by Ken Preston
The rain had stopped, but the deck was still slick with water. Emma was surprised at how far they had travelled along the canal. Abel had taken them further into the city, and Emma could see houses, and a road, a single car driving past, its headlights picking out puddles of water before its tyres sloshed through them.
She knew where they were, and she thought she knew where they were headed.
Abel was winding the crank handle again, having resolved whatever problem he’d had. Julie was stepping gingerly onto the towpath. For the first time, Emma let herself believe that they might actually make it.
Emma hauled herself up onto the deck, clenching her jaw to keep from crying out as bolts of pain shot through her back. Julie turned around, held out her hand to help Emma off the boat. Being outside, seeing how close they were to other people, to freedom, seemed to have given her some confidence.
Emma reached out her hand, took a step towards the young woman. As she did so, her foot caught against the lip of the deck, and exploded with a fresh bout of painful tingling. She cried out with the pain.
Abel straightened up and spun round at the sound.
Emma dropped to her knees on the boat’s deck, unable to stand anymore.
“Run!” she screamed at Julie.
The girl was frozen in terror, and before Emma could shout at her again, Abel was on top of her, like a dark angel of death. She fell on her back on the muddy towpath, and Abel clamped his hand over her mouth before she could scream, and yanked her head back, exposing the white of her neck.
Emma screamed again, hauled herself towards the girl who was struggling beneath the vampire pinning her to the ground.
He lunged at the young woman and sank his teeth into her neck. Emma reached out clawed fingers for his back, to pull him off her, but he pushed her away as though he was swatting at a bothersome fly, and she fell on her back on the boat’s deck.
Emma began crying as she watched the vampire sucking at Julie’s neck, her struggles growing fainter, until finally she was still.
stut doesn't shoot his balls off
“Is that really Tom?” Rob said, leaning over the corpse on the floor, its face a mess of broken bone and pulped flesh.
“I th-think so,” Stut said.
“Bloody hell, Coffin did a real fucking job on him, didn’t he?”
“I thought him and C-C-Coffin were friends?”
“Nah, Coffin’s got no friends.” Rob stepped back and pointed at a scattering of small, white shapes on the floor. “Fuck, look over there. Are those his teeth?”
“C-C-Coffin didn’t tell us w-w-we were cleaning up a b-b-bloodbath.”
Stut wandered over to the bar. Instead of walking around it, he jumped up and swung his legs over, knocking a glass off, sending it shattering to the floor.
“Fucking hell, Stut, what the fuck are doing?”
“G-getting myself a drink,” Stut said, on the other side of the bar, bending down and peering into the chiller cabinets. “We m-m-might as well help ourselves while we’re here. It’s going to t-t-take us all f-fucking night to clean up this m-m-mess.”
“Yeah, especially with you making a mess smashing glasses.”
“Cool it, m-man.” Stut put a couple of bottles on the bar top and then pulled the caps off with a silver bottle opener.
“Shit, I don’t think it’s a good idea, you helping yourself to the booze. We’re here to clean up, remember?”
Stut took a long swallow from the bottle. Condensation on the glass glinted in the soft light behind the bar. Rob had to admit, a nice cold lager would go down well right now.
“Like I s-s-said, we’re gonna be here all f-f-fucking night, cleaning up. Aren’t w-w-w-we allowed a drink?”
“I don’t know,” Rob said, walking over to the bar. “If Coffin comes down and finds us, we’ll be in deep shit.”
“Just have a d-d-drink, and then we’ll p-put on our aprons, and act like cleaning ladies.”
“Okay, just the one,” Rob said, and picked up the bottle, and gulped down the cold, refreshing lager.
“What the hell d-do you think’s going on with Coffin and his w-w-w-wife? Do you believe him, that she’s alive again?”
“I don’t know. It’s fucking weird, isn’t it? Even Craggs was talking about fucking vampires and shit.”
“This whole situation is ffffucking weird. Look at that p-p-poor bastard over there. Coffin didn’t just kill him, he p-p-pulverised his face in.”
Rob looked back across the club at Tom’s body. “Yeah, Coffin must have been angry.”
“Angry? He must have been ffffucking mental. And why does he k-k-k-keep going on about his wife? She was murdered, right?”
“Hey, I don’t know what’s going on, okay? Just finish your fucking drink and then we can start cleaning up this mess.”
“Okay, okay, k-keep your knickers on, Shirley. I just th-think it’s all weird, that’s all.” Stut upended his bottle and drank the rest of the lager. “You ever see Steffanie dancing here? Fucking hell, she c-c-could give a corpse a b-boner. What the hell do you think she sssaw in an ugly bastard like Coffin?”
“I don’t know, but the women all go for him. His first wife, Laura, was a looker, too. And I think he shagged half the dancers in this place over the years.”
“You reckon his cock’s as b-b-b-big as the rest of him? That’s got to be it, hasn’t it? They’re looking at this guy, and he’s h-h-h-huge, and they’re thinking to themselves, wondering if he’s h-h-h-huge in the trouser department as well. I bet he is, I bet he’s got a dick the size of a d-d-donkey’s.”
Rob finished his lager. “You’re starting to sound like a fucking queer. You’ll be asking him to unzip himself and slap it out for you next, let you have a feel.”
“F-fuck off,” Stut said, and threw his empty bottle at Rob’s head.
Laughing, Rob ducked, and the bottle flew over his head and rolled across the floor.
“I told you not to make any more fucking mess,” he said, still laughing, and turned around to go and find the bottle and pick it up.
There was a man standing behind him, just visible across the club, in the shadows.
“Who the f-f-fuck’s that?” Stut said.
“How the fuck should I know?” Rob said. “Why don’t you fucking ask him?”
Stut walked around to the front of the bar, pulling the gun from the waistband of his trousers. He flicked off the safety catch.
“Hey you, come over where we c-c-can fucking see you!”
The man didn’t move.
Stut looked at Rob. “You think I should sh-shoot him?”
“Fuck, no, we’ve got enough fucking mess to clear up as it is,” Rob hissed. “Go over there and talk to him, find out who the fuck he is.”
“Hey, come on over here,” Stut shouted.
The man stayed where he was, and Rob was reminded of the living statues he saw sometimes, in the city centre. They stood so still, staring into empty space. And you could jump up and down in front of them, and wave your hands in their faces, and shout at them, and they didn’t move a muscle. Until you were least expecting it.
And when one of those living statues did make a movement, it always made Rob jump, and then look around, embarrassed, to see if anyone had noticed.
This was the feeling he had now. That the man in the corner was a living statue, and that at any moment he would make a move, and Rob would flinch as usual, and make a fool of himself.
“He’s too scared to come over here,” he said. “Especially with you waving a gun around. Go over there and talk to him, find out who he is. Might be he’s new staff here, or one of Craggs’ associates, or something.”
“I still think I should just sh-sh-shoot him.”
“Right, and that’s going to look fucking great, isn’t it, when we find out that he’s actually Craggs’ right-hand man?”
“I thought C-Coffin was his right-hand man?”
“Coffin is his right-hand man.”
&nb
sp; “Then who the f-fuck is this guy?”
“I don’t know, he could be a fucking silent partner for all we know, just go and talk to the bastard, find out who the fuck he is.”
“Who made you the f-f-fucking boss, ordering me around like a piece of shit? Why don’t you go and talk to him?”
“Because I’m the one who got you this job when you came out of prison, and I think you fucking owe it to me to show fucking willing and fucking do some work!”
“Ah, fuck, I knew you’d d-d-do this to me, pull rank and shit, and mmmake out like you’re better than me.”
Rob punched Stut in the shoulder. “Don’t be a fucking idiot.”
“Don’t call me a f-fucking idiot, you f-fucking stupid f-f-fucker, and keep your fucking hands off me!”
“You want me to tell Coffin you were fucking around behind the bar, drinking the stock, when you should’ve been clearing up, like you’re supposed to?”
“Fuck you, d-dickwipe, I don’t see you doing anything useful, and ... Whoa, fuck!”
Stut and Rob had both been facing each other, whilst they argued, the figure standing silently in the darkened corner, forgotten. Now they both spun around as they saw him approaching, shambling towards them, his mouth working as though he was chewing on something.
Stut pointed his gun at the old man, and said, “Stay right there, you fucking cocksucker, don’t move another fucking step.”
The skeletal, ancient man stopped walking, his jaw still moving up and down, chewing or sucking on something.
“Fucking hell, look at him,” Rob whispered. “He’s been shot, looks like he should be fucking dead, already.”
Stut nodded. The man in front of them had a huge, gaping hole in his chest. His bloody suit hung in tatters amongst strips of torn flesh. It didn’t seem possible that he could still be alive.
Stut lowered his gun. “What the f-f-f-fuck are we going to do with him?”
“I don’t know,” Rob muttered. And then, louder, “You want to tell us who you are? We can help you.”
The man stared back at Rob, silent. Rob didn’t like the look of his eyes. They were red, like he had a terrible case of conjunctivitis, and his skin was white. He still seemed to be chewing or sucking on something.
Stut shoved his gun back under the belt of his trousers.
“F-fuck this, I’m getting myself another drink.”
Putting one hand on the bar’s top, he jumped up, and then screamed and doubled over as his gun went off in his trousers. Stut fell down, and landed on his back on the floor, a dark patch of blood spreading across his groin.
“Oh fucking hell,” he moaned.
Rob got down on his knees.
“You fucking stupid bastard, you forgot to put the safety on, didn’t you?”
“I shot my f-f-f-fucking balls off, didn’t I?” Stut groaned through clenched teeth.
“No, you’re okay, you shot yourself in the thigh. You’re bleeding bad, though, I’ve got to get you out of here.”
Rob jerked upright as felt the teeth sinking into the back of his neck, and by the time he realised the old man was on top of him, and that he was much stronger than he looked, it was already too late. As he struggled to free himself, the warm blood pulsing from the artery in his throat, a distant, calm part of his mind wondered who was screaming.
And then he lost consciousness.
* * *
Coffin bolted for the door when he heard the gunshot, all thoughts of Steffanie forgotten for the moment. Before he reached the door, he felt a hand grasping his ankle, holding on tight, and he tumbled forward, landing heavily on the floor. The impact of the fall knocked the shotgun from his hand, and it skittered across the floor, out of reach.
Still something held onto his ankle, and Coffin twisted around to see what.
It was Velvina, her grip stronger than it ever could have been in life. She pulled herself towards Coffin, slithering along the floor like a lizard. Hand over hand, she crawled up Coffin’s body. Her mouth opened and, although her teeth hadn’t grown into long, pointed fangs, Coffin could already see that she was changing, becoming like Steffanie.
He kicked her in the face. Her head whipped back under the force of his foot, but when she looked at Coffin again through her hair hanging down over her face, ribbons of scarlet dribbling from her nose, he could see the hunger for his blood in her expression.
Someone downstairs screamed, but Coffin couldn’t tell who it was. He kicked out at Velvina again, but she grabbed his other ankle and deflected the blow. Where was she getting her strength from?
Letting go of his ankles, she crawled rapidly over his body, climbing on top of Coffin as he scrabbled backwards, trying to get out from underneath her. Velvina was panting, and sometimes making tiny growling noises, and her hands clawed at his shirt. Coffin punched her in the side of the face, knocking her off him.
He sat up. Steffanie was still standing by Craggs’ desk, and she was laughing. There was another scream from downstairs, this one weaker than the last. Coffin stood up and, with one last look at the woman that had once been his wife, he bolted out of the office. He took the stairs two at a time and was at the bottom when he realised he had left the shotgun in Craggs’ office.
No time to go back for that, he thought, and smashed through the door, into the club.
The ancient monstrosity that Coffin had seen wandering around the club earlier was crouched over Rob, sucking at a gaping wound in his neck. Rob’s struggles had grown weak, and he was pounding feebly at his attacker. Stut was crawling away, leaving a trail of blood from a wound in his thigh.
But what caught Coffin’s attention was the sight of Addison and Clevon stumbling into the club from reception. They both looked like they had just awoken from a deep sleep, their faces groggy and slack with confusion. Addison’s white bartender shirt was drenched with blood, and Clevon had a torn, red hole in the groin of his trousers. When they saw Coffin, the confusion on their faces cleared a little, and Coffin saw an expression that he was starting to become frighteningly used to.
The need to drink. The thirst for his blood.
In that moment, Coffin came to a snap decision. He ran over to Stut and, grabbing him from behind, and underneath his arms, he hauled him to his feet.
Stut screamed at the movement. Coffin wrapped an arm around Stut’s middle to support him.
“What about Rob?” Stut said, gasping with the pain.
“He’s dead, we’re leaving him.”
Coffin half carried, half dragged Stut through the club, past tables and chairs, and down the back, towards the fire escape, and the car park. They had a car boot full of guns, but Coffin didn’t rate his chances against five vampires, even with that kind of fire power. All it would take was one or two to overpower him, and he would be spending the rest of eternity avoiding the sun, and drinking blood.
Didn’t sound like much fun.
In a flurry of movement, and growling like a rabid dog, Velvina flung herself at the two men from the stairs. She slammed into Coffin, hands flailing at his neck, and they fell over, Stut screaming. Coffin got his hands up just in time as Velvina lunged for his neck, her mouth wide open and ready to bite down. He wrapped his hands around her face, and pushed, but she was strong, stronger than she should have been. The sound of her teeth clicking as she snapped at his hands, trying to bite them, filled his ears, close to driving him mad. He couldn’t let go, not even with one hand, not for a moment, or she would be able to sink her teeth into the flesh of his palm, or his arm, before he had a chance to hit her again.
But then she managed to turn her head a fraction within Coffin’s grip, and her teeth found his index finger on his left hand, and clamped down over the first knuckle. Coffin roared and let go. Trickles of red blood ran down his finger and his hand, and over his arm. Velvina ground her teeth together, until the bone snapped, and she ripped the end of his finger off, blood spraying from the severed joint across her face.
Coffin punched her
in the chest with his right fist, and she fell back. As she landed on the floor, she spat the end of his finger out of her mouth, and it rolled across the floor. She sat up and started giggling. Addison and Clevon stumbled through the door at the end of the corridor.
“Joe, d-duck down,” Stut screamed.
Coffin ducked and twisted around just in time to see Stut, lying on his back but propped up one elbow, holding his gun out at arm’s length, just before he squeezed the trigger. The sound of the gun’s retort filled the corridor, and Velvina flipped over onto her front. After a moment, as Coffin’s ears began ringing, she pushed herself back up again, and stood up.
Stut shot her again, and then he turned his gun on Addison and Clevon.
“Stay back!” he screamed. “Stay back or I’ll f-f-fucking shoot you, I swear to God, I will.”
“Just do it,” Coffin growled, as he hauled himself past Stut, through the growing pool of blood from the wound in his thigh, and out of the line of fire.
Stut began shooting, squeezing the trigger over and over, until the chamber was empty, and the gun clicked harmlessly.
Coffin didn’t bother looking back to see what damage Stut had done. However accurate his aim, it wasn’t going to slow those freaks down much. They had to get out.
Standing up, Coffin grabbed Stut under the arms again, and hauled him upright, ignoring his screams of pain. He pushed through the fire escape door, and outside. His finger was throbbing, and he could feel the blood pulsing from the wound. Dropping Stut on the wet ground, Coffin slammed the heavy fire door shut and leaned his weight against it.
Stut started crying.
“I’m d-d-d-dying, I’m fucking dying,” he wailed.
“No, you’re not,” Coffin said. “But I’m going to kill you myself if you don’t stop crying.”
They would have to use the Harley to escape. Stut was in no condition to drive the car, and Coffin was too big to fit in the driver’s seat and use his feet on the pedals. Stut was going to have to do his best to hang on to Coffin, at least until they got far enough away that he could sort out a tourniquet for his leg, and for Coffin’s finger.
