by Paul Freeman
“Nah, he died back in the railway tunnel,” George answered for him.
“He died? Did you see his body?” she asked, urgency in her voice.
“Nothin’ could have survived that inferno,” he said.
“Yes, something could. One of the Mortui Viventes could have. You cannot kill them with guns and knives, nor fire, they are not like the other vampires, the ones turned from humans. They do not die easily.”
“Asbeel,” Pastor said, “his name is Asbeel.” The dream vivid in his mind.
“He has marked you,” she said, their eyes locked.
“How is it you know so much about them… about him?” His eyes flicked to the painting hanging behind her. “What did he know that I do not?”
“He knew how to kill vampires,” she answered. “Come with me.” She didn’t wait for an answer as she stepped away from the table and walked briskly from the room. Pastor sighed and followed her, indicating with a nod of his head to the girl for her to follow the woman. He was uncomfortable in the presence of the mysterious child and would not have her at his back.
Eva led them into an ornate and lavishly decorated bedchamber, so far out of keeping with the world and the way it was that Pastor laughed out loud. The focal point of the room was a four-poster bed complete with red velvet drapes. He felt as if he’d stepped into a museum – or maybe just a dream. Eva dragged a wooden chest from a corner of the room into the center. He could smell the polished wood, knew instinctively that the chest was old. She took a large key from a dresser and inserted it into a lock on the chest and pushed back the lid.
The first thing Pastor saw was a crossbow, not a modern sports bow, but an ancient weapon. Eva lifted it out and handed it to him. “What the hell?” he said. She then pulled out a canvas bag of quarrels. She took one out and held it up.
“Nails driven into the flesh of Jesus Christ when he was crucified by the Romans were melted down and used in the production of these heads. These are old and brittle weapons but deadly to the Mortui Viventes.” She laid them down on the bed and pulled out a wooden box. When she opened it he could see it was filled with stoppered glass vials. “These are filled with water from the river Jordan and blessed by his holiness Pope Sixtus IV. To an ancient vampire this is like acid.” She placed the box beside the canvas bag and returned to the chest. “This,” she held up a sharpened wooden stake, “is wood stripped from the Cross. Drive this through the black heart of a Mortuus Vivens and you will destroy the beast.”
“So what else you got in there?” Pastor asked. “A finger bone from John the Baptist? The veil of Mary Magdalene?”
“Mock if you will. These weapons could save your life. They can help you remove the threat of the Mortui Viventes from the world forever. This is your destiny, Michael. To destroy the demons.”
“Oh come on, now we’re talking of destinies? Where did you get all this crap?”
“From the hand of Miguel Martinez, right before he took is own life with this.” She held out a dagger, pulling it from its leather sheath, firelight glinted off the blade, the gold on the ornately carved hilt shone, two ruby red eyes of a grotesque face glared at him.
“You took them from him?” Pastor’s jaw dropped. He could hardly believe his own ears.
The last item she took from the chest was another glass vial, this one filled with dark red liquid. “Beware the blood of the Mortui, immortality will ever be a curse, not a blessing.” Carefully she handed over the vial as if it contained the most dangerous and volatile explosive in the world.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Logan was being hunted. He could hear them in the distance howling and barking. He’d managed to fight them off once already and carried the wounds to prove it. His horse too was injured and suffering from the pack attack. The easiest thing to do would be to let the horse take him away, to carry him to safety far from the wild dogs but he couldn’t do that. He needed to circle back to the old house, to be there if or when Amy made her way back. He’d spent most of the morning searching for her to no avail. He was not an experienced tracker and was sure he’d most likely missed important signs. Although it was unwise to draw unwanted attention by making too much noise in the wilds, he’d called out to her several times. There was no answering call. The wide open plain gave him a good view in every direction he’d hoped would help him to find the girl. It was then that the dogs attacked.
He hadn’t been paying attention. He was searching for a teenage girl who’d run off in the night and didn’t see what was in front of his face. He was crouching down to examine what he thought might have been a footprint, holding the reins of his horse in one hand while he scanned the ground. He heard a snarl and was knocked to the ground by a ball of flying fur and teeth. The horse took fright and yanked the reins from his hand, almost breaking his wrist in the process while the German Shepherd went for his throat, raking him with claws. He rolled, pushing the dog off and drew his gun. The animal whimpered when he was shot in the hind quarter and slunk off whining. A black Labrador bounded towards him, he shot it in the head and it dropped without a sound. Dark shapes appeared all around him as the pack attempted to surround him. He ran to his horse which was prancing anxiously unsure which way to run. He vaulted onto the panicking animal’s back as another large black dog jumped up behind him. The horse reared almost throwing him, but managed to dislodge the snarling predator. Other dogs were nipping at his legs, all of them creating a cacophony of barking and snarling. He fired again, hoping to scare the dogs, but they were intent on their prey and a couple of loud bangs were not going to deter them.
Barely in control, he spurred the horse on and away from the yelping beasts, all the while clinging on to the reins. He’d ridden hard for a long time before he felt safe enough to ease the exhausted horse up. No point killing the damn animal. Now, he could hear the pack following. He’d hoped they’d have given up a long time ago, but pickings were slim in the wild and they weren’t going to allow their prey to escape that easily. Amy’s horse was gone God knew where. He’d barely been able to hang onto his own mount.
He clucked soothingly at the horse as he led it to a small stream. Both man and beast greedily lapped up the cool water. His one big hope was that by drawing away the pack they at least would not pick up Amy’s scent. While the horse drank he took the time to examine the wounds to its legs and flanks. As far as he could tell they were all only superficial – scratches for the most part – one bite on the rear that looked nasty. The horse shied away when he looked too closely. He checked himself over then, removing his shirt, wincing as he did so, his busted ribs still causing problems. He had more bruises than before, but what was new? And the German Shepherd had left a fair few scratches on his chest and neck, otherwise he was fine.
“I think we’ll both live, boy,” he said to the horse. The animal regarded him with large brown eyes and went back to feeding on the grass.
He led the horse into the shallow stream, hoping to confuse the pack by using the fast moving water. After a couple of miles of careful wading with water halfway up his mount’s legs he left the stream and circled back in a wide arc.
He spent most of the morning searching for Amy and the afternoon running from the dogs. It was getting dark by the time he reached the house. Neither Amy nor her horse were there, nor gave any sign that they’d returned. He was not keen on spending another night exposed in the ruin, especially now that he had the dogs to worry about as well as any feeders who might be in the area. What could he do though? He wasn’t leaving without the girl.
He gathered what flammable material he could find – which wasn’t a lot – and stacked it in one corner. He’d not have a fire for the whole night, which was a worry.
Night fell quickly on the plain. An icy chill of fear lingered at the pit of his stomach brought on by the darkness and what lurked in it. He hadn’t heard the dogs since he’d used the stream to trick them, so that was one good thing. He looked at his miserable stack of fuel for the fire
and realized he wouldn’t be getting much sleep. He’d have to stay on his guard for the night and in the morning hopefully find the girl… and if she can’t be found? He rubbed at tired eyes. He could not even go back to Colony for help. He was alone.
He was seduced by the warm embrace of sleep with gentle promises to forget the horrors of the past few days. It was all a lie. He was thrown into a darker nightmare than even the realities of life. Rabid hounds from Hell hunted him through the tangled web of his subconscious. Red-eyed and foaming bloody froth at the mouth they chased him around thorny, overgrown paths of a dark, imagined forest. He could feel their hot breath on the back of his neck as he ran, too terrified to turn around, even more scared to stop. Amy’s voice called to him, echoing through the black trees, seemingly everywhere at once. The more he ran the less he seemed to get anywhere. Then a figure appeared ahead of him; a man, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a long coat: Pastor. He ran towards the leader of his community, the man he and everyone else looked to for protection and comfort. The one man who held no fear of the vampires, who was prepared to go into the night and bring death to the undead. The man whose act of self-flagellation had shocked Logan, shattering the aura of infallibility about him. He’s only a man, Logan realized, just as vulnerable as the rest of us; as strong and as weak as everyone else.
Pastor looked up. His skin had turned pasty-white, his eyes darkened. He opened his mouth in a grotesque snarl revealing the elongated incisors – fangs.
Nooooo!
Logan woke with a start, his heart beating wildly in his chest. The image of a vampire-Pastor floated before him. He rubbed at stinging eyes while his belly rumbled. He’d eaten the last of his food earlier that day and now hunger was gnawing at him. He unscrewed the lid from his flask and drank water from the stream he’d filled it with earlier. He looked straight up to where there once would have been a roof but now lay open to the night sky. It was a clear night with shining stars dotting the inky blackness of the sky. The moon was almost full and seemed to be hovering closer to the Earth than ever, its pale surface casting a silver light over him. He imagined reaching up and plucking the bright orb from the sky. Would the light of Heaven hold back the hordes of feeders who now ruled the world? He got his answer a short while later.
Amy crouched in the doorway, her coat was gone and her dress ripped. Her hair hung lank over her shoulders and in the light of the moon, he’d gazed upon with awe earlier, he could see the red stain on her lips.
“No. No. No,” he cried. Emotion welled inside him, surging up into a strangled sob. Was there no end to the torment and suffering? The small fire glowed yellow between them. She hissed and snarled at him, exposing her fangs, already bloody. She hesitated unsure of the fire. She had fed already – on who? he wondered. Vampires fed on the blood of men, they had little interest in animals.
He drew his pistol, his mind wandering to Jeb, the girl’s father, gone with Pastor in search of answers to a mystery. He tried to imagine how such loss would affect him but his mind was incapable of imagining such hurt. Tears streamed freely down his face as he raised the gun. “Why did you run off, Amy?” His words came out in a choke. The vampire who was once a girl simply glowered hungrily at him, black eyes darting left and right to find the best way around the flames.
Was this to be the fate of all mankind? To be damned to an eternity of hungering for blood? Her unnaturally white skin glowed in the moonlight, her finger nails had already blackened. In time they would grow into sharp claws and her hair would fall out. She would become unrecognizable, just another monster haunting the night, always hungering for blood.
But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.
A single shot rent the air and Amy was thrown back against the wall. Her undead body slid down the exposed brick, leaving a dark trail of blood. Logan’s vision swam as he tried to blink away tears. He dropped to his knees beside the body and stayed that way for a long time, the gun gripped firmly in his hand. Thoughts of ending his mental suffering by turning the same weapon on himself raced through his head as he stared at the swell of blood staining the back of her dress where the bullet had pierced her heart and passed right through her.
They say that once a person has been turned that their soul can never reach Heaven. It was a hard thought to imagine the teenage girl being eternally barred from the Kingdom of God – harder even than putting a bullet in her chest. Even so he dug her a shallow grave with his bare hands and reverently lifted her into her final resting place. He covered the small mound of earth with rocks he carried from the house before making a simple cross with unused firewood. He then knelt beside the grave, clasping his hands together. “Lord, if you can hear my prayer, take this girl into your care. She don’t deserve to be cast out into the darkness. You are a merciful lord and she’s one of your own children. A blessed soul in a world of evil thoughts and deeds. Amen.” He crossed himself and stood up, wiping away a glistening stream of tears from his cheek.
He walked over to his horse and pulled himself into the saddle. Amy’s death was a heavy, heavy burden on his heart. For all he knew Pastor and the others could be dead too. Colony had been overrun by marauders, but perhaps he could get some of the folk out… or die trying at least. He turned the horse south. Back towards Colony.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Pastor looked into the woman’s eyes, searching for any signs of deception. He saw a hard, determined earnestness. That did not mean she wasn’t a good liar. “Why are you showing me this stuff?” he asked.
“Because, Michael, they are yours. These are the weapons of a Venator. For centuries the Mortui Viventes were kept in check by men close to God, men who did not run from their own demons and who did not fear to face the evil in this world or their own soul. Men like you, Michael. They fear your kind. It’s you who will banish them into the dark once again. You can bring the light back to the world.” The girl watched him with her piercing blue eyes while the woman took the crucifix from around her neck and reached up, standing on her toes to loop it over Pastor’s head. “This cross has been kissed by popes and blessed by saints. May it protect you as it has me in dark days. The ones you call ‘feeders’ will not fear or be harmed by such artifacts, but those directly descendant from the Fallen, those vampires with the blood of dark angels will be wary of anything touched by God.”
“I’m not a catholic, why would I wear or use things associated with the Vatican?”
“We all worship the same god,” she said.
“Tell me who the girl is,” he said. “What she is.”
“I can’t answer those questions because I do not know. She came to me in my hour of need. Sometimes she stays with me, sometimes she is absent for years… centuries.”
“About that…” he began.
“It is hard to believe, I know. Six hundred years ago I drank the blood of the Mortui and I have not aged a day since.” He took a step back from her. “I am not evil, though my soul is eternally tarnished. I am not like those others, I am not a vampire.”
“But you thirst for blood,” he said, looking up sharply.
“She was right, you are the one,” Eva said. “Yes, my heart yearns for it, but to give in to such cravings I would deny myself any chance of redemption.”
“And the girl, is she like you? Has she too drunk the blood of a vampire? Is she immortal?”
“None of us are immortal, Michael. We all can die.”
She was close enough for him to breathe in her scent. It was sweet and intoxicating at the same time, like an aged brandy flavored with fruits and spices. “Why did you give me this?” he asked, holding the vial up between them.
“The world is calling out for a savior. The Venators harbored by the church are long turned to dust. They were once God’s hunters, now there is no one else. Only the very strongest can bear such a burden.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Pastor said.
“You will know what to do with all of the weapons I have given you.” She handed him the dagger of Brother Miguel Martinez. “Take on the mantle of God’s warrior, Michael. Be his avenging angel.”
“If God is so concerned with saving mankind then let him send another flood, or a host of angels to wipe out the vampires. He has deserted his people.”
“No, Michael, he has sent you.”
“Pah!” He held out his open hand with the vial resting on his palm, inviting her to take it back.
Gently and carefully she closed his fingers around it. “You will know when and how to use all these things when the time comes.”
“And what makes you so sure I’m the one you want?”
Eva turned towards the girl. “Because she is a reader of the hearts of men and she has read yours.” The girl regarded both of them with an expressionless face.
“So what now? What am I supposed to do now?”
She became distracted and turned her head, her expression changed. Pastor was not sure if it was a smile or grimace that crept across her face. “He is close. Can you sense him?” The only thing Pastor was sensing was that he’d stumbled upon a mad house. “Asbeel… he gave you his name. He marked you, tasted your blood.” Her hand reached for his arm where the scars still remained from the scratch the huge vampire had raked across his forearm. “You will have to face him. He will be the first.” She swung her head back towards him, her dark eyes searching his.
“No offense, ma’am, but I think it’s time me and my friends left this nuthouse.” He tore his gaze away from her dark eyes reluctantly. Nervous energy rippled through him as he turned his back on her, his hand itched to feel the butt of his shotgun in his palm.
