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

by Dustin J. Palmer

  “She’s made her mistakes too as I recall,” Cat said wiping the wound clean. “Tank Russell for one. I always knew there was something off about that man. The bastard is here tonight as a matter of fact. Him and his bunch of dirtbag Slayers.”

  "The Slayers? Great," Jake groaned, "I’m guessing Bloody Wes and Buck are here too? Just what we need, the worlds biggest assholes staying at the same place as us."

  Cort scowled, "If I so much as see Wes Turner I’ll gut him like a fish. What the hell is he doing here, Cat?!”

  “Cort Bishop, this is my house and you will abide by my rules,” Cat frowned. “If not you can find someplace else to sleep. I won’t have any problems between my ‘guests’”

  “You’d kick me out to house that murdering son of a bitch!?” Cort exclaimed.

  “Grandpa . . . please,” Jake groaned, leaning his head back against the headboard. “Please, just once don’t make any waves.”

  Cort spit some tobacco juice into a trashcan near the table. "Yeah fine, whatever,” he grumbled. “I’ll play nice with Wes Turner, but if he gets in my way, I won’t hesitate to end him. Do you hear me, Cat? You tell Wes to steer clear of me and Jake.”

  “I hear you Cort. But you hear me too. I don’t make idle threats. Cross me and I will put you out on your ass.”

  Cort grumbled something under his breath then yanked the chair from under the doorknob and headed back outside, slamming the door behind him.

  “I’m glad we understand each other,” Cat said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry sweetie,” she said to Jake. “I won’t be putting you out on your ass.”

  “Thanks,” Jake groaned. “I appreciate that.”

  Suddenly there was a quick rap at the door. Cat opened it to Chris who held a large paper bag in his hands.

  "Gracias Chris. Just set it on the table," Cat said, returning to her work.

  Chris looked around nervously. His eyes grew huge when he realized it was Jake lying on the bed. "Jake!” he stammered. “Man, you look . . . you look terrible. What the hell happened to you?"

  "Hey Chris," Jake said glad to see one of his best friends. "I'm all right. Guess my first hunt didn't go so well."

  “Man, I’ll say, the last time I saw you look this bad was when El Diablo ran your ass into the ground and you got pneumonia. So seriously bro, what happened?”

  Jake told Chris the story about what had happened. Sometimes Jake forgot that Billy was his grandfather too. When he was done Chris had to sit down. “Wait?” he said with tears rolling freely down his cheeks. “What was Grandpa doing away from Hometown? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I’ve been wondering the same thing,” Jake answered. “When was the last time you talked to him?”

  Chris pushed his glasses up then rubbed the bridge of his nose. “About six days ago. He sounded terrible, but he never said anything about leaving Hometown.”

  “I got a message on the machine from Amber two days ago and she said Billy had left, so he’s been gone at most four or five days.” Jake rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So it wasn’t Billy feeding on the locals. It was Pearl and Anna, making it appear to be a grunt. Talon was right, they set up a perfect trap and we walked right into it.”

  Cat began pulling medical supplies out of the bag, bandages, tape, a fresh bag of fluids, and an empty syringe. “All right Jake, I’ve got your bandages changed so tell me the truth now, how's your pain? No macho crap."

  "Yeah well, to be honest the pain meds I took earlier must be wearing off," Jake said, gritting his teeth. "Feels like my whole chest is on fire."

  "I'll give you something to help you sleep okay?" she hooked up the bag of IV fluids then pulled one of the syringes out and filled it with some type of clear liquid. “Did Pam explain to you how dangerous your situation is?”

  "Yeah," Jake said, “she explained it all pretty well.”

  “Just fight it, Jake. With everything you’ve got. Fight it.”

  "If you need anything buddy just let me know," Chris said, turning and walking toward the door.

  “You don’t hate me . . .” Jake said slowly, “for killing Billy?”

  “No,” Chris shook his head vehemently, "you did what Grandpa would have wanted you to do. He loved you Jake, you were as much of a grandson to him as I am. He wouldn’t want to be like that, trapped, screaming on the inside. You set him free.”

  “Thanks,” Jake closed his eyes tightly. “That means more than you know.”

  “I'm really sorry about John. He and dad were like brothers.” Chris looked across the parking lot, “I don't know what I'd do if something happened to my dad. Get some sleep, Jake. I’ll see you first thing in the morning."

  "Thanks Chris. I appreciate it man."

  Chris nodded and walked out of the room shutting the door behind him. A second later Cort came back inside and tossed a bag filled with dirty paper towels into the small trashcan in the bathroom. “Truck’s clean!” he exclaimed loudly then mumbled something under his breath.

  "Will we be okay here?” Jake asked. “You seem nervous, even more so than usual."

  "You'll be just fine," Cat answered for him. "Tonight we've got over twenty hunters staying here. Nothing is getting through these boys."

  "That's good," Jake said, feeling the pain returning to the back of his head. “Cat . . .” he tried to get out. The pain became blinding, like a knife shoved into the base of his skull. He screamed out then began to have a seizure.

  “Hold him down, Cort!” Cat yelled grabbing a hold of both of Jake’s arms.

  Cort leaned all of his weight on his grandson holding him to the bed.

  Jake shook violently, a thick white froth erupted from between his lips. After a few minutes the seizure subsided and Jake fell still.

  “Dammit Cort,” Cat said checking his pulse with her stethoscope, “it’s too late. I hate to say it but the venom has done too much damage. If he’s having seizures . . . it’s just a matter of time now.”

  “I’m not giving up on him!” Cort said staring daggers at her. “I already lost one son today. I’m not losing another one. There’s got to be more we can do, antibiotics . . . something.”

  “Cort . . . there’s nothing you can do for him,” she said sadly. “It’s in his brain . . . look I don’t like it anymore than you do, but you need to deal with the fact that you are going to have to let him go.”

  “I can’t do that,” Cort shook his head slowly from side to side. “This can’t be it, it just can’t!”

  “There’s just nothing else we can do for him.”

  “There is one thing,” Cort said, his eyes frantically moving back and forth. “You said Russell was here?”

  “Yeah in room two with Diez,” Cat answered. “But what’s he got to do with anything?”

  “The guy is an addict, Cat. I’ve seen that much in his eyes. If anyone has what I need, it he will.”

  “Cort you can’t mean what I think you mean,” Cat said her eyes wide with shock.

  “I can’t let him die, Cat,” Cort said opening the door and stepping outside.

  Chapter 8

  Cort

  Lonesome Heart, NM

  September 10, 2001 11:52am

  Cort’s size twelve boot crunched heavily on the dry gravel parking lot. I can’t do this, he thought to himself. I promised myself never again, not after what happened to Wesley.

  It was a secret he and Billy had promised to take to their graves. No one else knew, not John, or Ben, or even Talon, who had been there that fateful day.

  Nearly five years after Tommy Turner’s death, Wes had decided to tag along on one of their hunts. No one had noticed him hiding under a stack of blankets in the back of Billy’s old Rambler station wagon.

  In the middle of the hunt he suddenly appeared. The Maker they had been hunting for three weeks, an old Indian woman that had once been good friends with Talon, had pounced on the opportunity and taken him hostage. She’d ripped a terrible gash across the young boy’s back
before they were able to put a crossbow bolt through her dark heart.

  Wes had fought the poison for nearly twelve hours before it became clear he wasn’t going to make it. His body was just too young and the amount of venom in his system was too much. As a last ditch effort Cort suggested a radical idea, one that he would come to regret for the rest of his life.

  No one had tried it in over a hundred years. Most Hunters simply dismissed it as folklore or too dangerous to even try. But Cort, knowing they had no other option, had made the suggestion that they try it. With Billy’s help, he injected grunts blood directly into Wesley’s bloodstream. The young boy had tossed and convulsed for nearly ten minutes before his wound completely healed itself without a trace of scar tissue. But it had come at a terrible cost.

  Until that day Wes had been an average kid, but after what they’d done, what they’d told themselves they had to do, he’d changed forever. He had become colder, meaner, more cruel, in many ways he had become downright evil.

  Cort had always believed that a large part of Wesley’s soul had died that day. The boy they’d loved as one of their own sons changed before their very eyes. As the years went by other hunters had taken the initiative themselves and began using the blood as a type of drug. Turned out it was extremely addictive and the affects could often be unpredictable.

  Jake is older than Wes was, Cort tried to rationalize his decision. He’ll be able to fight its effects better. He’s got to! I can’t lose them both . . . I won’t.

  With a terrible feeling of dread settling into his stomach, he knocked on the green door with a tarnished brass number two screwed into it.

  “Who the hell is it?” A tired voice yelled from inside.

  Cort beat again, this time more forcefully.

  “There better be a truckload of hookers with a mountain of coke outside that door, otherwise someone is about to get his ass shot off!”

  “Open the damn door, Russell!” Cort said pounding even harder.

  “Who in the hell is that?” Another voice that could only be Adam Diez asked.

  “How should I know?” Russell responded. “Who’s there?” he asked. Cort could hear the unmistakable sound of a round being jacked into a shotgun’s chamber.

  “It’s Cort Bishop,” Cort answered leaning his arm against the wall for support. I’m so damn tired. Lord I can’t remember ever being so tired . . .

  “Cort Bishop?” Russell exclaimed.

  “You heard me, Russell, open the door, we need to talk and I don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Holy shit,” Diez whispered loudly. “What do you think he wants?”

  “What am I, a psychic?” Russell replied. “What do you want, Bishop?”

  “Open the door!” Cort pounded harder.

  Russell, clad only in a pair of ripped boxers opened the door shoving a pump action shotgun into Cort’s face. His chest and arms were covered in tattoos of nude women. “Cort you old fart!” he said with mock fervor. “My god it’s been forever!”

  “Get that gun out of my face,” Cort took a step back his own hand resting on the grip of his pistol.

  “Not a chance in hell,” Russell said, never losing his smile. “Go ahead and pull, I’d love nothing more than to scatter your brains all over the stucco. I owe you Bishops a few.”

  “Do it Tank!” Diez, a much shorter man with a buzz cut said. He stood just behind Russell, with an AK-47 aimed at Cort’s head. “Shoot the uppity old shit.”

  “I promised Cat I wouldn’t cause any trouble,” Cort said between clenched teeth.

  “Aww, my little Pussy Cat doesn’t want me to get hurt. Isn’t that sweet? She was here earlier, you know? Spent the better part of an hour with both Diez and myself. We had a good ole time, didn’t we Adam?”

  “Sure did, Tank.” Diez smiled brightly. “She sure is a tasty little bitch. Almost as tasty as Williams’ little whore. Wouldn’t you say Tank?”

  It took everything Cort had not to kill Russell right then and there. He had little doubt he could pull and shoot Russell between the eyes before a bullet from Diez’s rifle tore into him. Instead he focused entirely on Jake. His grandson would die if he couldn’t pull this off. “I just need some blood,” Cort said, not taking the bait.

  “Blood? What blood?” Russell asked, playing dumb.

  “You know damn well what I’m talking about,” Cort ground his teeth.

  Russell laid the shotgun over his shoulder. “So I hear your son got himself turned into a grunt! That true?”

  “The blood. I need some.”

  “Well all right then! Let’s see here, I think I’ve got a couple of vials around. Say fifty grand a vial.”

  “Fine,” Cort said without hesitating.

  “Wait a second Tank, this is the special stock,” Diez said. “Remember?”

  “That’s right!” Russell said slapping his forehead. “It’s two hundred grand a vial.”

  Cort moved six inches to the left putting Tank between himself and Diez and drew his pistol putting the barrel squarely against the bigger man’s forehead. “One more word, one more syllable, and I pull the trigger. You don’t want to screw with me right now Tank. Not now, not ever again. Diez, get me what I need or I decorate your face with your boyfriend’s skull.”

  Tank swallowed, his eyes filling with fear. Without hesitation he dropped his shotgun. “Come on Cort, we’re just having a little fun.” Diez said nervously, moving to get a better bead on Cort.

  “Take one more step, Diez, I dare you.” Cort cocked the hammer back. The cold press of steel against the back of his neck stopped him in his tracks. “Lower the weapon,” Wes Turner’s voice said without a speck of emotion. “Slowly.”

  Cort did as he was told holstering it on his hip. “Out of respect for the friendship John and I once held I’m letting you go. But bother us again, Bishop and I won’t be so forgiving. Go back to your grandson.”

  “Wes,” Cort pleaded, “I need that blood. I’ll pay whatever you want, I’ve got nearly six million saved up, I can get you every dime of it soon as the banks open, but I need that blood tonight or Jake’s going to die.”

  “Six million!” Tank exclaimed rubbing his tattooed hands together. “Oh man this is going to be a haul!”

  “Shut up Tank!” Turner yelled. “You don’t want to do that, Cort,” he said coldly. “Now. I won’t say it again. Go back to your grandson. Make your peace, say your goodbyes then act like a man and let him go.”

  Cort backed up slowly keeping his hands at his sides. Turner kept his sawed off pointed at him until he was back inside their room. It was a bad idea anyway, Cort reasoned, putting the chair back against the door. The last thing I want is for Jake to end up as one of those sons of bitches.

  Jake lay where he’d left him, his skin pale as death, his brow covered with sweat.

  With tears in her eyes, Cat embraced him in a hug. “Say your goodbyes. It won’t be long now.”

  Cort nodded, biting hard on his lower lip. “I’ll be in the office if you need me,” she said patting him gently on the back. “I have to call, Ben and tell him . . . well, tell him everything. Cort . . . I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah . . .” Cort muttered, “So am I.”

  Chapter 9

  Jake

  Lonesome Heart, NM

  September 11, 2001 2:27am

  A loud boom of thunder followed by a sharp crash of lightning snapped Jake out of his feverish slumber. He opened his eyes, screaming, "DAD!" It took him a minute to remember where he was.

  The nightmares had been especially bad. This time he'd been chasing his dad down a long hallway, only to find Pearl waiting for him at the end, her fingers interlaced with his dad's. Donnie’s rotted corpse and Billy’s beheaded body stood behind them both. They were calling to him silently, beckoning him to follow. What scared him most was that he actually felt himself being drawn to them.

  His entire body was drenched in sweat. He lifted his hand to wipe the sweat dripping into his eyes and had
a very hard time even doing that. So this is what it feels like to die . . . not so bad really. He closed his eyes again. It would be so easy just to let go . . . just cross over into . . . whatever is after this. Maybe I’ll even see Mom again and Donnie, Billy, maybe even Dad. It would be so easy. Then his eyes fell on Cort snoring loudly in a chair against the wall and his father’s words came back to him. “Someone has got to stay home and keep an eye on your Grandpa.”

  He glanced over at the alarm clock to see what time it was but was rewarded with a constant blinking red twelve. Cort grumbled in his sleep, his hands clutching The Cleaner tightly in his grip. He muttered something in his sleep, not opening his eyes. It sounded a lot like “Please . . .”

  The thunder seemed to grow much closer. Jake's eyes opened wide. A little too loud almost like . . . The loud thump, thump, thump above him grew louder and closer. Footsteps!

  It dawned on him then that there was no second story to this motel and surely no one in their right mind would be on the roof this time of night, in this type of weather. He tried to rise out of the bed when Cort's voice spoke out in a very tired voice. "Damn it boy go back to bed."

  Jake looked over to see his grandfather’s eyes trained on the cracked popcorn ceiling. He put a wrinkled index finger up to his lips making a shhhhh gesture. He'd heard. He just didn't want whatever was walking above to know he'd heard.

  Without moving his eyes Cort nodded at the nightstand next to Jake. With what little strength he could muster, Jake reached over and opened the drawer with a loud squeak. Inside, next to a scarred black leather bound bible, was a well oiled .45 Peacemaker. Jake slid the gun out then spun the chamber, making sure it was loaded. He cocked the hammer back cringing at the loud click.

  The ceiling gave a tremendous crack before a hole opened and a man crashed to the floor between the Bishop men. Outside intense screaming suddenly eclipsed the rain and thunder, followed by the sudden repetitive boom of a half dozen shotguns being fired at once as well as the rat-a-tat-tat of machine gun fire. Extremely bright floodlights sprang to life in the parking lot and streamed in through the dirty rain streaked windows.