"You know,” John broke the silence, “Ben called the house last night. Said he needed some help setting up the new safe house in Laredo. So as soon as your hunt is over, it looks like I'm once again neck deep in Coalition business."
"Can I come with you, Dad?"
"No son, not this trip. Besides, someone has got to stay home and keep an eye on your Grandpa."
"Don't need no looking after," Cort mumbled only half awake.
Jake couldn't argue with that, the last time he’d been left alone he had nearly burned the house down cooking a microwave dinner still in the box in the oven. How he had survived before the two of them moved in was a mystery to Jake.
Jake watched the white and green cotton fields speed by. He couldn't help himself. He had to ask one last time. "So it's definitely vampire related then?"
"Well . . .” John said, slowly. "Talon was in the area this past week training Diana and Whisper on tracking and he owed me a couple of favors. So he went ahead and scouted the area over the last couple of days and from all appearances he's one hundred percent sure it's vampire related. He found what he thinks is the den. Looks like they’re shacked up in a farmhouse about ten miles outside of town. Nice and secluded, no neighbors less than a couple of miles away. Victims could scream all day long and no one would hear them. If he says that's the place, then odds are that's the place."
"Did he say if it's a grunt or a Maker?"
"Oh definitely a grunt. A Maker would have moved on by now. I wouldn't send you in alone if it was a Maker." John turned the radio back up indicating that the conversation was over. He always loved to listen to some good classic rock before he went on a hunt and Jake knew better than to interrupt him.
Except for the music, and Cort's snoring, they drove in complete silence the rest of the way. Jake tried to sleep but it evaded him. Instead he stared out the window at the miles of white cotton and the farmers in their big tractors and harvesters starting their day out in the fields.
They arrived in the dusty little speck of a town a little after 6:30am. "Man this place is depressing," Jake said looking the town over. "Not even a gas station."
"Lamesa is only about fifteen miles away. That's probably where they do all of their shopping and business," John said slowing the truck down and turning down state highway 115. They drove for a couple more miles before turning right on a dusty oil field road with pump jacks on both sides. They bounced along for another ten minutes before finally crossing a rusty cattle guard and coming to a stop in front of an old two story farm house with a large barn about fifty yards away.
The house was painted a light blue color with white shutters, most of which were broken in several places. The glare of the sun was just beginning to reflect off its darkened windows. The two windows on the second story reminded Jake of eyes looking down at him. The barn was a faded red with its doors hanging wide open. A large nearly new John Deere tractor sat beside it.
As they pulled into the gravel drive Jake's sense of smell was immediately assaulted. Something rotten filled the cool morning air. He covered his mouth and nose with his hand. John shut off the engine silencing both Cort's snoring and ZZ top in mid song of Gimme All Your Lovin. Jake gagged, "God what is that smell?"
Cort breathed in deep, "Smells like death," he said spitting a mouthful of tobacco juice into his spit cup. "God almighty would you look at that!" he said suddenly leaning forward in his seat.
"What?" John and Jake said in unison also leaning forward.
"Look at the roof!" Cort exclaimed.
Jake strained his neck, leaning over the front seat. The roof of the house was covered in literally hundreds of buzzards.
"That is the damndest, most terrifying thing that I have ever seen," Cort said, shaking his head.
Jake couldn't help but laugh, "Grandpa you've been killing vampires for over fifty years, and that is the scariest thing you've ever seen?"
"Your damn right it is! Ain't you ever seen The Birds? Alfred Hitchcock? Scared the living hell out of me first time I saw it."
"The Birds? The Birds! That's what you're scared of?" Jake leaned back in his seat. “First Billy and his snakes and now you with your birds! You old guys crack me up!” he chuckled.
"Well excuse me for having a little class. I know The Birds may not meet your Exterminator 2 standards, but Hitchcock was a genius!"
"It's Terminator 2!"
"Yeah well, I'll take a movie about angry killer birds over a guy that exterminates bugs any day of the week."
"You two continue your little movie debate while I go and make sure this house is a den for bloodsucking vampires. Is that okay with you two? Unbelievable." John said unable to keep from laughing. He shook his head in amazement and reached over Cort, opening the glove compartment pulling out his .45 Colt M1911. Stepping out of the truck he tucked it into his waistband then covered it with his shirt. He grabbed a clipboard and white hardhat off the seat between him and Cort then slammed the door shut. With his flannel shirt he could have easily passed for a construction foreman or possibly someone that worked for the gas company. "Be right back," he said, pulling the hardhat over his hair.
Jake watched closely as John walked up to the front door and knocked several times. After no answer he tried to peer in the window then walked out of sight around the back of the house. Jake looked over at his Grandpa who was still focusing all of his attention on the birds above. Jake shifted nervously in the back seat.
"Don't worry son. Your dad is fine. He's just making sure this is the right spot. Believe me you don't want to burst in guns blazing and wipe out some poor family up watching Saturday morning cartoons," Cort said finally pulling his gaze away from the buzzards.
Before Jake could ask him to elaborate if he meant Wes Turner, John came back and opened Jake's door. "Looks like the place."
"Really? What was your first clue? The smell of rotting flesh or the six thousand buzzards chewing on the shingles?" Cort said.
John ignored him. Jake climbed out of the truck and began coughing uncontrollably. He could literally taste the stench. John reached into his back pocket and pulled out a red bandana and tossed it to him. "Tie that around your face, it will help."
Cort reached into the cab of the truck and pulled a little container of salve from the glove box. "Dab some of that under and inside your nose."
Jake did as he was told and the cool vapors filled his sinuses, slightly softening the stench, he then tied the bandana over his mouth and nose. Cort and John didn't even seem to notice the smell. Jake wanted to impress them so he sucked it up and pretended it didn't bother him either.
John walked around to the back of the truck and dropped the tailgate pulling Jake’s duffel out. Jake unzipped it, pulling his body armor suit out. He slipped into it then zipped it up over his chest. He moved around trying to break it in. “You would think at some point this thing would stop itching so bad!” he complained, pulling the suit away from his crotch.
Next John pulled the gun cases out. He loaded The Cleaner with triple-ought buckshot and handed it to Jake. Jake cocked the lever and added one more shell then slung it over his shoulder.
Both of the older men opened their own cases and checked and loaded their weapons. John carried Jake’s former gun, a Mossberg 500 12 gauge pump, while Cort strapped a large gun belt around his waist. On one hip he carried his six-inch barrel .357 Colt Python. On the other hip sat his foot long, bone handled Bowie knife. His new and untested M16, he left in the case but open where he could get to it if the need arose.
Cort noticed Jake staring up at the large house and walked up to him laying a hand on his shoulder. He squeezed it tightly. "Don't worry Jake. You'll be all right, just remember everything you learned from us and from your trainers."
Jake nodded, not taking his eyes off of the terrifying task before him. He’d run countless breaching drills during his training. But this time it wasn’t going to be Drill Sergeant Ortega or Sgt. Major Castle waiting for him with a dozen tr
aps to leave him swinging in the air, or trapped in a hole in the floor. No, this was real. Somewhere inside that house, hidden in a closet, or a bathroom, or under a bed, or God forbid in the attic or basement, there was a monster hiding and Jake was about to walk in there, pull it out of its hole and cut its head off. If he messed up one of two things would happen; he’d either come out in a body bag or he’d be turned. Either way he’d never see the sun again.
He gripped The Cleaner even tighter in his sweaty hands, then turned and looked at the sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight. Turning he scanned the land around him, it was solid cotton fields. No trees or storm clouds for you bastards to hide under this time around.
"Jacob? Are you going to be all right?" John's voice broke him out of his moment of terror.
"Yeah." he said, his voice a little over a whisper. He cleared his throat and much louder said, "I'm fine, Dad. Really. It's just . . . I keep thinking about Donnie."
John turned Jake where they were looking eye to eye. His own eyes were full of worry. Placing his hands on Jake's shoulders he frowned and said, "This is your choice son. I don't blame you one bit if you want to quit. The first time I saw one of my friends get killed I was older than you and it rocked me to my core. So if you don't want to do this say so now and your grandpa and I will go in there, wipe this sucker out and we can all drive home and have pancakes for breakfast. You can become a lawyer, or banker, or whatever the hell else you might want to be. But this is the last time I'm going to ask you, after this you must commit your mind one hundred percent or you might get yourself killed. So tell me, do you want to do this?"
Jake nervously chewed on his lower lip.
"It's okay son,” Cort said standing beside him. “If you don't want to, you don't have to. No one will think any less of you. Not everyone is cut out for this."
Jake put on a brave smile, "You know, Billy once told me that someone had to put a stop to it, someone had to take a stand. So what happened to Terry . . . what happened to Donnie, never happened to anyone again. That's why I'm doing this Dad. For Donnie. For Billy and Sandra. For Amber . . . for Mom."
"Okay then," John said with a nod. "I’m very proud of you son. I know your mother would be too. Anyway, let’s finish getting you geared up!”
Cort slapped Jake on his back, "Thata boy Exterminator! I knew you had it in you."
“It’s Termi . . .” he started to correct but ended up laughing.
Jake handed his gun to his dad and with Cort's help hefted his heavy Kevlar tactical vest over his shoulders. After what happened to Donnie they’d decided to double up on armor.
John stuffed the vest’s pockets full of shotgun shells from double ought buck to steel slugs then holstered Jake’s .357 magnum(with firing pin intact) in a holster attached to the vest just under Jake’s left armpit. Near his shoulder he added a short range walkie. He then wrapped a custom made “carpenter's” belt around his waist. In it there was a large claw hammer, a long Maglite flashlight, a pair of pliers and several eight-inch solid steel spikes. Lastly he dropped a one-foot, razor sharp machete into a sheath at Jake's right hip.
“I’ve already got my axe,” Jake said pulling the machete out of the sheath and dropping it back.
“One little machete isn’t going to weigh you down too much,” John pulled the Harley Davidson cap off of Jake's head and slipped on a chainmail coif that would protect his head, neck and shoulders. On top of that they added a hard hat with a headlamp attached. Jake reached down and pulled the safety glasses from the front of his shirt and placed them over his eyes then slipped his shotgun back over his right shoulder.
"You're as ready as we can make you," John said handing him his axe.
"Dad," Jake said his voice shaking.
"Yes son?"
"Do you . . . do you still get scared before you hunt?"
"Every damn time. But I've learned to control the fear. It doesn't control me. I do my best to make sure these things are more afraid of me than I am of them."
"Okay," he sighed. "Let’s Rock and Roll!"
John ran through what to do if he ran into more trouble than he could handle. "If you can't talk, just click on your emergency signal on your walkie and we'll come running. Most of all just remember to be careful."
Jake nodded firmly, his sweaty hands gripping Judgment tightly. He stood before two of the greatest hunters in recent memory and prayed deep down that he'd make them proud by doing the job he'd been trained for. With nothing left to say he was ready to take his first steps as a hunter. He turned and started the long walk across the gravel driveway toward the house.
Cort's voice sounded behind him. "Hey kid! Bring me back a souvenir!" Jake couldn't help but smile. He knew deep down his grandpa was just as worried as his dad was.
The house loomed over him menacingly the closer he grew to the front door. The gravel crunched loudly under his heavy boots with each step and high above he could hear the buzzards squawk.
Chapter 2
Jake
Outside Patricia, TX
September 10, 2001 7:45am
Jake took a deep breath then reached out with his right hand turning the brass doorknob. It didn't budge. He put a little more muscle into his grip but it still didn't move. Jake reared back, using the axe like a battering ram and slammed it into the door right above the deadbolt. The door-jam splintered and flew open with a loud thunk.
"Awe yeah," Jake said aloud feeling good about himself for the first time that day. The rotting smell that wafted out from the house quickly ended his moment of triumph. His eyes watered and his throat burned as the stench of rot and death breezed right through his bandana/salve defense.
“Damn!” he coughed. They sure forgot to mention this in training. I’ll have to make a complaint next time I see Ortega. He coughed again, yeah right. Ortega would probably take a deep breath, eat a bowl of chili, then call me a whinny little bitch.
With his left hand Jake reached up and turned on the headlamp attached to the hardhat. Slipping Judgment into the sheath on his back he pulled The Cleaner from off his shoulder and with gun in hand stepped inside. The yellow beam shone across the darkened room. His aim roamed the room methodically, checking every inch of it for threats.
The only light coming in was from the now open front door. Every visible window was either boarded up or painted over. "Crap," he whispered.
Until that very moment he'd still been holding out hope that the house might not be a vampire den. Maybe Talon had been wrong. Maybe the smell was from a backed up septic tank. Not likely but a guy could hope. But the windows . . . there was no sensible reason that he could come up with, short of some terrible George Romero-esk Zombie uprising, that a dining room table would be nailed up across a window. No, there is only one reason for that, to keep the sunlight out.
Jake looked around the room taking in his surroundings. It was an old house with scuffed and scratched hardwood floors, covered sporadically by large dusty rugs. An ancient, stained tan couch sat in the middle of the room in front of an old Magnavox TV with rabbit ears on top. The only thing out of place was a pile of destroyed furniture in the middle of the room that seemed to be made up of what looked like a twisted bed frame, box springs, a mattress, and a shattered dresser. Jake shone the light up at the landing upstairs. The rails were sheared off. Someone had been tossing furniture from the rooms above.
Jake's training kicked back in and he pushed the button on his walkie and whispered into it, "I'm in. Definitely vampires. The windows are all boarded up."
"Copy that. Be careful," John’s voice responded.
Jake began searching for a light switch along the walls. He didn't have to look long, right next to the front door were three switches. He flicked them all up and down. Nothing. Great, he thought to himself, someone forgot to pay the electric bill.
Confident that the immediate area was secure, if just for the moment, he slung his shotgun back around his shoulder and pulled the claw hammer out of the belt.
<
br /> Slowly, making as little noise as was humanly possible Jake pried the boards off the windows, letting in the early morning sunlight. On closer examination Jake discovered many of the boards had black, bloody handprints where someone had hammered the nails in with their bare palms. Not letting himself get distracted, he shook the sudden fear from his shoulders and ripped the dusty yellow curtains from their rods.
Some of the windows hadn't been boarded up but had been painted over with a darkish red paint. Jake ran his gloved finger across one and discovered that it wasn't paint at all, but what looked like human blood. He shuddered in disgust and moved on to the final window that was covered by the large dining room table.
It took a little more effort and a lot more noise than he would have liked but it finally gave way and fell to the floor with a crash. The early morning sunlight streamed through.
Now that the room was filled with as much sunlight as possible, Jake returned the hammer to his belt and began his search.
Keeping The Cleaner tight to his shoulder, he methodically checked every corner, every dark spot, every closet, every nook and cranny where a vampire might hide from the sun. Just as Sgt. Major Castle trained him.
Clearing the living and dining room he next moved into the kitchen. Opening all the cabinets he found only dishes, boxes of stale cereal, and dusty canned goods. He opened the refrigerator to find it fully stocked with rotting leftovers. He picked up a half gallon of clumpy milk and checked the expiration date to find it had gone bad a little over a week ago.
Leaving the kitchen, Jake rechecked the first floor, making sure he hadn’t missed anything. When he was done he sighed with relief. It was completely clean.
He pushed the button on his walkie. "First floor clean. Moving to the second."
"Copy that," John's voice replied.
One down, one to go, Jake thought to himself. Thank god it doesn’t have a basement! He thought back to Billy William’s story of being trapped in a basement with a crazed, perverted vampire. Yeah we definitely don’t need any basements.
C.O.T.V.H. (Book 3): Extermination Page 4
