On Distant Shores

by Mark Harritt

  Chapter One

  The sound of bass thudded through the alley. The noise was coming from one of the hottest hip-hop clubs in New York. The main club entrance was on Empire Boulevard, but this alley ran directly behind it. Two large men guarded the back of the club. Both stood over six feet, and massed over two hundred and twenty pounds, none of it fat. One was a light skinned Hispanic, the other an ebony skinned black man. Their breath hung as thick fog in the cold of the night. Both of them wore black leather jackets, jeans, and heavy boots. Glock 9mm pistols were holstered on the right side of their belts, and magazines with extra bullets were holstered on the left. They wore watch caps against the cold. Gloved hands were crossed before them. These two were professionals. It wasn’t the entrance to the club they guarded, though. Instead, they guarded the entrance to catacombs below the building.

  Eli watched steadily, noting the people that went in and out of the catacombs. At current count, there were twelve women, and seven more guards, each as large as the two on the door. He was waiting for someone in particular, though, who hadn’t arrived yet. This was a long time coming. He had tracked this individual for many years, across Europe and South America. The last time he had seen the coven master had been in the jungles along the Amazon.

  Brazil was an assignment he didn’t enjoy. He hated the jungle, and that coven had been extremely brutal. They preyed on street children from different cities across Brazil. Those children were considered throwaways by society, and when they disappeared, the authorities didn’t care. The horrors he had seen when he destroyed the coven would have given a normal man nightmares for the rest of his life. The coven master had gotten away, though, sacrificing the coven to gain his escape.

  It had taken a year for him to track the coven master. Eli knew that the vampire would eventually make a mistake. It was only a matter of time before Eli found him. Now, he had tracked the fiend down. Missing people were often the trail that Eli had to follow. Clusters of activity gave these monsters away. The horror was, that children were a disproportionate representation of the missing that he tracked. It was always the innocent that suffered. The missing child he was looking for was Cynthia Rowland, kidnapped off the street at a park in Brooklyn. Eli was hoping find her before anything happened to her tonight.

  His present business aside, Eli was happy to be in New York. He missed civilization. It had been a few years since he was in NYC, and a long time since he had spent more than a few days in the city. After a few months hunting in New York, he narrowed the area down to Brooklyn and then to this area off of Prospect Park. It was a matter of following the crime statistics. The missing children stuck out from the regular crime in the area like a bruise on the city.

  Eli watched. The hip-hop club was a good setting to hide the activities of the new coven. The master and his coven were able to move unnoticed in the area. There was also a good selection of physically fit males to recruit for the guardians. They were from the area, so they blended in well. Their old gangs were schooled pretty quickly about the dangers of objecting to the new affiliations and activities of their old members.

  After he worked out the location of the coven, he rented this small apartment across the alley from the club. He had been here, on and off for a week, watching their activities. It took a while, but he found the weak link. That weak link was more than willing to give up the coven master’s activities and schedule. The weak link was on his way out to the ocean, the body dropped into the Hudson. Now, Eli watched the alley, drinking a coke. The light in the apartment was turned off to avoid unwanted attention. Lately, Eli was in the apartment twenty four/seven, waiting.

  He hoped that he could take some time off after this mission, take in the sights, and see how much the city had changed. It had been fifty years since he was able to spend time in New York. Now, he flew in for work, and then he flew back out. When he first came to the city, speakeasies, prohibition, and mobsters like Lucky Luciano were the social problems the city had to deal with. Now, new gangsters, more violent than the old ones, were the social blight on the city.

  Tonight was the night though. He knew that from the astrological alignments that were occurring. That and the blood moon tonight. That crap was readily believed by ‘witches’ that it had become standard stock. It was part of the shtick that the master used to lure his mistresses into the ‘coven.’ Foolishly, they thought that the rituals they participated in were some type of Gaian Celtic ritual, not recognizing the demonic nature of the magic, and the damage it did to them as they participated.

  He shifted on the seat, leaning forward. Modern culture had done much to de-stigmatize and legitimize the occult. Most of it was harmless. Sometimes, though, when a man like the coven master was involved, souls hung in the balance, warped by a series of what seemed to be harmless choices that became more dangerous as they continued participating.

  The drugs, the cult, the sense of belonging to something bigger than themselves, led to disaster for these rich, bored Manhattan socialites. They liked the adventure, slumming in Brooklyn. It helped relieve the ennui of their rich, spoiled existences. It was the Manson family, only with a demonic twist. The socialites were sophisticated, though incredibly naïve. They didn’t realize that the child’s sacrifice made them victims as well. Tonight, they had made a conscious decision to give their souls to evil, though they didn’t understand this. To them, there was no good or evil. There was no walking away from this decision. Their path to darkness and damnation was complete.

  A black limousine arrived at the end of the alley. It pulled up far enough for the back door to open onto the alley. The chauffeur ran around the limousine and opened the door. Eli watched the coven master step out. Eli leaned back, pulling away from the window. If he was seen now, the coven master would bolt. Eli would have to start the hunt all over again. It could be a year or more before he found this creature again. Eli studied him, not looking directly at him. He knew the coven master would feel Eli’s gaze, so he used peripheral vision to watch the vampire walk down the alley.

  The vampire was a bearded, olive skinned man, thin, but taller than the two guards at the entrance of the catacombs. Long hair brushed against the fur collar of the long, leather coat that swept the ground as he walked. The coat was open to showcase the expensive clothes and gold chains. Even in the cold, his shirt was unbuttoned, showcasing his muscularity and the masculine, hairy chest. The coven master was all rock’n’roll. He was Morrison, Plant, and Mercury all rolled into one. He had a vibrant sexuality that lured bored socialites. The coven master nodded at his guardians, and walked between them to the door. The door opened, and he disappeared into the catacombs.

  Eli stood up and stretched. He already had the pistol, a Springfield XD, .45 caliber, belted on. He picked up the Keltec shotgun, and shrugged into the harness that it was attached to. He put on his long leather jacket. He turned to the door, and walked out of the apartment. He shut the door, and locked it. He walked down two flights of stairs, and then out the front door to the cold of the night. He breathed in the chill air.

  Eli walked around to the back of the building, through a weed filled side alley that opened on the alley in back. The cold air eddied and trash flew before the wind. He was thankful that it was cold tonight. Ordinarily, there would be prostitutes plying their trade as single men came out of the club, the girls earning money to pay for their drugs. The smell of urine, from men unwilling to wait in long lines inside the club, overpowered the senses on a warm night. Not tonight, thankfully. It was too cold for them to brave the alley. As it was, there would be no innocent bystanders or witnesses.

  He took a deep breath and stepped around the corner. Brownstones and brick buildings framed the alleyway. Eli immediately drew the notice of one of the catacomb guardians. He turned and walked in their direction, waving towards them as he walked. The guardian took the back of his hand and hit the othe
r guardian on the arm, pointing with his chin.

  The man walking towards them was a short man, approximately five foot five inches tall, weighed about one hundred and thirty pounds, looked to be in his mid-forties. He had curly brown hair, and a close cropped beard. He was dressed in a long, brown, leather coat. He had on khaki pants, brown shirt, and brown leather work boots. He walked closer, then waved again at the guardians. “Hey, I think I’m lost. I’m supposed to do an interview with DJ I. Is this the entrance to the Rub? I need to get in before I lose my interview. Here’s my press pass.”

  The guardians relaxed as the man talked. If they had given it thought, they would have realized that his clothes marked him as an outsider, someone who wasn’t in the music business at all. The mention of the press pass allayed their suspicion. They didn’t have time to realize their mistake, though. His hand came forward, and only then did they know.

  They tried to make up for it with a partial shift to their animal forms, relying on instinct instead of training. They were both lycanthropes, the demonic magic inside that had perverted their souls lending power to the shift. Odds were extremely good that both of these men had done some horrific things in their lives to manifest their nature in this way. Not that anything was left. Their souls had been consumed by the evil within.

  They had no chance to complete the shift. Eli shot them both in the chest, at point blank range. The silver in the bullet hit their flesh, shunting the magic from their demonic possession. They screamed as their bodies could no longer process the magic that sustained them. Demonic possession had taken their souls, and replaced it with hellfire. The conduit for the demonic magic was broken. Their bodies could no longer contain the hellfire, and it ate them from the inside out. They perished in a conflagration of energy. The sound of the music from the club drowned out the gunshots and the screaming. Eli stepped back from the ashes drifting slowly on the cold wind blowing down the alley. The smell of sulfur whirled away.

  Frangible was such an interesting word. He loved the way the word felt in his mouth. It filled the mouth, and rolled off the tongue. Eli loved saying it. Silver, while one of the best metals for killing demon spawn and the possessed, was not a very good ballistic metal. It was too hard, and didn’t take the spin imparted from the lands and grooves of the gun barrel. Gold, platinum, and palladium were also good for killing the possessed, but was too expensive to make his special bullets with. All of these metals were too hard to make a good bullet. So, experimentation and modern technology were used to create a silver, frangible bullet.

  Frangible bullets were originally designed to keep bullets from over penetrating. If a sky marshal had to shoot a terrorist, bad things would happen if the bullet penetrated through the terrorist, and then compromised the skin of the aircraft.

  Frangible bullets were made from a powdered metal in a polymer adhesive. He had taken it one step further, and made his frangible bullets with powdered silver. Since the bullets were frangible, they had good ballistics coming out of the barrel, they transferred all the energy of the bullet to the target, and they shattered, spreading fragmented silver and polymer powder through the bullet cavity. It sure beat having to use knives or swords to fight lycanthropes and other nasty demonic creatures. Plus, since a lot of them use pistols and rifles, it evened the score.

  He walked up to the door, and looked for booby traps. After so many years, he understood that a careful man lived much longer. He didn’t see any, and slowly opened the door, looking for other problems. He saw a young man in the room. The young man looked like one of the local Italian kids. He was dressed like the other guardians. He seemed to be human, though. The Italian didn’t notice him immediately, so Eli stepped in and quickly shot him. Eli caught the guy as he was turning to see who had opened the door to let the cold air in.

  There was another man there who didn’t think twice about the guy Eli had just shot, and turned to run down the hallway. He shot him in the back, twice to make sure the thug didn’t get back up. The thug was another human. Evidently there were more people in here than the ones he counted coming in. It didn’t matter, though, human or possessed. Anybody working here was on the wrong side. He had no mixed feelings about what needed to happen. All he had to do was think about Cynthia, and all hesitation vanished.

  He holstered his pistol, and pulled out the Keltec pump shotgun. The shotgun held fifteen shells. These were different than the bullets. Shot didn’t need the spin of the lands and grooves of the barrel for accuracy. The shot was silver. As Eli walked forward, he noticed the small camera mounted just inside the door.

  “Ah well, they know I’m coming,” he thought. He shot the camera. He didn’t want them to know what he as preparing for them. He pulled a flash bang out, pulled the pin, and threw it into the room beyond. He put his hands over his ears. It went off, his hands dropped to his weapon, and he went into the room. There was a guardian, and two more humans. The humans were disoriented by the flash bang. The guardian was caught changing, half way between forms. He shot the lycanthrope first, then finished off the two humans. The lycanthrope burnt to ashes, and the two humans collapsed on the floor, blood pooling from their wounds.

  He stepped around the spreading blood, and walked past to the open door leading downstairs. He looked down. He could see shadows moving, so he knew there were more down there. He didn’t know if they were guardians or humans. It didn’t matter at this point. He pulled out one of his special grenades, the body cast from silver. He pulled the pin and tossed it downstairs. He listened to it ping as it hit concrete. He heard footsteps and yelling as they tried to get away from the grenade. The grenade went off. He ran down the steps to catch anybody that might have survived. Two more guardians were disintegrating, caught by the silver fragmentation. Two humans were dead, and one was dying on the ground. He put a boot on the throat of the dying man, crushed his trachea to help him along, and kept moving forward.

  The architecture changed as he walked forward. He could tell that he was entering a much older area of the city. The newer construction changed, and old bricks, in place for centuries, replaced the concrete. Some of it had crumpled, leaving brick dust mixed with dirt and puddles of water. The air in the passage way grew musty. In this area of the tunnel, roots had broken through some of the brick work. His feet splashed through deeper puddles, stealth compromised by the noise. It was getting darker as the electric lights faded behind him. He turned on the combat flashlights attached to his side arm and his shotgun.

  Right now, violence of action was on his side. Eli knew that if he stopped, it would give them time to prepare for him. He moved forward into the tunnel quickly, watching for traps. A human stepped from an alcove, and Eli shot him. Eli jumped over the body as he continued down the catacomb. A large lupine shape came charging towards him. He shot it, and ran through the flaming ashes. He came to a low room with several tunnels. The tunnels explained how the extra people had gotten in.

  Three lycanthropes in full wolf form charged. He shot one, then two. Ash filled the room as the last one launched at him, grabbing his arm, trying to rip it from his body. The lycanthrope’s teeth ground down on the chainmail under the leather. The lycanthrope was too close to use the shotgun, so he dropped it. It swung down on its strap and smacked against his body. He swept the shotgun aside, pulled his pistol and shot the lycan before it could break his arm. Ash fell like heavy rain in the room. He holstered the pistol. He looked at the sleeve of the leather jacket, mournfully. It was shredded. He really liked that jacket. It was comfortable.

  He felt, more than heard, the growl from the center tunnel. From the gloom a large possessed, half wolf, half man, walked towards him, growling. The face was elongated into a snout, the ears pointed, but the rest of the features were human. Wire like fur covered the body of the lycan. The eyes burned with intensity, a raw pulsating hatred. Eli could see hellfire in the
eyes of this lycan. This was the pack leader.

  Spittle flew from its mouth, the clawed hands flexing, “Face me, human. I’ll rend you limb from limb. I’ll tear your life’s blood from your throat.”

  Eli looked at the intense muscularity of the pack leader. This demon was massive, thirty pounds heavier than the largest of the other guardians. This was a monstrous lycan, truly one of the largest Eli had ever seen. He would have to handle this carefully.

  Eli whistled and said, “Good boy, who’s a good boy. Go ahead, sit, come on now, lay down. Good boy!”

  The beast howled, and ran at him. The muzzle of the shotgun leaped up. Eli pulled the trigger. The pack leader screamed in hatred and frustration as it died, the howl echoing through the tunnels.

  Eli racked the shotgun, chambering another round. He yelled, “Anybody else want a Scooby snack?” There was no answer.

  Three tunnels lay before Eli. He didn’t know which one was the correct one, so he took a guess on the one the pack leader was in. He walked forward through the dim tunnel, footsteps splashing in puddles. The sound, “schru, schru, schru” of metal rubbing on metal echoed down the tunnel as he took time to slide more shells into the shotgun, and replace the magazine in the pistol with a full one.

  He saw a light at the end of the tunnel. It was an open door to a room. The light in the hallway grew as he continued. He walked forward, and stepped through the door. The room looked like it had been pulled out of a Hollywood script. It had skulls. It had candles. It had ancient grimoires. There was a roughhewn table, roughly circular. The table looked like it had been carved from the cross section of an ancient oak tree. It was wide, about ten feet across. Eli wondered how the hell they had gotten it down here. Behind the table was a stone altar. Next to the altar was an ancient, evil blade. Cynthia was lying on the altar. The little girl looked uninjured. Eli played for time. He looked around the room to get an idea of what he was up against, and to let his eyes adjust to the light.

  The vampire stood on the other side of the room, across the table, next to the altar. He looked like an Eastern European rock star, with long hair, unbuttoned silk shirt, hairy chest, gold medallions, blue jeans and cowboy boots. Eli lived through the seventies, but this guy looked like he was still trapped there.

  Eleven women were in the room standing, looking back at Eli. They were all well dressed in different styles. Brunettes, red heads, blondes, they were all different, but they were all exactly the same. They were all . . . hollow. They had no depth. They were superficial. They were bored. The coven was their latest cause to make themselves feel better about themselves and the world they lived in.

  The twelfth woman was busy. The coven master smiled and waved at him. He took the moment to finish with a shudder. The woman, stood and turned to face Eli. The coven master zipped up, then pulled her close to fondle her breasts. She leaned into him. Eli could tell that she was excited by the attention.

  One of the women spoke. A pretty brunette, she was dressed like the rest, though their clothes all represented different designers. Eli wondered what was up with New York’s fascination with black clothes. “This is him? This is the guy that’s been chasing you all over the world? He’s nothing. You should just kill him.”

  Eli heard the emptiness in her. He knew that she craved excitement. She wanted to see his blood. This was a woman that liked to have men compete for her. She probably put her boyfriends in impossible situations in which they had to defend her. Eli smiled at her.

  She was disgusted, “Kill him now, Master, so that we can begin.”

  The shotgun came up, and her eyes grew wide as she took in the size of the hole in the muzzle of the barrel. He shot her. The other women screamed as they lost control of the situation. It was fun for them to kill, not so fun to be killed. Things suddenly became very real for the ‘witches.’ They were no longer bored. Some tried to hide, some ran at him, some tried to run past him. He shot seven with the shotgun, then pulled his Glock and shot the rest. Some pleaded for mercy. When that didn’t work, they died pleading for their master to save them. They quickly figured out that their coven master had no interest in protecting them.

  The master of the coven was laughing maniacally. He pushed the woman he was fondling away so that Eli could get a good shot at her. The coven master looked at the slaughter around him and leaned against the large, round table. He was covered with the splattered blood of his disciples. He pulled pills from his pocket, shook his head, then began talking, “That was precious, the look on their faces when you just started shooting them. I haven’t seen anything that funny in a good, long time.” He looked down at the pills in his hand, and then, as if realizing that he had been a poor host, held them out to Eli, “This is the best X in the city. You want some?”

  Eli shook his head no. He turned the shotgun towards the coven master. The coven master placed his hand on Cynthia’s neck. The nails on his hands became talons, the threat to the girl implied, “Oh, that’s not nice. You’re a guest in my home, and you threaten me? That’s not civilized behavior.”

  “You kill children. I don’t think you should lecture me on civility.”

  The coven master stroked Cynthia’s hair, the talons catching on strays, “I think I’ll lecture you on anything that I want. Besides, that’s not very sporting.”

  Eli stared intently at the coven master, then let the shotgun hang from the strap, “If you want sporting, how about this?”

  He reached into the recesses of his coat, and pulled two ironwood sticks that had been sharpened with points on the end. He knew this demon type. They were vain. Their egos ruled their emotions. Sharpened wooden stakes would play to the ego. It was so Bram Stoker, so Ann Rice.

  The coven master laughed again, amused by the stakes, “Ah, this will be much more fun. Not like the trap you set for me in Brazil. That was so very . . . one sided. There was no sport, no chance.”

  Eli shook his head, “I’m not here for sport. I just want to take care of business. But if it’s sport that you want, how about a wager? Winner takes all.”

  The coven master was intrigued, “What is your wager?”

  “The only thing left to bargain about of course, Cynthia.”

  “Is that her name? You want to bargain for the little girl?” The coven master inhaled her scent, kissed her on the top of the head, and cradled her neck in his hand.

  Eli wasn’t worried about him biting Cynthia. Contrary to modern myth, it took more than a vampire’s bite to turn a victim. The ‘victim’ had to make a willing choice to sacrifice their soul to the vampire. They had to relinquish their souls to darkness. No, he was worried the monster would slice her throat, break her neck, and hurt her.

  “Well, the little girl, and a life, of course.”

  “Hmmm, you’re saying, that if I kill you, I get to keep my snack. If you kill me, then you get to take her with you?”

  “That’s my proposition.”

  The vampire thought about it, then replied, “Well, not much of a wager. I think that’s probably the only option left to us. But, if you put your shotgun and your pistol down on the floor, I won’t hurt her. At least, I won’t hurt her until after I’ve killed you. I just want it to be you, your ‘sticks,’ against me. Nothing else. Deal?”

  The coven master could see Eli struggle with the idea of being almost defenseless against him. To emphasize his point, the coven master kissed the top of the girl’s head again, enjoying the softness of her hair against this lips.

  Eli’s body posture changed as he acquiesced, “Okay. If that’s the deal, then I’ll take it.”

  Eli placed the wooden sticks on the table. He unhooked the shotgun, and laid it on the floor.

  “No, go ahead and pump it so that all of the shells are out of the shotgun.”

  Eli complied, and racked the shotgun until there were no more shells. The shells hit the floor and roll
ed away. He laid the shotgun on the floor. He did the same thing with the pistol. He pulled it from the holster, and hit the magazine release. The magazine slid into his hand. He put the magazine on the floor, and kicked it away. He pulled the slide on the pistol, and a bullet flew through the air, then tumbled as it hit the floor. He placed the pistol on the ground. He picked up the two ironwood Eskrima sticks, and moved away from the table.

  The coven master smiled. He set the girl back down onto the altar. He walked around the table, towards Eli. As the vampire walked towards him, Eli circled away from the door of the room, avoiding the corpses on the floor, drawing the coven master to him. Soon, they were on the sides of the large room, the little girl directly across from the door, the large desk between them and her, four points on a square. Eli hoped this would keep the coven master away from Cynthia.

  “You know, I’m tired of you interrupting my fun. This is the third coven that you’ve destroyed.” As the vampire spoke, his human body fell away, the grotesque figure of the Nosferatu from European legend replacing the swarthy handsome man.

  Eli could tell that it was gathering strength, ready to pounce. Eli took up a good stance, jumped in place on his toes to warm up and stay loose. He was ready for the charge. He knew it would come, sooner than later. The coven master would want to take him quickly, so that it could get back to its fun with Cynthia. Eli attacked and took the advantage away from the monster. The vampire was surprised, falling back as the sticks whirled through the air. The first strikes didn’t land, but Eli had driven the monster further out of line away from Cynthia. He had shifted the monster enough that it had to kill Eli to get to her.

  The vampire retaliated, talons ripping through the air. Eli blocked the blows with the sticks. He moved his head to the side to avoid a backhand strike from the vampire. The first salvo was finished, and Eli danced back out of range of the monster’s talons. The vampire spit at Eli’s eyes, and Eli shifted his head to avoid being blinded. The vampire struck low and hit Eli in the side, but the talons couldn’t get through the chain metal of the leather jacket.

  Eli winced from the blow. The jacket helped, but Eli knew that the blow would have broken a rib if he didn’t have the armor on. The vampire wasn’t a trained fighter, though, and predictable in its movements. The vampire slashed again, and Eli hit the arm from two sides. A loud crack announced the break. The vampire hissed and drew back. Its eyes turned black, and hellfire burst to cover the arm. The arm healed almost instantly, the broken bone knitting quickly.

  Eli settled in, preparing for a long fight. He launched another flurry of blows. The vampire tried to dodge them, but it couldn’t avoid everything. It took the blows on its forearms. Eli knew that he was doing some major damage to the possessed. Hellfire flared, and then flared again as magic was directed to heal the vampire. Eli increased the tempo and intensity of the strikes.

  The vampire began to worry. The sticks presented a defense that it couldn’t get through. This shouldn’t be possible. No human should be able to match it for speed and ferocity. This human matched him strike for strike, though. The damage it was taking was diverting the energy that fed it, and kept it alive. Nothing it did was able to get through after the one hit. It thought that it would be able to kill the human quickly. It had been mistaken.

  Eli was drumming the vampire everywhere now. The hellfire couldn’t keep up. The damage was too great. The vampire snarled, foam spitting from its mouth. It was starting to realize that Eli had set a trap, and the trap was starting to close. Eli had played the vampire like a violin, using its arrogance against it. Now, the sticks beat the vampire like a drum. The strikes rained down on the vampire. It felt one, then the other forearm break. More blows broke ribs. The Eskrima sticks broke the upper arms. Then the unthinkable happened. First one, then the other wooden stake slammed into its chest.

  The vampire froze, and started falling. Eli stepped forward and wrapped an arm around the possessed. He used his strength to keep the monster up. He leaned in and said quietly, whispering into its ear, “I know the damage you’ve caused. I know the pain and suffering you’ve inflicted. I know about the children, screaming as they died. I know about the torture. Don’t think I’m going to make this easy on you.”

  He let the vampire slip to the floor. The vampire couldn’t move, transfixed by the wooden sticks. Eli gently lowered the body to the floor, ensuring that the stakes stayed in place. When the vampire was arranged on the floor, Eli stood over it. He talked as he looked down at his victim, “I could make it easy on you. One bullet, one shotgun shell, and you’d be consumed by hellfire, nothing left but ash. Or, I could use one of these,” Eli pulled twin short swords from sheaths harnessed under the leather coat. They were exquisite works of art. The workmanship of the blades, the hilts, and the engraving proclaiming that they were superior to any other blades in the world. He made sure that the vampire could see them. “These swords are Faith, and Mercy. These would end your suffering immediately. But I’m not in a generous mood. I’m not inclined towards Mercy at all.”

  The vampire was frozen in place. Eli knew that there was nothing it could do. He looked over at the table at Cynthia on the altar. He smiled, and walked around the table. He walked over to the altar, placed his hand on her head, and smiled down at the soft beauty of the girl’s sleeping features. He shrugged out of his coat, and picked her up, wrapping her in the coat. It was cold, and he didn’t want her to suffer in the chill air. Cynthia didn’t move, though her chest rose and fell. He could feel her breath, soft as a butterfly, on his cheek. He used one finger to gently open an eyelid. The pupils were dilated. He frowned. He arranged her on the table so that she would be comfortable. He turned her head from what he was about to do, just in case.

  The blade had caught his eye from the other side of the room. Eli looked at the ancient, wicked thing. It was hideous, created to instill fear in its victims. He wondered how many children had died screaming on its ragged edge. He wondered how many innocent lives had been destroyed by this evil instrument. He picked up the blade, and walked back around the table.

  He squatted down next to the vampire. “So, here we are. And, in a little bit, you’re going to wish you didn’t have those regenerative powers.”

  He couldn’t stay too long, but he carved long enough to do major damage and inflict maximum pain. When he was done, he sawed at the neck. He used the heavy blade to saw at the spine and hack until the head separated from the body. He dropped the knife onto the floor. The loud metallic sound echoed in the room and out into the tunnel. He picked up the head by the greasy locks of hair, and looked into the eyes of the vampire. He knew that the intellect was still in there, peering back out at him. He put the head on the chest of what was left of the vampire’s body. He pulled the ironwood sticks out of the body. Immediately, the body began to heal. He jammed the sticks back down into the chest. The healing stopped. The vampire was still alive. He grabbed the knife, and rammed it down through the top of the head, pinning the head to the chest.

  He stood up, grabbed his weapons and ammunition. He walked over to the girl and gently picked her up. He didn’t know how much or what kind of opiates they put into her, but he didn’t want to wake her. God knows she would probably have nightmares for years after this. He hoped she was young enough that she would forget this night, or dismiss it as a bad dream. He stepped out of the room, and walked up the tunnel about thirty feet. He laid her on the floor. He still had something to take care of, and he wanted to make sure that she was safely out of the way. He rummaged around in his jacket, and pulled out a cylindrical object.

  He walked back to the corpse. He had a US Army thermite hand grenade. He wedged the grenade into the mouth of the vampire, and pulled the pin. As he walked away, the fuse of the grenade caught, and the thermite began burning at five thousand degrees Celsius. He walked out and scooped up Cynthia. He
began jogging down the tunnel to get away from what was turning into a raging inferno. Everything in the brick lined room would be destroyed.

  As he jogged past, he heard the cell phone on one of the corpses ring.

  “I guess his girlfriend is trying to call him,” he thought.

  He kept jogging. Smoke was starting to pollute the air. He passed another body. The previous cell phone stopped ringing, and the one on this corpse began. That one stopped, and the next phone on the next corpse started ringing. This kept happening as he moved through the tunnels and back up to the entrance. He stopped when he got to the first room at the entrance that led into the alley. It was cold out, so he looked, and found a jacket for Cynthia. It had belonged to one of the gangsters that he had killed. This one had been hung from a hook, so no bullet holes or blood on it. He wrapped the girl in it, and put his jacket back on. Another cell phone began ringing. He sighed. It wasn’t going to go away. He walked over to the corpse and rolled it over. He rummaged through the pockets until he found the cell phone. He picked it up, hit ‘answer’, and listened.

  He began talking, his responses punctuated as he listened to the other side of the conversation, “Yeah, I’m done here. What, no, I have to take the girl to the hospital first. I don’t know what kind of drugs they put into her. I just want to make sure she’s safe.” He paused, then continued talking, “What? Who do you want me to meet? Are you kidding me? You know I spend most of my time cleaning up after her, right.” There was another pause as he listened, “What, why? Good God. Okay, okay, I’ll watch my language.” There was another, longer pause, “Yes, I’ll meet her, but I’m not happy about it. Where and when?”

  The conversation finished. He hit end, then dialed 911, and reported the fire. He threw the phone back down on the corpse. He picked the girl up, wrapped the jacket tightly around her to keep the cold wind at bay. He stepped into the alley and walked into the night, the rhythm of hip-hop music punctuating the timing of his steps.

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