Pagan (MPRD Book 1)

by Andrew Chapman

  But then, I’m unusual.

  CHAPTER

  2

  Headlights were coming down the road, drilling twin tunnels in the darkness. It was a day shy of full moon but the sky was dense with clouds. There wasn’t even starlight to see by. I could tell by the sound that the vehicle was a Land Rover. Once you’ve heard those tires sing on a paved road there can be no mistaking them. The Land Rover slowed and stopped, less than four feet from my hiding place.

  I walked around the vehicle and opened the rear door. I climbed into the back and sat on one of the barely padded bench-seats, shutting the door as softly as possible. Anna was in the driver’s seat; John was slumped in the passenger seat. Not a good sign; John was our driver. Anna glanced back over her shoulder and gave me a worried nod. I nodded back and we moved off.

  On the bench opposite me was Marie, the fourth member of our team. She was curled up, head pillowed on her arms, long legs folded up on the seat. Her eyes were open and fixed on mine. She stretched and slipped across to sit next to me, squirming under my arm and squeezing me tight. Marie is a very physical person. She’s always hugging and kissing people: which is to say, she’s always kissing and hugging me.

  “How did it go?” she asked in a low voice.

  “I killed him,” I said, wearily.

  She nodded against my shoulder and sighed.

  “Better you than someone else,” she said.

  “Better him than someone else,” I said.

  Marie had curly blonde hair framing an innocent, almost elfin face. It was easy to see why so many people, myself included, tended to underestimate her. She had beautiful blue eyes and fair, smooth skin, all on top of a lithe, athletic body. Many of the men in the MPRD had made the mistake of thinking she was simple eye candy. Shows what first impressions are worth.

  I gave a tight smile and stroked her hair absently.

  “John okay?” I asked in a voice loud enough for Anna to hear.

  Anna and John had been married for twelve years and members of MPRD since the beginning. She had been a vampire for the last two of those years. They’d been undercover, posing as wealthy supporters of the vamp’s cause, when an arrogant bloodsucker had decided he wanted to use her for the night. John had taken exception to this and the vamp had turned her as punishment.

  Turned out to be the vamp’s last mistake.

  John had flown into a towering rage and literally torn the vamp apart. Mind tricks bounced off of his anger without stopping him and the vamp had been unprepared for a physical attack. John then locked the doors to the vamp’s chambers for the entire day. That night Anna awoke with the bloodlust and there was only one source of food. John had bared his throat willingly, giving himself to her without a second thought.

  Psychiatrists and psychologists have devoted years to the study of why certain vampires become violent killing machines, others just become darkly evil, and some few retain their humanity. As far as I’m concerned it’s all rubbish. Anna’s first feeding as a vampire had been an act of love, not violence, and that’s why she kept her mind in one piece.

  Okay, I’m a sentimentalist. So sue me.

  “Anna?” I said, louder.

  “I’m fine,” said John in a weak voice.

  “Yeah, you sound just fuckin’ peachy,” I snarled. “What happened?”

  “She needed it, Jack,” he said.

  My expression softened.

  “You daft prick,” I said. “I don’t doubt she needed it, John. I just wanna know why.”

  Nobody spoke. Apart from the engine and the singing of the tires, there was silence in the Land Rover.

  “Someone wanna talk to me?”

  Anna was sitting, staring at the road, back straight, hands clenched on the wheel. John was staring at me like I was about to eat him or something. I looked down at Marie. Her head was on my chest and she was refusing to meet my eyes.

  “Is somebody going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “It was Kurt,” said John quietly.

  “Kurt Schwartz?” I asked, puzzled. Kurt ran the Dog & Duck, the safe house where we’d been staying before I’d left to chase Bill down.

  “Yeah, turns out he was one of Glavidia’s pets,” said John, his gaze holding mine.

  “What?” I exploded, shocked at the idea. “Since when?”

  John shrugged.

  “Fuck!” I yelled, kicking the seat opposite me in frustration. I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths.

  “Okay,” I said. “Tell me what happened.”

  “It was around noon and we were asleep,” John explained. “Kurt just walked into the room and shot Anna at point-blank range.”

  I swore again, softy, my hand gripping the barrel of my rifle until my knuckles turned white.

  “Right,” said John. “It was daylight and he hit her with a silver round. Without blood …”

  I nodded. At night, she might have been able to heal the wound with time and effort. During the day she had no chance.

  “So what did you do to him?” I asked, acutely aware of John’s homicidal nature when it came to people who hurt his wife.

  “I shot him,” John said flatly. “A lot.”

  “The time is coming when we’re going to have to do something about Glavidia,” I said bleakly. “Something permanent.”

  “Amen to that,” said John.

  “I just wish you hadn’t given up so much. You look like you’re about to collapse.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. “I’m stuffed full of iron pills and red meat. I’ll be fighting fit in no time, right love?”

  “Yeah, you’ll be fine,” she said affectionately. “Besides, you got paid, didn’t you?”

  “Not yet,” he said with an overdone leer. “You gave me an IOU, as I recall.”

  “How would you like to cash that in when we get there?” she asked in a husky voice.

  Marie was looking at me with a question in her eyes. I shook my head and changed the subject.

  “So if the Duck isn’t safe, where are we going?” I asked.

  “We’re going to the Wheatsheaf,” said John. “Norse is already there.”

  I nodded, relieved to hear the news. Norse was solid. Marie lifted her head from my shoulder and looked puzzled.

  “What’s the Wheatsheaf?” she asked.

  I sometimes forget that Marie has only been with us for a few months and she’s still picking things up.

  “The Wheatie was a biker pub,” I explained. “Great place for a decent pint, loads of friendly faces, heavy metal band playing when they could book one. Fun. When the vamps came Taffy—that’s the owner—opened it up as a safe house. Probably the safest place in the network. Most of his regulars are hairy-arsed brawlers and most are heavily armed. Even a vamp’s gotta think twice before trying anything.”

  “Why?” said Marie. “They’re ordinary humans, right?”

  “Vampire mental powers,” intoned John in a dramatic voice. “Basic training.”

  Marie rolled her eyes and began to recite from memory.

  “There are four things known that counter a vampire’s mental powers,” she said. “Strong emotional states, inebriation, high levels of mental discipline, and being Jack Henderson.”

  She gave me an impish look and I rolled my eyes.

  “Are they really teaching that in basic now?” I asked, halfway between pride and embarrassment.

  “Sure, you’re the only known example of natural immunity out there.”

  “There’s gotta be more,” John pointed out.

  I shrugged.

  “Most vampires would kill them on sight,” said Anna. “Jack may simply be the first to survive long enough to become known.”

  “Yeah, but some must escape,” said Marie.

  I let the discussion fade from my attention as I stared out of the window. The scenery was changing; we were starting to see buildings. Every one was shuttered and boarded up. We were in the no-man’s land between the humans in the south an
d the vamps in the north. Ahead I could see the shape of the Wheatsheaf. Its windows were boarded up just like the other buildings and the doors were heavily reinforced. A curl of smoke from the chimney spoke eloquently of the life within.

  CHAPTER

  3

  Anna pulled the Land Rover around the back of the solid building and into an old barn. We parked at the rear of the building, between a beat up Ford Cortina and a van painted a lurid pink. Against one wall was a row of motorcycles, against the other was a rusty tractor and a genuine ex-army Scimitar APC.

  I jumped out of the rear of the Land Rover, manhandling my bergan onto my back. I wanted to take the backpack with me—nearly everything I owned was inside—but I wanted my hands free. Marie hopped down next to me, a gym bag dangling from one hand, an L128A1 combat shotgun in the other. Anna and John caught up with us as we walked toward the back door of the bar. John had another bergan and both he and his wife were carrying L22 carbines. The door to the bar opened, spilling warm yellow light and the sounds of humanity into the night. Holding the door was Picker, a shaven-headed gorilla of a man who had earned his nickname thanks to his fascination with his nostrils. A brand new tattoo graced the side of his skull, a woman’s torso with comically large breasts and the legend ‘One Thing On My Mind’ around it.

  Picker nodded respectfully.

  “Pagan,” he said quietly.

  “Picker,” I replied as I returned the nod.

  We went in. Heads turned and the conversation stopped. As we made our way through the smoky atmosphere people stood and raised their glasses to us or inclined their heads politely. Occasionally one would greet me with my codename. Apparently people knew about Bill and were waiting for news.

  I reached the bar, several patrons stepping back to give us room. I slowly and deliberately placed the FAL on the scarred and pitted wooden surface. Taffy looked me in the eye and nodded solemnly. A kind of collective sigh went around the room as he lined up four shot glasses next to the weapon. He selected a bottle of vodka and filled them up.

  The four of us picked up the glasses and spent a moment in silent reflection.

  “Bill,” I said finally, raising my glass, saluting my friend, and tossing back the fiery liquid. John, Anna and Marie followed suit.

  I picked up my rifle and hung it from my shoulder.

  “Norse in?” I asked as the conversation level in the bar rose again.

  Taffy nodded and jerked his head behind him, to the quieter side of the bar where groups could be seen sitting around some tables.

  “Anything to eat?” I asked.

  “I’ll see what I can scare up for youse, okay?” he replied. I don’t know why he was called Taffy—he wasn’t Welsh—but nobody seemed to know his real name.

  “Cheers, Taf.”

  The big barman shrugged, his heavy metal t-shirt straining over his considerable gut. I tried to ignore the conversations going on as we made our way toward the rear of the bar. More than once I heard people say ‘one over the gun’ as they explained the significance of the ritual to their companions. It was both remembrance and a pledge to avenge. When friends fell, you drank a last toast to them, and you drank it over a weapon.

  Norse lived up to his codename. He was big, built like a Viking warrior, with long blonde hair and a scraggly beard that pretty much hid his mouth from view. In the whole world there were four people alive whom I trusted to watch my back in a fight. Three of those were standing behind me and the fourth was sitting in front of me.

  “Pagan,” he said, tilting his head.

  “Norse,” I replied, returning the gesture.

  “I think you know everybody,” he said with a wave of his hand, encompassing the five others seated at the table.

  I nodded to each in turn and then nodded over my shoulder.

  “You know everyone here except Marie,” I said. “Marie, this is Norse, and his band of misfit miscreants, Coop, Happy, Hacker, Bolt and Frenchie. Gentlemen—and Coop—this is Marie.”

  Coop rolled his eyes while everyone else laughed. Greetings were exchanged as we dropped our luggage in the corner behind the table. I was pleased to see that Marie didn’t leave her weapon behind. Even here, surrounded by friends, we had to be careful. There was a moment of confused shuffling as a second table was commandeered and space was made for us whilst John and Anna went to the bar for drinks. Marie ended up sitting next to me sipping a diet coke, cautiously watching the others. John plunked a pint of bitter in front of me and sat down next to Frenchie. I noticed that, by accident or design, John and I were flanking our two ladies, despite the fact that both were far more dangerous than the aspiring knights out to protect them.

  “So you gonna fill us in on what you’ve been up to, Norse?” I asked once my throat had been properly lubricated.

  The blonde man shrugged and lit a cigarette.

  “We were tracking a leech who bled a couple of young girls down near Milton Keynes,” he said, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. “Caught up with him about halfway up the M1. Staked the fucker and left him to rot. Got a new ride, too. You see it out there?”

  I inclined my head and gave Norse a thoughtful stare that made absolutely no difference to his wide grin.

  “Either I’m about to laugh at you or be jealous as hell,” I admitted. “The pink van or the scimitar?”

  Norse gave a snort of amusement.

  “The van belongs to Happy,” he said with an airy wave. “The Cortina’s mine. You should see the beast we have shoehorned under the bonnet. It may look like shit but it goes like stink.”

  I gave him a long, flat look, and then turned to give Happy the same stare.

  “What?” he said.

  “Pink?” I asked incredulously.

  “Camouflage,” he said in a reasonable tone.

  “Camouflage? You do much hiding in flower beds?”

  “Nope, but you’d never think there’s a team of vampire hunters in it, right?”

  “True,” I said. “You wouldn’t expect to see men in it either, Happy. I worry for you.”

  “Hey, it works,” he said defensively. “We’ve been attacked twice by vamps who thought there was a nice, helpless meal inside. Got ‘em both.”

  “He’s got a point, boss,” said Marie with a dazzling smile. “I like the idea.”

  Happy gifted Marie with one of his rare smiles and nodded his thanks.

  “How long you been with Pagan?” asked Coop.

  “Three months,” she replied. “Still picking things up.”

  “That’s good, luv,” said Coop. “Pagan’s one of the best. Stick with him and you’ll do well.”

  “Yeah, you’ll learn things you never wanted to know about,” Hacker told Marie’s breasts. “Pagan’s an education allright.”

  “Hacker,” said Anna, smiling sweetly. “Her eyes are a little further up her body.”

  Hacker turned bright red and immediately apologized, much to everyone’s amusement.

  The rest of the night passed quickly, swapping stories and catching up with recent events. Taffy produced some juicy steaks from who-knows-where and eventually, with dawn only a few hours away, we decided to call it a night.

  Leaden down with our belongings we climbed the rickety stairs that led to the upper floor.

  “Sorry boss,” said John. “They only had two spare rooms.”

  “That’s okay,” I replied mischievously. “Guess that means I’m bunking with Anna tonight.”

  Anna let out a silvery laugh and slipped her free hand around my waist.

  “I’d be delighted, lover. Shame you couldn’t feed me.”

  “Well, I can’t be main course, but I wouldn’t mind dessert,” I replied, heavy on the salacious looks.

  “Over my rotting corpse,” said John, trying not to laugh.

  “Alas, my paramour,” said Anna, drawing away from me. “Our passion is thwarted yet again.”

  Anna turned to Marie.

  “Sorry love,” she said with a smile. �
�Looks like you’re stuck with him.”

  Marie took hold of my hand, entwining her fingers with mine and threw me a dazzling smile.

  “That’s okay,” she said sweetly. “I think I can put up with him for the night.”

  John met my eyes and winked. I let out an aggravated sigh.

  “John, if you and your good lady wife have finished your matchmaking attempts I could do with getting to sleep.”

  We said our goodnights and entered our room. Inside was a double bed. Typical. Taffy couldn’t have given us a room with two single beds? There wasn’t even a couch.

  “I’ll sleep on the floor,” I said firmly as I dumped my bergan in the corner.

  “Don’t be silly, Jack,” she said. “You’ve been awake for three straight days. We’ll both take the bed.”

  “Marie, that wouldn’t be right.”

  “Why? Don’t you trust me?”

  “Oh, I trust you. It’s me I don’t trust.”

  She walked to me, stopping almost close enough to touch. Her eyes caught and held mine.

  “That’s very flattering, sweetheart,” she said softly. “But look at yourself. You’re about to keel over. I think my virtue is safe for tonight. Besides, if you did try anything either I’d agree, in which case everything’s fine, or I wouldn’t, in which case you’d end up with a broken arm.”

  I considered this as I unbuckled my webbing and dropped it next to my bergan. She was probably right about both points. It wasn’t that I thought I’d lose control—or that my advances would be unwelcome if I did—it was a simple case of what’s right and proper. I was nearly dead on my feet, however, and far too exhausted to argue.

  “You win,” I said with a laugh.

  “Good,” she said, a winsome smile touching her lips. “I’m going to have a bath, then we can get some sleep.”