by Thomas Emson
David whirled to face her, trying to make her shut up. Some of the crowd remained, despite the advancing darkness. They looked up as Mei shouted.
“Be quiet,” he said.
“You have bad in you, David.”
“I have anger in me.”
“Why?”
“You know how much I’ve suffered.” He was nearly in tears.
“You know how much I suffer.”
He stomped towards the stage.
“I wait for you here,” said Mei.
He raised his hand to acknowledge her and kept walking.
He slipped his hand inside his jacket and felt for the comforting butt of the handgun. It would be of no use against vampires, but its bullets would finish off George Fuad and any other Neb who tried to stop David.
He wasn’t worried about vampires. He was protected. He wore the red mark of the Nebuchadnezzars, set in a ring. Jake had stolen it from a Neb years ago.
David cried as he walked, thinking of his dad, his brother, his mum, everyone who had died during the plague.
He slipped behind the stage area. It was dark. A maze of passageways weaved around the compound. There were trailers and mobile TV studios. There were trucks and cars. The smell of piss came from a row of portable toilets. The murmur of voices could be heard. A generator hummed.
David wiped his eyes.
If any of his enemies saw him crying, they’d laugh at him.
He sneaked along the side of a truck. He came to a dogleg and peeked around the corner. There were gazebos on either side of the walkway. Tables and chairs had been stacked up in the gazebo on the left. The smell of food lingered. The canteen, David thought. He walked around the corner and made his way down the walkway, trying to be light on his feet over the wooden planks laid on the ground.
He saw figures in the gazebos, and they were clearing away furniture. They ignored him. Must have thought he was just another worker going about his business.
He turned another corner, and before him stood a clearing. At the far end was parked an impressive trailer, gleaming silver and red in the moonlight. It had eight wheels and a cab for a driver. Something jerked in David’s belly. He knew instinctively that George Fuad was inside the trailer.
He stepped forward.
A hand fell on his shoulder and dragged him back.
He spun round.
A big man in a black bomber jacket scowled at him.
Pinned to the man’s lapel was a scrap of red material.
“You got ID?” said the big man.
David showed his ring. “I’m one of you. I’m a fan of Mr Fuad’s. I’d like to see him.”
The big man creased his brow.
“Can I see him?” said David.
“What’ve you got in the ruck sack, son?”
“Sandwiches.”
“Sandwiches?”
“Yes, lunch. For the rally today.”
“Oh yeah? Show me.”
David hesitated. He was cold inside. He tried to maintain his smile, but his face was starting to quiver. What would Jake do in this situation? He knew what Jake would do. David reached inside his jacket. But the big man was too quick. He slapped David around the head. The boy fell, his scalp stinging.
“Right, you little shit,” said the big man, drawing out a billy club from inside his bomber jacket. “You’re going to get a hiding before I grant you your wish to see Mr Fuad. But I don’t think he’s going to sign any autographs.”
The big man lurched forward, as if he were toppling.
He would fall right on top of David and crush him.
David covered his head and waited for the impact.
CHAPTER 13. POP-STAR VAMPIRE.
THE vampire said, “Without that red mark you’d be food, Georgie. Nothing but food.”
“Don’t call me Georgie, sunshine, or I’ll have you crucified in Hyde Park, and you can wait for dawn.”
The vampire baulked. It hissed, bearing its fangs.
George recognized the bloodsucker. It used to be a pop singer when it had been human. It might have been called Ben, and his band, George remembered, was The Eclipse. They once had a No.1 record and were second or third on one of those TV talent shows. Ben had been in his early twenties when he became a vampire. He still looked a little like a pop star. Just a little. His T-shirt, which might have been trendy once, was ripped and soiled by his victims’ blood.
George surveyed the room. Ten vampires had been waiting for him when he got back to the trailer.
He warned them, “I’ll have you all crucified. Or better, impaled. Just like old Vlad used to do, eh.”
They hissed at him in unison, some backing away.
He turned his back and started to fork the Chinese takeaway on a plate. The odour of sweet and sour sauce saturated the room. As he salivated over the meal, he heard the vampires shuffle closer. But they would not dare attack him, because he wore the mark.
George stuffed a chicken ball and some fried rice into his mouth and, as he chewed, said to the vampires, “You have to be patient. I know you want to kill. I know you need to kill. But if you don’t do it reasonably for a while, there will be a war again.”
“We don’t care about war,” said the pop-star vampire. “We care about blood.”
“You’ll have plenty of it. We’ll harvest it for you. But you can’t just kill randomly just now. Eventually, you will run out of humans. You know how this works – we run the country, you keep us in power. We control the population, provide you with food. In return, the stocks never run out and you never, ever die.” He went back to his takeaway. He was so hungry. He scooped another fork-full into his mouth and again spoke as he chewed. “Just take what you need. No mass killings. Not like before. It will piss people off.”
“We’re still being hunted,” said the vampire. “Remnants of Kwan Mei’s army are stalking us every day while we sleep. Why can’t we fight back?”
“You will be allowed to fight – and hunt,” said George. “But you have to wait. We ain’t powerful enough just yet. But we will be. Your dream of blood will come true, brothers. You will fucking swim in it. If you behave for now, people will be more willing to accept my little fib that you mean them no harm, that your brutality stems from the need to defend yourselves against the likes of Lawton.”
The vampires hissed at the mention of Lawton’s name. He scared them. Fuad envied Lawton’s power over the undead.
“Appease us, then,” said the pop-star vampire. “Give us something while we wait. It’s not easy to be patient, you know. Not as easy as it is for humans.”
George walked through the cluster of vampires. They stank of rivers and of flesh. It made him want to puke and put him off the idea of eating his sweet-and-sour chicken. He opened the door and called for Jade. The blonde girl appeared from a nearby tent. She looked scared.
“P-please, Mr Fuad, don’t – ”
“I won’t. Honest. I won’t hurt you, Jade. I want to apologize, that’s all.”
She was thinking about it. But then she approached. George quickly stepped out of the trailer. He grabbed the girl and tore the red mark from her pullover. Before she could respond, he shoved her into the trailer and slammed the door shut.
From inside, she shrieked.
“Don’t say I never give you anything,” said George quietly and walked away.
CHAPTER 14. WAKIZASHI.
THE big man hit the ground next to David, who winced and waited for the thug to attack. But he didn’t. He just stayed on the ground. Stayed very still, with two swords sticking out of his back.
“I came to help,” said a voice, and David looked up to see Mei standing there.
She bent down and plucked the swords out of the thug’s back. Blood ran along the steel. She sheathed the weapons. They were wakizashi swords. Fourteen-inch long samurai blades. Not that Mei was a samurai. She wasn’t even Japanese. But she was deadly with those weapons. As the big man in the bomber jacket proved.
“I k
ill Fuad with you,” she said.
“OK,” he said. “Uh, thanks for… for saving me.”
She nodded.
They looked at each other.
Someone screeched and broke the moment.
David’s nape prickled. The cry came from the red and silver trailer in the clearing. And whoever it was in distress shrieked again.
Mei reacted first. She shot out into the clearing. David raced after her. He was reaching into his jacket for the gun.
“Fuad’s in there,” he said to Mei.
“Someone in trouble in there,” she said.
Another scream came from within.
David’s heart thundered. He was so close to Fuad. He had been determined to kill the man. He dreamt about cutting the bastard’s throat, shooting him in the head. And now, with his nemesis within reach, he was hesitating. He was a coward.
What would Jake do? What would Jake say?
“Please, no… no… ” came a voice from inside the trailer, a desperate, terrified voice.
Mei whipped her swords out. She kicked down the door. She bolted inside, baying like a banshee.
David followed her.
He quickly scanned the room. Ten vampires at least. A blonde girl lying on the floor. Mei screaming, slashing with her swords.
She’d already killed two vampires by the time David made a move.
Their burnt bodies left an odour of seared flesh in the air.
The vampires had recognized the red marks both David and Mei wore. The creatures bristled and panicked. They threw themselves at windows. They clawed at the walls.
David drove his stake through the back of one creature, and it turned to ash in seconds.
Screams filled the trailer. The smell of fiery flesh was strong. Everything went by so quickly. David didn’t think, he just killed. And he thought he’d killed four or five by the time it was over. Mei might have killed four or five, too. But some of the vampires had escaped. Now only David and Mei, and the blonde girl lying on the floor, remained.
“She dead?” said David.
“Will be soon,” said Mei. “Look… neck.”
The girl had bite marks on her throat. Wounds also peppered her arms. Her clothes had been torn by teeth trying to get at her skin. She had bloody holes in her legs and back, where fangs had torn into her flesh. She was breathing rapidly.
“Let’s get her out of here,” said David.
Then the blonde girl looked up. Her face was smeared with blood and tears. She looked pale.
“Please… ” she said. “Please… ” Then she coughed. Blood spurted from her mouth. She arched her back and a terrible noise came from her throat. An animal noise. A noise of anguish. Her body became rigid. And then she sagged and lay still.
“She’s… she’s dead now,” said David.
“And we have to kill her again,” said Mei.
David swallowed. A chill ran through his blood. His mother had been forced to burn his father’s body after he was attacked by vampires. David knew she’d had no choice, but at the time he had hated her. And the anger had never gone away, despite the fact he knew what she did was right.
“We have to kill her,” said Mei. “We have to.”
He shook his head. He wasn’t sure if he could. He was hesitating, staring at the girl.
He slowly turned away, tears rolling down his face.
Mei tutted.
And then David heard the swish of her wakizashi and the thump of its blade striking the floor after penetrating the girl’s body.
He smelled flesh on fire. He shut his eyes and tried to think of a time when all this would be over. But he couldn’t.
CHAPTER 15. A RUIN.
Tălmaciu, near the Transylvanian-Wallachian Border, Romania – 10.30pm (GMT + 2 hours), 17 May, 2011
“WHY do you wear a patch over your eye?” asked the old man.
“Easier to aim when I’m shooting,” Lawton answered.
“What do you shoot?”
“Anything that moves.”
Lawton dropped the backpack on the floor of the pub. The backpack contained the Spear of Abraham. It contained water, bread, some forged papers.
He’d hitchhiked to Tălmaciu after getting off the train when it stopped at a rural station, soon after he’d killed the vampires.
By the time he’d arrived in Tălmaciu, the heavens had opened. The rain fell heavily. Lawton was drenched.
It was a small town, set in a rural landscape. The Făgăraş and Cibin mountain ranges loomed over the settlement. Ploughed fields indicated the agricultural nature of the region.
Why here? thought Lawton. Why have my dreams brought me here?
He was soaked when he got to the pub. Only two customers frequented the drinking hole. He asked the old man behind the counter if he spoke English.
“Cateva cuvinte,” came the reply.
“What?” said Lawton.
“A few words,” said the old man.
He knew more than a few. His English was good. He’d learnt it for the tourists, he said.
He made Lawton a very strong coffee. The odour was pungent and the taste bitter, but it made Lawton alert. He rolled a cigarette and offered one to the old man, who shook his head.
“You are from England?” the old man said.
Lawton nodded. He lit the fag.
“We hear terrible things from England,” said the old man.
Lawton shrugged. He smoked.
“Vampir,” said the old man. “Demoni, yes? Our government warn us not to travel to UK. The news tells us it is war in your country. War against the dead. Is it war?”
Lawton asked for another coffee.
The old man, preparing it, said, “We have legends here in Romania.”
“I know.”
“Vlad Tepes?”
“I’ve heard.”
“Mr Bram Stoker bases Dracula on our Vlad Tepes.”
Yes, thought Lawton, but according to Apostol Goga, Stoker got it wrong. Vlad Tepes was not a vampire, he had been a vampire killer. He’d spent years preventing the Nebuchadnezzars from resurrecting the vampire trinity in Europe. But fighting the undead had taken its toll on Tepes. It corrupted him. It drove him mad. During his last few years, he could barely tell the difference between human and vampire, and innocent people suffered in his purges.
The old man served Lawton the coffee.
“You stay here long?” said the proprietor.
“I’m looking for… for something.” He furrowed his brow. The truth was, he had no idea why he was here. He had been led here by his dreams. Years ago he would have dismissed what he’d seen in his sleep. But not now. Not in the days when the dead drank your blood.
His eye suddenly ached, and he put his hand over the patch.
“Are you all right, friend?” said the old man.
Lawton nodded.
“So, what are you looking for, Englishman?”
Lawton gave himself a moment, allowing the ache to dissipate. Then he said, “Is there an old church or an old castle in the area? A ruin?”
“Many ruins.”
“Something isolated, surrounded by – ” He nearly said, “surrounded by a forest of stakes”, but stopped himself. Instead, he said, “Surrounded by fields, trees.”
“There is the ruin of an old church to the north, about three miles. They say a ghost lingers there, a witch.”
A knot tightened in Lawton’s stomach.
A voice echoed in his mind:
“Voivode… voivode… ”
The old man said, “They say she is străine… foreign.”
Lawton felt cold. The pain in his head had returned. His glass eye throbbed, the strand of skin in the globe writhing.
“It was abandoned maybe five hundred years ago,” said the old man. “Burned by the Dracul, some say.”
“The Dracul?”
“Tepes.”
“Who’s the ghost?”
“No one knows for sure. Foreign, as I say. But no one spea
ks of her. When we were children, we were warned never to visit the ruin. Children who did never came back.”
“Is that true or just a scary story?”
“It is true.”
“How do you know?” said Lawton.
“Because one night my brother, who was nine, went there with his friends. He never came back. Men searched the fields and the forests, but no one went too close to the church. I wanted to. I said to my father, ‘He has gone to the ruin, father, he has gone to the ruin.’ But my father said, ‘No, Viktor, no… he is lost in the forest, that is all, he is lost… ’ and my father was crying, crying all the time.”
“What do you think happened?”
The old man shrugged. “Romania has many legends. But we are a modern country. No one is superstitious any more. It is backward to be supertitious. I don’t know, and I will never know – that is how it is.”
“Which way to this ruin?” said Lawton.
The old man gave him directions before adding, “But not in the dark, Englishman. Wait until the dawn.”
Lawton left.
CHAPTER 16. AS PALE AS DEATH.
11.57pm (GMT + 2 hours), 17 May, 2011
IT was like in his dream.
A barren landscape. Scorched fields. A dark forest. Black mountains tearing at the horizon. The moon full and glowing. Rain lashing down.
And the ruin. An old church, battered by time and the elements. Vines coiled around the bell tower. Weeds clawed at the foundations. The stonework was charred by fire. The windows were like empty eyes, its doorway like the mouth of some monster, permanently open and waiting for prey.
The old man had told him no one came out here. He realized why. Firstly, it was quite a way out of town. Why would anyone make the effort? Secondly, the ruin could well have triggered irrational thoughts. It was difficult to weed out superstition, even among the most educated and rational of populations. As Lawton had witnessed during his time in Romania, the idea that rural parts of the country were still mired in legends and folklore was way off the mark. This was a modern country. This was a successful country. A small, European nation, marching forward, and seemingly overtaking the traditional big nations. It was certainly now in a better way than Britain. But peel away the veneer, and you could still find those traditional beliefs, those ancient fears. People crossed themselves. They prayed. Why was that any different to hanging garlic on your porch or putting a pumpkin in your windowsill?
