The Mourning Woods (The Tome of Bill Book 3)

by Rick Gualtieri

  I let out a sigh and replied, “So what you’re saying is I’m on my own ... as usual.”

  “Hey, I’m going to be there, too,” Tom protested.

  “Yep,” Sally said. “As usual, Bill, you’re on your own.”

  Four-legged Vampire Slayer

  It wasn’t all bad. Colin eventually returned with our lunch. Watching him set up a table for us went a long way toward making me feel better although, if I had to guess, I wouldn’t doubt my glass of blood also had a generous dollop of spittle in it. Oh, well, it was a small price to pay to watch that monkey dance.

  James said he would be joining us up north, but he’d be arriving later than the other participants and staying mostly in the shadows. While I wasn’t too keen on putting my neck on the line just so he could get himself a big fat promotion, he had always been cool with me. There was also the fact that he had saved my ass a few times. I owed the dude and I was not one to welch on my bets. Well, okay, maybe I was, but not when the person in question could rip my head off and shove it up my ass with little to no effort.

  We finished up, said our goodbyes, and resumed our road trip of the damned. Of course, once we were piled back in the car and everyone had a chance to collect their thoughts, Tom started in again.

  “It probably all doesn’t matter anyway, since I’m going to turn into a fucking zombie.”

  “You’re not going to turn into a zombie,” snapped Ed from behind the wheel.

  “Easy for you to say. You didn’t get bitten by the disgusting undead. No offense, Bill.”

  “None taken,” I replied from the back seat.

  “It’s not like he chomped off your fingers, asshole,” Ed said, “You don’t even have any bite marks, so stop whining.”

  “But I can feel it tingling.”

  “Psychosomatic,” I replied.

  “Am I the only one here who watches the movies?” he protested. “A zombie puts its teeth on you and you’re doomed. It’s only a matter of time before I start craving brains.”

  “That would be a step up, if you ask me,” Sally commented from behind a copy of Cosmo.

  “Sally, can you tell this idiot that he isn’t going to turn into a zombie?”

  “Fine. You aren’t going to turn into a zombie, idiot.”

  “There, see...” I started to say.

  “Not that I would know,” she added.

  “What do you mean?” Tom asked, wide-eyed.

  I turned to her. “I thought you knew about zombies, Sally.”

  “Yes. I know that a bunch of them work in Boston. So do you, congratulations.”

  “Don’t you know how they got there?”

  “Nope.”

  “What about how they’re made?”

  “Nada on that, too.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” she said, throwing him a look of bored contempt, “it never occurred to me to give a shit ... although now that you mention it, I still don’t.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The next few hours were long ones. As we drove north through Vermont, I plugged my 3G modem in and attempted to get a little work done on my laptop. Ed continued driving while Sally put on a pair of ear-buds and proceeded to tune us all out. As for Tom, he continued whining from the front seat, a continual stream of bullshit along the lines of, “I can feel myself starting to decay.” Forget the vampires in the backseat, considering how white Ed’s knuckles were turning around the steering wheel. I had a feeling he was beginning to contemplate reaching over and shoving Tom out of the moving car. After a while, I doubted I would have tried to stop him.

  Thanks to our stopover in Boston and then some traffic, we didn’t near the border until after sundown. Sally indicated, though, that actually was perfect timing.

  As we got in line for the border crossing, Ed asked, “So what exactly are we supposed to say once they ask to look in the trailer? That we’re traveling Exxon salesmen?”

  “They’re not going to,” she replied blithely. “Pull into lane five.”

  “Lane five is closed.”

  “Not for us it isn’t. Pull in and flash the lights three times.”

  Ed shot us a dubious look via the rearview mirror. No doubt, he was thinking we were all about to enjoy a nice long strip search at the Canadian border. Regardless, he did as told. He pulled into the closed lane, enduring a few annoyed beeps from the other cars in line. He flashed the high beams – which weren’t all that high in this clunker – and, sure enough, the light in the lane switched from red to green. That elicited a few more angry honks.

  “Watch and learn,” Sally said, rolling down the back window.

  We pulled into the booth and she leaned out. I could see by her profile that she had blackened her eyes and brought her fangs out. The border guard leaned over and spoke to her.

  “Your coven?”

  “Village from New York,” she replied.

  “Purpose?”

  “Business.”

  “What business?”

  “First Coven business. Do you really want to ask more?”

  The guard’s eyes momentarily flashed black, revealing his undead nature, although whether out of shock or annoyance I wasn’t sure. He quickly composed himself, though, and looked toward the front seat, where Tom and Ed sat. He took a quick sniff of the air. “Technically you’re supposed to declare any food you bring across the border.”

  “They’re just snacks for the road,” Sally replied.

  “Speaking of which,” the guard turned his head toward the cars which had followed our lead into the lane, “it is almost dinner time. Carry on. May the First smile upon you.” He gave us a sort of salute and waved us through.

  “What was that about?” I asked once we had pulled away.

  “There’re a lot of ass kissers out in the field,” she said dismissively.

  “Did he mean what I think he meant?” asked Ed.

  “About what?”

  “About the cars behind us?”

  “Probably,” she said with a smile.

  “Serves them right,” Tom commented. “Line cutters are assholes.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  We continued north. After another hour, I took a turn behind the wheel. That lasted all of fifteen minutes before my companions demanded I pull over. Tom then got in the driver’s seat.

  “What?” I demanded. “The speed limit said ninety.”

  “Kilometers an hour, shithead,” he said. “Even I know that.”

  “Besides, you were driving like an ass,” Ed added.

  “Was not.”

  “You were weaving in and out of the lanes.”

  “It’s been a while since I’ve last driven,” I offered as way of excuse.

  “And it’s going to be a while before you drive again,” Tom said. He then adjusted the rearview toward Sally. “How much farther until we stop, Ms. Daisy?”

  One corner of Sally’s mouth turned upwards at the joke, but she stopped short of a chuckle. “Keep going. We’ll find a motel before dawn.”

  “All night?” Ed asked.

  “Yes, all night,” she replied. “This is a vampire mission, thus we’re keeping vampire hours.”

  Tom sighed. “Ugh, I’m going to need a coffee stop. Maybe a few.”

  “Fine. Just pull in at the next Tim Hortons you see.”

  “Too late,” I replied, looking out the window. “We just passed one.”

  “Yep, and now we’re passing another,” she said. Sure enough, she was right. “This is Canada. Trust me, they have one on every corner.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “I want the bed tomorrow,” I complained, stepping out of the motel room.

  “Sorry, Bill, but it doesn’t work that way,” Ed said. “Tom and I are the ones playing chauffeur. Ergo, you get the floor.”

  “Screw that,” I protested. “Guest of honor at the peace conference standing here. I show up all disgruntled from sleep deprivation and the world could end. Do you really want that to happen?
”

  “If it means not having to listen to you whine like a bitch, than yes. I’m cool with it.”

  “Why do we have to share a room anyway?” Tom asked.

  “Sally said the Draculas only budgeted for two.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  “Not even for one goddamned second,” I replied. “But all of the coven credit cards are in her name.”

  “I don’t see why she gets one all to herself,” Tom sniffed.

  “Because I’m special,” Sally said from right behind us, causing us to jump. She was good. Even I hadn’t heard her exit her room.

  “Yeah, you’re special, all right,” I groused, opening the tailgate on the Jeep. I pushed aside some of our bags to get to the cooler. It was packed with pints of blood. “Want one?” I asked her, grabbing one for myself.

  “No, I’m good.”

  “What do you mean you’re ‘good?’” I asked, an edge creeping into my voice.

  “Exactly that,” she said with a sniff. “You can suck down the bottled stuff if you want, but I decided to try the local cuisine.”

  My roommates turned a shade paler at that. I rounded on her, though. “Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, it might not be the best of ideas to leave a trail of bodies in our wake?”

  She gave me an easy shrug in response. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” She started walking toward the car before turning to say, “Come on, night time’s a burning. We have a long way to go ... unless you’d like to wait around for the Mounties to arrive.”

  Bitch!

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  That’s pretty much how it was for the next two days as we made our way further north. Eventually, the towns became fewer and much farther in between. When not driving, Ed joined me in trying to stay as busy as possible. Unfortunately, cell service was starting to become spotty in the long stretches of ... well ... Canadian nothingness.

  Tom, for his part, continued to push himself further up Sally’s list of people to kill. Despite looking absolutely fine, he continued to whine about becoming one of the undead. When I pointed out that both Sally and I were amongst that number and neither of us (especially her) looked worse for wear, it only increased the whining. “Yeah, but you guys are vampires, the undead elite. I’m going to be a disgusting corpse, forever in search of brains.”

  “When you finally find some, I hope they stick,” Sally replied.

  “Personally,” I said, “I think you should be more worried about your dick rotting off.”

  “Seriously, Bill,” Ed asked. “Do you think Christy would even notice?”

  “Nah, probably not,” I replied, eliciting laughter.

  “That’s right, joke about it now,” Tom said morosely. “Just don’t go looking for any mercy once the zombie apocalypse starts.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Eventually, we were forced to start using our fuel surplus. We stopped along the side of the road at the northern tip of Saskatchewan – or whatever the fuck they called it – to refuel. It was about midnight, cold as fuck, and utterly desolate. While Tom and Ed went to grab some gas from the trailer, I got out to stretch.

  “Don’t wander off,” Sally said from still inside the car. She was bundled up in a parka and looked like the world’s most expensive Eskimo hooker.

  “Yes, Mom,” I replied. Her warning aside, I started to walk toward the tree line. It had been a couple of hours since our last stop and “little Dr. Death” felt the need for a piss break.

  As I walked, I glanced up. It was truly marvelous how the night sky looked when there wasn’t any city around to muck it up. Even had my vampire night vision not been up to snuff, the stars were bright enough to make things passable. At least out in the open they were.

  I entered the tree line and the gloom settled around me. Even though my vampire eyes cut through the darkness, the density of the brush made it difficult to see more than a few feet in any direction.

  Once I was out of sight of the car, I found a suitable looking tree and unzipped to do my business. Ah! Few things were as reinvigorating as a good piss after a long drive.

  I was almost finished when a sound caught my attention. Thinking it was one of my roommates, I called out, “Go find your own garden, guys. This one is already watered.”

  There was no response, save the crunch of more foliage. My thoughts immediately turned to Sally. She had been in the car as long as the rest of us. Maybe she needed a “rest break,” too. While the thought of her squatting amongst the trees was definitely humorous, I had no intention of getting caught with my dick hanging out. I’m not sure what comment she would have, but I’m certain it wouldn’t be kind.

  I quickly zipped up, and that’s when I heard another crunch. Whereas before the sound was hard to pinpoint, this one was close enough for me to tell it was coming from the opposite direction of the car. Another crack. Closer, and it sounded big.

  I reminded myself that was probably bullshit. It was absolutely quiet out there. In such solitude, a fox could step on a twig and it would sound like cannon fire. I was likely psyching myself out for nothing.

  There came a snort from directly in front of where I stood. Brush obscured my vision, but I could make out a shape beyond it and it was bigger than me ... a lot bigger. Oh crap. I hadn’t even considered that I might run into the Alma, Sasquatch, Grendel, or whatever the fuck they were called. What if they were making a preemptive strike to take me out? I wouldn’t put it past the filthy, shit-flinging fuckers.

  I began to back up. I had gotten a taste of what these guys could do when I was over in China. I wasn’t about to underestimate them. The shape in the woods matched me step for step. I began to crouch down in a defensive stance – learned from countless hours of kung-fu movies – when it stepped from the brush and I found myself staring into two large, brown, and not overly intelligent eyes. A set of antlers nearly four feet wide sat atop a large head. A fucking moose.

  I breathed a sigh of relief and chuckled as it just stood there, dumbly chewing its cud or whatever the fuck moose chew on. Damn. There I was, almost shitting myself, and for what, an oversized deer? On the upside, it was the first one I had ever seen outside of a zoo. Now that the scare was over, it was actually kind of cool.

  Figuring a photo would make for a neat souvenir, I pulled my phone from my pocket, aimed the camera, and pushed the button. The flash went off, causing the moose to jump in surprise. It made an angry snort and then, without further warning, charged straight at me. Oh, fuck! Forget what I said about Bigfoot. Being trampled by the equivalent of a freight train on legs wasn’t particularly high on my list. I turned and ran. Judging by the crashing sounds behind me, the moose was following.

  Thank God vampires were fast. Used to be I was the fat kid in high school who came in dead last in every single track event. Nowadays, though, there wasn’t an Olympic sprinter alive who could keep up with me once I got going.

  There were just two problems. For starters, this wasn’t ideal terrain for me to go all out in. Secondly, my pursuer had both the home field advantage as well as an extra set of legs. I had just burst from the tree line, I could see the car ahead, when this deficiency became painfully clear.