by Bill Blume
Grandpa grunted in a way that suggested he still didn’t believe Gidion.
“This running late shit needs to stop. Are we clear?”
“I still have to sleep sometime, and these aren’t the bodies you really pay me to drive around.”
For an old guy who didn’t look like he could bench press half his body weight, Grandpa’s glare looked fit to slice a man in half.
“If you don’t want to drive them, then you don’t have to get paid. That clear enough for you?” Grandpa sounded like a rabid, snaggletoothed bear when he got like this and just as mean.
“Yes, sir.” Gidion restrained himself from tossing in a sarcastic salute.
“Go home.”
“Sunset is almost an hour away.”
Grandpa slammed the end of his cane on the concrete. Despite the rubber tip, it still cracked like a bone split in half.
“I thought you needed more sleep.”
Gidion held up his coffee cup. “I’m fine, and I’ve got—”
“No, I’m not in the mood for the bullshit.” He stood and hobbled back inside towards his office. “Besides, your dad isn’t working tonight.”
Before Gidion could protest, Grandpa slammed the door shut.
“Fine.”
Grandpa could gripe all he wanted. They’d see how well he complained when Gidion hauled in GQ Drac’s corpse later tonight.
Chapter Six
Much as it galled Gidion, he didn’t ignore Grandpa’s advice about his hoodies smelling like dead vampires. For his plan to take down GQ Drac, he needed to go undetected.
Ambushing the vampire also meant getting there early. If he moved fast enough, maybe he could get in and out of his house before Dad tried to turn tonight into a Father-Son outing to the movies or dinner.
He checked the clock on his dash as he parked in front of the house. He’d made good time getting home, but that didn’t leave very long to get in and out of if he was going to reach the hotel before sunset.
Just as Gidion ran up the driveway, Dad came out the front door with coat in hand. He was dressed in a red shirt with black pants and a black vest.
“Where are you going?” Gidion asked.
Dad looked as if he’d been caught climbing out of a back window in the middle of the night. “I’m just meeting some friends at the Byrd.”
“Really?” Gidion grinned as he walked past him. “You don’t usually dress like that when you go to the Byrd.”
Dad glared at him over the rims of his glasses. “I’m going to a wine bar afterwards.”
Just as Dad was about to climb into his TARDIS-blue Corolla, Gidion shouted to him. “Say ‘Hi!’ to Ms. Aldgate for me!”
Dad stopped in the middle of getting into the car. His face turned as crimson as his shirt.
His eyebrows pinched towards each other as he looked at Gidion. No doubt he wondered how Gidion knew about his date, but he didn’t voice the question. Instead, Dad said, “I’ll do that.” Just before he closed the door and drove off, he muttered, “Smart ass.”
Gidion ran inside, bathing in the glory of his small but significant victory over the parental unit.
He found Page in her usual evening spot, sprawled across his bed as if she owned it. She stretched as Gidion rubbed her tummy, but as soon as he pulled his hand away, she craned her head to look at him with wide-eyed dissatisfaction.
“Later, furball.” Gidion stripped off his work clothes and tossed the suit and tie onto the bed. The storm of fabric sent Page into retreat, plopping down and walking out into the hallway.
Gidion snatched his t-shirt with the red bat on it off the floor and jerked on a pair of black jeans. His rabbit’s foot went into his jean’s pocket. After pulling on a dark red turtleneck, he slipped his sword on, the strap going over his left shoulder like a bandolier. This placed the sword upside down for an easy draw with his right hand. He found that much easier, pulling the short sword out from beneath the back of his jacket rather than trying to wrestle it out through the back of his collar.
Before he left, he decided to arm himself with at least one more bit of good luck, especially after all of his close calls from last night. He searched his desk, rifling through a drawer filled with a lifetime’s collection of colored pencils, markers, and highlighters. About the time he reached the Crayola Age, he found what he needed. His fingers brushed against something that didn’t feel like wax or plastic. The cylinder of bamboo pulled free. He brought the hollowed out stick up to his lips and blew through it, even though the sound was little more than a muffled cough. The six-inch long piece of wood was a refugee from a set of broken wind chimes that had blown free from his neighbor’s house and into the back yard during a tropical storm when he was seven. The night of that storm, which was the weekend before the school year started, he’d spent the entire time hidden under the covers wishing for an extra good luck charm to get through the storm. He’d read that bamboo could generate good luck, so he kept it in his backpack for the rest of the school year. He’d earned straight As for the first time ever on every report card. He slid on his jacket and shoved the bamboo chime into the inner breast pocket.
The early evening sunlight turned a shade of fire as he ran to his car and floored it. This was going to be cutting it close. The traffic cooperated, though. He flew up the Powhite Parkway and onto I-95 in less than fifteen minutes. Another five, and he pulled into the lot of the hotel.
The eastern sky had slipped on the cover of night, but the western sun glowed too brightly for any vampire to risk going outside or to peek out a window. God bless the flammable dead.
GQ Drac’s less than stylish Volkswagen van was shedding rust like dandruff in the same place Gidion last saw it. He parked in the same space as last night, a safe distance away to prevent detection. Waiting just long enough to be certain no one was watching, he walked over to the unlocked van and climbed into the back.
He stayed crouched on the floor of the van. His position gave him enough of a view between the front seats to watch for his target. He’d spent all day thinking on this plan, going over the particulars as he drove body after body to its final resting place. The idea was simple enough: stay low and hidden, surprise the vamp when he opened the door, then kill him. Sounded great right up until he climbed into this van.
Gidion wasn’t accustomed to waiting, not like this. Walking down the street with a vampire following a dozen yards or more behind him until they reached a discreet location to go mano-a-vampo wasn’t that bad, by comparison. At least that kept him moving and adjusting plans as the situation evolved. Climbing into a vampire’s mobile fangshack and waiting for the guy to get in it with him suddenly felt like the most dumbass thing he’d done since he bought an issue of The Incredible Hulk.
He lost track of time after the entire sky went dark. The last thing he could risk was to check his phone and have the light of the display expose him.
A nervous shiver made him realize he hadn’t eaten since lunch. That’s when he spotted the vampire, dressed in a blinding white dress shirt and black dress pants. He was pulling a travel bag with the small wheels behind him as he walked between the cars parked near the hotel. About damn time.
Gidion pulled out his sword and set it beside him on the floor of the van. The van’s interior limited his movement, so pulling the sword out now would make it easier to grab when the time arrived to lop off GQ Drac’s head. He risked another glance between the front seats and over the dashboard. The vampire wasn’t looking at his van to notice anyone was in it. He was too busy looking over his shoulder as he walked between two parked cars. That’s when Gidion realized, GQ Drac wasn’t alone. He was talking to someone behind him.
As soon as the stylish monster got out from between the cars, an equally well-dressed woman fell into step beside him.
He crouched to stay hidden. His mind raced through his options, trying to figure out in seconds how to adjust the plan he’d spent all day putting together, because the glance had been enough to tell
him that he wasn’t facing one vampire.
He’d cornered himself in a fight with a fanged Bonnie and Clyde.
Chapter Seven
Gidion had considered every possible scenario in this ambush—almost. What if GQ Drac took a long time to come out of his room? What if he spotted him in the van? What if the vampire had a gun?
He just never imagined the bastard would have a partner.
Gidion tried to work through a new plan in the seconds left to him, but the only thing his mind managed was a dozen different ways to call himself an absolute, boneheaded idiot.
He considered picking up his sword or pulling out his box cutter, to go straight for a killing blow, but he’d never behead one without giving the other a chance to get away or tear into him. By the time the vampires reached the van, Gidion had resigned himself to the only thing he could do: strike hard and fast, because the only advantage he had left was surprise. Once that was gone, he’d be screwed.
He heard the vampires and their rolling luggage stroll up to the passenger side of the van. The rusty door groaned as the vampire slid it open. Gidion had positioned himself just out of view towards the back. His hands yearned for a weapon, but for what he had planned, he needed both hands free.
The vampire tossed his bags into the van. As he did so, Gidion grabbed him by the arm and pulled. He’d envisioned flinging the vampire’s body across the van and slamming his head into the far side of the interior. Didn’t work like that, though. The vampire’s shin caught on the bottom edge of the door frame. The attack laid him out on the floor instead.
Gidion moved fast enough to go for “Bonnie” and caught her by the shirt just as she was reaching to stop GQ Drac’s fall.
He’d aimed for surprise. Judging from the wide-eyed look on her pale face as he jerked her into the van, he’d hit the mark with a bazooka.
The cramped space didn’t lend itself to anything fancy. Fists, elbows, and knees thrust in random disorder with mixed results. Fangs bit at air, clothing, and flesh. Gidion smelled blood before he ever felt the wounds. He dodged a few hits from each vampire which landed on the other. Gidion felt like he’d tossed himself into a bag of rabid cats fighting over a ball of catnip, denying him the chance to go for any of his weapons.
One shot to his chest nailed him right where he was carrying the bamboo stick. Pain laced throughout the left side of his torso. Yeah, that extra good luck charm was really paying off.
The metal interior worked to his advantage, though, as did his position in the pile. He might have been trapped between them, but once he got a solid grip on Bonnie, he slammed her head against the ceiling of the car.
Nails raked at his hand as Bonnie fought to get free of his grip. He slammed his elbow into GQ Drac’s head, then slammed her head against the ceiling and the side of the van until the fight in her faded. The combined weight of their bodies on GQ Drac had limited his ability to get into the fight, and as Gidion flung Bonnie off towards the front of the van, that all changed.
Cold hands grabbed him by the back of the neck and shoulder and shoved him up at the ceiling, just as Gidion had done with Bonnie. Gidion threw up his arms to keep his head from taking the hit. When the first strike failed, GQ Drac went for a second try, but on the rebound, Gidion was ready. He planted his feet against the ceiling and pinned GQ Drac down with his body. He felt the breath from the vampire against the back of his throat. He slammed the back of his head into GQ Drac’s face twice.
Gidion grabbed his box cutter from his jacket pocket and stabbed it into the side of the vampire’s thigh and then sliced up the outside of the leg. The vampire’s scream deafened him.
He lost any sense of position in the fight. One moment, he was on top of the vampire, the next second they were separated.
When faced with heavy blood loss, vampires tended to go one of two ways. Some panicked and ran for it. GQ Drac fell into the “go-feral-and-all-bloodlusty” camp. Good news: GQ wasn’t going to run away; bad news: he wanted blood something fierce, and Gidion was the closest snack. Even worse, Bonnie started moving again.
The “advantage” of surprise looked lousy right about now.
GQ Drac lunged first. Gidion snatched his sword from the floor of the van and took his best swing for the throat. He hit the target, but the limited space prevented him from getting the momentum for a proper beheading. A deep gash into GQ Drac’s throat sprayed blood throughout the van’s interior. GQ grabbed his own throat in a vain effort to stop the blood loss as he dropped to the floor.
Having recovered from the blows to her head, Bonnie attacked. Gidion swung at her with his sword, but GQ’s body bumped against Gidion’s forearms before he could finish the swing.
Bonnie grabbed Gidion by the throat and slammed him down. Even with the vinyl mats for cushion, the crack of his head against the floor knocked him for a loop. He lost his grip on his sword and the weapon disappeared in the shadows of the van. His heart thumped in a chaotic rhythm, eager to run. Too late for that, though. Bonnie bit at his throat. Pain tore through the base of his neck as her teeth snapped down on him, but his jacket and hoodie prevented her from drawing blood. The mouthful of fabric just barely saved him from getting his jugular ripped open.
Her face contorted in disgust. GQ Drac flailed, whimpering in agony as his blood gushed from his throat. His hand slapped across the front of her face, fingers unintentionally jabbing at her eyes. The split second of distraction cost her. Gidion grabbed her throat and slammed her head against the window. The glass cracked. The impact also knocked the curtains off and flooded the interior with artificial light. Bonnie’s eyes glazed over.
Gidion rolled her onto her back, sprawled across GQ Drac. The pair’s struggles entangled their bodies, and gave Gidion the chance to finish them. He picked up his sword and slammed it down on Bonnie’s throat. The killing blow required more than one strike, a few missing the mark.
He hammered with the sword, severing Bonnie’s head and then hacking off GQ Drac’s. He didn’t stop, even after the second head rolled free, each swing excising the fear that had possessed him.
His hands shook, fingers trapped around the hilt of the sword and unable to relax. He could smell the streaks of blood running down the left side of his face. Nausea almost overwhelmed him, and only the gentle rocking of his body kept him from emptying himself.
The fog of the fight cleared from his mind. He looked up and out the front window to make sure he was still alone. No one was in the parking lot. A glance at the hotel didn’t reveal any curtains pulled back to suggest someone might be watching.
He pulled up his black hood to hide his face, which was streaked with blood. He wanted to wipe it off, but his sleeves were soaked. Most of his fights took place in the open, not in the back of a van.
He left the side door of the van cracked open after he got out and moved his car. He backed the Little Hearse into the space next to the van but stopped halfway so that the back of his car was right next to the side door of the van. Transferring the bodies didn’t prove as difficult as he’d feared. He didn’t typically bring in two bodies, though. The back of his car was a bit cramped with the corpses. He covered them as best he could with the sports gear he kept back there for just that purpose. People saw what they expected. Even if they looked, they’d only notice the glove, baseball bats and other equipment, not the odd lumps in the dark tarp covering the bodies.
He found the keys to the VW van in GQ Drac’s pants pocket. At some point, he’d need to do something about the van, take it to a self service car wash and rinse it out before dumping it somewhere. For now, he locked it to keep anyone from snooping.
He tossed the orphaned luggage into the back seat of his car. The drive to the funeral home tested his nerves. He didn’t dare speed and kept just below the speed limit as he got onto the interstate. During the drive, he cracked into a case of moist wipes he kept in his glove compartment and wiped off the blood on his face and his shaky hands.
He reached his destinati
on in fifteen long minutes without ever passing a police car. Good thing, too. Because even if he didn’t get pulled over, he doubted his nerves could handle the stress.
Only after he clicked the garage door opener on his sun visor and then backed into the garage did he realize he’d been so nervous that he’d never turned on any music. He didn’t get out of the car right away, even with the stink of blood and death in the back. Last time he had to pull himself together after a hunt had been his first one. Grandpa had followed his patrol that night, circling through downtown in a real hearse. If he’d needed to drive that night, he never would have reached the funeral home without getting into a wreck or pulling over to vomit. He wanted to throw up now, and the stench of blood married to the chemical odor of the moist wipes didn’t help. The smell was what forced him out of the car a minute later.
He barked a laugh in surprise as his legs wobbled through his first steps from the car and into the funeral home. Routine settled in and helped him through the next half hour. The cremator took a bit to warm up, and as he waited to toss his kills into the flames, he dug through their pockets and their suitcases. They both had laptops, his-and-her Dell Inspirons. The rest of what he found wasn’t illuminating, just clothes. Digging through Bonnie’s panties made him feel like a pervert.
He glanced at the cell phones and wallets before tossing them into their respective suitcases. Bonnie was actually a Teanna Carter, assuming the Oregon driver’s license wasn’t a fake. GQ Drac turned out to be a George Hammond from New York. That the first initial matched up with the nickname Gidion had given him was just too damn perfect. The resulting laughter settled his nerves, and just in time.
“What the fuck are you doing, boy?”
Gidion spun around. His instinctive retreat pressed his back to the conveyer belt where Bonnie & GQ Drac’s bodies waited on a cardboard mat to slide into the cremator.
“Good God, Grandpa!” Dammit, his hands were shaking again. He shoved them into the pockets of his hoodie to hide them. “What are you doing here?”