Never looking away from the road Chef nodded.
“Oh crap,” Buck suddenly blurted out.
“What?” Jake asked.
“They don’t have their headlights on because they don’t need them! They can see in the dark!”
“What do you mean they can see in the dark?” Diana asked. “How could they . . .”
The answer hit them all at the same time. Vampires. Makers.
“Punch it Chef!” Donnie yelled.
Jake looked down to see the pedal was pressed all the way to the floorboard; the van didn’t have any more speed. One by one, the three cars caught up and began boxing them in.
“We’re dead,” Buck said softly. “There’s got to be at least three of them, probably more!”
“Shut up Buck!” Donnie yelled his own voice dripping with fear.
Sure could use my axe right about now. Jake thought to himself just before the car in front of them slammed on its brakes. Chef had no choice but to hit the brakes or put them into the ditch, which at that speed would probably have killed everyone but himself and Chris. Everyone was thrown forward into the front seats. The van stopped mere inches from the bumper of the other car. Chef shoved the van into reverse slamming into the front of the car behind them and shattering the back windows. The tires spun, spinning rubber but the other car wouldn’t budge. He put it back into drive and peeled forward only to again be trapped by the car in front.
Shoving the van into park, he suddenly reached under his seat and produced a black .357 Sig Sauer. He popped the clip making sure it was loaded, then put one in the chamber and handed it to Chris. Lastly he pulled his New York Yankees cap off his head and placed it on Chris’s head.
“Chef! What are you doing?” Donnie yelled as Chef suddenly opened the driver’s side door and hopped out.
“My god. He’s about to get himself killed!” Jake exclaimed.
The car in front of them pulled forward a good ten yards before the driver and passenger leapt out. Each looked to be no more than twenty-five years old. Even from this distance, Jake could see their glowing red eyes. The other cars’ passengers exited the vehicles around them.
One dragged his razor sharp talons across the side of the van making a gut wrenching scraping sound. Another leapt onto the roof of the van and began leaving deep impressions with each step.
A young girl, no more than sixteen, leapt off the roof onto the hood and knocked on the windshield. “We’re going to have your fat friend here for dinner!” She said loudly. “Then we’re all going for a little joyride.” She smiled a mouthful of razor sharp teeth.
“Damn Donnie, damn.” Buck kept saying over and over. “What are we going to do?!”
“How the hell should I know?” he replied.
“You’re our leader! Do something!”
“Like what?!” Donnie yelled in his face. “If any of us go out there we’re dead!”
“We’re already dead,” Jake said grimly. “You think this aluminum tin can is going to keep them out?”
“Give me the gun Morris!” Buck yelled trying to jump into the front seat.
“Sit down and shut up!” Jake shoved him back. “Unless you plan on killing yourself that gun isn’t going to do shit!”
The Maker’s began surrounding Chef in a large circle. There were nine of them total.
Chef ripped his shirt from his chest with one hand, exposing his large gut and a back riddled with scars. He threw out his hands challenging them then thumped his chest with his right fist again and again showing that he was not the least bit afraid.
“He’s got guts!” Donnie said. “You got to give him that.”
Chef threw his head back into the air and let loose a strange, violent yell/howl. Only it wasn’t a howl like a dog or wolf but more intelligent, like there were words in it. Which in itself should have been impossible since Chef was mute.
The van grew quiet as a tomb. Everyone stared, completely dumbstruck. Each of the vampires took several steps back from this now unknown foe.
A deep, dark brown hair suddenly erupted from his skin covering his body from head to toe. Before their very eyes, he rose two feet taller than his normal height. His pants and shoes shredded as his leg muscles bulged. His hands and feet grew larger by six inches and powerful razor sharp claws, longer than that of a Maker’s peeled out from his fingertips. He looked more ape than man.
Chef snarled at the Makers, challenging them. Three of them actually turned and ran away from the pack. The other six faced Chef, fear looming in their red eyes.
The largest of the group met his challenge. He roared then leapt at Chef. Chef turned just before he hit, catching him by his neck in midair. He swung him down into the hard black pavement, cracking his head open like a watermelon. Grabbing a leg in each massive hand, he pulled. Dark black blood sprayed across the windshield as the vampire was literally ripped in two.
“HOLY SHIT!” The van erupted with screams.
“Did you see that?!” Chris yelled.
Without even thinking, Jake reached up and hit the windshield wipers clearing the blood enough so they could see.
Two of the vampires were now on Chef’s back digging their claws into his shoulders and chest. One Maker with a receding hairline sunk his fangs deep into Chef’s neck. Chef grabbed him by the head with both hands and crushed it like an egg between his immensely powerful grip. The vampire’s body slumped over onto the ground but two more soon took its place. Chef punched and ripped at them trying to shake them off. The teenage girl vampire’s head came flying off and bounced onto the hood of the van. Only three remained.
They took a different approach than their dead comrades. Each one would dart out into the darkness then come back at different intervals, hitting Chef then leaping out of his reach.
Chef roared an angry howl as one of them slashed at the backs of his legs leaving deep, bloody lacerations across his thighs. Another raked his talons across Chef’s face filling his eyes with blood. A third ripped into Chef’s stomach.
Chef was now blinded, his right hand held his stomach and intestines from falling out, but he didn’t go down. He’d put up a hell of a fight but Jake knew it was only a matter of time before they finished him. There were just too many and they were just too fast.
Knowing their prey was on his last leg, the remaining vampires surrounded Chef in a small circle. He spun around slashing blindly with his claws. They laughed at his futile efforts.
Then it came. An echoing howl matching the one Chef had made mere minutes before. Then another from the opposite direction. Then two more. Red eyes appeared in the darkness. Eyes that were not vampire eyes. One by one, they rushed into the glow of the van’s headlights, yanking the Makers into the air and ripping them to pieces with their bare hands.
A snow-white creature that seemed to be the leader of the group grunted something to two smaller, but still massively huge creatures. They grunted a response then bounded off back into the darkness.
Chef’s wounded form dropped to the ground in a heap, the hair receded and he turned human again. Two of his companions were instantly at his side checking on him but Chef shoved them away. The large white beast stared hard at the van for nearly a minute before approaching. He came to the side doors and everyone nearly toppled over each other getting into the “safety” of the front two seats.
When the door opened the recruits never would have imagined who was staring back at them. He was completely naked from the waist up, his tailored pants ragged and shredded and he was missing his glasses but there was no mistaking who he was.
“Mr. Orwell?!” Jake exclaimed.
“Hello my young friends,” he said grimly. “Is everyone alright?”
Chapter 7
Jake
Six miles South of San Angelo TX
May 19, 1999, 3:09am
“Are we all right?!” Buck yelled out. “Do you believe this freaking guy?! Hell no we’re not all right! We just watched Chef turn into . . . into a
goddamn . . . monkey and beat the shit out of a half dozen vampires!”
Mr. Orwell sighed and extended his wrinkled hand. Everyone mashed closer together.
“It is all right.” Mr. Orwell held up his hands in a peaceful gesture. “I will not harm you.”
“Bullshit,” Buck said. “I saw what you just turned into! I saw your eyes Orwell; they were as red as those bloodsuckers!”
Chef came limping over to the side of the van and leaned unsteadily against the door. His chest, neck, right forearm, and thighs were all bleeding profusely. His stomach seemed to have miraculously sealed back up, but he still favored it with his wounded right arm. The fact that he was the same old Chef again seemed to have a calming effect on the group.
“I’ve seen you like that before. Haven’t I Chef?” Jake said moving away from the protection of the group and closer to Chef and Mr. Orwell. “That night I was sick. I was gathering wood for the stove and you were watching me. You and two of your . . . friends.”
Chef nodded drunkenly then his eyes rolled back and he dropped. Mr. Orwell caught the large man’s weight much easier than he should have been able to.
Jake jumped out of the van and came to his other side putting one of Chef’s arms around his shoulders. His knees nearly buckled under the weight. “Easy big guy. Easy.” Jake said, helping Mr. Orwell lift him into the van.
“Jake, man, are you sure that’s such a good idea?” Donnie asked.
“Donnie, he nearly died protecting us. I’m more than sure that it’s a good idea.” Jake’s muscles groaned as he gently let Chef fall back to the carpeted floor. “We owe him our lives.”
Diana came forward and placed a gentle hand on Chef’s scarred, bloody chest. “Everyone look around; see if you can find a first aid kit, we’ve got to stop this bleeding . . . Dammit he’s done for!” she moved away from him. “He’s been bitten at least a half dozen times.”
“It’s alright Miss Parker,” Mr. Orwell said flatly. “His wounds will take time, but they will heal.”
“Yeah, but he’s been bitten,” she replied coldly. “He’ll be turning any minute.”
Chris pointed the pistol at Chef’s head.
“Put that away!” Jake jerked the gun from his hand. “Use your heads, if he was going to turn he would have by now.”
“Jacob is correct. Their bites are not infectious to us. Though they do itch something fierce when they start to heal.”
“You’re sure?” Diana asked carefully.
“Yes, I am sure.” He showed her both of his forearms. They were covered in bite scars.
“Okay then,” she said, convinced. “Well then I’m going to patch him up. It’s the least I can do.”
“Here,” Chris said passing back a kit from under the passenger seat.
“There’s really no need for that,” Mr. Orwell said. “They will be healed within an hour or two.”
“Well, until then, I’ll do what I can to help move it along,” she replied coolly.
A car passed by slowly on the highway and several lookieloos stared at them, their mouths hanging wide open. One of them picked up a cell phone and began dialing.
“We better get out of here,” Jake said, handing the .357 Sig Sauer back to Chris who quickly shoved it into the glove compartment. “We’re drawing a lot of attention just sitting here.”
“Jake is right,” Donnie said jumping into the driver’s seat. “Jump in Mr. Orwell, we’ll take you back to the Ranch.”
“I’ll keep pace with you,” Mr. Orwell said looking out into the darkness. “There are at least four of them still on the loose out there. My wife and sons are looking for them now. I will meet you all at Billy’s.”
“Uh . . . okay,” Donnie said uncertainly.
“Dammit.” Diana cursed digging through the small plastic case and tossing various small bandages out. “This kit is garbage. There’s nothing here I can use. We need to get him back to the ranch where Lt. Smart can patch him up.”
“I promise you, Diana.” Mr. Orwell smiled. “He’ll be fine in an hour or two.” He slammed the door shut then transformed back into the snow-white ape before their eyes and took off at a steady trot.
“He’s real,” Buck said softly.
“Of course he’s real,” Chris said, giving him a quizzical look. “Did you think you were dreaming or something?”
“No dumbass,” Buck rolled his eyes. “Bigfoot, the Abominable Snowman, Sasquatch . . . the Skunk Ape. He or I guess they, are real.”
“You’re going to think I’m full of it, but I’ve known about these things for a while now.”
“You’re full of it,” Buck said, straight faced.
“How long have you known?” Diana asked.
Jake thought back, remembering Nathan carrying him in his arms. The thick hair, the apelike features in the moonlight. Nathan’s joke about the legendary Bigfoot. “The first time I saw one, I was eleven. These creatures are the Georgia Hunters that Billy has been trying to get on our side.” Jake licked his lips wishing he had a bottle of water. “Our trip to Georgia . . . I didn’t see it myself, but Billy hinted that he’d seen something big and hairy. Chef, Mr. Orwell and his family; they must be with them.”
“Well thanks for telling us!” Buck exclaimed.
“You wouldn’t have believed me!” Jake defended himself. “And I did tell you! That night I was sick I saw three of them and you all just blew me off and said it was the fever.”
“Jake’s right,” Diana nodded. “We wouldn’t have believed him. I just saw it and I still don’t believe it!”
“I find it funny,” Chris chimed in, “that we so easily accept the existence of vampires but something like this strikes us as impossible.”
As they pulled back into the ranch’s driveway, something suddenly occurred to Jake. “We should have grabbed the teeth!” he exclaimed. There were what five or six Makers? Chris what’s the going rate on Maker teeth?”
“Thirty thousand for a pair,” Chris answered. “At least that’s what it was last week.”
“Son of a bitch that’s like a hundred and ninety thousand dollars!” Buck banged his head on the side of the van.
“Buck, you moron,” Diana said. “That’s a hundred and eighty thousand.”
“Don’t call me a moron,” his eyes looked up at the ceiling as he started running the numbers in his head.
“How’s Chef doing?” Donnie asked stopping the argument before it could go any further.
As if to answer Chef suddenly sat forward in the van and began swinging wildly. Buck, Diana, and Jake just barely leapt out of the way before he did any real damage.
“Chef! Chef!” Donnie yelled opening the driver’s side door and leaping out. He yanked open the dented side door and everyone poured out. “It’s cool! Everything is cool!”
Chef sat there panting, fighting to catch his breath. He inhaled and exhaled two deep breaths, then looked around at his surroundings and seemed to again realize where he was. Lying back down on the van’s floor, he banged his head several times then brought his hand up to his face covering his eyes.
“What the hell is going on out here?” Drill Sergeant Ortega yelled holding an M4 carbine with a flashlight attached to the stock..
“Drill Sergeant,” Jake said running to meet him before he could see inside the van. “We’ve got a situation out here.”
“Bishop you little shit!” Ortega grabbed him by the arm and dragged him along. “You were supposed to be home over an hour ago! What the hell happened?”
“Well Drill Sergeant, that’s uh kind of a long story.”
“Uh huh,” Ortega said looking at the busted windows of Chef’s van. “What the hell did you kids do to this van? And where’s the cook?”
Chef stepped out of the van holding his pants up with his good arm. Ortega took one look at him and stepped back several feet. “What in the hell happened to you?”
“Vampires,” Jake answered truthfully. “A lot of them.”
“C
hef saved us, Drill Sergeant,” Diana added.
“Here Chef,” Chris said handing the big man back his cap. “Thank you . . . thank you for saving us.”
Chef smiled weakly then ruffled Chris’s hair.
Ortega whistled through his teeth. “Williams.” he said to Donnie. “Go wake up Sergeant Lucas and the Lieutenants. They’re going to want to hear this.”
Jake, Buck, Donnie, Chris and Diana stood at the end of the table in the mess hall in front of their instructors. They told the story exactly as it had happened, leaving nothing out. Through it all Chef sat unmoving with his head in his hands, like a teenager caught sneaking out. When they were done with their tale, Jake could tell that not one of their instructors believed them.
“So these, creatures . . . these apes, they slaughtered a half a dozen vampires, just like that?” Sergeant Lucas snapped his fingers. “And your teacher and the cook are one of them?”
“I told you it was horse shit,” Ortega said, crossing his arms. “This is the worst excuse I have ever heard. Oh I’m going to enjoy this . . . yes indeed.” He rubbed his hands together. “You are all going to pay for this. The Sergeant Major gives you a pass and you come back late, spewing these kinds of lies? Not to mention that you completely trashed the van!”
“It’s the truth!” Buck said defensively.
“Are you sure you all didn’t smoke a little something, something before coming home?” Lt. Perry asked, making the motions of smoking a joint with her hand. “That you didn’t just imagine it all? You can’t honestly expect us to believe you.”
“I apologize Sergeant, Lieutenant,” Jake replied knowing he was out of his head but not caring. “But I honestly don’t give two shits what you think. It happened.”
“Oh Bishop, Bishop! You just made my year boy!” Ortega smiled an evil grin. “I’m going to enjoy running your ass into the ground! And you fat boy!” Ortega stood in front of Chef knocking his cap off his head. “You’re done after this. I promise you that. You may make some kick ass waffles but that doesn’t mean shit in my book.”
C.O.T.V.H. (Book 2): Judgment Page 14
