by Jeff Schanz
His options still sucked, even with a gun in his hand. Heading back to the exit hole seemed like the best of bad options again. Once again, he was ready to turn back that way, and once again something happened to change his mind.
Both of the men outside shouted. They weren't shouting at him but were shouting to themselves. Not instructions, not strategy, alarm. Something was wrong. The guys fired into the air and then started to run back to the beach.
What the hell?
The two men ran full speed toward their boat. The boat was anchored off the shore, so they hit the water and splashed and thrashed as they fought the drumming surf once it reached their waists.
What the hell are they doing?
One man changed his mind and ran back inland, firing repeatedly into the air again. His partner seemed at a loss for direction, and raised his rifle to the sky as well, but didn’t fire.
Brandt took the opportunity to slip quietly into the water. He trod water with the pistol raised just above the surface, slowly swimming toward the mouth of the cave. If one of the bad guys was afraid of some eagle or pelican dive-bombing him, that would be the only thing Brandt might come close to understanding. No, not that either. It made no sense. The two guys were panicking.
Brandt wasn't close enough for an accurate pistol shot, but he wasn't sure he'd get another chance. He sighted the closest guy and tried to steady his hand. With one eye closed, he breathed slowly and aimed at Bad Guy One's back as the man slogged through the waves.
Bad Guy One threw up his arms defensively and stopped moving. Brandt put pressure on the trigger. He never got the chance to fire. The man was suddenly gone.
Or half his body was. His legs stayed where they were as his severed torso suddenly flew into the air along with a fast-moving dark shape that swooped from the sky. Brandt could see the guy clawing at whatever held him, and screaming as the unknown flying thing carried him away.
Holy shit!
Bad Guy Two had found cover on the opposite side of the beach behind some jagged rocks. He fired a burst of automatic fire at the airborne thing.
Brandt had no idea what was going on, but he wasn’t about to second-guess his luck. If he wasn’t already in kill-or-be-killed mode, he might have taken a moment to consider that strange dark shapes don’t just fly down from the sky and cut guys in half and carry them off. Somewhere in his mind, he knew that, but in his hands was a loaded firearm, and if he got that last guy in his sights, he could kill the man and remain alive. If he hesitated, the man may turn his rifle on Brandt. Brandt found purchase under his feet and pushed closer as he aimed his gun. Bad Guy Two was still aiming at the sky. Whatever was up there was held at bay at the moment. The man’s head was visible. It was a long shot for a handgun, but what else could Brandt do? He sighted down his barrel. Breathe deep and easy. He squeezed the trigger. Bits of stone exploded near the guy's head but wasn't a hit. The guy ducked.
Damn it! Too low. Brandt re-sighted, but the guy had gotten wise to Brandt’s strategy and Bad Guy Two swung his rifle toward his new attacker. Brandt ducked under the water as several bullets hit the water’s surface just above Brandt’s spine. He thought he felt the burn of something grazing him. Brandt didn’t stay under but for a few seconds, all the while moving laterally, so when he eventually came up, Bad Guy Two would have to adjust his aim. Brandt’s plan would be to fire once wild, then re-sight, hoping it would cause the guy’s head to duck before he could retrain his rifle on Brandt.
Brandt surfaced and thrust his hands forward preparing to fire. He didn't want to hesitate, but he didn't count on a saltwater glob stinging him as soon as his lids opened. It caused him to squint and try to shake it off, and by then, he knew he was probably too late.
His eyes cleared enough before he saw something hurtling towards him.
Shit! It’s the weird bird! …Or whatever the unknown thing was. But it wasn’t the thing. It was Bad Guy Two tumbling through the air like he’d been on a catapult. His splash caused a water crater just yards away.
Brandt had no idea how to react. There was nothing in his Army training on what to do if your target suddenly gets catapulted into the air and lands in front of you. Shoot the guy, he guessed, but the other more immediate concern was what might have sent the guy flying.
The answer came fast and flew in like a cruise missile. The mysterious dark shape sped straight at the gunman who was trying to right himself, and whatever the thing was, it hauled Bad Guy Two out of the water and into the air. For a brief moment, as Brandt looked at the dark thing, he saw a man-sized body with large dragon or bat-like wings cutting hard into the air. The bat-thing held the bad guy up, spun, then sliced a clawed hand through the man, sending a splatter of blood at Brandt. The winged thing shot its clawed hand up and back, then right, and more blood rained down. Finally, the winged thing slung the limp man's body thirty feet away into the interior wall, the ruined body crumpling like his bones were made of glass. The body flopped onto a boulder, his arms and legs in unnatural poses, his head dangling from a shredded neck.
Brandt was stunned, but his adrenaline was still pumping, and reflexively he raised his pistol at the winged form.
The thing turned and made one languid flap of its wings, gliding down to hover above Brandt. Brandt stared up at the thing and swallowed acidic air deep into his throat.
Staring back were two intensely glowing yellow eyes.
CHAPTER 11
The winged thing eased itself down and lit on the edge of the beach. Though it had made eye contact with Brandt, it said nothing. Brandt raised his pistol and sighted the thing. It was the instinctual thing to do even though the creature seemed impervious to bullets.
He stared at the thing across from his gun barrel. The dim moonlight allowed for no more distinction than general features. It had a man’s head, pale and rectangular in shape, with white hair. The finer details of the face were blurred by some kind of mysterious effect, or perhaps just the overpowering glow from the eyes. It also had a man’s body, straight and tall, slender-waisted and broad-chested. He/it wore some kind of black suit, the details of which were indistinguishable because the long bat’s wings folded around him like a leathery magician’s cape. The winged man-thing stood at ease, seemingly expectant that Brandt would do something. Brandt wanted to turn and run, but instead, he actually took a stride toward the thing. His own curiosity, and the fact that the winged thing aided Brandt by killing off the armed insurgents, was driving him forward to see who and what this bizarre new addition to his already bizarre story was. Brandt walked slowly out of the water, gun steady on target.
The winged man-thing said nothing but glared with what might pass for curiosity. If the creature was intent on harming Brandt, it could have done it at any point earlier. Perhaps it was just toying with his prey. The eyes alone were fearsome, but the thing's whole appearance was “piss yourself” menacing. An artist’s rendering of a demon from Hell, or perhaps Satan himself, might look like this. And if he, or his dark angel, was coming to collect Brandt’s soul debt, it wouldn’t be a surprise. Whoever it was, it was the embodiment of terror, an instrument of death and destruction, a ruthless flying weapon that moved with lightning speed, whose claws created merciless slaughter. There was nothing about the creature that bespoke of benevolence, so Brandt assumed none. He kept his gun trained on the creature’s eyes and slowly moved toward it.
“Who are you?” demanded Brandt in his best Sergeant’s voice.
As an answer, the creature stood up straighter and extended its wings, lifting them as if he planned to conduct an orchestra. It was the same kind of pose that birds adopt when confronting a predator, intending to look larger and more threatening. The creature still said nothing.
And although Brandt still didn’t see it as a specifically threatening move, the creature was most definitely not making peaceful entreaties.
“WHO – ARE – YOU!?” shouted Brandt.
Inside Brandt’s head
, he heard his own voice tell him, “Lower your gun as a sign of good faith.”
I didn’t think that, did I?
Brandt didn’t lower his gun. Instead, he pulled the hammer back to the cocked position. It would only cut a fraction of a second off his firing time, but it showed that Brandt was not going to be intimidated. Whatever this thing was, Brandt was not going to stand numbly like a horror-film victim and wait for the murderous beast to do whatever it wanted.
Inside his head, Brandt again heard his own voice say, “You know who I am.”
That was definitely not me! This island is driving me fucking insane! Get out of my goddamned head!
“Identify yourself! Friend or foe!?” Brandt was at his boiling point. All this island gave him was confusion, monsters, and mysteries. Vampires, and assassins, and winged demons speaking riddles inside his head. If he woke up in a hospital somewhere and was told he had dreamed this whole freak show while in a coma, he’d believe it.
When the creature spoke again, the voice inside Brandt’s head was no longer his own. Who it belonged to was uncertain, but it had a foreign accent. Eastern European? Russian? German? It said, “I am neither friend nor foe. Neither angel nor demon. Would you shoot one or the other? And would you fair better than these other men?”
The creature slowly swept his arm in the direction of the beach, indicating the two slain men.
Brandt lowered his gun. He didn’t take his finger off the trigger, but he did relax the pressure on it. He eased the hammer back to its rest position. I better not regret this.
The creature seemed to acknowledge the good-faith gesture and his wings curled back behind his body. At first, it just appeared they would fold up like a dragon’s, but as Brandt watched, the wing’s diminished in size, collapsing, then melting into the folds until they became blobby shapes. The creature had closed his eyes as his wings disappeared behind his body. When he reopened his lids, the eyes no longer glowed and the creature now resembled nothing more than an old man in a black business suit.
Well, not exactly an old man. His face was older than middle-aged, not quite elderly. He had wrinkled and folded skin of someone who might be sixty. The face looked stately, a strong jaw, steel-colored eyes, and intense brows. His skin was pale like Lia’s, his hair was thick and stark white. But the most striking thing was that his body did not match the sixty-year-old face. Rather, that part of him looked like a man in his twenties. Strong and tall. He spread out his arms as either a welcoming gesture or an “I have nothing to hide” gesture.
No voice told him, but Brandt was suddenly sure who he was confronting: Lia’s father.
The man that was formerly a creature, and maybe still was, cocked his head like he had heard something peculiar. Brandt had the distinct notion that the father could hear the thoughts in Brandt’s head, as well as project a voice into it.
To clarify, Brandt thought clearly, I meant Natalia. I just call her Lia.
The father’s eyes compressed to slits and he looked even less friendly than he had before. When he finally spoke aloud, it was with the same accented voice that Brandt had heard in his head earlier. “I am Viktor Romanovich Zakharyin. This is my island.”
The voice was deep and commanding. It was neither warm, nor cold, but cautious and suspicious.
Brandt held a deep breath. He thought he had seen a real vampire when he saw Lia’s fangs. But those were a puny feature compared with thirty-foot bat wings, claws that can tear people apart like a samurai sword, and blazing yellow eyes. Brandt was impressed, disturbed, horrified, and intimidated all at the same time. This new reality that he had been ready to accept was pressing its luck. He was coming to grips with Lia being a vampire, and that her mysterious father was one too. But he was expecting Bela Lugosi with a cape and a tuxedo, not a winged nightmare that struck from the sky like a cruise missile, and tore through men like they were clay pigeons. This was not some slow-moving spook that flourished a satin cloak and seduced weak-kneed women, nor was this some craven wretch from modern horror movies that raced around consuming flesh like mindless animals. This real version was a cold and calculating predator, sure of his ability and unapologetic for who he was. There was no doubt he was master of his domain.
Brandt was stunned silent. The reality of Viktor was far more astounding than could be imagined. Brandt almost laughed, as there was not much more to dismiss from reality to become fantasy. He was having a conversation inside his head with a demonic winged creature dressed as a man that was supposed to be a real-life vampire. He is undead, I am not, according to Lia, whatever that meant. And all Brandt had the ability to do was laugh at it all. Laugh like a patient at a sanitarium. No rational words came to mind.
Brandt’s preoccupation with Viktor almost made him forget the men that had just been killed. A team of assassins, most likely. He had no proof yet, but his assumption was that the men were sent to find and eliminate Brandt. Brandt Dekker, the thorn in the side of a worldwide opium empire run by a man simply known as The Russian. Brandt Dekker, who should be a dead man, but had somehow survived an explosion at sea and escaped death once again.
Escaped, or was maybe rejected by Heaven or Hell. He apparently still had purpose on earth. And here he was hiding from drug cartel assassins on an island of vampires, and the vampires seemed to be the better of bad news. Whatever purpose he was supposed to have, it was beyond his comprehension.
Brandt stared at Viktor, the man that was a moment ago a winged angel of death that could destroy a human with a single sweep of his arm. The man who could take the form of a giant bat, then shrink back into human form within a few short moments. A pure killer. A true vampire. And the father of gentle Lia. The same someone who Lia claimed would not harm Brandt, but seemed reluctant to promise. Brandt tried to stay calm. In order not to be a stammering, blubbering idiot, he would have to accept what his eyes saw. He’d have to acknowledge that what Lia had said was the truth until things could be better understood. Go with it for now. Stay alive, keep safe, move forward.
Brandt started to introduce himself. It seemed ridiculous. One moment he had been hedging whether to shoot the demon creature in front of him, and the next moment was offering his name like he was a gentleman summoned to a royal court. Somehow, it felt appropriate. “My name is Brandt Dekker. I am…”
“I know who you are,” said Viktor. The voice was cultured, smooth, and self-assured. It sounded almost as deadly as his claws. “My daughter has spoken to you about me.”
I was delivered like a statement with an open invitation to confirm.
“Yes,” said Brandt, which seemed like the only allowable response. Viktor was not conveying the vibe that he would either like to chat or hear chat. Simple answers to simple questions, at best.
Lia hadn't described her father or offered much detail about him except for the undead remark and his feeding habits. As far as Brandt knew, all vampires were supposed to be undead, though he wasn't exactly sure what it meant. By definition, he supposed it was someone who had been dead and now wasn't anymore. So, if that was accurate, then it made some sense in regards to the vampire legends. But Lia said she wasn't undead. Viktor was. Viktor could probably explain that particular mystery, but Brandt doubted that would be happening. Brandt had no idea how to talk to, address, or relate in any way to this being. Lia had made it sound like her father was difficult in general, and even she had anxiety about confronting him, sometimes. Brandt planned be careful in conversing with Viktor, so as to essentially not piss off the man who could decapitate Brandt with a swipe of a hand.
Viktor did not appear to be expecting any further explanation or interaction. He had asked a question and got a response. He turned away from Brandt, surveying the carnage he had created. He looked neither disgusted nor happy by what he saw. It was like he saw a dirty floor and was deciding whether he should sweep it or not. Viktor walked out to the middle of the beach and examined the boat anchored just offshore. Brandt waded the rest of
the way out of the water and stood on the beach, too. He still hadn’t put his gun away though Viktor didn’t seem too concerned with it anymore. The automatic fire from the assassin’s weapons didn’t seem to cause any damage to Viktor as far as Brandt could see, so it was likely that the good-faith gesture that Viktor called for was just that. Brandt’s pistol would’ve been nothing more than an annoying buzz of a housefly. Brandt tucked the pistol into the back of his pants.
Viktor seemed satisfied with whatever he saw. He turned back to Brandt. “You look to be recovered.”
For a moment Brandt wasn't sure what Viktor meant, then he understood. This man – creature – had delivered him from the sea and deposited him on the island. Viktor had left his daughter to be nursemaid and had not seen Brandt since. No, wait. The basement. And before that, in Brandt's room when he saw no one, but felt someone who had messed with his mind and knocked him unconscious. All the things he thought might have been Lia had probably been Viktor. But Viktor had only seen Brandt fainting or unconscious and the rest were conversations with Lia. Brandt assumed they were conversations, with Lia talking aloud and Viktor talking to her in her head, because Brandt only heard her voice outside his room. Viktor must think Brandt was some fragile, pathetic thing.
“Yes. Almost,” said Brandt to confirm the observation about his health. In truth, he was still not ready to compete in the Olympics, and his struggle with the black man had stressed things that might’ve healed, and now probably weren’t anymore. But to keep the conversation to Viktor’s liking, Brandt just gave the affirmative.
“You killed the other man,” said Viktor, again the open-ended statement requesting a confirmation.
