The Blood Order (Fanghunters Book Two)

by Leo Romero

He couldn't sleep. The words and symbols were back again. Racing through his mind, colliding with one another like runaway trains. Words, symbols, formulae. Hydroxypan, Naproxycillin, Sansilicate, CONC-HI, Benzaphophosphate. Overly long, unpronounceable, nonsensical combinations of strange, arcane words that were somehow trapped in his brain, unwilling to leave, repeating and reoccurring over and over like a stuck record. They plagued him in a constant chorus, pushing him to the brink of insanity.

  What are they? WHAT ARE THEY?

  Eddie knew there was only one way to stop them, one surefire way to blot them, dull them, snap them in pieces. Yes, it would be only temporary respite; they'd regain their strength and begin shouting at him once more. But the relief, the brief pause in their incessant screeching was what kept him from sliding into the abyss of madness. With no clear indicator of when day stopped and night began, he could only wait in excruciating agony for the Father to rise and stem the pain. He'd awaken, and show him mercy, freeing him from the burden of the bizarre words and doctrine that had infected his mind; albeit for merely a small while. The Father would then return to rest and the effects of his bite would wear off, and the words would begin pulsating inside him again, torturing him. They wanted something, something from him, something he was unable to provide.

  He watched on, helpless as another of those words, Methylhexatryglyceride, whirled around in the air, conjoining with another, hydroxylanthopoliceleate, to create a new hybrid word, methylhydroxylpolithate. He growled, clawing at his cheeks; if he possessed cat-claws, they'd be torn to ribbons.

  "What does it mean? WHAT DOES IT MEAN?" he shouted at the pitch black enslaving him. "WHAT DOES IT MEAN?"

  "What does what mean, my child?" a voice from the darkness answered. A heavenly voice that defied its coarse, grainy quality.

  Eddie flinched, his eager eyes scanning the darkness. "Father?" he gasped.

  "Yes, my son," the Father replied from somewhere in the sea of murk.

  "I need you!" Eddie told him, his voice loaded with desperation. "The words... the symbols... they've come back again."

  "I know, my child. Ignore them. They mean nothing to you." The voice was accompanied with a cold hand falling upon his head. He shivered. It was a good shiver, an invigorating shiver. It stirred positive senses inside him. Already, the words were receding from his mind, their power over him dulled. Soon, they would be banished to whatever hellish place they came from.

  "They won't leave me alone!" Eddie wept, feeling the tears streaming down his cheeks.

  "They will. In time," the Father assured him. Then: "Get to your feet," he ordered.

  Eddie wiped the tears from his cheeks, before groping in the dark for the Father's hand. He found it; cold and dry. It clasped around his and Eddie gripped it, pulling it into his cheek, seeking its comfort. He exerted the pressure in his legs to propel himself to his feet, now no longer crumpled in the corner, instead now standing ten feet tall. He fumbled a hand out to the side, managing to locate the light switch. He flicked it on, wanting to lay his eyes on the Father. The naked bulb hanging from the center of the low ceiling flickered on, remaining somewhere between off and on, bathing the small area in a fluorescent haze. The Father's pleasant face then came into view; his black eyes, his pale skin.

  The scars had already healed over but were still vivid. Staring at those scratches running across his cheeks caused the anger to brew. The anger at the one who inflicted those wounds upon the Father after he invaded their crypt and attempted to kill him. They had to escape the old nest and find a new one where they'd be safe from such harmful, callous types. Eddie could see it now, could see that envious creature's intent on murder as he wielded that bottle neck and thrust it without pity into the Father's face before he made his cowardly escape. Eddie swore if he ever encountered that bastard again, he'd take his life without giving it a second thought.

  He reached up. With the very tips of his fingers, he touched a scar zigzagging down the Father's cheek; rage mushroomed inside him. "I won't let anyone hurt you," Eddie told him. "I'll always protect you."

  The Father flicked on his eyes. Eddie felt his whole body freeze in place; the pleasant numbness, welcome helplessness.

  "I know you will, my child," the Father replied, his dark circles for eyes whirling, twisting, and turning like mini-typhoons. With a rough grip, he took hold of Eddie's jaw and pushed it back. Eddie went without a struggle. In the next instant, the heat of tusks puncturing his skin took over. Eddie closed his eyes and gasped. Long, undeterminable words and their surrogate symbols were now a thing of the past.

  All that remained was euphoria, and more importantly, unconditional love.

  Food. Eddie needed it. The Father insisted. If Eddie became weak, then he could no longer provide sustenance to the Father. Nor sufficient protection.

  He was sprawled on the floor of the basement, the last waves of the venom washing over his body. The Father had already returned to rest. Soon, the symbols and words would return, and Eddie would be crippled, unable to venture outside and seek out food. It was the perfect time to leave the nest for a brief while. Hopefully, it would be near dusk, the perfect time for hiding, for laying low. He hoisted himself up to his feet, his head swimmy, a slight dizziness overcoming him. He steadied himself before groping in the dark for the light switch. He flicked it on and scanned the floor; it was strewn with empty bottles and cans, old chip packets, and polythene burger boxes. He went and sifted through them. There was nothing left. Not a scrap. His stomach rumbled; this time it was painful.

  Got to eat.

  Got to get food.

  He turned toward the Father, who was lying on his makeshift bed--an old mattress they found in the basement when they first arrived. He was in deep sleep, Eddie's dry blood forming a crust on his chin. His lips twitched, his eyelids flickered in rapid sequences. Eddie watched him, love blooming in his heart. He wondered what sweet dreams the Father was witnessing--if he dreamed at all.

  "I'll be back soon," Eddie said in a soft, soothing voice.

  The Father's mouth flapped open for a brief moment, his heavy fangs on view.

  Eddie sighed. He didn't want to leave his side. Didn't want to leave him in this vulnerable state. But, if he ventured outside either in the throes of ecstasy from the venom or caught in the torment of the words and symbols, he would be the vulnerable one.

  "I won't be long," Eddie added and the Father seemed to calm.

  Eddie turned and headed for the entrance. He flicked the light switch off, dumping their home into inky darkness once more. He slid open the bolt and cranked open the metal door. A swathe of nasty sunlight flooded into the basement. He recoiled against it with a groan. It wasn't dusk after all but nearer midday. Never mind, he still had to go and find food.

  Putting his hand up to protect his eyes against the harsh sun, he slid out through the gap, pulling the door shut behind him. He couldn't put the bolt back on from outside, but as promised, he wouldn't be long. He had a final look back at the door before he jumped up the concrete steps to street level, his heart thudding in his ears and the beginnings of never-ending words starting to surface in his mind like pond reeds.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Dom stopped at the red light and craned his neck left and right. He was still aching from the lesson Rufus and Trixie served him in the gym. He winced, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel of the Land Rover Vincent gave him the keys to. Not a bad deal: a new home in a mansion, keys to a whole fleet of wheels. All as a reward for doing something positive in the world.

  Not bad at all.

  "So, what are we doing down here?" Dom asked Trixie, who was in the passenger seat, checking the street like a paranoid cop.

  "I found some suckers here," Trixie told him.

  Dom looked around. South Side was more run down than ever. The buildings appeared like they were gradually turning to powder, shop doorways were homes, schizophrenia the epitome of mental health.

  "Why is it vamps come to these
places?" Dom asked, his vacant stare fixed on his surroundings.

  Trixie gave him an indifferent shrug. "They can fit in here I suppose. There's plenty of dark corners for them to blend into, lots of willing fangheads. I mean it's either that or crack, right?"

  Dom gave her a solemn nod. "Yeah, I suppose."

  "Besides, non-Order vamps are vulnerable. Order don't tolerate them. If Order finds non-Order, they're dealt with pretty quick. So they gotta get far away from the Loop. In the Loop, Order are a dime a dozen."

  "Is it really that bad?"

  Trixie gave him a vehement nod. "It's bad. But, they've got structure."

  "Well, they would if they refer to themselves as 'Order'."

  "Nice."

  Dom smiled. He had another look around. A disheveled bag lady was pushing a shopping cart along a litter-smothered sidewalk at a snail's pace. He saw a furtive looking youth--his neck and face covered in tats--watching the street from a corner with beady eyes.

  "Thing is," Dom said, "we're no different from the cops."

  "How do you mean?"

  "I mean, we're basically busting heads in poor areas where the people in the rich areas--i.e. Order--are left alone. It sucks."

  "Would you rather we did nothing?"

  "No, but the reason these vamps exist is cause of the Order. It's the Order vamps creating these non-Order vamps by breaking their 'no-bite' policy. If we just took out the Order, then there'd be no vamps. Period."

  Trixie nodded. "You're right there."

  "So, tell me again why we aren't taking out the Order themselves?"

  "Cause me and you would get our asses handed to us by midday."

  Dom tilted his head to the side. "Yeah, but..."

  "Is that not a good enough reason?"

  "Well, yeah, but..." He broke off. "I dunno."

  "Come on, drive." Trixie pointed at the green light above them.

  "Huh?" Dom said and glanced up at the traffic lights. "Oh. Yeah." He got moving again; they rolled through the broken streets of the Windy City.

  "Do a left here," Trixie ordered.

  Dom did as he was told. He rolled into a thin street of boarded-up housing and derelict shops. A sudden tingle crawled up his spine. As he delved further into the street, the sensation intensified.

  "You can feel it, can't you?" Trixie said, sucking in a shuddery breath while wringing her hands. She closed her eyes for a moment.

  Dom nodded. "Sure can. They're here." He spotted a couple of kids riding along on rusty tricycles, their parents nowhere to be seen. How long before the gangs, or the drug dealers, or the vamps got hold of them? A year? Two? Why was it this stuff was allowed to happen? He then recalled what Vincent and Trixie told him about the Order being in control of everything. The truth was they'd allowed this to happen. They'd split society into pieces. Why? To control the population, while protecting themselves. If the people really knew what was happening to them and who was doing it, they'd take back their power.

  Or would they?

  "Why don't the people just rise up against the Order?" Dom then asked.

  Trixie opened her eyes and stared at him. "Who'd believe a story about vampires running society? And what would they do? Enough people are comfortable in their lives with their TVs and their jobs to give a damn. Not everyone lives like this." She nodded her head at their surroundings.

  "I know, but they're victims as well. We all are."

  "They don't see it that way, Dom. As long as the football's on and MTV is still running shows, we could be run by flesh-eating aliens from Mars and they'd accept it."

  Dom puffed his cheeks. "That's some scary shit."

  "Hmm-hmm. Sure is. Besides, that's the very reason Order give us voting machines."

  Dom shook his head.

  They crawled along the broken street in silence, both of them soaking in the cracked atmosphere.

  "Pull up over there," Trixie ordered, pointing over by a dented fire hydrant. Dom slid the car over, pulled up and killed the engine. From their position, the spine-tingling was at its strongest since entering the street.

  Trixie looked over both shoulders, then stared hard into the side-view mirror.

  "There's definitely a vamp around here," Dom said with a shiver.

  "Yeah. Right in there," Trixie answered, pointing at a three-story building to their left. Dom looked over her shoulder at it. The brickwork was pocked and worn. All the windows on all floors were boarded.

  "Okay," Dom said with a nod. "Whereabouts?"

  "Basement."

  "How many fangheads?"

  "I've only seen the one come and go at irregular intervals. There's no specific timing with him. There could be more inside. There's usually a minimum of two for guarding breaks. So, I'm expecting at least one other inside. But since I haven't seen anyone else, and I've been scooping this place for a couple of weeks now, I'm thinking this could be a lone brood deal."

  Dom nodded, just as a knot of nerves tied itself up in his stomach. He licked his lips. "So, what's the plan?"

  "Same as usual. We go in there, kill the vamp, then go home."

  "Yeah, sounds easy."

  "Well, at some point I'll probably have to intervene and stop you from getting killed."

  Dom gave her a sideways look. "Yeah, yeah. Just pass me the dart gun."

  Trixie had another look around before she reached beneath the seat and pulled out a dart gun. "This one's loaded with holy water," she said as she discreetly handed it to him. Dom took a quick glance over both shoulders to make sure no one was looking. All he saw was an empty sidewalk. He took the gun, gave it a check, then stuck it in his belt.

  Trixie then retrieved another gun from the glovebox. "And this one's got tranq, just in case our friend is inside."

  "Well, let's hope he's not," Dom retorted, taking the gun and sticking it in the back of his belt.

  "Try not to forget which gun is which," Trixie said.

  "Front is holy water, back is tranq. I got it."

  "Let's hope so."

  Dom sucked in a series of quick breaths. The nerves were playing up again, just like on the Drake job. He tried to get himself to think of the positives of the job: how he survived and won his prize, how he helped make the world that little bit more of a better place. Then he thought of himself almost getting killed and a flotilla of butterflies shot through his stomach.

  He glanced back at the building where Trixie said a vamp was hiding out. He shivered.

  "Hey, just relax," Trixie then said and he flinched her way. She had a kind expression on her face; something he hadn't seen yet. Warm eyes, a friendly smile. She placed a soft hand on his shoulder and he suddenly felt much better about things. "I've got your back," she added with a sincere smile.

  "I know that," Dom told her. He took a moment to close his eyes and breathe in deep.

  Come on, he said to himself. Let's go.

  He popped the door open. Without hesitation, he stepped onto the worn tarmac and shut the door behind him. He went straight to the trunk and opened it up. From inside he grabbed a pair of radios, a flashlight, and a crowbar. Trixie came to meet him; he handed her a radio. She fiddled with it; crackle pinged out of it for a second before her voice came through crystal clear on Dom's radio. Now all set, they went for the building. Dom looked over both shoulders. The whole street was quiet, like a giant catacomb. Boarded-up windows stared back at them like blindfolded men, what was hidden beyond remaining a secret. The litter on the ground was half-decaying, emitting a nauseous smell akin to sewers. Dom had all of a sudden become immune to his senses. His heart was thudding against his ribs, adrenaline flooding his veins, numbing him. He had a final look around, making sure there were no prying eyes.

  One thing he didn't have to worry about was being disturbed by any cops. He doubted a cop had been this way since forever.

  They reached the building and Dom stopped on the sidewalk and looked up. It reached for the sky like a giant. He geared himself up. Come on, come on. You
can do this!

  He shook the ants out of his legs and then ventured into the stairwell leading down to the basement. The feet scratched on cement, the sound amplified in the small space he was enclosed in. Trixie followed, looking up, down, left, right, no doubt her body flooded with adrenaline too.

  Dom finally reached the bottom of the steps. Stuffed in the corner of the small area were bags overflowing with trash that stank like dead bodies. He stepped up to the only door around him: a metal sheet nailed onto what looked like wood beneath. The handle was half hanging off. He ran a hand along the edge of the sheet, looking for a recess to edge his crowbar into. His fingers found one. He dug them in and the door gave way. To his surprise, it was unlocked. He frowned. He pulled and it edged open some more. A sliver of darkness from beyond spilled out like mist. He slid the crowbar into his belt and pulled out his radio. He then stepped back and turned to Trixie. He pointed down at the ground, indicating for her to wait there. He then held the radio up and shook it on the air; if he needed help, he'd call.

  Trixie nodded her head in understanding. She pulled her dart gun from her belt, took a step back, and pointed at the door.

  Dom closed his eyes and inhaled deep. This is it. Get into the groove.

  He then snapped his eyes open, grabbed the door, and pulled it open.

  Eddie made it to the 7-Eleven just as raw anxiety began to rear its ugly head. He didn't like being on the streets alone, even during the day. Although much of his earlier life was now a haze of distant memory, he knew he grew up in a suburb and not the slum that he now found himself in. He knew he wasn't a brawler, or streetwise in any way. But, with the Father needing protection, he knew the time had come to toughen up, to get used to living in dangerous places. It was just alien to him. He barely had anything even resembling muscle, his arms and legs twig-like. It's what caused the anxiety to gnaw away at him whenever he was away from the Father. He didn't want to get embroiled in any kind of confrontation while gathering food. But, if anyone dared to harm the Father, then things would be different. Very different.