Vampires Don't Cry: The Collection

by Ian Hall

  Mandy also rose. “What Wednesday?”

  “The first one that arrives.” And Frank left the room.

  As his car drove away, Mandy mumbled something about having things to do, and vanished, leaving Mary-Christine and me on the sofa.

  “What time is it?” she snuggled closer.

  “About seven, I think. My phone’s downstairs.”

  She stood up, and held out her hand. I took it gently, but she pulled me ungraciously to her. “Let’s go upstairs, watch a movie, or something. Let’s do something normal. Let’s get on that huge bed of yours.”

  I liked this idea of hers, and told her so with a clinch and a kiss.

  “Pull the curtains closed?” I offered.

  “And lock the frigging door!” Mary-Christine said, pulling me towards the stairs.

  I went back down to the safe room, to Chris. His temperament had gone from violent to submissive by whatever tranquilizer Reynolds had doped him with; now he appeared on the edge of a restless sleep, eyes darting rapidly behind closed lids. The two opposing drugs were at war inside his body; rage versus serenity. There seemed no way of knowing who’d he’d be when he woke up.

  I went and took his hand like a doting nurse. His fingers never coiled around mine; he lay utterly unaware of my presence. Good. My chance to say everything that needed said.

  “Chris?” I whispered. “Wanna hear something weird?”

  No sign that he’d heard.

  “I miss you. I mean - you’re right here but I miss you so much you wouldn’t even believe. It’s not like I ever even knew you that well; but whenever I got the chance to be around you…it felt like Christmas morning.”

  I’d done so much crying in the last few days, I would have thought I’d been all cried out. But, the sight of him - an empty shell - brought a fresh rain. I thought of how ticked my father would be if he could see me now; Crosses don’t cry. Sure enough - I proved dad wrong.

  “I’ve done something terrible, Chris.” My confession came out as a broken stream of words. “And there’s no way to ever expect you to understand that I did it for their own good; and for you. Alan had your parents…he would have killed them anyway but he wouldn’t have made it quick or painless. I’ve seen what he can do. His gang raped Lyman’s parents right in front of him, Chris - that’s the kind of monsters that they are…”

  As I spoke, the twitching of his lids began to slow. Even his breathing mellowed.

  “I didn’t want to see that happen to them.”

  Now Chris’s body went stiff. The muscles of his jaw bulged as the molars clenched together. Somewhere inside the husk, he seemed to be coming out - drawn by my terrible revelation.

  “I did the only thing I knew to do - to keep them from suffering…”

  His hand enveloped mine.

  “I was all alone in that barn, Chris. There was no other way to save them.”

  As his hand tightened, I tried to pull mine away, but his grip felt vice-like. I felt my bones crushing under his titan hold, the pain bringing me to my knees.

  His eyes flew open, clear as glass and twice as rigid. “What did you do to them?”

  I tried to scream for help but the pain choked the breath out of me.

  Chris jerked his far arm, snapping the restraint like it’d been made of twine. He rolled over, clutching my throat with the freed hand. His grip felt like iron; my eyes bulged by the force of it. In another instant I would have collapsed, unconscious - or dead.

  Reynolds appeared like a vision from God on the other side of the table. He jabbed Chris’s arm hard, forcing some pink fluid through a thick needle with a long plunger.

  His fingers fell lax and my trachea opened. My assaulted hand throbbed and I cradled it in the other as Reynolds carried me up the steps.

  “Something told me to get my ass back here,” he said, lowering me onto the couch.

  My throat felt too sore to talk. I sat in silence, which seemed just as well I had no way of thanking him anyway.

  “Let me take a look.” He inspected my throat, noting a constellation of bruises. Then my hand, which looked like a half-empty sack of flour. “The bones are broken, maybe bad.”

  “Nothing I can’t deal with. I need to feed, I’m low,” I croaked.

  Reynolds shuffled off to the kitchen and brought me a pint of blood. It hurt to swallow but would serve well to help me heal.

  Reynolds looked at my neck in shock. “The bruises are already clearing up.”

  I tried my voice, it seemed strong enough, “The hand’s gonna take a bit longer.”

  “Agreed. No volleyball tournament tonight.”

  “Damn. That completely effs up my plans.”

  Reynolds held my broken hand between his like a sandwich board, “I’ll find something to wrap it for you; make sure it heals properly.”

  He started to get up.

  “Wait! Don’t leave yet.”

  “If those bones start to knit and they’re not lined up correctly…”

  “Then we’ll re-smash them and start again.”

  Reynolds got up despite my plea. “Not the best idea you’ve ever had.”

  He disappeared upstairs and then returned a few minutes later with a strip of Ace bandage and first-aid tape. Field training had served him well and he had my hand wrapped as good as any doctor could have done in half the time.

  “Thanks,” I said, trying the fingers. They weren’t wiggle-ready just yet.

  He left me again to secure the broken restraint while Chris still lay out cold.

  “Listen, kid - I got some things to do before our big day. Do you think you can hang out here for a while without getting yourself killed?”

  Reynolds’s words were harsh but his tone sounded playful, his expression even affectionate.

  “I think I can manage. Lyman’s around here somewhere…I think…”

  “Uh…yeah…don’t go upstairs for a while,” he said cryptically, going for the door. “Just kick back on the couch and get healed. We’ll need you in fighting form come Wednesday.”

  I wasn’t ready for Reynolds to leave. Setting my broken hand had been our most pleasant interaction since my apartment in Harris. Until then, I’d had no idea how much I actually yearned for the old man’s approval. But, he left on good terms so I figured he hadn’t completely given up on me yet.

  I stayed there for as long as I could. The temptation to get back down to the safe room and get myself killed became more than I could handle. Like a dumbbell, I went against Reynolds’s advice, going upstairs in search of company.

  Before I got halfway up, the sound of a creaking bed stopped me in my tracks. At first I figured he’d be alone, but the sound of a very rambunctious Mary-Christine’s moan put me straight.

  I just lingered there for a while, between worlds. Downstairs, a guy I could really love lay bound to a table, hating me. Upstairs, a guy who just hours before said he could love me had his hands full, nailing another girl. Popular, sought-out, envied Mandy Cross - I’d never felt so alone in my life.

  I dropped to the step I stood on, and sobbed.

  Help Comes from Unicorps

  The next day opened to a telephone call from Howard Weeks himself. “Mr. Reynolds has informed us of your plan, and we’d like to offer our considerable services.”

  I wasn’t surprised that Frank would have reported back up the command chain; I knew it was the right thing to do. “Not at all, Mr. Weeks, we’d like all the help we can get.”

  “Good boy. Your phones will all be texted with an address in Flagstaff. If you’d like to meet us there about noon, we’ll get started. Bring all the information you have, photos and such.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Surprisingly I felt caught in a bit of a quandary; on one side I wanted to do this by ourselves, but on the other hand, I knew quite well that it was a very risky plan we were taking on. The four of us against twenty or more vampires didn’t inspire my confidence much.

  I Googled the address, just nor
th of Flagstaff; a farm on pretty deserted countryside. We decided to go in two vehicles; me and Mary-Christine in dad’s car, Mandy travelling with Frank. Once we were on our own, Mary-Christine started climbing all over me and it took a considerable effort just to keep my eyes on the road. I’ve never known her so insatiable. She was full of herself, touching me whenever she could, and giggling like the schoolgirl she was. After a few harsh rebuttals, she finally desisted, and sat back in the seat with a smug grin. That much I could cope with.

  When we reached the farm, there were already six cars parked at the big barn. I pulled mine in beside them, and Frank slid in beside me.

  A young man in a camouflaged uniform approached. He had a sidearm clipped to his belt. “Names please?”

  “Party of four,” I said with a slight edge of humor to my voice. “Name’s Lyman Bracks.”

  Well, the guy almost jumped. “Yes, sir, come inside, we’ve been expecting you.”

  In the midst of all the camouflage uniforms, I felt suddenly out of my depth, but tried hard to maintain some kind of levelheadedness.

  Suddenly a familiar face pushed through the crowd and grinned widely - Hideo Namuchi. He bowed, then hugged me. “This is the big one, Lyman Bracks?”

  “I think so, Hideo,” I replied. “If we can pull this off, we’ve made a huge dent in their resources.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” a resounding voice boomed over the conversation. “If we could get seated.” The soldier walked over to me. “I believe you have photos of the compound, sir?”

  “Yes.” I handed over the memory stick.

  “If you would get seated, folks, we’ll get the show underway.”

  I felt like we were stars in a movie; a briefing to pilots before flying over Nazi Germany. The screen in front of the rows of chairs looked simply gigantic.

  The man who had ordered us to our seats walked out in front. “My name is Peterson. Former Navy SEAL, and the head of this operation.” The screen came to life; an aerial picture of the whole valley. “This is a satellite image of the Hipshaw Farm taken six months ago.” He touched the screen, and the image zoomed down on the farm, and the barn. “We have a farmhouse, a barn, and storage shed. Please take note of the lack of tracks on the area outside the house.”

  He nodded to his right. The picture changed; new buildings, much better video definition. You could make out individual shingles on the farmhouse roof.

  “This is the image of the Hipshaw Farm this morning at seven thirty-four. We see three more structures. Identical construction, all are full of either personnel or stores. If we advance the image for every change, you will see the personnel walking between this hut, their dormitory, and these huts. We believe that these are the two production units.”

  As the shadows lengthened, the figures filed to work, then two men came out of the main farmhouse. I recognized the Indian’s bald head, and the other guy had to be Alan McCartney.

  “We have counted twenty-seven different human targets in the valley,” Peterson continued.

  And there could be more. Suddenly I felt a lot safer with my military friends.

  “The Gregor team has done extensive work. Who wants to speak, guys?”

  Frank and I looked at each other, passing the buck a few times, then Frank rose.

  “Can you zoom it out a bit?” Frank asked, and the image grew smaller. “That’s enough.”

  He turned to face us. I fleetingly wondered how he’d handle the situation, but of course, he took it all in his stride, a natural. “We have reconnoitered to the west, here and here. There is a brand new armored car at this location, obviously now under netting. It’s fully biological-safe, and there’s suits and masks ready for use. These guys are expecting someone to hit. Let’s hope they don’t expect us. We also have brand new information which I’m treating as very secure. They have rigged the whole valley with tripwires and some kind of mortar package, which is ready to send the rage gas into the atmosphere. They are manufacturing this gas in huge quantities, and they don’t intend to give this up without a fight.”

  “We expect the main vampires will be inside the farmhouse, and we know they are expecting a delivery on Wednesday. We also have first-hand experience of this rage gas. It’s virulent, makes the victim rage beyond control, and if it hits a vampire, we’re in the Zombie Apocalypse.”

  There was a smattering of laughter across the room.

  “And these zombies can run fast, very fast. No jokes here, friends. If they release the gas, we have a huge problem on our hands; its headshots or nothing. Take them down, by any means, but immediately afterwards, a headshot kill is the only way to keep them down.”

  Peterson walked forward, and Frank sat again.

  “This is how tomorrow will go.” Red arrows appeared on the screen. As he touched them, they turned dark blue. “We will have snipers on all six surrounding hills, and engineers on the main power lines. The New York team will come in from the west, hopefully capturing the armored car, and approach the production huts. Hideo will bring the Gregor team and three additional men in the Four Moons delivery truck. When they reach the farmhouse, we will cut all power to the compound. Another team, under Florida leadership, will be advancing to the farmhouse from the north.”

  The screen went blank.

  “We kill everything inside. You will all be issued the very best desert camo uniforms, and camo Kevlar vests. You will be outfitted with gas masks and given instruction in their use. We have one day to prepare. Then we go into action.”

  “Mandy?”

  I woke up to Lyman nudging me on the shoulder.

  “What’re you doing here?”

  As I opened my puffy eyes, his face beaming all smiles.

  “I live here,” I snarled.

  My sour mood didn’t seem to affect him much. “I mean, what are you doing sleeping on the stairs?”

  “Where should I be sleeping? Strapped to a fucking Helsing bed like the rest of the vampires?”

  Lyman just puffed out his cheeks and shrugged. I pushed him aside as I rose.

  “Get out of my way. Your freaking afterglow is blinding.”

  He latched onto my elbow, his eyes settling on my wrapped hand. “What’d you do?”

  I yanked myself free and proceeded down to the main level. “Trusted the wrong guy; but, then I’m notorious for that.”

  Mary-Christine stood at the top of the stairs, hair a mess and flecks of rubbed-off mascara darkening her rosy cheeks. She managed to force a grim expression onto her all-too pleased face.

  “What do you mean? Who did that to you?”

  I cupped my ear. “Run along home, little girl. Your mother’s calling you.”

  Lyman stepped in before his tramp could retort. “We don’t have time for this, Mandy. Weeks called and we’ve got a briefing to get to. Either you’re in or you’re out - your call.”

  “In,” I said defiantly. “I’m not the one who can’t pick a team and stay with it.”

  Mary-Christine excused herself, flitting off home to get pretty so she could go kill vampires. Lyman and me circled each other for the next hour until Reynolds arrived.

  “How’s that hand?” Reynolds’s greeting hit me.

  “Perfect.”

  “Don’t bullshit me, kid. We haven’t got time for it.”

  I made a ceremony of removing the bandage and curling my newly-healed hand into a fist and then flattening it again. Hurt like hell but I didn’t tell them that.

  “Works,” I said.

  “You ever gonna tell me what happened to it?” Lyman asked as we filed into the cars.

  “I tried to do the right thing and got my bones obliterated for my trouble,” I reported haughtily. “Just like when I tried to do the right thing by you and not let you do something you’d regret later…then you just went and fucked someone else. So. Lesson to Mandy: do the right thing, get crushed. Got it.”

  I left him with that and took the passenger seat of Reynolds’s car while Lyman stalked off t
o his own.

  “Doing okay, kid?” Reynolds asked, pulling away from the curb.

  “Peachy. More worried about leaving Chris than anything else.”

  “Chris is heavily sedated,” he replied. “And I plan on keeping him that way until we figure out what to do with him.”

  I didn’t have to ask and really didn’t want the answer anyway. Chris may have been permanently changed by that vampire drug. If his attack on me had been any indication, then there might be no reaching him anymore. “What to do with him” seemed a problem with only one possible solution.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t the biggest problem facing us at the moment. I felt like a fly on the wall throughout the Helsing debriefing, watching the slides and listening to the big-bold statements.

  “We kill everything inside. You will all be issued the very best desert camo uniforms, and camo Kevlar vests. You will be outfitted with gas masks and given instruction in their use. We have one day to prepare. Then we go into action.”

  Did these humans have any concept what they were signing on for? Full-scale assault on a compound of GD Blanche vampires armed with some crazy gas that makes regular people as ruthless and mindless as savages?

  But, it did the trick. When the show ended, the troops were pumped. I swear people were high-fiving and congratulating each other - and themselves - on their stealth and daring. I just stayed in my chair, listening and wondering how many of these valiant warriors were gonna piss their pants and go running for cover at the first sight of flashing fangs.

  Goddamn, I hated those people just then. Their arrogance. Their lust to stain their hands with vampire blood. Blood like mine. I could rise up and kill twenty of them before anyone noticed I’d gone from my chair. Drop them all. Pluck, pluck, pluck - pick their heads right off their shoulders like fucking daisies.

  I looked down and found my fists curled up into tight little balls, my own nails cutting into the flesh of my palms. Every muscle in my arms were tense, coiled to strike. Though my fangs were little more than nubs, they ached to sink in to the closest neck to me.

  Hatred filled my chest. I could barely breathe against the pressure of it.