Chronicles of the Vampire Hunters: Creation
Page 5
John pulled back into Midland a little after 9:30am. His wounded arm throbbed painfully. Pulling back his sleeve, he noticed the bandages were soaked all the way through. Later. He thought. It can wait, Julia can’t.
Turning down their block, he held his breath and prayed that her car would be in the driveway. That she'd be sitting in the living room with her arms crossed over her chest, mad as hell that he and Jake were gone. His heart sank when he saw it wasn't. It leapt into his throat when he saw the front door broken off its hinges.
John pulled into the driveway and angrily shoved the truck into park, then pulled The Cleaner from behind his seat along with his Smith and Wesson .357 magnum. The odds of a vampire still being inside with the sun so high in the sky was damn near impossible, but he’d been trained by the best and didn't take chances. Never again, not after last night, I’ll never let my guard down again.
Deep down he almost hoped to find one of the bloodsuckers hiding in a closet. He'd enjoy turning it to ash after what they'd done.
Slowly stepping inside, he held his gun ready. The house was completely ransacked. Most of the living room furniture was literally ripped in half. The TV had been tossed completely through the sheetrock of his living room wall.
He carefully stepped into the kitchen, trying to avoid the now thick, clotted vampire blood still covering the floor. Marty, I’m sorry brother. Of all the people, why did it have to be you? You poor drunken fool. Both doors of his refrigerator were ripped completely off. Long deep claw marks were carved into the wood of the cabinets and counter tops. From the amount of carnage, it was clear there had definitely been more than one.
Scanning the rooms with The Cleaner held tightly to his shoulder, John walked down the hall stepping over broken family photos and pieces of Jake's toys. Stopping at Jake's room, he looked over the worst of the damage. His son's twin bed had been broken into a dozen pieces, the sheets and bedspread shredded. All of it sat in a large pile in the middle of the room. What few clothes Jake had left in his closet were gone. Bastards got his scent and by now, they've probably passed his clothes around to every vampire in a hundred mile radius.
Fear for Jake’s wellbeing swelled in his chest. For seven years, he'd believed himself to be safe. After Terry, he just couldn’t do it anymore. He had lost far too many friends over the years and he wasn't going to lose Julia or Jake the same violent way. All he cared about was getting them away from that life. He was done with the whole bloody, violent business. Let the others take on the task of killing he'd told Cort. This hunter was done. Thirty-eight notches in only six short years marked the vampires he'd sent to hell. He’d taken his first kill at eighteen. He’d taken his last at twenty-four.
Now it’s thirty-nine. I’m sorry, Julia . . . I should have taken you both across the river. "They never cross the Mississippi river." His old mentor Billy Williams had told him. Years later Ben Morris had confirmed it. He had searched through the records of every single confirmed and suspected vampire kill in the history of the U.S. and he hadn't come across a single kill east of the Mississippi.
Of course, his pride kept him from running. It was bad enough cutting ties with everyone and everything he cared about. He would be damned if he'd leave Texas. It was his home. It was in his blood. No one would push him out. He just wasn't going to take the fight to them anymore. He'd never forgive himself for making such a brash, selfish decision. That old Bishop Pride.
John stepped into the master bedroom to find the same thing. The furniture was all destroyed, pictures ripped to shreds. "John," A voice sounded behind him. Startled, John turned and pulled The Cleaner tight to his shoulder only to find the form of a middle age, six foot tall Comanche Indian with long black hair braided down his back, staring back at him. It was Talon Parker.
"Talon," John said, lowering the gun, his voice filled with relief.
"Is the boy safe?" Talon asked walking carefully so as not to step on the broken glass. His footsteps were quiet as a ghost.
"Safe as I can make him for now. He's with the old man." John gripped his old friend's hand tightly. "Damn it's good to see you, Talon."
"And you brother," Talon said, warmly.
"Thank you for coming."
"There were four of them,” Talon said, getting down to business. “All Makers. The first one you killed in the kitchen was just a grunt."
"Yeah, I know," John, said sadly. “He was a friend of mine.”
Talon nodded thoughtfully. “A convenient target. Once they turned him, they knew all that he knew. The layout of the house, weak entry points, everything they’d need to come in.”
“You know Talon, it was strange. I had the feeling that he was holding back. There were several times he could have killed me. Hell he probably could have snatched Jake off his bed and been feasting on him out in the yard and I never would have been the wiser ‘till it was too late. But he didn’t," John shook his head. "It just doesn't add up."
Talon thoughtfully rubbed at the large bone handle of the knife strapped to his belt. "Yes, very strange. Why did they wait so long to attack? Once they had his knowledge of the house, they could have come on their own. Instead, they waited. If the Makers had come first you and Jake would be dead right now. Why send in a single solitary grunt? And so much anger. So much hate," Talon knelt down and picked up a picture of Julia and Jake that had been ripped in half. “It all seems so very . . . personal.”
"I don't know what's going on here.” John shook his head. “But I've got to find Julia. I talked to Pam Williams. She's a doc now, over at Midland Memorial. She said Julia didn't make it to work last night. And she sure as hell didn't make it back here. So, the question remains. Where is she?"
"I'll find out," Talon said, silently walking out of the house. John looked over the room for a few more minutes, staring at the remnants of the life he had tried so hard to make. How many times had he curled up next to Julia in their bed and whispered in her ear how much he loved her? Now it lay ripped and broken hanging through the window. How many times had he rocked Jake to sleep as a baby in the rocking chair now in pieces against the wall? In one night, they had brought it all crashing down around him. He'd make them pay for this. Before it had all been a game. Who could score the most kills, collect the most fangs, or make the most money. Now it was personal. Now it was war. He would hunt them to the very last one if it killed him.
Saying goodbye to his old life, John walked back out of his house. He opened the door to his truck before he remembered the photo albums his wife had worked so painstakingly on over the last few months. It was her latest hobby.
John jogged back into the house and into their bedroom. Sure enough, in the bottom drawer of their broken dresser sat two photo albums. He leaned The Cleaner against the wall and pulled them both out. He let out a sigh of relief. Finally a break! They hadn't been trashed along with everything else. He flipped the biggest one open. His relief turned to terror. The pictures had been colored over in crayon. Each and every picture with himself and Jake had been scribbled over with black crayon. Julia's pictures were circled and colored with bright red hearts. "My God." he said, dropping the album to the floor. He snatched the gun resting on the wall and ran through the house at a dead run. I’ve got to find Julia! Throwing caution to the wind, he burst out of the house and bowled right over two police officers. The three men crashed hard to the ground with John, still clutching The Cleaner, on top.
Chapter 5
Henry
Midland Police Department, Interrogation Room 2
July 31, 1994 4:22pm