. The energy began to build around her hands, green on the left, and blue on the right, and soon her hair and eyes had begun to surge. Her dark eyes glowed an effulgent green, and smoke began rising from her robes as electricity arced from her fingertips, hitting the ground and shooting into the sky.

“Crap,” Hisao sighed.

Standing and planting his feet, Hisao crossed his arms at the same time the witch turned her hands toward us, unleashing a blast of energy. At the same time, Hisao pointed the knife toward the swirling blue and green blast, then raised the poker toward the sky and waited. Thinking the energy was surely about to turn us into fried chunks of flesh, or worse, I stayed on the ground in the snow and closed my eyes as the light from the jolts became too bright to bear.

This time, I was sure Hisao was toast.

However, when I failed to hear his final shriek of pain as the magical electricity fried him to a crisp, I cautiously opened one eye to see what was going on. Stupefied by the spectacle, I closed my eye again, shook my head, and slowly opened it to peek again. Much to my amazement, the energy was focusing on the small knife blade, which was glowing purple with bursts of green. Instead of coursing into Hisao and turning him to ash, the coalescing energy was arcing up along the poker, which somehow seemed to absorb it like a lightning rod.

Glowing dark purple with arcs of dark green electricity shooting along its length, the poker grew brighter with each of the witch's blasts, such that the light became unbearably intense. Averting his eyes, Hisao focused on the witch with a fierce grin on his lips, though he may only have been gritting his teeth. As each blast seemed to make him strain a bit more, I began to realize there was a limit to how much power whatever he was doing was capable of absorbing, and that worried me; I really didn't want to see him burst into ash if he got cocky.

Hisao probably didn't want that to happen, either.

Fortunately, Hisao had more control than I may have credited him for. With a sudden grunt, he forced the poker down, parallel to the witch, and all the energy came blasting out of the tip, launching a massive streak of green and purple. With my one open eye, I watched the witch's eyes widen, and their green glow dissipate, as her hands rose up to catch the incoming blast. The how and why didn't even enter my mind, but somehow she managed to gather that massive amount of energy into a ball between her hands, which she then slammed into the ground at her feet.

A blinding flash exploded around her, enveloping her silhouette along with three of the nearby ghouls and the fleshy monstrosity she had been constructing. For a brief few seconds, I held onto hope that it was over, that she'd been vaporized by the blast, but that hope was quickly dashed as the light faded and the smoke cleared. Awestruck, I shook my head in disbelief as a smoldering crater of melted snow and ghoul dust came into view. The witch stood at its epicenter, arms folded and black lips pursed indignantly, aiming an icy glare at Hisao.

At least the two nearby ghouls and the monstrosity had been destroyed.

“Crap,” Hisao muttered, “You can’t keep this up forever, wych, but I can go all night!”

Despite how seriously he'd said it, the double-entendre almost made me snicker.

“I don't have to!” the witch shouted.

Ominous as her words were, the unmistakable chorus of crunching snow was far worse. From both sides, as before, hordes of zombies began shuffling around their master, groaning mournfully as they marched up the hill, their deadened stares generally aiming toward Hisao. Having watched that terrifying magical display—I didn't have any other way to describe it—I had nearly forgotten about the zombies. Fortunately, Hisao wasn't so easily distracted.

“Right, undead army,” he muttered, scanning the two groups. After a quick moment of contemplation, he turned back toward me. “Go hold off the wych,” he instructed, “I'll handle the zombies and ghouls.”

Groaning, I considered asking him whether he was insane, but I was pretty certain of that by then. Instead I grumbled, “What the hell am I supposed to do? Subpoena her for trespassing?”

[Hoitash]

Part II:

“You've got a blow torch and a knife—you'll be fine,” he replied, shrugging as he drew a Molotov from his pocket. Aiming a grim stare at the witch, he added, “Go, before they get too close.”

Choking back my grumbling protest, I hefted myself up onto one knee and looked down the hill. A mist of steam clung to the shuffling undead as they marched in rows and columns, changing direction at the command of the ghouls. Slinking beneath the fog, which hid their numbers, the ghoul commanders whooped and chattered, sounding more restless with each stride—restless, and hungry.

The idea of chasing after the witch with nothing but a blow torch, a knife, and my wits didn't exactly appeal to me, but those zombies looked even more dangerous.

As I stood slowly, I realized two things: Hisao's judgment was worthy of trust, and we were the only line of defense between this death-crazed witch and our families. Basically, I didn't have a choice. Fortunately, my job was simple; all I had to do was keep the witch distracted, prevent her from attacking Hisao while he took care of the hard part, and preferably not get myself killed in the process.

On paper, it would've looked like a done deal.

How I was going to accomplish any of that was anyone's guess, but I had to start somewhere. Getting to the witch would be the first priority, obviously, but there was a horde of zombies blocking the direct route, so I'd have to get creative. After checking my weapons hurriedly, I started dashing through the snow, being sure to give the zombies a wide berth; my diverting their attention would just be bad for everyone. Fortunately, Hisao had a plan for that.

As I started picking up speed on the way down the hill, I caught sight of the wick from a Molotov as it hurtled through the air toward the zombies. A moment later it exploded in a hot ball of yellow and red flames, catching several zombies on fire and scattering the ghouls. Their dark eyes couldn't handle the burst of light, so the ghouls began stumbling about in a daze, the combination of heat and light preventing them from noticing the petite blonde woman who was steadily skirting their ranks.

At the time, I wasn't ready to admit that Hisao and I made a decent team, and I'm still on the fence, really—I'd just prefer he leave me out of his hair-brained adventures, honestly.

Anyway, with Hisao keeping the zombies attention, all I had to do was get to the witch, who was too focused on the Molotov chaos for her own good. Waving her arms wildly and shrieking in Spanish, she directed the zombies to scatter away from the flames, and for the ghouls to charge, which they did. Seeing how they followed her orders made me realize just how much disarray her being distracted would cause, thereby making all of this easier—or that was the working theory, at least.

Whatever happened, I needed to create a diversion—a big one—and fast; Hisao was already wading through ghouls, and losing their voice of reason would make his survival—and my own, by proxy—much more likely. Thus, getting her attention was of paramount importance; I could worry about avoiding electrocution later. Honestly, my only hope for that was that my little blood-covered knife would work the same way as Hisao's poker, but thinking about that was getting ahead of myself.

Scanning the scene, I considered the pile of remains, the witch, her giant Tesla coil, and the lightning rod in the back of the rusting pickup truck. The rod held my attention, and a fiery idea formed in my mind. My idea was definitely a long shot, but it seemed logical enough in the heat of the moment. At the very least it would turn her around and buy Hisao a few seconds; I was hoping for more, but beggars can't be choosers.

Crouching down to keep myself as stealthy as possible, I set down the blow torch and pulled out one of my two Molotovs. Keeping the bloodied knife firmly in my other hand, I used some free fingers to draw out my stick lighter, and, with a couple quick clicks, set the vodka-soaked rag ablaze. With the fire set, I held the bottle by the neck and lobbed it in a high arc, aiming for the back of the pickup truck.

The witch hadn't noticed me getting behind her, lighting the rag, or throwing the Molotov, which made the shriek she let out as a fireball erupted just a few feet behind her absolutely priceless. Shards of glass shrapnel pelted her back and caught in her hair, and she had to shield her face from the flames as she turned to find her lightning rod, and the strange device to which it was attached, had caught fire.

Smoke started to rise as the rod crackled, sparked, and hissed, and the fire began to catch all along its length, as well as in the pickup’s bed. The cables holding the rod upright caught fire as well, along with the wires leading to the coil, which started sparking, sending acrid smoke up to mix with the disgusting odor of decayed flesh, burnt ozone, formaldehyde and cooked hair.

Meanwhile, the witch watched helplessly, the fiery reflections in her eyes growing more intense as the flames engulfed the entire pickup truck. It didn't take long for her to start scanning for the culprit, which she found quicker than I'd have liked. A grim snarl parted her lips as her menacing eyes locked onto my crouching figure, and I froze in place for just a moment.

“You!” she barked, her voice cracking with rage.

As the sound of her voice hit me, I felt a strange burst of confidence and stood. “Consider yourself served,” I snarled, then, raising my blow torch triumphantly, I yelled, “Bitch!”
Growling, the witch raised her hands at me, and I readied my blow torch. However, instead of blasting me with one of her fancy energy balls, she merely grinned, her black teeth especially noticeable against her silhouetted form. Realizing I was too far away for the blow torch to be effective, I started advancing slowly, but stopped when she snapped her fingers.

“My friends can handle you, Blondie,” she threatened, and I started backing away instead as my worst fear became manifest.

A pair of ghouls appeared, erupting from the snow at the witch's feet and moving to stand at their master's sides like obedient pups. They seemed to shiver a bit, probably from being buried under the snow for so long, but looked no less menacing as they started growling and leaping in place like leashed hounds. As I continued backing away, that surge of confidence all but forgotten, the witch licked her lips and barked some orders at the undead horrors, which I didn't need a translator to understand.

Faster than I could blink, the ghouls turned and leaped, one going left, the other right, each stopping about five meters behind either of my shoulders. Neither of them pounced on me directly, but apparently that wasn't her intent. Instead they were surrounding me for a pincer attack, one that I wasn't at all confident about combating. It seemed appropriate for the witch to start cackling madly at that point, but she just smirked evilly instead.

“Enjoy the twins!” she said with a grim mirth, “They work so well together, don’t you think!”

Tightening my grip on the blowtorch, I glanced at my bloodied knife for a moment before catching sight of Hisao's third—and final—Molotov, exploding in my peripheral vision. Too scared to imagine how he was faring, I decided to focus on my own problems, which were slowly closing. With the witch in front and a ghoul approaching over each shoulder, I was basically screwed, but I planned not to make it easy. Like Hisao had said, I still had a knife and a blow torch, plus the hatchet on my belt and another Molotov if things got desperate.

I just needed to keep my wits.

It's amazing how quickly fear can heighten one's senses, and I was definitely terrified, which is like having a super power—not that I'd recommend it to anyone. My adrenaline-enhanced eyes started shifting between the two circling ghouls, watching their every move as they waited for the perfect moment to strike. Their snarling and growling faded into the background as I watched their hands and legs, each flex foretelling their next move.

Their crunching footsteps became more practiced with each step, and they had stopped shaking, which meant I had precious little time to spare deciding how to act. The circling had drawn them closer, but, based on what I had seen previously, they weren't quite in range to pounce just yet. On the other hand, they were just about close enough to reach with my blow torch.

Fortunately, my careful observations had helped me notice a few weaknesses among the pair. Most prominently, one of them was missing an eye, which had to mess with its depth perception. That would make it easier to hit, so I chose it as my target. Levying the blowtorch, I aimed at the partially-blind, undead monstrosity and squeezed the trigger.

A stream of red and blue flame shot from the nozzle, which, by sheer luck, hit the thing in the head, engulfing it in flames as I let go of the trigger. Howling, the ghoul rolled onto its back and started pounding its own head, trying to combat the flames. While it writhed, I quickly ran it down and put all my weight into stepping on its head. Its decaying skull compressed with a sickening crunch, and the undead monster stilled as the flames began slowly eating away at its charred flesh–and my pants leg.

“Shit,” I muttered, ducking down to put out the fire.

[Hoitash]

Part III:

As I did so, I felt a rush of wind overhead as the other ghoul launched itself, undoubtedly intending to knock me over, but instead catching nothing but air. It sailed awkwardly for a few moments, then landed gracelessly in the snow a couple yards in front of me, seeming no less surprised than myself.

As I batted at my pants leg, swatting at the last of the flames, I saw the witch roll her eyes and let out a low growl. Once the fire was out, I crouched and aimed the torch again. Meanwhile, the ghoul righted itself and turned toward me, growling and snarling like a rabid dog. It spared a single glance with its black, soulless eyes for its fallen comrade, then began running at full pelt. This time I waited as long as I dared, letting the undead monstrosity get practically within spitting distance before pulling the trigger.

Apparently expecting the burst, the ghoul managed to avoid most of the fiery stream, but still took a hit to its right arm. It shrieked as the focused blast engulfed its desiccated flesh, setting its whole arm ablaze. As it doubled over, swatting at the flames and rolling in the snow, I released the trigger to conserve what little fuel was left; I wasn't sure whether there was enough left to light a cigarette, never mind set a whole ghoul on fire.

While I shook the canister and gave a sigh, the ghoul writhed on the ground, patting its arm wildly and continuing to shriek in pain—it was almost pitiable. It managed to douse the flames after only ten seconds or so, but the damage was done; the arm I had scorched was black and stiff, its skeletal-like fingers burned to the second knuckle.

As it stumbled sideways, trying to figure out how to move with just one arm, I realized I should be taking advantage of its clumsiness. So, dropping the blowtorch, I shrugged and grabbed the hatchet off my belt. The crude and unwieldy weapon probably wasn't ideal, but it had more reach than the knife, and required less accuracy. Unfortunately, I had acted too late.

Snapping a glare at me, the ghoul sidled backwards, stumbling slightly as it put some distance between itself and my hatchet. Like a cornered animal, it started becoming more frantic, turning its head in every direction as it matched my advances with hobbling retreats, until finally it snarled, put its weight on its hind legs, and lunged.

As it dove forward, I waited as long as I could, only dodging to the side just as it passed by, and swinging the hatchet as I went. Not being used to the unbalanced weapon, my attack missed completely, and the momentum sent me tumbling gracelessly. While I stumbled to keep my feet, the ghoul landed in a heap, yelping like a dog as it rolled onto its haunches and prepared to spring at me again; before I could even get my hatchet ready, it was poised to pounce.

Kicking up snow in its wake, it began dashing toward me, loping awkwardly due to the useless arm. Realizing we were too close for me to duck in time, I focused on setting my feet and preparing to take the tackle. Still, not feeling confident in my ability to wrestle a ghoul, I did what any half-Scot worth her lineage would have done: I quickly threw my hatchet. Flipping through the air, the small axe crashed its blunt side into the ghoul's face with a sickening crack, sapping the energy out of its strides, but not stopping it completely.

Its forward momentum kept it coming, but the loss of speed gave me enough time to levy the knife before we crashed together. In the confusion of our fall, the knife found its way deep into the ghoul's skull, but I wasn't about to take any chances. When we hit the ground, I yelped and started stabbing wildly, shoving the length of the blade into its skull numerous times before I calmed enough to realize it wasn't moving anymore.

When that realization set in, I forced the thing off me with a grunt, and started dry heaving from the smell and feel of gore on my face–fortunately, none of it had gotten in my mouth. Still gasping and choking, I stood up and nearly wretched, both from the disgusting smells, and the realization that I'd just come a hair's breadth from death. My grip on the knife tightened, then, as I remembered the witch was still nearby, and probably watching.

It didn't take long to spot her, a crackling silhouette against the fiery ruin of her pickup truck, her previously bemused expression replaced by that familiar, blackened snarl. Fortunately, she apparently hadn't expected me to survive her ghouls' attack, so she wasn't already preparing her own assault, but that soon changed.

Glowing green once again, her eyes glared at me with a mix of surprise and disdain while flecks of blue and green energy began dancing and arcing along her fingers. As I suspected, she was fed up with my continued survival, and had decided to do her own wet-work without so much as a villainous speech.

I felt a little hurt and disrespected by that, but mostly I was terrified.

As the electricity built around her hands, I swallowed hard and tried to think. The hatchet was lost somewhere in the snow, the blow torch was out of sight and probably empty, and I probably didn’t have time to hunt either of them down or fiddle with my last Molotov. All I had at my disposal was a knife covered in gore and a man’s blood, which may or may not work to absorb and redirect her blasts. The prospect of trying something so desperate made me cringe, but it had worked for Hisao, so maybe it would work for me.

Focused as I was on the looming witch, I hadn't noticed the odd silence coming from where Hisao had been battling the undead horde. The odd mix of groans, growls, and grunts was gone, and I was too scared to hear anything but the crackling fire of the lightning rod, and the soft cackling of the witch. As far as I knew, I only had one option: dive when she tried to blast me, then charge down the hill screaming bloody murder and hope I could sink the knife into her heart before she could ready a second shot.

It was a long shot, but it was the only chance I had–or so I thought.

As the witch raised her hands, preparing to strike, I finally noticed the silhouette stalking its way down the hill over her shoulder. Carefully looking without moving my head, I observed as Hisao's ragged and bloodied form marched toward the witch, his crunching footfalls muffled by the sound of fire and crackling lightning. Unsure how long that cover would last, I realized she was still focused on me, and I decided it was up to me to keep it that way,

“Your ghouls are dead, Bitch!” I yelled, holding the dagger up threateningly as I felt another surge of confidence, “And your parlor tricks don't scare me! I've got a husband and two kids, I'm surrounded by jerks all day, and I've met kindly old judges who're scarier than you... So, come on and try it, Bitch! You don't have a chance!”

My speech only made her cackle louder, and her eyes flashed with confidence as she replied, “Your words are wasted, Blondie—nothin' gonna save you now.”

My moment of bravado got a nod from Hisao as he neared, and I kept up the pretense. Kicking snow up in my wake, I yelled with maternal fury and started charging towards her. My charge was just a feint that I never intended to carry out, of course, but she didn't know that. Wholly focused on me, her eyes narrowed and she continued her cackling, completely oblivious to Hisao's approach—just as I'd hoped.

As I came to a slipping halt, skidding several feet along the grass beneath the snow, the electricity along the witch’s fingers crackled and hummed with greater energy, and Hisao started a flat-out run, raising the knife as he went. The witch grinned and licked her blackened teeth, ready to turn me into ash, her cackling reaching a crescendo just as Hisao lunged; a moment later, her cackle became a pained shriek as the knife sunk into the back of her knee.

The energy bolt came blasting toward me, released as the witch fell to her knees, but it wasn't aimed very well. Quickly diving into the snow, I felt the heat from its passing, then rose to my knees and spat up a gob of snow. As I turned to see what was happening, I saw the witch down on one knee, tugging vainly at the knife. Cowering instead of crackling, she collapsed onto her side as Hisao raised the poker menacingly and approached with the cold determination of an executioner.

Part of me wanted to turn away as the cold iron baton came repeatedly crashing down against her head, but my vengeful, maternal side wouldn't let that happen. Still, watching Hisao reduce her head to its basic parts was not something I’d want anyone else to see. Perhaps that was why we made such a good team, loathe as I was to admit it. I understood why he did it, both from a parental standpoint and the fact that the woman was a crazed lunatic who had perverted the very laws of nature, among other things.

I didn't think any normal court would know what to do with her, anyway.

As Hisao continued pummeling her skull, sending blood and chunks of bone splattering into the snow, I stood and scrambled to stand at his side. When I got there, I could see the result of his grim handiwork: the witch’s head was a disgusting pool of brain matter, blood, and broken bone splinters. The sparks were gone, her once-frizzy hair was matted and caked with blood and bone, her face was broken and mangled, and the only sign of life came from her twitching hands. She was most definitely dead.

Finally, Hisao stopped beating the remains of her skull, and instead shoved the poker through her chest. The limp body failed to react, and I merely raised an eyebrow, wondering whether there might be an occult implication to his action. Meanwhile, Hisao leaned heavily against the poker with one hand, clutching at his chest with the other as he sucked in shallow, raspy breaths.

Sweat was pouring across his forehead despite the cold, his breathing sounded terribly hoarse, and he basically looked like shit. His coat was torn to shreds, the clothes underneath were covered in blood and gore, his self-inflicted hand wound had reopened and was bleeding through the bandages, and his hair was matted with a mess of gore chunks and blood. There were stray bits of rotted flesh clinging to every corner of his face, hair, and clothes, actually—I imagine I looked no better, though.

Surprisingly, his strange bracelet of teeth was still intact, but Father's poker was dented in several places, no doubt from its being repeatedly slammed into zombies, ghouls, and the witch's thick skull. My adventure had been harrowing, and I knew he'd had the harder job, but somehow he'd gotten through it without any serious injuries; overall he looked like he could use a drink, and a shower, and a few days of uninterrupted sleep, but he otherwise seemed unhurt.

“You alright?” he asked between shaky breaths.

“No,” I replied, which drew a concerned look. “I'll be needing that drink,” I added, which made him smirk, “and a shower... and a therapist...”

Grinning, he let out a relieved sigh. “Ditto... well, I already see a therapist.”

As confused, horrified, and disgusted as I was, I couldn’t help being impressed that Hisao, a man who'd suffered a heart attack at the age of eighteen, had fought off a zombie horde single-handed. The way he'd handled the werewolf was impressive, but we had guns for that mess; this time he'd done it with a knife, a poker, and a few Molotov cocktails. Obviously this was something he did often, probably more often than he would ever admit, especially to Hanako, and, now that it was over, that worried me more than a little.

I wondered how his heart handled the strain.

Occupied as I was with that thought, I didn't immediately notice that the witch’s body was starting to crack and crumble. Unsure what that meant, I leaped back and croaked, “Hisao!”

My yell caused him to lift his head a bit and look down at the body, which continued to crack and desiccate, its skin beginning to look like a salt flat during a drought. As the skin darkened and began cracking to pieces, the innards started slowly turning to dust. The sound of crumbling dirt came from all around us, then; the ghouls had begun to dissolve along with their master.

Turning to inspect the hill where Hisao had made his stand, I saw the massive pile of undead start crumbling as well, their horrified faces collapsing in on themselves. In a matter of moments, all that remained of the witch and her undead monstrosities consisted of a few piles of black dust. After a few moments, a ghostly wind, which only seemed to effect the remains, began whisking them away into the ether.

As the last of it vanished, making me question whether any of it had actually existed, I heard a faint whisper echo lightly through the night, like a chorus of many voices sighing in relief.

“Thank you...”

Instinctively glancing around to find the source of the whisper, I whirled my head around like a drunk for a few moments before realizing what had happened; somehow, the raised undead were thanking us for their release. It wasn't an explanation I could readily accept, but it's all that made sense, and after all the supernatural shit I'd seen that night, I couldn't discount any possibilities.

I definitely planned to keep it to myself, though.

Meanwhile, Hisao just stared down at the empty, crunched snow below him. “You’re welcome,” he muttered, “...You crazy bitch.”

“Hisao?” I asked, “You… you’re not hurt, are you?”

Asking whether he was okay seemed like a dumb idea; obviously he was a disheveled mess.

Turning to me with a slight smile, Hisao stood up, pulled the poker from the snow and casually eased it against his right shoulder. “I’m fine,” he said, wincing as he held up the bandaged hand and flexed it lazily, “...‘cept for my hand... should probably take care of that...”

Nodding, and figuring I'd have to handle that once we got back to the house, I prompted, “That all?”

“Oh, and I'll have to call someone to get what’s left of...” he trailed off, waving his free hand at the burning pickup truck and surrounding junk, “...this crap.”

Turning to look at the still-burning heap of junk the witch had brought, which was all that remained to prove any of this had happened, I noticed the fire had spread to the batteries, and the pickup's cab had caught flames. Strangely, the Tesla coil itself, now devoid of crackling energy, had remained undamaged. That was probably significant somehow, but I didn't expect Hisao to explain what it meant, so I didn't ask.

Instead, I wondered aloud, “…I take it you know someone who can handle that?”

“Yeah, I know a guy...” he said, then turned toward me again, “You hurt?”

Staring at the growing pyre, I shook my head. “Nope. You still owe me a drink, though.”

“Yep...”

There’s not a lot to say after fending off the zombie apocalypse, apparently.

Sighing, Hisao turned back toward the house. “We should head in,” he suggested, hefting the poker up to rest across his shoulders horizontally, “We've got a lot of covering up to do, and a new set of kitchen knives to order... And I’m keeping this poker.”

“Good,” I said in monotone, “I don’t think Dad'll want it back.”

There were a million questions I wanted to ask, but I didn’t have the energy for them; it was late, my adrenaline was wearing off, and I was covered in melted snow, gore, and zombie dust. Supernatural weirdness or not, I just wanted to curl up someplace warm and hibernate for a few weeks, so I followed silently as Hisao led us back to the house.

Neither one of us spoke a word as we stumbled up the hill, passed the place where Hisao had fought off the horde, skirted the spot where we'd been ambushed, and trudged our way all the way back to the porch. Both of us needed to get ourselves cleaned up, lest there be a lot of unwanted questions in the morning—not counting the millions of questions I planned to ask of my good friend the part-time monster slayer.

First, though, we both needed that drink.

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Next Chapter

Make that a +1 Good-aligned Undead Bane Energy Immunity -Electricity Cold Iron Poker.

I want a halberd like that in my Wrath of the Righteous Campaign.

We got one more part coming up, but when depends on my friends on the Other Side, hehe.