The Immortals by S. M. Schmitz

down a cobblestone street littered with broken glass and bricks. Whirling buzzing noises above him occasionally sent him ducking into hollow buildings, but as soon as it passed, he stepped into the street again and kept running. He had to hurry back to her. He’d left her alone with a woman who was dying to try to find help, but from what he could tell, there wasn’t much left of this city. And the Russians were coming.
    Another bomb made that whistling sound in the sky and he jumped into a different abandoned building. Only this one wasn’t abandoned like he’d thought. He heard the shuffling of feet, the simultaneous clicking of the hammers on the revolvers behind him. Colin put his arms above him and turned around slowly. They were only boys. He swallowed the dusty saliva that had collected in his mouth from running down these broken shattered streets. His German wasn’t very good but they’d be able to tell he wasn’t Russian. The tallest boy looked at him closely then looked at the others, shaking his head.
    “He doesn’t look Russian. Think he’s British?”
    Colin flinched. He’d never be British. One of the other boys, who didn’t look more than ten, yet still had a revolver aimed at Colin’s chest, nodded his little head in agreement. “A British spy probably.”
    “I’m Irish. And not a spy. I was an immigrant. I moved here before the war started. I’m just trying to get back to my flat.” Colin realized the Irish distinction had virtually no meaning anymore, and if these boys had studied history or geography at all, they would know that. But he’d spoken without thinking. He was saved though by something that pulled their attention away from the Irish-British-spy.
    Outside, a different thundering rumbling sound distracted them all. The boys lowered their guns to run over each other as they hurried to a window to look down the street. “Tanks! Fucking tanks!” the tall boy shouted.
    Colin picked up the small package he’d been holding and tucked it inside his jacket pocket. “Get out of here. Haven’t you heard about them? Go hide, now!” he ordered the boys. And they turned away from the window, running toward the back exit. It had probably been a long time since any of them had met a young man, and they didn’t hesitate to obey him. They were just children, after all.
    He listened as the tanks rolled closer, the clapping of their tracks against the stones in the street making an eerie echo in these narrow spaces, and he couldn’t help feeling like they were all damned now.
    Colin’s eyes opened to the pale morning light creeping lazily through the drawn blinds in his bedroom. He blinked a few times as he stared at the barren wall, a boring beige. His eyes focused on the equally boring brown dresser beneath it. He wasn’t in Berlin. Where was he? The ringtone on his phone forced him to sit up and as he broke away from the sleepy haze of an odd sort of dream, he remembered. He was in Baton Rouge. And it was time to go hunting.
    Colin drove to the small brown brick building downtown where Jeremy was already waiting. A few of the other hunters were already here as well, including Anna. He tried to steady his hands as he hurried inside, anxious to see her and know she was completely healed. She was fine. He heard their voices in the break room and stopped outside the door, waiting in the hallway as he eavesdropped on yet another conversation. This was getting to be a really bad habit.
    “Why the hell did you and O’Conner take off after that demon alone yesterday, anyway?” Jeremy asked her. Colin was definitely punching this guy somewhere before leaving Baton Rouge.
    He couldn’t see her, but he knew what Anna was doing anyway. She opened her can of Diet Coke and sat down at the table, pulling a box of artifacts they’d collected from different hunting trips toward her. “Because we followed its trail then we killed it. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?” She started digging