Blood Hunter: An Urban Fantasy Vampire Hunting Novel

by Nicholas Woode-Smith

  “You used to want to be an impi.” I couldn’t help but level it as an accusation.

  Themba looked down, ashamed.

  “Yes…yes I did. But then they burnt down our home. Gave us to vampires. I used to think the assegai pendants and cowhide badges were a symbol of so much more. Of claiming this land for ourselves against everyone who stood in the Empire’s way. I thought they were right. But…”

  Themba clenched his fists. There was fire in his eyes.

  “Now…I’ll kill every single one of them.”

  “Ambitious, rebel leader,” Graham piped in.

  Themba eyed me, questioningly. I shrugged. It didn’t really matter why or how Graham began to follow me. He was my rash now. And it was impolite to discuss rashes.

  “It is ambitious,” Themba said, as if replying to me. “But that’s why we need you, and the others.”

  He walked to his backpack in the corner where he took out a satchel. He handed it to me.

  “I know you’re inkwenkwe. But I also know that tradition gone too far got us conquered. Again, and again.”

  “I do not want to endanger the mission,” I replied, restraining myself from opening the satchel. I suspected what was inside.

  “You won’t, cousin,” Themba replied with a hint of finality. “I have a feeling, deep down in my gut, that you’ll be the one to clinch it.”

  Chapter 18. The Heist

  Wind buffeted against my brown canvas jacket. I felt naked not wearing black, but Themba was right. Blood Hunters were conspicuous. Perched on top of my dirt-bike, overlooking the busiest highway in the occupied Eastern Cape, I couldn’t help but feel that I stood out enough already. The tokoloshe reclining behind me didn’t help.

  I had spent over a quarter of my life avoiding highways. Highways meant impi. It meant vampires or their cronies, who might recognise my scent. Highways were the arteries of the Empire and I was afraid of imperial blood. But not today.

  “Wind-1, you copy? Over,” Themba spoke over a crackly walkie-talkie.

  “Copy, Stronghold. Over,” I replied. The over part was actually unnecessary. The radio was a new model and Themba could control the communication cleanly between everyone on the channel. But some habits were hard to break.

  “Such inventive code names,” Graham mocked, leaning up against me on my bike, chugging a beer he had snagged off a moving pick-up. If only he used his powers for something productive!

  It was the middle of the day. The sun beat down upon me, blocked only by my helmet and disguise-jacket. I seldom worked at this time of the day. No vampires. No dark spirits. Rarely a demon.

  I wasn’t hunting vamps today.

  But neither was I hunting impi.

  I felt a weight on the front of my pocketed vest, hidden underneath by the canvas jacket. I wasn’t hunting impi. So, why did it feel like I was?

  The crackle of my walkie talkie interrupted my reverie.

  “Wind-1, proceed. Over.”

  I revved my engine and sped off in a dust cloud, ramping a hillock and landing with a jolt on the other side. The highway snaked like a concrete river in the near distance. From up here, I could watch it all clearly.

  Plenty of trucks in sight. But not what I was looking for. The truck and its precious silver cargo were far behind. I was an advance scout. Spot potential guard posts, watch the front of the convoy when it arrived, and basically, just be a glorified watchman. Sure, I had the responsibility of watching for reinforcements, but I couldn’t risk engaging them.

  No matter what Themba told me.

  I stopped on the agreed hill and flipped up my visor to survey the landscape for guards.

  “Clear, Stronghold. Over,” I reported.

  I sighed.

  “Itching for a fight, eh Guy? Your cousin says it’s fine. He’s practically exploding with excitement to get you to prove yourself.”

  “I’m fine, Graham. I…”

  I cut off as I heard the screeching and crunching of cars. I looked down the highway, and saw it reeling down the concrete river like the inkanyamba.

  It didn’t look like a truck. Blacked out windows that blended into the metal itself, with a sharp nose and massive size, the silver-cargo truck looked more like a freight train with tyres. The two armoured cars rushing in convoy with it seemed unnecessary. This thing could ram a tank!

  The cars it was pushing off the road were no match for it. Traffic that didn’t veer to safety after the warnings of the massive horn were crushed, sent reeling off the road or into other cars.

  The Empire wasn’t playing around!

  “Stronghold…” I began.

  “Acknowledged, Wind-1. Everyone into battle stations!”

  I flicked down my visor and burst forth to keep up with the rampaging convoy.

  Further ahead, cars disguised as run-down junkers but with souped up engines and handling, rushed from off the highway to join the flow of traffic. And then just completely ignored traffic to keep up with the convoy. Anathi, some blood hunters and the rebels were in those cars.

  But the armoured cars were blocking them from getting towards the truck. And, with every car with a bit of sense veering to the side to make way for the monstrosity, the rebel cars closing in were mighty suspicious. I watched as one of the rebel cars got a bit too close. An armoured car clipped it, sending it reeling into traffic. The truck may not need the armoured car escort, but we had to get rid of it.

  I found myself biting my lip as I moved to the next phase of the plan.

  “Convoy incoming, Outriders,” I called into the radio. “Five seconds. Four. Three. Two…”

  Out of the brush, rebels on dirt-bikes ramped off the overpass. Like flies descending on a carcass, they fell on either side of the front armoured car, veering close towards the black exteriors and placing sticky bombs before pulling back. I winced as a rider was almost caught underneath the truck, but narrowly dodged, rather veering off the road entirely. At least grass was softer than a speeding truck. The remaining riders pulled up on either side of the trailing armoured car and tagged it with their explosives, before splitting in multiple directions.

  Three. Two. One.

  Boom!

  The armoured cars, smoking and even more blackened, were crushed under the simultaneous explosions of the bombs. Their metal husks hopped along the road under their own momentum, until scraping to a halt, shooting up sparks.

  The truck would stop now. Impis would surge out. The rebels would engage them. Then we’d win. Well, that was the plan.

  The truck burst right through the ruined armoured car like it was a cat charging through a house of cards, sending the metal husk reeling into traffic in the other lane.

  “Engage!” Themba yelled frantically through the radio.

  Anathi’s car veered to dodge the exploded back armoured car, as men with guns fired impotently at the truck. It was a stampeding behemoth!

  I kept accelerating to keep up with it from my vantage point, watching with palpable anxiety as the rebels dodged the remains of crushed cars. The truck did not relent.

  Then I saw it. Just over the ridgeline.

  A checkpoint. Armoured cars. Towers. Fences.

  Impi. And just past them…the Three Point Line. Chasms and bridges guarded on both side by fortresses, both conventional and magical.

  “Checkpoint ahead!” I reported.

  No reply. Everyone was panicking.

  The bikers tried to keep the pace, but they were too far ahead. The plan was to disable the armoured cars and then pull the truck to a halt! But this truck was refusing to play by the rules.

  The cars couldn’t get close enough. And they didn’t have explosives. If only we had anticipated how ballsy and armoured this truck was going to be!

  Explosions wracked the highway as the truck hurdled towards safety.

  We had moments!

  I felt a weight on my front.

  Moments.

  I had promised I wouldn’t get directly involved. But, what w
as my life but failed promises?

  I swung towards the highway. The convoy was still behind my destination. I had moments.

  That’s all I needed.

  I shot forward, facing the highway dead-on. Up and down, ramping off hills. I felt Graham jolting behind me.

  I smelled smoke and fire.

  “What are you doing?!” Graham cried. He had lost his beer.

  I gritted my teeth and sped up. Faster. Faster.

  “You’re insane!” Graham yelled, before poofing away.

  I ramped the final hill, just above the highway. I loosened my grip on my bike, and let it sail away into the other lane, as I fell towards the rapidly moving black surface below me.

  I felt a jolt as my body hit the top of the speeding truck, and an almost electric pain as I pierced the knife Blessing had given me into its softer roof. The wind threatened to push me off and I felt like I had been close to getting whiplash.

  It was just like the river and the inkanyamba. I should have taken some muti before we started. I was going to feel these bruises in the morning!

  In my free hand, I drew my assegai and drove it just ahead of me into the roof. Slowly, I pulled myself along, with every painful screech of metal. It didn’t escape me that the checkpoint was just in sight.

  But I couldn’t give up! I didn’t dare look behind me to see if the rebels were close by. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was me, the truck, and what I had in my front pocket.

  Pull by painful pull, I arrived at the lip of the metal-black windscreen. Even if it was metal enchanted for one-way transparency, it had to be thinner than every other part of this monstrosity.

  I pulled out my assegai, just as the truck jolted. My wind-chilled hand lost the assegai to the gales. My exposed skin felt frozen and numb at the same time.

  This place would have to do. I dug around in the front of my vest, underneath my jacket. I hadn’t wanted to bring this. But Themba had given it to me. As if he’d known we would need me to have one.

  I retrieved the bomb and, with my teeth, ripped off the tape that covered the adhesive. I pressed it down as far onto the windscreen as I could, before clicking two switches on its side.

  I smiled, as I pulled the knife out of the roof and flew backwards, catching the back lip of the truck just in time.

  The explosion deafened me before I could even comprehend its sound. All I heard was a buzz as the truck spun, veering side to side, swinging me like a ragdoll at its back. I held on for dear life, letting my body bash against the metal and sail in the wind like a flag.

  The out of control truck hit something, and then overturned. I felt my body rapidly breaking. I didn’t let go. Metal sparks flew off the ground beneath me as the truck pulled to a stop, scraping on its side against the ground. All I heard was a buzz.

  The truck stopped. And my hearing was welcomed by the sound of rushing vehicles, fire and wheezing. Some of the latter was my own. In the distance, a military siren blared.

  I pulled out the knife and sheathed it, before drawing out my pistol. I checked the chamber. Themba’s donated rounds looked good inside my long empty pistol.

  I rounded the corner of the truck. The checkpoint was still a way off, but I could see them rushing around like ants to send reinforcements.

  No sign of the driver.

  I limped forward, pistol at the ready. The world seemed silent. Tense.

  I stopped at the corner of the driver’s seat. One breath. In. Out. I had already broken my promise to not fight. I might as well double-down.

  I turned and came face to face with a boy younger than me, his chest and stomach peppered with glass shards. His eyes were wide, terrified, on a face covered in blood and lacerations. I kept my gun trained on him. I didn’t fire.

  The boy breathed, slowly. Strained. He could have been me. Years ago. He could have been Themba when he had been conscripted. He could have been Sifiso. He was just a boy…

  I slowly lowered my pistol. I heard the revving of rebel engines approaching the truck. The impi were still rallying.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  In a flash, much faster than I anticipated by his wounds, the impi boy drew a pistol and fired. Two bangs. Only one hit.

  The boy slumped, as my arm rang out from recoil and the strain of my high-speed climbing on the truck’s roof.

  The other sounds became muffled even as rebels secured the area. I didn’t tear my eyes away from the boy.

  Anathi drifted close towards me, opening the door of the car as it still moved.

  “You’re a hero, Mgebe!” she called out. Rebels with pick-ups were already putting as much as they could carry into the backs of their vehicles. Bikers put ingots into their backpacks before speeding away.

  The impi were surging towards us. But we would be gone when they got here.

  I entered the warmth of Anathi’s car. The backseat was coated with spent shells. A rebel who had been accusing me of being inkwenkwe at the meeting was grinning, reloading his AK. He gripped me by the shoulder.

  Hero.

  I didn’t feel like one.

  Chapter 19. Hero

  I only half acknowledged the rebels, even Wisdom, as they apologised to me in groups and individually about doubting me.

  “You were born a Mqanduli Marauder!” Wisdom announced, a hint of his old joviality in his eyes. He had already apologised and seemingly forgotten about how he had treated me previously.

  I smiled, faintly, at the recognition, but the smile was forced. Just a bit.

  Themba’s smile, however, seemed perfectly natural, as it split his face. In one hand he held a brown bottle of beer. In the other, a silver ingot stamped by the Imperial Forge itself.

  “Comrades!” he announced, half-slur and half-triumph. The party stopped chatting and sharing stories of the heist as they turned to their leader.

  Themba swayed, just a bit, before raising the silver ingot into the air.

  “This, my comrades, is the life-blood of our oppressors! The poison of their bloodhounds! Taste it, hold it. We crushed a monster today. My cousin cut off the head of the snake and now we can all enjoy the spoils!”

  The group cheered, raising beer bottles and other ingots in toast.

  “Don’t get too attached,” Silumko added, arms crossed as he leant up against the corner of the doorway. “That silver has one home, one destination…the hearts and heads of the enemies of the Xhosa!”

  That received an even larger cheer. Themba slinked away to speak to Silumko. Probably planning how to turn the pretty, albeit impractical, ingots into weapons. Silumko had smiths, that much was clear. My first silver assegai head had been a gift from him. Newly forged. After that, I had relied on scavenging and buying the occasional left-overs from the Hope City hunters. Impi controlled the silver-trade here, but black markets were pervasive. Occasionally, I could find what I needed.

  But things were changing now. The pile of ingots that Silumko hadn’t already stashed away was testament to that. Wisdom excused himself to go reminisce about the heist with some of the other bikers, leaving me alone in the party. Even Graham was too busy drinking to chat. I was glad to see that he had been given his booze and hadn’t resorted to robbing the rebels. This time.

  I approached the pile of silver and picked up an ingot. A cowhide shield crossed with an assegai and knobkerrie. The divine flames of God crowned the shield. The Imperial Crest.

  I rubbed my thumb over the silver the rebels…I…had helped steal. I didn’t feel anything about taking from impi. I would do it again. But, in the silver glowing exterior of this noble metal, I saw blood and desperation.

  I let the ingot clink down beside its compatriots, before turning around to face Blessing.

  “You have new scars,” he said, looking a bit out of place, but repeating the traditional Blood Hunter greeting.

  I didn’t have any cuts or lacerations where he could see. Were the scars on the inside?

  “I killed an enemy of my people,” I
said, simply, and then inclined my head, asking wordlessly. What are you doing here?

  “I realised something,” he said, following me as I moved away from the pile of silver. “About me, about this land, and about the path.”

  I grunted in response, watching Anathi showing some rebels a chokehold used against ghouls out of the corner of my eye.

  “Impi did bring the Blood to our land,” Blessing continued. “And, if we have any hope of truly stopping them…then we must fight all our enemies. Not just the bloodsuckers.”

  All the enemies. Even boys. Impi.

  “That is, of course,” Blessing continued. “If there’s still space for me!”

  Themba arrived, placing his arm over Blessing’s shoulders.

  “There’s always space in the fight for freedom! Welcome aboard!”

  Blessing beamed, and then looked at me. As if asking for approval. It made me uncomfortable. But I nodded.

  “Welcome.”

  Themba dragged Blessing off to discuss the heist and some of our plans going forward. Leaving me alone. Wisdom was miming what seemed to be a bike in mid-air. Silumko was even smiling, just a little, as an excited Blood Hunter spoke to him. Rebels everywhere were celebrating our score.

  Yet, why did I feel like something was missing?

  I hadn’t been to a party since long before my initiation. And I remember being quiet then. Awkward. Perhaps, parties just weren’t for me?

  I stifled a sigh and went to the doorway. I followed the tunnel to the outside, where I was greeted by the earthy smell of grass and fresh air. The night was cold, but it was a refreshing chill.

  It was quiet. I couldn’t even hear the party inside.

  Themba claimed that the impi had no way of tracking us down. That we were in the clear. I believed him. To a degree. We’d already checked all the ingots for tracking devices and coated them in demanzite powder to disable any tracing spells.

  No. I wasn’t worried about a reprisal. At least not now. Then what was the reason behind my mood?