by Paul Freeman
“We were just assembling a crew to help you hunt down the vampire clan.”
“I don’t…” Pastor interrupted him.
“Now, Pastor, this was a big clan, much more than one man could handle. We’re comin’ with you this time.” Pastor relented with a nod of his head, taking Logan by surprise.
“I’m comin’ too,” a voice said from the back of the crowd.
“What the hell is he doin’ here?” another spat.
“We’ve enough deaths these past days without you addin’ your cursed luck to it,” another said.
Jeb pushed his way through the crowd. “I’m comin’ too,” he repeated.
Logan nodded his head in greeting as the four men stepped from the crowd and stood beside him. Pastor joined them too. His skin looked a little more ashen than he remembered, his hair a little more gray. His eyes though still contained the same steely determination, the same force that had Logan wanting to run away and hide from such a piercing glare.
“That old station is a couple hours ride from here. We’ll need to be settin’ out as soon as possible or we’ll be ridin’ back in the dark,” Pastor said. All of the volunteers nodded solemnly, each with their own thoughts and fears.
Logan’s hand dropped to the pistol he wore on his belt, a gun taken from the body of a dead cop all those years ago. He had often thought and voiced on more than one occasion that the survivors of the Fall were the truly cursed, far better to have fallen in the first days and never to know such hardship and pain.
*
The six men rode in grim silence for the best part of two hours until finally arriving at the long disused railway station. Just like with most man-made structures nature had demonstrated its ultimate power and enveloped the buildings and pathways in a green fist.
“Creepy as hell this place,” Isaac Howard said and spat a string of phlegm into the grass.
A crow swooped down landing on the roof of a crumbling building – at least what was left of the roof, a couple of rotting rafters.
“There’s train tracks underneath the grass,” Ben Crawford said.
“Yeah, headin’ there,” Isaac said, pointing towards a black tunnel, cut into the side of a large hill, almost overgrown with weeds and hanging vines.
A yawning black maw leading who knew where, Pastor regarded the mouth of the tunnel. All the way to the black gates of Hell most likely. “Eat something and take a respite. If the nest is in there we’ll have grim, hard work ahead of us.”
The men dismounted one by one. He could see the fear in each of their eyes, almost smell it emanating from them. Fear in the face of the beast was as much a killer as a bite. It was the terror they evoked that paralyzed a man, robbing him of his ability to fight or run.
“I wonder what happened to the trains,” Ben Crawford said.
“They’re ghosts, boy. Just like the people who rode ’em,” Isaac answered, then spat out a hard piece of crust.
“It’ll probably be unstable,” Logan said, swallowing hard, trying to hide his nervousness.
“Yep,” Isaac answered.
“When the sun comes up the feeders go to ground. They sleep the whole day until night falls. I guess it replenishes their strength. It makes them vulnerable at this time and if we’re quiet and quick we should be able to make the kills easily enough. But they will wake if we make too much noise, so no guns, unless you’ve got a vampire’s fangs at your throat.” Pastor slid a long-bladed hunting knife from his belt, its deathly sharpness glinting in the midday sun. He pointed at his chest with the tip. “Straight into the heart. Hard and fast.”
He’d already spotted the multiple footprints and displaced soil at the entrance to the tunnel. They were in the right place – or maybe the wrong place depending on how you looked at it. He knew the five men with him were of good heart, but he knew, looking into the dark, dead eyes of a feeder could test the mettle of the strongest man. “In the dark, the vampire has all the advantages. They can see better than you. They can smell you – leastways they can smell your blood. They are faster, stronger, deadlier than you. But, evil bastards that they are, they die too.” He struck a flint and lit a torch before turning and being swallowed by the darkness of the tunnel. The rest of the men followed in silence into the pitch black.
The railroad tracks they followed disappeared into the abyss. It was hard not to feel claustrophobic in such a place. They moved slowly, cautiously, watching every step, chasing away the dark spaces with the faint orange glow of their torches. Soon enough the tunnel split into two.
“What now, do we split up?” Logan asked, his voice a barely audible whisper.
“How long are these tunnels anyway?” Ben Crawford asked. No one answered him. He was the youngest of all the men. Not much into his twenties by Pastor’s reckoning. Couldn’t have been much more than a toddler around the time of the Fall.
“Couple o’ miles maybe,” Isaac finally answered.
Pastor waved his torch over the wall of the left hand tunnel. Words written in red glowed in the torchlight. “This way,” he said.
“What does it mean?” Logan’s voice quavered as they all gathered in a huddle to read the words etched onto the tunnel wall.
Pastor looked into his eyes and recognized the fear there. He glanced at the words once again. And when men could no longer sustain them, the giants turned against them and devoured mankind. And they began to sin against birds, and beasts, and reptiles, and fish, and to devour one another's flesh, and drink the blood. He turned his steely, cold glare on Logan. “It’s a quote from the Book of Enoch.”
“But what does it mean?”
“Whoever wrote this must have been a mighty small man judgin’ on how low down the words are, ye’d need to stoop right low to write down there,” Isaac said.
“Or a child,” Jeb said. Pastor locked eyes with him.
“A child,” he repeated.
“But what does it mean?” Logan said again.
“This is not the time or place,” Pastor said before turning and leading the way deeper into the mine.
The tunnel smelled of the mustiness of age as they followed the tracks into the darkness. The perfect place for a vampire clan to hide from the deadly rays of the sun. George Muller strode silently beside him, not a man to use unnecessary words. He carried an oil lantern in one hand, a machete in the other. Pastor noted the pistol on his belt and the pump-action shotgun over his shoulder, and hoped he’d not find a use for them.
“What’s that?” Muller said in hushed tones.
The other four men bunched up behind them, he could feel their fear. Then a familiar chill passed through him, a tingling up his spine, a breath caught in the back of his throat. Over the years he had developed an instinct for sensing the presence of vampires; it had saved him on more than one occasion. It was almost as if an unholy bond existed between them. Hunting them down and exterminating them had become a life quest for him over the years. He often wondered what would happen to him if they were ever eradicated from the world. Would he just lie down and cease to exist?
He put a finger up to his lips, indicating silence and crept over to the shadow wedged where the wall met the floor. He slid his knife from his belt and held the torch over the shape. The flames created a flickering circle of light over a discarded sheet of tarpaulin. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
A noise echoed through the tunnel, making him swing around to glare into a sheepish looking Logan. “Sorry, I didn’t see it,” Logan said, dropping his gaze. Pastor looked to where an unseen rock had been sent tumbling along the line by the boot of Logan, echoing off the railroad tracks and walls along the way.
“God damn it, Logan,” Isaac chastised him. “You’ll get us all killed.”
“Sorry,” Logan said sheepishly.
“Enough!” Pastor said quietly but firmly, before listening intently for any sound of movement up ahead.
He waved them on and slowly and carefully they carried on,
the light from their torches throwing dark shadows up the walls of the tunnel. Water dripped down making loud plink-plonk noises as it fell from the ceiling while dampness oozed out of the walls.
It wasn’t long before they found their first bundle of rags wedged between the wall and floor, practically unseen until they were on top of it. A muscle in Pastor’s cheek twitched as the familiar feeling of dread washed over him. They were in the presence of vampires. He raised a hand to signal a stop and then crept on light feet over to the bundle of rags, fear twisting in his gut like a physical entity.
The female vampire had its eyes closed. The flesh on its face was almost translucent in the torchlight, blue veins bulging at her temples on her hairless head. Pastor drove his blade to the hilt into her chest. She squealed and her body lurched and then she lay still. He nodded his satisfaction and waved them on.
Ten yards on and they found two more, both males. The two were also bald, with the nails on their fingers curled into black claws, signifying that it had been a long time since both had turned. Their skin was blue-white. Pastor knelt beside one, George Muller the other. On his signal they both plunged their knives into the hearts of the feeders. Black blood spurted out, pooling at their feet. They moved on.
He was used to small clans, nests he could clean out in minutes, but there were dozens of sleeping vampires in the darkness of the tunnel. The men systematically moved along on a killing frenzy. Pastor looked at each of them, their hands, arms, even their faces were splattered with the blood of their sleeping victims. No Hell-born demons could match the manic look of their eyes in the flickering orange light.
A cry in the dark and the world slowed down. The whites of Ben Crawford’s eyes shone brightly. Even though it happened in slow-motion for Pastor he was powerless to intervene. Crawford’s mouth opened in a cry of agony, his face contorted, twisting in pain. The feeder – one moment in a death-like state – lashed out with blackened claws, drawing blood and leaving three deep stripes across Ben’s face. Before he can move the vampire is up with jaws looming above his neck. A bite – a scream.
An explosion of gunfire broke the spell. Smoke drifted from the muzzle of Muller’s shotgun. He pumped another round into the chamber. The world sped up again for Pastor and he turned his attention away from Ben and the now dead feeder. The dark shifted as the undead stirred from their slumber.
Pastor met the eyes of Muller and saw defiance there. He understood why he fired, even though he realized that single shot in all likelihood had killed them all.
“Is he dead?” The pool of red trailing into the dirt from Crawford’s throat is enough for him to know there is no need for an answer. Muller nodded his head all the same.
Pastor drew the cavalry saber he wore on his hip and with a single stroke ensured that Ben Crawford would never rise from the dead. “I hope your soul finds its way to a better place.”
A screech echoed in the darkness as a vampire suddenly loomed from the depths of the tunnel. He went to greet it, the blood of Crawford still dripping from his blade. He sliced at the running feeder with a downward stroke and followed up with an upper slash. The demon collapsed to the ground, one arm hanging by a flap of skin and the top of its skull sliced clean off.
“This has gone to shit,” Jeb said between gritted teeth.
They could hear the sound of shuffling and then a noise that turned their blood to ice: the rattle of vampires growling. Pastor drew the automatic pistol he’d taken from the marauder days previously. The time for silence was long since past. The remaining four men looked to him for guidance. He had no idea how many vampires were in this clan, just that there were a lot. “Go!” he said.
A feeder, its body pressed tightly to the wall of the tunnel, crept towards them, seeking to hide in the shadows. Pastor fired twice, hitting it in the chest both times. Another launched itself through the air, fangs bared and gleaming in the torchlight. Muller blasted it in the chest with the shotgun and followed in to smash its skull with the butt of the weapon. “Motherfuckers!” he growled.
The sound and smell of gunfire filled the tunnel as the others joined in, creating an invisible wall of death for the undead monsters as they slowly came to life and immediately launched themselves at the small group of men, desperate and salivating to taste and drink the warm blood pumping through the veins of the living, breathing humans. Vampires fell as the murderous cacophony continued, as the men fired blindly into the darkness, cutting down any and all shrieking vampires stirring to life.
“We gotta get out of here,” Pastor said. It pained him beyond imagining to leave the body of Ben Crawford alone and in the dark, but he’d ensured he would not rise again and after that there was nothing more he could do for the boy. He could see in the faces of the others that they were thinking the same. The way they looked away he knew that in their hearts they would harbor a little blame for him, an inkling of resentment that he had led at least one man to his doom.
They ran then, back the way they had come – always with one eye over their shoulder. As they approached the split in the tunnel Isaac, who had been leading the way, jolted to a stop. A dark shape appeared in the junction.
Pastor pushed past to step to the fore. He remembered the alpha male well from the clearing. The biggest vampire he’d ever seen, he’d been fast too… and strong. If the sun hadn’t risen when it did, Pastor knew he would have died at the hands and jaws of the feeder. He looked even bigger in the dark. He raised his gun. For some reason the vampire didn’t move. Their instinct was to attack when in the presence of humans – food. This one was different in more than one way. With most vampires their hair fell out and their skin began to rot soon after they turned. This one though, had long dark hair falling over his shoulder. His face, although pale white did not exude rot like the others, even his clothes were in good condition, not rags falling off his body. Pastor took a step closer. He knew he should pull the trigger, put the demon down. Yet he hesitated.
Then it spoke.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Amy watched in silence while her pa shoveled spoonfuls of eggs into his mouth. She’d prepared them herself on the wood-burning stove in their small kitchen.
“Now listen to me, Amy, Pastor and some o’ the men are goin’ after the feeders to locate their nest and kill them while they’re sleepin’. It’s the best way, otherwise they’ll just keep on comin’ back.”
“You’re plannin’ on goin’ with them,” Amy said, her face turning pale.
Jeb nodded. “There’s too many o’ them for one man to take on alone.”
“But Pastor always hunts alone… it’s what he does.” Amy could feel her eyes watering.
“Not this time.”
“Can’t someone else go?” Amy said, pleading in her voice. Two nights in a row the feeders had come into Colony, which meant she’d barely slept in three days. Even if it hadn’t been for the terrors haunting the night she doubted she’d have been able to sleep anyway. Every waking moment she saw Will’s face. The couple of hours of rest she did manage were filled with dreams of blood and terror. A tear rolled down her cheek when she thought of the feeder clamping its jaws on his neck – of him telling her to run and the screams that followed her as she fled into the forest.
“You know that’s not how we think or do things,” Jeb said.
Survivors of the Fall were expected to be tough, they had to be tough. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I’ll pack you some food. You’ll be back before nightfall?” The last part she asked with trepidation. Having spent one night outside Colony she couldn’t bear the thoughts of her father being out there again.
“Course we will.”
She heard the reaction of the other men when Jeb volunteered to go on the mission. They blamed him for the deaths of Will and Harry… no, they blamed her – a stupid girl whose foolishness got brave men killed. She wanted to cry when she thought about lying with Will. How could they have been so stupid to fall asleep? A moment of tenderness and love dest
royed by horror. What she’d given to Will she gave freely and didn’t regret that for a second, but she couldn’t help thinking that it was the reason he’d died. Was it a sin for her to let a man touch her in that way? Had she been punished? No one in Colony spoke about God or any kind of religion since Pastor locked the church. She certainly wasn’t going to speak to her pa about it.
She was proud of her father when he and the other men filed out of Colony on horseback. He could easily have hidden from the scorn thrown at him by the other residents of the settlement, but he stood up for what was right and what he believed in. Those folk who called him names and accused him of bringing ill luck to their door: it was them he was riding out to save from the feeders. He’d smiled at her and told her not to fret as he’d taken the pack she’d made for him – some bread and smoked meat and an apple from the tree growing behind their house. She’d nodded and forced a smile onto her face. ‘I’ll be back before sundown,’ he’d said.
She watched from the open gate until the riders were clouds of dust in the distance; even then she waved a silent ‘goodbye’. She screwed her eyes upwards then. ‘Watch over him,’ she mouthed. No one prayed openly anymore – at least not to God, Pastor wouldn’t approve. She couldn’t help it though. She’d lost her mother when she was too young to form an imprint of her face in her memory. Now her pa was riding into the unknown, going after the terrors who stole one parent from her already.
“Harlot!” She turned around slowly to face the angry voice. “Whore!” Mrs. Davis, Will’s mother stood glaring at her. She’d never liked Amy, now she had a reason to focus her scorn. Amy bowed her head and started to walk past the irate woman. “Why? Why did you lure my boy into the woods? Are you in league with the demons now? Have you and that father of yours sold your souls to the Devil and his disciples on Earth?”