Emma stopped in her tracks. “Who the hell are all these people?”
The cars parked here, there and everywhere. It was all haphazard. Car doors burst open and guys and girls ranging in age from about fourteen to twenty starting filing out and heading towards the entrance to the hall. The two security guards came together, their big frames effectively forming a bit of a wall between the door and the advancing crowd.
Chelsea said, “Gatecrashers.”
The rebels started yelling abuse at the men on the door. Wondering what the ruckus was about, people from within the hall began coming out to see what was going on.
“Let us in or we force our way in,” one of the youths threatened the guards. He swayed as he stood there and was obviously drunk.
“Take your friends and get the hell out of here before I call the police!” the Maori guard warned. His advice, however, fell on deaf ears.
Some of the youths, mostly the guys in the group, started to push their way past the guards and on into the hall. Invited guests from within were still coming out at the same time and it didn’t take long before scuffles broke out.
“I think you needed a lot more security,” Chelsea said to Emma a moment before her friend strode purposefully towards the entrance. Not one to back away from a confrontation herself, Chelsea followed Emma into the melee.
From just inside the doorway, Chelsea heard Emma’s father demand, “What’s going on? Who the hell are you?”
“Fuck you, old man,” someone rudely responded.
Both security guards and several of Chelsea’s male school friends were by now engaged in fist fights and wrestling matches. In no time there was blood everywhere; on the ground, covering clothing, gushing from facial wounds. In the confusion people seemed to lose track of who they were even fighting against. Chelsea saw John throw a punch at one of his school mates by accident; a totally reactionary response when he was bumped into. The Maori guard knocked out one of the bigger intruders with one punch square to the face. Blood exploded from a shattered nose and the guy dropped to the ground amid a throng of feet stomping all around him and over him.
Emma was thrashing about with some feral girl. The girl had a hold of a clump of Emma’s hair with one hand while swinging punches at Emma’s face with the other. When a second girl came in and attacked Emma from behind, Chelsea rushed to her aid and landed a blow on the second girl’s cheek. The intruder staggered backwards, tripped on something and toppled over.
Someone slammed into the back of Chelsea then and she went flying into a group of guys fighting nearby. A punch hit her in the temple and she immediately saw stars. Her hair was seized from behind. Chelsea wrenched free, losing a clump of hair in the process, and turned on her attacker. To her surprise it was a male of about sixteen, his eyes dilated and scattered-looking, like he was on speed or ice or something. He was about to strike her a blow to the face when Travis came from nowhere, grabbed him from behind, flipped him upside down and speared him into the bitumen head first. Travis then hauled the girl away from Emma. Another feral entered the fray. Travis easily dodged a swinging arm, drove a shoulder into the youth’s ribs and sent him flying through the air, where he landed on one of the parked cars. The car’s alarm system was triggered and started to screech and wail, adding to the confusion and decadence of it all.
Travis spent the next few minutes going after every intruder he could lay his hands on, subduing them and dispelling them with relative ease.
When the sounds of approaching sirens could be heard, many of the gatecrashers fled. The car park was a congested hive of rumbling engines and squealing tyres. Others ditched the cars and made a run for it. The stubborn ones stuck around and continued to cause trouble.
Chelsea, a little battered and bruised herself, put her arms around Emma. She was bleeding heavily from cuts to the face and Chelsea managed to get her inside where she dabbed at the blood with a pile of napkins.
At least five patrol cars showed up, and two ambulances arrived a few minutes later. Arrests were made and ambulance officers treated the wounded that remained.
All the while Chelsea searched for Travis, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Eighteen
Michael realized now he’d made a mistake by hunting in town. He’d drawn too much heat and it was risky for him to go back there. He wasn’t so much afraid of being caught, but more concerned about being exposed for what he really was. From now on he would be forced to be more discreet.
He thought he spied something down on the ground some fifty feet below, so he swooped down and landed on the dirt with a thud, his boots kicking up small clouds of dust.
It was only a wombat.
Tonight he’d decided he might make a return to animal feeding, just until the heat died down a bit. It wasn’t his preference, would much rather feast on a human, but maybe it was the wise course of action for now. It would be hard, though. He now had the taste for human blood again and was craving some badly.
But even though he was targeting an animal right now, a wombat was never his meal of choice. He preferred kangaroo. The blood was much richer and the supply a lot more plentiful than that of a wombat’s.
He eyed the wombat a moment as it slowly walked away from him into the forest. Strangely it didn’t seem afraid of him. Maybe it sensed it wasn’t in any danger.
Michael stayed on the ground for now to hunt. He crept as silently as he could through the woods, using his superior eyesight to guide his way, keeping his ultra-keen ears open to alert him to any sounds, near or far, that might give away the presence of a kangaroo. It had been four nights since his last feed and he was ravenous. The more he fed, the more his appetite became insatiable. He was fighting hard to keep it in check. If he went on a killing spree, the heat on him would quickly rise to boiling point.
It was very, very hard to do, though. The lust for human blood was virtually all-consuming now. For the most part he could think of nothing else.
He’d enjoyed his game with the old man four nights ago, but his blood had been a bit thin and not totally satisfying. The young woman’s, though, had been totally divine. She had been a sumptuous meal, healthy and fresh. He wanted to dine on more like her. And he would, in time.
Michael scanned the forest as he moved slowly between the trees and around the undergrowth. A large lizard scurried out of his path and rattled its way through dead leaves, desperate to conceal itself.
Don’t worry, lizard, he thought. I’m not after you.
After walking a few more metres, he paused to listen.
Thud...Thud...Thud. Silence. Thud...Thud...Thud...Thud.
Michael homed in on the direction of the sound. It had definitely been a kangaroo and a good-sized one, judging by the loudness of the thuds. He swept stealthily through the woods, keeping his eyes and ears open. The beast was obviously stationary at the moment, for he heard no more indications of movement.
Again he paused to listen and heard a faint chewing sound. The kangaroo was close by, he realized, just behind a thicket of bushes only a few metres away. It was feeding on leaves.
Moving in a crouch, the vampire rounded the thicket and came eye to eye with a Big Red. The animal stopped mid chew and stared at the intruder, sizing him up.
And then it was off, bounding powerfully away from Michael through the woods. He gave chase, sidestepping obstacles as he went. With his superior speed he caught up to it in no time and latched onto the beast from behind. It hopped madly and thrashed its small head from side to side. Michael buried his fangs into its neck and quickly sucked the life out of it. The kangaroo trembled, bounded awkwardly for a few more paces, then crashed to the ground and lay still. It was dead.
Michael got off it and stood up. He dusted the dirt from his black clothing and wiped the blood from his chin. He took a deep breath of the fresh night air and stared up at the full moon.
That meal was good, but it wasn’t nearly sufficient. He really needed human blood.
* * *
>
Ryan was up watching late night TV in the living room when Chelsea arrived home in the early hours of the morning. He turned and saw cotton wadding taped to her forehead, scratches on her cheeks, bruises on her face and arms and blood on her jeans. There may have been blood on her top as well, but it was harder to tell when it was red anyway.
He leaped out of his seat. “What the hell happened to you?”
He came over to her and lightly touched her face. Chelsea pulled away from him.
“I’m all right!” she snapped.
“What happened?” he asked again.
“A bunch of people gatecrashed Emma’s party. It ended up in a brawl.”
“Was anyone else hurt?”
“That’s a really dumb question, Ryan. It was an all-in brawl. Of course other people were hurt.”
It had been a stupid question, he realized.
He asked, “Is Emma okay?”
“About the same as me,” Chelsea said, her tone softening just a little. “Wasn’t a great way to celebrate her eighteenth, though.”
“How did the gatecrashers find out about the party?”
“We don’t know. Someone must have texted them or something. A few of them got arrested. There were cops everywhere in the end, but most of the losers got away. One of them was taken to hospital with a fractured skull. Serves him right.”
Ryan shook his head. He never understood why some people only sought entertainment in ruining things for others. It sucked, but it was a way of life that was becoming more and more prevalent all the time.
Chelsea stood there thinking. “I was having a good time up until that point.” Ryan wrapped his arms around her. She didn’t immediately pull away. “I’m going to take a shower and go to bed,” she said.
Ryan let her go and watched her disappear into her room. As much as she seemed to hate him sometimes, he loved her. She was his little sister.
* * *
Once again Michael was airborne, searching for a lone target of the human variety. Several bats flew beside him and together they were birds of prey. The full moon cast its subtle light onto the ground below, creating spectral images out of the trees. A road flashed by beneath him, and then he was flying over forest once more.
This kind of remote hunting was interesting in its own way, but he would prefer to be in a club picking up a hot girl, having his way with her sexually, then feeding on her blood to top off a great night.
More bats joined him until they formed a V around him. Michael no longer felt like their company, so he hissed loudly and sent them flying off in all directions. Alone again, he hovered over some parkland to the west of Nerang. Just maybe some bum was asleep on a park bench or something?
He dropped to the ground and did a pirouette. All he saw was grass and trees. No potential food sources. With a breeze blowing his dark hair back from his face, he started combing the park on foot, panning his head left to right.
Michael felt buoyed by an air of superiority that always surrounded him and emanated from within. He was untouchable. Who or what was going to challenge a vampire of his abilities? Nothing on planet earth. He was lord of the jungle, king of his domain. Compared to every other living creature he was like a god, and he loved the sensation of absolute power that knowledge instilled in him.
Still, he preferred being anonymous and didn’t want to advertise his presence. Being apprehended by the police, even though he could easily escape, wasn’t a good idea. The prospect of being endlessly hunted wasn’t one that really fit into his free-and-easy lifestyle. No, far better to remain a mystery; a creature of the night that swooped in, claimed its prey, then disappeared back into the darkness like it was never there.
As he rounded a grove of trees he saw someone lying on the ground beneath a willow tree. The figure was curled up in a blanket despite the warmth of late spring in the air. The person wasn’t moving and Michael assumed they were asleep, or drunk, or both. As he neared the figure he saw it was a man with majorly unkept hair and beard. Not the tastiest looking morsel he’d ever seen by a long stretch. Lying on the grass beside him was an empty bottle of port.
Michael stood there for some time just staring down at the forlorn, slumbering figure of the drunken homeless man. Such a waste of life. Michael would be doing the guy a favour by ending his life tonight. Obviously he had nothing to live for.
He grinned sadistically in the darkness then, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight, the fangs already starting to protrude. He’d momentarily surprised himself just now. He’d actually felt some semblance of compassion for the man he was about to kill.
“Interesting,” he whispered and dropped to his knees. The guy stirred, but didn’t awaken as Michael tugged back the blanket to expose his hairy, greasy throat. The man reeked of body odour. “Hmm.”
Michael bent down and latched onto the homeless man’s throat. The guy was so drunk he never even woke up. The vampire knelt there, hunched over his victim until he’d bled him dry. When he was done he wiped his mouth clean on the blanket, then tilted his face skyward, where the moon painted his pale skin silver. He breathed deeply of the night air, looked back down at the dead man, then scooped him up into his arms, blanket and all. He glanced all around and saw no one. He was all alone. No one knew he was there. No one would miss the homeless bum he now held. Get rid of him where he’ll never be found and no one will ever know.
He rose into the sky and flew out west, where the forest was thicker and uninhabitable for miles around. There he buried the body in a natural ditch, covered it with dirt and rocks and fallen logs.
This kill would always remain a secret.
Nineteen
Sunday morning was cloudy and windy. Ryan was trying to read the paper out on the balcony, but the annoying wind kept blowing the pages about. In the end he took it into his bedroom and spread it out on the bed. He perused the sport’s pages first, then spent a few minutes going over the finance pages, figuring he needed all the help he could get when it came to that subject. Finally he turned to the news section at the front, read a little about the upcoming council elections, a fatal shark attack in South Australia, and a short filler piece about the brawl at the Broadbeach Community Hall on Friday night. It failed to tell him anything he hadn’t already heard from Chelsea. An update to a news piece from last week caught his attention.
Ryan read through the piece on the Amanda Simms murder, learning that the cause of death had been due to a mysterious loss of blood. Authorities were unable to pinpoint the exact cause of the blood loss as there were no apparent life-threatening injuries to the victim’s body. Amanda would be buried on Wednesday.
Interesting, Ryan thought.
He put the newspaper aside and sat down at his desk, where he started rummaging through a never-ending pile of bills. First one, car registration, due in two weeks. Next, power bill, due in four days. Phone bill, due last Friday. He’d meant to pay that one already with Selena’s money, but had forgotten. Credit card statement, minimum payment due by the end of the week. One day he’d get that card paid off and never use it again. Sounded like an early New Year’s resolution.
With a sigh, Ryan placed the bills in order of due-by date, with the phone bill top of the list. He then checked his mobile, making sure he hadn’t missed a call from Selena Thorne. It had now been three days since he’d seen her and had yet to hear anything regarding this new job she had for him. He not only really needed the cash, he was also intrigued as to exactly what it might entail. He had no other jobs on the books as yet and things were looking rather grim work wise.
Surely he would hear from her soon.
* * *
Emma had a gash on her face that had been sealed together with surgical glue. There was a dark patch of purple below her left eye. Scratches covered her cheeks and neck and there was even a large bruise on her right shoulder.
“We must look really glamorous,” Chelsea commented.
They were sitting outside a popular takeaway shop that ove
rlooked the beach. Each had a Coke in front of them and the remnants of hamburgers.
“Happy birthday to me,” Emma said and smiled a smile that looked more like a grimace.
“Have you heard any more about John?”
Emma nodded and sipped from her straw. “I spoke to his dad this morning. He’s got a fractured left hand.”
Chelsea made a face. “That sucks. What about your dad? I saw him into it.”
“His right eye’s a bit puffy. Mum ended up knocking out the guy that hit him.”
This bit of news brought a grin to Chelsea’s face. “Good on her.”
“Thankfully the police had the sense not to charge anyone from the party. We were all just defending ourselves. Maybe Mum and Dad should have hired about twenty security guys? Those two we had did pretty good, though.”
Chelsea nodded. “So did Travis.”
“Did he? I didn’t see.”
“Yeah,” Chelsea was adamant. “He cleaned up about ten of them all on his own. He was like Superman or something.”
Emma looked dubious. “He’s a bit skinny to be that strong, isn’t he?”
Chelsea shrugged. “Well, he was. I saw him. Do you know what happened to him?” Emma shook her head. “When the cops came he disappeared. I don’t know how to get in touch with him.”
“Didn’t you get his phone number, or give him yours?”
“No.” Chelsea felt like kicking herself. Why didn’t they exchange numbers? “Somehow we just didn’t get around to it. We probably would have by the end of the night if the fight hadn’t happened. Stupid bogans.”
“So, you seem pretty keen on Travis,” Emma said.
“Yeah, there’s just something about him I really like. I really wanna see him again. Maybe John has his phone number?”
“I’ll text him.” Emma got out her phone. After sending the text she sat back with a satisfied smile. “I kinda like helping play cupid.”
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