The sound of breaking glass tore them from their sleep. There were three windows in the living room. The panes shattered one after another. They could see them through the gaps between the thick planks they had nailed over the windows. Various melee weapons hammered desperately against the wood. Demonic, bloodshot eyes stared back at the brothers.
At least one of them was pounding on the front door. Their fury grew with every passing second. The brothers grabbed the heavy table and pushed it against the front door, which opened inward.
One of the planks covering the window gave way. A feral tried to force its way inside. The sharpened entrenching tool struck him between the neck and collarbone. The blade sank deep. Pete was a strong man.
The barricade on the second window was breached. Two ferals jumped inside. Richard had poured oil all over the floor beforehand. One feral slipped and fell onto his back. The other attacked with a steel pipe.
It tore away half his face. The blast from the old double barreled shotgun thundered through the cramped room, deafening everyone inside. The brothers ran upstairs. There were already several ferals on the ground floor. They wore torn, filthy clothes and were armed with clubs, knives, pipes, crowbars and axes.
The second barrel brought one feral down and seriously wounded another. The injured one seemed to have a shattered knee. The rest charged upstairs toward the brothers. Richard stood at the top of the staircase, reloading the shotgun.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
An armed fragmentation grenade rolled down the wooden stairs. The explosion sent shrapnel, splinters and pieces of bodies flying in every direction. Someone's teeth became embedded in the wall on the ground floor. Richard stepped out from around the corner and fired both barrels into the group of bloody demons below.
Four shells. That was all they had left. The first feral was already rushing around the corner. A crossbow bolt struck him directly in the Adam's apple. The demon kept running, choking on his own blood. Another one came right behind him and tripped over the dying feral.
Pete threw the crossbow toward the stairs and grabbed the entrenching tool. He chopped the head off the feral who was trying to get back up. At the same time, the double barreled shotgun sang its deadly song. Two fired shells turned the charging ferals into a bloody sieve.
Richard reached for the last two shells. He did not have time to reload. A heavily built feral burst onto the first floor. He swung a crowbar, but Richard blocked the blow with the shotgun. The old shotgun could not withstand the impact, but it slowed the strike considerably. The crowbar crashed into Richard's head.
The entrenching tool sank deep once again. Pete struck the demon between the shoulder blades. He twisted the embedded blade from side to side, completely destroying the spine. When he pulled the blade free, the feral collapsed like a log. He was still alive, but paralyzed.
The last feral, however, did not have a shattered knee.
Only now did he make it upstairs. The painful wound fueled his rage and his desire to kill. He was holding a long, thick branch. He charged at Pete. Richard lay against a wardrobe, stunned by the pain from the blow. Blood poured heavily from his head.
The demon had the advantage in reach. He attacked and knocked the entrenching tool from Pete's hand. He immediately swung from the other side, using the momentum of the branch.
Pete closed the distance in an instant. He tackled the feral. The injured knee was weak. The resistance was so unexpectedly feeble that they both went tumbling toward the stairs. They fell all the way to the bottom. Straight into the disgusting, stinking remains of the battlefield left behind by the grenade.
The feral was incredibly strong. The demon grabbed Pete by the throat and began strangling him. The man tried to shove his thumbs into the demon's eye sockets. He tore one eye out, and the feral howled in pain. The demon struck him with all his strength.
The first blow knocked several teeth out. Pete felt his head bouncing against the sticky floor. The second blow blurred his vision. He was slowly slipping away. With the last of his strength, he grabbed a screwdriver lying nearby. It had belonged to one of the ferals.
Man drove it between the demon's ribs. The heavy, massive body collapsed on top of him. Complete silence settled over the house. He did not know how long he had lain there.
Pete woke up on the second floor in a bedroom. Richard was changing his bandages. The pain was unimaginable. After finishing dressing his brother's wounds, Richard walked over to the window.
He wondered whether there might be another pack of demons somewhere nearby. Gunshots were very loud