Hell Is Coming (The Watcher's Series Book 1)

by N. P. Martin

  Feeling slightly silly, I closed my eyes and kept my left arm extended out in front of me as I tried to touch him. As soon as I felt him I struck with my right hand. “Awesome,” I said after I opened my eyes. “I couldn’t miss.”

  “No, you couldn’t,” he said, wiping a streak of blood from his mouth. I was about to apologize again when I thought better of it. “Alright, you know what to do now. Let’s fight.”

  For the next twenty minutes Frank and I fought. I did most of the attacking—trying to land punches, elbows, knees and kicks while he mostly defended, although a few times he hit me. The strikes didn’t hurt exactly but I felt shocked and stupid when they landed. Getting hit also stoked my anger. “You have to be able to take the hits,” he said as we fought. “You gotta toughen up. You will get hit. You’ll get the shit beat out of you sometimes. That’s fighting.”

  As time went on, I found myself catching him with strikes more and more. I was getting comfortable with the various fighting techniques, doing as he said, allowing my instincts to run the show. It seemed to be working. “What about defense?” I asked.

  “There is no defense,” he said. “There’s only offense.” I frowned, unsure of what he meant. “By defending, you’re reacting to your opponent, so you’ll always be one step behind. You’ll end up overwhelmed and beaten. Even if you’re being hit, keep your attack going. Doesn’t matter what the other guy is doing, you do your own thing, blast through his attack like it isn’t even there. Always attack the attacker. Let me show you.”

  Frank came forward. I blocked, parried, dodged, and moved, but he always seemed one step ahead and I ended up backtracking and nearly tripping over myself. “See?” he said. “Now attack back this time.”

  When Frank came in again I initially covered against his strikes, but then straight away started striking back, not caring what he was throwing at me as long as I got my own hits in, which I did, pressing forward, punching, elbow striking until I finally threw a hard kick at his chest. White light burst from my foot and into his sternum, sending him flying back at least four feet where he landed heavily on the hard ground. “Oh shit!” I stood for a few seconds in shock and amazement at what I’d done before I rushed over to help him up.

  “It’s okay,” he said, sitting up on the grass. “I’m just glad I still have my healing powers. Very nice, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled. “I didn’t mean that, though. It just happened.”

  “Isn’t that what we’re trying to do here? Hone your instincts?”

  “I guess so. Yeah.”

  “You can’t give monsters any quarter,” he said, getting to his feet. “They’ll rip you apart if you do. Go in for the kill at all times. That’s also why we have weapons. The unarmed stuff is for when you can’t get to your weapon or for when you need to get the other guy off you so you can get to your weapon.”

  “We gonna train weapons now then?” I got even more excited at the prospect of training with the swords I took from my mom’s lockup. Frankly, I was enjoying the training a lot more than I thought I would. I’d never felt so vital and alive, the Light Energy pulsing through me, reinforcing me.

  “Sure, we’ll train with the weapons.”

  After getting the swords and knives from the bag inside the cabin, I went back outside to the clearing where Frank was waiting. He had a wooden training sword in his hand, with two shorter wooden swords on the ground beside him. I gave him the knife and he explained it was a demon killing knife, that it was magically reinforced by the symbols carved into it. It would kill most demons apparently, or at the very least, hurt them.

  He started showing me how to handle the knife, again using the lead arm to control space, index, grab, check and parry, the knife itself in the back hand, always ready to stab and slash. We spent some time practicing movements with the knife, slashing the air, stabbing forward, blocking incoming attacks and countering with the blade. After a while, the knife became comfortable in my hand and Frank showed me some of the vital attack points to go for, including the heart, neck, liver, and kidneys. “Anywhere that’s going to quickly shut down the body,” he said.

  Finally we picked up the wooden swords. Frank took the long one and I took the two shorter swords. Once again he explained to me the mechanics of sword fighting, which wasn’t a whole lot different from the knife-fighting. Eventually, once I had learned how to hold the swords properly and what kind of movements worked best, we did some free fighting. As I expected, Frank got the better of me, his sword somehow managing to find its way past my guard all the time. I was still getting used to the weapons, but eventually I was able to land a few blows on him.

  Soon I picked up the real things: my mom’s two short swords. Sunlight flashed off the blades as I slashed the air with them while Frank watched, correcting me on footwork and body mechanics. Pretty soon I was able to relax into the movements until it almost felt like moving meditation.

  “You know how to practice now,” Frank said gathering up the weapons. “You just have to keep doing it. The more you practice, the better you get. As your mom used to say, the more you sweat in training the less you bleed in battle.”

  “She used to say that?” I wasn’t that surprised.

  “Your mom took it all very seriously. That’s why she was one of the best.”

  Lot to live up to then.

  “What about my dad?” I asked as we were walking back to the cabin. It was early afternoon at that point. We’d been training solidly for several hours and I was famished. Still full of energy, though. I could have trained all day.

  “What about him?” Frank asked. We entered the cabin, put the weapons on the floor by the door, and went into the kitchen were Frank poured orange juice for me and beer for himself.

  “How involved was he with all this?” I remember my dad being around most of the time, working from home as an accountant apparently, although that could have been a cover for all I knew.

  “He pretty much stopped being involved after you guys were born,” Frank said after downing half a bottle of beer. “He was good in the field, he had skills. He preferred the books though. Doing research, finding spells, that sort of thing. He worked in the background a lot.”

  “So he wasn’t an accountant?”

  “No, he wasn’t.”

  I shook my head. “So when were they going to tell us about all this Watcher stuff? How long were they gonna keep it from us?”

  Frank shrugged. “As long as possible, I guess. They just wanted you to have a normal childhood like every other kid.”

  “Yeah, that really worked out.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my voice, though I let it go straight away, not wanting to wreck the buzz from the training. “What about money? How do you guys live? I found a load of cash in my Mom’s lockup. Where’d she get it?”

  Frank started busying himself chopping vegetables for some sort of stew he was making. “My father—your grandfather—was a wealthy man. He owned a few companies that did well. Money is never a problem.”

  “Great, so we get paid to kick ass then?” I was only joking, but Frank threw me a look anyway.

  “We get what we need, no more.” I left him to his cooking so I could grab a shower, as I smelled a bit ripe. “Shooting practice after we eat,” he called after me.

  “Looking forward to it.”

  After I showered and ate the beef stew Frank had cooked (which was delicious), I took one of the guns—Frank later informed me were Glocks—from the sports bag and went out the back with Frank. There another grass clearing, the tree line starting about fifty yards away. Just on the tree line there were three paper targets erected, like the ones you see at gun ranges. “Awesome,” I said, eying the targets. “I get to shoot at those?”

  “Not yet,” Frank said. “Basics first.”

  For the next hour Frank went over the basics of gun safety, showing me how to hold a gun, where the safety was, what stance to take while holding the gun. He made me dry fire for a while b
efore allowing me to load any bullets into the Glock. “Do bullets hurt demons and monsters?”

  “With demons we use iron-tipped bullets. They get hurt by iron. We have different bullets for different creatures, but iron usually takes care of most of them.”

  After I loaded in a clip, I assumed the stance Frank had taught me: one leg slightly forward, gun held in the right hand, left hand for support, finger on the trigger guard, never on the trigger unless you’re going to shoot. “Just relax and breathe,” he said as I aimed the gun at one of the targets. “Squeeze the trigger as you breathe out.”

  I centered myself and pulled the trigger, a huge surge of adrenaline hitting me when the gun made a loud bang and bucked in my hand, causing me to miss the target completely. “Shit.”

  “Don’t worry. Try again. Remember, relax and smoothly pull the trigger. Don’t jerk it.”

  I tried again, squeezed the trigger on the out breath, this time managing to hold the gun more steadily so I was able to at least hit the outside of the target. More confident, I fired again, and then again, each time getting closer to the center of the target. As I continued to fire, the gun felt better in my hand and after a while I was able to relax, which made the whole thing easier. Before I emptied the clip, the last bullet hit near center mass, not quite in the middle, but near enough. I smiled, pleased with myself.

  “Not bad,” Frank said. He raised his own gun and fired at one of the other targets, rapidly squeezing off a full clip, every bullet tightly grouped on the center of the target. He lowered the gun, a cloud of smoke around him, and the smell of cordite in the air.

  “Show off,” I said.

  “Practice,” he countered. “Keep at it. I have to make a phone call.” Frank walked back to the cabin to make his phone call and I loaded another clip into the Glock and started shooting again, happy when all my shots hit the target. As I was loading another clip Frank returned. “I have to go.”

  “Go where?”

  “I got a lead on a case I’m working on. I gotta go check it out.” He started to walk away. “I’ll be back later.”

  “Hold up,” I said, following him. “I want to come with.”

  “No, it’s too dangerous.”

  I took offense to that. “You’re supposed to be training me. Isn’t the best training on the job? That’s what you said to me. Come on, Frank.” I widened my eyes at him, almost willing him to take me with him.

  He thought for a moment. “Alright, you can come.” Before I could say how awesome it was, he said, “On the condition that you do as I say, no matter what.”

  “Got it, sure, no problem. Do as you say.” He still didn’t seem convinced by the idea. I think he thought I was humoring him, which I was a bit. I couldn’t help it. I was just excited to go into the field for the first time. “I’m supposed to be this Watcher now, I should be doing…Watcher stuff. I need the experience.”

  “Experience.” He said like it was a bad word, motioning for me to follow him. “Believe me, once you get it, you’ll probably wish you didn’t.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  Chapter 9

  About half an hour later, Frank was driving us through Mercy City in his black Chevrolet, heading towards the rundown east side that was predominantly populated by gangbangers and drug cartels. They were never done killing each other in that part of the city. I ventured into it a few times in the past with Kasey to buy drugs, and last time, I vowed never again after we got surrounded by a bunch of gangbangers who refused to let us leave unless we gave every one of them blowjobs. Seriously. It was only a passing cop car that allowed us to get away, distracting the gang long enough for us to run.

  So I wasn’t exactly thrilled that Frank was driving us into that area, passing by the projects and youths hanging around on every street who looked at us like we were their mortal enemies. “What the hell are we doing here, Frank?” I asked. “This place sucks.”

  “Well, you’d better get used to things sucking,” Frank said, seemingly unaffected by the stares we were getting from almost everyone we passed. “Because this job sucks big time.”

  “That’s encouraging, Frank. Thanks for that.”

  “Just telling the truth. Did you think chasing monsters was going to be a walk in the park?”

  “No, obviously.”

  “Well then, welcome to the job.” He pulled the car up along a stretch of wasteland on the edge of the projects. Across the street was an old abandoned factory building that was just about the grimmest thing I’d ever seen. It was long and sprawling and every window in the place had long since been broken. Through the windows all you could see was vast darkness.

  “What’s in there?” I asked. “You still haven’t told me what we’re doing.”

  “I’ve been chasing a vampire for months now,” Frank said, looking out the window at the factory building. “Normally I don’t bother too much with vamps, not unless they do something to get on my radar.”

  “Like killing people for blood, you mean?”

  “Vamps do what they gotta do. I’m not going to chase every one of them down. This one turned a senator’s daughter a while back.” He pulled a photograph out of his jacket and handed it to me. The picture was of a young girl, pretty with long blonde hair and big blue eyes, dressed in riding gear and standing by a stable with a horse in the background.

  “Poor girl,” I said handing the photo back. “Still, a senator’s daughter is more important than anyone else, is that how it goes?”

  “No, but I got asked by the senator to kill the vamp who did it. It pays to keep in good graces with these guys sometimes. Now he’ll owe me.”

  I shook my head. “Politics.”

  “Politics makes the world go ‘round. Don’t be so naïve.” He got out of the car and I followed him to the trunk. When he opened it, he lifted a false bottom, revealing an entire array of weapons underneath.

  “Holy shit, Frank.”

  “I like to be prepared.” He reached into the trunk and took out two machetes, handing me one. “Here.”

  “No stakes? I thought you needed wooden stakes to kill a vampire.”

  “Decapitation is the best way. Cut the sucker’s head right off. No pun intended.”

  I hefted the machete in my hand, took a few practice swings. It was heavy and very sharp and I wondered how many vamps Frank had killed with it over the years. He also took a gun and put it in the waistband of his jeans. “I thought guns couldn’t kill vampires,” I said.

  “It makes me feel better carrying it.” He closed the trunk and looked around to make sure no one was watching us. We were pretty much alone it seemed, though I still felt jumpy. “A few ground rules before we go in there,” Frank said. “Number one, stay behind me at all times and don’t wander off on your own. Number two, if we meet any vamps in there—which we will—you don’t hesitate, you use that thing to kill them or they’ll kill you.”

  I nodded, the reality of the situation we were about to walk into now sinking in. Fear whispered in my ear as it waited in the wings. “What’s number three?”

  “When we find the head vamp you let me take care of him. No heroics. This vamp is old and very cunning. You wouldn’t be the first hunter to die at his hands.”

  “What if you need help? Am I supposed to just to stand there?”

  “Hopefully, I won’t need help, but if I do…just be careful. I don’t want a teen vampire living in my cabin.”

  I laughed nervously. “A teen vampire, seriously?”

  “This vamp enjoys turning people more than killing them. He’s got a serious grudge against humanity.”

  I didn’t like the idea of having to feed off human blood the rest of my life. “Just make sure you kill him then.”

  Darkness was descending as we entered the old factory building through a set of double doors that were swinging openly in the wind. As I followed behind Frank, stepping into the darkness of the factory, my stomach turned over, making me nauseous. I switched on th
e flashlight Frank had given me and was glad when I felt the buzz of the Light Energy pulse in me, helping to alleviate some of the fear that was making its presence felt in ever greater amounts. I gripped the machete tight, ready to swing it at anything that came near me. My breathing was shallow so I forced myself to take a deep breath. “It stinks in here,” I said in a hushed voice. It was the smell of decay. Rank. Awful.

  “No talking,” Frank admonished.

  I shut up and moved my flashlight around as I followed behind him. The place was quiet, ominously so, apart from the ambient sounds you would expect in such a building—creaking metal, the scurrying of rats and pigeons, dripping pipes. I was thoroughly creeped out by the situation already, and I wished I hadn’t been so insistent about coming along. I was also full of admiration for Frank, at the fact that he would even consider going to such a place alone.

  Had my mom been that brave?

  Probably. Not too sure if she passed her bravery on to me though. It didn’t feel like it as I moved through the dark factory, wondering what I was going to do if I ran into any vampires. Scream maybe. Run like hell. The latter wasn’t an option, not if I wanted to build any credibility as a hunter.

  We moved down a wide corridor with doors on either side that lead to old office rooms that still had furniture in them. Frank quickly checked each room, shining his flashlight into the dark. I kept expecting some vampire to suddenly appear in the light, all fangs and burning eyes, ready to come at us, but nothing did. “They usually stay together in a nest,” Frank said as we moved deeper into the factory. “I don’t know how many there are, so stay alert and ready.”

  I swallowed hard and nodded, trying to come across like I had my shit together. On the inside I was a bag of nerves and at one point I almost screamed as a pigeon came flying out of one of the empty rooms, swooping past my face, making me jump back in alarm and almost drop the flashlight. What an idiot! Frank didn’t pass any remarks. It seemed he expected such amateur behavior from me.

  The air seemed to get thicker and the smell more pungent the further into the factory we went. We had covered most of the place already, and I was starting to wonder if Frank had gotten his facts wrong, that there was nobody in that place except pigeons and rats. But then as we turned the corner of the corridor we were walking down, Frank suddenly stopped and I nearly slammed into him. “What is it?” I whispered.