Pagan (MPRD Book 1)

by Andrew Chapman

  “Outside the Coach and Horses?” I asked.

  “Yeah, that first night we met.”

  “Of course I remember. That was the day you went from Scrapper to Marie. Took you less than twelve hours to go from FNG to nickname to name. That’s a record with me.”

  She smiled warmly and snuggled against me again.

  “That’s nice,” she said, kissing my shoulder and running her fingers across my chest. “But do you remember how you were then?”

  CHAPTER

  16

  THREE MONTHS AGO…

  The Coach and Horses had only two rooms available, so the guys had taken one, the girls the other. We let Rock Ape take the bed and the three of us broke out our ‘green maggot’ sleeping bags and commandeered portions of the floor. It wasn’t the first time on the floor for any of us, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

  I had staked out my claim and went for my nightly ritual, my sunrise smoke. I went outside and sat on the low wall that surrounded the inn, watching the horizon and smoking. The sky would be lightening soon and I was giving consideration to having a second cigarette whilst I watched the sunrise when the door behind me opened. Scrapper slipped out.

  “Morning,” I said quietly. “Can’t sleep?”

  “I just heard someone moving about downstairs,” she said by way of explanation.

  “Sorry, I said, pitching the dog-end of my cigarette into a rain-filled flower pot that looked like it hadn’t seen vegetation in many a year.

  “That’s okay,” she said, then wrinkled her nose. “You know, you really shouldn’t do that. It smells awful.”

  “Yeah, I know. Been trying to quit for a while now.”

  She leaned against the wall, eyes constantly moving as she scanned the darkness. Score another point for the civilian.

  “You smoke after sex?” she asked.

  “Nope, not since I bought that bottle of lubricant.”

  She gave me a flat, unamused look,

  “What?” I said innocently. “You lob me a straight line like that and then get upset when I smash it back?”

  She shook her head and laughed.

  “Can I ask you a question?” she said.

  “Of course,” I said. “On the understanding that I reserve the right not to answer, or to lie, stretch, bend or otherwise twist the truth, as my sense of humor dictates.”

  “What’s with Anna and John?” she asked pointedly.

  I shrugged, wondering how to answer and finally settling on the truth.

  “They’re married, they’re in love, she’s a vampire,” I said. “What more’s to know?”

  “Does she feed on him?”

  “What they do is their own business,” I replied curtly. Across the road a movement had caught my attention. Something was hiding in the long grass by the bridge.

  “Oh, I was just curious,” she said a little defensively. “I wondered how it worked is all.”

  I shrugged again.

  “I find it best not to ask,” I replied, trying to appear offhand as I watched the movement.

  “By the bridge?” said Scrapper lightly.

  “Yeah, you spotted him too?” I replied, lowering my voice.

  She turned to me and smiled, nodding slightly.

  “It’s a little late to be out hunting,” she pointed out quietly.

  “Yeah, that’s why we have to get him, he may have a nest around here somewhere. There may be others.”

  “We need to draw him out. Think you can hit him from here?”

  “Hit him? Easily. Killing him with one shot could be more difficult.”

  “Okay, let’s give him something to look at.”

  She lifted each leg in turn and slipped off her boots. That was honestly the first and only time I’ve seen anyone remove army boots in a seductive manner, but somehow she managed it. In her bare feet she hopped off of the wall and slinked over to me, her hips swinging seductively. She leaned forward and brushed my lips with hers.

  “He watching the show?” she whispered.

  I looked over her shoulder.

  “Yes he is. He’s leaned a little further out.”

  Scrapper pantomimed passionate kissing, moving against me.

  “Let’s take it up a notch,” she said.

  I grunted my assent, watching out of one eye as the vampire moved forwards another inch. Scrapper stepped back and unbuckled her belt, then undid her trousers and let them fall to the ground.

  The vampire’s jaw dropped open and he inched forward a little more. Come on you randy bastard, just a little further.

  Scrapper turned, kicking her trousers over to her boots and leaned back against me. I nuzzled against her neck and whispered in her ear.

  “He’s almost out of cover, keep it up.”

  She reached for the zipper at her throat and slowly slid it down. The vamp almost fell over trying to get a better view.

  “That should do it,” I whispered.

  She turned and took a step to the side, waggling her finger at me as though I’d tried to grope her. She laughed convincingly and worked her combat outfit open at the front, exposing the soft curves of the inside of her breasts.

  Suddenly I whipped my FAL up and fired. The shot was wide, but only just, hitting the vamp in the shoulder. I leaped off of the wall, swearing profusely.

  “You get him?” said Scrapper, zipping herself up again.

  “Winged the bastard,” I said, taking to my heels. “Come on!”

  Behind me I heard the sound of her changing and a furry figure caught up with me, fangs and claws flashing.

  The vamp was ahead, clutching his wounded shoulder with his good hand, staggering along the road. The sky was starting to pale, so wherever the vamp was running to had to be close.

  He ran onto a side road, barely more than a dirt track, and took off like the devil was behind him. I guess that’s me.

  I put on a burst of speed, Marie matching me exactly, and then I skidded to a stop. My rifle hit my shoulder and I took a deep, steadying breath as I aimed. I squeezed the trigger slowly and the FAL bucked in my hands, sending a lethal message to the vamp’s spine. He fell face down, deader than ever.

  “There’s only one place he could be going down here,” I said, controlling my breathing. “There’s an old, abandoned farm.”

  Scrapper nodded and then spread her arms.

  “We’re going to head that way slowly, wait ‘till sunup, and go poke around.”

  She nodded briefly. We slipped off of the road, moving through the long grass, slipping from tree to tree as we worked our way towards the farmhouse. The sun was just peeking over the horizon when we made it to the stone wall that surrounded the buildings. Scrapper sniffed the air and turned to me, growling softly.

  “Vamp?”

  She nodded and pointed down the lane at the dead body.

  “Just that one?”

  She nodded again.

  “Okay, let’s take a look around anyway.”

  It took us less than five minutes to check around inside the tiny, three-room farmhouse. Even I was wrinkling my nose at the musky odor as we went in. There was a dead body on the kitchen table, green and rotting, crawling with maggots. A second body, fresher but not by much, lay on the floor by the back door.

  The place was empty. I calmly walked around, checking everywhere before motioning Scrapper outside. We backed out and stood on the porch, taking deep breaths in an attempt to clear the stench from our lungs.

  “Mind if I smoke?” I asked softly.

  Scrapper shook her head emphatically so I extracted a cigarette from a battered pack and walked down the path to light it. The smoke helped, the distance from the house more so. I climbed onto the wall and sat down. Scrapper leaned her elbows against the wall and let out a very human sigh.

  Now, in my defence here, I don’t know if it was the sunrise, which was beautiful, or Scrapper, who was even more beautiful, or if it was the events, but suddenly I had an urgent need for physical contact
. Without really realizing what I was doing I reached out and started scratching Scrapper behind her ears.

  For a few minutes we remained like that until Scrapper gave out a contented growl. That brought me to my senses and I snatched my hand away.

  “Okay,” I said slowly. “That was wildly inappropriate. Sorry.”

  Scrapper bared her teeth in a grin. I ground my cigarette out and jumped off the wall, trying not to think about how warm and soft her fur was. She vaulted the wall and walked next to me down the lane, back towards the inn.

  I actually enjoyed that walk, and there’s no pun intended there. We were walking together; I was not walking her.

  I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. She was a stunner, there’s no doubt about that, even in her wolf form. More importantly, she was strong, fast, and very competent. She had good instincts and seemed to be almost fearless. She’d make a good hunter if the Ministry would let her.

  Scrapper barked softly and grinned again. Outside the inn stood Bill and Rock Ape. The FNG was covering who-knew-what with his gun and Bill was giving me a knowing look. On the wall next to him were Scrapper’s boots and, neatly folded, her trousers.

  “Boss,” he said evenly.

  “Took the FNG hunting, Bill,” I said with a wide grin.

  “Catch anything?”

  “One little vamp. We need to get some of the locals to go up to the old Johnstone farm. It’ll need cleaning up. The vamp was staying there.”

  Bill looked at Scrapper quizzically, taking in her size and general furriness. Rock Ape was staring with open-mouthed shock.

  “Never seen a werewolf before, gentlemen?” I asked.

  Rock Ape shook his head.

  “Just a bit of a shock, that’s all,” said Bill. “Wasn’t expecting to see her like that so soon.”

  “Well, I’m knackered and I’m pretty sure Scrapper is too, so we’re going to bed. You gents can gawp later.”

  I picked up her boots and trousers and went inside. Scrapper followed me into the bar.

  “Goodnight, gentlemen,” I said pointedly as Rock Ape and Bill came in.

  I put Scrapper’s things on a table and waited until the guys had gone upstairs.

  “You need me to turn around?” I asked Scrapper.

  She looked at me quizzically for a second and then nodded. When she was done I turned back. She was pulling on her trousers.

  “You have fun on your first hunt?” I asked lightly.

  “Oh yeah, it was a blast,” she said sarcastically.

  “Well, you earned the right,” I said. “What’s your name?”

  “Marie,” she replied. “Marie Hennessy.”

  “Marie,” I said, extending my hand. “Nice to meet you Marie. I’m Jack Henderson.”

  She shook my hand and grinned.

  “Nice to meet you Jack.”

  “Come on, let’s get to bed.”

  I caught her amused look and hastily amended.

  “To sleep, Marie, to sleep.”

  “Shame.”

  At the foot of the stairs she stopped and turned around. She leaned in close and kissed me on the lips.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “For everything.”

  “Which explains nothing.”

  “Exactly.”

  CHAPTER

  17

  I walked Marie over the tarmac towards the helicopter that was going to take her away from me.

  Ahead was Captain Dent. She would be flying back with Marie, and one of those AgustaWestland VIP taxis was already warming up.

  “Pagan,” said Dent, speaking over the increasing noise from the chopper.

  “Ma’am,” I replied politely.

  “Ms. Hennessy,” she said, greeting Marie. “I see you found what you were looking for.”

  “Yes Captain, and thank you for bringing me here.”

  Dent beamed and gestured at the waiting chopper.

  “I’ll see you inside,” she said. “Good luck, Pagan.”

  “Thank you, ma’am, for everything.”

  Dent climbed aboard and I turned to Marie. We were determined not to drag this out and make it harder for both of us. Marie kissed me, holding my face in her small, soft hands, her cheeks wet with tears.

  “Become Death,” she said. “The destroyer of worlds.”

  She kissed me again and then she was in the helicopter. I stepped back as the rotor wound up and the wheels left the ground. I caught one last glimpse of Marie’s face through the window and she was gone.

  I allowed myself five seconds of pain as the chopper rose into the air and moved away, then I ruthlessly clamped down on my emotions. I tried to believe that there was no point in wasting time with silly feelings. It’s just that the chopper had raised so much dust that my eyes were streaming.

  That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

  I had a few hours to kill before nightfall and I wanted to visit the armory, so I ‘liberated’ a Land Rover and went for a drive. If there’s one pain in the arse about Brize it’s that everything is a long slog from everything, and the armory was no exception.

  Inside it was almost deserted. There was a long counter with a woman standing behind it looking bored as she read a newspaper. She looked up as I walked in. She was wearing a corporal’s stripes on her neat RAF blue uniform.

  “Mornin’ whoever you are,” she said cheerily.

  “Morning corp,” I said.

  “Do somethin’ for ya?”

  “Yeah, need some ammunition and maybe another weapon.”

  I put the FAL gently on the polished surface of the counter.

  “Well no bloody wonder, that thing’s probably an antique by now,” she said dismissively. “Want an ’80?”

  “Not if you paid me to,” I replied. “What I’m looking for is a para FAL.”

  She gave me a blank look.

  “Shorter barrel?” I explained. “Folding stock? No bayonet lug? FN FAL fifty-point-six-three?”

  Realization dawned.

  “Oh, a shorty SLR. We got a few of those left, thanks to old timers like you, and even some new ones they’re bringing in. You got orders?”

  I didn’t have any paperwork authorizing me to draw from stores, but I did have something better. I pulled out my Ministry ID that charged, amongst other things, that all military personnel should extend every courtesy and aid in order that I might complete such missions as I was on.

  “Pagan!” she exclaimed after peering at the card.

  “That’s me.”

  “Cor! Wait ‘till I tell my Jimmy! And our boy, he’ll never believe it!”

  Her hand was already inching towards a pad of paper for the inevitable autograph, and I was happy to oblige if it meant getting what I needed.

  It took me twenty minutes but I came out with a hundred and twenty rounds for the MP7, eighty each for the SIG and the new ‘shorty’ under my arm, plus a hundred rounds of ‘regular’—rounds without the silver tips. I wanted to try out my new toy down at the range before committing to leaving my FAL behind. I also had a modified SUIT scope that would fit onto the picatinny rail that ran along the top of the rifle.

  It took me the better part of a half-hour to load up my magazines. I had, in total, six mags for the FAL, five for the MP7 and six for the SIG. Overkill? Maybe. I put the silver-tipped rounds aside for now and loaded the shorty with the regular rounds.

  I pulled a target from the rack. At first glance it appeared to be the standard NATO Figure 8, a representation of a vaguely Russian-looking soldier charging straight at the shooter, bayonet fixed. NATO soldiers had been ‘killing’ this poor unfortunate for decades, but on closer inspection the new version was a little different. Protruding from his mouth was a pair of cartoonish fangs. I wondered if the US army still used these. I affixed the charging vampire downrange and went back to my new weapon.

  The SUIT scope only has 4x magnification—it’s no sniper’s scope—but it would be enough
to make the shot considerably easier.

  I fired off the first magazine, taking my time and periodically peering at the target through a pair of binoculars. The scope was off, the shots landing a little to the right. A few adjustments later I was going through the second mag, checking and fine-tuning as I went.

  Eventually I was satisfied that the shorty was as accurate as I could make it.

  I set up another target and started shooting in pairs: one to the heart, one to the head. When I took my shot at Glavidia, I wanted to make sure that the bitch died.

  Ten pairs later I reloaded and took a look at my target. Nine of the shots to the heart would have been instantly fatal, but only seven to the head hit the target where I wanted. Sure, all ten pairs would probably have killed Glavidia, but probably wasn’t good enough.

  I shot off another mag, getting the feel for the weapon, hitting my mark with each shot.

  I went through the final mag at high speed, paring down the time between shots, shooting at another fresh target. Better. Not only could I make the shot, I could make it very quickly.

  I wouldn’t want to try making these shots at anything over a hundred meters, but at the relatively short range I was dealing with I was comfortable with my skills.

  But just in case I called in at the Ministry building to see what they had for me in the Paranormal Weapons department.

  I was not disappointed.

  Back in my room I showered, shaved, and donned a fresh set of black combats. Yesterday I had worn them for effect—to impress upon the officers that I was the vampire hunter, not they—but today my life depended upon it. The set I put on were faded from washing and wearing, especially at the knees and elbows. Pure, dark black clothing shows up almost as well as bright clothing in a forest at night. Letting it fade a little to a dark, dark grey matched the color of the night instead of showing up.

  I buckled on my PLCE and distributed my weapons and ammunition, plus a few assorted items I’d need. Finally I had nothing to do but sit staring at the wall, trying to achieve that mythical, zen-like state of mind that would allow me to complete my mission.

  The sky grew darker and, I knew, all across the north, vampires would be emerging from their crypts or coffins or wherever vamps slept during the day. They would be feeling the thirst and people—human beings—would soon find themselves becoming food. Some people who had been human yesterday would be awakening tonight as vampires, subservient to the vamp that turned them and slaves to the thirst.