C.O.T.V.H. (Book 3): Extermination

by Dustin J. Palmer

  With The Cleaner in hand Jake walked ever so carefully up the creaking staircase. The closer he got to the top the stronger the smell became. He had to will himself not to throw up his bacon sandwich breakfast.

  At the top of the stairs was a landing overlooking the living room with two doors at each end and two running along the wall. He opened the door directly in front of him to find a closet filled with musty blankets and boxes of old Christmas decorations.

  As he approached the second door he began to hear a loud buzzing sound. He slowly turned the knob and discovered the source of the smell. It was a bathroom. An old claw-foot tub was hidden behind a bloody white shower curtain. He pulled it back to find six naked bodies, wedged tightly together, hanging by their feet. Their throats and wrists were slashed wide open and coagulated blood was oozing into the tub beneath. The blood was clotted, giving it a sick chunky look, almost like some twisted cherry Jello. Thousands of flies circled above it.

  Jake’s stomach churned violently and he couldn't hold back any longer. Dropping caution to the wind Jake ran out of the demonic butcher shop, dropped The Cleaner to the floor, and ripped the bandana off his face then puked over the edge of the landing into the living room below. Unable to help himself he looked back into the room at the fly covered bodies, the faces drawn in terrible screams. Only vacant holes remained where their eyes once sat, he turned and again wretched over the rail.

  This was the worst den he had ever heard of. To his knowledge, no vampire had ever collected remains like this. It was unheard of. A vampire, even a grunt, would feed, draining or turning their victims then dispose of the remains. The scene before him was unprecedented.

  Wiping his mouth with his hand and pulling the bandana back over his nose and mouth, Jake took two steps down the stairs. The fear in his chest was near panic level. Everything in him was driving him to run away as fast as he could, screaming like a mad man. The training hadn’t even come close to preparing him for something like this.

  Grandpa and Dad will understand won't they? I'm only seventeen . . . eighteen years old! Training or no training people aren't supposed to do this kind of stuff! I can't do this! I just can’t! He took two more steps down the stairs. Tears of both shame and fear stung at his eyes. What was I thinking?! He gripped the rails tightly in a white knuckled grip. He wanted to scream to the heavens. To curse a God that would allow such monstrosities to exist. Suddenly, above the pounding of his heart and the screaming in his head he began to hear something else. Crying.

  The fear subsided as something else took over. Something buried deep down inside that always seemed to come out when he needed it most. He didn’t know if it was courage or anger or just plain stupidity. But in the end it didn’t really matter. It helped get the job done, and when it came down to it that’s all that really mattered.

  He ground his teeth and in two steps was back up the stairs. He picked The Cleaner up off the floor and pulled it to his shoulder then followed the crying to one of the last two doors. This is it! It’s all or nothing! With one swift kick the cheap particleboard door collapsed under his heavy boot.

  Taking a step forward he scanned the light around the room until his headlamp shone across the faces of two very scared, very dirty little girls crouched down between a queen size bed and the wall. They covered their faces as the light shone across it. The youngest looked to be no more than five or six and was dressed in a dirty white night gown. She clutched a teddy bear close to her chest. The older girl was about ten and had dirty blond hair. My god . . . survivors!

  The older girl pulled the younger closer as Jake stepped into the room. "It's going to be all right," he said in a gentle voice. "I'm here to help you." Taking several steps forward he reached out with his left hand causing them both to withdraw even further into the corner. Realizing how scary he must look to two already traumatized little girls, he reached up and yanked the red bandana from his face and pulled off the safety glasses. "It's okay,” he said gently. “My name is Jake. I'm not going to hurt you." He knelt down to their eye level, "What are your names?"

  The oldest spoke up, barely whispering, “My name is Pearl and this . . . this is my sister Anna."

  "It's nice to meet you,” Jake said carefully. “Now listen, I'm going to get you out of here. Just take my hand and I promise everything will be okay."

  Pearl pulled her sister back into the corner, "No! There's a monster out there! It killed Mom and Daddy! Daddy said there are no such things as monsters,” she shook her head from left to right, “He was wrong."

  Man you said it kid. "It's okay, I won't let anything hurt you, but we've got to get you out of this house. If we don't, the monster will find you."

  Hesitantly, she reached up and took his outstretched hand. Her small hand shook uncontrollably in his loose grip. Poor thing is in shock. Leaning The Cleaner against the wall, he reached over and pulled a blanket off the bed and wrapped them both up in it. He picked The Cleaner back up and with both girls in tow headed back toward the stairs.

  Jake's terror was completely gone. He'd been so selfish thinking only of himself, of his fears, his doubts. These poor, defenseless little girls put it all into perspective. This is why his family did what they did. It wasn’t for the money, it wasn’t for the glory, they did it because someone had to fight back the darkness. Someone had to protect those that couldn’t protect themselves.

  "Stay behind me," he told them as they moved slowly down the hall. Not wanting them to see the carnage inside the bathroom he pulled the door closed. The girls followed closely, the blanket wrapped around them to where only their dirty faces could be seen. The oldest continued to hold tightly to her little sister. From the room furthest from the stairs something big started moving across the floor causing the floorboards to creak loudly. The door opened a crack and a pair of red eyes peaked out at Jake then just as quickly disappeared.

  Jake pulled The Cleaner to his shoulder covering the doorway. "Go. Get downstairs and get out of the house," he said, no longer afraid of being heard. “You will be safe outside.”

  "Please don't leave us," the oldest cried out, pulling frantically at his arm.

  "You can't stay with me," he said, gently pulling away, his eyes never leaving the door.

  "Please!" the youngest started to cry, grabbing hold of his leg.

  "All right, but you have to stay back. Do you understand? I've got to take care of whatever is in that room so that it never hurts anyone's mommy or daddy ever again. Okay?"

  The oldest nodded. Jake looked around and spotted the closet with the Christmas decorations. Clearing out some boxes he made enough room for the girls to sit.

  "Keep quiet and don't move,” Jake said sternly. “If anything happens to me I want you both to run as fast as you can and get out into the sunlight. These things can't go out in the sun. My dad and grandpa are outside, they will take care of you. Do you understand?"

  With terrified, vacant stares they both nodded yes.

  Jake closed the door and headed back down the hall. He grimaced as the walkie squawked loudly with static. Jake could just barely make out Cort’s voice asking if he was okay. Reaching up he turned the volume down without answering. If I don’t answer or hit the emergency signal in the next thirty minutes they’ll come looking for me. Better make this quick then.

  Taking two deep breaths to calm his nerves, he stepped toward the bedroom door and pushed it open with the barrel of his gun then scanned the pitch black room with his headlamp. Thirty minutes . . . It appeared to be completely empty of furniture.

  The lair, I’ve got you now you piece of shit. Jake took a step into the room then heard Sgt. Major Castle’s voice echo through his head, Never follow a bloodsucker into its lair. Draw it out. Make it come to you. Only go in if you absolutely must.’

  Jake stepped back and aimed his gun at the doorway. “Hey,” he said his voice breaking. He cleared his throat. “HEY!” he said this time with a lot more gusto. “Hey Bloodsucker! Soups on! Come and g
et it!” Nothing. The room remained completely still.

  “Here boy! Here boy!” he taunted. “I know you’re in there! Come out and play!” Again nothing. Unsheathing the machete a couple of inches Jake ran his thumb across the razor sharp blade, drawing a tiny cut. Squeezing it with his index finger, he flicked the blood toward the open door splattering tiny droplets on the floor and wall. “It tastes as good as it smells!”

  No response. “What’s wrong?” Jake stepped closer to the door. “Maker got your tongue? Or are you too much of a chicken shit coward? It’s easy when it’s a bunch of innocent farmers, why don’t you try for a little bigger game?”

  Jake stepped even closer to where his head just barely peeked into the room. “That’s right suckhead! It’s Jake Bishop! You know who I am y . . . SHIT!” Jake yelled out as something hit him from behind knocking him headfirst into the room. The Cleaner flew from his grasp as he stumbled to the floor. His hard hat skidded across the hardwood floor, coming to a stop on the opposite side of the room. Two of his greatest weapons were now out of his reach. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! he chided himself, leaping to his feet and drawing his revolver.

  The door slammed shut leaving him in nearly complete darkness. The only light came from the hardhat sitting upside down on the hardwood floor. Jake let out a gasp as a giant shadow moved across the beam of light then crushed it out of existence.

  A deep heavy breathing filled the cave like darkness. A sound Jake had heard before, many years ago when his father’s friend Marty White had been turned. Then it came. An inhuman growl so loud and vial it sent Jake's entire body to shaking. His adrenaline immediately began pumping into overdrive. “BISHOOOOOP!” the beast roared. “BISHOOOOOOOP!”

  Jake’s years of training kicked in and before his mind even realized it, he'd pulled his Maglite and emptied all six shots from his revolver into the first moving shape the light came across.

  Blood splattered his safety goggles and a loud cry of pain came from the creature. He dropped the empty pistol where he stood and grabbed Judgment off his back one handed, swinging it with all his might just in the nick of time. The axe bit deep, too deep. As the beast pulled away it took the axe with it.

  Jake cursed inwardly but didn’t panic. Without missing a beat he yanked the machete from its sheath, thankful his dad had talked him into taking it.

  The flashlight’s beam shone on nothing but scuffed floors and bare walls. "Damn it where are you!?" he yelled in frustration. He swung around with the machete held high, prepared for the next attack. Hey dumbass! Why didn’t you just shoot out the windows? Shut up! Jake argued with himself trying to fight back the oncoming panic. Where the hell were you two minutes ago?!

  Inch by inch Jake eased across the room making his way toward where he imagined the door to be until his foot hit something on the ground. Jake looked down to see the most beautiful sight in the world, The Cleaner. Just as he reached for it, the heavy grunt landed on his back knocking him to the ground. The flashlight flew from his hand as a razor sharp pair fangs tore at the coif protecting his neck.

  The monster chomped down violently, but the thick chain mail held. His own axe, still lodged in the grunt’s chest, dug deep into his armored back. Jake stabbed relentlessly with his machete, cutting and stabbing deep into the monster’s side and legs. The monster shifted its weight sending the machete flying across the room.

  Son of a bitch weighs a goddamn ton! Its entire weight pressed down upon Jake crushing him into the floorboards. “ARGGGHHHH!!” Jake screamed as the axe blade dug deeper into him. It couldn’t penetrate the thick Kevlar/body suit but it still hurt like hell. “NOOOO!” he pushed up with all of his might and just barely managed to roll onto his back. He grabbed the beast’s thick neck with his left hand and the axe handle with his right. The grunt’s fanged jaws snapped at him. Thick saliva oozed from its open mouth, covering his safety glasses.

  Unable to free his axe Jake desperately reached into his belt, trying to find anything he could to use as a weapon. His right hand fell on one of the stakes. He pulled it free and drove it deep into the creature’s left cheek. It snarled in pain. Grabbing the claw hammer, Jake hit the stake right on the head, driving it through the creature’s jaw and sending broken teeth flying into his face. The grunt cried out and rose to its feet pulling at the piece of steel lodged in its face.

  Jake, still on his back, grabbed the 10gauge with both hands and rose to his knees. He heard the monster charge again. In his haste he fired from the hip, the heavy recoil knocked him off balance but the shot rang true, stopping the charge. Regaining his balance, Jake cocked the lever on the gun ejecting the shell and pulled it tight to his shoulder. He crawled back as far as he could against the wall and scanned the room. Again it was nowhere to be seen.

  The windows dumbass! SHOOT. THE. WINDOWS! The voice in his head screamed relentlessly. Taking aim he sent buckshot through the covered windows, shattering them and filling the room with warm sunlight. The creature screamed out in agony. The smell of burnt flesh and ash filled the room. Bloodied, burning, with Jake’s axe still lodged in its chest, and an eight-inch steel stake in its face, the creature dropped from the ceiling at Jake’s feet.

  Jake reacted without hesitation and fired point blank. Its head split apart from the nose up like a melon, splattering blood and brain matter across the floor and walls. Jake cocked the lever and fired into its body again and again until all he heard was the click of an empty gun. With shaking hands he fed shells into the gun from his vest. He pointed it at the grunt’s chest pulling the trigger one more time. It lay rasping in a large pool of black blood. Bits of skull poked up through its split head. It was already starting to slowly regenerate.

  Picking the hammer off the ground and a steel stake from his belt, he put the stake up against the grunt’s chest, took two quick breaths, and hammered as hard as he could.

  It was like hammering into concrete but Jake didn't stop until he couldn't see the top of the stake anymore. The head of the hammer dripped with dark black blood.

  The rasping dissipated and the head stopped coming back together. Jake stared down at the half charred, nearly unrecognizable remains of a large African American man. He must have weighed around 350 pounds and was clothed in a tattered white undershirt and a pair of ripped blue jeans. Except for the long claws protruding from his fingers and toes, he looked human.

  Jake couldn't help but feel a momentary bit of sadness for him. To be trapped in something so horrific. He couldn't think of a worse kind of hell. At least now you’re free.

  Now to get to the nitty gritty, he sighed. He put one foot on the vampire’s chest and with a grunt yanked the axe free. Reaching into his belt he felt around for his pliers but noticed they weren't there. He scanned the room where he had come in and found them lying in a large pool of blood. Picking them up, he walked back over to the dead vampire.

  Leaning down on both knees, he grabbed a hold of one of its fangs in the pliers grip and pulled. He rocked it back and forth as hard as he could until finally it came free. In a minutes time he had two bloodied fangs lying in his gloved hand. Dropping them into a tiny bag on his belt Jake stood up, took a deep breath, threw Judgment over his shoulder and chopped two good whacks, blood splattered across his gloves and vest. The broken head came free and rolled onto its side.

  Jake, unable to look at it for another second, picked up the head, knocked out the rest of the glass in the shattered window, and tossed it into the waiting sunlight. It burst into bright blue flames, leaving a trail of fire on the wooden shingles and scattering at least a dozen buzzards into the sky.

  Exhausted, he dropped to the floor in the corner. It was finally over. He had done it. It had been close, he’d screwed up more times than he could count but in the end he had killed a vampire. Reaching up he pulled the walkie free from its place at his shoulder and pushed the button, "It's over. Come up."

  Chapter 3

  Jake

  Outside Patricia, TX

 
September 10, 9:40am

  John and Cort’s footsteps echoed up the staircase and down the hallway.

  "I'm in here, Dad." Jake called out to him from his spot in the corner.

  John and Cort opened the door, their eyes instantly coming to rest on the headless vampire in the middle of the room. John's eyes found Jake's and he smiled. "You did it kid! I knew you had it in you!"

  Cort walked over and prodded the dead body with his steel-toe boot then whistled through his teeth. “Damn boy! You sure killed the hell out this one!” he laughed heartily. “Take a look at this big sucke . . .” he stopped, his eyes focusing on the vampire’s body. “You know if I didn’t know better . . .” he knelt down and looked at the grunt’s belt. "My god," he said stumbling backward as if slapped.

  "What is it Pop?" John said walking over and looking at the body.

  "John . . . that's . . . that’s Billy . . . I think . . . that’s Billy Williams."

  "What?" Jake said climbing to his feet. "What do you mean that’s Billy? That's . . . that’s impossible, Billy's in Hometown. Isn't he?” He looked from John to Cort searching their faces for signs that this was a really bad, really tasteless joke. “Isn't he!?"

  "I . . . I . . . don’t know,” John said examining the grunt’s belt buckle. “I . . . I think he might be right . . . there's only one belt buckle in the world like that."

  Jake's eyes stared at the large golden bull riding championship belt buckle on the dead man's belt. It was riddled with buckshot and coated in blood but there was no denying it. Jake had seen that buckle a thousand times. It was Billy’s. His stomach dropped along with his legs. He hit the floor hard on his knees.

  "My god, Dad. I . . . I . . . just . . . I just killed Billy!” Jake covered his mouth with his hand. “I just cut his . . ."