by Alex Dire
He reached out with the smooth, flowing tendrils floating around his own orb. They slipped across those of the almost-mobile vampire. Norman looked into his eyes and felt his wavy filaments slide against his opponent’s orb. He peered into his enemy’s pupils. He saw through the lens into the retina. He viewed the tiny capillaries pumping blood across its surface. He began to feel his consciousness lose its direction. He felt as if he were being pulled by a magnet. Perhaps this was why vampires don’t glamor each other. With two smooth wills, in the end, who’s glamoring who?
Then he felt it. The slipping feeling changed to rubbing. Then the rubbing tightened to gripping. He connected.
Norman smashed his stake over his knee. It split with a jagged crack. He handed one half to the subdued vampire and pointed at the mob. “See that soldier over there? He’s our friend.”
The enemy nodded his head.
“Kill the rest.”
The subdued vampire darted into the crowd and impaled the first Corps. V he reached. Norman followed him in with the other half of the stake, plotting his path to Seamus who’d joined the battle with Rufus.
It took the horde of Corps. V a moment to figure out what was happening. The betrayal by one of their own sewed confusion into the battle. Let them wonder.
In the chaos, Norman lifted Seamus from the ground where he’d fallen. The glamored Corps. V stabbed and kicked. Rufus regained his footing.
“Come on!” shouted Norman. He pulled the limping Seamus toward the gate where Rae and Saul awaited with an additional survivor.
“I’m Hector. Time to go,” said the new survivor.
“Wait,” replied Seamus, scanning the fight. “Rufus.”
“Over here,” came a voice from edge of the yard.
It was not Rufus, however. It was Skip. Norman was amazed that of all the members of his group to survive, a politician was amongst them.
Skip joined the group of escapees.
“Where’s Rufus?” asked Skip.
Just then, a severed head rolled across the ground like a bowling ball. A decapitated Corps. V vampire launched from the shadows behind it, landing next to Skip.
Skip shuddered. “Never mind.”
Rufus dashed out of the shadows, his tattered uniform covered in blood. He rejoined the remnants of the group.
“We need to move,” said Norman.
As soon as those words left his mouth, the unholy scream of a dying vampire shrieked from the Corps. V mob. They all turned to see a black-haired woman who looked no more than seventeen rip the splintered stake from the glamored Corps. V’s chest. The whole group, which still badly outnumbered them, turned to Norman’s tiny squad and began to move.
“Go!” shouted Rufus. “We’ll cover you.”
Norman looked Rufus in the eye, knowing he couldn’t possibly survive this onslaught. Rufus gave him a dutiful nod before snapping back toward the oncoming horde. He charged, wooden knives drawn. Seamus sprinted alongside him.
“Run!” shouted Norman to the survivors.
As they sprinted down the street, Norman snuck a glance behind. He saw Rufus swinging at a Corps. V just out of his reach, while three others held him at various points on his body. Two others approached him with stakes. Norman turned forward. He couldn’t watch this.
He raced with the four survivors toward the pre-determined exit point where they could escape to the sewers. Perhaps Naseem would join them there if he’d survived. What this tiny band of remnants could accomplish was beyond Norman’s contemplation at this point. He just knew he had to get back underground before they got cornered again. They were out of fighting options.
31
The Projects
Norman and the remnants of his group fled through the streets. They abandoned all efforts at stealth as they tried to put as much distance between themselves and the scrap yard as possible. That fenced-in pile of discarded metal had been their hope for salvation, a way out of the bowels of the Earth. For so many of them, however, it had proven a graveyard. Norman’s plan had led to disaster. They hadn’t captured a Corps. V vampire. They wouldn’t gain any new information. Even if they had, with so many of his new companions dead, what good would it do? Of the original twenty-five vampires who’d emerged from the sewers, only five remained, plus the two left behind to guard his students.
Who knew what had become of his class? Norman sensed the group’s distrust of him from the moment he and the teens entered that secret chamber. He hoped his students were safe down there. He hoped they hadn’t already become collateral damage in a war they could barely understand. With Ian gone, his chances of keeping them alive—not to mention himself—seemed dim.
The group passed by St. Vincent’s Hospital, which had been their pretense for coming above ground. As they ran along the block, they made a turn down a narrow street with tall, public housing buildings along each side. Norman knew that the manhole cover they needed to reach was halfway down this thin tunnel of a street. The tall structures hid the opening from the light of the near-full moon, covering it in shadow.
Norman halted his group. “It’s down here.” He began to walk slowly down the narrow, quiet street.
“It’s so dark,” said Hector.
“Anything could be down there,” said Saul. Through pursed lips he added, “Perhaps another one of your traps.”
Norman bristled at the suggestion. “I’m going in. I recommend you come with me. Feel free to stay out here with Skeete and her buddies, though. I’m sure they’d show you a good time.”
Norman continued to creep down the street. All of them followed with Saul reluctantly taking up the rear. They inched down the alley, peering to try to make out the round, manhole cover they knew must be there in the darkness. Norman heard a grunt and some shuffling noises. He stopped and held up a hand. The others halted.
Norman could make out a figure hunched over the manhole cover. The shadowed form stood suddenly and scurried into an alley next to the manhole.
“Who was that?” asked Rae.
“Stay here,” said Norman.
He moved to the side of the street and slid along the wall toward the alley. Slowing as he neared the entrance. He kept his senses on high alert, aware that at any instant, someone could leap out. Holding his breath, he peeked one eye around the corner and peered down the alley. It was blacker than the street. Quick breaths betrayed the hiding figure. Norman sniffed. Human blood.
“Naseem?” he whispered.
“Norman?” replied the familiar voice. Naseem stood up half way down the alley and walked toward Norman. “I’m relieved to say the least”.
Norman let out his breath. His pulse slowed to normal.
“I’m glad you made it,” said Naseem. “When I heard you coming, I thought I was dead.”
He looked as if he wanted to add something, but his mouth stopped moving. A look of pain gripped his face. He opened his mouth as if to say more, but no words came out. Naseem fell to the ground on his face. The handle of a knife stuck from his back, the blade buried deep in his organs.
“Naseem!” shouted Norman. Before he could say anything else, another knife flew out of the darkness and lodged in Norman’s shoulder. It was quickly followed by a man charging at him with a scream like a rebel yell.
“Run!” Norman exclaimed to his friends. They turned to escape, but a group of vampires rounded the corner and into the narrow street to block their way.
Norman stepped back but couldn’t avoid the charge. He managed to bring up the point of his short stake. The enemy vampire’s momentum drove him into its point. The wood tore at his bowels as he bounced off Norman’s arm, knocking both of them to the ground.
Norman yanked the stake out of the vampire’s gut and lunged at his chest. It was a clumsy move. Any vampire could evade it easily. This vampire, however, had just been gutted by a piece of wood. He tried to dodge, but moved too slow. Norman’s stake cracked through a rib and pierced his heart. He died screaming.
Norman
pulled the knife out of his shoulder and crawled to Naseem. His human companion gasped for breath. Blood pumped quickly from the wound in his back in gushes. A major artery had been severed. Naseem would be gone in a few seconds. Unless…
Norman turned Naseem onto his back. “I can save you. But it would mean…”
The pain in Naseem’s face turned to anger. He forced air through his larynx. “No,” he gasped. “We never join. We nev…” Naseem’s voiced trailed off to nothing. His life fled his body along with the last volume of air in his lungs. His tensed face relaxed.
Norman’s four remaining companions rushed to him. Six Corps. V vampires followed close behind. Why was he always outnumbered? Norman would need to even the odds. He crouched over Naseem’s body and stood back up, grasping the bizarre rifle-like contraption. A tiny LED glowed green near the trigger. Norman pointed it at the leading vampire and squeezed. The subtle, electric whine increased in pitch for a fraction of a second before a crack emerged from the muzzle of the weapon. It supplied surprisingly little kick back. But the consequences were terrible.
The lead vampire halted in his tracks and looked down at the glowing, yellow hole in his gut. His companions stopped around him and stared at the bizarre wound. The victim screamed in pain as the light intensified and a beam shined out of the wound. His friends stepped back in fear.
“Now!” shouted Norman.
His little squad charged into their distracted enemies. Norman tried to fire the weapon again. However, nothing happened when he squeezed the trigger. He saw that the green light had switched to red.
He dropped it and leapt into the air, landing on the nearest henchman grasping his neck. Norman, kneeling on the prone vampire, pulled back his other arm for a massive punch to the face. Just before he released his energy, the dying vampire behind him exploded in a burst of yellow light and flame. The rays singed Norman’s back. He was too close. He felt the skin on his neck bubble as if it was on fire. His clothes felt like melted plastic, fusing with his skin. His clenched fist lit like a torch.
The blast and the pain knocked Norman off the vampire. He rolled and patted himself trying to extinguish his skin and clothes. They went out easily, the projectile had burnt itself out inside the pile of ash that had been a vampire.
Norman lay stunned on his back for a fraction of a second, waiting for some relief from the pain. He had been caught out in the sun twice before. This reminded him of those times. However, only sunlight could cause such ruin to a vampire. How could a bullet produce light to this effect? With Naseem gone, Norman may never know the answer to this puzzle.
Norman’s head rang with pain. He’d experienced burns during his human lifetime. The burn a vampire experienced from sunlight was far worse. He turned his head to the side and vomited. Blood spurted from his mouth and oozed down the side of his cheek.
He saw a sideways view of the world. The ringing in his ears drowned out the sounds of combat around him. He saw Rae on her back, desperately kicking away a long stake that a Corps V repeatedly thrust at her. Hector and a buzz-cut vampire were locked in a death grip: a desperate embrace. He couldn’t see Saul, but he saw his cracked glasses lying on the ground a few feet away.
This was not going well. It seemed to him like he watched it happening in a silent movie. As his back began to heal from the burns, the sounds around him seeped back in. The ringing grew fainter and fainter. Norman put a hand to the pavement to push himself up, but a fierce pain stabbed through his side.
Then he remembered that he was not just watching combat, but engaged in it himself. Norman’s body had partially shaded his opponent from the glare of the shining bullet. He’d recovered much more quickly and jabbed a stake into Norman’s side. Now he stood over Norman, who tried to grasp at the two foot piece of sharpened wood that pierced into his guts. Every time he moved to get a grip, blinding pain shot through him. Norman feared that he might pass out trying to remove the damned thing.
The Corps. V smiled. “Hello, teacher. Skeete told us all about you. We’ve been after you for a while. You don’t seem so tough.”
With this last statement, he kicked the stake in Norman’s side. Norman roared in pain. Saliva and mucus sprayed from his mouth. He drew quick, deep breaths. His wound wouldn’t heal while that piece of wood was in it. It was like an infection.
“You probably think you’re pretty invincible, seeing as you killed Skeete and all.” The Corps. V took something from his belt.
Norman squinted and recognized it as one of the wooden, military blades that Rufus and Seamus had used back at the scrap yard.
The vampire licked the blood off the blade. “Well. How’d that work out for you?”
Norman tried to lunge at the vampire, but the pain in his side kept him stapled to the Earth. He could feel his intestines and liver tearing with the effort. He fell back.
“Nice try. It almost hurts me to watch you there…writhing. I’m a merciful man, though. It’s time to end your pain,” said the vampire, with mock sympathy. “Enjoy the void.”
He raised both hands over his head, clutching the knife. He narrowed his eyes as the corners of his lips curled into a smile.
Norman knew he couldn’t deflect the blow, and his body couldn’t manage to dodge with the stake in him. He was out of options. He just wished he could take this bastard with him on his way to hell.
The Corps. V allowed himself one last indulgence. “Bye, now.” He gave Norman a wink.
Then, a small dark figure flew screaming out of the ally behind the Corps. V, landing on his back and digging its fingers into his eyes. Norman recognized that scream.
The vampire dropped the knife and tried to pry the fingers from his eye sockets. He tumbled to the ground with the small figure wrapped around him. As they fell, Norman saw a long shock of dark hair flow behind them like a black vapor trail.
Norman couldn’t see the newcomer’s face. His enemy yelled and swatted blindly. The figure buried its fangs into the henchman’s throat. Norman recognized that long hair. The form wrenched its head with a massive tear, ripping out a huge chunk of the Corps. V’s neck. He went limp.
A young woman looked at Norman—muscle, skin and tracheal tissue hanging from her jaw.
How the hell did she get here?
She spat the gore and gristle to the street and wiped her mouth. “Hello Mr. Bernard,” said Felicia Gomez.
32
Sometimes Dead is Better
After making brief eye contact, Felicia pulled a stake from her belt. It was one of the short ones from Norman’s condo. Unflinching, she thrust it into the Corps. V’s chest. He awoke and screamed, sending a spray of blood and bits of pink tissue from the ruin that had been his throat.
“Bye,” replied Felicia, finally answering the enemy’s taunt.
“How…?” He looked at Felicia, a bit stupefied.
“I’m going to kill every one of them,” she said, glaring past Norman.
Norman spun around. A redhead held Saul by the throat and pounded his lacerated face with her fist. Felicia leapt at her, driving her stake into the woman’s shoulder. She plunged it down as deep as its length would allow. The vampire screamed and dropped to the ground. Felicia straddled her and began beating her face with her fist.
Norman heard the redhead’s nose crack, followed by the sounds of facial bones breaking. In short order, her face was all mush.
Norman grabbed Saul and lifted him to a sitting position. “Can you fight?”
The badly beaten vampire spit out two teeth, wiped his mouth, and nodded.
Norman helped him to his feet and slapped a stake in his hand. They rushed off.
“Get Hector,” said Norman.
Saul charged point-first toward the oncoming vampires. Norman dashed into the vampire, poking at Rae with his long stake.
Rae had puncture wounds all down her leg and in her lower abdomen. A few produced blood in quickly flowing streams. She twitched and struggled in a sizable pool of her own blood. She couldn�
��t fight much longer with that kind of loss. She wouldn’t need to.
Norman slammed into the Corps. V from the side, wrapping one arm around his waist and grabbing the long stake with the other. After a tumble, they both stood back up to face off.
Norman gripped the long stake in both hands. His opponent crouched, ready to respond to Norman’s thrust. Norman watched closely, looking for his opponent’s eyes to move, waiting for him to give a hint of his intentions or reveal a moment of weakness.
Then, without warning, the vampire relaxed and stood up straight, abandoning his combative posture. Norman’s four companions joined him at his sides. For once, they had the numbers.
“Go ahead, cowards. Do it!” spat the cornered Corps. V.
“Well,” said Norman, lowering the point of his stake. “It looks like we’ll get that interrogation after all.”
No sooner had the words left Norman’s lips that an enraged Felicia leapt over their heads from behind, landing on the captive. Her short stake drove a hole clear through his throat, gushing blood as he fell. She straddled his stomach.
“Felicia, no!” shouted Norman, jerking forward to pry her off the Corps. V. Too slow.
She yanked the wooden spike out of his neck, speckling her face with blood, and thrust it into his chest. He screamed the wretched scream of an anguished, damned soul ceasing to exist.
The narrow street fell deadly quiet and calm.
Felicia’s quick, deep breaths were the only sounds of the night. Norman saw her fangs retract into the flesh of her gums as she prepared to speak.
“I did what you said, Mr. Bernard. I stayed hidden. I watched. You said to watch and hide unless they tried anything.”