by Alex Dire
He shook off the near delirium. “Come on,” he said in a half-whisper, half-grunt. “We’re exposed and we need to figure out where we are.”
“Ahhh,” said Skip. “A street sign?”
Norman looked around for a street sign to give him a clue as to where they currently stood. Aside from the single street lamp which continued to announce their presence, all the lights on the street were out. The ends of the street lay shrouded in the night.
Norman wondered what had spared this one lamp?
Norman honed his vision and used the light from the near-full moon to focus in on the end of the street. He became more aware of the time they stood exposed and their looming deadline with each passing second. He made out the street sign. He could barely read the faded text. However, when he did, paralysis gripped him. Dear God. He shook it off, forcing himself to snap his head from side to side. He spun around to face the house that had been right behind him and read the numbers above the door: 227.
Andrea stood closest to Norman, but hadn’t realized their peril. He grabbed her arm, pulled her ear to his mouth, and whispered, “Run.”
“What?”
They both heard another sound. The hinges of the door began to creak. It swung open. Andrea and Skip turned to peer inside the darkness that lay beyond the open doorway.
Skip gasped and covered his mouth. Andrea stepped backward. Clearly, they now realized the full extent of their situation.
In the rectangular back hole of the doorway, Norman discerned something bright. How could any light exist in there? Then he realized the light didn’t emanate from the inside, it only reflected the moon. The bright spot approached the doorway. Norman knew his situation had become very bad, very quickly. He hadn’t realized how much worse it could get. As the figure stepped through the opening of the house, Norman realized the bright patch was a shock of white hair dangling from the head of exactly the last vampire he wished to see right now: Skeete.
“Hello, Norman,” said Skeete, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorway. “Welcome to my home. Oh, and I see you’ve brought guests.”
A tingling chill surged across Norman’s skin.
“Won’t you come in, Councilor Harding.”
26
Scrapped
“Run!” shouted Norman.
He looked both ways down the street. Which way?
Three vampires ran out the door past Skeete, who calmly waited for the scene to unfold. Two others came around from behind the three-story house. Two more leapt from windows down to the street.
Reason gave way to panic. Skip stood stupefied. Norman grabbed his arm and ran. He did his best to remember the location of the scrap yard, but they were coming at it from a different angle now. He feared he’d run the wrong way. It didn’t matter. Norman sprinted all out down the street. He heard the heavy breathing and quick footsteps of Skeete’s gang in rapid pursuit.
After about five seconds of running, Norman realized they needed to get off the road.
“Into that driveway!” he shouted as they passed a narrow driveway that squeezed between two tall brick buildings. As he began to angle for the turn, he realized that only Skip ran beside him. He also noticed that the sounds of pursuit had given way to other sounds a little further back.
He turned to see Andrea crouched in a fighting pose, fists raised in front of her face. Three vampires circled her as more quickly approached. She leapt and spun, kicking one in the face and sending him sprawling into the fence of a boarded-up house. Once she hit the ground, she shot back up. Her fist flew out and smashed the next vampire’s face. Norman saw teeth and blood fly from the impact. The third vampire grabbed her arms from behind. She grunted and twitched.
“Andrea, no!” shouted Norman.
Andrea looked up at him. “Run, damn you!”
Skip tugged Norman’s arm. “She’s right.”
“No. We can help.” Norman turned back to the fight.
In a blur Andrea spun out of the vampire’s grip, grabbed his arm, and twisted. A sickening crack sounded from his arm as he flipped around. He crashed against the pavement, sending chunks of asphalt flying. She smashed the heel of her boot down onto his head. Blood spurted from his ruined face.
Two more vampires caught up with her. She threw a punch at one as the other dove at her feet, tripping her to the ground. The vampire she’d kicked against the fence shot up across the street and landed on her back.
“We have to go,” said Skip, pleading.
Norman realized the time she’d bought them was just about up.
He and Skip shot in a blur down the driveway which ended in a small, blacktop parking lot. The moon clearly lit long blades of grass growing through cracks in the surface. He heard crickets and the sounds of fighting from the street. At the back of the tarmac driveway, a fence separated the lot from the backyard of the next house. The yard had been overtaken by weeds, tamped down in places by tires, rusted appliances, and other rubbish.
Norman and Skip scurried over the fence and crouched on the other side. They waited only for a moment before quickly shooting across the yard. As they moved, the combat sounds suddenly stopped. Skip looked to Norman. Norman couldn’t meet his glance. A terrifying, inhuman scream replaced the sounds of fighting. Norman tallied another life to avenge.
Then, a fraction of a second before he heard it, he smelled it: Dog. It barked and growled from a broken window. Damn it. No point in sneaking anymore. Norman could hear the sounds of pursuing vampires moving into the driveways and alleys from behind them. Time to move.
Norman and Skip sprinted around the brick building. As they passed one of the boarded windows, Norman could hear growling right inside. Another reason to hate the stinking creatures. He spat at the boarded window. Barking erupted from the other side.
They ran out onto the street in front of the building. None of the lights functioned on this street. However, the near-full moon made their escape exceedingly difficult. Norman heard the clanking of the chain-link fence they’d left behind.
He tugged on Skip’s arm. “Keep moving.” They scurried across the street into the back yard of the next row of houses. They ran parallel to the road. The fences were shorter. They could leap over them from yard to yard.
After they’d passed behind a few houses, Norman grabbed Skip and forced him into a crouch next to what remained of a shed that stood behind a dwelling painted mint-green. He put his finger over his lips. They listened. Footsteps came from all directions. The pursuers had split up. Their escape was growing trickier by the moment.
Skip’s eyes widened and he looked at Norman for instructions. He heard then too. Norman shook his head and listened closer.
Something moved nearby, in the direction of the mint-green house. Norman peered into the dark windows. This was different. His danger sense pricked up. Human. One window was opened a crack. A narrow tube emerged through. A weapon. Before Norman could react, a shot rang out and sparks flew from the barrel sticking through the window. At almost the same instant, small pieces of shattered skull cut into Norman’s face like shrapnel. Spattered blood and gristle covered him in gore.
Norman looked down and saw Skip gasping for breath from what was left of his shredded mouth. The right half of his head was mostly missing and ragged chunks of brain tissue were exposed. Norman could see his head begin to mend as he felt his own shrapnel wounds healing. In another moment, Skip regained enough of his mouth to speak. He began to move his lips when another shot rang out, drowning his words. Norman felt pain in his right shoulder and he flew back from the blast. He looked down to see the gristly mess that connected his arm to his body. It also began to heal quickly.
Skip’s brain had not yet healed enough to take control of his motor functions. This would take a little longer. They didn’t have time to wait.
“Go,” managed Skip. “Leave me.”
Norman looked down at Skip’s remaining eye. It pleaded. Norman knew Skip was right. If he waited for Skip to hea
l enough, their enemies would quickly destroy them. As it was, Norman would be lucky to have time to reach the rendezvous at the scrap yard before they caught up with him. He might, however, have time for something else.
Norman threw Skip over his good shoulder and dashed toward the house, just as a third shot blasted out from the window. Norman heard the pellets whiz by his ear. The lead shot struck a window in a house across the street. Perhaps the sound would provide some cover.
In a blur, Norman and Skip crossed the yard. Norman gripped the barrel and yanked it through the window. A startled, grey haired man gasped on the other side.
Norman honed his focus, tuning into the old man's will. “Invite us in.”
“Please come in,” the man stammered.
Norman crashed through the back door. With fangs extended, he dropped Skip and lifted the old man by the shirt, biting savagely into his neck. Norman sucked down the warm, sweet blood. His shoulder healed almost instantly.
He brought the man down to the floor where Skip lay. Skip manage to sip from the wound with his partially-healed mouth. This quickened his healing process.
In another second, they both dashed out the door and ran all out through the back yard, over the fence and around the side of the apartment building on the next block. Thanks, old man. Norman raced across the street. I owe you one.
His vigor returning, Norman felt they had gained a fighting chance to reach the scrap yard. They slid along the side of the darkened dwelling. Most of the windows were boarded. However, that didn’t mean it was unoccupied. Norman kept alert.
“Which way?” asked Skip as he peered around the side of the house to yet another darkened street.
“I think the scrap yard is to the left,” whispered Norman. “But that may not be the safest way.” Norman stopped suddenly as they both heard noises of movement. Norman listened. He could hear shoes on pavement, metal fences being climbed, fabric sliding along walls. The sounds came from many directions. All paths seemed too dangerous to try. However, in a few moments, staying still would become deadly.
Norman beckoned Skip to follow him with a wave. Skip nodded, his chin quivering. Norman carefully climbed onto the front porch of the house to their left. They crouched and shuffled along, obscured from the street by the shingled front of the porch. Norman peeked his head over the rail. Peering into the street, he saw no life or motion. He listened again. Silence. Norman knew his enemies were out there. He didn’t know how many and he couldn’t tell where they were. The odds weren’t in his favor.
He looked down at his watch. They’d be dead in three minutes. They had to move now, or those odds would get much, much worse.
“Look,” Norman whispered.
Skip raised his head just enough to see the street.
“We’re getting close. I recognize these streets. See that intersection forty feet down the road?” Norman asked.
Skip nodded.
“Take a right and look down a bit further. See that one house with its porch light on?”
“Yes,” replied Skip.
“Just past that house there should be a street leading to the left. That street ends at the scrap yard. We can be there in less than a minute if we sprint and if…” Norman trailed off.
Skip’s grave expression said he understood Norman’s meaning.
“We’ll climb over the side here.” Norman tapped the side of the porch. “We’ll take one last look and then run.”
Skip nodded.
Norman closed his eyes and listened hard for any sounds. Nothing. This scared Norman more than hearing them coming. Where were they?
Opening his eyes, Norman whispered, “OK, let’s go.”
They scrambled over the side of the porch and landed in the narrow side yard of the house. Norman peered into the street, looking for any motion at all. He saw none.
“Ready?” asked Norman.
The next word he meant to say was, “run.” The word had made its way halfway up his throat when he heard movement. Close movement. Something was right behind them.
Norman spun around to see. Not quick enough. A fist slammed against his face. Norman flew halfway across the front yard and landed on the overgrown lawn. His head swam with pain.
Norman didn’t have time to assess his damage. He shot back up, spitting out three teeth. He saw a large, muscular vampire with long, jet-black hair pulled back into a ponytail. His biceps bulged as he held Skip over his head. The vampire hurled Skip at Norman.
Norman’s face had nearly healed and his senses quickly returned—an advantage of a fresh feeding. He easily dodged the flying councilor. He positioned his footing for a charge. In a few seconds, Skip would get up and be at Norman’s back. Before he moved, three more vampires appeared behind the giant brute.
Norman turned and ran. He grabbed Skip’s arm and pulled him up. The two sprinted for the intersection. Norman could hear the steps of their pursuers close behind. With the fresh blood they’d just fed on, they were able to keep their distance.
They reached the house with the porch light in a few seconds. Just past it, Norman saw the street to the left that he’d anticipated. They whirred around the corner house and dashed down the street. Norman could see the unlit scrap yard at the end of the road a quarter-mile away.
He made out the sounds of three, maybe four vampires chasing them. By now, they must have seen the scrap yard at the dead end as well. It was a no-exit situation. As he pushed hard to keep up his speed, he could almost sense their delight in chasing down the two of them. In another second, they’d reach the end of their run. He hoped Rufus and the others kept their word and hadn’t left Norman and Skip for dead.
They rapidly approached the dead end. A tall fence rimmed with razor-wire surrounded the scrap yard. Beyond the fence, in the moonlit darkness, nothing moved. He only made out piles of decrepit appliances and rusted cars stacked in tall columns—plenty of places for the members of his little ambush to hide.
They raced right toward the fence. As they reached it, they leapt and clung to the chain-links half way up. They climbed to the top. Norman grabbed the razor-wire and tore a strand of it apart. As he did so, he felt the barbs slicing into his hands. Blood flowed down his arm. He slipped over the top and held the wire apart for Skip. In another half-second, his opponents would reach the fence and jump up.
Norman and Skip leapt down to the ground just inside the fence. As they hit the ground, Norman could feel his blood stop flowing from his wounds as his hands mended themselves. Thanks again, old man.
He turned to see four vampires leap up and cling to the outside of the fence. The large, burly one had jumped the highest. He made his way to the top with the other three close behind.
Norman and Skip ran into a large clearing in the center of all the stacks of metal scrap in the yard. They stopped and turned back to the fence. Skeete’s little brigade landed on the ground and surveyed the scene. The manic pace of their flight stopped and the night grew quiet.
The large, muscular vampire looked at his hands. Blood trickled down them from the razor wire. They healed, but not as quickly as Norman’s had. He pointed a finger at Norman. Blood dripped from the tip. “You’re dead.” He moved his arm to point at Skip. “You die, too, councilor…slowly.”
Norman had taken the game as far as he could. Either his backup would arrive and they’d beat these guys down or he was dead. Who knew how much Skip would suffer. Norman probably wouldn’t live to find out.
The four vampires walked slowly toward them. They didn’t need to chase anymore. Norman had nowhere to go. They were surrounded by piles of junk and tall fences. Norman listened closely for the sounds of rescue. He heard only silence and the rhythmic pattern of his pursuers’ shoes on dry dirt. He locked eyes with the burly vampire, seeing the murder in them.
The four attackers stopped a few paces away. The large one looked down at Skip, who quivered with fear but stood his ground. He then turned his glance to Norman. “Why aren’t you trying to run?”
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Norman replied, “Because I’m not scared.”
The leader of the little troupe scowled. “Why not?”
Norman said nothing. At that moment, a tiny, creaking sound from one of the stacks of rusted cars interrupted the interrogation. Then the subtle sound of rushing air. Finally a thud as Rufus landed right between Norman and the four vampires.
“Because no one’s scared of a dead vampire,” said Norman.
27
Victory - Pyrrhus Style
Rufus was nearly as large as the giant vampire. The soldier let loose a massive punch, which landed squarely in the center of the thug’s face. Norman was surprised that his head didn’t fly off.
The burly vampire staggered back, momentarily dazed. He wouldn’t have a chance to counter-punch. Too fast for a human eye to see, Rufus drew a small wooden knife from his belt. He was doing what he was trained to do—what all members of the vampire military were trained to do. He quickly flitted it across the vampire’s chest and slipped it back in his belt, all in one motion.
The giant vampire, who’d seemed so formidable moments ago, belched a ghastly scream as blood exploded from his chest. He fell backward to the ground. The other opponents stared at his body, amazed that their indestructible companion had left this world so quickly and without even a fight.
“We’re supposed to capture them,” said Skip.
Rufus eyed the brute’s friends through narrowed slits. “We only need one.”
They turned to run. Too late.
Twenty-five vampires emerged from every crack and shadow in the scrap yard to cut off their path. The remaining three henchmen circled together with their backs to each other, ready to fight.
Rufus casually walked up to one of them. The smaller vampire recognized the military clothing that Rufus wore and relaxed his posture. He realized resistance would be impossible. Rufus grabbed the vampire by his jacket at his chest and slowly lifted him off the ground.