The Lycan Chronicles

by Schroeder, Brent

  Dave brought out the food, throwing down the mound of ribs and a forty two-ounce steak in front of the Moore brothers, alongside a few buckets of fries and three tall mugs of frosted beer.

  “Let’s eat,” Clyde said through a mouthful of fries. “Then we’ll talk further business.” He crammed down a few more bites from his plate and then said, “Damn, I was in the mood for a good, greasy burger. I knew this armpit of a restaurant would have just that!”

  Dave shot a nasty look Clyde’s way, as he was walking back to the kitchen, muttering something about the smell of his own underarms.

  Watching Ross eat ribs was like watching a wood-chipper feast at a dinner table. David pulled out a huge bowie knife and cut his massive steak into twelve pieces and not even six minutes later, his plate was completely empty. Still hungry, he stuffed his face with handfuls of fries that he was soaking in the plate of bloody steak juice.

  “Can I get some more fries and another mug of beer?” David asked, with chunks of potato flying from his mouth. He pounded on his chest, letting out a belch that the dead folks in the cemetery down the road probably heard. “Did someone mention desert?”

  “Real classy,” JD remarked, catching a whiff of his horrid breath.

  “Boy, you two have the manners of a swine!” Clyde boomed. “I can’t take you idiots anywhere! If your mother was still alive, I’d punch her right in the mouth, because there’s no way either one of you came outta my loins!”

  The Moore boys laughed… and Clyde laughed a little, too, not able to help himself. “Sorry, JD, I have to keep these two numbskulls around. Believe it or not, when it’s go time, they’re always there to back my call.”

  “At least clean them up… maybe hose them down, so they don’t scare of the living folk’s to death,” JD mentioned, taking the opportunity to change the subject. “Clyde, I’m having a meeting with Mason Rockwell soon, he’s the new Vampire in charge of Wolf Creek. I’m going to see what I can dig up on those murders.”

  “Well, he’s the only one with enough pull to get Jason Cross out of prison,” the eldest Hunter pointed out. “He’s got to be the one trying to make the Sunlife.”

  “Skinny Limpkins is probably helping him, too. I haven’t seen him in a very long time,” JD added. “So, in the meantime, can you keep your boys and the Andersons from ripping my town apart? I have enough on my mind already.”

  “Yeah, I’ll keep the peace,” Clyde pledged, as he picked around at his plate.

  “Any idea where the hidden computer might be?” asked JD, controlling the conversation. “The one that was used to lure those young boys?”

  “My connection at the FBI, Cyber Crime Division, says they came from this town. And, like I said before, we can’t pin point the location.”

  “That sounds exactly like Jason Cross,” JD replied, taking another sip of coffee. “He’s a sneaky little weasel. He’s the one responsible for cracking the code in the Book of Blood.”

  The men finished their food and the Moores finally got their dessert, shoveling in every last bite in mere seconds.

  A short time after they’d all finished, Clyde took a look down at his watch. “We’re heading back to the room to get some sleep,” he relayed. “I’ll see you guys sometime later tonight. We’re actually night people, too.”

  “Alright, Clyde, we’ll see you later then. I have some things to sort out, myself,” JD said, pushing out his chair. “Let’s get out of here, Nate.”

  Right before getting out of his seat, David leaned over and let one rip and every head in the restaurant turned towards their table.

  “Fucking pig,” Clyde snarled at his son. “You can ride in the trunk!”

  There was a dull roar of disgust amongst the restaurant’s patrons, as the smell of David’s exhaust began to permeate the entire inside of Dave’s Grill. The sounds of chairs scooting across the floorboards could be heard, as people began standing up and throwing their dollar bills on the tables, before heading towards the exits, as quickly as they could.

  “Jesus Christ,” JD muttered, shaking his head, as he followed the crowd that was running outside to escape the clutches of David Moore. “Unbelievable.”

  Chapter Thirty

  It was 4:20 pm at the First National Bank, located in Indianapolis, Indiana and a black van with paper plates, no windows, pulled up in front of the building. Inside the van, everyone passed around a bottle of red liquid, taking a heavy chug, before pulling their ski masks over their faces; not even the men’s eyes could be seen, as they’d covered them with dark sunglasses.

  “You guys ready for our debut?” the leader of group called out, as his gloved-fingers clutched the handle of the door. “This is the first time I’ve been up at this hour, in God only knows.”

  A second later, the back doors of the van flew open and the men jumped out, fully-strapped with AK-47s in their arms. They immediately stormed the bank, opening fire and cutting down the first row of people in line, without giving any sort of warning. The security guard never had a chance to respond, before he was laid out on the floor, blood spurting from his head.

  The bank had become the scene of utter chaos, as people were screaming and running, every which way, some hitting the floor in hopes of not being shot. A couple of the masked men quickly took care of the cameras, leaping high in the air and smashing them to the tile flooring, while a few of the other masked gunmen jumped the teller’s booth, grabbing the cash and shooting at anyone that moved or got in their way, including the tellers.

  As the thieves emptied out the cash from every drawer, one of them forced the manager into the back, towards the bank’s main vault. As soon as the vault’s green light lit up, one of the masked men pulled the trigger, unleashing a bullet directly through the helpless man’s temple, spraying chunks of skull fragment and brain matter onto the wall beside him.

  Outside the bank, a single cop car had pulled up and two officers were carefully moving their way up the main steps, guns drawn. Suddenly, the side door on the black van slid open and a gunman, with a mounted mini-cannon, sprayed a hail of bullets, cutting the two officers down in their tracks, right there on the steps of the bank. The robbers inside heard the gunfire and decided it was time to leave the scene, mowing down everyone they passed on their way out the door.

  Crouched behind a tall marble pillar, an off-duty police officer had been waiting and watching as the events were unfolding, ready to defend, using his 45-caliber sidearm. Finally springing into action, the cop began unloading an entire magazine into one of the gunman’s backs, sending him flying through the front window, glass shattering everywhere.

  The masked assailant got up, seemingly unhurt and he turned around to face the man who’d just shot him. “You should not have done that!” he growled, as his broken sunglasses fell apart and fell to the floor; as the off-duty officer looked closer, he could see a thick shard of glass sticking out of the gunman’s eye, green and redcolored ooze seeping out, dribbling down his mask.

  Without saying another word, the masked man unloaded the entire magazine of his gun, splitting the officer completely in half. With one problem now solved, the man in the mask gripped the shard of glass, slowly pulling it out of his eye, as the bloody-green substance oozed from the wound. With one swipe of his hand, the oozing stopped and he ran out the bank’s main doors, just as four more police cars were pulling up on the street.

  The officers jumped out, taking cover behind the doors of their cars, with their pistols and shotguns drawn. “Drop your weapons and put your hands up, or we’ll open fire!” one of the officers yelled into a megaphone. “I won’t say this again! DO IT!”

  The officers were caught completely off guard, when the side door of the robber’s van opened up and a man inside began spraying them with bullets from a mounted mini-cannon. The masked men leaving the bank contributed to the chaos, raining down on the law enforcement in a hail of automatic gunfire. Some of the police cars exploded and the rest of them were rendered useless
piles of scrap, riddled with bullet holes. And, like a gust of breeze, the gunmen were loaded up and driving off, not leaving a single breathing officer at the scene.

  Frank Marshal, head agent from the FBI, was shouting at his men. “Seal off the entire area! Put out a twenty mile net and find that black van! NOW! Do not let these assholes get away!”

  The agents responded to the demands, taking over and putting up yellow police tape to close off the crime scene. None of the police officers had lived through the robbery and there were only a few survivors inside the bank. Everyone was immediately questioned, but none of them had much information to give, because no one made a move or tried to make any eye contact with the bank robbers.

  “Did anyone see or hear anything that we can use to help identify these assholes? Maybe a nickname, or something?” asked Agent Marshal.

  “If you looked their way, they’d shoot. I did everything I could to keep from being noticed,” said one of the witnesses. “There was nothing we could’ve done.”

  “They never said that it was a robbery, they just walked in and opened fire,” another person said. “One of them said something… the guy who got shot in the back, as he was leaving. He had a heavy English accent.”

  “We’re watching all the hospitals to see if he shows up,” Marshal let them know. “He’ll eventually have to seek out medical attention… anything else?”

  “Well, I got a quick look at one of ‘em,” said another one of the very few witnesses. “The guy wasn’t even wearing a bulletproof vest and I saw blood shooting out of the holes in his back. That’s his blood all over the wall, by that broken window. I saw him rip a huge chunk of glass out of his eye and he just kept on shooting!”

  “Shot in the back? And a shard of glass in his eye?” Marshall asked dubiously. “And, he got up? Have you been drinking, sir? Because if I’m hearing you right… that sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me.”

  “Yes, that’s what I saw. You just asked, asshole,” the witness said to him, obviously offended. “Whatever… I know it sounds crazy and if I hadn’t seen it for myself… well, you know… I suppose, I would think I was nuts, too.”

  “Thank you, everyone, you can all go home now. We have your statements and all your information… we’ll be in touch soon,” the agent called to their backs. “And, keep that story to yourself… I don’t want to hear about it on the news tonight,” he ordered. “Seriously… keep your mouths shut.”

  The FBI agents spoke with the local police, as the crime scene specialists arrived to take control. They quickly unloaded their gear and set up shop, trying their best to keep the press out but the press was arriving faster than the FBI could handle. The first technician took samples of the bank robber’s blood and collected a shell casing that had been fired from his weapon; 7.62 rounds, the technician noted.

  Medical workers moved from body to body, looking for anyone that might still be alive, but not a single one was still breathing, so instead they went around with tags and bags.

  A female technician was giving orders, “Just put the bodies in the bags and we’ll sort them out once we get back to the morgue. There are way too many here to deal with at the moment.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  JD, Nate and Sarah sat in silence, watching the news at the police station, until JD finally spoke. “This robbery took place well over a hundred miles away, damn it. It’s no business of ours, but somehow I just know this is going to come back and bite us in the ass. I just know it, you mark my words.”

  “How did those men manage to rip those cameras off the walls?” asked Sarah. “They were at least twenty five feet off the ground… is the circus in town?”

  “They didn’t even yell any kind of warning before they opened fire on those poor people,” said Nate, shaking his head. “Completely heartless. It has undead activity written all over it.”

  “Something tells me that this is all going to tie into the murders of the boys and the missing girl,” JD replied, wondering how.

  “Something tells me you’re right,” Nate concluded.

  As the day carried on, JD and Nate went back into his office to take care of some business and Sarah made sure there was enough coffee brewing, throughout. A few hours had quietly passed and the silence was broken when the phone rang.

  “Wolf Creek Police Station, Sarah speaking. How can I help you?”

  “Let me talk with JD. It’s Clyde Moore.”

  “Hold, please.”

  JD and Nate were discussing how involved they wanted to get into this bank robbery case, when Sarah knocked on the door. Nate got up to see what Sarah wanted, opening the door with a ‘what?’

  “I told you not to talk to me like that,” she warned him again, addressing his rudeness. “Anyway, Clyde Moore is on the phone for JD. I’ll put it through.”

  “Thanks, Sarah!” JD called out from behind his desk.

  The light on JD’s phone lit up and he picked it up. “What can I do for you?”

  “Did you see the news clips of the bank robbery that took place today?”

  “Yeah, it’s out of my area,” JD answered, “The Feds are handling it.”

  “Cut the shit,” Clyde snapped. “You and I both know those were not normal men that robbed that bank. That guy took thirteen slugs to the back and just got up like someone was throwing snowballs. That’s bullshit!”

  “What do you want me to do, Clyde? That’s over a hundred miles from here!”

  “You know that all the trails will lead back to Wolf Creek. Tell me you feel differently.”

  “Yeah,” JD said back, reluctant to admit, “I do have a bad feeling about that. I’m still waiting to question the mayor.”

  “When are you meeting with him?”

  “In an hour. Until then, I’m just killing time.”

  “Can I go with you to the meeting?”

  “Not a chance in hell,” JD replied. “No humans are permitted inside the Vampire club… especially Hunters.”

  “That’s real funny,” the old man said back. “I’ll be waiting at the motel to hear back from you. You had better keep me in the loop… don’t make me come looking.”

  “Calm down!” JD said getting highly annoyed with Clyde’s badgering. “I’m sure I’ll need the backup, if this turns out to be what it seems.”

  “I’ll be here, Sheriff. Over and out.”

  Clyde hung up the phone and turned to his boys, who were hard at work, stuffing their faces with a couple buckets of chicken. “Are the weapons loaded and ready?”

  “They’re loaded and oiled, pa,” said David, between quick, disorderly bites of a chicken leg. “We got enough ammo to take out every Vampire for hundreds of miles!”

  “Just one of David’s farts could take out everyone for a least a hundred of those,” Ross commented, as he picked through bucket, pawing at every piece of chicken with his greasy fingers.

  “Fuck you!” David snipped back at his brother. “The only reason none of these Vampires has never tried to bite you is cause of all that nasty grease on the back of your neck!”

  With that, both of the Moore boys got up and started swinging on each other, but there was nothing unusual about that. And, as usual, Clyde had to break things up between the two goons, smacking them both upside the back of their heads.

  “You both stink and there’s plenty of grease between to the two of you! Now sit down and shut the hell up, before I beat you both!

  “But, he started it!”

  “I don’t give a shit who started it!” Clyde bellowed, smacking the table with his palm. “Damn it, you two are working me into my grave!”

  “But, David keeps ripping ass and I can’t take it,” Ross complained. “I want my own room.”

  “David!” Clyde said, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “For once, I’m with your brother… you smell like dog shit! One more time and you’ll be sleeping out in the car!”

  JD drove his sheriff’s truck down the long, dark forest road, until he sa
w a clearing, where dozens of other cars were parked; one of the license plates said BITTEN13 and another one read FANGS. He carefully backed his truck between the two and put it in park. JD slid out and Nanook jumped from the back of the truck, following him for the two-mile walk through Boone County Woods to the underground Vampire club, now named ‘Club Thirst.’

  “Nanook, wait right here and I’ll be right back,” JD said, climbing up to the entrance, on the level surface of the immense tree stump. Once he got to the top, he opened the secret hatch and climbed down the ladder into the underground club. At the bottom, the bouncer, Leon, greeted him.

  “What’s up, JD, it’s been a long time,” Leon said, gripping JD’s hand. “Mason and his crew are waiting for you in the back corner. By the way, it’s nice to see you. How the hell you been?”

  “Nice to see you, too,” JD genuinely replied. “What do you think of your new boss?”

  “A boss is a boss, just like everyone has an asshole,” Leon said, with a raised eyebrow. “That’s all I have to say.”

  They shared a laughed and JD said, “Damn, I really wish they would’ve left you in charge… I tried my best.”

  “Thanks. Me too,” Leon said, “I think, it’s a black thing.”

  Both men laughed again and JD shook his head and tilted his hat. English Vampires were extremely snobbish and they would never let a black man run their town. Not a chance in hell.

  Strippers were swinging on poles, as JD made his way through the smoke-filled room, while the other girls were bumping and grinding every last dollar out of their customers who came to see them. But, none of that interested JD… he was here on business and he paid no attention to the girls, as they tried flirting with him.

  “Want a lap dance, Sheriff?” one of the girls called out.

  But, JD just ignored her. His sharp senses were picking up on some very bad vibes, here and he already didn’t like the club to begin with. The air down inside the club stunk of sex, blood and death and no life was ever created in this hole of debauchery.