Fall Prey: The Hunt

by Dallas Massey

  Several pairs of hands assailed Asher, grabbing him by his shoulders and ankles, bending his body into a sitting position, and pulling him across the van floor. He tried to resist but found himself still too weak to fight back. Asher felt his senses slowly return to him as the fear seeped back into his mind.

  “He looks like he might be a little woozy,” said the man. “Hold him up so he doesn’t fall over.”

  The hands slowly loosened their grip on Asher, leaving him sitting on the edge of the van’s bed, his legs hanging over the side so that his feet touched the ground. His heart raced even more as he grew fearful of what his captors planned for him.

  Kidnapping may be merely an afterthought to them, Asher thought to himself.

  “Would somebody grab me a chair?” asked another male voice, this one with a thick, Texan accent. The voice echoed, confirming Asher now occupied an ample, cavernous space. “I think this would be easier if I was sittin’ down.”

  “You got it, sir!” said one of the other men from the van.

  “Ah, that’s better,” said the accented man. “OK, now,” the man addressed Asher, “If you’ll stay still, I’ll go ahead and take this bag off so you can see.”

  Asher winced, his eyes instantly assaulted by the blinding light.

  “Looks a little green around the gills,” said the man to the others around him. “Might be a little overdosed. Probably a good thing he’s on the larger side.”

  Asher’s eyes slowly began to adjust. The man in front of him and the vast room gradually became visible.

  “Better check if that drug is wearing off,” the man turned back to Asher. “Not gonna do much good if you can’t talk to us.” He grabbed Asher by the chin, turning his head to either side and looking at his pupils. “Hmm… Looks like you oughta be good to go.” The man took his hand away.

  Asher glared at the man, angry to be touched in such a way, his rage temporarily concealing his fear. Normal vision returning to him, he saw the man was Black, bald and middle-aged, large and of a muscular build. He dressed simply, wearing a black tank top, jeans, and a pair of cowboy boots. Dark sunglasses concealed his eyes. He sat backward in his chair and leaned toward Asher, an automatic shotgun across his lap.

  They sat inside a vast garage, a single floodlight illuminating only Asher, the man, and the van. All the others retreated beyond the light, watching them from the shadows. “OK, I’m gonna take this duct tape off now,” said the man. “Don’t you start hollerin’.” He extended his hand to pull the tape from Asher’s lips.

  “Who are you, and what do you want with me?” Asher yelled hoarsely, flying into a tirade, his grogginess suddenly gone. He knew it was stupid to fight back at this point, but he felt he had nothing to lose. “Where’s Aaron? I need to help him! I know you’re with the monster that killed my friends! If you want information, you’re out of luck because I’m not gonna talk! You might as well kill me now!”

  The man struck Asher on the side of the head with his fist, nearly knocking him over sideways. He went silent, deciding to heed the man’s advice for the moment.

  “I just want to talk a little. If you’ll shut up, you’ll get your answers.” The man paused, allowing Asher time to regain his composure. “Now listen,” the man continued. “We are in no way affiliated with the monster who killed your friends. I would consider that an insult under normal circumstances. We’re the good guys.”

  “Pfft… Good guys!” Asher was unable to contain himself, his eyes full of hostility. “Since when do the ‘good’ guys abduct people?”

  “Don’t make me hit you again!” the man thundered back, snapping from calm to angry almost on reflex.

  Asher frowned, concealing his fear. He didn’t want to push things too far, as he was at a major disadvantage. He had no choice but to listen to what the man had to say.

  “I know what it looks like.” The man shook his head, his mood swinging back to calm. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to forgive our methods. We can get into the details of why we’re so rough later.”

  Asher couldn’t help but stare at the man’s sunglasses, stricken with anxiety because he couldn’t see his eyes.

  “We’re The 96th Legion, and we specialize in killin’ monsters like the one you saw tonight. My name is Michael Greaves, and I’m the commander of the Legion’s 5th Battalion.”

  Asher frowned, finding Greaves overly dramatic. He could feel his physical strength return now, sending irrational thoughts of escape racing through his head. He looked down at Greaves’s shotgun, knowing there was no chance.

  “The Legion is a government-sanctioned paramilitary force, independent of other groups like our nation’s military,” Greaves continued. “We’ll get to the specifics of what we do in a moment. First, it’s time to talk about you. Thanks to our connections, it was real easy to pull up your information. Just need a little verification before we go on. Your name is Asher Blackthorn, correct?”

  “That is correct,” said Asher with some annoyance, wishing Greaves’ would come to the point. “Exactly where am I, and why am I here?”

  “I was just gettin’ around to that,” said Greaves, sitting all four chair legs back on the floor. “You are in one of the Legion’s bases, the one just outside of St. Louis. We brought you here ‘cause you are capable of killing one of those monsters with a 9mm. Never an easy thing to do.”

  Greaves dramatically removed his sunglasses and clipped them to his tank top. Asher nearly let out a sigh of relief when he saw his eyes were a plain brown.

  “Probably should just cut right to the chase,” he added. “We’re always running low on personnel, and we can always use anyone that knows how to kill those things.”

  “What are those ‘things’ exactly?” Asher asked, ignoring much of what Greaves had said.

  “I was gonna get around to that, just thought I would ease into it. I’m not sure if you’ll believe this or not. To be honest, it took me a while at first, but those things are vampires.”

  “What do you mean ‘vampires'?" Asher was awash with disbelief. Greaves had to be putting him on. There had to be plenty of other explanations for what he had seen.

  “How big of a moron do you think I am?”

  “No one’s calling you a moron, son. Crazy as it sounds, it’s the truth. Those things are vampires, filthy, stinkin’ leeches that wanna suck all the blood right outta yuh. They’re not like those wussy vampires from the movies, either. These guys are cannibals, and they will eat whatever flesh they can tear off. They don’t even need to drink blood to survive. They do just fine on flesh alone. They might like the taste of blood better, I don’t know. Sure awful hard to kill, though. You oughta know.”

  “Do you really expect me to believe any of that?” Asher hesitated as he spoke, chuckling nervously in an attempt to conceal his anxiety. He didn’t want to believe what Greaves said.

  “I assume you got your own theory about what that monster was?” Greaves rose from his chair, holding his shotgun horizontally in both hands. “If you do, I sure would like to hear it.”

  “Well, maybe it was some kind of special effect or something. You can do whatever you want with CGI these days, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you used something like that. Maybe you used some kind of practical effect or magic trick or something. Sometimes that can be pretty convincing.”

  Maybe this whole thing is just a bad dream, and I’ll wake up any second, he thought. Asher was naturally cynical, though even he hadn’t believed his own words.

  “How do you explain all the dead folks then?” Greaves frowned. “Two of your comrades, one of them your partner, torn to bits.”

  “Maybe they aren’t really dead.” Asher’s voice was deceptively hopeful. “That might have been part of the effect. Either that or their deaths could have been part of some kind of conspiracy.”

  “Trust me. Those people are very dead. Pieces of ‘em scattered all over the place. This is not a conspiracy. If we were involved in somethin’ like that, we woulda
just killed you then and there. Never woulda bothered bringing you back here.”

  Asher frowned, considering Greaves’ last thought. “I have been at your mercy for a while now.”

  He decided to take the man at his word, realizing he had little choice. He would humor Greaves’ ‘vampire’ claim as well. Asher’s situation didn’t require it, but he reasoned it wouldn’t hurt to buy himself some time. “Well, if you really think vampires are real, what do you kill them with? Stakes? Garlic? Or do you just wait for them to run outside and melt in the sun?”

  “We employ various methods to bring down vampires, some conventional and others not so much,” Greaves ignored Asher’s sarcasm. “Shoot, even in Dracula, they killed ‘em with knives. These vamps do have some trouble with sunlight, but it only hampers their vision. Most of the traditional methods don’t work. We’ve tried all of them: hawthorn stakes, garlic-infused bullets, UV lights. Not ‘a one of ‘em worked. Cost us some good people.” Greaves made a fist and put it over his heart. “We even tried using silver bullets like what you would use on werewolves. Saw no significant increases in our kill counts and nearly went bankrupt to boot. Learned real quick that there’s a reason bullets are made of lead.”

  Greaves pushed his chair aside with his foot, kneeling in front of Asher to show him the weapon he carried.

  “Heck of a gun,” Asher muttered to himself, concealing his admiration from Greaves.

  “Our weapon of choice is the automatic shotgun. Since you went toe-to-toe with a vampire, I’m sure you have a new appreciation for full-auto weapons. Automatic shotguns are the only auto we could find with a wide enough spread to hit ‘em and enough stopping power to bring ‘em down. I like the X-12. It’s the descendent of the AA-12 automatic shotgun and has a vastly improved rate of fire and twice the magazine capacity. Recoil is minimal, reducing the kick so that yuh don’t lose accuracy. It’s a devastating force when loaded with fragmentation rounds. They’re standard issue, made just for the Legion.”

  Greaves stepped away, pulling his chair back to its former position, his shotgun strapped across his back.

  “Thing is, even shooting ‘em with an X-12 doesn’t always guarantee that they’re dead. Can’t even guarantee it with grenades. They’re tough and heal up quick. They can’t grow back limbs or nothin’ like that, but they got real tough skin, and their regeneration abilities are definitely something. We like to carry bladed weapons like machetes and hatchets. Like to focus on the head once we have ‘em down. Figure once they’re decapitated it’s all over. After all, they ain’t growing that back!”

  “OK, whatever. I honestly couldn’t care less if vampires exist or not,” said Asher, remembering more pressing concerns. “I just want to know what happened to Pritchett, though I assume you just left him there to die, right?” He nearly choked on his own words.

  “Of course not!” Greaves took some real offense this time. “We hauled him out of that house, same as you, though the dart wasn’t needed in his case. Called in an ambulance, and they took him to the hospital.”

  “OK, I guess I’ll just have to assume you’re telling the truth about Pritchett.” Asher believed Greaves was just telling him what he wanted to hear. “But after you were done with him, then what did you do?” Asher reconnected with his instincts. “They’re going to have to go investigate that house and look for evidence. Somebody will figure out what went down pretty quick. You surely had to do something to cover it up.”

  “Well, yeah, we did have to do somethin’ to cover it up. We can’t let it get out that vampires are real. It could lead to massive public panic, and we all know we can’t have that.”

  “What did you do to get rid of all the evidence?” Asher asked out of pure curiosity this time. He didn’t expect Greaves to give him an answer.

  “We did what we always do when the vamps come to the city and invade people’s houses. We get in there and kill whatever vamps we can find. Skipped that part this time. After that, we take a look at anyone that might have been attacked and check them for bites. Now comes the part that I know you won’t like.”

  Greaves paused, choosing his words carefully before he proceeded.

  “We euthanize anyone that’s been bitten. We put them in quarantine for a while first, but after that, they’ve had it. Try to do a good, clean decapitation. I’ve been told they don’t feel a thing that way. I hate having to put people down, but we just can’t do anything for it right now.”

  Asher scoffed, unwilling to believe it.

  “We know vampirism is caused by a virus, but we don’t have a vaccine for it yet.” Greaves ignored him. “All we can do is put down anyone that has been bitten and hope they go onto a better place. Even harder when they’re your own men. That happens quite a bit since we’re usually the ones who get bitten.”

  Greaves stared off into space as though he were trying to remember something.

  “It wasn’t necessary to euthanize anyone from the house we hauled you out of. Total of nine dead, including the vamp. We did find a woman with a severe bite wound to the neck, but she was already dead. Didn’t have a chance to turn. That’s the thing with the vamps we’re after. They don’t turn too many people. Only seen a few turned myself. Usually take care of ‘em before they do.” Greaves’ voice grew deep and severe, sending a chill down Asher’s spine. “The vamps like to kill. Seems like that’s all they want to do sometimes. Kill and eat. Make no mistake, the vamps are predators, and we are their prey.”

  “You’re real good at making up stories.” Asher shook his head in disbelief, unwilling to let Greaves intimidate him. He admitted a lot of what he said made sense, but he preferred to entertain other possibilities. “But that doesn’t tell me how you covered it up.”

  “Yeah, kind of got lost on a tangent there.” Greaves softened his tone and scratched his head. “After we remove everyone from a residence and deal with anyone that was bit, we’ll usually just burn the place down, bodies and all. That’s what we did this time. Do whatever it takes to cover it up. Usually tell the police that we’re FBI or some other national organization with jurisdiction above theirs. Provide them with all the proper information and paperwork, all forged by our own government for just such an occasion. Hasn’t failed yet.”

  “How did you get there so fast?” demanded Asher. “How did you know what was going down and where it was happening?” He grew frustrated. Greaves had an answer for everything.

  “We have our ways. Usually use drones. So many in the air these days that it’s near impossible to pick ours out. We use radio scanners as well. Best we can do without having people on the ground. Got a few police informants. You can be one of those if you don’t want to work directly with us. We have captured vampires in the past and grilled them for information about events that might happen in the future. We don’t do that much, usually results in additional casualties. More trouble than it’s worth and usually doesn’t give us much intel either. Other than that, we use information about their past movements and past attacks and try to predict where they might show up next.”

  “If you’re so good at predicting attacks, then why couldn’t you predict this last one?” Asher could feel his rage brewing anew, feeling he could snap right out of his zip-tie. “I saw my partner get decapitated!”

  “Calm down, Blackthorn,” Greaves motioned with his hand. “Unfortunately, all I can do at this point is apologize for the late arrival. Those first four officers were killed before we could identify the threat, barely made radio contact. We might have gotten there sooner if they had. You’re just lucky you managed to hit that vampire and kill him. We were obviously too late to save you ourselves.”

  Asher was growing tired of Greaves’ explanations. He hadn’t proven anything. He had said some things that made sense, but the whole vampire thing just made his arguments fall flat. Though angry, Asher kept his cool, deciding to probe Greaves for some kind of evidence to back his statements.

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth
about any of this?”

  “Well, we did bother to collect this.” Greaves raised a hand to motion someone over to them.

  A man dressed in full tactical armor and carrying a rumpled-up, bloodstained sack emerged from the darkness and sprinted over to Greaves. Asher frowned when the man approached, unable to form a detailed mental picture of his face, his visage concealed by his helmet’s visor.

  Greaves rose from his seat to take the sack, the masked man quickly retreating into the surrounding abyss. “It’s the head from the vampire you killed.” Greaves removed the head from the sack, holding up the ghastly trophy by the hair, raising it high in the air for all to see.

  Asher winced, remembering how much more terrifying the creature was in life. The face glared back at him, the remaining eye still full of blood-lusting insanity, the knife-like canines protruding from its still snarling mouth. It was truly a gruesome sight, like something pulled from his blood-soaked nightmares.

  Greaves shoved the head back in the sack, motioning the man back over to take it.

  “You realize that doesn’t prove anything other than you have no problem cutting off somebody’s head and putting it in a sack.” Asher’s voice went cold as his repulsion turned to agitation. “He could have just been a freaky drug addict with real long teeth.” As much as he didn’t want Greaves to be right, he barely believed his own words.

  “Hmm, yeah, suppose it doesn’t prove anything,” Greaves smirked, finding the remark amusing. “You’re kind of a smart aleck, aren’t you? Doesn’t matter though, I’m gonna let you go here pretty soon. That’ll show you that we’re not in league with those filthy bloodsuckers. We only associate with ‘em when we’re killin’ ‘em. You’ll find your friend safe in the hospital, and then you’ll know what I say is true.”

  Greaves looked down at the floor, lost in thought for a moment before he looked back up at Asher.

  “You know you could always join the Legion and see for yourself.” He paused to wait for an answer.

  “Sorry, but I’ll have to decline,” said Asher, unable to come up with a clever retort. “I’m just not convinced.” He shrugged, lying.