Judge of the Damned (Vampire Storm, Book 1)

by Nick S. Thomas

  “He is there on my account and it is vital you let him go!”

  “Detective, even if he wasn’t involved, he may be the only witness at the scene.”

  “Then we know where to find him. Son, I am ordering you to let him go, he wasn’t there and you never saw him!”

  “Affirmative, but this is on you if we land in the shit.”

  “I hear you, it’s appreciated.”

  The police officer put his handset down as Bill was still waiting for a response. He was all too aware that the only gun he had to hand was not loaded. Even worse, he was dealing with innocent men and was too dizzy to do much at all. Suddenly, noise rang out from the loudhailer, followed by a police officer’s voice.

  “You’re free to go, please vacant the scene immediately!”

  Bill sighed in relief, he fired up his bike and rolled on down the street. He was thankful he had only a short distance to travel, as he suspected he couldn’t handle the bike for much longer. He pushed the bike through into his lockup and collapsed into the chair in the armoury. His jaw was aching, it felt like it had almost dislocated. His nose was broken and his body bruised and cut.

  Light footsteps rang out from the stairs above. Adrenaline kicked in, giving Bill a momentary burst of energy. He reached for the nearest gun, The Smith and Wesson that was given to him by Wilson. He cocked back the hammer and held it in both hands, aiming for the door whilst he still sat in the chair.

  A figure appeared before him at the opening to the room, he fired immediately. A woman’s voice let out a short cry of pain.

  “Bill, it’s me!” shouted Harriet.

  Marshall had completely forgotten she was even in the building.

  “Harriet, I’m sorry!”

  She walked in through the door, blood trailing from her arm, but no longer in any kind of pain.

  “At least it wasn’t silver,” she said.

  She looked on at Bill who was bloody and battered, the pistol already lowered, he didn’t even have the strength to hold it up. He looked as if he was going to pass out.

  “Jesus, Bill, you look like hell.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What happened to you?”

  “Some goon came after me at Murphy’s.”

  “Looks like he was more than a random goon.”

  “Never seen him before, but he was a big mother fucker, a damn giant.”

  “Come on, let’s get you upstairs, you need to rest.”

  She helped him to his feet and lent him some support to his one side, it was clear that he could barely support his own weight and was getting even more shaky. The two stumbled up the stairs and she pushed him in the general direction of the bed. He collapsed onto the hard mattress.

  “We should probably get you to a hospital.”

  Bill shook his head, his mouth was dry as he tried to speak.

  “No, can’t do it.”

  “You haven’t got any gunshot wounds, they can fix you up without any hassle.”

  “No, I cannot be in public like this, too risky.”

  “Alright.”

  She went to the bathroom and came back quickly with a wet cloth, cleaning the wounds on his face and mopping up the blood as he unclipped his weapon belt and tried to pull off his vest. His arms could barely reach far enough to give the range of movement needed, but she helped him. Pulling his shirt over his head, Bill collapsed back onto the bed.

  Harriet looked down at his body. It was cut, heavily bruised and inflamed, with his multiple gunshot wounds still healing.

  “You can’t keep going like this, Bill, your body can’t take it.”

  “Seem to be doing okay so far.”

  “You are going to kill yourself.”

  “If that is what is required of me.”

  “You can’t die yet, Bill, I need you.”

  Bill tried to speak but his words were slurred and unidentifiable. He faded into a deep sleep, his body having nothing left give. Harriet stared at him as he slept, pulling the blanket over him. She felt a massive relief in having found an ally. She had felt a stranger in her own city for so long, being considered a freak and monster by humans, and hating her own species.

  * * *

  Marshall awoke many hours later, his body still ached but his head was back in order. It took him a few minutes to remember the events of the previous evening. He sat up on the side of the bed, the many aches and pains of his body bluntly reminding him of the beating he had taken. The curtains were shut, and no light was getting in, but checking his watch, it was late in the morning.

  Peering over the bed, he realised that Harriet was asleep on the floor, the hard surface not at all seeming to bother her rest. It was time he changed his appearance, his biker image and Harley were now too recognisable. Pulling on his clothes, he went down to his armoury and opened up his safe, pulling out the ten thousand dollars he kept there as an emergency fund, it was all he had left in the world.

  Marshall wandered on down several blocks to a shabby looking secondhand clothes store. The clerk of the shop looked at him with both intrigue and fear, his scarred and battered face making him look like trouble. Bill quickly found a pair of light cargo pants in his size and a short leather jacket that vaguely fitted. It was enough of a change that it would hide his identify. Placing the items down on the counter he drew out his wallet to pay as the clerk bagged them up. He looked at a small glass cabinet that had sunglasses in.

  “They’re on sale, man, ten bucks a pair.”

  He reached in and took out a pair of old Ray-Ban Wayfarers, the large frames would go a long way to disguising his battered face in the light of day.

  “Hey, you ok, man?”

  “Yeah, sure,” said Bill.

  He handed over the notes and walked out of the store, slipping the sunglasses onto his face, the little contact with his bruises stinging. He looked up and down the street, it was quiet being in between rush hour and lunchtime. At the end, he could just see a sign reading ‘cut price autos’. The last thing he wanted to do was sideline his Harley, but it was getting too risky. Bill stepped back into the clothes store.

  “Hey, you got somewhere I can change?”

  “Yeah, back right of the store,” said the clerk.

  “Thanks.”

  He quickly returned in his newly acquired gear, he dropped the bag of his old clothes on the clerk’s counter.

  “Keep them.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  Marshall pushed open the door and walked on down towards the car lot. He looked around cautiously all the time, half expecting to be attacked. A few blocks down, he could see the sales lot, it was as cheap and run down as the sign would suggest, but they did at least have about fifty cars and trucks parked up.

  There was nobody to be seen, no one touting for trade or cleaning the cars. Every vehicle there was dusty, with no effort at all to make them look anything more than they were. This fact heartened Bill, as he was dealing with a lazy dealer rather than a sleazy one. He stepped through between the vehicles. Looking around at what was on offer.

  “Can I help you?”

  Bill turned to see a man step out of a trailer. He was in his fifties, bald, with a loose hanging shirt and a pair of glasses hanging around his neck on a cord. His hands were strong but worn and wrinkled, his face taut and defined, he had the look of a man who had worked hard for most of his life, and had finally slowed down.

  “I’m after a vehicle.”

  “Got anything in mind, son?”

  “Something substantial, that has weight to it, a truck maybe.”

  “Weight? What you want it for?”

  “This and that.”

  “I got a step van.”

  “Na, not what I had in mind.”

  “How about a ’98 Suburban, ex-government spec.”

  “That sounds promising.”

  “Step this way.”

  The man led Bill around the trailer to where the Chevy stood, it was a Suburban LT in black, with blacked
out windows. It looked as though it been a police or government vehicle, but not for many years. Rust had set in on the inner arches and the bodywork was covered in thick soot and grime.

  “It’s done some miles, but that old v8 will keep on for a lifetime.”

  “How much you want for it?”

  “Five.”

  “I’ll give you four if it’ll start.”

  The man nodded and walked off back to his trailer, returning moments later with the keys.

  “It’s a good truck this one, no bullshit, I ran it for a while myself.”

  “Save me the speech, I just need a car.”

  The man climbed into the driver’s seat and slipped the key into the ignition. The engine turned over slowly several times, the battery being almost dead, most likely it had been left standing for some time. Suddenly, the 5.7 chevy small block roared to life, smoke belching from the exhaust as it cleared many months of dust and dirt. The engine settled to a steady idle.

  “Alright, you got a deal.”

  The salesman didn’t look at all bothered, Bill wondered if he even cared about shifting vehicles or not. He drew out the cash from his pocket and handed it over to the man.

  “Good luck with it.”

  “Thanks.”

  Marshall climbed in, slipped the box into drive and rolled on out of the lot. It was a rough old truck, had had a hard time in its short life, but it was tough and capable. He looked down at the fuel gauge, it was running on empty, typical of a car dealer. After grabbing some gas from the nearest station, he headed on back to the lockup, parking up inside out of view. It was fortunate the garage was big enough to work on cars.

  Stopping the truck beside his bike, he looked at the solitary Harley, put on the bench through no fault of its own. The truck would make a few things easier, no doubt. It would allow him to carry a lot more in terms of weapons and ammunition, whilst staying much more anonymous.

  Marshall’s first task was to switch off the airbags. The last thing he could afford was being stunned on an impact, whether he caused it or not. Next, he bolted several large flight cases to the floor of the trunk, loading into them the Milkor, SA58, a Benneli combat shotgun and spare handguns. The Benneli was loaded up with silver buckshot, a formidable tool in Vamp combat.

  Lastly, he fitted a holster underneath the steering column which would hold Wilson’s revolver. He threw several wooden stakes into the truck in various locations, but he’d found a new friend in the grenade launcher. Killing Vampires had never been so easy since he had been able to use a weapon that they couldn’t recover from, it was a fearsome tool. Then he put three jerry cans of petrol in the trunk. Vampires only really feared fire, but he would become their next living nightmare. Marshall turned to see Harriet stood in the doorway to the stairs.

  “Wow, you look, rather normal.”

  “Had to be done, I have had too many close calls, have to lay up the bike and blend in a little more.”

  “What are you doing with all that hardware?”

  “Just being prepared for anything, shouldn’t you be asleep?”

  “Haven’t you ever been awake in the night?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well same for me in the day, I just can’t walk out the door.”

  Bill smiled, but could not go as far as a laugh. The idea of having a Vampire as a friend and ally was becoming more acceptable, but still jarred his instincts.

  “You should be resting too. Those wounds won’t heel too quick at the rate you’re going.”

  “After everything, I cannot just lie about, I need to keep active.”

  “It’s daytime, nothing for you to do now.”

  “True, but it’s not all work. Tell me, before all the shit hit the fan, you said you had a lead on some of the Coven, fill me in.”

  “Yeah, three of Rainer’s guys live in a house out in the suburbs, white picket fence and all, you’d never have thought it.”

  “They’ll be there right now?”

  “Yes, they’ll be sleeping.”

  “Give me the address.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “You leave that to me.”

  She wrote down the address in a notepad and ripped off the sheet, handing it to him, he folded it and tucked it into his jacket pocket without even looking.

  “You know for sure there are Vamps in there?” he asked.

  “Sure, I scoped it out before all this happened.”

  “Alright, good work, you get some sleep in, I have some things to do.”

  “Bill, be careful.”

  Marshall nodded as he climbed into the Chevy and rode out onto the street, the shutter closing behind him. Harriet knew he would not heed her warnings, but she was not willing to push him any harder. Though not wanting to see him hurt, she was eager for progress, eager for payback.

  Chapter 10

  Marshall was riding down the freeway, contemplating his next move. He knew the risks of going into another fight, but he was also growing impatient. For every hour he did not strike, he made it easier for his enemies to find him. He pulled out the slip of paper that Harriet had given him. He knew how strongly she felt about him avoiding trouble for a while, but he could not resist seeing for himself.

  The address was only a half hour’s drive away and he took the nearest exit off the freeway and headed for it. Though he didn’t know what to expect, he was working in the day, when he had the advantage. With his new truck and clothes, it was easier to blend in.

  The neighbourhood was just as Harriet had described it, wide streets, white picket fences, big old wooden suburban homes. It was the last place you would expect to find a hive of Vampires, and the perfect place to hide. A ‘for sale’ signpost was displayed on the lawn, Bill suspected it was the perfect way to explain casual goings in and out, with the lack of life during the day.

  He stopped the truck on the opposite side of the road. The house was dead quiet, whilst a few people walked up and down the street with dogs and children. He stepped out from his truck and looked cautiously about. There was no sign of danger. Bill crossed the street and casually walked up to the gate of the address written on the note.

  Something caught his eye, a small engraving cut into the post of the wooden gate, he knelt down and looked closer. It was the same as the motif he’d seen in gold and hanging from Rainer’s neck, the sign of their Coven. Bill’s eyes widened as he realised what he stood before, the best lead he had acted upon so far. He looked down at his watch, it was close to two in the afternoon.

  “Shit!”

  He remembered it was Simmons’ funeral, it would be starting in ten minutes. He quickly crossed the road and leapt into his truck, tearing off down the road. Simmons had died as a result of the shit he was in. Whilst not being at fault for his death, Bill still felt a lot of guilt for the man’s murder. He blamed himself for not finding a better way to protect those around him from harm.

  Marshall reached the entrance to the cemetery, instantly slowing down, not least because in respect of the dead and mourners, but because he was entering an area full of cops. His truck rolled on down the open and unmarked road to the cemetery. He could already see a group of almost a hundred mourners stood in the graveyard, many in their dress blue uniforms, an honour guard stood beside the casket with a flag draped over it.

  He parked up a good distance away from the police cruisers in the parking lot, but in line of sight to the burial. Bill got out of the truck and leaned against the fender, watching the service. It was a tragically depressing event, as it only reminded him of his family’s own end, and a funeral he never got to attend.

  Frank Matthews had spotted him even from the distance at which he was standing, with his keen eye and good memory. The detective nodded in acknowledgement of Bill, an appreciative notion. He could see the widow and kids of the fallen detective, tears pouring from their eyes uncontrollably. Bill may have felt the blame for the man’s death, but that death would soon be avenged.

 
The bugle player began to play, only making the scene feel more depressing and hopeless. As it came to a close, seven men in dress blues fired the twenty-one gun salute from their police issue twelve gauge shotguns. It was an admirable send off for their comrade. The flag from the coffin was folded and handed to the man’s widow, and the honour guard dismissed.

  Marshall watched as Frank went over to the widow to say a few words, until he left her in peace to stand over the grave of her husband. The funeral procession dispersed to their cars and Frank wandered up to Bill.

  “Thanks for coming, Bill, I know what you have risked to come here today.”

  “I am sorry for your loss.”

  “You know at some stage you’re going to have to come in, there are some serious questions being asked, you can’t stay out their forever.”

  “Frank, I live outside the law because it is too weak to act, it has fallen on me to fight this battle.”

  “How can you, one man against the power of a Vampire like Rainer? You’ll be dead before the end of the week.”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  “Do you have some sort of death wish?”

  “Frank, I don’t want to die, I am the judge of those who live outside the law.”

  Frank reached out his hand to Bill in friendship.

  “I do not understand your methods, Bill, but I wish you every luck. I know you’re a good man, just don’t go throwing your life away for revenge.”

  “Thanks, for everything. I suggest you avoid contact with me from now on, it will only cause you trouble, good luck on the job.”

  Frank nodded in return as Bill climbed into his truck and rode on out of the cemetery. The funeral had only hardened his resolve, his hatred of the Coven ever growing. The time of fighting on the defensive and planning was over, it was time to dish out some pain. The address in the suburbs was the perfect location, shock and awe was the key, he wanted to drive fear into Rainer’s Coven.

  They had done to him what would have killed any other man, and despite their best efforts, they had not been able to kill him yet. He put his foot on the gas and stormed on back to the street he had been in earlier. The Chevy slid to a halt in the family friendly neighbourhood. His face was now hard and focused, with hatred boiling in his blood. He was ready to kill.