“You can’t just grab something of someone else’s and say it’s yours. That’s not how the world works!”
“It is round ‘ere!” the youth sneered. “Now beat it, you lanky streak of piss.”
Brian sniffed.
“Fine. If that’s how it works, then so be it.”
He raised his other hand. A tearing krrrccchhh of parting fabric, the youth’s knock-off Adidas trousers flying through the air to land in his hand, leaving the youth standing, his bottom half bare bar his white y-fronts.
“The fuck? Give them back!”
“Finders keepers,” Brian laughed.
“I’m fourteen, you paedo! Right lads; get ‘im!”
As one, the group of five youths sprinted towards him, four of them hoisting their skateboards like weapons, and Brian gulped. What did he do now? He couldn’t beat up a bunch of kids, that would make him the bad guy in all this. But surely they deserved to be taught a lesson? With a grin, he reached into the Camaro, rifling through the huge leather bag and selecting something with a nod of satisfaction.
The youths were only a dozen yards away and closing fast by the time he aimed and fired.
The bola launcher, all brass pipes and whirring green lenses, erupted with a hiss of steam as the cord and two weights shot from the end. A whistle of parting air as the rope hit the lead chav, knocking him backwards into his friends, the weights wrapping round and round the little group, the rope tightening and drawing them closer and closer together. Finally, the sounds of those whirling weights died, the group now bound and helpless in a huddle of teenage shock.
“We’ll get out of this,” the lead oik snarled. “And we’ll find you. And we’ll beat the shit out of you.”
“Really?” Brian drawled, his eyes scanning about. There, a tall building nearby, what looked like a community centre, all shuttered windows and flat roof, perfect for what he had in mind. With a smile, he drew near the little group, placing a hand on the teen’s bony shoulder. “Hold your breath.”
A puff of black smoke, and the group vanished, only to reappear on the roof of the building. The youths gawped like fishes, staring about all confused as Brian backed away, laughing. The wind was freezing up here. Good. Would serve them right, if they caught a cold.
“I’m sure if you shout loud enough,” he told the stunned teens, “then someone will send the fire brigade to rescue you.”
And with that, he glanced down to the Camaro sat patiently by the block of garages, and Blinked once more, alone this time, back to the ground. As the youths shouted and hurled obscenities from where they were bound atop the building, Brian set about dragging the surfboard back into Bertha’s boot. He’d been delayed enough already this morning and best get going. Hopefully he still had time to get to the competition before it started.
He didn’t want to miss the inevitable first course.
Chapter Fourteen:
Surf’s Up
“You’re late.”
“I know. Has it started yet?”
“Nope.” The tweed-suited functionary with his clipboard glanced up, ready to look down his nose in disdain at the late-comer. Lifting his eyes further and seeing that might prove difficult, he instead snorted through his huge, bristly walrus moustache. “You’ve got five minutes to get ready. Name?”
“Helsing.”
“What kind of a name is that?”
“What kind of facial hair is that?”
“I can easily cross you off this list, you know. One pencil stroke and you never even showed up at all.”
“Fine. And it’s German.”
“You don’t sound German.”
“And you don’t sound like a WW2 RAF Wing Commander, but there we go, what a crazy world it is we live in. Now where can I get changed?”
“Over there,” the man pointed with his clipboard towards a makeshift shed. “And hurry up about it. If you’re not on the beach by the time the whistle blows, you’ll be disqualified.”
Brian nodded and sprinted, board under one arm, towards the shack. Most of the other surfers were already standing on the beach, pacing up and down, stretching themselves out, boards embedded in the sand beside them. Each looked cool, calm, confident and experienced. The polar opposite, in fact, to how Brian was feeling as he tried to squeeze himself into the wetsuit. Finally, he managed to get all arms and legs in at once, but when he stood up the ankles rose most the way up to his knees. Not surprising, he thought with a sigh, but no time now to find a larger size. He grabbed his board and raced towards the beach to join the other surfers standing there on edge of the cold, briny deep.
“Five minutes left!” clipboard shouted.
Brian frowned and turned his way, shouting in reply.
“You said it was five minutes, five minutes ago!”
Clipboard simply smiled and walked off, leaving Brian to fume at being made to rush like an idiot for no reason at all. He had half a mind to point any hungry Nymphs that showed up in the man’s direction, but even they’d probably be put off by the moustache. It looked like it would tickle on the way down. A surfer, all tanned with long blond dreadlocks and a rippling physique, swaggered over, eyeing Brian and his strange board.
“You new to the competition?” he asked. “Didn’t see you last year.”
“Yeah, my first time,” Brian replied, holding out his hand in greeting. “Brian.”
The surfer chuckled, completely ignoring the outstretched hand.
“Good luck, Newbie. You’re gonna need it. Oh, and a friendly word of advice.” He leaned in closer, narrowing his eyes and talking low and hushed. “Watch out for the sharks.”
Sharks? Ye gods, man, there’s worse than sharks in there, he wanted to tell him. As the man sauntered back towards his own board, sniggering, Brian was once again struck by the thought that maybe he was wasting his time here. Thus far, the surfing community seemed to be comprised mostly of douchebags and he was certain the world wouldn’t miss a few of those. But then a fresh voice from behind him. A voice he didn’t think he’d ever be hearing again.
“Didn’t think you’d really be going through with it. You must be truly as crazy as everyone says.”
Brian turned, his heart stopping in his chest, to see Scylla strolling towards him across the sand, clad in a wetsuit herself, with a board under one arm.
“I… erm… hi. Didn’t expect to see you here. Or, well, ever again, for that matter.”
She stopped and stared at him for a few moments, before her impassive face broke into a smile.
“No, neither did I. I shouldn’t be here, I should be somewhere far away. You’re Helsing; enemy to all of my kind.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To stop my sisters.”
“Wait, so you’re siding with your supposed mortal enemy over your own sisters? That doesn’t make any sense.”
Before she could even reply, Clipboard shouted out from behind them.
“Contenders; the competition starts in three, two, one.”
And with that, he blew the whistle, the surfers on either side of the pair sprinting forwards on strong legs, before diving headlong into the sea atop their boards.
“We’ll talk in the sea,” Scylla told him, nodding towards the water. “Follow me; if you want to stop people from dying, then we’ll need to keep them close.”
With that, she took off, leaving Brian to follow in her wake. It was only after several yards that he stopped, and turned back, remembering this time to grab his board.
“Yeah. You might need that,” Clipboard grunted through his moustache, as the judges at their bench sat and stared at him as though he were an idiot.
Brian felt like one too as he sprinted along the beach towards the sea; he didn’t have a clue how to surf, only knowing which end of his board was which thanks to the missile pods at the front and the jets at the back. He watched Scylla up ahead throw her board into the sea and launch herself onto it, paddling gracefully out onto the waves.
&nbs
p; “Just copy her,” came a familiar ghostly voice in his ear. “And once you’re out there, the ring will take control.”
Brian did as XII instructed, throwing his board onto the waves and diving on top of it. Oh buggery-balls it was cold! This was a bad idea, he thought, as he paddled his way after the Nymph, arms after only seconds feeling like blocks of wood, and choking on salty spray, as all the while he could feel his privates trying their damndest to clamber back inside his body for warmth. People actually did this for fun, he thought? After what felt like an eternity, he’d managed to paddle alongside Scylla, who now floated on top of her board with all the ease that befitted a creature born to the waves. Other surfers, too, floated not too far away, all their eyes fixed out to sea, waiting for the next big waves that they might ride. None, as of yet, were forthcoming, which was good, for Brian had questions on his mind.
“Why are you helping me?” he asked.
Scylla shrugged, no small feat considering she was holding on the board with both hands, rendering it less a shrug and more a horizontal movement of her entire body.
“I’ve never eaten meat,” she told him. “And so I never used to venture onto land with my sisters, during the lean winter months when people didn’t come out into the sea. But then one day I followed them, found myself at the club. And then I started to realise that humans weren’t just cattle like my sisters had always said. But real people, just like us, with feelings and shit. And the more I spent time with your kind, the more fond of you I grew. Heads up; first wave coming in.”
Even as Brian pondered the meaning of the Nymph’s words, a huge swell came towards him. As if driven by some instinct not his own, he found himself turning about and clambering up onto the board, precariously standing on his feet. How he knew to do this, he didn’t know, though he suspected the ring and XII had something of an influence, but despite whatever muscle-memory had been imparted, they were still his muscles and woefully unused to keeping him balanced on the board as the wave began to push him further and faster back towards the shore. Luckily, a thumb of a button on the remote on his wrist, and the sudden feeling of suction under his bare feet, holding him fast, helped assuage his fear of being washed overboard.
“You’re not bad,” Scylla shouted from her own board, as the pair, along with all the other surfers, rode the wave. “For a rank amateur.”
After only a few moments, the momentum of the wave had dissipated, causing them to all slow, most of the surfers jumping back off their boards and paddling once more out to sea. Brian made to do the same, but simply wobbled left and right like a weeble, always ending upright again, before thumbing the remote once more with a sigh. His feet now released, he jumped from the board and into the icy water, grabbing his board and turning back out to sea. Scylla drifted alongside him, watching him with amusement.
“What’s the point of this, again?” Brian asked her. “We just seem to be paddling out and then being washed back in.”
“Yes,” she replied. “But you’re supposed to do it with style.”
“I’m not known for my style,” he replied.
“No, but I was. Now get back out there, or they’ll disqualify you.”
With a sigh of exasperation, spitting salt-water from his mouth, Brian began to kick back out once more, the Nymph easily keeping pace beside him.
“So you’ve grown fond of humanity?” he continued as they kicked. “I can understand that. But why would you help me kill your sisters? They’re family.”
She shook her head.
“I call all Nymphs my sisters. We’re not related, not directly. They’re just the friends from my shoal.”
“Hah,” Brian laughed. “Shoal-mates.”
“And anyway,” she said, ignoring his awful pun. “I’m not going to help you kill them; just keep these idiot surfers safe till my sisters give up.”
“Give up? But they need to feed, right?”
“They can eat fish.”
“Then why the hell are they eating humans?” he gasped, face shocked.
“Because you taste nice, or so I hear.”
“I’ll have to take your word for that,” he gulped. “And anyway, how are we supposed to keep your sisters at bay without killing them?”
“No idea,” she shrugged, waiting for the next wave to come in. “Never had to do it before. But I’ve got the mighty Helsing with me. I saw you fight Cassandra. No-one fights her and lives. But you did.”
“How do you know her?”
“Everyone knows her. She’s one of the oldest vampires going, one of the strongest too. If you hadn’t been there last night, I would have ended up sushi.”
“If I hadn’t been there, neither would Cassandra. And you wouldn’t have been in harm’s way.”
“Well, yeah. True. Anyway, how did you manage to beat her? Even I’m not that strong.”
“I wouldn’t call kicking her once, and her vanishing, beating her.”
“It looked like- heads up, another wave.”
Once more a great swell had the audacity to arrive and interrupt their moist conversation. Together, they climbed upon their boards again. This wave was higher, faster than the first, and again Brian was glad for the board’s sucky feet-pads as he wobbled to and fro atop the foam. Finally, this fresh wave used up, they jumped back into the sea and started paddling out again.
“Shit,” Scylla suddenly whispered.
Brian took a break from inhaling seawater, just long enough to follow her gaze; there, down in the depths of the water, dark and sinuous shapes could be seen, circling the suddenly wary surfers.
“Sharks!” came the cry from one of the lunatic sportsman, and the group went into a frothing panic, paddling to try to get back to land. But even without Scylla’s knowing stare, Brian knew that these shapes were no mere fish; the shadows beneath the surface began to swim closer and closer, revealing the outlines of limbs, long, slender and entirely un-shark-like. Nervous anticipation made Brian thumb a button on his remote, the missile flaps at the fore of his bobbing board opening and the dart-like projectiles edging out, ready and waiting.
“What the fuck are those?” Scylla asked, catching sight of the protruding shapes.
“Guided missiles,” he replied.
“Missiles?” She opened and closed her mouth, as if struggling to frame her words. “Right, firstly, I said no killing of my sisters. And secondly, you’re going to fire missiles right next to the people you’re trying to save?”
“Oh,” Brian said as the penny dropped. “Yeah, maybe not a good idea, come to think of it.”
“Sisters!” Scylla had climbed high atop her board now, waving her hands. “Please stop this; there’s no need for bloodshed today!”
One of the shapes drew near to her, a head, followed by a neck and a pair of green-tinged breasts that caused Brian to glance away in embarrassment, before realising that he couldn’t fight something he refused to look at and turning back, making sure to keep his eyes locked now firmly upon her face.
“Scylla, dear. Why do you continue to protest in favour of these cattle?” The Nymph looked subtly different to Scylla, darker in hue, pointier in features and carrying a whole boat-load more malice in her black, twinkling eyes. “They’re meat, nothing more.”
“They’re not meat, Pandora, they’re sentient beings like you and I!” Scylla retorted. “And I won’t let you eat them when you know perfectly well you can survive on fish.”
“Fish for breakfast, fish for lunch, fish for tea. Fish, fish, fish. Fuck fish, they get boring. Not that you’d know, bottom-feeder that you are.”
“Look, I didn’t want to have to do this,” Scylla told her. “But this man here,” she pointed at Brian, “is the new Helsing. And he’s here to stop you. So call our sisters off and leave these surfers alone. Or there’ll be trouble.”
The Nymph named Pandora stared at her sister for a moment, then to Brian, then back to her sister. Before laughing.
“Nice try,” she giggled. “Helsing? Th
at lanky thing? He looks like an eel on legs. I’ve seen more meat on a toothpick.”
“Oi,” Brian retorted, but Scylla raised a hand to shut him up.
“It’s the truth. And if you don’t all leave now, well, I can’t be held responsible for what he’ll do.”
“If he’s Helsing,” she laughed, “then he’ll stop me from doing this.”
She dipped down back beneath the water, just as a surfer bobbed past, the same tanned, blond-haired twat from before, his board surrounded by a wake of frothing white as he flailed and thrashed in an effort to reach shore. He caught sight of Brian as he passed by.
“Get out of the water, you idiot! I was only joking before but there’s really sharks!”
Brian shook his head.
“They’re not sharks.”
The man opened his mouth to retort, but just as he did the water exploded beneath him, a slim and lethal shape launching from the waves to blot out the weak winter sun above. Talons were poised to kill, long and sharp, descending down to grasp him. But at the last instant, another shape leapt above the surfer, colliding in mid-air with the first, allowing the terrified man to escape. Brian stared into the depths, wondering what had happened, before suddenly Scylla’s head burst from the brine.
“She got away from me. She’s going after him again. And my sisters, too, they’re all nearly upon them! They’re all going to die, Brian. We’ve got to do something.”
Seeing the panic on her face, Brian climbed onto his board, suctioning himself in place, before reaching over with a hand.
“Get on.”
Chapter Fifteen:
Gone Fishin’
“Disqualified!” the Clipboard-wielding Walrus shouted from the shore, as the panel of judges shook their heads in disappointment. “You can’t have a jet-powered board! That’s just not cricket!”
Was the man an idiot? Could he not see the shoal of lethal shapes chasing the surfers back to land? Maybe not; maybe the Nymphs’ glamour had some part to play, disguising their attack from those on land, who knew? Even as the terrified group furiously paddled from the threat, another wave came along, the surfers’ panic turning to joy as a great rushing torrent of water hoisted them higher and faster towards the safety of land. Their relief was short-lived however, for though they might be skilled at riding the water, the Nymphs were born to it; even as Brian watched, Pandora launched herself from the sea, soaring in a high arc like a dolphin towards the long-haired douche.
Brian Helsing: The World's Unlikeliest Vampire Hunter. Mission #2: Surf's Up Page 9
