Blood Hunter: An Urban Fantasy Vampire Hunting Novel

by Nicholas Woode-Smith

  Perhaps…

  The door opened behind me. Anathi appeared, lit cigarette in her mouth. My belly started doing flips.

  “Hey, Mgebe. Good work out there.”

  “Um…thanks.”

  She offered me a cigarette. I accepted it and leant in as she lit it. Her hands, holding the lighter, seemed soft. Despite calluses and scars. How could someone remain soft in this line of work?

  It confused me. But not anymore than this feeling I had.

  What was I missing?

  “It’s not exactly usual that a woman becomes a Blood Hunter,” she said, leaning up against a wall and watching the dark horizon.

  I didn’t reply. I hadn’t thought about it, to be honest.

  “Only two hunters haven’t given me shit about it. Silumko…and you.”

  “Why would I?” I replied. “You’re a good hunter.”

  She chuckled.

  “That’s not the point. At least, not to many of our comrades. We keep talking about how tradition has failed us, and that we need to change if we are going to survive, yet we keep clinging to custom like we’re going to drown if we let go. But…they aren’t too stupid.”

  Anathi took a long drag and, in the faint light, I saw her exhale the smoke into the night air. It looked like an ash sprite frolicking under the starlit sky.

  “They saw what you had to offer and forgot all about curses and the old ways. Because they know that results matter. Question is, do you?”

  The question came as a surprise, and I let some smouldering ash fall from my cigarette as I pondered it. Quietly. From the corner of my eye, I watched Graham perched on a tree stump. Watching us.

  I sidled closer to her, almost unconsciously.

  “My life has been balancing tradition and results. At the end of the day, results are what matter. But…we have to have something to guide us. Something to keep us from just mindlessly grasping at the fire in the sky.”

  Anathi nodded, slowly. “I didn’t know you were the philosophy type, Mgebe.”

  My cheeks warmed. It sounded like an accusation.

  She laughed. “It isn’t an insult. You men and your precious egos! Intelligence and thoughtfulness aren’t something to be ashamed of.”

  You men…I couldn’t help but wilt, just a bit.

  Anathi looked at me, closely. In the faint light of the cigarettes, I could see sincerity in her eyes.

  “It doesn’t matter if you’re initiated or not,” she said. “What matters is who you are and what you do. You raised arms in the defence of your land today. And we were not cursed. And if your ancestors are looking down on you right now, then they would be fools to judge you harshly…”

  Her face was close to mine. I could smell tobacco and coconut.

  “Damn tradition,” she whispered. “When this is over, you owe it to yourself to find a nice girl, settle down, have kids…you deserve a family just as much as…more…than most people. Doesn’t matter if you’re uninitiated or not.”

  She was so close. From just behind her, Graham was giving a double thumbs up.

  Was this it? The thing I was missing?

  I leaned closer, and slowly closed my eyes.

  Anathi had turned back, oblivious to Graham or me. I stood up straight, cheeks heating.

  “When this is all done,” she said, no hint of noticing what I had just been doing. “I want to settle down in a free Transkei, or maybe near Hope City. My daughter would like that. My husband says she misses me when I go on these trips. But he understands. I need this.”

  Husband.

  Anathi put out her cigarette and smiled, broadly.

  “Congratulations, again, on being a hero, Guy Mgebe.”

  She raised her right fist into the air.

  “Amandla!” she cheered.

  “Awethu…” I replied, half-heartedly.

  She went back inside, leaving me to the now less refreshing but even more welcoming cold solitude of the darkness.

  Graham walked up to me, not teleported, as I slumped up against the wall. He handed me a beer. I accepted it and drank, as he patted me on the back.

  Chapter 20. Freedom

  As a Blood Hunter, I had never pondered my goal or focus. The end goal was to kill vampires. That was simple. Simple to understand, but hard to execute. Perhaps, it would be simpler in Hope City or Goldfield. Vampires weren’t the aristocracy there. Kill one of them and, if you didn’t get a medal, at least the cops didn’t care. But here, they were the rulers.

  So, we Blood Hunters travelled the land killing lesser vamps, monsters, beasts…and we lived on scraps while doing it.

  I hadn’t minded any of that. There was no real direction back then. My journey was plotted by convenience. Village by village, kill by kill.

  I had focus, at least. At least for a little while. For the moments that it took to dispatch a monster, nothing else mattered. But, after the hunt was done, it was back to the road. To staving off starvation, to eking out enough money to replace my weapons.

  My life had lacked a true sense of purpose before, as my real goal was always out of reach.

  And, for every beast I killed, and every ghoul I buried, a vampire would kill a village. As if nothing I did mattered.

  But it was different now. I wasn’t a lone hunter in the wilderness killing for scraps anymore. I was a part of something. Something greater than myself. And, even if my goal was still revenge, Themba’s unfailing positivity and idealism got to me.

  I truly came to support a free Transkei. A place where my people could finally live, be free of vampires, of impi, and could finally settle down. A place where I could belong.

  In the months that followed the silver heist, we put the ingots to use. Silumko delivered replacement weapons and ammunition, and we used them to dispatch all manner of beasts. The Blood Hunters were used for what we were trained for, and we were let loose on ghoul-infested impi installations. The vampires’ servants fell underneath our silver rounds. It was good to have ammo again!

  We balanced our time between slaying beasts and training the rebels on how best to deal with the Zulu’s tamed beasts. Shaka’s Chosen, the undead hordes, once filled everyone with dread. But now they were just another minor obstacle. We didn’t even need silver for them!

  When I wasn’t being a Blood Hunter, I was a rebel, helping to sabotage impi installations, scouting for the rebellion, and being a thorn in the side of the Empire. It felt good. At least, for a little while.

  Because, no matter how much I fought, how much ground we gained, infrastructure we bombed or impis we disrupted, something still felt missing.

  And I still couldn’t get the face of the truck driver out of my head.

  I had killed countless monsters. But only one human. And I couldn’t get the image of that lacerated body and terrified eyes out of my head.

  I gave up on trying to sleep. The bed was comfortable. Much more comfortable than I was used to. Most of the rebels spread out to live in their homesteads, towns and villages. Some disappeared into the mountains. But Themba, after all these years, wanted me to stay with him for a while. To catch up.

  He rented a humble abode from a homesteader, overlooking a lake. It was relaxing. Peaceful. Especially after the carnage we wreaked on this land we were trying to free.

  I peeked my head through the curtains and saw the faint illumination of the rising sun. No point trying to fall asleep now.

  I got out of bed and put on my gear. Back in black. If I wasn’t trying to infiltrate a place, I preferred it. Made me feel like I was on the path.

  I retrieved my pistols. Two now. I had taken one from an impi armoury. It was a .45 semi-auto. Zulu design. Called an Assegai-45SA. It was going to be confusing distinguishing them from the spears, seeing that assegai bayonets were still standard issue for the impi.

  I took my pistols and exited the hut. The fresh morning air greeted me, and I took my weapons to a bench and wooden picnic table overlooking the lake. The slowly rising sun allowed me to
see my weapons faintly as I laid them out on a square piece of leather. But I turned on an electric lamp nearby just to provide some extra illumination.

  I got to work stripping the pieces.

  I was used to using my machete and assegais in combat, but there was nothing that beat the feel of a good pistol in one’s hand. It was power. Directed. Controlled. Surgical. I could hide a pistol when I needed to and pull it out fast to drill a ghoul head with a single shot. It didn’t hit as hard as a rifle but didn’t need to. For my prey to fall, I just needed to hit them. It would be a different story when it came to higher vampires, but then the weight of fire from these twin pistols would need to be enough. Put enough silver hollow points in any vamp, no matter its age, and it will fall.

  They were tough. But not unstoppable.

  At least, that’s what I had learned. While I had killed countless ghouls and lesser vampiric monsters, I was, admittedly, under practiced when it came to killing my true prey.

  I heard the crunch of shoes on grass approaching me. I didn’t turn as Themba sidled up to me and examined my work.

  “Up early?”

  I grunted.

  “Actually, that’s wrong. You never fell asleep.”

  I looked up and Themba’s eyes were filled with concern. I had missed my cousin. More than I had ever realised. It was more than just his steadiness, his optimism, and his leadership. He had always been my guide. More than a cousin, more than a brother. And despite others from Mqanduli surviving, I couldn’t help but feel that Themba was all I truly had left of my home.

  “You’ve been struggling to sleep for a few days now. Hasn’t been affecting your hunting, but it will.”

  Themba looked at me, his eyes filled with concern.

  I was getting sloppy. Not at the hunt. But perhaps, in hiding my emotions. Or, Themba had always known how to read me.

  “Do you…” I hesitated. “Ever think about the men you’ve killed?”

  I regretted asking, but Themba didn’t say anything immediately. He considered the question, and then sat down opposite me.

  “Occasionally,” he said. “Is this about…”

  I nodded. “He was a boy. An impi, yes. But he looked so scared.”

  “I saw his gun,” Themba replied, straight-faced. “He had fired it. You acted in self-defence. He was our enemy. Simple.”

  “Then why doesn’t it feel simple? He was scared. He fired. But…he’s still human. The Zulu aren’t our enemies. They’re our cousins!”

  “Yet, they oppress us. They took our land, fed us to the vampires. You saw what they did to Mqanduli!” Themba was still calm, but there was a bit of fire rising in his voice.

  “Not all of them,” I whispered.

  Themba looked on the verge of replying, but calmly considered my words. He nodded, slowly.

  “That boy, cousin, will always be with you. Like everyone I’ve ever killed. They will never truly leave. But, eventually, there will be days when you don’t think about it. You will wake up, have breakfast, live your life, and eventually you will realise that, for the first time in a long while, their faces didn’t come into your mind.”

  I stopped my working and looked my cousin in the eyes.

  “Look forward to those days, cousin.”

  I could see in Themba’s eyes that he was looking for those days too. And they had yet to arrive. Themba was able to read me like a book but, despite his always more open demeanour, I had always struggled to unravel my cousin.

  But I did now. And I saw that behind his façade of bravery and patriotism, there was pain. And there was sacrifice. And I respected him all the more for it.

  Themba stood up and stretched.

  “You should get some sleep. Even if the sun is coming up. I’ve got a mission for you. Rebel stuff. You’re our best scout. And I need someone calm and collected for this mission.”

  “What is it?”

  “Zulu encampment near the Badlands. North of the Three Point Line. They’ve been sending impi and supplies up there. We need to know why. What are they planning? If they’re preparing for a push through the Karoo, we need to know. Hope City will pay handsomely for that sort of intel. And we always need the cash.”

  I returned to reassembling my pistols. Themba walked off but stopped. He squeezed my shoulder.

  “There’s a light at the end of the tunnel, cousin. And we will get there. All of us.”

  Chapter 21. Encampment

  Blood Hunters were, apparently, quite noticeable, but my experience riding dirt bikes through the rockiest of terrain had awarded me with the skills to get almost anywhere by the unlikeliest of routes. I didn’t need highways or roads. I cut across grasslands, hills, rocky fields and forests. An impi would have to be in the middle of nowhere to see me coming.

  Even so, I felt a rising trepidation as I approached the location of the Zulu encampment. I was being sent solo. That was good. Meant we weren’t attacking. Yet, at least. I was just scouting. Seeing what was up. So, I didn’t have to add another face alongside the truck drivers. At least, I hoped so.

  I had gone on scouting trips like this before. So, why then did I feel so uneasy now?

  I parked my bike hidden between two rocks and covered under the grey canvas. Nearby was a hill. And, on the other side, the apparent encampment. I scaled the hill, keeping myself low as I reached the top. As I crested the hill completely, I lay down and brought a pair of binoculars up to my eyes.

  The encampment wasn’t just that. Yes, there was a wall and guard towers. But that wasn’t that unusual this close to the Badlands. Monsters roamed the wastelands to the north west, and settlements on the border needed to be ready to face them. This wall was a simple affair. Almost make-shift. Prefab mesh fencing reinforced with metal sheeting and wood. I scanned the guard towers, expecting to see impi snipers, but found only a single impi watching the horizon with a pair of binoculars. No sniper rifle in sight.

  Was this really an encampment?

  “Definitely a den of crime and villainy,” Graham commented, picking at something underneath his nails.

  I looked deeper into the encampment and spotted houses. Huts. This was a village. And still was. Men and women, wearing Xhosa traditional dress and modern variants, hawked wears, carried goods and spoke to impi. From up here, their interactions seemed almost normal. It wasn’t unusual to see impi among villagers. There was no distinction between military or law enforcement in the empire. But, what was unusual was the familiarity and casual nature of the interaction. It reminded me of the impi of my village, before they had betrayed us or had been executed by the vamps.

  This didn’t look like a Zulu fortress. It looked like a frontier village with just an above average number of soldiers. But, as I looked more closely, I did see an above average number of crates being carried from military trucks. They were stockpiling arms. But not nearly enough to push through the Karoo and past the Three Point Line.

  I kept watching, seeing if I could spot anything incriminating. But, instead, I felt myself being drawn into the normalcy of it all.

  “Guy…” Graham muttered. I ignored him, as I watched an impi sling his rifle onto his back to help carry a crate of fruit for an old lady.

  “Guy…” he repeated.

  Were they really preparing for an assault? If so, why were they being so good to the people here? Fortresses and villages didn’t mix…

  “Guy!”

  “What?!”

  Graham pointed towards the distance. A dust cloud. Rapidly heading towards the village.

  I trained my binoculars on it, and almost gasped.

  Riding atop a gigantic rhinoceros, wielding an artillery piece underneath its arm like a lance, was an ogre dressed like a steppe raider of the Mongolian golden age. He was massive, making the rhino seem a pony in comparison to his stature. And he was yelling, his braided black goatee flying in the wind.

  I couldn’t hear what the beast was yelling. But I heard it fire. The dust cloud gave way to fire as a deafen
ing blast arced towards the village, smashing its gate wide open.

  Pandemonium broke out as people screamed, dropping their baggage and fleeing. The ogre charged into the encampment, using his fired cannon as a joust and piercing the side of an armoured car. The usually impenetrable vehicle was pushed over onto its side, the metal shaft pierced right through its carapace.

  Impi ran around like panicked insects. I expected them to run. This was a Xhosa village. It wasn’t worth defending. Impi didn’t care about us. If they stayed and fought, it would be to defend their Empire. Not its conquered inhabitants.

  But then I saw reason for their panic. They were not running about chaotically. Pairs of impi directed villagers towards the exit of the village, away from the ogre. Others were coaxing the ogre to fight them.

  They weren’t running. They meant to stay.

  A crescent began to surround the rampaging ogre as he yelled in his guttural language. The impis put themselves between the ogre and the villagers, opening fire. The bullets pelted harmlessly against the beast. Impi were trained to fight men. Not beasts. And nothing as destructive as an ogre raider on rhino-back. They didn’t have the munitions to pierce its hide. Or the knowledge of where to shoot.

  Before I could truly think it through, I was sliding down the hill, breaking into a run and jumping over boulders.

  “This again, Guy?” Graham asked, exasperated, as he perched on my shoulder. “You’re going to get yourself killed. One of these days.”

  He disappeared.

  I cleared a section of low wall with a jump, and landed in the village, among some terrified villagers who eyed me as if I were also a monster.

  The cracks of rifles were punctuated by shouts and the thud of the ogre’s artillery club. I rushed towards the impi firing line, as they dodged and weaved between the ogre’s attacks. A large grey mass lay by the gate. From what I had learned about the ogres, they would have to be driven to the edge of desperation to let one of their prized rhinoceros mounts get killed. They would sooner die than let one fall, in fact. Yet, this majestic beast lay slaughtered. The impi were not doing as well against the ogre who had ridden it.