Primacy of Darkness

by Brock E. Deskins

  “Actually, it will be easy,” Carol said. “I stuck a tracker on his motorcycle before I jumped in the van.”

  Trinh smiled. “You are the best, Carol.”

  Carol pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes in an attempt to look fierce. “It’s Circe.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “How the fuck am I supposed to turn tricks if no one can see me through all this damn fog?” Tasheka complained.

  “With all this white fog, your black ass oughta be damn near glowing,” Leon said with a chuckle as he leaned against a burned-out lamppost a few yards away.

  “Fuck you, Leon, you fat fucker! I can barely see your fat ass, and you’re blacker than me!” Tasheka crossed her arms and rubbed her skin to chase away a chill that could only partly be blamed on the damp air. “I shouldn’t be out here any damn way, with that psycho white boy running around cutting bitches up. Maybe you should stand closer.”

  “Can’t, I’ll scare away the customers.”

  “The only people scared of you are managers at all-you-can-eat buffets.”

  “Damn, now you done gone and made me hungry.”

  “Your fat ass is always hungry. You was born hungry.”

  “Bitch, we all born hungry. You got anything in that bag to eat?”

  “Yeah, whaddya want? You wanna drink some lube or chew on a condom? I might even have a used one wrapped in some tissue in there somewhere. Get your protein on, you fat, nasty bastard.” She looked over her shoulder and called out when Leon failed to respond. “Leon?”

  Tasheka took a small step toward the four-hundred pound shape of her bodyguard. “Leon, stop playing. This shit ain’t funny.” She took another cautious step forward.

  She could just make out his face, his eyes open wide and fearful. Tasheka whipped her head to glance over her shoulder. “What are you looking at? Why won’t you talk?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  Her next step brought her close enough to see the cause of Leon’s sudden and unusual silence. A garrote bit deep into the thick flesh around his neck and held his six-foot-eight frame against the lamppost.

  She reached out a trembling hand as she sobbed. “Oh, Leon.”

  A voice whispered through the fog just inches from her ear. “Run, little rabbit.”

  A scream tore from Tasheka’s throat. She turned and ran for the busy street just two blocks away. Her high-heeled platform shoes clopped against the sidewalk marking time with her unsteady gait. An ankle rolled, and she fell to the ground. Kicking her ridiculous shoes off, Tasheka struggled to get back to her feet.

  A line of fire lanced across the back of her leg, and a dark blur streaked past. She felt her blood, warm and sticky, trickle down the back of her thigh. Her stockinged feet slapped against the cement, her tears flowing like the blood down her leg. Another bump and slash opened a wound across her back, her attacker appearing and disappearing into the fog in an instant.

  Tasheka imagined this must be what it felt like to be attacked by a shark. She caught a glimpse of the predator out of the corner of her eye a split second before he took another “bite”, this time from her left shoulder.

  The lights grew brighter as she neared the busy intersection. She was able to make out the shapes of people walking down the sidewalk just ahead. Several stopped to look when she screamed.

  “Help me! Oh, God, someone please help me!”

  Blinded with panic, Tasheka slapped at the hands grabbing at her.

  “What’s wrong?” a man asked and recoiled when he found his hand covered in blood.

  “He killed Leon, and now he’s gonna kill me!”

  “Who?”

  A figure stepped through the gathering crowd. “That’d be me.”

  Jack clamped a hand around Tasheka’s throat, lifted her from the ground, and plunged his knife into her body. People screamed as he pumped his fist. Most fled, but a few brave or foolish spectators began pointing their phones at him as they recorded the brutal, public murder.

  A pair of police officers burst onto the scene, guns drawn. “Freeze! Put down the knife!” one ordered.

  Jack dropped the prostitute and turned with a smile on his face. “Of course, Constable, I am happy to comply.”

  Jack flicked his wrist and buried the knife in the cop’s eye. His partner fired his weapon, but the man no longer stood in the bullet’s path. Jack spun, darted forward, and had the officer’s neck in his grip before he could fire a second shot. With a sickening crunch, he snapped the police officer’s neck and cast his body to lie next to the prostitute.

  Jack cocked an ear toward the sound of approaching sirens. “It sounds like they are throwing a party for old Jack, and it’s not even my birthday.”

  ***

  Gertrud Fleischer looked up at the sound of someone knocking on her door. “Einkommen.” She sighed. “Enter!”

  Wyatt opened the door and stepped up to her desk.

  “You are a century and a quarter old, yet I would be amazed if you spoke anything other than English,” Gertrud said, cutting him off before he could state his purpose.

  Wyatt shrugged. “Un poco de español.”

  “How very American of you. What is it, Herr McKay?”

  “There was an incident involving Leo Malone earlier this evening.”

  Gertrud gave Wyatt an icy stare. “What kind of incident?”

  “Apparently, someone attacked him in the middle of the street.”

  “Druitt?”

  “It does not appear so. Ma’am, I also have reports of two other vampires killed in the last two weeks.”

  “Why am I just hearing about this now?”

  “The other two were killed with minimal attention. It wasn’t until someone reported them missing that we began to investigate.”

  “And Herr Malone?”

  Wyatt cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “Not quite as quietly.”

  “There were witnesses?”

  “Um, there’s a video…on YouTube.” Wyatt took a step back as Gertrud leapt to her feet. “The problem isn’t as big as you think.”

  Gertrud’s nails sank a quarter of an inch into the polished hardwood desktop. “I was a senior citizen when King George ruled this land as one of his colonies, and even I know there is nothing bigger than fucking YouTube!” She dropped back into her chair and set her fingers on the keyboard of her computer. “Show me.”

  “I have it on my phone.”

  Wyatt slid his cell phone across her desk. She picked it up and touched the play button. The tiny screen flashed into motion and played out Leo’s battle with Trinh.

  Gertrud set the phone down and looked up at Wyatt when the video ended. “Send Vincent to me immediately.”

  “He’s—”

  Vincent walked in with his hands clasped behind his back, wearing a wry grin.

  “Have you seen this?” Gertrud asked.

  “I have.”

  “And you find it amusing?”

  “Only the parts in which Mr. Malone suffers brutal injury.”

  “This is a major breach in our security. This is precisely why I am sitting behind your desk.”

  Vincent nodded. “Yes, you certainly are. I will in no way argue the fact that you were at the helm when this occurred.”

  “Do not try to pin the blame for this on me, Herr Van Graff!”

  “No, not me. However, the YouTube…Wyatt, what do they call those obnoxious little shits who post hateful things in the comments?”

  “Trolls, sir.”

  “Really? Like the fairytale monsters that live under bridges?”

  Wyatt ducked his head. “The very ones, sir.”

  “Hmm, how appropriate.” Vincent turned to face Gertrud. “I am sure that the Internet trolls have no idea that you are in charge of preventing these kinds of lapses in protocol. However, I cannot speak for any trolls who might live outside of the Internet. There might well be a few hiding under some desks in this very building, longing for their ancestral bridges from which their fore
fathers collected tolls.”

  “If you are not too busy rehearsing for your stand-up comedy debut, perhaps you would like to share some ideas on how to clean up this disaster?”

  “I have already begun. A member of my enclave is an advertising executive. He is going to pitch this to one of those vile energy drink companies as a promotional stunt for an online advertisement. I have ordered our PR department to produce three more…What do they call them, Wyatt?”

  “Webisodes, sir.”

  “They will produce three more webisodes this week.”

  Gertrud let out a long breath and nodded. “Yes. Very well done, Vincent. I think that should work.”

  “I am always glad to be of service.”

  Vincent turned to leave, but someone barging into the office forced him to stop and step aside.

  “Ma’am, we have a severe situation,” the newcomer reported.

  “What is it? Please tell me it is not another damn video.”

  “No, ma’am. Montague Druitt just killed a woman and two police officers in plain view.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Now, Ma’am. It’s happening right fucking now!”

  “Dispatch every team we have available and call in everyone not on duty.”

  “Teams are already enroute.”

  Gertrud looked at Vincent. “Have our contact in the FBI call the NYPD. He needs to order them to back off and establish a three-block perimeter, but under no circumstances are they to engage. Make sure the NYPD knows our teams are on the way. Tell them they are federal anti-terrorist squads and are not to interfere.”

  “I shall see to it immediately.” Vincent turned to leave but paused at the door. “Frau Fleischer, just in case it had slipped my mind during our transition, please let me take a moment to officially welcome you to New York.”

  ***

  Three teams of three sheriffs reached the outer perimeter within minutes of each other, each arriving at opposite points. Armed and armored in full tactical gear emblazoned with FBI in reflective white paint, the teams charged past the NYPD cordon surrounding a swath of Jamaica in Queens. Helicopters circled the area, warning people to stay indoors. Given the limited visibility, it was about the only thing they could do.

  “If Jack is still in the area, he is likely not far from where he made his last kills,” Vincent relayed through the encrypted radio channel from his position in the tactical operations room. “Whatever you do, stick together. If you allow him to separate your team, he will pick you off one by one.”

  “Relax, Victor,” Sven, the sheriff captain, replied into his earpiece. “My people know how to take down rogues.”

  “Sven, you are not hunting a typical rogue. Do not take him lightly.”

  “Herr Van Graff, please keep the channel clear so Captain Gunderson and his team can coordinate their efforts,” Gertrud ordered. “We have this well in hand.”

  Vincent stiffened his back, pulled out his phone, and sent a text. “Yes, I am sure you do.”

  Sven double-checked his map and began issuing orders to his squad. “Bravo team, establish an overwatch at the intersection of 90th and 161st. Charlie team, at 162nd and Jamaica. I’ll lead Alpha team to the kill site at 161st and Jamaica. Keep your eyes peeled and your thermals on. There are a still a lot of humans wandering around. We don’t need the publicity of a bunch of dead civilians, so check your fire. Try to keep it to blades if possible.”

  Sven led his squad down Archer Avenue, keeping close to the rail lines to limit any chance of ambush from their right flank. His people moved at what bystanders would consider a sprint, but it was little more than a light jog to his kind. Even so, it felt painfully slow, and it seemed to take an interminable amount of time to cover the three blocks to the scene of the murders.

  “Bravo team in position. All clear.”

  “Charlie team set. All clear.”

  “Alpha team at the site. Tower Six, how copy?”

  “I am here, Alpha One,” Gertrud responded. “Report.”

  “I have three victims all in close proximity. Two male NYPD and one female civilian. All three humans,” Sven relayed. “Female suffered numerous non-fatal lacerations before being repeatedly stabbed and disemboweled. One officer dead from a deep puncture through the left orbital socket, the other from an apparent broken neck. Both are missing their sidearm. I’ll give the guy this, he is a ballsy sonofabitch.”

  “Any sign of Druitt?”

  “Nothing yet. Beginning my sweep now. Bravo, Charlie, hold your positions. Alpha team will sweep toward Charlie team.”

  “Do you think this guy is as bad as Vincent says?” Andy asked his Bravo team partner through a private channel.

  “I don’t know. Maybe he was something a hundred and fifty years ago, but training and technology has come a long way since then. You know how those elders are. They get stuck in the past and don’t even realize it’s a century later,” Enrique replied. “If those bobbies had M4s and night vision back then, they would have put this guy down without a problem.”

  The sound of breaking glass came from the alley next to them. Andy, who was hunkered down near the alley entrance, turned, and used the thermal scope attached to his M4 to peer through the darkness.

  “Andy, what do you have?” Leona, their team leader, asked.

  Andy alternated looking through the thermal scope and using his own night-piercing vision to study the alley. “I don’t see anything, but there’s a lot of crap blocking my view. I’m going to go get a closer look.”

  “Enrique, give him some overwatch,” their team leader ordered.

  “Already on it.”

  “Bravo One, sitrep,” Sven called in.

  “Random noise in the alley, Alpha One. Andy and Enrique are checking it out.”

  “Roger. Stay close. Call us in if you see anything definitive.”

  “Roger, Alpha One. Bravo Two, anything?”

  Andy was midway down the alley, with nothing large enough to hide a person in his path to the far end. “Negative, Bravo One. Probably just a big fucking rat. Maybe it’s one of Alpha One’s friends? I hear those Norway rats can get pretty damn big.”

  “Squelch the commentaries, Bravo Two, and stay focused,” Sven ordered.

  Shit! Andy cursed himself. He had meant to say that in closed channel. “Roger, Alpha One.”

  Andy turned and felt something brush his shoulder an instant before the cable bit into his neck and launched him into the air. He grabbed at his throat, letting his M4 dangle from its harness. He was level with the third-floor fire escape when Jack dropped past, riding the heavy air conditioner attached to the other end of the cable like an express elevator to the ground floor.

  Jack’s slender falciform amputation knife flashed and deftly removed Andy’s head from his shoulders. Free of Andy’s weight, Jack and the air conditioner plummeted the last thirty feet in freefall. Jack leapt from the appliance before it struck the street with a crash.

  “Fuck!” Enrique screamed into his comms and opened fire at the killer’s retreating form.

  “Bravo Three, report!” Sven and Leona both ordered at once.

  “That motherfucker just killed Andy!”

  Leona was already moving. “Bravo Three, stand fast and wait for reinforcements!”

  “Fuck that! I’m going to kill that sonofabitch,” Enrique shouted as he sprinted down the alley where Jack had already disappeared into the fog.

  “Dammit, Bravo Three, I said stand fast!”

  “Bravo team, hold your position!” Sven commanded. “Alpha and Charlie teams are ten seconds out and closing.”

  Leona paused at the mouth of the alleyway. Several shots rang out from the far side. “Dammit!”

  She had already lost one team member, and she could not stand idle and lose another. Leona raced toward the gunfire, unable to see more than shapes beyond ten meters through the fog. She was just able to catch sight of Enrique’s silhouette before it vanished into an alleyway.

 
; Enrique pressed his eye to the thermal scope, playing it around the street and up the fire escapes in search of his target. He swung the weapon toward a sound to his right. The image in his scope showed a cat racing from another alley and out onto the street. He crept toward the entrance, pressed his back against the building, and peered around the corner.

  He zigzagged the barrel of his M4 up the alley, but his thermals showed only a few rats scurrying for cover. A dark, amorphous blob rose up and blotted out the scope. He looked up from the scope and found Jack standing before him. Enrique tried to back away and bring his weapon in line, but Jack grabbed the barrel and swung him off his feet.

  With the M4 strapped to his body, Enrique fell victim to the laws of physics. His body collided with the wall as Jack swung him about and he struck the street a second later. Jack darted to the side, wrenching Enrique from the ground before he could gain his feet, and slammed him into the alley’s other wall.

  The strap securing the weapon to his harness snapped when Jack tried to whip him forward for a third strike against the wall. Enrique tumbled away, dazed, but managed to spring to his feet and draw his sword.

  “He’s gone cold!” he shouted into the comms unit dangling from his head by the cord, before charging.

  “Bravo Three, where are you?” Leona called back.

  Jack brought his blade up and slapped Enrique’s heavy chop aside as he sidestepped his charge. Pushing his sword away with just a slight impact, Jack brought his free hand around and punched Enrique in the back, sending him sprawling headlong back to the ground.

  “Enrique!” Leona’s voice cut through the fog.

  Jack cocked an ear toward the call and smiled as Enrique climbed back to his feet. “I do wish I had more time to play with you, but there are others waiting to join the game, and you are already boring me.”

  Enrique took two cautious steps toward Jack, his blade held at the ready. Jack reached into his waistband, drew out one of the automatics he had liberated from the cop’s body, and fired two quick shots. The first round blasted Enrique’s right knee and collapsed the leg. The second shot struck him just above the right eye.

  While such a headshot was likely not fatal to a mature vampire, it left them stunned and vulnerable. Jack strode forward. Enrique tried to bring his sword up and fumbled for his holstered pistol, but his movements were sluggish and clumsy. Jack’s amputation knife flashed, and Enrique’s world vanished.