A Vampyre's Daughter

by Jeff Schanz

  “I did.” So that means that I’m a killer too, and maybe I’m not so fragile and pathetic after all?

  Viktor nodded. “It seems you now have the means to leave the island,” said Viktor.

  Brandt had noticed that as well but had been preoccupied with everything else. It hadn't hit him that there was a perfectly good boat right there until just a moment ago when Viktor was looking at the boat, too.

  A lot of things were dawning on Brandt. Besides the newly understood fact that there was a viable way to leave the island, there was the question of how Viktor may regard this. One answer could be that Viktor would be pleased that the interloper would be gone from his life, and he would no longer have to contend with Brandt in his house, or taking up his daughter’s time, or interfering in whatever business a vampire may have. But that was not the only consideration.

  Another answer could be that since Brandt knew they were vapires, their quiet isolation would end if Brandt told anyone about them. They might become a target, or a circus oddity, or things to be captured and experimented upon. So, perhaps Brandt would not be allowed to leave the island at all. There were a few ways this could play out and that made Brandt nervous. If Viktor wouldn’t allow Brandt to leave, what would he do? Certainly, Viktor could make Brandt a blood smear on the cave wall if he wanted to. There was doubtful anything Brandt could do to prevent it. Or would Viktor try to do something like turn Brandt into a vampire and make him afraid to venture off the island? Or he could just keep Brandt as some kind of Renfield-esque slave. The more Brandt thought about it, the more he doubted he’d be able to leave with no strings attached.

  Viktor walked over to the remains of one of the slain assassins that were probably here to eliminate Brandt, and another reason why Viktor could have an unfavorable opinion of Brandt. For a good reason on that count. Brandt wouldn’t want anyone, including Viktor and Lia, to get caught up in his drama. Perhaps Viktor would think it was best if Brandt just died.

  Brandt couldn’t blame him, but he wasn’t ready to sign off on that plan.

  Viktor stood and shook his head as he stared down at the torn body. Brandt expected him to be either angry or sad, and the sad look is what he actually got. But there was something strange in that look. It wasn’t sadness over what someone else had done, it was sadness that he had brought on himself. Brandt had seen it in the mirror countless times and knew the look well. He thought he had owned a patent on it.

  Viktor said, “You will be safe here.”

  Brandt recalled Lia claiming that her father promised to protect him. And Viktor’s statement sounded reluctant, as Brandt expected. Yet there was something else there. It almost resembled an apology. That was not the statement Brandt thought was coming.

  “It’s not safe for anyone,” said Brandt. It was a little vague, but it was as close as he wanted to an apology of his own.

  Viktor looked a little offended. He said, “You have my word.” It was said almost as a challenge to dispute it.

  Are we having the same conversation? “I don’t understand,” said Brandt honestly.

  Viktor looked even more insulted. In a commanding, dark voice, he said, “If they come, they will die.”

  I don’t doubt that, but still… “The dangers aren’t fair to you and Lia – uh, Natalia. I should leave. It’s the safest thing for everyone.” Unless of course, you kill me.

  Viktor took a step toward Brandt. It looked like Viktor was struggling with some thought. He opened his mouth, hesitated, looked away, and then back at Brandt and donned a grimace. Apropos of nothing, Viktor said, “You will be our guest at dinner tomorrow evening.”

  Once again, the question was hidden as a statement. Once again, the answer should be a confirmation. But this time, Brandt had no certain answer.

  “Uhh,” said Brandt. Of all the things that could be told to him, or asked of him, a dinner RSVP?

  Viktor’s brows creased. No doubt, he expected his offer should have been immediately accepted and the recipient thankful.

  “I insist,” said Viktor, his tone chilling.

  “I accept,” said Brandt, wishing he could have said anything else. “Thank you.”

  Viktor was mollified. He nodded curtly. “Sunset, then.”

  And then the freak show happened again, as before, when the winged monster turned into the stately man. Only this time, it happened in reverse. Viktor unfurled his great wings and was suddenly the Prince of Darkness again. The hellish beast pelted the air with its giant wings and hovered near the cave ceiling before turning around to face Brandt. The eyes were blindingly bright and yellow again.

  Brandt reflexively swallowed hard.

  The creature named Viktor spoke its eerie voice into Brandt’s head. “If you will stay, you will be safe.”

  It said no more and abruptly turned and swept into the air. Viktor was gone.

  Brandt stood transfixed by the memory of what had just happened. If you will stay, he had said. Was Viktor giving him the choice? And why was he asking Brandt to stay? His thoughts rolled back the last few minutes, then the last hour, then the last few days. What in the hell is happening?

  He had a boat to leave. And had promised to stay for dinner. With a vampire.

  Brandt’s legs suddenly forgot how to stand. He collapsed to the ground and laid flat on his back. He stared at the inky, purple sky. The sun was about to come up and Brandt was utterly drained and brain-dead.

  CHAPTER 12

  Brandt never fell asleep. Time passed quicker than he realized while staring at the sky and letting his mind drift, contemplating life, death, vampires, and assassins.

  He had tried to start a brand new life six months ago to get away from the horrors of his past. Since then, he had hunted drug dealers, fought gangsters, destroyed buildings, blown up boats, almost died again, got nursed back to health by a vampire, survived more assassins, and was saved by another vampire. Was this going to be typical for his new life? When this particular adventure was done, would he have to bury this memory, too, and start yet another new life? Sooner or later, he’d have to come to terms with his mental health and reconcile his new and old lives into one whole Brandt Dekker.

  He blinked away the sluggishness and rose. Depleted of sanity and energy, it wasn’t a wonder that his body took the quiet downtime to go into standby mode. Luckily his mind hadn’t delved too far into sorting out all the new mysteries in his life, rather just bounced them around in his skull like a rotating drum of bingo balls. Even if he was ready to try and sort it all out, he wasn’t sure he could. A daunting prospect. So as before, he’d just try to busy himself with essential tasks and keep his body moving toward a simple goal.

  He wasn’t sure if leaving this island ASAP was still his goal, but he would treat it like it was. Better to be too prepared than not prepared enough.

  First thing to do was examine the bad guys’ boat. It was anchored off the beach in chest-high water. He waded out as far as he could, then swam a few meters to reach the beam. It was a sleek looking sloop. Not the sturdiest thing for open ocean travel, but it would serve his purpose nicely. He hauled himself over.

  The interior deck was small, room for only a few people. It was just a sportsman’s sloop, made for casual weekend enjoyment, not an assault boat, and probably stolen from a family. The deck had some old wear and tear on it, and even something that looked like a child’s scribble with a crayon. Brandt chuckled, thinking if he sailed it back to L.A., he’d get arrested for possession of stolen property.

  In plain sight were three black duffle bags. Brandt unzipped one. Inside was a shotgun, a semi-automatic pistol, some C4, detonators, wire, climbing gear, a bottle of water, a brick of cash, some MREs, ammo, and magazines. Nice. The other bags would likely be similar, and there was time to check those out later. He needed to get this boat off the beach just in case there was a confederate somewhere offshore looking for his buddies.

  The sloop was primarily powered by its sails
, but it had a small motor tilted up on the stern to guide the craft into precise births in a marina, or just as an emergency motor. It wouldn’t get the craft too far at sea, but it would do perfectly for what it was designed to do which was to maneuver into a harbor, or in this case, a cave where Brandt could store the boat until he could get things figured out. Brandt drew up the anchor, cocked the little motor down into the water, and sparked it up. He pointed the craft into the inlet and started in.

  The inlet would be easy enough to navigate until he reached the shoal. The sloop would probably run aground there. But Brandt figured he could pull a rope like a human tugboat and carefully drag the craft over the sandy shoal. As expected, halfway into the cave, the boat slid into the shoal. It was a soft stop, good news which meant the ground was primarily sand. He hopped into the water, curled an end of rope around one of the bow cleats, and found some leverage in front of the boat to lean into the pull. It took only a few minutes of tugging, as the shoal wasn’t especially wide, but those few minutes required some muscle.

  The cogs of his detective brain were turning while he trudged. These guys were hired to kill me. They made a special effort to find me and were using overwhelming force to do it. Each of the assassins had automatic weapons and backup pistols. They used a sailboat, which was odd, but made sense if they were going for stealth. This was not some half-assed team of gangster goons. These were contracted professionals.

  It seemed that every direction he turned, danger followed. Some of it was his fault and some of it was not. But these guys were his fault. He brought them here. He was the dragon they needed to slay. So Brandt being here could be a danger to Lia. Maybe Viktor too, but Brandt had seen what Viktor could do and was under no illusions that the man couldn’t handle himself. Man? Brandt now understood Lia’s and Viktor’s confidence that they could repel any invaders. It was amazing that he was even thinking about this as a rational fact, but there it was. Viktor was a shape-shifting, airborne weapon that was as devastating as anything he’d ever seen, and it was not some dream or fantasy.

  I guess I’ve come to grips with it after all. Well, accepted it as real at least, regardless of opinion or explanation.

  And then there was Lia. Pretty, awkward, bookish Lia. Could she shapeshift? Did she have any of her father’s power? Brandt didn’t want to assume anything, his assumptions had been wrong thus far, but he didn’t think she could do what her father did. She made a point of claiming that her dad was different than her. “He is undead, I am not.” So, would she be able to protect herself, too? Difficult questions that he simply did not have answers to.

  The boat was finally free of the shoal. He hopped back in and motored to the far side of the cave. Then, once again, he hopped out and guided the boat with the rope. The boat’s hull slid up on the beach.

  Brandt stood back for a moment pleased with himself. He had a brand new boat and managed to hide it from whoever was looking for him. And he even got the thing over the shoal. He was going to have to remember to do a little digging in the shoal and create a channel he could sail in and out of.

  In and out? How many times are you going to leave and come back?

  He had been planning test runs with the trawler, but there really wasn’t a need now. The sloop wasn’t the same reclamation project that the old trawler was, nor would it need to be tested for seaworthiness. Technically, he could gather his meager belongings and leave right now if he wanted.

  But he wasn’t going to do that. Once again, the situation changed because new information came to light. Lia wasn’t a problem, and might even be a friend, and although her Dad was frightening, he seemed like an ally, albeit awkward one. There was no rational reason to escape these people. But there was good reason to leave in order to keep them safe. More assassins would come and there would be a lot more of them next time.

  Brandt expected he would have several days to regroup. These last guys were hired professionals. The mission would’ve been quiet, with a simple “it’s done,” or “send payment here,” message that would occur afterward. The mercenaries would get themselves to a safe location like Mexico before they sent the message. And if they were anything like Brandt’s old squad, they may have expected to take a day or two prior to the hit to do recon on the target’s environment. It all depended on whether they were certain Brandt was there, or they were searching for him and got lucky. So The Russian may not expect to hear any word for several days on the mission’s success. If it went badly (which it did), that news wouldn’t dawn on The Russian or his associates for a few more days. And once it did, then they’d have to assess and understand what happened, get new intel, hire new guys perhaps, and then construct a new and bigger plan. Three men just got slaughtered easily by an unexpected element, so the next attempt would have to account for that. If they didn’t, Viktor would make short work of them, too. Bullets didn’t seem to affect him, and one swipe of his clawed hand was enough to cut them literally in half. Brandt almost pitied the next bunch of fools that tried, and he would love to be a fly on the wall of that strategy session:

  “Say again, lieutenant? What are we facing?”

  “Sir, it’s a bat-dragon-man that can fly, is impervious to bullets, can cut a man in half with its fingernails, and has mind powers.”

  “I see. Lieutenant, have you been drinking?”

  “Since I found out this news? …Heavily, sir.”

  Surely, Viktor couldn’t be entirely invincible. But Brandt didn’t need to worry about that right now. Keep things simple and stay focused on task.

  Brandt got into his Army Sergeant frame of mind and hopped back on the boat to take stock of what was in it. For starters, one half-drained bottle of water sitting next to the wheel. Brandt was thirsty, so cooties be damned, he slugged that and tossed the bottle to the beach for later use. The deck was purposefully small, only made to enter, exit, and steer the boat. There was not much on the deck beside the three duffle bags. He tossed those onto the beach as well and planned to get to those after his interior inspection. The cabin below was also small, built for two people with slender, stiff bunks. On one of the bunks was a brown duffle bag that held some civilian style clothes. Getaway duds. Under each bunk was a storage container. There were a bunch of useful items there: rope, life preservers, oil cans, spare gas can, binoculars, first aid kit, inflatable emergency raft, flare gun, and a folded tarp for fending off the weather when in port. Brandt removed the rope, first aid kit, and gas can, as he had some more immediate uses for those. He could put them back later.

  Under the first aid kit was a book that had seen better days. It was a children’s book that Brandt had read a long time ago when he was in grade school: “Island of the Blue Dolphins.” He barely remembered what it was about, but he vaguely recalled it had something to do with some native California island woman. Either ironic or purposeful. Perhaps the family that owned this boat (before the bad guys stole it) had trekked out here to show their kids an island like the one in the book. Who knows? Brandt opened the book and was relieved to see that the pages were intact. Only the cover was discolored and worn by being on the boat. It would make a nice addition to Lia's vast collection if she didn't already have it. He considered tossing the book onto the beach, but thought better of it, and climbed back over the rails to place the book and all the duffle bags on his bedding where it wouldn't pick up moisture from the sand.

  Before getting back on board the sloop, he glanced at the duffle bags and decided to check them out first. One of the black ones had been examined earlier, and he confirmed the other two had the same gear as well. He gathered their contents and distributed them among two of the bags. One duffle now had all the firearms and ammo and the other had all the C4 and detonators. The clothing he'd take advantage of immediately since his t-shirt had been torn a while ago in the explosion, and was wet and dirty. He donned a grey t-shirt, brown windbreaker, and khaki pants. The food and cash he placed in his camp area. An empty duffle bag would be he
lpful for collecting some other things. He'd reorganize the food later. How much later? How long are you going to wait to leave?

  He had a dinner date promise. And, since there was no real hurry to set sail, Brandt figured he’d honor the invitation even if it was coerced. He estimated he had between four to seven days before anything else showed up from The Russian.

  About to climb aboard the sloop again, something occurred to him. He had been thinking about the C4, which reminded him of something. Something recent. Something deadly.

  Brandt swallowed. Oh shit. He’d dealt with hired pros from The Russian before. The last time he was on one of their boats, he noticed a bomb made from C4 affixed to the inside of the hull. It was made to scuttle their boat if they got caught or needed to hide the shipment. The last time he had used it to his advantage.

  Brandt leaped over the railing and charged into the cabin. He lifted the bunks up again and looked thoroughly. It was just the stuff he had seen before. Not there. Where? He checked the compartments that were suspended above the bunks. That wouldn't have been the optimum spot to sink a boat, but he didn't see anywhere else to look in the cabin beside the refrigerator and storage compartments near the stairwell, and those would be even less of an optimum spot. There was nothing in the compartments above the bunks. Nothing in the fridge. He noticed that the fridge wasn’t even functioning. The other cabinet was small, made for maps and so forth. Nothing there, either.

  Maybe he was wrong and these guys weren’t from the same team that he had blown up last time. And maybe you’re not thinking hard enough. The leader wouldn’t want his team to see it, or they might freak and argue about it. It had to be hidden somewhere.

  Brandt stood at the cabin’s stairwell. There were no other cabinets that he could see. The only other thing in the cabin was the little indoor/outdoor piece of carpet that ran along the aisle.