Gidion's Blood

by Bill Blume

  “Grandpa! Pick up!”

  His eyes shifted all over the park as he yelled. He was looking for any hint of movement. The only thing moving was Andrea, coming up beside him. She looked more panicked the longer he yelled into the phone.

  The machine hung up on him. He dialed again.

  “Gidion.” Andrea’s fingers wrapped around his bicep.

  He shook his head, refusing to answer her unspoken question.

  All the details ran together. Grandpa wasn’t answering. That meant one of three things: not home, not sober, or not alive. From here, he could make it to Grandpa’s in five minutes, but only if he didn’t take Andrea back home.

  He hung up when the answering machine picked up again.

  He tried Grandpa’s cell phone. It went straight to voice mail. Probably not even turned on. He tried the office phone at the funeral home.

  Andrea turned him to look at her. “Gidion, you’re scaring me.”

  Five minutes to reach Grandpa’s, but only if he left Andrea here or took her with him. The other option required taking her home first. That changed five minutes into a half hour or longer.

  Grandpa didn’t answer the office phone.

  Not home or not sober or not alive.

  “Do you know anyone who lives around here?”

  “What?”

  He grabbed her by the hand and pulled for her to follow him. “Anyone around here!”

  “No, why?”

  “It’s my Grandpa.” They climbed into the Little Hearse. He shoved the key into the ignition, but then stopped. “Andrea, I don’t have time for a lie. How much did you hear when you listened to me and Ms. Aldgate the other day?”

  “What?”

  “When she kept me after class.”

  He was rewarded by a look that could only be described by one word: caught.

  “All of it?” Gidion asked.

  “Was late to English because of that.” She crossed her arms. “I was worried about you.”

  “Fine.” He nodded to himself as he reached his decision, then cranked his car. “I hunt and kill vampires. Don’t tell anyone.”

  The Little Hearse launched out of its parking space. Andrea shrieked and grabbed the door handle.

  The few minutes of conversation between Church Hill and across the river to Grandpa’s house went about the way Gidion expected. Vampires are real. They don’t sparkle, and they aren’t nice. No, they don’t change into bats or anything else. They can live forever, assuming they avoid the sun and a hunter. The catch is that they have to feed on human blood, and there’s no animal substitute. No, seriously, they don’t sparkle.

  Gidion slowed the car as they pulled onto Grandpa’s street. Even though it was only a few minutes past nine, the street was deserted. People didn’t walk around here at night without a gun or a knife. That worked to his advantage, because if anyone was watching Grandpa’s house, then they had to find a pretty inconvenient place to hide.

  Grandpa’s white, single-story house wasn’t competing for a place in Better Homes & Gardens magazine. The small front yard was more dirt than grass, but then the Keep family had always been better about putting dead things in the ground.

  The beat-up pickup Grandpa drove was parked in the driveway, forcing his internal mantra to reduce from three possibilities to two: not sober or not alive. He’d never prayed so hard for his Grandpa to be drunk.

  Even without the front porch light on and his car driving by at twenty-five miles per hour, he could see that the door wasn’t closed. The fanged smiley face was impossible to see, though.

  He circled the block.

  “I’m going to park the car in a moment,” Gidion said as Grandpa’s house disappeared from view. “When I get out, you’re going to switch to the driver’s seat. Keep the car locked. If anything happens, you drive like hell for home. Don’t wait for me. You got it?”

  Andrea hadn’t released her death grip on the door handle, even though the car was no longer flying past the sound barrier. “I don’t have a driver’s license. I don’t even have my learner’s permit yet.”

  He didn’t need to look her in the eyes to know she wasn’t convinced yet. Who would be? Ms. Aldgate had been attacked by a vampire, had its fangs to her throat, and if not for Gidion, she might have convinced herself the guy had just been a mugger.

  “I need you to do this. No arguments.”

  “Gidion—”

  “No!” They’d rolled past the house directly behind Grandpa’s without a sign of anyone. “You need to do what I’m telling you, or you’re going to get yourself killed. It’s that simple.”

  “Why not call the police?”

  “Bringing them into this isn’t going to help anything. These things have time on their side. It’s either kill them now or spend every night after that looking over my shoulder until they come for me.”

  Of course, there was also the matter of his dad. There was no way to call the cops without Dad finding out. That Grandpa’s house was in the city of Richmond and not in Dad’s jurisdiction of Henrico County didn’t help. This wasn’t the kind of thing where he and Grandpa could keep him in the dark.

  Gidion parked on the street in front of the neighbor’s house. He left the car running.

  “Anything happens, you drive home. No arguments.”

  “The front door is open. Just call the cops, Gidion.”

  “I just told you not to argue about this.”

  “This is stupid. You’re getting ready to walk into a house that’s possibly been broken into. There could be someone in there with a gun, and I’m pretty sure you aren’t wearing a bulletproof vest.” She grabbed his arm. “Call the cops, Gid.”

  “Anyone comes near this car, you drive away.” He didn’t say anything else, just got out and locked the car.

  He told himself she’d drive out of here, if something did happen. He didn’t believe it, but he couldn’t focus on that.

  The night’s cold and silence worked in his favor, if someone was hiding out here. They couldn’t sneak up on him. That advantage ended at the front door. If anyone was waiting inside, they’d know the instant he stepped on the front porch.

  He considered circling the house but decided it wasn’t worth it. The main point of doing that was to find any signs of entry, and that was staring him in the face. The front door was half open. As he neared it, the fanged smiley face became visible in the thin moonlight. He forced himself not to focus on it or on the fact that it probably wasn’t paint at all.

  The inside of the house was draped in night, denying him from seeing anything inside as he approached. He took the first step, and the warped wood groaned as it took on his weight. The box cutter in his hand didn’t offer much comfort. The last time he’d been forced to check on Grandpa in the middle of the night, the old man had stumbled out the front door with a rifle pointed at Gidion’s head and a full tank of alcohol in his brain. The faint scent of blood in the air drew a silent prayer from him for history to repeat itself, but nothing and no one stirred.

  This house, with its aged wood and peeling paint, suffered from the architectural equivalent of arthritis. If anyone was inside and hadn’t heard him on the front steps, they certainly would hear the door once he pushed it.

  Time to abandon subtle.

  He shoved it open and jumped to the side. The metal hinges grated, but that was the only noise. Still no attack. If anyone was here, what were they waiting for?

  His eyes needed a moment to adjust after he slipped inside. He wasn’t going to be any more vulnerable than at this moment.

  As his pupils widened, the lines of the room became more defined. He saw the sofa, the coffee table. Weapons lined the walls. Grandpa kept a small armory in this place, swords and guns mounted and displayed. No matter where you started in this house, Grandpa had placed a weapon within easy reach. This was how an older, retired vampire hunter lived.

  The smell of blood grew more pronounced as Gidion pushed deeper into the small house. He listene
d for any movement, but the only sounds came from him. He gripped his box cutter more tightly.

  Then he saw the shape on the hardwood floor, just past the coffee table. He hesitated, fighting against the urge to run to that silhouette that could only belong to a prone body. The shape and size of the body was right for Grandpa, but Gidion wasn’t even positive it was a body; he didn’t want it to be.

  His heart raged against the inside of his chest. Gidion found it difficult to hear anything over his own breathing, which was getting faster. The closer he came to the body, the less he held to his control. The incoherent screams he wanted to release battled within his mind against the reptilian need to survive.

  His eyes adjusted enough to finally see the long smear of blood along the floor leading to the body. The body hadn’t fallen there. The realization silenced his inner turmoil.

  Only one reason explained moving his Grandpa’s body.

  Ambush.

  He glanced around the house, looking for the perfect place for his attacker to hide. That’s when he noticed the door to Grandpa’s bedroom. It was open. He kept it closed.

  He’d already pulled in too close. Whoever was there would realize in a few seconds he’d discovered the trap. He needed to act.

  Gidion ran to the wall behind him, towards the fireplace. Something snapped, a sound that didn’t belong to him or the house, and was followed by the sharp sound of something burying into the wall. He spotted a narrow dart sticking from the wall beside the fireplace as he dropped his box cutter and grabbed the pump-action shotgun off its mount from above the mantle.

  Footsteps warned him he didn’t have time to confirm whether the rifle was loaded or if the safety was off. He placed his faith in Grandpa’s obsessive paranoia, aimed towards the oncoming shadow and pulled the trigger.

  The recoil drove the butt of the rifle into his right shoulder. He’d been unable to get a proper stance, and the pain shooting through his upper chest was the reward. A burning, metallic odor perfumed the air. A single tone droned through his ears even as he heard the scream of his target.

  The shadowed figure slowed just enough for Gidion to see her outline and the familiar length of a sword in her hands. Gidion bolted to his right towards the kitchen. The sword hissed through the air where he’d been standing. He parried another swing with the barrel of the shotgun. He grabbed the round fore-end beneath the barrel, which was slick in his sweaty palm. He pumped it, squared his shoulders towards his attacker, and pressed the heel of the stock near the center of his chest.

  The second shot shoved him back. Even though he was better prepared for the recoil, the pain in his shoulder made him incapable of maintaining his stance. She shrieked. He hit his target, but he couldn’t be sure where. He pumped, then pulled the trigger again, repeating the process three more times as he chased her through the house with gunfire.

  The sixth press of the trigger was answered with a click he felt more than heard. The ringing in his ears blocked everything else. The moonlight from the front windows and open door outlined the sleek shape of his attacker. Her left arm hung limply at her side. The gun bought him time. She’d lost her sword, dropped it when his shots hit her. He had to press the advantage while he had it.

  He drew the short sword from behind his back and charged her. She parried the swing with a dagger he hadn’t seen in her good hand until he was on top of her.

  Being a vampire didn’t grant a person inhuman speed or strength, but anyone witness to the way she countered his attacks would believe the myth. He held the longer blade in this fight, but he couldn’t cut her. Anything she didn’t counter with the dagger, she dodged. Even worse, she was doing this essentially one-handed. Up close, he could see the black stain to her purple top, bleeding from her left shoulder to the center of her chest. The longer this took, the better the chance she’d heal enough to bring both arms back to the fight. As soon as that happened, he was dead. He needed a way to shut down this fight before that happened.

  He tried to retreat and move closer to another of Grandpa’s firearms. A rifle rested in a mount just two steps from the front door. This one was an old single shot, but Grandpa promised it could rip open a hole the size of a grapefruit straight through a man’s chest.

  His attempt to pull away from the assassin only fueled her attacks. She suspected what he was trying to do. The way she placed herself between him and the wall near the door was proof enough, but then she kicked behind her, knocking the shotgun off its mount. The weapon clattered to the floor.

  Even one-handed, she’d taken the offensive. He wasn’t going to get his hands on another weapon.

  A corner of his mind realized he’d made a mistake in what to expect. Somehow, he’d anticipated some fluid, dancing style of combat, something very Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Even the kick hadn’t fit that description. She was fast and brutal, an angry street fighter.

  He went low, hoping to catch her in the stomach or the thighs. That pushed her away, but he didn’t cut her, not even close. He had the advantage and pressed it. His arms burned from the effort as he forced each swing to move faster than the last. The only reward was that it pushed her back.

  They moved into the moonlight, giving him his first good look at her face. Dark brown eyes stared at him. They lacked any emotion. A slim smile curved her lips.

  His attacks pushed her into the corner of the room, cutting off any retreat.

  The assassin’s wounded arm sprang back to life. She snatched one of Grandpa’s swords from its mount on the wall in a blur of movement. Moonlight flashed across the blade, giving Gidion his only warning. The blade sliced across the front of his right shoulder. He jumped back with a scream.

  She hammered at him with her borrowed sword. The strike of metal on metal sent ripples down into the hilt of his sword, which threatened to rip free of his grasp.

  His body shook. Fatigue was setting in, a problem she didn’t suffer. An unsettling reality burrowed into him: he was going to lose this fight.

  They’d shifted to the center of the den. The front window was behind her. A flash of red and blue light from outside outlined her silhouette. Then he heard the sirens. His ears, still ringing from the gunfire, hadn’t recognized the sound of the police racing to the house.

  The assassin said something that sounded like, “Ta ma de!” Whatever language she’d just used, he suspected it was a curse.

  She bolted for the back of the house. He saw her drop the borrowed sword and snatch up the one she’d lost at the start of this fight.

  He took one more look out the front window and saw two more sets of red and blue lights jerk to a stop in front of the house. Even if the cops stopped her, it wouldn’t do him any good. That wouldn’t kill her.

  He sprinted after her, followed her out the back door in the kitchen. The old, bent screen door slammed open and shut with a pair of loud slaps as he leaped out to the ground.

  She hopped the side neighbor’s chain-link fence. Not an easy task with a sword in one hand. He appreciated that as he performed the same leap. The neighbor’s dog snarled and barked as it chased after the inhuman intruder.

  A sharp yelp let him know she’d made it past the dog and that he wouldn’t need to worry about it.

  Muffled shouts chased after both of them. The police had seen them, and it wouldn’t take long to cut off any escape. Just going by the cruisers he’d seen, Richmond Police already had three officers here. If the B&E and the gunshots hadn’t been enough to draw their attention, the addition of a foot pursuit guaranteed they’d flood this area. The officers already in place would establish a perimeter while they waited for a tracking canine and a plane to arrive. The real challenge for Gidion and the assassin was to get outside of that net before the cops could trap them.

  Gidion was already screwed, though. Even as he and the assassin scrambled over fences and through back yards, he knew he’d lost any hope of getting out of this. Andrea was still in his car in front of the house. That was assuming she hadn
’t done as she was told, but an instinct told him there was little chance of that. The police had honed in on Grandpa’s house too fast. She must have called.

  A light bobbled ahead of him. The vampire was on her cell phone. They were coming up on the end of the block.

  He didn’t see any police cars. The only sounds of pursuit came from behind him, save for the distant sirens from all directions that were getting less distant with each second.

  Just as the assassin hopped the last fence, a car screeched to a stop in the middle of the road. The black four-door rumbled in place. The side door flung open for the assassin to scramble inside. The interior light came on with the door open. That gave Gidion a brief look at the driver as he neared the fence. White male, thick neck, and…sunglasses?

  Gidion’s heart hurt, rattling like a wild beast as he struggled for breath and the strength to get over the last fence. He couldn’t let her get away, not like this. The image of Grandpa’s body hit him, assaulting him with all the details that the ambush had forced him to delay analyzing.

  The door slammed shut as his feet landed on the sidewalk. The tires squealed, and the black car rolled away before he could even get a hand on it.

  Gidion dropped to his knees on the cement and screamed. His body was finished. He tried to memorize the license plate, but the car disappeared around the corner too fast for him to get all of it.

  “Stay on the ground and put down the sword! Now!”

  He didn’t need to look to know the shout had come from a police officer. Only a cop could yell orders like that. Another officer ran from around the corner of the street, gun out and aimed at Gidion.

  “Radio, we’ve got one at gunpoint, corner of 25th and Hadrian.”

  Gidion kept his movements slow. He placed the sword on the ground. His hand shook, as much from adrenaline and exhaustion as from rage. The blade clattered against the sidewalk.

  She’d gotten away.

  A big hand wrapped around his right wrist and jerked it behind him. The metal bracelet of a handcuff dug into his wrist.