“Fuggin Ba’tard,” the vampire said and rose to its feet like a great bear coming out of sleep.
There was a deep hatred in its eyes. That, and a hunger. The fangs slid down and out of the gums, its mouth filling with blood. It smiled and a deep red trickle ran from the corner of its mouth, only to be lapped up by a gray, somehow slimy, tongue.
“Dad,” Tony said. “It’s me. Tony.”
There was no recognition in the vampire’s eyes.
Tony backed away, the vampire stalking him like a cat after a small bird. Tony couldn’t take his eyes from its face, afraid to break the stare that seemed to hold them apart.
It was only then that he remembered the garlic round his neck. He lifted a hand and crushed one of the bulbs between his fingers. Immediately the vampire’s eyes began to water and there was a deep groan, as if a sudden cramp had hit it in the stomach.
“Dad?” Tony said again, this time there was a tremor in his voice.
The vampire’s stare seemed to soften, and its fangs partly receded.
“Tony?” it said. “Son?”
Then it screamed, a high wail that drove everything else from the boy’s mind. There was a dull thud, and two inches of bloody wood burst from the vampire’s chest sending a fine spray of warm redness over Tony’s face.
The vampire fell away to one side, its eyes staring sightlessly at the roof, to reveal Margaret standing behind it; the mallet raised high above her head.
“Got you, you bastard,” she said, then swayed. At first Tony thought she would fall, but she only dropped the mallet to her side, letting it swing as if it was a golf club.
There was a sudden silence in the room, only the heavy panting of Margaret’s breathing. Then he heard it, the soft sucking, like a baby feeding.
He stepped over the vampire’s body. He didn’t look down...his father wasn’t there any more, had not been there for a long time. He swung the lamp towards the sound and gasped.
The man, the vampire killer, was lying on the floor, his eyes closed. An old woman, a vampire, was bent over his groin, and at first Tony thought they were doing the thing he’d seen in the books Billy had showed him. But then he heard the sucking again.
His next actions came as if they were instinct. He walked over to Margaret and took the mallet from her. She stared at him but she didn’t blink, and Tony thought he saw a tear glisten in the corner of her eye. He went to the sports bag and lifted out a second stake.
He felt nothing as he strode over to the vampire and placed the stake against her back. He had to hold the mallet half way up the handle, but he felt strong as he brought it over and down. The vampire stiffened, but there was no scream and only a small tickle of blood stained her dress where the stake went in.
He saw why as she fell away from the man. The stake stood out proud from just under her left breast, and blood pumped from around it like water from a tap, a fountain of red that jetted more than three feet from the body.
The vampire sighed, an exhalation that went on and on, as if it was a balloon that was slowly deflating. But finally it was still and the blood stopped flowing.
The room was deathly quiet as Tony swung the torch around once more.
Margaret was still standing in the same place, unmoving. The vampire killer lay at Tony’s feet, and he didn’t seem to be moving. Tony knelt down beside the man and shone the lamp full in his face, but there wasn’t even a flinch. The man’s skin looked gray and waxy and he seemed to be still, as still as the two vampires.
Tony stood up, wincing at the grating pain in his chest. He looked up, hoping to see some light above him, but there was only blackness.
“Margaret?” he said. “I think we should go.”
He swung his torch, trying to find the teacher.
Instead his light shine on something white, something massive, with blood red eyes that caught him in their stare.
The mallet fell from Tony’s hands, but he didn’t notice.
~-o0O0o-~
Donald Allan took Brian’s hand and started to walk. Brian took a step and blinked.
And when his eyes opened he was at the end of the street. When he looked back his house was thirty yards behind him.
Donald Allan winked.
“Quite a trick, eh?” he said. “It takes a bit of learning, so stick with me for now.”
They took another step, and the town seemed to pass by in a blur, houses and streets streaming on either side like a river under a bridge. Brian suddenly felt nauseous and had to hold down an acidic surge in his throat.
Donald Allan stopped and looked at him, concerned.
“Are you okay?” he asked, and this time Brian did laugh, loudly.
“There’s only so many impossible things a man can take in one day. I think I’ve just exceeded my limit. I....”
He stopped, the words suddenly frozen in his throat.
They were on the hill above the town, at least two miles from his house. Two miles in as many seconds. But that wasn’t what had stopped him.
The whole of the top half of the town seemed to be in flames, complete streets of houses sending sheets of flame into the air. In the distance the pop pop of automatic gunfire carried on the night air.
“What’s going on?” Brian said, unable to take his eyes from the scene.
“It looks like they’ve called in the army,” Donald Allan said. “Probably the SAS...they’ve got the experience.”
The implications took several seconds to sink in.
“You mean that the army knows about...about vampires?”
“Oh yes. It’s one of those conspiracy theory things that are actually true...they’ve known for centuries...they’ve just never told the general public about it.”
“What did you mean...they’ve got the experience?”
Donald Allan laughed, but it was a cold thing.
“There have been quite a few ‘outbreaks’ in the past. The army usually deals with it, then covers it up with talk of some natural disaster or other.”
Donald Allan mentioned two names, one a plane crash, one a chemical explosion. They had made huge headlines at the time, but there had been no mention of vampires.
“You’ve got to remember,” the vampire said, “We have been around as long, if not longer, than the sons of Adam. It would be very strange indeed if no one knew of our existence.”
Brian watched the town burn, aware that the flames were spreading east, towards his house. Strangely he wasn’t concerned.
A hand touched his shoulder and Donald Allan spoke.
“All their work will be for nothing if we don’t get to the Hansen House. Shoa will not be stopped so easily.”
Brian took the vampire’s hand again and had time for just one look back at the town before they took the last step.
~-o0O0o-~
Margaret was locked away somewhere deep inside herself.
There was a dead man on the ground at her feet...she knew that much. Somewhere in her brain a tape was running, an endless loop playing the same noise over and over, the sharp thud of wood on wood. But she couldn’t, wouldn’t associate the noise with any action she had taken.
But everything faded like the remnant of a dream as soon as the white vampire entered the room and caught her in his stare.
The room faded around her, like falling into a deep sleep when exhausted.
~-o0O0o-~
She woke.
She had fallen asleep in front of the fire. It must have been the food. Brian had cooked a curry...all the trimmings. It had taken nearly an hour to eat it all. She rubbed her eyes and Brian smiled at her over the top of his wineglass.
The wrinkles around his eyes were getting deeper now, and his beard was totally gray, but he still looked like a little lost boy.
“Do you remember the first night you had a curry...our first night out?” he asked and the sparkle in his eyes told her that she was going to have her leg pulled. Again.
“You bought that story about the old house
hook line and sinker. And the expression on your face when I jumped out of the bushes at you, what did you think I was? The bogey man?”
Margaret felt a tingling at the base of her spine. There was something about that night at the house that she had to remember. Something about Brian.
But it was all so long ago, and the heat from the fire seemed to numb her senses. She held out her empty glass and Brian poured the liquid into her glass, filing it almost to the brim.
“Why Mr. Baillie,” she said, “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to get me drunk.”
“Why Mrs. Baillie,” Brian said, an exaggerated Southern drawl. “I do believe I might.”
He clicked his glass against hers and downed most of his wine in one gulp. He stretched his arms wide and let out a spectacularly false yawn.
“My God. Is that the time,” he said. “Better be getting off to bed...busy day tomorrow.”
He wasn’t joking about that. Since becoming principal teacher of Biology he was knee deep in paperwork.
And she wasn’t much better...her senior netball team were into the play off for the British finals...each day was taken up trying to keep them to their training schedule...and she couldn’t ask them to do something she wouldn’t do herself.
But then again, Brian didn’t seem to have sleep on his mind.
“Do you want to fool around a bit?” he asked, and she had to laugh. He got her every time. She remembered that she had wondered about him back then, on their first date, whether he wasn’t just too much of a loner. God, she’d nearly made a huge mistake. He was kind, witty and made her laugh at least twice a day. She hoped he would keep doing it for years to come.
She sipped at her wine, playing out the moment. The fire crackled and spat at her.
“Could you go and lock up?” She said. “I’ll be up in a minute.”
She watched him as he struggled to his feet and had a sudden vision of them growing old together. “Till death us do part,” she had said, and she had meant it. She smiled as she remembered walking down the aisle. The first thing she had seen was Tom Duncan, trying to look smart in his kilt and waistcoat but only succeeding in looking like he’d been dressed by a four year old.
A sudden chill ran up her spine despite the heat from the fire. There was something about Tom Duncan, something about him dancing too close, far too close. She had a feeling that she should remember, that it was important.
There was a noise from across the room. Brian was on his hands and knees, completely naked, making puppy dog noises. She laughed, and all thought of Tom Duncan was forgotten as Brian nuzzled at her knees.
“Take off your necklace,” he said. “You know I keep getting my beard caught in it.”
Margaret smiled as she remembered their first anniversary; the day Brian bought the necklace. They’d gone away for a weekend. The weather was beautiful, the scenery majestic, but they had spent all their time in bed. That had been when they’d first noticed his beard’s affinity with the necklace.
“Come and take it off yourself,” she whispered, but Brian shied away. Was that fear she saw in his eyes?
“Come on, Margaret. Stop messing about and take off the necklace.”
Just for a second she didn’t know the man in front of her. His eyes blazed in a deep red. Then she blinked, and saw that it was only the reflection from the fire.
Brian smiled and something inside her melted. She took off the necklace and laid it down on the floor. Brian took her in his arms and lifted her as if she was filled with helium. She felt his warm arms around her and smuggled closer to his chest as he carried her upstairs to the bedroom.
~-o0O0o-~
Tony watched as Billy once again beat his high score on the computer game.
“You’re getting too much practice,” Tony said, and Billy nodded, never taking his eyes from the screen.
“Dad likes to play against me,” Billy said, “But he’s not that good.”
“I know what you mean,” Tony said. “My dad is hopeless. He said that he would buy me the CD ROM machine next to see if that was any better.”
He watched as Billy shot down several more dragons. He was about to complain about Billy hogging the machine when a voice shouted from downstairs.
“Billy. Your dad’s here for you.”
Billy zapped one final dragon then let his character get killed.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Tony nodded.
“Maybe we can go up to the Hansen House again?” Billy said.
“Oh no,” Tony said, laughing, “you’re not getting me in there again.”
He remembered the last time, when his torch had failed in the air raid shelter. Billy had nearly given him a heart attack, pretending to be a Morlock.
Billy gave him a friendly thump on the arm, and suddenly Tony had a fleeting glimpse of something else, something that felt like a memory. There was a sword, gleaming silver, and there was something about a book, a black book. But his dad shouted again from downstairs and Billy was already up and out of the door.
The two fathers were waiting at the bottom of the stairs, like twin brothers in their neat gray business suits and shiny shoes.
“Come on, boys,” Tony’s dad said. “You’ve got to sleep sometime. Besides, we’ve got a surprise for you.”
The men smiled, sharing a secret, and it was Billy’s dad who spoke.
“We’ve decided that the families should go on holiday together this year. How does Florida sound?”
Billy looked over at Tony; his smile so wide that it looked like his face might split.
“See you tomorrow,” they both said simultaneously, and all four of them laughed together as Billy and his dad said their good-byes.
“Do you mean it about Florida?” Tony asked after they had watched their friends turn away around the corner.
“Of course,” his dad said. “You know I’d do anything to keep you happy.”
“I love you dad,” Tony said.
“I love you too son. Now take that medallion off. I’ve told you before that you shouldn’t wear it all the time.”
Tony fingered the heavy chain around his neck. He took it off, being careful not to tug at the chain, and held it out to his dad.
“No,” his dad said, and Tony was surprised to see fear in the man’s eyes. Only for a second, but it was there nonetheless.
“Put it on the table. You can get it in the morning,” the man said, and when Tony obeyed and turned back his dad was smiling again.
He was still smiling as he lifted Tony in his arms and carried him upstairs.
~-o0O0o-~
Jim Kerr opened his eyes slowly, unaware at first of where he was. There was a movement above him and he tried to raise his head, to follow the soft fluttering noises, but he was so weak that even reopening his eyelids after a blink was an immense effort.
Something had just left the room, going up the ladder, that much he could tell by the sound alone.
He had no feeling in his body, only a dull leaden deadness. The way you feel when you first notice you’ve got a hangover.
For long seconds he lay there, staring into the blackness in front of his eyes, content to let the dead feeling seep further into his bones.
Images played behind his eyes, of hot summer days and cool pools of water, and it seemed that he was rocked by small waves, rocked into a sleep from which there was no return.
Recent events came back to him only slowly, as if his brain was breaking it to him gently. He remembered meeting the woman and the boy, and he remembered the bloodsuckers coming into the room.
But how did I come to be lying here on the floor? And what had happened to the woman and the boy?
He tried to move, and was rewarded only by the merest twitching of his fingers. The feel of cold stone under his hand acted like an electric shock, galvanizing him into action. He remembered the fight, and heard again in his head the crack as his leg broke.
Slowly he walked his fingers across the floor towards his leg and gingerly prodded at his wounds. His fingertips met only a jagged wet shard of bone that jutted through his flesh and went out through his heavy trousers. But there was no pain.
He knew that he was in shock. Intellectually he could accommodate the idea. He felt like two separate people. One was lying, bleeding, half-dead on the floor of a cellar in a run down house. The other was still inside his head, cold, calculating and ruthless. But what use was he going to be if he couldn’t get his body on the move?
It took him five minutes to push himself into a sitting position and, even though there was no pain, the strain brought heavy sweat all over his body and his arms shook in tremors that he couldn’t stop.
There was a dead woman at his feet...he could feel her as he ran his hands through the darkness. No. Not a woman...a bloodsucker. Someone had staked her, and Jim wrinkled his nose as his hand met the edge of a pool of blood that was just beginning to thicken and cool.
He felt down his body and found more blood, coating him from knees to chest like a red blanket. He wondered how much of it was his own.
He was in trouble. Deep trouble. He knew he had lost a lot of blood...the big question was, how much? But even the answer to that would have to wait. His first priority was to get out of here...there was a high possibility that there were more bloodsuckers around, and he didn’t want to meet them in his present condition.
By rolling over sideways he found that he could pull himself along on his elbows. He tried to get to his feet, but after the third attempt was forced to admit that his leg wasn’t going to hold his weight.
It was pitch black in the room, and he had no idea where the ladder was. He couldn’t even remember if it reached all the way to the floor...he might be right underneath it even now.
His hand met something as he swept it in front of him; something that rattled with a metallic scrape as it skidded away from him. He slowed down the sweep and a short while later his hand fell on the warm wooden butt of the crossbow.
Eldren: The Book of the Dark Page 25
