by Drew D'Amato
“Men, follow me,” Vlad said.
3
Vlad and the surviving vampires flew through the air looking for any sign of Radu. They did not fly too fast. They wanted to take everything in. The wind broke against their cheeks. Vlad led the V-formation. He was focused, his rage burned brighter than the hall they had just escaped from. Michael and Jericho were the two behind him and Philip and Terrence were behind them in the formation. Vlad noticed three black stretch limos in a row moving down a small road up ahead. Vlad swooped down at them without saying a word to his men. He landed, standing on the roof of the first limo without making a sound. He walked along the top of the limo. The speed did not affect his walking. Gravity did not affect him at night.
Raki popped out of the sunroof of the second limo. He aimed at Vlad who did not notice him. A born sniper he was, he looked through the crosshairs to aim. Vlad’s chest sat right in the middle of them, his heart in his sights. Vlad’s life would end here. He felt his finger squeeze the trigger, but he didn’t get a shot off. Before Raki could shoot he felt a pain in his shoulder. He turned around to shoot back. Jericho hung in the sky above Raki, flying straight at him with his two silver finish Desert Eagles in each hand and a grin on his face. Raki went to shoot Jericho, but Jericho got another shot off, eliminating Raki.
The four other vampires flew along the sides of the two rear limos shooting at the windows to get a look inside. The glass was bulletproof but their bullets were armor-piercing. It took a few shots to break through the glass. Windows from the second and third limos rolled down and guns appeared out of them that shot back. Philip, flying behind, got hit by a shot from the back window of the third limo and started to fall. He dissolved before he hit the ground.
Vlad flew to the front of the first limo. He turned, and flying backwards, shot at the front of the limo with his gold Desert Eagles. He moved with it as the driver tried to shake him. The driver shot in vain with his left hand out the window at Vlad. With the limo swerving neither Vlad nor the driver could get a clean shot. He was able to get the windshield to shatter, but the heart of the driver stayed below the dashboard and Vlad could not get a bullet in there. Vlad shot the front tires of the car, and the sudden change of speed knocked him around. Vlad was able to get a clean shot at his chest. He took him out and the limo came to a complete stop.
The second limo hit the first from behind and the engine of the second flamed right up. The third hit the second from behind, trapping the second between the two at each end. Vlad took U.S. army standard issue grenades from his belt and punched it through the middle window of the first limo and the windows of the second limo—the driver’s carriage and the coach area in the back. Vlad was out of grenades or he would have continued on to the third limo too. As he passed by the third limo, the driver rolled down his window to shoot at Vlad. Vlad was quicker and killed the Raduson with one shot as he passed.
The third limo’s front was now smashed, while the second and first limo both burned. Vlad landed next to Michael, Jericho, and Terrence, all four of their guns pointed at the last limo.
“Anyone in the first and second limos has to be dead,” Michael said.
“Who has a grenade left?” Vlad asked.
“I do,” Terrence said and walked over to the third limo.
He pulled the pin of his grenade, but before he could throw it the window opened and Terrence was shot twice. He dropped the grenade after the first shot hit him in the arm, but it was the second shot that killed him. The grenade was not on his person it did not disappear when he died. Instead it rolled back to the other three vampires. Vlad and Michael jumped back from it, but Jericho ran toward it. He picked it up and threw it through the open window without a millisecond to spare. The grenade exploded inside the limo. All three limos now burned from the inside. No vampire could be alive inside any of them.
“All our heads died tonight,” Michael said.
“Not all, there is still one left,” Jericho said, and got a look at Vlad. Vlad had not taken his eyes off the funeral pyre. Jericho put a hand on Vlad’s shoulder. “You know he might have been in one of them. This could be all over.”
Vlad turned to him. “No, not this easy.”
EIGHT
1
Father Pacami had a lot on his mind lately. Maybe if he were able to talk to someone about it, he would feel better. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized he couldn’t tell anyone what happened that night in the alley near Echo Park without people considering him insane. The story was briefly mentioned in the paper the next morning, but then there was nothing more. The story died like all those men in the alley.
He had read the scriptures in the past few days looking for any passage that could help him explain what had killed those men. Could that creature have been an angel that came down to save his life? What kind of angel would kill the way he did? Twelve men fell to their deaths as if they were made out of paper. From what he saw, the best idea would be that it was a vampire, but that’s impossible—isn’t it?
Pacami sat in his bedroom recliner at the parish. A small modest bedroom, which was the way priests’ lifestyles were supposed to be—modest, and not involving child molestation. That sort of thing disgusted him and the mercy the church showed to the priests who committed this vile sin only turned his stomach more. Still, he became a man of the cloth as a promise to God, not to the hierarchy of the church. Their hypocrisy would not force him to renounce his vows. He still didn’t like the off-color comments he had heard from others, but again, there was nothing he could do but forgive.
Pacami loved the world at eight o’clock in the morning. The morning relaxed him. His small modest bedroom had baby-blue walls, a crucifix that hung over his bed, a recliner in front of his small TV, and a desk in the corner with his personal Bible on it. He had a daily morning routine, which on some days turned out to be the highlight of his day. He relaxed in his recliner while he sipped his European coffee and looked down at his paper.
The news never made Pacami happy. All the misery in the world fit to print. Murders, war, poverty, suffering, and scandals made up the good news. Yet Pacami still searched for anything about the murders outside that bar. Nothing at all was reported. No answers for Pacami.
2
From four o’clock in the morning to noon, Vlad smoked two packs of cigarettes and had not left his office. It had been two days since the meeting. He had been waiting since for a phone call from anyone telling him anything about the whereabouts of Radu. Vlad could not believe that he was dead. He wouldn’t allow himself to believe it. Aside from Vlad and Radu having different powers, they also had different consequences when a head vampire was killed. When Vlad’s heads died all of the vampires he made became human again. So he had been giving orders to men who, a few days before had been vampires, were now humans again. However, when Radu’s heads were killed, the vampires they made actually died. This was an advantage for Vlad. If his heads die, he can make their fledgings vampires again. Radu would lose those men completely. Overall Vlad had more powers than Radu, and the only reason they could both explain this for was since Vlad was the older brother.
Following the logic in the hierarchy of vampires, if Vlad ever died, all of his men would become human again, since all of the heads gained their power from Vlad up in the chain. Conversely, if Radu died, there would be no more Radusons at all. This was his only way to tell if Radu had actually died that night. They can’t find a body to prove his death, but they could prove if he was still alive if just one Raduson was spotted. So he told all the men who were once vampires before to keep their eyes pealed for any sign of a Raduson. No one had found anything so far.
Vlad’s forces were seriously diminished at the meeting. Thirty of his men died, seven of which were head vampires. He only allowed one head in each location, so now he only had two territories with vampires. Los Angeles, and Miami—where the only other head aside from himself, Malachi, lived. Jericho asked him to promote some vam
pires to head status so that they could move to the old locations and replenish the ranks. Any vampire could be made a head vampire—they simply had to make another human a vampire—but if one wasn’t already a master vampire, one could never be a master vampire. They were not made by another vampire, but made by the damned Blood of the Betrayer. Vlad and Radu were the only master vampires. Vlad discouraged the idea of remaking the lost vampires until it was proven that Radu was still alive. If the war was over, he saw no need for more vampires on the Earth.
Vlad spent the last few days conflicted over whether he wanted anyone to find a Raduson. With a found Raduson, he would know the war continued and could prepare his men. Without one, he and his men had to stay in this limbo of never knowing whether they were safe or if their enemy was planning a perfect attack.
He lit up another cigarette. The stress was getting to him. Vlad glanced at the filled ashtray on his desk. He emptied it in the trash pail. He hasn’t been able to sit for more then five minutes in the last few hours. He took turns pacing and looking out the window. Jericho and Michael were busy downstairs talking on the phone with Malachi’s men, giving them different locations in Europe to look for. Vlad told them not to bother him until they had heard something. No one had bothered Vlad since.
He knew if Radu was alive, his brother now had the upper hand.
He had to take his mind off of Radu. He could not accept that it was all over. When a three-hundred year old war ends, it’s hard to relax. Like someone unable to accept a good thing, he just couldn’t believe his life would be without this burden.
He died out his latest cigarette. Someone he had forgotten about in the past few days reappeared in his head. He left his office and went to the garage.
3
Pacami’s turn in the confession booth for the month came up. Hearing confessions did not last long. The people who came in for them tended to be dedicated Catholics—so there were not many of them. He heard people confess about impure thoughts, swearing, lying, cheating, and some forms of violence. Even though during confession the two could not see each other because of the screen between the two booths, people seldom admitted their really bad sins.
Even though anonymous, they still cared about what the priest thought of them. So he sat and listened to what people wanted him to hear and he told them what they wanted to be told.
He told the faithful what to do to be forgiven. Say one Hail Mary and three Our Fathers and all is forgiven. The Catholic Church had no problem wiping away sins. They quieted accusations toward pedophile priests and relocated them to different parishes. They played a role in freeing from Nazis from custody. Who were they to really judge the sins of others? Genocide was not a mortal sin to the Church if the dead believed in another faith. The Church had already set that precedent with the Crusades.
Some priests kept the faith. Father Pacami believed in faith and love but never lost sight on reality and the world. So he listened to the confessions hoping it would make some difference. Today however, his mind was somewhere else. As he heard the confessions he became jealous of the sinners that took turns in the booth. They had the power to confess their darkest sins to darkness. No eye contact, no names used. These sinners, people further out of the light of God than him, enjoyed the idea of feeling forgiven. No one to answer to; just another secret between them and God, and then they asked their God for everything.
Pacami could not do this. Priests must confess one on one, seeing each other, knowing each other’s names. Which of his peers could he talk about the murders to? No one, he would have to take this secret to the grave. He looked at his watch as he sat in his booth waiting for the next sinner to come in. He stared at the opening of the confession booth. Darkness, no light, just a mesh screen so the words can pass through. Someone came in.
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,” the female voice on the other side of the booth began. “I don’t remember when my last confession was.”
“Go on my child,” Father Pacami replied, keeping to the Catholic family name routine.
“I have committed adultery on my husband. It was with his friend.”
“Do you continue to disobey your marital vows?” the father replied.
“Yes, I want to stop but he tells me he loves me. His friend does. He’s just never there for the kids, my husband. He drinks and stays out late.”
“My dear, marriage is a serious oath to take before The Lord. I ask that you do not give up yet on your pledge and try to work it out, but you must stop your adulterous lifestyle. This is a serious sin before God. Your penance is to say seven Our Fathers and to come to church this month. We also offer marriage counseling, which I suggest you and your husband take part in.”
“I can’t tell my husband about the affair. It was his best friend.”
“The truth will set you free.”
“The truth will get me a divorce.”
Pacami exhaled. He was a realist, unlike some priests. He was a man of the cloth, but he believed in evolution and The Big Bang Theory. He knew that if he kept on her to tell her husband of her affair he would lose credibility with her and she would not look into the counseling he was offering. So he decided to meet her halfway.
“Even if you do not tell him about your affair, there are obviously some issues in your marriage you two need to work out for it to last. You are concerned for the well-being of your marriage so I advise you to look into some kind of help.”
“I will Father, thank you,” she said and then left.
A new sinner walked into the booth. No sound of clumsiness came from the other end as the sinner took a knee. It was common, almost definite, that a person would make some kind of noise, the creak of wood or place a foot down too hard when they entered the booth. This new sinner had a bit of smoothness to his entrance. Pacami didn’t actually hear him, he just sensed someone entered.
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been over five hundred years since my last confession.”
Pacami jolted straight up in his chair. He was shocked and a little offended, as any priest should feel after hearing an introduction like that.
“Excuse me, did I hear that right? You said it has been over five…five hundred years? The confessional is not a good place to joke.”
“I didn’t joke, Father Pacami. Who do you think I might be?” The voice on the other side of the screen deepened.
“How did you know it was me?”
“I just needed to smell your sweat. Father, have you been thinking about me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I have answers. I want to talk.”
Was this a joke? Twelve dead men was never joke. Whether this creature was holy or unholy the father had to find out. Holy could be a good thing, unholy made the father wonder how powerful he could be if he was able to visit a church.
“You were the one who saved my life?”
“Yes, my name is Vlad. You have gotten one answer, now I want one. Father, is it all right to kill someone to live?”
“Well ‘thou shall not kill’ is a commandment, a mortal sin. Whenever life can be spared—”
“Father please, do not begin to believe that your life was saved because you are a priest, so please do not speak to me as a priest.”
“What does that mean?”
“My first impression of you is what kept you alive.”
“And what was that?”
“Well, you look like you came from the ‘Italian’ part of town. You were not spoiled and you lived a semi-tough life. You were athletic and attractive, and I’m thinking not a virgin, and I think you were intelligent enough to get into college. So why then did you become a priest? Little boys don’t excite you. You seem to keep yourself above sexual temptation. You are dedicated. This is your role in life, your commitment, and you stick to it. You are disciplined. From the calmness you displayed when the first mugger came at you, you showed you were not one who was easily intimidated or insecure
. You appeared confident in yourself. You really have your faith set in Christ and believe that good conquers evil. This is why you are alive today.”
Pacami tried to match wits. “You, you did not seem evil to me, but you seemed ruthless. Mercy eludes you.”
“You will be amazed at how many lives I spare, daily. Now answer my question because if I hear one more of your failed attempts to try to figure me out, I will lose my merciful streak.”
Pacami paused to answer. He wanted to be sure of what he was going to say.
“I feel with your power we could have escaped from those men and no one had to die, so you did not kill to live.”
“That was not the fucking question!”
Pacami answered fast this time from the hip. Planning his answers was not getting him anywhere.
“Well, the church does not condemn war or the killing in a war. That is not looked to as murder, so yes, if the situation called for it.”
“I do not care what the church thinks. The church thinks two of every creature lived on a boat for forty nights, and that pre-marital sex is wrong. Not a respectable source for morals in life. What do you believe?”
Pacami paused. “Yes, to live it is all right.”
“What is all right?”
“Killing, killing is all right to live.”
