The Hunger

by Dandridge Doug

  O’Connor knelt beside the man, his hand going to the jugular. There was a faint pulse, but the man was not breathing. He would not last long, and O’Connor’s heart told him to stay, to try and help the man, to revive him. His intellect won out, telling him that he had to get out of here or his own life would be forfeit.

  Patting Fred down O’Connor found the gun he knew the man would be carrying in his back waistband under the long shirt. It was a Glock. A forty-caliber model just like that carried by the Secret Service and FBI. He jacked the slide back and released, loading one of the ten rounds into the chamber, then pulled the two spare mags from Fred’s pockets.

  O’Connor had never liked guns. They reminded him of the evil that man did to his fellow man. But since becoming a vampire hunter he had become more than proficient with them. So he held the gun expertly as he checked the door and found it locked. Another search of Fred, who had by now died of asphyxiation, revealed the key. O’Connor unlocked the door, listened for a second, then pulled it open. Sticking his head out into the hall, the priest looked both ways. It was clear, and O’Connor slid out into the hallway, closing the door quietly behind him.

  That was when the door opened at the end of the hallway, the one leading to the large master bedroom complex. Jake walked out, his face freezing in shock as he saw the priest standing in the hall, a gun by his side. Jake tried to get his hand into his own waistband, to get his own pistol out, and stopped as he saw the muzzle of the Glock pointing at his face.

  “Drop it, my son,” said O’Connor, holding the gun steady with one hand. Jake slowly withdrew the pistol from his waistband, a revolver that looked familiar to the priest, and dropped it to the floor. The priest advanced on the man, holding the gun close to his body, not allowing Jake the chance to try to knock the gun away.

  “Kick that pistol over here,” ordered O’Connor, gesturing with his own gun.

  “Don’t hurt me, man,” said Jake as he kicked the revolver, sending it a couple of feet toward the priest. “You’re a man of the cloth, father. You’re not supposed to hurt anyone.”

  “The church allows a man to defend his own life,” said O’Connor as he squatted down to retrieve his specially loaded revolver. “And God help me but I value my own life more than yours. So don’t make me shoot your worthless ass. My son.”

  “What the fuck!”

  O’Connor heard the curse over his shoulder. He started to turn as Jake made his move. Because of his age. Because of his fatigue, Jake overestimated how fast the priest would turn. O’Connor was able to reverse the direction of the pistol even as he continued to turn. He jerked the trigger, sending a heavy slug into Jake’s chest from point blank.

  Jake fell back against the door with a hard thump, then slid down toward the floor, leaving a slick of blood on the surface. He clutched his chest with his hands, as his wide open eyes stared at the priest that had just put a bullet through his lungs.

  A bullet cracked past O’Connor’s head as he continued to turn. He dropped to one knee and brought the gun up in front of him in a two handed grip. He tracked the gun up to aim dead center of the man standing at the end of the hall, another of Padillas’ thugs who O’Connor had a passing knowledge of. The man’s gun, another big automatic, roared again, and a bullet whizzed by O’Connor’s ear.

  The priest took a full breath, let half of it out, and squeezed his trigger. He had aimed at the chest, but the big gun had pulled up as it fired. The thug’s face exploded into a splatter of blood, and a heavy mist erupted above his head, the edge of the cloud of brains and blood that exploded from the back of his head.

  O’Connor’s ears were ringing from the booming of large caliber pistols. Still he heard someone yelling from Padillas’ bedroom and knew that soon there would be more thugs in the hallway, trying to end his life. With the peace that comes from a connection with God the priest did not really fear all that much for his own life. But he had a mistake to rectify, and little time to do it.

  O’Connor ran toward the door leading to the room in which the vampire was confined. His hand grasped the knob and turned, but the knob resisted his efforts and he didn’t have time to find the key. Taking a step back he sent two rounds into the locking mechanism, smashing the lock and the wood around it. A swift kick sent the door inward, just as the door to Padillas’ bedroom was pushed out, and stopped by Jake’s body lying against the door. A couple of curses sounded as people on the other side tried to push the body out of the way of the door.

  O’Connor sent a couple of rounds through the door, gaining a yell of pain and some more cursing. Then he went into the room he had prepared to trap a vampire.

  Cold animal eyes looked back at him as he stared at the woman, one of his hands pushing the door closed behind him. He placed his back against the door, cringing at the thought of a bullet coming through the wood and into his yielding flesh. He put the fear of pain down, again calling on his contact with the Lord to bring an inner peace even in the midst of so much turmoil.

  “Have they sent you to destroy me, priest?” asked the evil creature sitting on the floor. “Could they not do it themselves, that they had to send their hireling to do their dirty work?”

  “I am sorry,” said O’Connor, looking down on the demon in the body of a gorgeous woman. “They fooled me into doing their work. I was convinced that you were the greatest evil in this city. I did not know that there was even greater evil, and I sold myself to it.”

  “So what do you want, priest?” she asked, her angry eyes boring into his. “Forgiveness?”

  “I don’t ask for that from such as you,” said O’Connor. “But I realize that I have misjudged your intentions, if not your methods, or that which dwells within you.”

  O’Connor could hear the yelling and cursing, louder as the door was being shoved open down the hall. I don’t have time for a long conversation of reconciliation, he thought. He raised the Glock, watching as she watched him with a smile on her face. She knows that this weapon holds no threat to her. And she knows that I know it.

  The pistol barked in the room. Three shots, through the window that was painted over with the sanctified paint. Glass shattered outward, as O’Connor ran to the window and ran the barrel around the frame, breaking the last remaining portions of hanging glass. Looking back at the creature of the night he took a couple of long steps and stood in front of her, putting her between him and the window.

  “Now get the hell out of here,” he said to her, looking down.

  “You’re going to let me go?” she asked, sitting in front of him. “I thought it was your mission in life to destroy me.”

  “I do not condone your methods,” said O’Connor, glancing nervously back at the door. “But you get results. I don’t know how you have gotten past the evil that lives within you. Because it would seem to me that Satan would rather you killed the good in the world. But enough of this talk. Leave here. Now.”

  “I can’t, priest,” said the vampire, showing him an alarming smile of razor sharp teeth. The teeth she used to feed on the lifeblood of mortals. “I’m still trapped here. I couldn’t force myself to go out that window if the Devil himself were chasing me.”

  “Then perhaps we can provide something that scares you a little more than the Devil,” said the priest, reaching his fingers into the top of his shirt, under his white priestly collar. The small cross was attached to a chain, and with a quick jerk O’Connor snapped a link. He held the cross in front of him, almost in her face. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, I order you from this place, demon.”

  The smile left Lucinda’s face, replaced by a look of rage that soon metamorphosed into fear and terror. She scurried back, getting to her feet, her eyes darting for a place to escape and finding none. O’Connor walked forward, the cross held before him, saying a silent prayer as he felt the power of God flow through him and out of his hand, using the crucifix as a conduit. The vampire backed, pain on her face as she approached the wa
ll that was covered with sanctified paint. But the holy power before her was greater.

  Lucinda turned and jumped through the air, her instincts taking charge, getting her away from the torment that was before her eyes. She flew unerringly through the opening, knocking the plywood paneling out, her body propelled into the night.

  One task accomplished, thought the priest. But he still had to make sure that George Padillas was truly dead. Because as much of a monster as the man was in life, he would be even more of one in undeath.

  * * *

  Lucinda had felt like she was being torn between two elemental forces when the priest came at her with the cross in his hand. The wall behind her was pushing against her progress backwards like a pulsing of heavy storm waves at the beach. While the cross in the priest’s hand was like a laser cutting into her from the front, fierce and intense. One pain was unbearable while the other was intolerable. She started to panic, like a wild animal trapped in a burning forest. And like the panicked animal she darted in the direction that looked the best.

  Gathering her legs under her the vampire leapt head first at the window. She intense agony from behind lessened as she flew toward the window, while the unbearable pain in front grew. Lucinda was unable to turn in midair. The only way she could stop herself was to put out her hands to push against the wall on the sides of the window. And that in itself was something that she could not do, because she would have to touch the source of the pain.

  So she flew through the window, the plywood paneling ripping from the frame. Her nostrils took in the cool night air, feeling the pain lessen on her head, shoulders, and chest. The agony was released as she left the room, last leaving her ankles and feet. The vampire tucked her shoulders as she hit the ground, then rolled up onto her feet. The pain was gone, the nausea was dispelled, and she felt the strength of the night flood into her body. And she was angry, and the anger needed an outlet, the animal in her demanding a release.

  “Goddamn,” called out a voice in the yard.

  Lucinda turned toward the call, to see another big man with thug written all over him. He was raising a gun, lining it up on her even as she began to move. The gun fired as she sprinted toward him, faster than any mortal could move. It flashed fire and boomed thunder into the night as she ran. She felt the bullet hit her and pass through her, barely slowing in its passage. Another round went through her head, then another through her chest, neither causing any harm.

  Then she ran into the man, chest to chest, like a football tackle hitting his target. The flesh that had been so insubstantial to the bullets was oh so solid to the man, and Lucinda wrapped her arms around him as they both went down. As the man hit on his back, the air huffing out of him, Lucinda grabbed the side of his head with her right hand and pushed it over with her supernatural strength, exposing his neck.

  Her fangs flashed in the moonlight as she drove her head onto the neck of the stunned man. The teeth pierced tender flesh, then withdrew as her lips clamped down on the curve of the neck and she sucked the flowing blood into her mouth. The life force followed the blood, making her feel strong and savage with the rush of power.

  Enough, she thought, as her muscles bulged with the blood flow. She could not wait here long. The priest had driven her from the house to save her. And she could not remain in this place where so many sought her destruction. She reluctantly pulled her teeth away from the side of the neck, twisted the head back around, and sank her teeth into the exposed throat. She could feel the windpipe beneath her teeth as she bit down hard. She then pulled her head back with all of her strength while holding the head down in place. The throat tore under the pull of her sharp teeth, and she ripped it out like a wild beast.

  Lucinda sprung to her feet, looking down at the shocked eyes of the dying man. This one will not return. Though she had fed on him she had not taken his life in the feeding. As the light went out in his eyes she knew his soul would go straight to Hell. There would be no return, and the body that went into the ground would simply become food for the worms.

  A cough behind her made her turn before she even realized it was there. The priest, she thought, seeing the man straightening up after coming through the window. She could feel the fatigue in the man. She could smell his fear. But she could also sense the inner strength of the man that would not allow fatigue or fear to stop him from doing what he needed to do.

  The urge to attack flared in her. The need to destroy this man who had been on her trail for so long. The man who had trapped her in the house. The house where she had been forced to turn a man she had come to destroy.

  Lucinda forced the urge down, overruling her instincts with her intellect. The man was one of the good guys. The innocents that she had sworn to protect with her life. And no matter his mistakes she could not take his life, or she would once again be the servant of evil that she had begun this hellish existence as.

  She heard the voices before the priest did, though he was much closer to the source. The voices of very angry men. The door to the room crashed open, loud enough to alert the priest. He looked around, alarm on his face, moving the big pistol he had in his right hand to aim toward the window.

  “Run,” she yelled at the priest. He looked back at her for an instant, then turned back toward the room. A gun thundered in the house, and O’Connor cringed and ducked. Lucinda was at the priest’s side in an instant, one of her hands grasping the cloth of the man’s black shirt. With a jerk she threw him away from the window, into the soft grass of the lawn.

  “Run,” she repeated, looking down at him. A trio of bullets flew through the window, passing through her body.

  “Run,” she yelled. “Get your ass out of here, priest. I’ll take the heat off of you. Run.”

  O’Connor staggered to his feet, looking confused. Lucinda looked into the room, baring her fangs and snarling at the men who looked at her. All of them recoiled from the ferocity on her face, fear in their eyes. That didn’t stop them from firing, as they kept their weapons pointed at her and kept pulling triggers, sending a hail of lead into her.

  “What the fuck,” yelled one of the men. “We ain’t doing anything to her.”

  Lucinda backed away from the window, glancing to see the priest stumbling over the yard. The glass doors slid open and a hand reached out, large revolver held straight out. The gun roared, sending a spear of flame in the direction of the priest. The vampire ran toward the gun, the world slowing once again as she increased her speed. Her hand grasped the wrist as she saw the hammer moving forward again. She pulled up before the gun went off, sending the round into the sky. With a jerk she pulled the man through the half open door, bending aluminum and shattering glass with the body that flew into the yard.

  She could hear the men in the room squabbling, and she knew that in an instant they would be firing into the yard. She could hear other voices in the house and knew that other gunmen would soon be firing from other doors and windows. And the priest was standing by the back part of the fence, where the hole that had been broken through it several nights before was patched with two by fours.

  Lucinda ran toward the fence, aiming at an area of thinner boards to the right of the repair. She streaked across the yard, her feet barely touching down before rising again into the air. She knew that to the mortals she was nothing more than a blur, seeming to disappear and appear where she willed. But to her senses she was running as would a normal person, though the rush of the wind around her head was like a windy gale.

  Lowering her shoulder Lucinda crashed into the fence, feeling the shock through her bones. Bones of the supernatural creature held. Common half-inch thick wood didn’t. The boards splintered under her shoulder, then gave way as she forced herself through. Into the night she continued, tearing the boards away from the two by fours that held them in place.

  Lucinda reached out a hand and grabbed the side of the fence, stopping her motion. It felt like the arm was going to pull out of the joint, but everything held and she stopped, pulli
ng herself back into the yard.

  “Get out of there,” she yelled as she looked back into the yard to where the priest was staring at the new hole she had made. “Get over here and get your ass out.”

  O’Connor composed himself and ran the few steps to the hole. Lucinda grabbed his arm and pulled him through the hole, taking her time so he could twist around and not hit anything too hard, even though there was some urgency to the situation. But killing the man to save him was not in the plan. A couple of bullets smacked into the wood, breaking through the thin boards and sending splinters into the night air.

  Lucinda pulled the priest along, ignoring the pain that was shooting up her arm. He was a holy object in and of himself. And it hurt her to touch him. But if she didn’t hurry him away he would be killed by the evil men in the house. Already she could hear more of them running out of the house and into the yard.

  “Why are you doing this?” asked O’Connor as she tugged on his arm and hurried him into the darkness.

  “For the same reason you could not allow them to destroy me,” she answered, flashing him a very human looking smile. “I could not let those monsters destroy you.”

  The priest staggered, almost falling under his fatigue. He’s almost an old man, she thought, trying to play in a young man’s world. And it’s telling on him.

  Lucinda pulled the man’s arm over her shoulder, supporting him as she helped him along. The burning feeling ran along her shoulder and arm. She gritted her teeth against the agony and kept moving forward.

  * * *

  Marcus’ ears perked up at the sound of gunshots from within the house. They were faint enough to be coming from the middle of the dwelling. And there were only a couple of them to start out. As he listened there were more, and the sound of men yelling and shoulders pounding on doors.