Antietam 1862: A Werewolf's Saga Extras Read online

  Antietam 1862

  A Werewolf’s Saga

  Extras

  Michael Lampman

  © 2015 by Michael Lampman

  All Rights Reserved

  Made in the U.S.A.

  Get caught up with A Werewolf’s Saga with;

  A New Dawn

  Changes

  The Pack

  Redemption

  Returning Pain

  The Wanderer Awakens

  Darkness Rises

  The End Times

  The Beginning Trilogy

  The Dawn of Humans

  The Rising Son

  Changing Tides

  The Gathering Storm

  The Puppets and the Strings

  Coming Soon

  Reemergence

  Power and Pain

  And now stay up on the Saga with Extras;

  The Night when Nightmares are Born

  Or visit www.AWerewolfsSaga.com and

  check out all of Michael Lampman’s other stories.

  Journal of Timothy Collins

  It has been a long few years now. Being what I am, living as this animal for as long as I have, I have come to understand many things. I have learned of my limits. I have learned of my weaknesses. I now know my full pain. I have come to accept who I am, and what I can do. The wolf lives its life with vigor, but it keeps to the full moon to live it. It only seems to hunt wildlife and those who it sees as being less desirable by the population at large. There are times that I understand this need. I lived as a human for twenty-six years. I have lived as this animal for much, much longer than that. In all of that time, I have come to understand the animal more than I now understand humans. It is funny how I no longer feel connected to what I once was. I live in their shadows, spending each day making my way around them, hiding from them, keeping out of their way. At times like these, I feel comfortable with this. At times like these, I don’t understand them even more than usual. I don’t understand their need to hurt. I do not understand their need to steal. How they kill each other as I have watched them do it, I will never understand that even more. And they call me the animal. They are the true animals of this world.

  And now they are fighting yet again. In my long life, I have seen this before. Europe, my home continent, always seemed to fight each other over land or religion. They slaughtered whole hoards of youth for the sake of the cross, or the sake of the plow. That is why I left it; I left them, and came to the new world to rid myself of those needs. How wrong I was, because this place is no different. The only thing that has changed is their reasons. This time, they are doing it for what they have called State’s rights, whatever that means. It is now the United States fighting over a new religious need.

  The north says it is to preserve their union. A worthless need as I see it, because they were never united in the first place. I know I was there when they formed it, and what I saw was wealth wanting the right to make more wealth. The whole notion of freedom—well—I never saw that either, it didn’t feel real. What I saw was an endless need to grow, to take, to consume this beautiful country without a central government telling them they couldn’t. Freedom to take is a religion in itself.

  The south says it is to stand for State’s Rights, which I only see is their right to keep a good number of their people shackled to their fields. Again, I never understood that either. Humans are humans. Chaining them and calling them slaves didn’t make any sense to me. It was just brutality for the sake of being brutal. Humans, how weird they have truly become?

  In the end, it has only done one thing for me, and that is to give me a steady chance for food. I am not sure this sounds heartless or not, but for an animal such as myself, it is just fulfilling a need. It gives me the chance to hunt without having to kill. I’m taking it as it comes.

  Battle from this war is far more brutal than I have ever seen them killing before. Their weapons have improved their killing. They march in standard lines straight at each other with endless waves, and mow each other down with efficiency. Most of those who fall are young. They are strong, and for the most part are well fed. The way they die is bloody, but it does suit me. Most die from shrapnel but for the most part, they die clean. It leaves a lot of good flesh that isn’t scorched. It’s a clean meal every time. It’s also fresh. Most do not die instantly. They die slowly, which leaves them bleeding out in the fields. This keeps them fresh for me. It tenderizes them in ways that I can never truly describe all that well. It just keeps me going back for more.

  I follow the battles. I follow the blood and all of the deaths. I move with the northern armies. I work with the gravediggers as they collect the bodies of all of those that have fallen. It might sound brutal. It must sound awful. I can understand those who would think of it as both. Coming from the humans, I just don’t care. I’m not the one doing this. I see myself as just the one cleaning up the mess.

  Now as I follow the army of the United States, I have come to a small town near Sharpsburg Maryland. General Lee and the great army of Northern Virginia have invaded the north. I am looking forward to the coming days. With such great numbers of soldiers coming together, the food should satisfy the wolf’s needs. I just hope it’s a quick fight. The quicker they slaughter each other the fresher my meals will be.

  1

  The night came quickly. For mid-September, the day was warm. The fields looked overly dark. The moon covered the sky, but with the smoke hanging over the fields, it made its light struggle to find the ground. A slight fog formed too and it made seeing anything that much worse. At least the fighting stopped some. The screams of the wounded could be heard coming from all around him. It became time to clean up the mess.

  “We have to start early in the morning. It looks like the old lady will be moving out.” Jonathan Neal, a close friend if he could call him as one, hung close to the fire. They huddled around it after starting it just before dusk. As for the old lady, General Robert E. Lee, it looked like he would. The fighting didn’t go so well for both sides. Many were lost. Many more were still scattered all over the fields. It was one hell of a fight.

  Collins agreed with him. “It was a lot to risk, with him coming up to Maryland. It seems like a waste.” It did. He didn’t follow that many things about the war, but he did know strategy. Sending an army this far north seemed like a big waste at that, especially when one had so few numbers to fight for him, and the Army of the Potomac being that much greater than what he had. They outnumbered him three to one. He should have known better, but he obviously didn’t. In the end, he just didn’t care. Now that night had fallen, and the sounds of the wounded splattered the field, he only cared about one thing. The wolf was getting hungry. The screams would stop soon. The fresh meat would stop with it.

  “Maybe now he will think twice about coming up from Virginia. He has no place here, but at least we looked like we whipped him real good.” Jonny boy, his name for Neal, did care. He was young, in his late teens, so he was there for the adventure. He was there because he wanted to be. What happened with the war, well he cared about that too.

  He just smiled. He liked Jonny boy. He reminded him of someone from his past life, but he didn’t know who exactly it was. The wolf didn’t tell him much about those times, either by choice, or by memory. He just knew he looked familiar to him. It had to be the eyes, they were as blue as a sun-quenched sky, or maybe it was the bright blonde hair, he just didn’t know. It could have been the growl in his voice too.

  “We should get out there before the sun comes up again. We don’t wish to have that many fighting us to the grave.” Experience told him this. It told him that it was easier to bury someone who was dead
and not dying.

  “The old man is right.” Another of the diggers, Malice Douglas, a late teenaged freed slave and thus a perfect manual laborer for the army, stayed closer to the fire more than they ever did. He wasn’t used to the coolness of a September night, at least not one feeling it this far north. He was from Alabama after all. “It’a be a short night with all the light fighting still going on. We bett’a get some sleep before the sun rises again.”

  Collins laughed with hearing him called this. He always did. “You two should do that—get some rest. The dawn will come faster than you think.” He finished the laugh. He stood up from kneeling in front of the fire. He didn’t need its warmth to comfort him. The animal took care of this for him, and always did. He had more important things to think about. His mind turned to the very thought he just said aloud. The sooner they slept the faster he could get out to the fields and get on with what he came there for. These brave humans sacrificed so much just to rot in the dead of night. They deserved to give it to him. Their sacrifice shall not be in vain.

  Jonny boy begrudgingly agreed.

  Malice shrugged with seeing the look in the young man’s eyes. They were not that far apart in age, but when you live the life he lived; he was a whole lot older than he really was.

  Collins felt pleased with all of it. The fog was getting thick. The screams were already beginning to fade some. Good meat was just fading with the silence now booming across the fields.

  He watched the two young men leave the fire and make their way to the few rows of white tents just near the top of a small hill maybe a hundred yards from the creek that would give this battle its name in the north. Their tents were kept away from the main army’s encampment. No soldier wanted to see them, or talk with them, or know they were even there. Who would want to hear what they would have to say? No soldier ever would, not from a gravedigger that just might be the one to dig a grave for you.

  When they were finally gone, he turned back to the next thing on his mind. The smell was carried on the breeze. It smelled of burnt flesh. It smelled of decay. It smelled of freshness that coursed through his soul. It made his mouth water instantly. It made his mind flash, as he felt the eyes, the wolf’s eyes, staring back at him from behind the black void of his own mind. They were ready to come forward. They were ready to push his aside, and force their way to the front of his face. The wolf was ready to come and begin the gorging that it so wanted to do. As soon as they moved, they suddenly stopped. Another scent was on the nighttime breeze and this one smelled different. It smelled pungent. It smelled downright bad.

  What is that? He forced his thoughts to find an answer, but one was hard to find. He did know that he had smelled it before, but he couldn’t place it. He had trouble in just describing it.

  The wolf answered him for him. It is a cold one. It is a nightwalker scouring the field.

  His eyes grew wide. His heart raced. He didn’t like the sound of that.

  There are three of them in fact.

  He now held his breaths. He of course knew what Nightwalkers were. He knew they were brethren to his kind. They were walkers that carried the bight of the human bat. All walkers, even him he supposed, came from the Blood Walkers. They came from the form they were in when they were bitten and turned. In their wolf form, the one they bit would become the wolf. In their bat form, the one they bit would become the bat. In their human shape, they would become the Nightwalker, fangs and red eyes and all. They changed into nothing else. They didn’t need to. They had speed. They had the strength of ten men. They were cunning and brutal. They needed nothing else.

  He hadn’t seen one in years, not since he was back in New York City before the war. One came into his territory and crossed his path. It didn’t like him, tried to kill him, but failed. He killed it quickly. After that, he didn’t fear them. He didn’t watch out for them. He still didn’t like them either. He also didn’t care.

  They will be doing the same thing as me, but they will not feed on the meat. They only feed on blood. He did care about this and there was more. Maybe I can make an agreement with them. They can have the blood, but keep the flesh neat. He hoped they would, even though he doubted it. The last one didn’t. They fought over food too.

  The wolf had other ideas. Do not trust them, my friend. They are dangerous, and cannot be trusted around us. They will try to kill you if they see you—if they see me.

  He didn’t understand this. The wolf inside him carried its own soul and possessed its own life. It lived for centuries before it found him and they became as one. Being as old as he is, he trusted him completely. He knew more than he ever did, or ever could.

  What should I do then? Should I leave them the field? This turned his stomach—his human stomach. He never ran from much in his life, and didn’t intend to do so now.

  The wolf must have felt the same way. I did not say that my friend.

  He laughed with this. Then I should see what they want.

  The wolf said nothing, but he still felt the eyes stir. They made him feel strong. He always did. He always had help if he needed his friend to fight at his side.

  2

  “The sun will be coming up sooner than you will like Matilda. We must hurry if we are going to finish in time.” Martin grabbed another young man by his shoulders and brought his throat up to his face. He felt his heat. He felt the blood swirl beneath the skin. By looking at his body, by seeing inside him with the reddened glow of the Nightwalker, he saw his blood flow. He saw his heat swell behind his ribs. He saw his body’s heat beginning to fade. It all told him that it was time to make the final kill. He wasn’t going to last long.

  Matilda, the leader of this small little group of hers, she was their leader only because she made all of them, turned to Martin just as his fangs ripped out the young soldier’s throat. She then watched him as he sucked every drop down his throat. The young man, a Union soldier with the blackest of hair, died instantly. Seeing that he was missing his left leg below the knee in an obvious amputation, she knew he would have bled out anyway. He died easier than most there ever would.

  “I know what we must do Martin, Alice. You both do not need to keep telling me of such things.” She stressed all of this. She was getting angry at this old story being told to her all over again. She was their master. She shouldn’t have to answer to them. It was getting to the point that she was going to have to remind them of this again. Alice, being the first she made after her own master died, should remember what happened to them when they did more than Martin. He was young. This was going to be his first time feeling her true strength. She was stronger than they would ever know.

  Alice would have agreed with her. She did remember her strength. She did remember the pain she felt when she clawed her chest up and down to the bone. She remembered how long it took her to heal from such a blow. Any wound given to a Walker by another always healed hard. It was the worst wound one could ever get. Hearing what she did, she only bowed her head. She would say nothing more. She would never again question her master’s judgment. She turned. She smelled the scent of decay all around her but that was when something else caught her nose and it made her mind stand to attention. A strong and heavy mustiness came in on the breeze. It flowed to her from somewhere on her left. Smelling it, heaving from it, she turned straight back to Matilda.

  Matilda smelled it too. “It is a wolf.” She felt true fear with just the thought. She had come to know too few wolves over her lifetime, but what she knew about them was how dangerous they could truly be. They hunted in packs. They were strong. They were brutal. In their animal form, they were as dangerous as any human could ever be. Her master learned of this the hard way. He died from a pack of wolves. He paid the price for their strength. “Watch out for them. There is never only one.”

  Alice cringed. She had never seen a wolf before, but had heard about their viciousness. She knew how dangerous they were.

  So did Martin, who stood up from his now lifeless meal. His eyes wer
e blazing with their reddened vampire haze. He was ready for a fight.

  They all caught the smell, a heavy wood covered moss stench as it flowed now coming from their rights.

  They turned. Standing not three yards from them, a man stared back.

  His pale face looked stern. His long blonde hair looked neat in a ponytail at the back of his head. His green eyes sparkled like gems. The musty stench flowed all around his tall and thin frame. He didn’t look dangerous, but the look was deceiving. All werewolves were that and more.

  He even gave them a smile, knowing full well they could see his face with their vampire’s eyes. In fact, he knew that they could see right into him like all good predators could always do.

  “You have a lot of nerve coming to us like this wolf.” Matilda stepped in between her group and the stranger. She stood her ground as she let her normal dark colored human eyes flare to her vampire’s reddened shine. Her dark hair surrounding her overly pale face made them shine as bright as the sun. They just stood out against her face.

  “Ladies and gentleman…or should I say none of either.” He studied her face. He listened carefully to her voice. He didn’t recognize her. He didn’t know why this was important to him. It just was and it told him that she wouldn’t recognize him either. This was a good thing for the wolf. He didn’t want them to know who he was. He left it at that. “What brings all of you out on such a lovely night?” He instead kept this playful. He kept it light. He played his game. He had to know what they intended. He had to know how they would respond to him being there. This felt like the best way to do both.

  Matilda scoffed, as the two behind her stepped to her side. Both of them also had their red eyes sparkling like gems.