Vampires Don't Cry: The Collection

by Ian Hall

  Then at last the door opened, and in walked the two figures; Amos Blanche and Mary-Christine. I waited until the door had snapped shut, then got ready to spring into action.

  Suddenly the door I hid behind was pushed open. It knocked me out of the way. Then I got the aroma.

  “Vampire!” I hissed to Reynolds as it materialized in front of me. I don’t know who was the more surprised. As the door closed, I hit him square on the chin, then fired at point-blank range. My dart shot across the room, but the vampire had gone again. I caught glimpses, but I was always too late sighting my weapon.

  Reynolds shook his head, stunned. “I can’t see it.”

  Then I felt it behind me, I crouched, and it lunged over me, tumbling to the floor. I fired again, the gun hissed; just another ricochet across the room. I got hit on the head, but my return swing proved too slow, I mean, how do you fight the mostly invisible man?

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we are here to witness the execution of Amanda Elizabeth Cross.”

  Amos’s voice came clearly from a speaker high on the wall. “Damn it.” I determined to finish this and get to Mandy before it was too late. Then the door moved, and I fired.

  My dart vanished.

  “I got him. Watch out!”

  Suddenly Reynolds got smashed to the ground, the appearing vampire on him, straining for his neck. I fired again, and it reared in pain, then fell to one side.

  “Amanda Elizabeth Cross, seventeen years old; turned just last year.

  I reached the door, slightly out of breath. “You stay here,” I said to Reynolds, “If he moves, kill him.” To his eternal unflappable-ness, Reynolds just nodded.

  “But we have something else to see first…in honor of my new Helsing friends.”

  As I opened the door slightly, I saw Amos flipping the switch on a remote control.

  “Don’t worry, my dear Helsings, it will be very painful.”

  I watched in pleasure as he tried the button several times, then he turned to my door. “Estefan! Get in here!”

  I opened the door wide, and his face turned from shock to horror.

  “Didn’t expect to see me, huh?” I sneered.

  I tossed a coagulant pistol across the room to Mary-Christine and grinned.

  After the priest saved my soul, he and the armed guards emptied out of the execution chamber. Almost immediately, the observation window filled with a thousand new faces. Right in the center of them all stood Mr. and Mrs. Muscat.

  Bound and striped of my defenses, I could nothing more than rail against the straps at my wrists and ankles, bawling empty threats. I made a good show of it, though. Pulling and straining, peeling back my lips in a feral snarl - exposing empty sockets where my fangs should have been.

  “I’ll kill you, Mary-Christine Muscat!”

  Mrs. Muscat looked ready to jump through the glass and take me out herself, held in place by a way-too-calm Mr. Muscat. He was the unyielding mountain; all my blowing and hollering left him unmoved.

  I only saw a twinge of emotion cross his face as Mary-Christine entered the killing chamber. She had changed clothes into something more befitting a would-be executioner. Pure black, head-to-toe; all she needed was some kind of shroud over her face to complete the picture. Amos Blanche walked close at her heels, dressed the same.

  These Helsings loved their ceremony. The ones up above, Mr. Muscat included, pressed up closer to the barricade - spectators at the zoo.

  Then a third figure entered, always on the move, shimmying back and forth, he headed for the room where Lyman hid.

  As Amos Blanche addressed his audience, I watched his vampire accomplice. Amos’s voice carried without need of a microphone; his presence so distracting I don’t know if any of the stupid humans even noticed the door that opened and closed all by itself. Maybe it was too fast for their underdeveloped minds to register.

  Like thumbing through one of those flip books; frame by frame, stop motion. Trouble in paradise though; Lyman had company. From behind the door: bang, pop, crash. Even the Helsings must have heard that.

  Then Blanche made his move, and glancing at me, he announced: “But we have something else to see first…in honor of my new Helsing friends.”

  As he fumbled with some device in his hand, a crush of bodies moved toward the exit on the observation deck. It wouldn’t give. They were trapped.

  Mrs. Muscat flung herself at the window. “Mary-Christine, get out of there!”

  To her credit, the girl didn’t budge.

  And when the furnace door flew open again, Lyman stood in the frame. I’ve never seen him look so damn good.

  Mary-Christine caught the gun smoothly. We fired as one, but our darts crossed at an empty space; Amos had gone. I sat at the limit of my meds now, and it seems like I could follow him some of the time. I fired my cartridge of four, then reloaded. I slipped the proper pistol into my right hand, and watched the pattern of his shimmies. To stay invisible, he had to keep on the move, but he had grown complacent. He turned at the far corner, I had noticed it twice, but if I fired the coagulant gun, the dart would be too slow. I had to concentrate.

  Of course, what didn’t make it any easier; every fucking Helsing watched from above, banging on the toughened glass.

  Amos did the corner turn, and I raised my gun, fired four into the corner. To my surprise, two squirts of red blood hit the wall. It looked like a Hollywood special effect.

  Then something smashed across my stomach, throwing me back against the wall, where I fell, dazed.

  “Too bad I never met you outside,” Amos screamed as he ran past. “You would have made a worthy opponent.”

  Then he materialized beside Mary-Christine, and side-swiped her with such force that she got thrown off her feet, landing near the door. She wasn’t quite unconscious, but close. Amos picked up her gun. The coagulant pistol lay on the floor beside her.

  “One move, and baby Muscat gets it.” He grimaced in pain, blood dripping to the floor on his left. I think the bone in his left arm had broken.

  Silence descended from the gallery above. Amongst the Helsing watchers, there seemed now no doubt that this man was indeed a vampire, and at loose in their facility. I saw the whole thing through a cloud of slow motion. My head still spun, my stomach ached.

  Amos set to unbuckling Mandy, his eyes always on the crowd above. With one good hand to work from, it was not an easy task, but what he lacked in fingers, he made up for in strength, unclipping the metal bonds in quick succession.

  Amos looked up at the audience, now silent and rapt in attention. “My darling daughter, Amanda and I will leave soon, and we shall take Miss Muscat with us. She will be our shield when we are outside.” He helped her to her feet, but she could not stand, so he held her around the waist. “If anyone follows, baby Muscat will be slowly torn limb from limb and sent back in small packets to her parents.”

  Mandy slipped her arms around Amos’s head, then held him close, cheek to cheek. Amos paused in her embrace, sneering up at the viewing windows.

  Then Mandy’s hand extended behind Amos’s back, pointing to Mary-Christine’s coagulant pistol.

  I don’t know where she got the strength to do it, but Mary-Christine reached for the gun, and despite her position on the floor, deftly tossed it to Mandy.

  A fleeting look of confusion flashed across Amos’s face, then Mandy pushed the pistol firmly into his neck. She fired at point-blank range.

  Amos screamed, throwing Mandy aside, but for the old vampire it was already too late. Staggering backwards, Mandy fired another into his belly, and Amos fell stiffly to the ground.

  For a long moment, we remained in place, hardly believing it was over, the Mandy came over and helped me to my feet.

  I bent down to Amos’s shirt, and fished his microphone loose.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” I clipped the battery pack to my belt, “Testing,” and crossed to Mandy. “Hi. You doing okay?” I asked softly.

  She nodded, a thankful smile on
her face.

  A grimacing Mary-Christine crawled across the floor to Amos, and held the stake at his heart. “We can’t lift him,” she said. “We do it here.”

  I nodded and kicked the hammer closer to Mandy. “Ladies and gentlemen, I want you to put your hands together to welcome a great hero to Atlanta. Vampire Amanda Elizabeth Cross.”

  I looked up at their stupefied faces.

  “APPLAUD! You motherfuckers!” I picked up the gun and pointed it at the window, sweeping it back and forth. “Working against you, we not only unmasked Amos Blanche, but uncovered a plot to gas everyone up there this morning. The remote control Amos was fiddling with before I turned up? It would have killed you all.” I kicked his side for good measure. “We disarmed the device much earlier.”

  The drugs hadn’t worn off completely; I felt nowhere near “super-vamp” form. I leant against the table, looking down at Amos Blanche. My knees nearly crumpled under me as I stood but Lyman’s supporting shoulder kept me upright-ish. I motioned for the microphone.

  The small black clip carried my diminished voice to the trapped Helsings above, “I am Mandy Cross - a Blanche vampire…”

  Lyman smoothed back my matted hair. Only then did I realize I wept as I spoke.

  “It’s okay, baby,” he leant close and whispered it just for me but his voice resounded over the speakers.

  I freed myself from his protective embrace, stumbling past Mary-Christine and towards the mob of Helsings above. My voice gathered strength as I shouted my story for all to hear.

  “Alan McCartney tricked me, used me, killed my parents, and changed me into a vampire! He was a monster and he turned me into a monster!”

  Not a single expression showed an ounce of pity; my confessional became a rant of accusation.

  “But, you are all every bit the monsters we are! You tore me apart; tortured me, used me as a specimen to study so you can go out and kill more like me! Alan McCartney didn’t give me a choice - he made me what I am. But you people,” my voice disintegrated, “you people choose to be evil, to hurt…to kill.”

  I collapsed on the floor as the Helsings behind the window berated me with insults and threats. Mr. Muscat’s smooth demeanor finally broke and he grabbed a chair, throwing it against the glass. More of the Helsings followed suit; the barrier held for a time but eventually began to spider-web.

  Beside me, Amos Blanche started to stir. Like me, the Helsing potions were kicking his ass. But, still he snaked and moved, readying for his next strike…even as the mob became riled to a frenzy on the observation deck.

  Mary-Christine still held the stake upright on his chest.

  “C’mon, guys,” I heard Lyman say, “we’ve got to finish this.” He took back the microphone, and handed me the heavy hammer.

  The End of Amos Blanche

  I looked up, and Dave Muscat stood there with the rest, battering at the window, trying to stop us. I picked up my gun and fired. I aimed high, hitting the junction of wall and ceiling, but they all shrank back from the windows.

  “You have two alternatives.” My words were clear. I wished my body behaved as well. “You either let us kill this monster, or I shoot the first man to try to stop us.”

  That seemed to stymie them for a moment.

  Amos looked up at me. “It doesn’t end here,” he managed.

  “It does for you.”

  “Three hundred years of vampire cannot be killed so easily!” He looked me right in the eye, and I swear I felt centuries of common history flow between us. “You will carry part of me ‘til the day you die.”

  “Fuck you.” I nodded, and Mandy swung with the hammer as hard as she could.

  With the first blow Amos screamed. His eyes burned with rage, and his head shook violently.

  Then a second blow. And another, and another. The fourth, shuddering the African hardwood stake into the concrete floor.

  For a moment, I thought we’d got it wrong; we’d just murdered some innocent businessman. Then his skin turned pale, almost chalky and sifted between his bones, even as his bones also crumbled.

  Like a flow of wheat meal flour into a bowl, Amos Blanche collapsed inside his clothes, until they were all that was left.

  Then like a cue from the stage manager, the door to the furnace opened, and Reynolds dragged the henchman into the room. He unceremoniously dumped him over Amos’s dust.

  “Can I have a go?”

  I looked up at the openmouthed spectators. Dave Muscat’s head leant against the broken glass, but his gaping eyes were on Amos’s dust.

  I positioned the stake this time, and Reynolds hit, sending a single squirt of blood into the air.

  The man shook for a moment, then lurched back.

  With a rattling of bones, his body joined his master’s on the floor. His head and legs broke into pieces.

  Again, Frank Reynolds surprised me. He flipped Dave Muscat the bird, and went to help Mandy.

  “Listen up, guys,” I began. “No one follows us today. If I see a single sign of pursuit, I’ll start putting lead all over Unicorps.” I pointed my gun at Dave Muscat, then swept it back and forth.

  “Dave, there will be two poisonous gas canisters in the parking lot when we leave. They’re not ours; they were left up there by Amos – sorry, T.J.,” I sneered. “He wanted you all dead. We were Helsings today, and we saved all your miserable lives. If it wasn’t for us, you’d be poisoned, and the police would be covering up a huge fucking mess. We were Helsings today, so the least you can do is give us the rest of the day off.”

  My gun stayed aimed at them as we opened the back door and walked down the corridor. I ripped the microphone from my body as I ran.

  Reynolds drove. The three of us were huddled together in the backseat; Lyman in the middle with Mary-Christine and me on each side, our heads on his shoulders.

  “We did it,” he said like he’d just woken from a dream and realized it’d really happened. “We pulled it off. Amos Blanche is dead.”

  I didn’t want to be the one to remind him that Blanche was still out there; in the form of Alan McCartney, the Mize brothers…countless others. One look at Mary-Christine and I knew she was thinking the same thing. We kept it to ourselves, letting Lyman have his moment of glory.

  No one mentioned Amos’s curse on Lyman.

  Mary-Christine reached across Lyman and took up my hand, inspecting the damage of my torn-up fingers.

  “What did they do to you?”

  “Only half what I’ll do to them when I get the chance,” I vowed.

  Yes. I’d just sworn to take down the Helsings - Mr. and Mrs. Muscat included if it came down to it. Mary-Christine made nothing in the way of a protest. She’d thrown in her lot with us, walking away from everything she knew and believed. In a very real way, Mary-Christine was every bit the orphan as Lyman and me. Her silence bespoke acceptance of the new reality.

  “Where do we go from here?” she asked.

  It was Reynolds who replied, “Just point me in a direction, kid. You’re the boss.”

  Lyman closed his eyes as he absorbed that hit. Hell. He’d just become the leader in our three-ring circus. We’d taken our show on the road; destination as yet unknown.

  He looked to me then to Mary-Christine, kissing each of our foreheads in turn.

  “For now...” he said wearily, “just drive.”

  Thus ends Vampire Don’t Cry (Book 2: The Helsing Diaries)

  Now for a free bonus chapter; a sneak preview from:

  Vampires Don’t Cry

  Book 3: The Rage Wars

  By Ian Hall and April L. Miller

  (Unformatted Edition)

  I could see uniforms all around me, all ready to attack the compound; even though I’d seen the final showdown coming for weeks, it still seemed so bizarre.

  A whole Helsing army, clad in desert camouflage, surrounding Alan McCartney and his vampire horde. The tension in the air was palpable, and I was literally shaking in my desert-colored, company issue boots.r />
  As I listened in my headset for the order to advance, I had time to consider the depth of the crap I had gotten us into. We were drafted members of the Helsing coalition; weapons, uniforms, we even had a command structure, for goodness sake. All far from the individualism I’d joined less than a few months ago.

  It was all too much, and I knew it. Lives were on the line here, and that meant mine, too. I wasn’t sure I wanted my life in jeopardy in the first place, but to be at the call of someone else’s command seemed wrong. I’d risked my life in the past, sure, but it had always been at my discretion.

  Through the glass of my gasmask, I could see the farmhouse, only two hundred yards away. I could see the big generator, and even the movement of some heads in the farmhouse windows.

  “Forty-seven.”

  The pressure was incredible.

  Frank turned to us. “Oxygen on. Whatever happens, breathe normally.”

  I flipped my valve.

  I can’t exactly remember when I first heard the noise, but it grew from distant humming to a dull roar. Then it almost burst my eardrums. As the first aircraft burst over my head, I knew I was suddenly at war.

  My personal vendetta against Alan McCartney had turned into all-out chemical freaking warfare. As exhaust trails crisscrossed overhead, the ground became saturated with the Helsing version of WMD.

  Reynolds gave the command we’d been waiting for, “Oxygen on. Whatever happens, breathe normally.”

  A rush of forced air pressurized the mask and it suctioned up to my face with a “sllllurp.” It didn’t keep the toxic odor from getting through as acid rain sprayed down on us from above.

  Lyman was shouting, “What is it?”

  I kept my head down and listened only for Reynolds’s voice. “Coagulator! In aerosol form. I can smell it - it’s strong.”

  Finally the moment came: “We advance. We watch for tripwires, we carry both side arms. We shoot everything that doesn’t wear camouflage.”