Fanghunters

by Leo Romero

  He zoned in and out, barely able to make out the huge figure now coming down the stairs toward him.

  Get up! his mind screamed. Get up, Dom! Or you die!

  His head rolled in woozy circles, his focus blurred. He asked his limbs to work, but they wouldn’t respond. All the while, the guy was making it down more steps toward him.

  Come on, get up, Dom! GET THE HELL UP!

  Through his blurry vision, he was a body looming large over him in the gloom. He saw a face; a snarl tattooed on it. A thick hand then clamped around his throat, and he felt his tongue pop right out. Now, breathing was totally impossible. The hand squeezed and the pressure built in Dom’s head; he could feel it turning red.

  Fight! Fight, Dom!

  He tried to struggle. But, the guy was thick-set like a bull; he was pinning Dom to the floor like a pro wrestler waiting for the three count.

  He must weigh twenty stone!

  Dom struggled hard against him, but it was nothing more than a whimper. He tried to breathe harder to push his chest out, but it wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening. And then it got worse.

  The guy revealed what he had in his other hand.

  Dom watched in dumb horror as the guy raised a blade into the air. Dom saw just how razor sharp it was; it glinted in the small shaft of light coming through the steel front door. He groaned, but what came out was a choke.

  “Neh-neh. Neh,” he managed to blurt, shaking his head.

  “You ain’t gonna hurt MY father!” the guy sneered through clenched teeth. His eyes glimmered with hate. Dom had invaded his turf, looked to snuff out his drug dealer. And now it was time to pay. He held Dom in place by the throat.

  And then brought the knife down.

  Dom’s eyes bulged.

  The final remnants of his survival instincts kicked in. He managed to throw an arm up and grab hold of the guy’s wrist. The knife stopped inches from his heart. With the last of his strength, he pushed back against it. The guy realized what happened and began to apply more pressure, his teeth bared like a rabid dog. A stalemate broke out; the guy’s brute strength against Dom’s base desperation for survival. The knife shook on the air under the pressure exerted by both of them in their struggle.

  Fight! FIGHT, DOM!

  Dom watched the guy, watched his cheeks tremble. He watched his tongue dart out of his mouth and heard a grunt bolt from his chest. With a grimace of hate, the guy began to apply more pressure. And Dom felt it. He had the strength, the momentum, gravity was on his side. Dom groaned. Through bleary eyes, he watched helpless as the sharp tip of the blade began to inch toward his chest, painfully slow.

  FIGHT! FIGHT!

  Dom pushed back, but it was useless.

  The guy’s face shook under the pressure he was applying. The blade kept coming down, the strength virtually gone from Dom’s limbs. He watched on with apathetic eyes.

  I’m about to die… Jesus, I’m about to frickin’ die…

  Push him off! Push him off! Dom gave it one last effort. But the knife kept on coming.

  Dom saw the sweat streaming down the guy’s face, saw the sick grin now spread across his face; he knew he was so close to winning this bizarre arm wrestle. So close. He pushed harder with another grunt. Dom groaned in horror as the tip of the blade poked his rib, pricking the skin beneath his tee.

  He briskly shook his head. “No. No. No…” he repeated in guttural bursts.

  The guy nodded in return, his eyes whirling, a huge grin on his face. “Yes. Yes. Yes!” he replied in hot bursts. “You die!”

  The blade pierced skin.

  Dom closed his eyes. This is it! I can’t beat him. He’s too strong. This is it, buddy! Say adios. This is—

  A sudden loud crash forced Dom’s eyes back open.

  A sound like someone kicking in a garage door. Light from outside flooded into the hallway. It lit up the guy’s face; his eyes were bulging in shock, his head now turned toward the front door. High heels clacked on the bare floorboards in a rapid beat. From the edge of his field of vision, Dom saw a high-heeled boot came flying through the air like a sledgehammer. It connected perfectly with the guy’s jaw. There was a huge snap like someone stepping on a broken shard of glass. The guy’s head was thrown to the side before the rest of him flew away alongside it. He hit the stairs, his ass jarring them with a loud thud.

  Dom didn’t stop to ask questions. Instead, he scrambled away from the guy, relieved to be free of him, rubbing the spot where the knife had pierced his tee and skin. The whole time, he stared at the guy in amazement, the rapid episode akin to a bucket of cold water thrown in his face. The guy was sprawled across the steps like a drunk. His head flopped forward, making his jaw drop and hang there like a hammock. A tooth mixed in a stream of blood spilt out his mouth, down his chin, and onto his chest. Dom watched his glazed eyes roll up into his head like marbles.

  Dom looked down at his hands. I’m alive. I don’t believe it. I’m frickin’ alive, buddy!

  An ominous click made his head flinch up. His jaw dropped. He found himself staring at the person who’d just saved his life. A slim, leggy chick in black boots. She was young, attractive, with short cropped hair. Perched on her petit nose were round blue specs, the kind of thing a pop star might be seen sporting. She was clad from head to toe in black; turtle neck, leather trousers. Her body was svelte; tight. Looked like she worked out. Often. And from the way she dealt with the big guy, Dom didn’t wanna mess with her. Dom looked her up and down in a drunken daze, hardly believing she was real.

  “You okay?” she asked Dom, her stare fixed on the guy she’d just kicked.

  Dom was too dumbstruck to answer. His eyes then fell on the gun in her hand. He gasped.

  Over on the stairs, the guy’s dizzy eyes came back into focus. He laid them on the gun, then the chick holding it. Without another thought, he growled and lunged for her.

  The chick was unfazed. “Nighty night, big boy,” she said in an ultra-cool tone before she aimed her gun and pulled the trigger.

  Dom winced, expecting to hear a loud report and blood to spurt. Instead, the gun made a soft ‘phut’ sound. The big guy’s aggressive lunge immediately melted into a harmless token gesture. He flopped down on the floorboards by her high heels and stayed there.

  Dom watched on, bewildered. Something was going on here, something he didn’t totally understand. A minute ago he was a dead man, now the guy about to kill him was lying on the floor in a heap.

  The chick poked the guy’s body with the tip of her boot like a big game hunter having just downed a lion. When satisfied his threat had been neutralized, she turned her attention to Dom.

  Dom’s eyes snapped up to meet her.

  She stared down at him from behind her blue glasses, a half smile on her face. “Hi,” she said.

  Dom stared at her in awe. He was rendered speechless. He didn’t know whether to thank her or be scared shitless of her. He then lowered his eyes to the gun in her hand; it hung languidly by her side. He rolled his eyes over at the big guy.

  “Looks like I got here just in time,” the chick then said. “Don’t worry about him,” she said, cocking her head to the side and reloading her gun. “He’s not dead, just taking a snooze.”

  Dom flicked his eyes over at the guy on the ground; he now noticed his chest was rising and lowering in a steady rhythm.

  “Here,” the chick then said, making Dom look back up at her. She handed him the gun. “Try this on your friend upstairs,” she advised.

  Dom flinched at first, and then tentatively reached for the gun. “What is it?” he asked.

  “Holy water,” she replied. “One shot should do the trick.”

  Dom frowned. “Holy water?” he echoed to himself, staring at the gun now in his hand like it was an alien artifact. He looked up at her. “For real?”

  “Absolutely. The darts in that dart gun will deal with your fanged problem. Good luck.” She then turned to leave. “Oh, almost forgot!” she said suddenly, tur
ning back to face Dom. “You should wear these...” She pulled the blue glasses off her nose.

  Dom gasped, his mouth a big O. He found himself staring at the greenest, emerald-sparkling eyes he’d ever seen. They were lashed to perfection and glittered like stars even in the low-light. He found himself transfixed, frozen like he’d just been iced by a vamp.

  She held out the glasses. “Take them. He can’t ice you if you’re wearing blue lenses.”

  Dom just stared at them stupidly.

  “It’s just a thing,” she said with a shrug. “I don’t know why...”

  Dom reached out and took them from her without realizing he was doing so. “I think I might need them for you...” he mumbled to himself, his gaze still fixated on her. She was like some kind of guardian angel, a bolt from the frickin’ blue.

  She gave him a half-grin; a knowing, playful smile, before she finally turned and darted out of the house with the speed of a ferret. Before he had a chance to move, she’d vanished like a distant memory.

  Dom threw out a hand after her. “Wait! Who—?”

  But, she was gone.

  Dom didn’t wait around; he immediately reached out and kicked the metal sheet back closed before any passersby saw him in there with an unconscious body. He then rolled over onto his back, his mind in a haze like he was back on venom because all he could see wherever he looked or whenever he blinked were two eyes.

  Emerald green eyes.

  PART FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Craig dug a hand in his trouser pocket for the front door key. It wasn’t there. He tried the other pocket. He frowned. “That’s weird...” he said in an absent voice.

  Jeff sighed. “What’s wrong now?” he asked in an exasperated voice.

  Craig scratched his head. “I can’t find my key…”

  “Oh for Chrissakes!” Jeff groaned, facepalming. “Not again, you dumb prick! Dude...”

  Craig gave him a grim nod. “Musta fallen out of my pocket back at the house.”

  Jeff huffed. “Congrats, man. We’re gonna miss it now.” He turned and rubbed his head as if he had a headache. “What the hell are we gonna do now?” he then said, slamming fists on his thighs and jumping up and down.

  Craig turned and fronted him. “Hey! If you hadn’t smashed the TV back at the house, we wouldn’t have to come back to mine every day, would we?” He got in Jeff’s face, his voice rising in volume.

  A disgruntled expression emerged on Jeff. He couldn’t deny that fact. “All right, all right,” he replied in a calmer manner, stepping back and showing Craig his palms. “We’ll just have to catch the later showing,” he suggested with a sigh.

  “That’s right!” Craig agreed with a firm nod. “That’s exactly what we’ll have to do.” Craig was just as pissed as Jeff about missing The Bold & the Fabulous. Today was the day Gemma was gonna own up to Joey about having an affair with his sister. It was gonna be a classic. The real son-of-a-bitch was that they didn’t have time to go back, find the key, and then come back again; it was a ten-minute walk, easy. “Trust us to be just as addicted to The Bold & The Fabulous as we are to venom...”

  Jeff shrugged. “Well, whatcha gonna do?”

  Craig clapped his hands in frustration. “Come on. Let’s go back to the house.”

  *****

  Dom got himself together as quickly as possible once he checked the time.

  The other two assholes would be back very soon and he still had his vampire friend upstairs to take care of. He dusted himself down and caught his breath, his head still messed up by that chick (who was she?). Another hunter? Like me? Only she knew more stuff; more experienced. Competition? Then why didn’t she claim the hit for herself? Instead, she helped me? Why? He shook his head. There wasn’t time to answer so many questions. He knew he had to forget her and get moving. What wasn’t moving, was the big bastard who just almost killed him. He lay at the foot of the stairs in an unconscious heap. His chest rose and fell steadily, telling him that the chick hadn’t been lying when she said he wasn’t dead. He then looked down at the things now in his hands. In his left was a pair of specs, in the other, a gun. A dart gun. Dom looked it over like it was a new toy. He aimed briefly with it, then shrugged. Holy water she said. But what about the stake and mallet? Well, he saw what her darts had done to the guard, so maybe she could be trusted. Plus, a straight shot was a lot less messy than the old stake through the heart. He huffed. Yeah, give it a shot, buddy, if it don’t work, go all Buffy on him.

  He then turned to the specs. Blue specs; protects the icing she said. Nice. She certainly knew her stuff whoever she was...

  He put them on, feeling like an idiot, hoping it wasn’t some kind of joke on her part. Now behind the blue lenses, the world turned even darker. Luckily, his lucky Zippo didn’t fall far from where he stood; it lay on the floor waiting for him. He plucked it from the floorboards, gave it a kiss, sparked her up, then set off for the stairs. He never took his eyes off the fanghead as he stepped over him and hit the stairs once more. He worked his way up them again, now worried the vamp had heard the commotion. The other two coming back was also on his mind, and so was that chick (who as she?). He huffed, he didn’t need all that stuff right now. He had to get his business done.

  What if there are more fangheads up there? He shook his head. They would’ve come out already, surely? Besides, this vamp can’t have more than three guards.

  Can he?

  I just gotta find out now. Whoever’s up there, I’ll just have to face them.

  He made it past all the weird paintings to the summit of the stairs. He quickly jumped out onto the landing, dart gun raised, hoping to catch any others by surprise. It was empty. He caught his breath, had another quick check at the foot of the stairs to make sure Mr. Fanghead was still asleep. He was.

  Dom surveyed the scene around him. The landing was how it was before; three doors. One over to the left was still slightly ajar. Dull light still glowed from inside. Dom steeled himself. His venom sense was telling him that was where the vamp was sleeping. He licked his dry lips, wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, and then headed toward it. His foot fell on that rug again; he made his way across it, his stare fixed on that slightly open door. He could hear his breathing again, amplified in the silence.

  Easy, buddy, easy...

  He crossed the rug, hit floorboards. This time, he stopped and stuck his head into the bathroom. That fanghead jumped him from in there. The flame on his Zippo gleamed off of dirty tiles. An old toilet and rusty bath stared back at him. And nothing else. Good. He gave himself a positive nod, before he turned back. That open door beckoned. He stopped ahead of it. That tingling grew very intense; it was almost a hum. He was close by. Dom tried to get a peek through the gap in the doorway. All he saw were bare floorboards. The source of the light in the room was pretty strong, so Dom flicked off his Zippo, and put it back in his pocket. He steadied himself, reached out for the door and then pushed it away. It went with a small creak. Light spilled out onto the corridor, climbing up his body as the doorway widened. The inside of the room was now exposed; he stood in the doorway like the Angel of Death, armed with his dart gun. He surveyed the chamber. A battered wardrobe stood to attention on the left hand wall, an equally battered couch sat beside it. An old lamp with bare bulb lay on the floorboards, emitting the light. In the middle of the room, a single mattress lay on the floor. Beneath the covers was the distinct shape of a human form. It lay motionless. Sound asleep.

  Dom’s heart skipped a beat.

  Hello, buddy, pleased to meet you...

  He ran a hand down across his stubble and then nodded. His prize lay before him. The thing he’s fought so hard to get to. Now all he had to do was kill his prey. He stepped into the room, his breathing loud in his ears, everything now claustrophobic; a sudden sensation of being trapped in a spacesuit. He tiptoed cautiously across the floorboards, praying there weren’t any loose ones; every step an ordeal. His senses suddenly b
ecame acute as he honed in on that mattress: the whole reason he was stalking the corridors and rooms of this abandoned house in the rundown parts of town. His ears pricked, his eyes bulged in their sockets. His sneakers crossed more floorboards as he neared, anticipation rising inside him like the mercury climbing inside a thermometer. He made it to the center of the room, too far in to turn and run. This was it. His legs shook, sweat poured. He took a couple more timid steps, and he was now within a foot of the mattress. He stopped, took up a menacing stance, standing over it like the Grim Reaper. He stared down with sullen eyes, anger blooming in his belly. Standing there, glaring down at the thing lying there sleeping, he realized how badly he wanted to kill it. Wanted to put it to sleep forever for the things it had done, the crimes it had committed against his race, his species.

  Payback, buddy. Payback.

  He nodded his head and then squatted down level with the mattress. The lumpy body beneath the cover remained motionless, ready for slaughter. With a trembling hand, Dom reached out for the dirty bedcover. He grabbed hold of it, his heart stopping. He steadied himself; he tightened his grip on the dart gun, sweat trickling down his forehead. He became still.

  Then yanked the sheet away.

  He thrust his arm forward, about to pepper the sleeping vamp with holy water darts. His eyes widened in shock and surprise. There was nothing but old pillows lying on the bed.

  Dom’s jaw dropped.

  A loud crash made him whirl.

  A body burst from the wardrobe, arms outstretched. Before Dom could react, the vamp was on him, grunting in anger. He grabbed hold of Dom’s shoulders, who in turn, grabbed the lapels of the vamp’s robe. In the hubbub, Dom dropped his dart gun; it hit the floorboards with a dull thud.

  The vamp seized handfuls of Dom’s tee. “Who are you? Who are you?” he snarled. His eyes whirled and glittered with rage, and Dom knew in that instant the vamp was trying to ice him, to freeze him in place. Dom gasped in shock, expecting to fall prey to him. But, it wasn’t working; Dom was still in full control of his faculties.