Fall Prey: The Hunt

by Dallas Massey

  Asher aimed at the vampire nearest him, waiting for it to draw in closer so he could hit it with the full force of his fire.

  The vampire suddenly ceased its charge and pointed a wet, dirty finger in his direction. It lowered its head and ran straight for him, covering ground quickly, leaping over debris and smoking wrecks to reach him. Asher held his ground, staring down his sights, his weapon trained on its head. The creature was oddly large.

  “They’re coming right for our line, sir!” cried Tarango.

  “Shut up, Lieutenant!” Kilgore shouted. “We got ‘em right where we want ‘em! Fire!”

  The blast of nearly one hundred shotguns hit the crazed, charging enemy. The attacking pack of vampires continued toward the company line, only slightly slowed by the repeated gunfire.

  Asher pelted his target with shot after shot, nearly every one striking it in the head, his fragmentation rounds somehow unable to penetrate its strange helmet.

  “That armor is killing us, sir!” Tarango yelled with renewed concern.

  “Keep up the fire!” Kilgore grew enraged. “We can’t let them escape!”

  Asher continued to fire on the vampire, never letting up, suddenly finding a ragged hole in the armor resting against its forehead. He immediately focused solely on that spot. A grin appeared on his face when he saw a fountain of blood and brains explode from the vampire’s exposed skull.

  The monster screamed as it staggered to the ground, falling at Asher’s feet, its dirty clawed hand outstretched, grasping for his leg. Aaron stood near him, giving him a thumb’s up, his booted foot resting on a dead vampire’s ruined, pulpy head.

  “Driscoll!”

  Asher heard Ito scream through the gunfire. He jerked his firearm around, nearly pointing the muzzle at his fellows. He was a substantial distance from the sergeant’s position, unable to see what was occurring on that side through the rain.

  “Retain your positions and hold the line!” Kilgore called in response, seeing several other soldiers turn toward the sergeant.

  Asher remained in place, unable to fully comply with his orders. He could only assume one of the vampires had killed his assault group leader.

  “Sergeant!” Kilgore cried out. “What’s your status?”

  “I’m fine, sir!” Ito nearly screamed into her helmet, her voice shrill. “They got Corporal Driscoll! It was a big one! It just grabbed him and ran!”

  “Fall back!” Greaves’ voice bellowed into their heads, drowning out the sergeant’s cries. “We’re gonna give the test subject and the hounds time to leave the field before we start clearing the place! Witchburn wants no contact with either of them at this point in the operation!”

  Asher gazed back over toward the vampire line, the test subject and his friends already vanished, vampire bodies littering the ground, all of the enemy dead or fleeing. Only the hounds remained, returned to their more pleasant selves, many of them laying on the ground to gnaw on discarded body parts.

  “What about our dead and wounded, sir?” asked Tarango.

  “Pull your people back!” Greaves commanded, ignoring Tarango’s plea. “We will regroup and catch our breath! I will send someone else out for our dead and wounded!”

  “What about Driscoll?” Asher turned and yelled. He hoped one of the officers would hear him. Both Aaron and Milo remained on either side of Asher, the same look of concern scrawled across their faces.

  Orders prohibited all personnel below lieutenant from using their microphones during the assault. The higher-ranking officers wanted to prevent the flood of input. Asher couldn’t say he had grown close to the bossy, narcissistic assault group leader, but he still didn’t relish losing him.

  “Move to the fallback position, Private!”

  Asher found Lieutenant Tarango standing off toward his right, rainwater flowing over his body armor.

  “Those are your orders!” The lieutenant motioned with his shotgun. “It would be a good idea to follow them!” He held the weapon at his hip, and though he hadn’t pointed it directly at them, the stiffness of his body language suggested he might use it.

  “I saw Corporal Driscoll fall!” Tarango’s posture softened. “One of those filthy bloodsuckers got him! Just carried him off! He’s a dead man!”

  Asher remained where he stood, looking over at Aaron and then Milo, the three of them stunned by Driscoll’s disappearance and the lieutenant’s brazen attitude.

  “Fall back!” Tarango roared. He broke through their mental haze, the severe grip on his weapon returned.

  The three of them instantly ran for the line of trucks, the barrels of their weapons pointed toward the ground as they sprinted around and away from Tarango. Asher looked back for just a moment, finding the enraged lieutenant right on their heels.

  Chapter XXIV

  Excruciating Extraction

  Asher took his eyes from his gun sights and looked to see who stood next to him. Unable to place the man, he returned his attention to his weapon, intent on what lay in front of him. He and the rest of his company formed a line in front of a light pole on the plant's perimeter, all with their weapons trained on their captive.

  The vampire stood in front of him, bound securely to the pole, a cloth gag stuffed into his mouth. The Legion had apprehended him sometime earlier, finding him hiding in a small corner office within the hanger cowering under his desk, too cowardly to attempt an escape. The Legion remained on the premise of the slaughter plant, ordered to complete the operation by thoroughly clearing the area.

  Once given the signal, Asher’s company made sure no escaped enemy soldiers remained near the destroyed fences. Kilgore had called them into position where they now stood after receiving word of the prisoner’s capture. Commander Greaves was convinced this particular vampire was the one responsible for overseeing all operations at the plant. It was a viable theory given the expensive-looking blue suit the vampire wore. It was far from appropriate attire for someone who worked on the ground floor of a slaughter plant.

  In addition to the suit, the vampire’s physical appearance was significantly different from any other Asher had seen thus far. He wasn’t sure if he was of African descent and also happened to be albino or had some other skin condition.

  Asher yawned, wondering if Greaves would arrive at all. His doubt ceased when he heard the sound of boots on asphalt. He turned from the vampire to spot the commander walking toward the firing line, pale moonlight glistening upon his bald head.

  Greaves had ditched his usual dark tank top and jeans and opted for black body armor and a military trench coat, only keeping his boots and signature sunglasses. He puffed out his chest out as he swaggered toward the line of personnel like a conquering emperor. Greaves continued over the asphalt until he reached Captain Kilgore, who stood off to the side of the line.

  “You got him to say anything yet?” asked Greaves.

  “Not at all, sir,” Kilgore answered.

  “What have you tried so far?”

  “We’ve threatened to blow his freakin’ brains out several times already, sir. He just won’t give us anything.”

  “Well, no wonder he won’t say nothin’,” Greaves chuckled. “You can’t just point a gun at somebody and expect them to spill it. Yuh gotta use finesse when yuh interrogate someone.”

  Greaves left the captain standing there as he made his way through the line toward the captive.

  “You best start talking soon, vamp, or it’s just gonna keep gettin’ worse for yuh.” Greaves pulled the gag from the captive’s mouth, stepping back when he did so, expecting the vampire to lash out at him with a torrent of screams.

  “I already told your captain!” Desmond shrieked in desperation. “I know nothing!”

  “Ah, come on now,” Greaves coaxed. ”Yuh oughta know those ain’t the answers we’re looking for. Yuh have to know something.”

  “I have no information to give you!” The vampire screamed as though he might start sobbing.-

  “I just don’t believ
e all that. I mean, we catch you in what looks like your own private office, wearing that fancy pants suit of yours, and somehow you’re not the neck-biter in charge?”

  “I know nothing!”

  “Well, I guess if death threats and guns ain’t gonna do the trick, we better try somethin’ else.” Greaves put a hand to his chin.

  “Looks like the filthy bloodsucker has gone and made his choice!” Greaves turned to the gathered personnel, raising a gloved fist toward the sky for punctuation. “Thinks he ain’t gonna tell me nothing!” Greaves taunted.

  His words elicited jeers from the soldiers, all directed at the bound vampire.

  “We can’t have that, sir!” shouted one of the men over the others. The speaker was Captain Kilgore.

  “Don’t go a’ worryin’ about it, though!” the commander called back to them. “I’m fixin’ to teach ‘im the error of his ways! Bring me my interrogation tools, Captain!” Greaves motioned toward Kilgore.

  “Yes, sir!” said Kilgore, sprinting across the asphalt toward their fleet of Strykers now resting nearby.

  The captain returned some minutes later carrying a rather unassuming briefcase. He passed through their line of personnel to reach the commander, stopping to hold the case out flat in front of him.

  Greaves stepped toward the captain, unlatching the lid of the briefcase, as Kilgore held it open. The commander then methodically removed his leather gloves and placed them in the case before taking out a pair of small objects, a metallic gleam briefly shining in Asher’s eyes. Greaves closed the case and motioned the captain away.

  Desmond strained his neck to see what the commander now held in his hands.

  “Suppose I don’t need to tell you what these are.” Greaves turned back around to face Desmond.

  He held up his right hand, showing him the particularly gruesome-looking pair of spiked brass knuckles he wore.

  “These are custom. Solid titanium. Tough as heck, but hardly weigh a thing.” Greaves opened his hand to reveal a second pair of knuckles, bouncing them around in his palm before slipping them over the fingers of his left hand. “The spikes were purely my idea. Makes it easier to turn yuh into a bloody pulp.”

  The commander stepped closer to Desmond.

  “These are illegal in nearly every state, even Texas. Absolutely not supposed to have ‘em. Witchburn would throw a fit if she ever found out. Problem is, they’re just too useful to go givin’ up. Perfect for beatin’ the snot out of even the stubbornest of bloodsuckers!”

  “Could you possibly cease this mindless dribble?” Desmond gave Greaves a look of defiance, mustering up at least an ounce of courage.

  Asher frowned, feeling any display of bravery was ill-advised when bound and confronted by a man like the commander.

  “All you’ve done is talk and shown me a rather brutish piece of jewelry,” Desmond returned the commander’s mockery. “Do you really think a worthless blood bag like you is going to convince me to speak?”

  “I like to think I’m pretty good with ‘em.” Greaves continued to admire his knuckles, paying little heed to Desmond’s words. “Can break whatever bone I hit,” he remarked, his voice distant.

  “You can torture me all you want!” Desmond growled with fervor. “It’s an entirely useless tactic! I will give you nothing!”

  “You got one last chance to tell me what I need to know before things have to get painful,” Greaves threatened. He stepped ever closer, glaring at Desmond through his sunglasses. “Heck, even if you won’t give us anything, I reckon it’ll stop all your back sass!”

  “Burn in Hell blood bag!” Desmond howled.

  Greaves dealt Desmond a quick but heavy blow to the ribs.

  Desmond screamed on impact. A face twisted in pain replaced his defiance.

  Asher cringed, hearing the vampire’s bones crack and break even from where he stood.

  Desmond remained motionless, occasionally wincing due to the pain, a small amount of blood staining his expensive suit. Greaves stepped back and stood for a moment, pausing to allow the vampire additional time to answer the question.

  “You’re gonna have to say somethin’!” Greaves drove his fist into the opposite side of the vampire’s ribcage.

  Desmond howled, his face contorting, the sound of bones breaking once again reverberating through the air. Blood stained the other side of the vampire’s suit when Greaves pulled his fist from the newly formed wound.

  “Yuh sure you don’t have somethin’ yuh wanna share?” Greaves asked, waiting for the vampire’s answer. “The next ones will be to the face, and it’s only going to keep gettin’ worse from there!”

  “Hmm… ” Desmond paused, sarcasm in his voice. “You’ll have to excuse the lewdness of my language, but go drop dead, you swine!”

  Asher shook his head. Desmond was either tougher or more stupid than he thought.

  “One to the head coming up!” Greaves dealt Desmond a hardy blow to the forehead, the spikes of his brass knuckles puncturing the skin.

  Blood flowed from the wounds, running down the vampire’s face when the commander pulled his fist away. Desmond didn’t scream this time, dazed by the strike.

  “Now that one was just me being nice. The next is to your jaw, and I intend on breaking it. Ain’t gonna be no fun being a bloodsucker with a broke jaw.”

  “My bosses never go by their real names!” Desmond shrieked, sounding like a dying cat. “Nobody within our organization does!”

  “Well, that’s good to know, but how does that help us? You’re going to have to do better than that if yuh want all this to stop.”

  “The Master is the head of our organization, but I have no idea where he could be found! No one does! He constantly moves! He has to because we can’t risk his discovery by people like you!”

  “Once again, good to know, but it does us no good. Just out of curiosity, how does your organization run if you have no idea where the boss man is?”

  “We meet with him by appointment only,” Desmond explained. ”We send word to his selected couriers and exchange information that way. If it’s an especially urgent message, we send it over the dark web. It’s the only way we can communicate without risking discovery.”

  “You got any other names or aliases you might want to share with us?” There was an aggressive edge to Greaves’s voice. “Your boss’s alias ain’t gonna cut it if you want to stop all this.”

  “Our head of research and development calls himself The Surgeon,” Desmond spoke without hesitation.

  “Hmm… that’s interesting…” Greaves spoke to himself now, his interest suddenly diverted. “That’s the first I’ve ever heard about something like that. Had no idea y’all was that involved or went that deep. Thought you were just messin’ in traffickin’ food mostly. Now, can you tell me exactly where we can find this Surgeon feller?” Greaves pulled back his fist as though he were preparing to strike Desmond again.

  “He has a big lab in the San Gabriel Mountains in California!” Desmond screamed, reacting to the commander’s movements. “It’s off of Highway 39, right off of the closed portion! It’s built right into the mountain! If you bring me a map, I can show you exactly where he is!”

  “Wow, you got way more goin’ than I ever thought!” Greaves grinned. “Sinkin’ some serious money into this organization of yours, up and buildin’ laboratories right into mountains. Who does that? That sure is seclusion for yuh.”

  “Yes, I was told the site was selected purely for secrecy,” Desmond stopped the commander.

  “Do yuh know what kind of research he does?” Greaves returned to a more somber tone.

  “No, not exactly.” Desmond shook his head. “All of his experiments seem to be biological in nature. He has had us provide him with specific human specimens in the past, usually individuals with certain blood-related diseases. It all has something to do with creating a more reliable food supply.”

  “Um… Hmm…” Greaves took a moment to think. ”Yeah, that’s not much.
You see much of what he’s got in there?”

  “I have seen a few things.” Desmond nodded. “Lots of living human and primate specimens, lots of dogs and rats. Some things I didn’t recognize. He was keeping something big in there too. Some kind of giant animal. It seemed rather dangerous. I suppose there could have even been more than one. Whatever it was, I certainly never want to go near it.”

  “And I don’t suppose you know any other names?” Greaves crossed his arms, his frustration visible in the pulsating vein in his neck. “Not even of your immediate superiors?”

  “Sorry,” said Desmond, his confidence fading. “I don’t have any more names that might help you.”

  “Ha!” Greaves chuckled. “Do you expect me to believe that’s everything you know?” He paused, ready for Desmond to act up yet again. “Doesn’t matter, though,” Greaves continued. “You’ll be giving us plenty to work with just by spilling your guts about this Surgeon.”

  “You’re… You’re not going to kill me now, are you?” Desmond's tone was sorrowful. The vampire closed his eyes and turned his head away from the commander.

  “Well, normally we would.” Greaves slouched as though he were disappointed. “You’re kind of a special case seeing as you are so willing to speak to us. You’re easily the most talkative vampire I’ve ever met.”

  “What are you going to do to me?” Desmond was wide-eyed, more worried now that he knew he would live.

  “We’re gonna drag you back to HQ and give you over to High Commander Witchburn.” A wicked grin slowly appeared on the commander’s face. “She would love to have a neck-biting rat like you. Be the best captive yet, that is so long as you keep toeing the line.” Greaves turned to walk away from the captured vampire.

  “How are you going to know what I say is true?” Desmond screamed, defiance suddenly returning. “For all you dimwitted blood bags know, I could be leading you into a trap! Surely even a buffoon like you would know better than to just trust me! That’s what makes torture such a useless tactic!” He accepted his fate and now only sought to ridicule the commander.