Strigoi

by John O'Brien

  “So, we’re looking at something worldwide and not just localized to Mexico. Have you heard anything over your secret network about this? Is this a new group? Are they targeting other nations? NATO forces or just US?”

  “I haven’t heard anything other than what I said. A notice has gone out to see if this has occurred elsewhere. So far, this is only the second one we’ve heard of. The bodies were branded in the same manner, with no weapons fired,” Lynn answers.

  “If this group is organized and intelligent, these ambushes are meant to relay a message. One, that they are worldwide and can strike with impunity. Two, that they either have resources to locate and track special ops forces or inside intel. The fact that they haven’t advertised any intentions or demands is rather troubling,” I state.

  “Agreed. Perhaps that will come later, once they have our undivided attention. But, employing the symbol of Hashashins and the methods used imply that they’re playing a role. That means they’re performing a contract or perhaps carrying out their own directive. So far, they’ve hit a military team and a contracted one. If it was purely one or the other, I’d be less worried. Wait, Jack, was your contract with the DoD?”

  “I was hired by a man with a dog,” I answer.

  Lynn rolls her eyes. “Are you seriously going to make me get up and walk all the way over to my computer?”

  “I believe it was. Or, at least I think it was, based on the mission parameters.”

  “Well, like you said, the implication is that they have fairly deep resources available. That could mean that they are state-sponsored. For now, I’ll make sure this stays on the radar.”

  It’s a long flight back to the states and to the resort, so we refuel a few times en route. One nice thing about the modified gunship is the built-in bunks. They aren’t pillow-top mattresses, but it’s at least a place to lie down in more comfort and while away the hours. Having had little sleep over the past couple of days, it’s not long after our debriefing before I’m out, napping for most of the trip home. Once we finally arrive back at Creech Air Force Base, which incidentally, doesn’t look or feel much different than Afghanistan, Lynn informs us that we have two weeks off and to meet back at the resort.

  “With the orientation mission completed, there’s a meeting for you to attend before getting down to the real business,” Lynn states.

  “And, what will that real business entail?” I query.

  “See you in two weeks, Jack.”

  * * * * * *

  Parking in the driveway and walking into the house brings so much peace. The familiar smells and feel, the wagging of eager tails, the comfort that I’ve created here, drains the last of my stress. The front door separates me from everything else. This is my sanctuary from the outside world—my haven. Within these walls, there aren’t bad guys or a planet filled with crazies. The bubble encompasses my family and nothing else.

  I go through the stack of mail left by Bri. She comes over every couple of days to empty the mailbox and leaves the mail on the kitchen counter. Most of it goes into the recycling bin. I then spend a few minutes deleting messages in my inbox. If it wasn’t a way for a few close friends to contact me, I wouldn’t even have one. Turning off the computer, I spend the better part of an hour letting warm spray attempt to wipe away the last dregs of sand attempting to become a permanent fixture. With the kids coming over in the evening, I start on the lawn, my mind clearing of the last vestiges of the mission.

  Robert, Nic, and Bri walk in, the smell of the pizza I ordered for them to pick up instantly filling the house. Pizza is a food that is never tiring. If I found a magic lantern on a deserted island, I’d wish for a lifetime of delivery. I mean, other than missing the kids and my mom, what could be better than being alone on an island with pizza brought to the shores?

  Boxes are set on the counter amid the ringing of plates being pulled from cabinets. Steam rises from the opened containers, the sounds of “Hot, hot, hot” and “That’s mine” drifting from the kitchen. I’m lucky in that I know mine won’t be touched. I have no idea why people don’t like pineapple, but that just means more for me.

  Outside, moonlight highlights the patio furniture and BBQ, the tops of the trees around the back yard seeming to glow. We have a few movies picked out for a relaxed evening of making fun of and talking our way through their entirety. Yes, we’re loved at movie theatres. Bri is usually quiet, but follows along with laughs and smiles. Tonight, I notice that she’s a little more subdued.

  “What’s up, Bri?” I inquire.

  “Nothing,” she answers.

  “Do you see this nose? It can smell bullshit a mile away,” I respond.

  “She’s just upset because she found out the guy she likes has been lying to her,” Nic says.

  “No I’m not,” Bri says defiantly, but her eyes say differently.

  “Do I need to go get the shovel? That dirt around the trees is pretty soft, so it won’t be a lot of work,” I say.

  “No, Dad. Just, never mind. It’s nothing. He doesn’t like me or he wouldn’t have lied so many times. It’s no big deal,” Bri comments.

  “You know his lying has nothing to do with you, right?”

  Bri shrugs.

  “Look, people lie because of something they did or because they want people to think they’re something they’re not. I don’t know which one in this case, but I know that their lying is all about them. And, it’s because they don’t like what they did or who they are, but are too lazy to change. They’re weak-minded people who don’t have the will to face the consequences of their own actions. They have no strength. Strength is owning your shit and being yourself. If you don’t like it, change it. They’d rather lie than face the truth of who they are.”

  I pause for breath, but I’m far from finished. Not only is this one of my pet peeves, but someone has dimmed the light in Bri’s eyes, which clenches my heart and makes me want to head out for a reckoning.

  “They’ll destroy themselves in time, once no one is able to trust a word they say, no matter how loud they shout it. They care more about how others see them than facing the reality of who they are. So, in essence, they are betraying themselves and darkening their soul. You don’t need people like that around you, Bri. You’re better, and they see that, so they try to pull you down. The important thing is to live honorably. At the end of each day, you should be able to walk in the door to look in the mirror and say that you have returned with honor. So, this guy can take a flying leap and he’ll realize later what he missed out on. You are a gem, Bri, and he doesn’t recognize quality because he only sees himself.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Bri says, her eyes filling with light again.

  “Next time you have a speech like that, do you want me to go get a podium?” Robert asks with a smile.

  “No, but I could go get a broom handle and use you like a microphone,” I reply.

  “Isn’t that a similar idea as to how the angel ended up being on top of a Christmas tree?”

  “Pretty much,” I respond.

  ‘Well, I think I’m good, but thanks for the offer,” Robert says.

  * * * * * *

  The two weeks pass far too quickly, but I’m glad for the time that I got. Although I’m gone a bit, I feel like I get more time with the kiddos than I would if I had a cubicle job. This way, we get entire weeks at a time in the summer to go frolic. I may miss a weekend here and there, but they’re teenagers and tend to hang out with their friends on the weekends anyway. When they were younger, it was more important for me to be here for those weekends; nowadays, they are forming their own lives. As proud of them as I am, it also leaves me feeling a bit melancholy.

  Upon my return to the resort, I find the others have already arrived, some having taken up the offer to live there. In the morning, we gather in our planning room to hear what’s in store for us. It feels a touch surreal, sitting down ready to hear what monsters we’ll be chasing. And, I admit to feeling anxious. I just can’t imagine how one
goes about taking down the creatures I encountered.

  “Okay, you’re heading back down to Mexico to search out and destroy the clutch of strigoi, or vampires, that Jack and his team encountered. We have reports of mauled cattle and other sightings around the same area of mountains. But first, we’ve arranged for you to meet a coven so you can learn more about them,” Lynn briefs.

  “By coven, you mean a group of vampires? Like, this is a known thing and…allowed?” I ask, incredulous.

  What horrible choices have I made in life that I’m sitting here talking about vampires?!

  “Yes. In short, there was an arranged compact a long time ago, but I’ll let them describe it further. The ones you encountered are feral, not like those whom you’ll meet. The nature of those you fought is animalistic; they don’t follow the compact. Shit, they’re probably not aware that one even exists. I’d rather wait for the coven leaders, as they’ll be able to explain it better than I can,” Lynn answers.

  “And it’s up to us to take care of their rogues?” I query.

  “It used to be that they’d take care of it themselves, but it’s my understanding that their numbers are dwindling, and now they have to call on human resources to assist. If this ever was to become known to the public, then it would be only a matter of time before the covens were found and a great war began. Their numbers may be declining, but they’re still very dangerous…just as we are to them.”

  “Okay. So, widening the scope of conversation, just how prevalent are these…events, sightings, or whatever you want to call them?”

  “Jack, from what I can tell, they’ve been relatively quiet for a long time. This could be because we have better resources to throw at them, but over the course of history, there have been ebbs and flows,” Lynn answers.

  “Is there any correlation with the increase in the human population?” I ask.

  “I wondered the same thing, but no, not that I’ve been able to determine. You have access to the same data as me, so you’re welcome to look at it anytime,” Lynn responds.

  “What is Cyrus’s role in all of this?”

  “He’s the equivalent of a CEO. There are others at the top who handle the financing, the backdoor sales, contacts, etc. I think there’s a group that deals with shutting down loose threads and keeping the brick wall around the Organization.”

  “Have there ever been rogue teams or people in the Organization?”

  “I haven’t heard of any, but the odds dictate that there must have been. However, there’s a pretty rigid selection process,” Lynn replies.

  “Huh. I was asked to the meeting fairly soon after returning, so how selective is it?’

  “Jack, rigid doesn’t necessarily mean lengthy. Some of those sitting around the table were vetted for a while after their experiences.”

  “Fair enough. So, when do we leave?”

  “In the morning.”

  * * * * * *

  We are picked up at a civilian terminal and placed in a large business jet. Soon after takeoff, the shades are drawn so we can’t determine direction. The pilot makes slight turns and holds them, reversing after a while. This is to throw off the inner ear so we can’t tell where we’re heading, and the shades are drawn so the sun’s direction can’t be determined. Whomever we’re going to see doesn’t want their location known.

  Seated near the front and facing us are four large men who don’t say anything; I get the feeling they’re here just to make sure we don’t open the drawn shades. After a few hours, we land with a soft thump and screech of tires that are forced to go from near zero to over a hundred in an instant. We’re blindfolded with apologies and placed in vehicles for a long drive. I feel like we’re in an enclosed vehicle as I can’t feel the sun fall on me during any part of the drive. It’s a long trip, though that doesn’t mean we travelled a long distance.

  The vehicle finally stops and we’re taken inside a building. The blindfolds are removed and I’m in the middle of a large foyer, reminiscent of a mansion. Overhead is a chandelier almost as large as the room, with a grand staircase leading upward. I notice all of the windows are blacked out.

  “This pretty much matches what I would expect from a vampire nest,” Greg comments, leaning over.

  “Yeah, this is definitely something from the movies,” I answer, wondering if the place was pulled from the screen or vice versa.

  We’re guided down lavish hallways to an upstairs dining room that could have been plucked right from the Renaissance era. Large portraits hang on the walls with decorative vases placed on antique furniture. People who I assume are staff place food before us without uttering a word. I feel compelled to look closely at those arriving with platters, looking for a parting of the lips that will reveal sharpened eye teeth. Hands without talons place the trays on the table and I find myself actually a little disappointed. None of us say much, feeling intimidated by the fact that we’re in a supposed coven of vampires. The surrealistic aspect alone is enough to keep me silent.

  I have to admit that I’m wary and have to keep reminding myself to trust that the Organization wouldn’t put us in jeopardy. If they were providing an entrée for the vampires that supposedly inhabit this place, then there are easier ways to go about it. Although we don’t have our carbines, our sidearms and other weapons weren’t taken, so there seems to be a bit of trust on the part of the residents as well. However, I’m sure the vampires aren’t worried about a few handguns, providing they have the same characteristics as those I encountered.

  After a meal that makes me want to kidnap their cooks, we’re guided to another similar room. A large polished table runs almost the entire length of the room, with high-backed chairs encircling it. Again, any windows are completely blacked out with some kind of paint, or maybe the windows themselves are painted on the walls. In the lighting, it’s kind of hard to tell.

  Antique sconces protrude from the walls, their light illuminating a variety of scenes depicted on large hanging tapestries. In addition, there are oil paintings in wide vintage frames. One painting shows a detailed scene of two armies clashing below a castle on a hill. Moonlight streams down between broken clouds, shining on armor, raised weapons, and bodies lying in pools of blood. Hoisted above one army is a large decorative cross. This painting is similar to others positioned around the room. Circling the room at set intervals are standing suits of armor of all kinds, most of them damaged and dented to one degree or another.

  Seated around the table at the far end are six middle-aged men and women with an older gentleman at the head. Again, everything is too much like a stereotypical movie.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, be welcome. Allow me to introduce myself and the others,” the older man says, rising and gesturing toward empty chairs along one side of the table.

  “I am Vladmir, and this is…”

  “Vladmir? You’re kidding, right?” I blurt out, unable to control myself.

  The man chuckles. “Mr. Walker, I can assure you that you are not the first to be amused by my name.”

  “I apologize for interrupting,” I say, pulling out one of the chairs and taking a seat. “My mother taught me better. I just can’t get over how stereotypical this whole thing feels, and then your name furthering the stereotype. Please, go on.”

  The stereotype that I’m used to with regards to vampires is apparently drawn from reality, but also camouflages it in a way. Vladmir continues the introductions, addressing each of us by our last name. It appears that we’re already known, but that isn’t really much of a surprise, considering we were invited.

  “I hope you found the repast to your satisfaction,” Vladmir says, sitting.

  “Please accept my apologies in advance, but I’m afraid that I’m going to have to steal your cooks,” I respond; the others nod their approval, having also taken seats.

  “It isn’t often that they get the chance to prepare for your kind, but if you take them, I’m afraid that we’ll be at odds.”

  “I’m not sure I’d
like that, so I’ll leave them. But, thank you for the hospitality,” I reply, the others responding in kind.

  Vladmir nods. “If you are tired from your journey, we have rooms in which you can rest. If not, then we may continue with the purpose of our meeting.”

  “Thank you, but I think I’m good,” I answer.

  “Good here,” Greg responds, the others mimicking the same kind of response.

  Vladmir’s language is very precise and crisp without any accent. I’m not sure what I anticipated, but with the stereotype presented, I expected for him to sound Romanian or something along those lines. He’s dressed in a white long sleeve buttoned shirt overlaid with a dark gray vest. The shirt is unbuttoned at the collar with designer cufflinks at the wrists. Long gray, almost white, hair is pulled back into a ponytail atop a cleanly shaven pale face. His body is tall and thin, but hints at strength. He gazes from clear bluish-gray eyes with the whites not exhibiting the slightest hint of yellow.

  Well-manicured fingernails rest on the polished surface of the table, the ends coming to a point rather than rounding. Again, I had expected something more along the lines of talons from the way my team members had been torn apart. I do notice the lack of cuticles, and that the nails seem to rest inside of a kind of pocket, much like a cat’s.

  The others around the table are dressed in a similar manner, or I should say era-specific, but with darker hair. The nature of their eye color is that it seems a touch too intense, noticed but also not. I’d call it more intriguing if I met them in a different setting and didn’t know their nature. And, I also expected to see pointed teeth all around, but they seem damn near normal, if not too pale, similar to actors and actresses.

  “I can imagine your curiosity, so I’ll begin by saying that we are known among very few of your kind. Long ago, wars, both secret and open, were waged between our species. Both were brought to the edge of extinction before the compact was formed. Considering our food source, you can imagine that humankind and strigoi were once enemies, but as I mentioned, with the losses on both sides, an agreement had to be reached.