Vampire Hunt (Kiera Hudson Series #3)

by Tim O'Rourke

Just like a sulky school boy, I thought. Smiling to myself, I began to follow Murphy.

  “Hang on!” Luke called out. “I want to check out that farmhouse first.”

  “Why?” Murphy asked. “It is not essential to our -”

  “I’m starving!” Luke half-smiled.

  “Me too,” Isidor said.

  Looking them up and down, Murphy said, “Okay, but we’d better be quick. I want to keep moving,” he didn’t sound angry, but impatient. Turning, we followed him in single-file across the field towards the farmhouse.

  We crept around the side of the building and ducked along the outside of the back wall. We came to a door and Isidor pointed to a set of footprints in the mud, which headed away across the fields.

  “These tracks are fresh. Whoever lives here has gone for the time being,” he said.

  “Not another one,” Potter groaned.

  “Another what?” Isidor asked, looking at him through the gloom at the rear of the farm house.

  Then glancing at me, Potter said, “We’ve already got one Nancy Drew on the team – we don’t need another.”

  Ignoring him, I said to the others, “Wait here while I go check out the front of the house.” Before anyone of them could say anything, I was gone.

  Peering around the side wall of the house, I could see a small front garden and a path that ran from the front door to a muddy driveway. Slipping from my hiding place, I edged along the front of the house. Peering in through the front window, I could see the house was in darkness. Turning away, I passed a trash can and two rubbish sacks. There was a small car parked outside a small wooden shack. After peering into the car, I turned away and made my way back to the others who were hiding at the rear of the farmhouse. Reaching my friends, Murphy cocked an eyebrow and said, “So? Is the coast clear?”

  “For the time being,” I told him.

  “What’s that s’pose to mean?” Potter said.

  “Shhh,” Luke hushed him. “Let Kiera speak.”

  “Three people live here,” I started. “One man and one woman – married – Mr. and Mrs. Kenner. They have a daughter. She’s a toddler – no more than three-years-old. They own two cars. The one out front and another – some kind of four-by-four – a Range Rover, I think. They left in that vehicle about an hour ago. The husband has taken his wife and daughter somewhere – to stay with relatives in all probability. The mother and child will stay – but he will be back and not before too long.”

  Clapping his hands slowly together and smirking at me, Potter said, “Very good Miss Marple…is that it?”

  Staring back at him hard, I said, “Before they left, the family sat down to a meal which consisted of roast chicken and corn on the cob. Mrs. Kenner uses L’Oreal shampoo and likes to listen to Beyonce. Mr. Kenner reads The Times and has recently started to dye the flecks of grey in his hair…”

  “Okay, Kiera, I think you’ve made your point,” Murphy said. “Are you definitely sure about what you’re telling -”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Potter said as he shoulder-barged the back door open and stepped inside. Glancing around to make sure we weren’t being watched, we followed him.

  “If nothing else, Kiera’s right about that roast chicken,” Isidor said, sniffing the air.

  “Potter, have a look around. See if there is anyone home,” Murphy told him.

  “I’ve already told you…” I started, looking at Murphy.

  “Don’t take it personally,” Murphy said, “I just want to make sure.”

  “Like he said, Kiera,” Potter smirked, “don‘t take it personally, the guy’s just having some trust issues.” But before Murphy could say anything back, Potter had disappeared on his search of the farmhouse.

  We were in a kitchen with a cooker, fridge, and a wooden table and chairs. I could see a half-eaten plate of food and a knife and fork. To my delight, I saw a cooked chicken, and smiled to myself. It had been half-eaten, and had slices of meat cut from it. It smelt wonderful. My stomach began to rumble and my mouth watered at the sight of it.

  Without any hesitation, Luke shot his arm out and tore off one of its fleshy legs. He raised it to his mouth and began to devour it like a ravenous wolf.

  “Do you think you should be eating that” I asked him.

  Luke made no reply, his mouth was full of chicken, and he had a look of ecstasy splashed across his face. Seeing this, I reached out and ripped the other leg free and rammed it into my mouth. It was still warm and its taste was wonderful. Then Murphy was pulling at it and stuffing chunks of meat into his mouth. The three of us stood there, the meat’s juices running from our chins, as we chomped our way through the chicken. Isidor looked at us, then realising that within moments the chicken would be gone, he started to eat, too.

  Potter reappeared in the kitchen doorway and said, “Like she said, the house is empty - you selfish pigs! What about me!” Then elbowing us out of the way, he snatched up what was left of the meatless carcass and began to groan.

  “I can’t believe it – you’ve eaten it all!” he said.

  Ignoring him, I licked my fingers clean and went to the fridge. Inside I found a bottle of ice cold milk. The chicken had made me thirsty, so I gulped down as much as I could.

  Luke appeared beside me and said, “It didn’t take you long to get the hang of this stealing lark, did it?”

  “I’m not proud of it,” I said, but my hunger kept my normal feelings of guilt at bay. I handed him the bottle and he raised it to his lips. I watched his Adams apple bob up and down as he gulped from the bottle. When his thirst was quenched, he put the bottle down and I wiped a white, milky moustache from his top lip with my finger. He then passed the bottle to Isidor.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked Luke. “Better now I’ve eaten.” “I didn’t mean that,” I said. “Your cravings – for blood?” “It’s not ideal, but the blood we’re taking from those vampires is kinda doing the trick,” Luke explained. “Murphy and I will manage – we have to.”

  “What about Potter? Do you think he will get by on just their blood?”

  “I hope so,” Luke said, looking at me. “He’s more ferocious than normal – but that’s just him coping with his cravings. As long as there are plenty of vampires for him to rip into – he should be okay.”

  Although I didn’t want to come in contact with any more of those vampires, there was a small part of me that hoped we did – for Potter’s sake.

  I crossed back over to the table where Potter was gnawing on the bones of the chicken. Murphy was reading a newspaper that he’d found on the kitchen table. Looking up at me I could see concern – no it was more than that – fear on his face.

  “Remember those nightmares you had about the London Underground?” he said, handing me the newspaper.

  Taking it, I stared down at the thick black headline splashed across the front of it.

  Unexplained animal attacks on the Underground!

  With my heart beginning to race and my mouth turning dust-dry, I started to read the article.

  Hundreds die in gruesome animal attack…

  But before I’d got much further, Potter had snatched the paper from me and began to read it to himself.

  “What’s it say?” I pestered, but he was too engrossed to make a reply. “You’re such an arrogant jerk!” I hissed, storming from the kitchen. I then found myself in a cozy-looking lounge.

  On the far side of the room was a roaring fire – which again only reinforced my theory that Mr. Kenner would be back soon and that he hadn’t gone far. No one would leave a fire burning in the grate if they didn’t intend to return to the house soon. How had the others missed the smoke coming from the chimney? Opposite this was a T.V. and I crossed the room and switched it on. Holding the remote, I flicked through the channels and every one of them was dominated by news stories, each one informing the world of the weird animal attacks that had taken place in London and were believed to spread across the U.K.

  Amateur video f
ootage showed images of commuters racing from the tunnels beneath the ground and up onto the streets of London. There was footage of these terrified people being rounded up and escorted away by police officers wearing the same uniforms as the ones that had chased us the night before. I flicked through the channels and stopped when I saw Murphy’s face appear on the screen.

  “Come and look at this!” I hollered over my shoulder.

  The others rushed into the room behind me and we all gathered around the T.V., as video footage from a helicopter was being played out across the screen. To our shock, it showed us being pursued in the police car that we had taken the night before. The footage showed Isidor firing a weapon out of the back window at the pursuing police vehicles. Then it cut to clips of the police cars crashing and exploding into seething balls of flames. The video footage had been cleverly edited together to make us look like the aggressors.

  “It didn’t happen like that!” Isidor protested. “They were trying to kill us!” I glanced round at Murphy and he was looking blankly at the TV, his sharp blue eyes showing no emotion whatsoever. “They’ve obviously manipulated the film,” Luke said bitterly. “But why?” I asked. “To make us look like we’re the killers. To make people fear us,” Murphy said, and his voice was flat. I turned back to the screen to see a mug shot of Potter. “Oh for god’s sake!” Potter snapped. “Why did they have to go and use that picture? Of all the pictures they could have shown on T.V. why they have to go and use that one? I look like a pervert!”

  Ignoring his vain complaints, Luke said, “The whole thing just makes us look like ruthless cop killers.”

  “And that’s exactly what they want!” Murphy said, now sounding angry.

  “Who does?” Potter asked.

  “Them!” Murphy snapped, pointing at the T.V.

  I turned to see Phillips seated behind a long table at a police press conference. He was dressed immaculately in police tunic, which now had three silver pips on each shoulder.

  “Somebody’s gone and got themselves a promotion,” Potter said and made a whistling sound through his front teeth.

  Phillips’ thick silver hair was combed to one side, he was clean-shaven and looking sleek apart from the scars that ran down the side of his face. I could see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he sat before a throng of reporters, lapping up the attention. There was a mass of microphones attached to the podium. Around each microphone was fixed a smaller collar with the names of the television crews in attendance. Present was the BBC, ITV, Sky News, CNN, FOX and many others – it seemed that almost every country in the world was represented.

  “You were right then, Luke. Phillips did survive,” Isidor said. “I didn’t doubt it,” Luke whispered as if to himself. “And so did your friend, Kiera, what’s-his-face,” Potter said and pointed at the T.V. screen. As I looked and in the background, I could see Sparky, dressed smartly in his police uniform. Snatching up the T.V. remote, I pressed the volume button and increased the sound level as Phillips addressed the nation.

  “As you know, several major incidents have occurred across England in the last twenty-four hours. As of yet, we are not fully aware of the true nature of these incidents. On early investigations, it would appear that some unknown wild animal or animals went berserk on the London Underground...”

  “That lying -” Potter started to say.

  “Shhh!” Murphy ordered. “I need to hear what he has to say.”

  “…yesterday morning,” Phillips continued. “Early enquires revealed CCTV footage of these people acting suspiciously on the Underground minutes before the attack.”

  As Phillips lied to the country, along the bottom of the screen, our faces appeared and the words ‘Suspected Fugitives’ flashed past.

  “I ain’t no fugitive!” Isidor grumbled as his face flashed across the screen. “Shhh!” Murphy said again. “These five suspects have quickly been identified as James Murphy, Sean Potter, Luke Bishop, Isidor Smith, and Kiera Hudson.” “Is it true, Chief Inspector Phillips, that four of these suspects are police officers?” one reporter called out. “Were police officers,” Phillips corrected the reporter.

  “Is it true that the female – Hudson – is also wanted in the connection of the missing persons from Havensfield?” another asked and a series of cameras flashed.

  Phillips laced his hands together on top of the table and looked grimly into the sea of flashing cameras. “Yes, I can confirm that Kiera Hudson is wanted in connection of those persons who have gone missing from Havensfield.”

  “Why has it taken so long for you to apprehend her?” another reporter yelled off camera. “Doesn’t this show police incompetence? Or perhaps it’s because she is one of your own that you have been so slack in apprehending her?”

  “Not at all,” Phillips smiled confidently. “The previous investigating officer has been reassigned to another case -” “I bet he has,” Potter cut in. “Who have you appointed in his place?” yelled another reporter. Phillips almost seemed to pause before replying, and then he grinned into the cameras and said, “I am very grateful to the newly-appointed Superintendent Jessica Reeves from our Special Tactics Unit, who will now be leading the enquiry not only into the missing persons, but also the attacks on the London Underground.” Then standing, Phillips looked to his right and held out his arm to welcome the new superintendent to join him at the table. I couldn’t help but think how he reminded me of some second-rate T.V. game show host, as they greeted the contestants onto their show.

  The superintendent stepped up to the table and my heart stopped. Stumbling backwards into a nearby chair, I threw my hands to my face, I watched my mother take her seat next to Phillips at the press conference. I remembered how Phillips had told me that my mum had changed her surname to Reeves when undercover in The Ragged Cove.

  “That’s Jessica Reeves - Hudson,” Murphy gasped as he recognised her from the time they spent working together at The Ragged Cove.

  I nodded my head numbly, not believing what I was seeing. Not understanding what I was seeing. Without question I knew it was my mother, her dark raven black hair, high cheekbones, and bright hazel eyes, which were just like mine.

  “Gee,” Potter whistled, “I never remembered her looking that hot!” “Potter!” Murphy growled viscously. “Shut your mouth!” “What is she doing on there?” I whispered breathlessly. “She’s my mum!” “It seems impossible,” Luke said, hunkering down beside the armchair and taking my hands in his. “Why?” I asked, fearing the truth. “Why is she with Phillips?” I looked into Luke’s eyes, hoping that maybe he had the answers. My heart was pounding in my chest and I felt as if I was going to be sick. But before Luke had the chance to say anything, someone shouted from behind us, “Right, you goddamn freaks…move and I’ll shoot the lot of ya!”

  Chapter Eight

  I turned around to find myself looking down the long barrel of a shotgun. The man holding it was fat and balding, with a bushy grey beard that swarmed around his chin and neck. His hair looked unnaturally black and I realised I’d been right about him dying his hair.

  “I know who you all are!” he roared angrily. “The news reporter said that you had last been seen in the area and we should keep all our windows and doors locked.”

  That’s why he took his wife and child away tonight – he wanted to protect them from us, I thought to myself. And knowing that I’d been right about that too, didn’t bring me any comfort – not tonight.

  “We’re not who you think we are, Mr. Kenner,” Murphy said.

  “How do you know my name?” he almost seemed to squeal.

  “Ask sweet-cheeks over there,” Potter said, striking a match and lighting-up a cigarette. “Your wife doesn’t like Beyonce by any chance, does she?”

  Glaring at Potter, who was only making the situation worse, I said to the man with the shotgun, “It’s not like you think…”

  “Keep it shut, lady, you ain’t fooling me!” Kenner barked. And wavin
g the gun at us, he said, “Move over there. All of you stand against that wall.”

  We did as he ordered and stood by the fireplace, which snapped and hissed behind us. “And put that cigarette out!” he ordered Potter. “Who said you can smoke in here? This is my house!”

  “No problem,” Potter said, drawing deeply on the cigarette and blowing streams of bluey-grey smoke through his nostrils and mouth. Then, flicking the half-smoked cigarette at the farmer, Potter said, “Here, catch!”

  Instinctively, Kenner raised his arms to protect his face, and in doing so he accidentally fired the shotgun. The cartridges tore into the ceiling, sending down a shower of plaster all over our heads. Before I even realised what was happening, Potter had flashed across the room in a spray of black shadows and disarmed Kenner of his gun. The first he knew about what had happened was when he glanced up to see Potter pointing his gun at him.

  “You need to calm down, soldier, or you’re going to end up hurting someone,” Potter said. “So sit down and stop getting so excited.”

  Throwing his hands into the air and sounding petrified, Kenner screamed, “Don’t hurt me! Pleeeease don’t hurt me!”

  Crossing the room, Murphy took the shotgun from Potter and placed it on the floor. “No one here is going to hurt you, Mr. Kenner,” Murphy said, “you have my word about that.”

  “Please don’t hurt me! I have a wife and child. Pleeeease...!”

  “Like my friend said, no one is going to hurt you,” Luke tried to reassure him.

  “But I saw you all on the T.V…they said you were…”

  “We’re not killers,” Isidor said, sliding his crossbow over his back.

  “What’s your first name?” Murphy asked him.

  “Tom…I’m called Tom.”

  “Well, listen to me, Tom. Whatever you’ve seen on the T.V. about us…it isn’t true. We aren’t going to hurt you…we’re not the enemy,” Murphy tried to reassure him.