Judge of the Damned (Vampire Storm, Book 1)

by Nick S. Thomas

  Marshall’s blood dripped down the cross even as the van sped off into the distance. It was the middle of the night, the few vehicles on the route could not see him left in the darkness. It would be hours until he might be found. Bill could feel the life draining from him, already he could no longer control anything but his eyes. He knew he was dying, but he knew his work was not yet done. With all his strength and energy, he lifted his head to look at the clear sky. The stars were vibrant, the air pleasantly fresh, he could not feel much of his body anymore.

  “Lord! Listen to me! I have done nothing but to serve you my entire life! The spawn of the Devil have killed my family, my parish! They have burnt your house to the ground! I do not ask you to fight for us, just give me the strength to survive and do your bidding! Save my life and I will take retribution upon those who have sinned against you!”

  The priest’s head slumped once again. He no longer had the energy to look up to the heavens. His body was broken, his family gone, but his heart stayed strong. Marshall’s eyes finally shut and he faded into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 3

  Bill dreamt endlessly of the burning church. It plagued his mind for what seemed liked days, relentlessly tormenting him. He dazed in and out of consciousness, his vision ever blurry, his mind always a little subdued. Each time he woke he could see a little more of his surroundings. Finally, his vision cleared and he could see he was in a bedroom of an old house. The curtains were shut, no light pierced the gaps and it was obviously night.

  Marshall reached to pull back the blanket lying over him, but the movement shot a strike of pain through his chest, he groaned in agony. Now remembering the shots he had taken, the reason for the pain was becoming clearer. He reached more carefully for the sheet, still wincing as he did so. Pulling it back, he could see his wounds were bound with fresh bandages. He was able move his body, but much of it ached to do so.

  Looking around the room there was no sign of his clothes, or anything he recognised. It was a clean and well-organised bedroom, with few items at all, as if nobody lived in it. There was a bookcase at the far wall, but it was empty. A small table with a chair lay to its side. A tall old wooden wardrobe stood in the corner. That was all the furniture that the room contained. It was clean though, well maintained, like a show house.

  Bill clenched his fists, bent his knees and twisted his ankles, checking he was still able to move. He tried to lift his legs off the bed, but his abdomen hurt too much to be able to provide the strength required. He was astonished to be alive, as he thought he had met his end. His wrists were still red and sore from the ropes of the cross.

  He could feel a lump on his head where he had been struck, but the bruising was already going down, he must have been there for a couple of days. Bill was unsure of what to make of his situation. He’d expected to die there and then, passing into the afterlife. Having survived he would have thought to be in a hospital, not someone’s home. The room was extremely quiet, it was clearly far from any town or main road.

  A television was on downstairs, the low drone of a movie quickly coming to Marshall’s attention. He looked at the door, it was wide open so he was no prisoner here. He got to his feet, though it hurt greatly to do so. Walking out of the bedroom, he could see it was a big old farmhouse, worn and tired, but clean and full of character. There was a robe hanging from the back of the door, he slipped it on, though he winced at the pain of his injuries in doing so.

  Bill carefully and slowly walked down the stairs towards the sound of the TV, partly going slowly as was unsure what to expect, but also because his injuries made it difficult to do anything else. A few of the stairs creaked as he stood on them, evidently drowned out by the movie that was playing.

  Finally he walked through into the living room, an old man lay on the sofa with a whiskey tumbler in his hand, the sound of dishes being washed resounded from the kitchen beyond. He relaxed somewhat, still unsure of the situation, but feeling substantially less vulnerable.

  “Hello,” said Bill.

  The old man jumped slightly, spilling some of his whiskey.

  “Jesus!” he shouted.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “That’s alright, son, no harm done.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Name’s Wilson, please, come and sit down.”

  Bill stepped cautiously into the room and sat down on the sofa opposite the old man.

  “How did I get here?”

  “I found you at first light two days ago, amazing you were still alive.”

  “You didn’t take me to a hospital?”

  “Son, when someone crucifies a priest and leaves him for dead, they intended to get the job done. If we’d taken you to a hospital, whoever or whatever did this to you would be right back on your ass.”

  Marshall nodded in agreement. He knew the old man was right, and he thanked God that his presence was now a mystery to his attackers, he was in no state to defend himself from further onslaught.

  “Whatever you did, son, it really pissed somebody off.”

  “You got that right.”

  “What’s your name, son?”

  “Bill.”

  Marshall heard footsteps approaching from the kitchen, his body tightening with the tension of an unknown. After his ordeal, he was jumpy and suspicious. A woman wearing an apron appeared in the doorway.

  “Bill, this is my wife Claudia, she helped patch you up.”

  “Thank you, truly,” said Bill.

  “No man should be treated that way, my dear, especially not a man of God.”

  “Well thank you all the same. I thought I was going to die up there.”

  “You would have, it’s a miracle you were still alive when we found you, seven gunshot wounds missed every vital organ of your body. You’ll be in pain for a while, but give it time, you’ll make a full recovery,” said Wilson.

  “It is a miracle,” said Claudia.

  “It might have been a miracle that I survived, but my wife is dead, my daughters are dead, my whole parish burnt to the ground.”

  Marshall quivered, but he could not shed a tear, his life had hardened him too much to do so. He dipped his head, thinking back to the devastating events. He looked up and around the room. Old pictures of children decorated the fireplace, clearly the children of the couple who had saved his life. The pictures were from the seventies or eighties, their children long grown up, only further compounding his misery.

  “The church in the city? It was on the news. That was your place?” asked Wilson.

  Marshall nodded.

  “My dear, I am so sorry,” said Claudia.

  “It was no accident, it was the work of Vampires.”

  “You know this for certain?”

  “I saw it with my own eyes, Wilson, when they opened fire relentlessly before locking everyone inside and barricading the doors. They poured petrol all over the building and then made me watch as it went up in flames.”

  “My God!”

  “What will you do now?” Claudia asked him.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You can’t go home, son, those sons of bitches that done this to you, they won’t stop hounding you if they know you’re alive.”

  “I need to get out of the area for a while, recover from these wounds and do some thinking.”

  “You’d be welcome to stay with us as long as you like,” said Claudia.

  “I appreciate it, and everything you have done for me, but I cannot stay.”

  “I understand. Listen, you’re going to need wheels, my old Harley is in the ranch, hasn’t been used in ten years. If you clean it up and make it roadworthy, you’re welcome to it.”

  “I couldn’t take a man’s bike off him.”

  “It’s lying there gathering dust, my back won’t let me ride it, I’d be glad to see it put to use.”

  “Thank you, it would be much appreciated.”

  “There’s probably a day or two’s work in
it, you can stay whilst you get it done,” said Wilson.

  “You are both very kind.”

  “Nonsense, it’s the least we can do,” said Claudia.

  “What was done to you and your family was evil. That would be clear to any man. Whoever did this to you will pay for their sins, maybe not today or tomorrow, but the Lord will see to it in time,” said Wilson.

  “I am not sure the Lord has any stock in the future of the undead,” replied Marshall.

  “He has a hand in all things in this world, you must know that.”

  “I want revenge for what they did, I cannot think of anything else.”

  “That is understandable, an eye for an eye. Perhaps God has made you his instrument.”

  “You believe that?” asked Bill.

  “How else have you survived? You were shot with seven slugs from a .45 and left to die on a cross for hours, you should never have survived that ordeal! God has a plan for you, and it does not appear to be a mystery.”

  “But God himself should be the judge of them.”

  “They are Devils, they will never be at the mercy of our Father, they will never suffer his judgement. You have chosen to serve him, and in return, he has saved you to do his bidding.”

  “Is it right to take a life in revenge?”

  “Vampires are not alive, they are beasts.”

  “And yet they walk this earth as free as us?” said Bill.

  “God gave us free will on earth, we must resolve our own problems. You have been wronged, but have been given a chance to fight that wrong, I suggest you take it.”

  “You want a drink ?” asked Claudia.

  “Yes please.”

  Wilson’s wife went back off into the kitchen and returned quickly with two tumblers and a bottle of Woodford Reserve, which her husband promptly poured out and handed a glass to Bill.

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem. You’ll need to get some kip before long, this’ll help you sleep a little easier.”

  Marshall sipped back the whiskey, the sour taste was warming and instantly made him feel more comfortable. He led back a little more in the sofa, reducing the tension in his muscles. Waking in a stranger’s home had kept him on edge, but it was evidently clear that he had nothing to worry about there.

  “Will those monsters keep coming after you?”

  “For now, I shouldn’t think so, as far as they know I am dead and gone, Claudia.”

  “What will you do now?” asked Wilson.

  “Well if I can get that bike fixed up and hit the road it’d be a start. I need some time for my body to heal fully before I let anyone in my life know I am still alive.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “Anywhere, hit the road, I have some serious thinking to do, and time to do it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I have nothing left to lose, and those bastards aren’t going anywhere.”

  “Let’s hit the sack, I’ll show you to the bike tomorrow and do what I can to help.”

  “Thank you again, for everything.”

  “No problem, son.”

  * * *

  Bill lay in bed in the room he had awoken in a few hours before. The whiskey had helped calm his nerves, as well as the kind folk that were looking after him. His mind turned again to the scene of the Vampires shooting his parishioners and burning the church. The memories of the event were scorched in his head, the most disturbing of images that he could not purge from his mind.

  Over and over Bill thought about his options. Life would go on, but he had to decide how. The Vampire Rainer would clearly not let him live in peace from the moment he found that he was still alive. Neither could Bill withstand the thought that the murderers of his family and parish would go unpunished.

  Going to the Bishop and his people was the logical choice, but he didn’t want to risk going public until he was fit and strong enough to handle whatever was thrown at him. He was glad of the work to be done on Wilson’s bike, it would take his mind of the horrific events he’d witnessed and give him something useful to do.

  It was not long before he fell asleep again. Despite the troubling memories, he was still exhausted and the thought of the bike the next day had let him forget his other troubles. Having something to focus his thoughts and efforts on was a relief.

  * * *

  Bill awoke to the smell of bacon and eggs cooking, complimented by the wafting smell of coffee and bread baking. It was a soothing start to the morning. He had rarely ever had enough time for such a well-prepared breakfast with his own family. He pulled on the robe he had worn the night before and went on down the stairs to join his hosts.

  “Bill, come on in, breakfast is ready!” called Claudia.

  “Morning,” said Wilson.

  He walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table where Wilson was reading the newspaper.

  “Oh, you’ll be needing some clothes. Sorry but we had to bin what you were wearing when we found you,” said Claudia.

  “I’ll have a dig through our son’s stuff in a while, sure we’ll find something that will work.”

  Within moments of sitting down, Claudia was placing his freshly cooked breakfast before him, a well-appreciated service that he had not expected.

  “Can’t start work on an empty stomach,” she said.

  Bill sat and ate quietly, it was a lovely start to the morning, the sun shone through the windows of the kitchen and he was in good company. The smell of fresh coffee was always a welcome one, but nothing could take his attention from the thoughts of his family. He was eating though not even looking at his food and drink, only staring out of the window.

  “Hey, Bill, follow me upstairs, we’ll find you some clothes,” said Wilson.

  Marshall finished the last sip of his coffee before snapping back into reality. He followed the man up to their son’s bedroom. Nirvana posters littered the walls of his room. It was a well kept room, clearly not lived in for some time.

  “Our son is in college right now, he comes back to see us from time to time.”

  “Won’t he mind me taking his stuff?” asked Bill.

  “Sure he will, but you’re here now and he isn’t, he’ll live with it.”

  Marshall smiled at his newly found friend’s humour. Wilson threw over a pair of black jeans, some old army boots and a grey shirt.

  “They should fit you just fine, take what you need whilst you stay here.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll wait for you in the kitchen, as soon as you’re ready I’ll show you to the bike.”

  “It would be appreciated, I am thankful for all you have done, but I cannot sit around any longer, I need something to put my mind to.”

  “I can understand that.”

  Wilson walked out of the room and left Bill to get dressed. He pulled off the gown and looked at his bandages, there was some blood visible from seepage. He knew they needed to be changed, but he was restless, it could wait. He pulled on his new clothing and made his way downstairs.

  “He’s out at the barn!” shouted Claudia.

  Bill continued on out of the door of the kitchen. Wilson was struggling with the lock to the big old barn. The building clearly didn’t get a lot of use anymore, the couple long being retired. As Bill approached, Wilson wrenched the lock open and pulled the big wooden door back.

  The barn was mostly empty inside, with just a few old pieces of farm equipment in one corner, the interior covered in a thick layer of dust. In the centre of the room was a canvas sheet resting over what was evidently a motorcycle, the familiar shape of the handlebars propping up the cover. Wilson looked at Bill with a grin. He reached for the sheet and ripped it back.

  A cloud of dust filled the lowly lit room, the particles glinting in the light of the morning sun creeping in through the many gaps in the walls of the old farm building. As the dust began to settle, Bill looked on at the bike that was awaiting him. Despite the dust dulling the metalwork, it was clear that wha
t lay beneath was a glistening and impeccably well kept machine.

  “She’s a 1977 Harley Super Glide, original shovelhead engine, rebuilt a few years back,” said Wilson.

  The bodywork had been sprayed in a deep and gleaming black, obviously new paintwork. The bike looked only a few years old, the result of many man-hours of maintenance and restoring the fine machine.

  “Had her since new, replaced things as I went along, been my pride and joy for decades, but my time with her is over, time for someone who can still handle her to take the reins.”

  “You’re sure about this?”

  “Of course, I’ve had a hell of a life with this bike, may she do you as much service.”

  Wilson tossed Bill the keys.

  “Just as I said, she’s not been out in a good few years, will need a good check over and a few things done. You know much about bikes?”

  “I was born to ride.”

  “Good, I look forward to seeing her back on the road. I’ll leave you to it, if you need anything, come and holler.”

  “Much obliged,” he replied.

  Bill looked over to the side of the barn, there was a large metal cabinet full of tools. The barn had clearly been the home of the Harley for many years, perhaps since ’77. Bill looked at how impeccable the ride was, or at least would be with a bit of cleaning. He wondered if it had ever even seen a speck of rain. He doubted it would get the same cosseted life in his possession, but it would be respected just the same.

  He began by getting a bowl of soapy water and a sponge from the house and went to work on the bike, removing the years of grime. The sheet had kept it from the worst of the dirt and dust, but not all. It was a therapeutic experience, seeing the brilliance and shine come through from the filth and dust.

  It was many hours before Marshall finally wheeled the bike out of the barn, having charged up the battery, freed the brakes and given everything an overhaul. He clambered onto the motorcycle, his joints sore from the work, aching as much as his chest from the bruising and wounds. He put the key in and turned the ignition.