Dreams of his dead wife and the bastard who'd killed her haunted his slumber.
Chapter 8
Haskel sipped his 5th cup of coffee for the day. His caffeine tremors made the liquid ripple like the surface of a pond as he leaned against the wall and looked at the entire team assembled in the living room: Larry, Murray, Yaden, Nick the communications guy who rarely left his computer, and the five rookies.
“I'm ready the report,” Haskel said.
Murray stepped to the center of the living room that'd been transformed into a control center for Nick. “Our communication equipment is set up. Finally. Both vans have had a final checkup, and the bikes are charged. The chopper is ready to go and the retrieval team is on standby at the airport.” She looked at a smart phone. “And someone fucked up our ammo supplies. We’re down to 500 rounds of 7.62, but this is a hunting town so we can find some .308's at local stores.”
Haskel nodded. “Anything else?” The news worried him. He didn't like using nonstandard ammo in automatics. Odds were that it wouldn’t be a problem, so he skipped the subject in favor of not spooking the rookies. He sipped coffee.
Nick handed Murray a paper and went back to his computer.
“The local police scanner is lit up about another house fire. A cross reference found the address in the local child molester's data bank.” Murray looked at the paper for a second before she handed it to Haskel. “We’ll have to wait for a cause of death to make certain the lead is worth resources.”
“We'll survey the town tonight and find the addresses of both house fires.” Haskel sucked on his e-cigarette. “I’m not in a hurry as long as the scrubs of society are killed, but he’ll get sloppy or bored after a while.” He drained the rest of his coffee. The hot liquid burnt on its way down. “Nick, keep us informed of anything new.”
Squeaky soles and boots sounded on the hardwood as they exited the house. The porch light half lit the yard. The USVU formed a loose circle around Haskel.
“Number Two, you take a bike and get Larry to the helicopter.” Haskel looked at the others. “Murray, take the rookies in the transport van. I’ll drive the equipment van and Yaden rides with me. Make sure your mics are working before we leave so you can get another one from supply if not.”
The rookies fumbled with their microphones.
Haskel cleared his throat. “Copy?”
Everyone muttered affirmative.
“Anything else?” Larry lit a cigarette.
“I want a recon of the city limits to compare with our maps so we know where everything is.”
“Can do,” Larry said.
“Number Two.”
“Yes, sir.”
“After you drop Larry off at the chopper, I want you to cruise the roads in the south quadrant until you find something interesting or I call you back.”
“Understood,” Number Two said. “Do we engage if we find him?”
“Negative.” Haskel paused for a second. “Everyone got that?”
Everyone nodded.
“Proceed,” Haskel said.
***
Haskel puffed on his e-cigarette and fought the urge for a real one. Fatigue brought the craving.
He pushed another printout into place and taped it down. The last two sheets fit like pieces to a jigsaw puzzle, and the resulting map covered nearly all of the folding table. One corner had touched a ring left by his coffee and blurred, but that part contained nothing important. He took a red marker and circled the two burnt pedophile houses, and then he spent several minutes circling the living pedophiles in blue.
Haskel shoved his left hand deep into his pocket and paced back and forth, sucking on the e-cigarette. Each glance at the map made something in the back of his head scream that something was wrong.
He paced back and forth, blowing vapor in the air. Fatigue made his eyes grainy.
Then he realized something.
The burnt houses were of the offenders furthest outside of town with London addresses, but not the farthest ones out in the county.
He double checked them.
Was the variant based right in town?
Haskel tapped the e-cigarette on his lower lip and dumped the rest of the coffee down the drain. He was too tired to think.
He checked on the rest of the team. Nick spoke to one person on his headset while he typed an email to someone else. Number One and Four stood first guard at their stations and all but Larry had passed out after being up all night.
Haskel found his cot, kicked off his shoes, and laid down in his gear with his hand next to his pistol. He willed himself to sleep in seconds, listening to Larry cough on the back porch.
Chapter 9
Roek slept heavy like he always did after a large meal. The child molester's blood would hold him over for some time. It would be days before he’d need a rat to maintain strength.
He tended to the rats, changing their bedding and refilling their food, while they scampered out of the way, squeaking. Two sows were pregnant and would pop soon, so he put the males in a second cage.
The rest of the night passed as he researched his next potential victim, sold some stocks for a $50,000 profit under one of several false names, and examined satellite maps for a different abandoned property. Searching for such was hard work, but he finally found one.
The house sat at the end of a dead end street called Shady Ln on the other side of town. A thick stand of trees separated it from nearby houses, and what looked like a detached garage sat to the side. He didn’t know how old the pictures were. They could’ve been updated the week before or a year ago. Hours more research didn’t turn up anyplace more likely to be useful. He decided to check it out.
***
Roek drove up and down Shady Lane twice to look at the house before he pulled into the driveway and jumped out. The garage would hide the van. Trees blocked view of the property from the other houses nearly a hundred meters away. A concrete driveway was littered with leaves and branches. Graffiti covered the garage door. The house itself had boarded up windows and 'Condemned' signs on the porch. It looked like his kind of place.
The sheet metal door resisted his first attempt to pull it open. He wiggled it back and forth and tugged until the runners slid along with a shriek. He could've simply forced it open, but he didn't want to damage it for future use. Vampires didn't posses more strength than a normal person, but they did have a greater pain resistance and healing abilities that allowed them to perform what appeared to be supernatural feats. The closest a normal person came was while pumped full of adrenaline and unmindful of any pain inflicted upon them.
Dust filled the interior of the garage from the disturbed door when he stepped inside.
The previous owners had left a mound of clothing in one corner that reeked of mildew. Rusty tools hung on a pegboard over a workbench. A lawnmower base without an engine sat in the middle of the floor. Decaying, cardboard boxes full of oily car parts had split open. Old Christmas decorations had fallen from rotten plastic bags that'd hung from the ceiling. A thick layer of dust covered it all, testifying to the length of time things had sat untouched.
He tried the door in the right wall and almost tore the knob off before it opened to an overgrown area between the garage and house.
Roek kicked the stuff in the middle of the floor against the wall and pulled his van inside. He peered down the dark street, making sure it was empty before easing the door down on the tracks.
He took an hour to move the contents of the garage out the side door so he could walk around with the van parked in the middle of the floor. A folding table and chair were his only pieces of furniture. The rat cages fit on the workbench, and he sat his computer on the folding table.
He thought about checking out the house on the property, but the garage was big enough since it could've held two cars without the work table present. It'd do until he figured out where to head next.
The place seemed more secure than the previous house, but he'd still sleep
in the locked van.
Chapter 10
Young tried to enjoy a cup of coffee and couldn’t. Not only had the changes erased his craving for caffeine, but the liquid had a funny texture. Dust that had made it past the filter felt like sand on his tongue. Nor could he enjoy a clove cigarette anymore because the herb made his eyes water and his skin crawl. He could also feel the midday sun beat down on the house, even though he’d hung enough blankets over the windows to make the living room completely dark.
He absently clicked through websites, rolling a cigarette between his fingers. The motion calmed his nerves even if the smoke couldn't, but the pointy canines irritated his lower lip, and the pit in his stomach wouldn’t go away. The pain and sensitivity had passed and left him feeling inhuman. His condition couldn’t be unique. There had to be something that'd put his fears at ease.
His search terms returned nonsense again and again. Diagnostic sites said he could have anything from leprosy to HIV, and independent searches turned up page after page of vampire fan sites, vampire MMOs, and everything else undead. Nothing described a real condition. Only rumors, stories, and rumors of stories.
It felt like he’d died and everything was a dream, but the notion had to be dismissed based on the fact that he’d gone through several sleep cycles without any change in his situation. Still, the idea clung tenaciously.
A wave of frustration swept over him, and he resisted the urge to put his fist through the computer screen. He couldn’t do that, or he’d have to go into public where his oddities could be noticed to buy a new one.
He took a few deep breaths that eased his mind enough to keep the computer intact. Anger clouded his judgment and made him forget his training. Mindless searches wouldn’t find his answer. Internet doctors nor gaming communities could solve the problem.
He sat back in the couch and stared at the ceiling, wishing that he could enjoy coffee or a cigarette. His wife was dead and he'd became a monster he hadn't believed existed, much less understood. It was only a matter of time before his station found out that he’d left the hospital and would want to know where he’d gone. They'd want to know why he hadn’t contacted them to do a sketch while the memories were fresh. They'd want to know why he hadn’t stopped by the station with his doctor’s note. Their worry would turn to visits and knocks on the door. Then a forcible entry.
He could feel time run out in multiple ways.
Random words jammed up his mind as he shifted through possible words and terms he could search for. He decided to try ‘vampire virus’.
And more disappointment. The search results exceeded 13 million. The idea that a virus caused vampirism had been taken up by everyone from pimply faced teens that played live action games to governmental conspiracy theorists. He glanced through page after page of rambling articles that attempted to link viruses with vampirism and enhanced abilities. They made claim after claim. Each more ridiculous than the last. Skipping several pages didn’t help. The same garbage persisted throughout thousands of websites that claimed some virus had changed mankind for centuries.
Common sense dictated that all humans would already be vampires if such a virus spread so easily. Besides, none of changes listed were what he'd experienced. What had happened to his body felt wrong and unnatural, not like the positive changes dreamt of on the internet. The information was beyond useless.
Something different caught his eye several hundred pages down the search results. A single coherent headline: Does the USVU Hunt Vampires?
He clicked the video link, and the logo for 'Planet Liars' appeared. It was followed by a montage of a portly conspiracy theory host shoving a microphone into the faces of startled politicians and cops.
A silent, night vision video replaced the montage after a few seconds.
Wires and insulation hung from floor joists, making the person wearing the camera bob and weave. Decades old tools were unrecognizable piles of rust on rotted, wood shelves. Dust kicked up by the passage of others floated in the air. The wearer of the camera stopped and turned to a person dressed in black combat gear who was armed with a Kalashnikov. Night vision goggles covered most of the person’s face.
They nodded at each other and continued through the decrepit basement.
The attack came from the right. A metal bar connected with the face below the camera’s view, flinging the person back. The AK whipped across the screen on its single point sling before the camera stopped moving with only the cobweb infested ceiling of the basement in view. Static showed each time the light sensors were overloaded by muzzle flashes. Smoke, disturbed dust, and cinder block debris limited the camera’s view within seconds. Several pairs of boots crossed the screen.
A burst of muzzle flashes lit the floating dust.
A pair of boots retreated from the direction they'd gone a moment before.
Then more.
Someone kicked the helmet with the camera attached, making it spin like a top.
Then a flood of thick liquid splashed over the lens.
The video faded to the host of the show behind a large, wood desk. “This video was sent to our office last week on a flash drive. It was labeled: United States Variation Unit POV footage. We attempted to verify its authenticity, but couldn't.”
Several video clips flashed by. Each showed the host asking someone in a suit about the USVU and what they did. Most of the subjects waved at the camera, mumbled no such thing existed, and hurried away. Some looked surprised and ran.
One man with a lopsided grin stood with his hands in his pockets. “I'm sure there's all kinds of projects I'm not aware of.”
The host reappeared. “Send any info on the USVU to the email or address at the bottom of the page. Next! Are you in danger from drone strikes inside the USA? We'll be right back.”
The video faded to a do-it-yourself bomb shelter advertisement.
Young scrolled down to the comments and looked through them. Nearly all voiced doubt about the video. More than a few called the host a conspiracy nut.
A comment near the bottom caught his eye. The date wasn't months or days before, but hours. The poster went by Anonymous with a Guy Fawkes mask for an icon. It said, “The USVU is in London, Ky, right now.”
No one had called the person out.
Young returned to the search engine and entered a different term.
***
Two hours later, Young drove down Interstate 75 over the posted speed limit, shaking his head at the people who rushed past him. They didn't have the reasons he had not to be pulled over, though.
The enlarged canine teeth would be visible to everyone when he opened his mouth, even though he'd spent an hour in front of the mirror figuring out how to speak without showing them. The effort had paid off. He learned to mumble without opening his mouth very far. He also couldn't shake anyone's hand or they'd know his skin was cold.
Traffic crowded onto the road from Lexington as he passed the exit 104 on-ramp with only a bit more than 120 kilometers to London. He'd reach the small town long before dawn so he could find a hotel room.
He pressed harder on the gas in anticipation. Finding the perp in London would be difficult, but possible for one of his abilities. He'd found those more difficult to track, but not under cover of night, in an unfamiliar town, and without his normal contacts.
Maybe 'difficult' was an understatement.
Young ran his tongue across the blisters caused by the elongated canines and winced. The pain was dull and bearable, but the fluid filled bumps felt like stones between his gums and lower teeth. He expected calluses to build up in time, but had no idea how long it'd take in such a sensitive area.
No matter. There probably wouldn't be time for calluses. He'd kill the son of a bitch who'd done this to him, and then kill himself for letting his wife die at the maniac's hands.
There wasn't any other solution to his problem.
Chapter 11
Haskel took a drag from his e-cigarette, but couldn't taste it. Larry had succ
essfully hot-boxed the helicopter. A wave of dizziness swept over him, taking his mind off the flight. He coughed from the thick stream of smoke that poured from Larry's fourth joint of the flight.
“That shit is killing me.” Haskel waved at the smoke in front of his face, stirring it about.
“What did you say, sir!” Nick's voice said over the headset.
“Nothing.” Haskel set the microphone to transmit to the cockpit only.
Larry kept the helicopter steady on their spiral over London.
Haskel raised his voice against the rotor noise. “Did you hear me?”
Larry looked at him with red eyes that'd narrowed to slits. “Hear what?”
“You're fucking me up with that shit.”
Larry shrugged. “Get out.”
Haskel tapped the altimeter: 824 meters. “The first step is a doozy.”
“And?”
“Nothing.” Haskel sighed. “Make another loop around each interstate exit and get us on the ground.” He paused. “I'll send someone else with you next time.”
Larry smiled and nodded. “That's what I thought you said.”
Haskel put his face to the small window on his side and inhaled fresh air. He tried to concentrate on the forward looking infrared camera, looking for the signature of a variation. He knew it was only a matter of time before another victim was claimed. Hopefully, it would be another child molester, but the odds were against such a thing.
Larry brought the helicopter around to the south side of London and circled the interstate exit. Morning traffic streamed along the north and southbound lanes. Gas stations and a Wal-Mart created islands of heat in the otherwise dark landscape. Hot engines and lights glowed on the infrared sensor screen. The roadways were lighter colored strips from the heat they'd held all night. A few people walked from the stores to their vehicles. None of them had the ghostly signature of a variation.
The north exit didn't have as much activity. Two truck stops had a dozen idling trucks visible from the heat that poured from their engines and stacks as truckers checked out their rigs in preparation for the day. A freshly killed dog was manhandled away from Highway 80. Someone dragged a trash can to the back of an all night restaurant.
The Hunt Page 3