Joe Coffin Season One

by Ken Preston

  An ambulance pulled up, lights flashing, but its siren off. The rear doors opened, and the crew climbed out, and slid a trolley out of the back, a young man strapped into it. They rushed him in through the double doors.

  Coffin stepped from his hiding place in the shrubbery. This was his best chance, while everyone was preoccupied watching all the excitement. He climbed on the bike and gunned the engine into life.

  One quick glance into the emergency room showed him he had been right. No one was paying him any attention at all.

  He didn’t waste anymore time getting out of there.

  let's see you come back from that, you fucker

  Nick cursed as his smooth soled, expensive shoes slipped in the mud. If he took a tumble into the cold, filthy canal water, he wasn’t sure he would get back out again. He shone the powerful torch beam up ahead, illuminating the muddy towpath, filled with large puddles. How far had he gone?

  Nick was beginning to wonder if he had made a bad decision. Was it reasonable to think that a psychopathic killer who apparently had a vampire fixation, would hide out on a narrowboat? It wasn’t exactly the speediest form of transport, and how long before someone reported their barge missing?

  Besides which, Nick couldn’t work out how this tied in with the murder at the M6 service station. They had all assumed the Birmingham Vampire was making his way north, but now?

  Maybe Emma had slipped in the mud and dropped the umbrella in the canal. Or maybe she had fallen in the canal, and Nick was wasting time looking for her up here. He pushed that thought away. If she had fallen in and drowned, then surely they would have seen her body, floating on the water.

  No. Nick’s intuition told him that he was on the right track. Emma had been onto something, and she had discovered the Birmingham Vampire, and he’d taken her. They were up ahead somewhere; they had to be. The open gate at the lock he had passed had confirmed that suspicion. Only someone in a rush wouldn’t have bothered to close the lock gates after them.

  He had to keep pushing on until he caught up with them. Could he move faster than a narrowboat? Possibly not, but every time they came to a lock, that would delay them.

  Nick swore as he slipped again and grabbed a hanging branch to steady himself. The branch showered him with rainwater.

  “You’re a fucking idiot,” he said.

  He should just turn around, go back and get help. What was he thinking of, trying to play the hero, all by himself? He had let his emotions take over, the thought of Emma being taken by that psychopath had clouded his judgement. The narrowboat idea had seemed so convincing to him, and yet he had been so sure it would appear ridiculous to everyone else, that his instinct had been to take the initiative alone. As soon as he had seen the Birmingham Vampire, he would have called in backup, but he’d needed to find him first.

  Not anymore. Stumbling along the muddy towpath in the dark was only allowing that psychopath to escape. Nick fumbled for his walkie talkie and paused. He needed to orientate himself before he called this in. The canal looped around so much, he had no idea where he was anymore.

  The canal disappeared behind a bend just ahead. If he walked around there, maybe he would see something that would help him find where he was. Sloshing through the puddles of muddy water, Nick ran as fast as he dared along the towpath, the flashlight beam bouncing up and down with his movement.

  When he rounded the corner he pulled up short. The canal ran into a long, straight stretch, with mooring pitches along the edge of the towpath. Gardens backed onto the canal, a series of high fences with gates running alongside. Nick knew where he was now. One of these fences separated the house on Forde Road from the canal.

  And up ahead, Nick could see a narrowboat, the glow from its curtained windows illuminating it in the dark.

  The bastard had come back to the scene of his crime. What was he going to do? Stuff Emma and that Julie Carter girl into the cellar and keep them prisoner? Bleed them, like he did Tom Mills’ kid?

  But why back here?

  None of that mattered right now. He needed backup, and he needed it fast. No telling from here if Emma was still on the narrowboat, or if she had been taken in the house with the girl, but he couldn’t take this any further on his own.

  Before he could make the call, Nick was grabbed by the shoulder and spun round. A fist smashed into his face, and everything went black.

  * * *

  Joe Coffin stared at Nick Archer, sprawled on the muddy towpath. He hadn’t meant to hit him that hard, but he’d needed to stop him calling in reinforcements. The last thing Coffin needed was a load of cops crowding him out. Archer had blacked out when he hit the ground, but his eyelids were fluttering open, he was coming round already. The torch lay in the mud next to him, the light flickering on and off.

  Coffin bent down and ripped the walkie talkie from the detective’s jacket and threw it into the canal. After a quick search, he found his mobile and threw that into the dark water, too.

  Archer reached up a hand to his cheek. A large bruise had formed where Coffin hit him.

  “Coffin?” he said, his voice groggy. “What the hell did you do?”

  “Stopped you from making a stupid mistake,” Coffin growled.

  “You’re the one making the mistake.” Nick propped himself up on his elbows. “Or maybe not, maybe you’re in on this with that psychopath, maybe you’ve been a part of it all along.”

  “Yeah, you are stupid, aren’t you?”

  “What about all those scars on your face? You two get into a fight, have a little disagreement over who was going to cut the kid up? What is this, some kind of sick revenge plot you’ve got going on? Did Tom Mills shop you to the police, or something?”

  Coffin placed a hand on Archer’s chest and shoved him back into the mud.

  “You have no idea what you are dealing with here,” he said. “You’re girlfriend’s down there, and I’m here to come and get her, and take care of that sick fuck once and for all.”

  “How’d you know Emma was here?”

  “She called me.”

  Archer shook his head. “No way. Why the hell would she call you? If she needed help, she would have called—” Archer’s eyes widened. “Fucking hell, Coffin, is that a chainsaw strapped on your back?”

  Coffin stood up. He’d forgotten all about the chainsaw, and the Samurai sword he’d collected from his flat on the way over.

  “Yeah. I already tried killing this sick bastard once. This time I’m going to take care of him permanently.”

  “And what the hell is that, a fucking sword?”

  “You’re a sharp guy, Archer. Yeah, it’s a Samurai sword. It’s even been signed by David Carradine. You remember him, don’t you?”

  “This isn’t a fucking movie, you know,” Archer said. “You’re not in Kill Bill, or The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.”

  Coffin stepped over Archer.

  “Wait here,” he said.

  Coffin walked slowly down the towpath, towards the boat. It had been moored to the side. He could see movement in the cabin, shadows against the curtains. More than one person moving around. The other one looked smaller, like a child, maybe. Hard to tell. But if there was a kid in there, this was going to make it even more difficult.

  Coffin pulled the chainsaw off his back and put it down in the grass beside the towpath. That was for later. He pulled the Samurai sword out of its leather sheath he had found inside the presentation case and gripped it by the handle. If he could take the bastard by surprise, get a good whack at his neck with the sharp blade, he might get him down long enough that Coffin could take care of him properly. He wasn’t sure if you could kill a vampire forever, but he figured that if he chopped him up into little pieces with the chainsaw, that might help.

  Coffin walked softly alongside the narrowboat, hands gripping the Samurai sword, the narrowboat lights reflecting in its blade, his eyes fixed on the cabin windows. The two figures inside seemed to be circling each other in the confines of the cabin
. The smaller one sometimes jumped onto something, perhaps a table, whilst the other, larger figure, seemed to lunge from side to side. But there was something odd about the movement, something Coffin couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  Coffin stepped onto the boat’s deck. If the Birmingham Vampire was in there, and had a child, Coffin had to get inside, take care of him fast, before he sank his teeth into that poor kid. Maybe he already had, maybe he was bleeding him, like he did Jacob, for that ancient vampire they dug out of the ground.

  Coffin stood in front of the cabin door. He lifted a foot and smashed the door in with one powerful kick. Moving fast, he ducked through the doorway, the tiny door hanging off its hinges. He raised the sword as high as he was able in the confines of the cabin, his eyes flicking from side to side, taking in the situation in an instant.

  He froze.

  The tiny cabin stank of blood and sweat and fear. Emma was crouched at the back of the cabin, hands tied behind her back, and her mouth gagged with a filthy rag. It had been her silhouette that Coffin had seen moving around. Wide eyed, she stared at Coffin, trying to scream something at him from behind the gag.

  There was a body lying face down on the table, and a child was crouching on the body with its back to him. The child was snarling at Emma, and Coffin could see its fingers with their long fingernails growing into claws, its tousled hair and ripped, dirty clothing.

  The vampire child turned around, the snarling growing louder, and bared its teeth.

  Coffin’s surroundings, the narrowboat cabin, the cool evening air, Emma’s muffled screams, all of it disappeared as he stared at his son. Since discovering Michael’s empty grave, Coffin had buried the truth of the evidence that his son was a vampire. Even after seeing Steffanie, a part of his brain had hidden it away somewhere deep in his subconscious, where he wouldn’t have to deal with it.

  But now he was faced with the truth. Michael growled at Coffin, his face and lips smeared with dried blood, hideously reminiscent of meal times, when he was a toddler.

  “Michael?” Coffin said. “It’s Daddy.”

  Maybe Coffin had been hoping for some sign that Michael knew who he was, even the tiniest flicker of recognition in his dark eyes. But there was nothing.

  Emma was trying to shout something. Her eyes were bulging from their sockets, her head straining forward, the tendons on her neck standing out with the effort.

  Where was Abel? Why wasn’t he here, on the boat, with the others?

  Coffin was propelled forward as something slammed into his back. Crashing into the table, his face pushed against the dead girl’s thighs, he dropped the sword.

  “Daddy! Daddy!” Michael screamed and started hooting with delight.

  Coffin looked up, desperate to believe that perhaps Michael had recognised him after all, that maybe he wasn’t completely turned, that there was hope for him yet.

  The Birmingham Vampire stood over Coffin, grinning. It was him that Michael was looking at.

  Coffin swung his fist at the vampire’s face, intending to obliterate that stupid, mocking grin forever. But his movements were slow and sluggish, and the vampire grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm back.

  Still hooting and gibbering, Michael leapt onto Coffin’s chest, and lunged at his neck, the boy’s red mouth open. Coffin reached out with his free hand and grabbed a fistful of Michael’s hair and yanked his head back. Michael screamed, and Coffin instinctively let go.

  Abel grabbed his other wrist, and twisted Coffin’s arm back and down by the side of the table. His face was over Coffin’s. His cold breath stank of blood and rancid flesh. Michael jumped up onto the dead girl’s back, and his upside down head loomed into Coffin’s vision, the top of his head touching the vampire’s head.

  And Coffin realised they were both going to feed on him together.

  Coffin’s shoulder, where his arm was twisted down alongside the table, was red hot with pain. He had no strength left to resist, no fight left in him.

  His fingers brushed the blood soaked floor and then encountered the handle of the Samurai sword. He stretched his fingers out, managing to grab the handle, and jabbed the blade forward.

  The Birmingham Vampire screamed and let go of Coffin’s arms. He jumped back and the tip of the blade pulled free from his groin. Coffin sat up, pushing Michael out of the way, who landed on the floor, squealing. Abel was standing in the open doorway of the narrowboat cabin, gripping the wooden frame, his legs spread as blood blossomed in the crotch of his trousers.

  He was getting ready to leap again. Coffin switched his hold on the sword to an overhand grip, so that he held it tip forward like a spear. He threw himself at the vampire and plunged the blade into his chest. They stumbled outside, and the vampire fell down on his back, Coffin on top of him, leaning his weight into the blade which sliced through the vampire’s torso and into the wooden deck.

  Abel grabbed Coffin by the throat, but his grip was weak. Blood spurted from the wound in his chest, and out of his open mouth. Coffin kept the pressure on the Samurai blade, staring into the vampire’s eyes. He opened and closed his mouth, like he was trying to say something, and then he let go of Coffin’s neck, and his arms fell to the deck.

  Coffin rolled off him. Michael appeared at the doorway, looking curiously at the monster he had called Daddy. He stood, frozen in a crouching position for several seconds. Coffin tensed, waiting for him to leap, wondering what he could do to defend himself against his own son, without hurting him. Or killing him.

  The boy vampire finally turned and scuttled back inside the cabin. Coffin hauled himself upright and, with one last glance back at the Birmingham Vampire to confirm that he wasn’t getting up too, he ran after Michael.

  He had expected to find him attacking Emma, but instead he had curled up in a corner, and was whimpering.

  Emma stared wide eyed at Coffin. He edged around the table and pulled the gag off her face.

  “Oh, thank God you’re here,” she said.

  She looked like she was about to fall over, and Coffin grabbed her and eased her down onto a bench.

  “Who’s the girl?” he said, as he worked at the rope around her wrists.

  Emma’s head had slumped forward, and her hair hung over her face in lank, dirty tangles.

  She was crying.

  Coffin released her hands, and she massaged her wrists. Coffin waited silently, letting her cry herself out.

  They both snapped their heads around at the thud of a shoe on the narrowboat deck. A shadow fell across the doorway, and Coffin cursed himself as an idiot for leaving Abel alone.

  Nick Archer stepped inside the cabin.

  “Oh, fuck,” he said, his voice trembling. “Emma, I thought you were dead.”

  Emma got to her feet, reached out for Archer, but she couldn’t get past Coffin. They reached over the dead girl’s body and clasped hands.

  “Is that Julie Carter?” Archer said.

  Emma nodded, struggling to hold back more tears.

  “Fucking hell, this place is like an abattoir.”

  Emma pushed her hair back off her face. “There are body parts in plastic bags under the seats.”

  “Shit. I need to call this in, but this fucking gorilla chucked my radio in the canal.”

  Coffin stood up. “That’s all right, there’s really no need to thank me for saving your girlfriend’s life.”

  “Fuck you, Coffin! You should have let me deal with it. Instead you interfered with a police operation, putting people’s lives at risk, and committing an unlawful killing.”

  Archer flinched at the sound of a snarl from the corner of the cabin and pulled free of Emma’s hand.

  “What the fuck?”

  Michael was still tucked into the corner, but he was staring over his shoulder at Coffin, a look of utter hatred on his face.

  “I might need some help,” he said to Emma.

  “Wait a minute,” Archer said, holding his hands out. “What the hell are you going to do?”


  Coffin ignored him, pushed him out of the way. Michael tracked his movements, and growled, low and soft, deep in his throat.

  Coffin glanced at Emma. “Say something. Anything to get his attention.”

  “Hey! Michael!”

  The boy vampire kept his dark eyes fixed on Coffin.

  Emma slapped the table. Michael glanced over at the noise, and Coffin lunged at him, grabbing him by both arms. He spun him around and pinned him to the floor, the boy squirming and twisting his head from side to side, his teeth snapping at Coffin.

  “Give me the rope,” Coffin said.

  Emma passed him the long coil of rope that had held her. Coffin looped the rope around Michael’s wrists, and then around the fixed table leg, pulling it tight so that Michael’s back was dragged up against it. He quickly tied a knot, and shuffled back, out of reach of the boy’s snapping jaws.

  Michael was like a feral animal, growling and lunging at Coffin, baring his teeth at him.

  “What are you going to do with him?” Emma said.

  “I don’t know.”

  Coffin stood up, having to keep his head bent under the low roof. He stared at Archer, blocking the doorway.

  “Out of my way.”

  “Why, so you can go and murder somebody else? Who’s next, big fella? Me? Emma?”

  “Nick, no,” Emma said.

  Archer spun round, his eyes wide, his face a sickly yellow under the narrowboat’s lights. “What? Are you on his side?”

  “It’s not about sides, Nick.” Emma reached out to touch his shoulder, but Archer recoiled.

  “What then? What the fuck is all this about?”

  Coffin pushed past Archer, climbed outside, onto the deck. Looked at the vampire’s body, sprawled on its back, the sword sticking out of its chest.