Blood Hunter: An Urban Fantasy Vampire Hunting Novel

by Nicholas Woode-Smith

“If you had stuck to your traditions, impi, then vampires wouldn’t be ruling my homeland,” Themba hissed.

  I expected the sergeant to yell a retort or pull out his weapon and threaten my cousin. I contemplated what I would do then. Would I grab the gun? Assault the impi? Or would I stand still like a coward?

  The sergeant sighed, his arm dropping limply by his side.

  “I’m not your enemy,” he said. “And the sooner you realise that, the sooner the vampires won’t matter.”

  He turned his back on Themba and kept walking. Surprisingly, Themba followed.

  “Besides,” the sergeant added. “The boy won’t be fighting for his country. He’ll be fighting for the Empire.”

  An important distinction. Why then did it not make me feel any better?

  I pinched Themba as we continued the walk. He had not replied to the sergeant. He didn’t respond to the pinching either. I had never seen him so downcast before.

  I stayed silent. I seldom had reason to speak. But now, there was too much I wanted to say, yet I didn’t have the means to say it.

  I wanted to say goodbye to my mother. To tell the impi what I thought of him. To curse the vampires. And to tell Themba that it was going to be okay.

  But I didn’t speak.

  Tears streamed down from my eyes, cascading down my cheeks and making rivulets in what remained of the white paint.

  We reached the outskirts of the village, where I saw Wisdom climbing into the back of a stationary army truck. I couldn’t hear the slaughter anymore. The night was silent. Even the rain had stopped.

  “Get in the truck,” the sergeant ordered, passing us to speak with some other impi.

  Themba stepped forward and climbed into the back of the truck. He reached out his arm and I accepted it, being pulled up.

  The truck was filled with the initiation group and the older boys guarding it. No one spoke. The remaining white paint made us look like ghosts. And we felt like the dead.

  I sat on a hard-wooden bench and watched as the impis secured the back door. It was a low obstacle. Just meant to stop objects from rolling out. They didn’t expect us to run. Who could blame them? Where would we go? Our home was dead.

  The impi disappeared and I stared down at my bare feet. They were covered in blood. Not mine. Had I stepped in it earlier? Whose blood was it?

  “Guy,” Themba whispered, leaning in close.

  I turned to him. His eyes were inches from mine.

  “You cannot fight for the Empire,” he whispered.

  “You used to support the impis,” I spat, then regretting it. He was my cousin. My brother! I shouldn’t take out my anger on him.

  Themba shook his head. “It is different now. They released the Blood onto our land. You must go.”

  “What? No…we won’t make it. You heard the sergeant.”

  “We’re not being sent to train, Guy,” he said, hushed but faster. The truck lurched forward and the revving of the engine covered the sound of our voices.

  “Then where are they taking us?” I asked.

  “To be made into cannon fodder. But I won’t let them have you.”

  Stunned, it took me a few moments to whisper my reply.

  “We have to escape. And we can’t abandon our families to the vampires.”

  Themba smiled, sadly. It was the saddest I’d ever seen him. More than his apathy in the streets or his mournful rage at the somagwaza’s death.

  “You would have made a great man, Guy Mgebe,” he said.

  Before I could reply, he shoved me out of the back of the truck, the thud of my body covered by the backfire of the lurching truck.

  I almost cried out, but I glimpsed the faces of the boys in the truck. They didn’t call out to me. All had accepted their fate. And they were willing to sacrifice themselves for me.

  I watched the truck disappear into the darkness.

  I was alone.

  Chapter 4. Family

  The only boy to have escaped the somagwaza’s knife. And now the only boy to be left in the darkness of the cold Transkei night.

  Why me? Themba was the leader, Wisdom was popular, and all the other boys were stronger and braver than I was. I was quiet. Some of the men thought I was dull. They were wrong. I just didn’t feel the need to say much.

  I wasn’t a hero. I wasn’t a survivor.

  Yet…Themba had chosen me to live.

  I stood on the muddy dirt road. The truck was long gone, and I could only see by the red light of the stormy sky.

  “Why me?” I muttered, a sob rising up. I choked it down and clenched my fists.

  I had never been the bravest. But I was all that was left. Maybe now…that made me the bravest boy left in Mqanduli.

  That did not make me feel any better.

  I peered towards the dark horizon, and then back at the orange haze of Mqanduli. Both looked unappealing.

  The fields were a black sea. And every scuff and crack were a potential predator – ghoul or animal.

  Run, Themba had said. Run until sunrise.

  But how could I run? My home was burning. And my mother…she was still out there.

  But what if she wasn’t? What if she was a corpse, ash or a ghoul? Could I see her looking like the somagwaza, with his brains leaking onto the sand?

  I did not remember starting to run, but I did it all the same. Not towards the fires or the dark horizon, but somewhere in between. Towards a tiny forested area. It was away from the road. Vampires, ghouls and other beasts were a problem, but so were impi. I had to stay off the road.

  I repressed my guilt at not heading back into the village, and kept running through the darkness, wincing as I stepped over sharp sticks, cutting my feet. I didn’t stop running. I passed trees, the darkness turning them into the images of demons, as I ran. Further and further into the wilderness.

  I started to pant. My stomach ached. My mouth was dry.

  I collapsed just as I heard the mooing of cattle.

  I lifted myself up, slowly. The cows continued to moo, anxious at the cacophony of violence and smell of fire and blood in the air.

  A single gas-lamp lit a round hut, adjoined to a fenced enclosure, where some brown cows stared at me, curiously.

  The Ngaleka family lived here. Distant cousins. They stuck to themselves. I hadn’t seen them for months. I approached the cows and those closest to me calmed as they saw me. I reached out my hand and patted one on the head. It stared at me. Fearful, but trusting.

  The cows being alive told me one thing. Ghouls hadn’t been here. They didn’t respect the economic sanctity of cattle. They would consume anything with impunity.

  But ghouls weren’t the only enemies out tonight.

  The hut was quiet as I approached. Dark inside. I lifted the gas-lamp from its hook and held it in front of me, banishing the dark and acting as a shield against beasts.

  I pushed the door to the hut open. It was ajar, and creaked open. My light shone through and I almost gagged at what I found.

  My cousins, three of them, lay all around the kitchen, multiple stab wounds in their guts and backs. My lady cousin, only slightly younger than I, was missing her shirt.

  I squeezed on the handle of the lamp as my breath escaped me. All I saw was red. A fiery and bloody red.

  Impi had done this. Zulu. They had come and killed my people. My family.

  I hated them! Even the sergeant who had saved me from the vampire. Even Dlamini who had played football with us on Sundays. I despised them. Every single one of them. Not simply for what they had done. But for what they were.

  The vampires weren’t the only monsters. Some monsters were human.

  I took a step forward into the hut. The cows mooing took on a mournful tone.

  I should bury them. But I had no shovel. And not nearly enough time. Just another thing I couldn’t do.

  My knees felt shaky and I lurched forward, placing the lamp on a wooden table and taking a seat. All three of my kin were in plain sight. Their blood had pool
ed onto the concrete floor and boots had made bloody tracks around the hut.

  There was a jug of milk on the table. Mercifully, un-spilled. In all the struggle and violence, it had remained. I sniffed it. Fresh. Or at least, not completely expired.

  I didn’t want to drink. My stomach was a pool of acid and rage. I suspected that anything I drank, I would bring up. But I was thirsty, and hungry. I hadn’t eaten since…I couldn’t remember. Had it been lunch? Yesterday?

  I tipped my head back, my hands shaking with rage as I chugged the milk, forcing down every gulp of lukewarm milk.

  Unbidden tears came to my eyes as the last milking of this homestead went down my throat. I remembered playing with my cousins. Wisdom had been beaten with a stick because he had shaved curse words onto one of the cows. He said it was worth it.

  And now he was heading into the darkness. Would I ever see him again? Or Themba?

  I choked on a gulp and dropped the jug to the floor, spilling the rest of its contents, as I collapsed into a ball, clutching my knees.

  Everyone was gone…and I didn’t do a thing.

  I sobbed, meekly and quietly, on the floor next to my dead cousins.

  I did nothing.

  But perhaps it wasn’t too late…

  I couldn’t let it end like this. Not without even trying. Themba had told me to run, but I had not promised him a thing. I had to return to Mqanduli. I had to see for myself if my mother still lived.

  I couldn’t let the vampires have her!

  With that realisation, the sobs stopped. I sniffed once and wiped my eyes. I had a mission now. And I would see it through.

  I realised then that the cows had stopped lowing. In fact, I couldn’t even hear the stomping of their hooves. I lifted myself up, quietly, my heartbeat like a drum.

  Scuffling. Footsteps. But not human. More bestial. With fevered footfalls and sharp sniffing. Coming…closer.

  I considered the gas-lamp for a second but decided to leave it, as I snuck into the backroom. As I lowered myself under the bed, I heard the front door creak.

  Sniffing. Blocked nose. Human, but…animalistic. I slowed my breathing, which was hard as my stress levels rose. My heart felt like it was going to fall out of my chest.

  A footstep. Another. The breathing grew louder.

  I watched through the ajar door of the back bedroom, seeing only a crack. The gas-lamp illuminated my girl cousin’s face, frozen in agony and torment.

  Then, a grey creature loomed over her. I held my breath, covering my mouth for good measure. I knew this creature. He had been an impi in the local garrison. Friends with Dlamini.

  And he was now a ghoul. Drained of all blood and made a servant of the vampires.

  He sniffed the air, as he crouched down, placing his face on the ground. Right by the spilt milk and blood. A long, mutated tongue lolled out of his mouth and touched the blood, scooping it up like a teaspoon would.

  His tongue lapped up the blood like a cat would cream, as it drifted across the floor, before touching the milk. It shot up, shocked and revolted.

  I had imagined ghouls to be mechanical things. Automatons that acted only in accordance with their master’s wishes.

  But this creature seemed like just that – a creature. There was nothing left of the impi. Just a beast remained. But it was a beast. Nothing like the zombies that ghouls were often confused with.

  I realised I had started breathing again, as I studied this humanoid beast. It sniffed the milk and then returned to the blood. It pulled itself slowly across the ground, lapping up blood, until it stopped.

  My heart shuddered as it seemed to look right at me, with red eyes filled with an inhuman hatred and hunger.

  My feet, I realised. They were covered in blood. And there were tracks right into the room.

  The ghoul crawled forward inch by inch, and then faster. I considered screaming, running, reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. But, like a traumatised buck against a leopard, I could only lie frozen and resigned to my fate.

  Suddenly, the ghoul leapt upon my cousin’s corpse, sinking his teeth into her arm. With a crunch, he ripped it from its joint and then fled, like a hyena with its stolen prize.

  I didn’t continue breathing for what seemed an age. The cows did not make a sound. I planned not to confirm if they were dead or alive.

  As my eyes drifted closed, I realised I couldn’t stay. I had work to do. I couldn’t delay any longer. I slowly pulled myself out from under the bed, all the while listening.

  There was no sound. Not of ghouls, cows or distant battle.

  I still did not risk sighing in relief.

  I took a step forward but then stopped as I noticed something in the corner of the bedroom. It was a wooden club, with a spherical knob at the end. A knobkerrie.

  I bit my lip.

  I was inkwenkwe. I was not allowed to raise arms in the defence of my country.

  But, this was not for my country. I had to defend my mother. It wasn’t for the Transkei that hadn’t seen freedom for over a hundred years. It was for her.

  I took the knobkerrie and exited the hut. The night was still cold but I didn’t feel it. I only felt the red heat of rage boiling inside of me.

  Chapter 5. Sunrise

  The night was quiet as morning approached. No birds sang to herald the inevitable sunrise. Perhaps, the sun didn’t plan to rise, and the birds knew this?

  Perhaps, it really was the end of the world?

  If it was, then running would have solved nothing. And if it wasn’t, I needed to try something. Anything. I was not a man, but I had to at least act like one. For her.

  Clouds kept the sky unnaturally red, reflecting fires and blood. Even when the sun rose, the vampires would be able to continue travelling outside with sufficient cover. At least, that’s what I predicted. We didn’t learn about vampires in school. But Themba had taken an interest in them. Other parts of the Transkei had been ruled by vampires before. The Zulu Vampire Clans. The Izingane Zegazi. The villages they ruled over were considered black marks on the map. Themba, understandably, did not trust the vampires. He said that while they claimed to be loyal to the Emperor, they only truly followed the rule of their bloodline. And everywhere they decided to rule became desolate.

  And now they were here.

  I bit my lip, stifling a yawn or a sob as I travelled through the dark plains. I had taken some clothes and sandals from my cousin’s hut. I didn’t want to. It felt like stealing. Even if they were dead. But I didn’t regret it as I cut across the wilderness, circling Mqanduli and coming as close to my home as I could.

  My plan was simple. Find my mother. Then escape. Impi may pursue us during the day, but I was more afraid of the vampires. We could travel west, to the Ciskei. But there were also vampires there…

  Hope City was an option. I didn’t like the idea of leaving my homeland but Hope City had been resisting the Empire for decades. We could be safe there…if we even made it.

  I no longer heard the sound of battle or agony. The rains had put out most of the fires. Nobody continued to fight the impi or the vampires. I wasn’t sure that anyone had resisted them at all, actually. We did not have weapons in Mqanduli. Well, we had assegai and knobkerrie, but what use were they against rifles and vampires?

  Commander Bhengani had meant to protect us! I couldn’t help but clench my fists in rage, letting my anger heat me up and ward off the cold dawn air.

  Themba said he had been ghoulified. Just like that impi. But that meant Dlamini had worked with the vampires.

  He had betrayed us. Even after my mother had given him breakfast every Sunday morning. Even after we had attended church together.

  He had chosen to side with those who were slaughtering my people!

  When I was young, the impi had made me feel so safe. Cowhide emblems had been a symbol of protection. Of certainty. The Empire were occupiers, yes. But they were our cousins. And, that meant something.

  Well, I thought it had.

&n
bsp; I smelled soot in the air. And the smell of burnt rubber.

  Had the impi used dark magic? The sickly smell of burning rubber was a common smell in dirty weylines. But that was unlikely. Mqanduli had a very weak weyline. That had made the somagwaza extremely important as a local healer, as he was the only one with his own spark of internal magic. When sangomas and other wizards needed to collect magic from the world around them, sorcerers, like the somagwaza, had magic inside of them. A spark.

  He had used that spark to heal. And now he was dead.

  I sniffed the air again, slowing down my swift and steady pace. The orange glow of the remaining fires outlined Mqanduli’s black silhouette in the dark dawn light.

  Ash. Wood fire. But also, petrol. And still, the overwhelming stench of burning rubber.

  My breath caught in my throat as I almost doubled over. It felt like an assegai was being swiftly inserted into my chest.

  No! It couldn’t be.

  Something primal gripped me and I clutched my knobkerrie in two hands as I broke into a run, paying no heed to the need for stealth.

  The sickly smell of rubber and the piercing stench of fire became stronger as I panted, tearing over the grassland towards the perimeter of Mqanduli. My home was at the edge, near an outcrop of trees. And, as I approached more closely, I realised that there were no dead bodies scattered in view. I saw no impi armoured cars or patrols.

  Hope began to fill me. My mother could be alive! Unscathed. The violence must have been at its worst in the centre of town. But here, on the outskirts, why would the impi feel the need to kill a single mother?

  I slowed. The stench in the air lingered, but it could have been from far away. My mother was alive. And my home was out of harm’s way.

  I reached the tree line and steeled myself. When I saw my mother, I didn’t know how I would react. There was something disarming about one’s mother. You could be weak around them. But I couldn’t risk that. I had to be strong. For her.

  I let excitement overwhelm my trepidation, as I slowly moved through the trees, my indefinitely loaned sandals crunching on fallen twigs below. My initiation blanket shielded my arms from the sharp branches, as I moved through the darkness, past the thick shrubs, and was finally greeted by the orange hue of fire.