Being Undead

Chapter 21*

Ian looked around the empty street but saw nothing out of the ordinary; except maybe him, of course. An undead on a night patrol was always something out of the ordinary.

Ian reminded himself why he had to be on that patrol that night. The boss wants all mortals in New York City protected until that nuisance, "Anton," building an army of undeads was apprehended. It was for that very reason that the thirty hunters moving in the shadows alongside him were present.

Ian let his mind drift down memory lane as he watched the work around, back to when he had first become an undead. I still can't believe it'll be three hundred and fifty years ago the next week, he smiled at the thought.

Ian had been twenty-two when he was turned. Though born an Englishman, he chose to go around warring Europe in search of glory- and more especially, money- as a mercenary; offering his service to the highest bidder in their numerous, unending, bloody campaigns.

It was on one of these campaigns that Ian got mortally wounded- gunshot to the chest- and death seemed inevitable. But a man, Lance by name, approached and told him he still had a chance to live. Apparently, the undead had been watching him for years now; placing different challenges in his way to test his worthiness of being undead.

Ian didn't know how- he vividly remembered he lived a rough and dishonourable life as a mercenary- but Lance found him worthy. He was turned, given a second chance; and ever since then, he had travelled the world over the years, fighting and saving people from their enemies for free as he went in atonement for the evils he had done before.

This journey brought Ian to New York about two hundred years back where he met and teamed up with Frederick to fight and kill a rogue undead terrorising the city then with no regard for life, mortal or immortal.

In return for his help, Frederick offered Ian a position in the Rogue Hunters Council and he agreed; the former putting him in charge of over a hundred hunters who were willing and able to fight and die for him.

The past doesn't matter, Ian reminded himself as he always did whenever he reminisced too much in his memory, only the present. That was his motto and the only thing capable of motivating him to do more.

"Matt," he called to the guy on the roof. "See anything suspicious up there?"

"Nothing, boss," he replied.

But just as Ian moved to ask the other hunters update on their positions, he suddenly heard a sickening sound like something tearing into flesh. Looking up, he quickly moved out of the way before something falling from the roof crashed on him. Matt! he realized, the surprised look on his face mirrored by the dead hunter before his body crumbled to dust.

"Guys, heads up. Something's up on the roof," he announced and almost immediately, five hunters zoomed in to surround him in a circle while the others secured the area.

Truth be told, Ian could definitely take care of himself; more than all of them combined could, in fact. But he didn't mention that; he respected his men too much to hurt their pride.

"What do we do, boss?" asked one of the men.

"Get up there and find out exactly what is that we're really up against," he instructed.

"Copy, boss."

Nine hunters jumped onto the roof where Matt had fallen to do as Ian had instructed, but no sooner had they landed on it that their dead bodies were sent back to the ground with a loud thud.

Oh crap! Ian groaned. Whoever, or whatever- he wasn't exactly sure how to address it-  that was attacking them wasn't going to be easily dealt with. "Be prepared, guys," he announced, "we're going in for a fight."

Immediately, the hunters assumed a fighting stance, their weapons at the ready. But even that turned out to be inadequate as whatever it was on the roof came down in a frighteningly fast whizz and went through his men like they were nothing but paper cut-outs.

Ian jumped over his protectors and charged at the thing. There's no way in hell I'm standing back and watch this thing kill my boys, he thought as he went.

"Boss, no!" His men raced after him; not that they ever had a chance to catch up to him. He was that quick on his feet.

Ian reached the thing as it took the heart of one of the hunters and swung a punch at it. But to his utmost surprise, he missed. What the hell! he exclaimed inside.

Thing is, Ian was one of the fastest hunters in North America; only a handful of undeads were faster than him in general besides the big boss Frederick. But that thing was amazingly fast, even for an undead.

It punched Ian in the side; the force sending him torpedoing into the wall. Quickly, he got back on his feet and took a fighting stance, but by then, many of the hunters were already decapitated.

Ian looked around, unable to count how many hunters still remained alive as by the second, they attacked the thing and lost their lives; still not backing down then.

I should have taught them that there were some fights worth running away from, Ian groaned at the "no defeat" principle he had instilled in his men. It was surely going to be death of them all that day.

Anyway, he shook dirt off himself and raced after the thing; or the blur of the thing, to be precise; he still couldn't get a detailed look at it.

Ian jumped up in his charge, ready with a punch. But another one in the chest sent him flying backwards before he could dish his out. He landed very far from his jump position and turning back, he saw the last of his men die.

Well, if you're going to go out, Ian, he accepted what was coming as he stood up to take what might become his last stand, go out with a bang. He focused his mind solely on one thing then: kill the thing.

"Come on, you hound from hell!" Ian screamed out with all the rage within him. "Come and take as you gave!" With a battle cry, he charged towards the thing, and it returned the favour.

The thing kicked Ian in the stomach and he sailed backwards through the air, landing on a car parked near there.

Glass shattered all over him; his cuts bleeding from one places that he had the control of mind to count. He saw the thing walk towards him. A man, he realised; or assumed really- Ian's vision had become so blurry by then he could barely make out anything in front of him.

"What are you?" he asked.

"Not what," it replied. "Who."

The thing picked up Ian effortlessly off the ground and dumped him in the car. Then, he fastened him to the seat; seatbelt and all.

"Why don't you just kill me?!" Ian shouted at it but got no reply. The thing just tied him to the chair with a chain, closed the door, and walked away.

Just then, Ian perceived something that chilled him to the bones: gas. Gas means fire, and fire means only one thing for an undead: bad, very bad.

Quickly, he began to look for what to release himself with, but there was nothing in the car that he could use. Even worse, if there had been, the fact remained that he couldn't reach past the gear.

The gear, that's it! Ian thought and almost kicked himself for not thinking about it sooner.

With one swift move, he dismantled the gear from the gear box. Then, he laid it straight and started flattening it with his punches- not a very easy task as it bruised his knuckles.

The gear flattened, Ian turned it inside out, not minding at all that it cut his palms. He inserted the flattened object between the interlock on his chain and started working at it. Just a small space, Ian, he encouraged himself as he worked, only a small space.

Ian eventually got the space he wanted, and with his bare hands, he ripped the chain in two. He gave the door a punch that sent it flying to the other side of the road and got out just in time before the car exploded.

Looking around him, he realized there was only one person in the city who had the ability, and audacity, to wreck such havoc on seasoned hunters. Quickly, he brought out his cell phone and punched in a number.

"Boss," he said into the receiver, "It's time."