Judge of the Damned (Vampire Storm, Book 1)

by Nick S. Thomas

  The engine turned over several times and then spluttered to life with a loud roar, belching smoke and soot out of the tailpipes. Marshall gave it some revs, blasting out the last of the residue that was caked up inside. The rough engine settled to a pleasantly thumping idle.

  It was late in the afternoon when Marshall finally got the bike to a useable state. Wilson burst out of the kitchen door to see his pride and joy chugging away. It had brought back a flood of good memories to the old man, who was proud to see it running before him.

  “Didn’t think you’d have it done today!”

  “Not like I had anything else to do!”

  Bill turned the key and shut the engine off, stepping off the bike. The two men looked at the bike in admiration, there was nothing quite like seeing it roar to life again after so many years of being forgotten.

  “Will you stay the evening?” asked Wilson.

  “I’m sorry, I really appreciate everything you have done for me, but it’s high time I set off.”

  “Then come inside for a moment before you leave us.”

  “Sure.”

  They walked indoors, on the table was a battered long leather coat and a wooden box. Wilson opened the box, inside was a Smith and Wesson .44 hand ejector. It seemed to be a good many decades old.

  “Whatever you decide to do, you’re going to need to defend yourself. This is all I have to offer you. All the other guns are needed about the farm, but this has not seen use in many years, back when I served the city.”

  “I can’t take this. You have already given me more than you should have.”

  “Listen, when those Vampires did this to you and left you to die, they didn’t just destroy your family, they spat upon us all. With such an act they showed quite how powerful they are, it will only get worse. It is your duty to ensure that the people of this country are safe.”

  “Just like you used to?” asked Bill.

  “Yes, only we fought good old regular crime, not the blood sucking bastards that you have to. Also, take this coat, it is my son’s, but he won’t miss it.”

  The old man passed the coat over and a box of .44 casings. Marshall looked up at the couple, it was the most generosity he had ever witnessed. At a time of such great need, he had been saved from certain death, and been given these guardian angels. He wasn’t sure whether God had saved him through mercy or to become his instrument of death.

  “You might need this too,” said Wilson.

  The old man passed him a leather shoulder holster that held the revolver vertically below the left arm. It must have been his old detective rig.

  “I cannot thank you both enough, you have saved my life and gone above and beyond to help, I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

  “Don’t worry about it, we did what was right,” said Claudia.

  “Yeah, you look after yourself you hear?” Wilson added.

  “I’ll do my best. How can I reach you in the future?”

  “I wrote our landline number on a piece of paper, it’s in your coat pocket,” said Claudia.

  “I shouldn’t think you’ll have much time to call in, don’t worry about it, we know you’ll be busy, son.”

  “Alright, keep an eye on the news, you might just see my work.”

  Wilson walked out of the house with Bill, out of hearing distance from Claudia.

  “What will you do now, Bill?”

  “Not sure yet, it’s all still whirling around in my head. I need to make sense of a few things, collect some gear and plan my next course.”

  “You need any cash?”

  “No, I have a few bucks still in my wallet from before all this happened, but thanks.”

  “Alright, son, good luck.”

  Marshall pulled on the leather coat and slipped the revolver into the holster. He turned the ignition and the bike roared to life. Wilson nodded at him as a goodbye as he pushed back the kickstand. Bill nodded in acknowledgement as he put the power down and rolled on down the dusty road. Wilson watched as he rode away, not sure if he’d ever see the man and his bike again, but glad he could do a good service.

  * * *

  Bill had been on the road an hour, heading east. He had no plan as of yet, but knew he didn’t want to return to the city quite yet. After having been at Wilson’s home for the last few days, the fresh air was invigorating. He could see a motel with a bar next to it up ahead, it was as good a place to stop as any. He laid his bike up right outside the main door and walked into the reception desk.

  It was a rough and basic place. A week before he never would have considered slumming it so much, but now he didn’t care. The clerk at the desk didn’t even acknowledge him, not wanting to turn away from watching his show.

  “Got a room spare?”

  The clerk turned to him, putting down the chopsticks into the carton he was eating from. He was a miserable looking cretin, dulled by years of a completely uninvolved job.

  “Thirty-five bucks.”

  Marshall took out the notes from his wallet and handed them over to the man, who handed him a key without a word. The clerk picked up his chopsticks and turned back to his show without another word. Marshall thought of the man as a low life, but at least he wasn’t a Vampire, or harmful in any way. He looked at the key number before walking out and heading to the room.

  The more he saw of the building the more disgusting it was. He did his best to ignore the obvious. Stepping into the small room, he took off his coat and lay out across the bed. Finally sitting back up he reached for the TV, there was no remote, but the set was so close to the bed that he could control it without moving his butt. The set must have been thirty years old.

  A crappy action movie came on, but Bill quickly flipped the channels until he reached the news. A reporter stood before a burnt down building, it was only after a few moments that he realised that it was his parish. He could not hear the reporter’s words, his mind turning completely to the vision of the flames.

  Eventually, Bill reached for the set and flicked it off, he couldn’t bear to see any more of it. Getting up off the bed, he pulled on his coat and headed out the door. Looking up the dark and quiet street, the neon signs of the bar were the only sign of life, a faint murmur of voices and laughter eliminating from the building.

  Bill walked down the lonely street and into the bar. There were a few people sat around drinking, the air was full of smoke and an old jukebox in the corner played classic rock music, but not particularly loudly. The man behind the bar wore a denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he had grey mutton chop side burns and an almost bald head. He had the look of a man who had been behind the bar for a few decades, probably the owner.

  “What can I get ya?” asked the barman.

  “A beer,” replied Bill.

  He took up position on a bar stool, plenty of them being free. The establishment was barely half-full, but Bill got the feeling that it was a good turnout for the place. The barman passed him a bottle of cool beer. Before he could take a sip, the door behind him opened again. Bill turned to see a woman walk in, everyone’s attention was focused on her.

  The stranger was in her mid twenties, she wore skin-tight black leather trousers and a well-cut and worn biker’s jacket. Her black hair was a mess from having been in a helmet. The jacket was zipped just far enough down to see her low cut vest beneath. The close fit of her jacket just gave away the small handgun slung beneath it, but only Bill noticed.

  The woman walked with purpose and, despite her beauty, no one said a word to her. She walked straight up to the bar next to Bill, she was mesmerising, and yet, more than a little suspicious. Keeping his left hand on the neck of his beer bottle, Marshall slipped his right hand under his coat and onto the grip of the revolver hanging at his side.

  The mysterious women asked for a beer from the barman and then looked Marshall up and down, something which struck him as odd, it was rather confrontational for a pretty woman, who was already drawing more attention from the wrong sorts tha
n most would want.

  “You Bill Marshall?” asked the woman.

  His grip tightened around the Smith and Wesson, as nobody should have an inkling of where he was.

  “Who’s asking?”

  “Someone who knows the shit he’s in and might be able to help.”

  “And why would anyone want to do that?” asked Marshall.

  Before she could answer him, a drunk patron stumbled over and slightly knocked into her. She tried to brush him off in disgust, but he looked up at her with intrigue.

  “Hey, honey, what’s your name?”

  “Get lost, creep!”

  Not heeding her advice, the drunken fool pawed at her hair. Her leg swung up from the stool, cracking him in the nuts. The drunk let out a sigh of pain.

  “You bitch!”

  He stood back up and slapped the woman. Her head reeled backwards before quickly snapping back, fangs shooting out over her gums. The drunk stumbled in shock. Before either party could act, Bill grasped the woman by the throat and forced her back against the bar. He drew the revolver and placed the barrel under up under her chin.

  “You better start talking quick, I don’t have a lot of patience for Vamps!”

  “I’m not here to fight you, I came to talk.”

  “Like Reiner did at my parish? Did he send you?”

  Marshall’s grip was tight around her throat, making her words muffled.

  “No, I have no love for him either, hear me out.”

  “Why should I?”

  “We both know you have nothing that can kill me.”

  “No, but I can have some fun trying.”

  She stared into his eyes whilst he intently studied her, trying to make sense of her motivations. Finally he let her grasp go and holstered his pistol.

  “Alright, folks, nothing to worry about!” shouted Marshall.

  He pulled out his wallet and threw down ten dollars on the bar for the drinks. He looked around the bar, every patron stared at the two of them. He looked back at the Vampire that stood beside him, unsure what to make of the situation.

  “Alright, let’s get out of here,” he said.

  Bill opened the door and goaded her out, not through courtesy, but the desire of never turning his back on a Vampire. The two stepped out of the bar, he was uneasy with her presence, but she was surprisingly calm. She knew who he was, must have known his reputation, and yet she showed no fear.

  “What are you doing here?” asked Bill.

  “Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

  “Why would I want to go anywhere private with a Vampire?”

  “Hey, this is a big risk for me too. I hoped I might find an ally.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Let’s just get off the street and we’ll discuss it.”

  Marshall led her to his motel room. He was still unsure of the situation and on edge, continually looking around to check for threats. The woman appeared to be genuine, but that was no reason to lower his defences. In his years, Bill had rarely had friendly dealings with a Vampire, nothing beyond necessary business transactions.

  He shut the door behind them and turned to look at the Vampire. She was strikingly beautiful, a fact which unfortunately drew a lot of unwanted attention to herself, especially in areas such as they were in now. She pulled off her jacket and threw it onto the bed, revealing the Heckler & Cock USP Compact holstered on her belt.

  “Alright, what do you want?” Bill asked.

  “Same as you.”

  “I very much doubt it.”

  “You want Reiner’s head on a pole.”

  “Why would you care about that?”

  “I have my reasons.”

  Marshall relaxed slightly, thinking about the situation, but never fully letting her out of his sight.

  “Why did you come here?”

  “Been looking for you since I heard what he did to you, I want him too, but I can’t do it alone.”

  “He’s one of yours and you want him dead?”

  “I may be a Vampire, but never mistake me for one of those bastards, this wasn’t my doing.”

  “What wasn’t?” asked Bill.

  “Being a monster, I never wanted it, never asked for it.”

  “That the reason you want Reiner so bad?”

  “Yeah!”

  “You’ll understand if I don’t fully trust you?” asked Bill.

  “Sure, but the idea of being anywhere near you wasn’t too appealing either.”

  “You really want him dead?”

  “Him and his associates.”

  “As do I, but I must consult the Church, no one can hunt without licence. They will be well aware of what has happened, I need to get their blessing and get my team together. Give me some contact details and I will be in touch when we make a move on this.”

  “Have you not seen the news?”

  “No, what of it?”

  “The Church has washed its hands of the whole affair.”

  The woman flicking on the television and went to a news station where the anchorman was reading a story, a picture of his burnt parish in the background. She turned up the volume and the man’s voice rang out around the room.

  “An investigation has determined that the fire was started when candles within the church caught fire, quickly spreading to pews and blocking the only door to the building. Authorities do not believe there was any malicious intent and are not pursuing the case further. This terrible tragedy has rocked the community...”

  Before the woman could turn off the TV Bill smashed his foot through the screen. He was red with anger and rage.

  “Someone is covering this up. I will not see the culprits go free!”

  “Exactly, time we did something about it,” said the woman.

  “I need some time to think about this, tomorrow I am going to see the Bishop and get this sorted out.”

  “And what will he be willing to do about it?” she asked.

  “Listen! We have handled ghouls like these for years, we’ll handle it!”

  The woman pulled out a business card from her jacket and handed it to him.

  “When you’ve got your head straight and have no where left to turn, you give me a call alright? Names Harriet.”

  Bill looked at the card and watched her as she left the room. He didn’t know what to make of the Vampire who was trying to be his friend, but it was at the very bottom of his mind. All he could think about was the news story he had just witnessed. Not only had Rainer committed mass murder, but he was going to get away with it.

  Lying back in the bed, Marshall began to think of the pain he would inflict on the Vampire when he got his hands on him. He lay there for an hour, rolling the idea round in his head, planning the next day. Finally he fell asleep, still dressed and with his gun at his side.

  Chapter 4

  Bill awoke as the room warmed with the sunrise. Still in his clothes, he was clammy and uncomfortable. He got up off the bed and went to the washroom, throwing cold water over his face in some attempt to improve matters.

  His body was recovering at quite a rate, with the bruising having faded heavily and the wounds being nothing more than a little uncomfortable. It was a miraculous case that he had survived such a brutal execution, but he didn’t have time to think about it any longer. The time had come to act.

  He threw in the keys to reception and quickly jumped onto his bike and stormed off towards the city. He needed information and answers, and the only place he could trust would be Kingston. His colleagues would likely consider him dead so it was time to make his presence known.

  He stormed on down the long and open highway towards the edge of the city where the Bishop ruled from his facility. He was trying to come to some answer as to why the news story had broken that the massacre had been an accident. Any incident that substantial should be investigated by the Church. The only conclusions he could come to was that they had kept the incident a secret, so as not to risk political turmoil between the Lor
ds and perhaps to keep the population calm.

  A horrific act such as witnessed by Marshall could be enough to create civil war in the country, among the Vampires and the humans. He wondered if that would be a bad idea. In all his time working for the Church and the Brotherhood he’d never seen any good in the Vampires. They leeched off humans in every way, in their blood, their labour and their wealth.

  Marshall approached the gates of the great mansion with no physical identification at all, he could already see the guards readying their hands near their concealed firearms. He kept his cool and rode directly up to them.

  “Hey, fellas, how’s it going?”

  “Let’s see some ID, slowly!” shouted the first guard.

  “It’s Bill Marshall, he’s one of us!” shouted the other guard.

  “Still got to see some ID.”

  He reached carefully and slowly into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, showing his Pegasus Security card to the man, one of the several fronts that the Brotherhood used.

  “Alright, sorry to be a pain in the ass, but we cannot take any chances.”

  “No problem.”

  They pulled back the gates and he rode on into the facility, along the long road up to the house. It felt good to be rolling into the base of operations that had been in part his home for many years. Kicking the stand down on his bike, he laid it to rest and walked on into the mansion. As ever, it was alive with people, all going about their business, there was rarely a quiet moment in Kingston.

  He took the stairs straight up towards the office of the Bishop where he had stood just a few days previously. Two people sat waiting outside Bradley’s office. He ignored them and stepped up to the door, pulling it open with vigour. The Bishop’s secretary shot a quick look at Marshall. He looked surprised and confused, though Bill wasn’t sure if that was due to being startled or slightly in fear at his arrival. Bill stormed across the room, but Bradley quickly got to his feet to intercept him before he reached the Bishop’s door.