by Matt Kincade
In her van, parked in a parking lot in town, Jen sat with a laptop on her lap. A radio-controlled device sat on the seat next to her. She answered her phone. “Hey, Alex. How did you sleep?”
“Was a mite cramped,” he answered, stretching his neck. “It was a long night, but it got me inside. That was some good driving, by the way. Nice work. Wish I coulda seen that explosion.”
“That was a little more than pushing a few buttons.”
“Aw, you done great.”
“You could have made it so that damned thing steered a little smoother. I almost ran it into the ditch. So, hey, I just set off the decoy at the back fence. I’m not sure what else I can do for you.”
“You done plenty, girl. Thanks a bunch. Just sit back and let me go to work. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Alex reached into the duffel bag and pulled out a western-style gunbelt made of deeply-oiled, hand-tooled leather, with a low-slung holster and cartridge loops all around its waist.. He strapped the belt low on his hips, dropped his chrome .45 into the holster on the right, then slid his katana into place on his left side. Reaching back into the duffel bag, he came back out with a jury-rigged-looking contraption, a cell-phone wired into a duct-taped package. He pressed it against the side of the gas tanker, and magnets held it in place.
He returned to his bag and retrieved a stubby, matte-black machine gun with a grenade launcher attached below its barrel. He screwed a silencer onto the end of the barrel, cocked the weapon, and peeked out the roll-up door just in time to see a man leave one of the outbuildings with a remote-controlled quadcopter in his hands. He wore dark slacks and a button-up shirt with a tie. The man tossed the craft into the air, and it rose under its own power.
Alex fired twice in rapid succession. The quadcopter fell from the sky; its pilot staggered and fell to the ground an instant later. Alex grabbed a backpack from the duffel bag and sprinted the short distance to the vineyard, where he disappeared into the rows of grapevines.
On the ridgeline, the eight soldiers waited for their target to appear. “I don’t see anything,” one of them said.
“Well, somebody cut the fence,”
The first man whispered over his shoulder, “Luis, you see anything on our six o’clock?” No answer. “Luis?” He turned his head around in time to see Luis cough up a spray of blood and slump over.
“Goddamn it, he’s behind us!” The men scrambled for cover.
Jacob’s voice came over their radios. “He’s in the vines!”
The barren shale slope gave no cover whatsoever. The seven remaining soldiers sprinted for a nearby rock outcropping. Not fast enough. The horribly familiar, hollow thump of a grenade launcher resounded in the air.
“Fuck—”
The grenade detonated, its percussive crack echoing off the hills. Shrapnel tore through the fleeing soldiers. An instant later, Alex opened fire on the survivors with his machine gun. They fell in a bloody mist as bullets ripped through them. He kept firing, raking the corpses with bullets until he was sure they were all dead.
He left his cowboy hat hanging on a grape stake and crawled away on hands and knees. Seconds later, a bullet punched through the hat. Alex watched where the shot came from. “That’s my hat, asshole,” he whispered. He sighted in on the gunman, concealed on the roof of the mansion. Alex pulled the trigger, and the gunman tumbled off the roof.
The vampire hunter swept his rifle sights across the valley, over the grounds of the mansion. From the cover of the grapevines, he fired again and again. Down below him in the valley, Don Carlos’s men fell one by one.
The last intact squad of four men darted across the open ground and took cover behind the maintenance building. Before they could make another dash for the vineyard, Alex dialed a number on his phone. Moments later, the bomb he’d planted on the gas tanker exploded. The building disappeared in a gout of flame and black smoke. Burning gas sprayed onto adjacent buildings. Sheet-metal roofing spun through the air and rained down onto the earth.
Alex set down his rifle and stood up. He walked over to his hat, pulled it off the stake, and examined the damage before seating the Stetson on his head.
He stood there, still as a fence post, peering down toward the valley floor. Beneath the tattered brim of his cowboy hat, his mirrored aviator shades glinted. A breeze kicked up, blowing dust and smoke around his knees, whipping at the cuffs of his jeans. He looked down at the buildings, at that ancient mansion. Somewhere, ancient eyes looked back at him.
The wind gusted. Alex’s unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt billowed like a flag, and his T-shirt pressed tight against his body. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed toward the mansion.
A lone guard popped around the corner of a building, rifle at the ready.
Without breaking stride, Alex raised his own rifle and snapped off a shot.
The guard fell, a red bloom spreading across his chest.
Alex jogged in a half crouch, sighting down the barrel as he went. The ragtag remnants of the Don’s security fell before him. The smart ones ran for the hills. The rest of them died where they stood.
He reached the wrought-iron gate in the wall surrounding the mansion. He had a satchel charge in his backpack, but before he could reach for it, the iron gates swung open. Alex walked through, holding the rifle at the ready.
The mansion’s front doors—great hardwood slabs held together with iron bands—were unlocked and cracked open.
He paused for a second, considering. Then he ran forward and tossed the satchel charge through the enormous wooden doors. He huddled off to the side.
The explosives detonated. The old doors blew off their hinges and tumbled into the driveway. A cloud of plaster dust and smoke billowed out from the doorway.
Raising his rifle, Alex entered the building. The grand foyer was a wreck. Antique tables lay splintered and broken; marble cracked, plaster demolished. The remains of a vase full of roses lay strewn on the marble floor, gaily colored petals of red and white and yellow.
The Don’s vampire limo driver stood hunched in the foyer, dazed, retching and clutching at a foot-long sliver of wood stuck in his throat. He saw Alex and reached for the gun he’d dropped. Alex let go of his rifle, letting it fall back onto its sling. He ran forward and drew his katana. The draw flowed seamlessly into a downward cut, hacking off the vampires’ arms at the elbows. Before the vampire could scream, Alex followed up with a diagonal cut that bisected his head from the top of his right ear to the bottom of his left, leaving a jagged cross-section of his face.
Alex heard the sound of someone cocking a shotgun behind him. He froze.
“Okay, enough of this shit,” Jacob said from behind him. “Drop the sword.”
Alex turned his head the slightest bit.
“Nah-ah,” Jacob said. “Don’t even think about it.”
Alex dropped his sword, raised his hands, and slowly turned around.
Jacob stood, holding a shotgun one-handed, the barrel pointed at Alex’s belly. With the other hand, he lit a cigarette. He put the lighter away. “I’m getting real fucking sick of you,” he said, the cigarette bobbing in his mouth as he spoke.
“Right back atcha, hoss,” said Alex.
Jacob stepped forward, the shotgun rock steady. He stood in front of the doorway, careful to stay out of the sunshine. “The Don wants me to take you alive,” he said. “But I can’t help remembering what happened the last time I tried that. You know, sometimes, you’ve got to do what you know is best, no matter what the boss says. I’m sure he’ll get over it. Because hey,” he shrugged, “accidents happen.” He pulled the trigger. The shotgun boomed
Buckshot hit Alex full in the chest.
The blast knocked him off his feet. He lay on the floor, gasping for breath.
Jacob jacked another round into the shotgun and sauntered over. Black fibers were visible through the new holes in Alex’s shirt. “Oops. Kevlar vest, huh? Didn’t figure you for the type. Still, I bet you felt that one.” He t
rained the shotgun on Alex’s head. “Well, enough of this shit. Good night, asshole.” His finger tightened on the trigger.
Jacob heard a noise and glanced to his left. “Luisa?”
Luisa emerged from the hallway, wearing her blue housekeeper’s dress. She approached Jacob at an unconcerned pace, shuffling on flat, aching feet.
“What the hell do you want?” He kept his eyes on Alex, occasionally glancing back at the woman.
She waddled closer, not making eye contact. Her thick laundress arms hung straight at her sides.
“Goddamn it, Luisa. I’m a little busy here. Get your fat Mexican ass out of here.” Jacob held the shotgun steady, still pointed at Alex.
She reached Jacob and stood for a second, her expression neutral, shoulders rounded.
“What the fuck, you stupid woman?” spat the vampire.
Luisa almost nonchalantly gave Jacob a two-handed shove. He stumbled and fell out the door. Into the sunlight.
He ran, screaming, as fire engulfed him. He dribbled flame down the driveway for twenty feet or so before collapsing into a heap.
Luisa stood and watched him die. Her expression never changed. She reached down and picked up his still-lit cigarette, held it between thumb and forefinger, and took a long drag. “Pinche pendejo,” she muttered.
Alex pulled himself off the floor and stood next to her in the doorway, as they watched Jacob burn. “Muchas gracias.”
Luisa shrugged and blew out a lungful of smoke. “De nada.” She disappeared down the hallway. A moment later she reappeared with eleven teenage girls, trailing behind her like baby ducklings. They all wore the same blue dresses. Luisa said, “Buena suerte, señor,” as she passed by Alex. She went out the front door into the sun, the girls following after.
Alex touched the brim of his hat. “Good luck to you too. Vaya con Dios.” After they were gone, he picked up and sheathed his sword, then took off his sunglasses. He dropped the spent magazine from his rifle, fished out a new one, and rammed it home.
Alex crept through the mansion, searching the rooms as he went, leading around corners with the rifle, checking behind doors and furniture. He worked his way down the hallway, cleared the corners, and finally burst through a set of double doors into a dining room.
And there she was.
Despite everything, the sight of her hit him like a brick in the face. He stood, his rifle sight centered on her forehead, and for the first time since arriving, he felt true panic. His hands began to sweat. The rifle barrel shook.
“Carmen,” he said, finally.
She stood, hands at her side. She wore her hair down, a gloss-black waterfall that reached halfway down her back. She was dressed just like the last time he had seen her: blue jeans, black T-shirt. She looked good. She looked damned good.
“Hey, cowboy.” She stepped forward and opened her arms. He let go of the rifle and stepped up to meet her. She pressed against him. Their lips touched.
She was soft and warm against him, her touch electric. All the old feelings came rushing back. Suddenly nothing else mattered.
He opened his eyes when he felt her lift his pistol out of its holster.
Carmen stepped back and held the pistol level, pointed at his belly. A tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Alex raised his hands with a bitter sneer. “Yeah, everybody’s sorry.”
“Drop the rifle,” she said. He lifted the strap over his head and tossed the rifle aside. “And the little gun in your boot.” He leaned down and pulled out the derringer. She took it from him and slipped it into a pocket. “You can keep the sword.”
“So that’s how it is?” Said Alex. “Guess I shoulda known. Decided to go with your own kind.”
“Mia is alive.”
“What?”
Tears stood in her eyes, but Carmen’s face was resolute. “My sister’s still alive, and she’s here. Don Carlos has her. And I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep her alive.”
After a moment’s silence, Alex nodded. “I’d probably do the same, in your shoes.”
“He wants to see you.”
“Reckon he does.”
He followed her down a tiled hallway, with arched ceilings and walls lined with candle sconces that at one time were more than decorative. They passed a commercial-size kitchen, passed through a storage room, and found a set of stairs leading down into the earth. “This way,” Carmen said. “He’s waiting for you. In the wine cellar.”
The air smelled of damp soil and cooled as they descended the stone staircase. Light was provided by a series of single yellow bulbs linked by a wire that ran along the top of the tunnel. The walls were ancient, crumbling brick.
At the end of the tunnel, they reached an arched doorway with a worn wooden door. Carmen opened it, and Alex followed her through and into the wine cellar.
After the claustrophobia of the tunnel, the space seemed huge. Alex had the sudden brief feeling of being in the cargo hold of some great wooden sailing ship. He imagined for a second he could hear ropes groaning, feel the floor rolling on the swells. Row after row of barrels on wooden racks, stacked three high, stretched to the ceiling. The smell of the place was a heady mix of wine, oak, dust, and tallow. Despite the dim electric lights, candles burned in sconces, casting a shifting yellow light, making the casks seem to dance at the corner of Alex’s eyes.
The floor was hard-packed dirt beneath his feet. Columns of carved stone supported the ceiling, worked by some long dead master craftsman.
“You are here,” said a low, honey-smooth voice from the far end of the cellar.
Alex strained his eyes. He saw the girl first. Unmistakably related to Carmen but scaled down, impossibly delicate. Elfin to Carmen’s Aztec. She could have been a ballerina, given a different life. She trembled. Her eyes were wide with fear.
It took Alex a moment to see the hand on her shoulder. Only then did Don Carlos come into focus. He saw the eyes first; two flickers of reflected firelight, like an animal in the darkness. Then the pale cheekbones, then another hand, the torso only visible by inference.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” said the vampire. He grinned, teeth gleaming in the shadows.
“Well, here I am,” Alex said with a shrug.
“We have taken much from each other, have we not? This place is finished for me. After four hundred years, you have driven me from my home. And I, in turn, have taken from you that which you love. It is time to end this. Are you ready?”
“I’m ready. You wanna fight me, that’s just fine. Let’s do what’s gotta be done.”
Don Carlos smirked. “No. You won’t fight me. You will fight your woman.” He picked up Carmen’s Spanish rapier and tossed it across the room. Carmen caught it one-handed.
Carmen flashed the Don a nervous look. “He’s better than me. I won’t have a chance,” she said.
The Don only grinned.
“Can I at least say good-bye to Mia?”
After a pause, Don Carlos said, “Very well.”
Carmen stepped forward and embraced her sister. “Mia, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t do better for you.” She held the girl’s hands in hers. “You’ll have to take care of yourself now. Just do the best you can.” They hugged again.
Mia stared at her sister and started to respond, but Don Carlos cut her off. “Enough. Fight or I kill her now.”
Carmen approached Alex and unsheathed her sword. Her eyes flicked downwards, then back to Alex’s face.”I’m sorry,” she said. Without any more warning, she lunged and swung the blade at his head. Alex twisted and barely managed to draw his sword in time. He deflected her blade and twisted away, then kicked her to gain precious distance.
They stood for a frozen instant, watching each other. Finally Carmen repeated, “I’m sorry.”
Alex had his killer’s face on. “Yeah, I heard you the first time.”
Carmen lunged again. Alex met her sword with a flowing block and followed up with an overhead strike. Carmen
, off balance from the lunge, barely had time to whip her blade up and avoid being split in half.
Speed against skill. Alex brought a lifetime of training on top of natural ability. Carmen, though less experienced, was blindingly fast enough to make up for it.
All the while, the master vampire stood by, watching and grinning. The ring of clashing steel echoed throughout the basement. Mia huddled in the corner behind him, watching the fight with wide eyes.
Carmen unleashed a flurry of wild blows, and it was all Alex could do to avoid being cut down. He gave ground, inching backward as she advanced.
“It don’t gotta be this way.” Alex breathed hard, his back against a row of wine casks. “You think he’s gonna let Mia live? Or you, for that matter? He’s just playin’ his games. He’s havin’ some fun with us.”
“What choice do I have?” she asked.
“You always got a choice.”
In response, Carmen lunged again, driving her sword at Alex. He ducked to the side, and the blade bit deep into a wine cask. Deep-red vino spilled from the cut, filling the air with the sweet reek of fermented grapes.
Alex spun as he retreated, catching Carmen with a glancing cut on the leg. She cried out and clapped her hand over the wound.
“I’m better’n you, darlin’. Only one way this is gonna end.”
She grimaced. “Then end it already.”
Alex paused, breathing hard, his blade held low.
“What are you waiting for?” Carmen lunged again, following after as he retreated around the corner, down a long dark row of casks. The lights barely reached there, and they clashed in shadow and gloom. Alex still fought defensively, while Carmen charged ahead with blind rage, tears streaming down her cheeks.
She lunged. Alex parried, cut her leg again. She fell. He swung the blade around and sliced her forearm. The sword spun out of her hand and to the ground. Alex kicked it away. He held his sword point at her throat.
“Guess this is it, darlin’,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes and snarled, “Just get it over with.”
Alex hesitated. “Goddamn it…”
“Just do it! Do what you should have done before!”
