by Andy Hyland
Caleb was the last to arrive. He looked round to check that we had some privacy, and dropped a sack onto the ground. We crouched round, and he systematically handed out machetes and stakes, running his hands and eyes over each one as he went, checking they were fit for purpose.
“So this is it,” he said, looking at us each in turn. “By all means use magic, but it’ll be a distraction at best, something to slow him down. If you want my advice, you’ll hit him with the stake, and then go for the head while he’s worrying about what’s sticking out of his heart. Any questions?”
I looked around. No, we were pretty clear on everything. “Last chance,” I offered. “We’re going in here to kill something that looks like a young boy. If that’s going to make you hesitate in the slightest, I need to know now. No shame in it.”
“We’re all good,” said Zack. “We started this problem. Now let’s finish it.”
“Damn right,” added Arabella.
“Do we have any kind of plan?” asked Julie, “Or are we running in the front door screaming ‘die you bastard’?”
“No windows and only one door,” I said. “So sneak attacks are out of the question. But shouting is optional and you can use whatever motivational phrase you think is going to help.”
“Are you taking this seriously?” asked Caleb, his brow wrinkling with concern.
“We use humor as a coping mechanism,” Arabella told him. “Extensively.”
“I see. Well, if you must. Shall we?”
We made our way over to the unit. “Still no word from Pastor Alan?” I asked Arabella.
“Nothing. Which means in half an hour this place opens for business and kids are going to come flying in.”
“We can’t have that. Julie, I need you to stay out here. Anyone comes in, tell them the place is closed tonight, turn them away.”
“If you think -”
I held up a hand. “I am genuinely not cutting you off from the action here. But you’re the most presentable one out of the five of us. If any parents show up with their kids they might listen to you. Try to look churchy. Smile a lot. Tilt your head slightly.”
“Fine,” she muttered and stalked off.
“Down to four,” Caleb whispered. “Less than ideal.”
“We’ve done more with less,” I assured him. “Just means we won’t get in each other’s way.”
I touched the door to the unit, rolling out my senses. “Something’s definitely in there, but nothing’s clear.”
“A degenerating vampire,” Caleb said, nodding. “Going primal. Dark rage, hunger and fear. A potent combination. Nothing of the girls?”
I tried again but shook my head. “Too much is coming from Charlie. The girls could be standing the other side of this door and I still wouldn’t be able to make them out.” I gave the door a push. It opened slightly. “At least it’s not sealed,” I whispered.
“Why would he seal it?” Caleb asked. “He’s waiting for dinner to walk through the door.”
I nudged the door again with my shoulder, creating a gap just wide enough to slip inside. Caleb followed, then Zack and finally Arabella. We stayed close, not moving, waiting for our eyes to adjust. “Lights?” I muttered.
“That would help,” said Caleb. “He can see us anyway, and at least we won’t be fighting in the dark.”
“Got it,” said Arabella, running her hand along the wall and clicking a switch. Flickering strip lights sputtered into life, suspended by thin chains from the ceiling. We were in a welcome area – desk over to the side and a small sofa. Couple of old, cheap laptops. Must be the schoolwork part of the club. Somewhere quiet to work if your parents were screaming at each other back at home. This section was shallow but ran the length of the building, with a restroom off to the right. Ahead of us was a blue wooden door with a small square sign fixed to it that read: ‘Fun Zone Ahead’.
That door slowly started opening.
We moved to flank it, two on either side, Arabella with Zack, and Caleb with me, and dropped into fighting stances. As soon as the door was fully open we struck like a carefully oiled machine. Caleb grabbed the emerging figure and slammed it against the floor while Arabella shouldered the door shut. Zack dropped onto one of the arms and I took the other, while Caleb without a second’s pause raised the stake and then brought it straight down. Hard.
“Ah, shit,” said Zack.
It wasn’t Charlie. For a start, this guy was nearing thirty, even if he was a bit on the short side. Clean-shaven, tousle-haired and a pair of spectacles that dangled precariously from only one of their arms. His eyes were glazed, and the tear on his neck was more than a few hours old. “Pastor Alan, I guess,” said Arabella.
I nodded. “Probably swung past early today to get things set up, and ended up as breakfast.”
“You kidding?” said Caleb. “If he was breakfast he’d be in pieces. He’s a ghoul. Think of a Shambler but ramp up the agility and hate, and lose some of the intelligence. A guard dog in human form. Mind yourselves.”
Caleb stood and swung his machete like most guys would swing a golf club. The head rolled a few steps across the floor. Once it was severed, the skin became pale and stretched, as death started to take its overdue bounty.
“He knows we’re here, then,” I said. “May as well go in and say hello.”
“Are you nuts?” Caleb said, but I’d already wrenched open the blue door and walked inside.
“Hi Charlie. Going to come out and talk to Uncle Malachi?”
This part of the unit was left open-plan. It was the real hang-out zone back here – schoolwork was left out front. Run-down pool and air-hockey tables were filed down the left hand side of the place, leaving something like a dancefloor in the middle, and playstations off to the right. Towards the rear, steps led up to a mezzanine floor. The lights this end cast their glare across the room, but didn’t reach that far back.
Charlie made his way down the steps. Only a day since I’d last seen him, but the difference was stark and unmistakable. He hunched forward, looking for all the world as if he was about to drop onto all fours and pad across the floor. His hair, once a black mop, was thinner and swept back. The skin of his face was pulled taut, like a botched celebrity facelift. It was the eyes that did it for me though. Pouty child I was used to. Sobbing boy I’d seen on occasion, though he hid it from us as best he could. But cold-hearted monster was something new. Maybe it had been there for some time, just out of sight. Now it was out front and in charge.
“Stupid of you to come,” he said casually, pacing slowly over to the left and picking up a ball from one of the pool tables.
“Stupid of you to run off,” I countered. “You must have known we couldn’t let you just go on killing.”
“I’ve barely started. By the end of the night…well, that’s a different matter.”
“I understand you killing your Dad,” Zack called out. “Trust me, I do. But why your brother?”
Charlie faltered, grasping for words. “He…I don’t know,” he said. “Not anymore. It was all so clear at the time.”
“Can’t you see it, Charlie?” I asked him. “Can’t you see yourself fading, changing?”
But he shook his head and carried on walking, our eyes following him every step of the way, expecting him to pounce or turn at any moment. “I just need to wait until he arrives. That’s all. If we can just stay here until then. Until he…”
I looked at Zack, but he was as thrown by this as I was. “Who?” I demanded. “Who are you talking about? Charlie, we need to know.”
The answer never came, because it was then that we got blindsided.
If you’ve seen vampire movies over the years, you’ve inevitably picked up some ideas about what a battle with them looks like. The forceful grace of Vincent Price’s Dracula, or the sparkly intense nonsense of all that other crap. Well, this was a bit different.
The first we knew of our problem was Arabella jumping around screaming with a small girl attached to her arm. �
�The bitch has got her teeth in,” she shouted.
“Not a problem,” said Caleb, moving to intercept the swinging child. “She’s not a damn werewolf. Just keep her still. Still, I said!”
That gave Charlie the opening he was waiting for. A momentary distraction was all it took for him to close the distance across the floor, leaping over the pool table and launching himself at our feet. We went over like skittles, stakes and machetes skidding away from our hands. Then Charlie was on me, knees in my stomach and craning down his neck, trying to get at my throat. It took all I had to grab his neck and push him out of biting range.
Then he was gone, and Zack was standing over me, panting for breath and holding a broken wooden chair. Charlie was three meters away, on his back but scrabbling his way back up to his feet. “Chair,” I shouted to Zack, who tossed it across just as Charlie moved in for his second attempt at bloodletting. I jumped back, just managing to swing the chair in front of me, so that Charlie crashed into it at full speed.
He stopped an inch from my face, eyes widening, mouth open, spittle and blood dripping down onto his chin. From this close his elongated canine teeth glistened even in the poor light, and his breath stank of rotting meat.
Zack pulled Charlie back away from me, letting him drop to the floor. A leg of the chair, already snapped and broken, had driven straight into Charlie’s chest. We stood there looking down at him.
“You plan that?” asked Zack
“I’d like to say yes.”
Across the room, Caleb and Arabella’s assault on the four-year old girl, still dressed in her pyjamas, reached its conclusion, and a tiny head with pigtails toppled slowly from small shoulders. “Shit,” said Arabella. “If that’s the kiddy version, I never want to meet the real thing.”
I crouched over Charlie and took his hand. “It’ll all be over soon, mate. Don’t worry, we’ll get you sorted out. But we’ve got to know – you said someone was going to show up here. A man, right?. Who was that? Have you met him before? What did he look like?”
Caleb strode over and put his hand on my shoulder. “You can save your breath. He’s shutting down. Won’t talk again. Here, you want me to do it?”
That would have been great, but wrong. “I started it,” I said, holding my hand out for the machete. “I’ll finish it. Just give me a moment with him.”
They moved away, giving me a couple of minutes to say what needed saying. Then I took aim and swung down. Not as neat as Caleb’s work, but he’d spent a lifetime getting his hands dirty with crap like this. And suddenly I realized with absolute clarity that I didn’t want to get to his age and still be doing this.
“That it?” Arabella asked.
“We’re still missing a sister,” said Zack. “Twins, right?”
“Yep,” I replied. “Split up and track her down. But if we haven’t seen her yet, I don’t hold out much hope.”
I took the stairs up to the mezzanine floor while the other three emptied cupboards and checked corners down below. With Charlie and his turned sister now dead, some of the fog was lifting and I was able to sense out more, picking up the subtleties of the place. Even so, my ears found her first. A whimpering came from the far corner, where no light reached. “Here,” I called, and cast a wisp-light up and forward. “Careful,” I said, but Arabella ran past me, picking up the girl roughly and turning her round, checking for marks.
She turned round, smiling. “Got a pulse. And she’s breathing. Not a mark on her.”
“Holy hell,” said Zack.
Caleb stepped forward, carefully examining the girl’s neck. “Unheard of. Why ever would he turn one and leave the other? It makes no sense.”
“Well nothing about this is in any way normal,” I said. “Main thing is, Sally Kirkwood gets one of her kids back. It’s the least we could do for her. Zack, take the girl and get her to the hospital. Doc Alison can figure out a way to reunite them.”
He nodded and took her from Arabella. “You heading back to town?”
“Later. Something to do first.”
“What are we waiting for?” asked Arabella as Zack made his way out.
I nodded back down at what remained of Charlie. “He said he was waiting until ‘he arrives’. Nobody outside the building has seen the fight. For all anyone knows, he’s still here. I say we hang around and see if the mysterious stranger shows up.”
“Makes perfect sense,” said Caleb, setting off down the steps, “for you. As for me, I’m done. I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure, but…not something I’d like to do again. And I’ve done some shit in my time. Travel well, Malachi, Arabella. See you on the other side.”
“Likewise. Thanks,” I called after him. Then we settled in for a wait. After an hour Julie walked in. She’d seen off anyone who’d turned up, and the stream of people had now trickled away to nothing. We sat there together in silence, waiting for someone, something to show up.
Nine o’clock came and went. Then ten. At eleven Arabella stood up. “I’m calling it. Let’s go home.”
Julie took my hand and pulled me to my feet. I reluctantly nodded. I’d come back early in the morning and clean up. With Pastor Alan gone, it was unlikely anyone would show up before then. By the time the after-school crowd came by in the evening, there’d be no trace of any of this.
“What’s this, an escort?” Arabella asked as we stepped outside. Three SUVs. Black, with darkened glass, all pulled up right outside, down by the sidewalk. The moment we came into view, three doors opened and one man stepped out of each car. Could have been triplets. Mirrored shades, crew cut, T-shirts and pressed blue jeans. Thick veins sticking out from their necks, and a tattoo of a chain snaking down their ripped arms.
“Oh shit,” said Julie.
“Damn right. This isn’t good. Let me do the talking.”
“Who are they?” Arabella asked, but I motioned for her to be quiet.
“And a good evening to you,” I said as they marched over in an arrow formation. “Anything we can do for you?”
The lead guy stopped two paces short of us and looked me up and down. “Malachi English.” It was a statement, not a question. “Arabella Duval. You are both required to come with us, immediately. Move, now.”
“Malachi, what?” Arabella asked, but one of them took her arms and started dragging her away.
Julie stepped forward to grab her but another of them pushed her back, firmly but gently. “Your presence, Miss, is not required,” he said, nodding at the charm that hung around her neck. A silver feather. Leftover gift from the time she’d been pressed into the service of higher powers.
“Malachi, do something,” begged Arabella, already half-way to the cars.
“Don’t fight them,” I called to her. “Just co-operate. I’ll get you back home in no time.”
The lead guy leaned forward, staring down straight into my eyes. “Don’t make the girl promises you can’t keep, Mr English. Because we both know it’s very unlikely that either of you are going home again.”
CHAPTER SIX
The cars pulled away. I sat in the back of the middle car with Arabella. She reached over and tried the handle, but the door was locked. “Nice try,” I muttered, “but you’re dealing with the professionals now. Keep your mouth shut. Do and say as little as possible.”
“Who are they?” she whispered.
“The Host.”
“They’re angels?”
“Angels is a broad term. Bit like saying something’s hellkind. It points you in the general direction without telling you much at all. But yeah, angels. These guys are the chain gang, the lower ranks - enforcers. They follow orders and don’t do too much thinking for themselves.”
“You can take them?” she whispered.
“Not a chance. Even if I could – and I’m telling you right now that’s not possible – what would be the point? How long do you think it would be before the next batch turned up? It’s not like they’re running low on resources. And then we’d be in even deeper shit
.”
“But what have we done?”
I looked at her. Realization slowly dawned in her eyes. “They know? About…”
“No point mincing your words now, love. Yes, they know. Charlie, Mercy, the whole thing.”
“How?”
I shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“So…what happens now? With us?”
“We’ll be taken somewhere and sentenced.”
“Sentenced? How about a trial first?”
“You’re dealing with the Host. They work on certainty. They don’t drag people in without knowing exactly what’s happened and having sufficient evidence to convict. They’re a damn sight more efficient than any cops you’ll find Earth-side.”
That gave her enough to think about, and we sat in silence for the rest of the ride. After half an hour or so, the car pulled up in front of a nondescript office block somewhere in Lower Manhattan – I hadn’t exactly been paying attention to which streets we were traveling through, so it was good to get my bearings again. Lispenard Street, I noted. Good to know, just in case I ever came this way again. Which was beginning to look unlikely. One of our escorts opened the rear door and we shuffled out. He gestured to the door of the building, which a brass plaque proclaimed was home to FS&H Shipping, and I walked in, shoulders back and head high, with Arabella following.
Another of the Host was inside, sitting at a desk with a large leather-bound book in front of her. Long brown hair, smartly pulled back into a bun, but the same unmistakeable blue eyes. She looked up and asked for our names. I gave them and she nodded. “As expected. If you please.”
