And anger. A mob of men, farm instruments held high, was creeping towards her. She didn’t have much time.

She tried to appeal directly to them.

“Please!” Caitlin cried, “it’s not what you think! I mean you no harm. Please, don’t hurt me!

Help me get out of here!”

But that only seemed to embolden them.

“Kill the vampire!” a villager yelled from the crowd. “Kill her again!”

The cry was met by an enthusiastic roar. This mob wanted her dead.

One of the villagers, less afraid than the others, a big brute of a man, came within feet of her. He looked down at her in a callous rage, then raised his pick-axe high. Caitlin could see he was aiming right for her face.

“You will die this time!” he yelled, as he wound up.

Caitlin closed her eyes, and from somewhere, deep inside of her, she summoned the rage. It was a primal rage, from some part of her that still existed, and she felt it rising through her toes, coursing through her body, up through her torso. She burned with heat. It just wasn’t fair, her dying like this, her being attacked, her being so helpless. She hadn’t done anything to them. It just wasn’t fair echoed through her mind again and again, as her rage built to a fever pitch.

The villager swung hard, aiming right for Caitlin’s face, and she suddenly felt the burst of strength she needed. In one move, she jumped up out of the soil and onto her feet, and she caught the axe by its wooden handle, mid-swing.

Caitlin could hear a horrified gasp from the mob—startled, they stepped back several feet. Still holding the axe handle, she looked over to see the brute’s expression had changed to one of utter fear. Before he could react, she yanked the axe from his hand, leaned back, and kicked him hard in the chest. He went flying back, through the air, a good twenty feet, and he landed into the crowd of villagers, knocking several over with him.