The Chronicles of a Vampire Hunter (Book 1): Red Ashes

by Justin A. Moore

  “Now, now, my friend. You mustn't try to speak. The bone of your mandible is protruding.” The dark-robed figure crouched down and removed his hood as he spoke in accented English. He had dark greenish bloodshot eyes; even his sclera was a shade of green except for the blood vessels. Thick black hair hung in coils down both sides of his pale, bearded face and down into his robe. I noticed absently that he had Arabic features, though the pallor of his skin bespoke his true nature. He smiled in a kind way at me, without parting his lips. He reached toward me and ran a finger down the left side of my face and pulled back a finger covered in bright crimson that shown even in the wan light of the fires. He stuck his finger onto his mouth and closed his eyes for a moment before speaking again.

  “Ah yes, a rare pleasure indeed. I swear to you, my friend, I will crush your body for every drop so that you will not turn. This is the respectable end an honored enemy deserves. Others would not honor you so well.” He parted his lips in a mirthful smile this time, exposing teeth filed down to shark-like points. The defiant part of my mind burst forth from the apathy that had been forced upon me. My vision narrowed until I saw only the robed vampire’s face, and not the dozens of turned marines that surrounded us. I regained control of my senses and realized I had dropped my sidearm somewhere, so I did the only thing I could.

  I punched that vampire piece of shit in the mouth.

  His head snapped back for a moment and then rolled forward again with a disgusting smile. He reached forward and grabbed both of my biceps, pinning my arms to my sides with a grip that reassured me that I would be no better held if he had dipped me in cement and let it dry.

  “It's alright, my dear friend, just go to sleep.”

  I felt the apathy wash over me again, but my mind burned through it. He leaned in towards me and I felt his cold, rotten breath on my neck. I needed to do something to get him off of me, because I knew what came next. I smelled the metallic odor of fresh blood and started kicking at him, noticing that this time he was as immovable as a block of granite. I tried to reach up to tear him away, but he squeezed my biceps with furious strength, rendering my arms useless. I tried to think of something I could do to get him off of me, and I could think only of attacking him with my fists until nothing was left of him but bits of bone and a blood stain. I needed to do something.

  I felt the sting of his teeth pressing against the skin of my neck.

  The voice in my mind howled with unrestrained rage, forming a single thought that swelled within me.

  Anything. Now. Right now. Do it now!

  I felt my heart beat like a drum once. Twice. Something in my mind exploded, like a balloon filled with fire, like the goddamned Hindenburg. My body exploded in pain that felt like my blood was boiling in my veins. My dead eye awakened as my vision flooded with stars and ruby light. I felt my jaw crackle as the bone seated itself with a shock of agony so intense that I was sure I'd pass out, but I didn't. My limbs flooded with fiery strength as the vampire pulled back with a confused look on his face. I felt his fingers pop and crack from around my arms as I reached up to grab him by the front of his robe. I closed my fists around cloth and loose flesh and grinned as I squeezed, evoking a howl of terror from the vampire. All of my pain was transmuted into pleasure in that instant.

  Scream. Yes.

  I lunged forward and pinned the vampire to the ground as he slapped at me. Warm patches lingered where he touched me and intensified until they were burning hot, then faded. I saw blood on his clawed nails as he scraped at me, but I didn't care. I laughed at him as he struggled beneath me, the feeling of power and strength suffusing my body and soul; I burned with it. I held him down with my left hand and raised my right, curling the fingers into a fist. I saw his face contort as he let out a roar that reeked of rotten meat. My lips curled away from my teeth in a grin so fierce that I felt them split. Then I hit him in the face, and felt the satisfying crunch as bone and cartilage gave way to my knuckles. His struggles intensified, so I hit him again, shouting in triumph. Then I hit him again. And again.

  And again.

  My fist whistled down to his face over and over as his head pushed further and further into the mud. Each impact sent gratifying thrills through my body as the sounds of crunching bone increased in volume. I felt his teeth shatter as my fist plunged into his mouth and saw his eyes roll back into his head, but I didn't care. I kept punching down into the muck. I felt his neck snap as my fist connected again, and his arms went limp. I kept punching. Furious energy flowed through my body and down through my fist. I wanted him to explode. The smells of burning meat, blood, sweat and gasoline helped fuel my gleeful rage as I struck into the growing crater and felt my fist push clean through the spongy flesh of my enemy, the brittle skull, down into the dirt up to my shoulder.

  Get up. Get up! GET UP!

  I didn't want it to be over. I wanted to keep hitting him until the memory of that night went away. I wanted to punish him for burning the faces of my now dead friends and fellow marines into my mind. I wanted him to live through my barrage so I could do it again. I wanted him to die so damned hard that it brought my friends back to life. Red flames burst from the hole I'd made, and began to consume the body as I rose and stood over the crumpled form. Bits of flesh and cloth rose into the air before bursting into flames of crimson, drifting into the night. I turned my maniacal grin to the other vampires, searching for another victim, but they all appeared to be seizing, bits of fiery ash drifting away from their bodies as one by one they disintegrated entirely. Bits of my fallen marines disappeared in puffs of red fire, but their bodies lay mostly whole.

  Too soon, the fun is over. Rest, now.

  I felt a ringing in my ears grow over the thundering sound of my heartbeat, then with all the swiftness that it came; I felt my strength flood away as a tension grew in my mind. I felt a pressure grow in my head until it transcended pain and became another sensation entirely. I fell to my knees as the ringing grew louder and louder until I swore my eardrums would bleed and my head would crack wide open, shooting my brains into space.

  Then it was gone.

  I was in the mud of the winter desert, illuminated by the fires from the wreckage and bodies around me, surrounded by dead marines and dying vampires that disintegrated into crimson curls of twisting, glowing ash as they fell. My taunting foe had left no remains other than the small crater I had punched into the ground. I couldn't think anymore. I felt soft. I felt tired. I felt abysmally mournful. I rolled onto my back and wept; the warm tears stinging my grit covered cheeks, and I let the night have me.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I heard a really annoying beeping sound. The beeping sound was joined with a sort of constant buzzing beeping that was a lot like an alarm. I heard voices, but couldn't really understand them. I wished people would shut up and let me sleep. I tried to roll over, but couldn't. I felt paralyzed, except that I could feel everything. I tried to open my eyes, and slowly my eyelids gave way with blinding light. I shut my eyes against the brightness of it, and then blinked as I tried to raise my arm to shield my eyes. Slowly and painfully, I brought my hand up and shielded my eyes as I tried to blink away the stinging sensation. I felt a hand grasp mine and slowly push it back to the bed. The voices were a bit louder now, and the alarm was gone. I opened my mouth to say something and a rasping scratching sound came out, prompting a ragged cough. I was thirsty like I'd never been in my life. I tried to lick my lips, but something was in the way. I realized that I had a tube going down my throat. My eyes shot wide open and there were blurry figures standing around me. I reached up to pull out the tube, but clammy hands held down my arms. Then a female voice right next to my head finally cut through all the static.

  “Sergeant Magnus, you have been intubated. Just hold on and we'll take the tube out.”

  I stopped struggling and let who I hoped were doctors do their work. I tried to shake the feeling that I had a guest role as an unfortunate crew member in one of the Alien movies. I felt hands workin
g over my body, removing sensors and other things. Then the tube came out as my vision finally began to focus. I looked at the people surrounding me, they all wore dark robes and had grinning faces with mouths full of sharpened teeth.

  I pushed away from them and fought to scream, but nothing came out, I shut my eyes tight and then reopened them, and the doctors around me had their “oh poor dear” faces on. One tall, white male doctor with a balding pate, one short fat female doctor with curly grey hair, and a nurse who looked like she was of some kind of Latin descent stood around me. The male doctor reached to hold my arms down, but I tried to speak in protest.

  “Fine,” I croaked. “I'm fine.”

  I coughed a bit and reached to my mouth to make a drinking motion. The nurse asked “Water?” and I nodded. She nodded and hurried out of the room.

  “Well Sergeant, I suppose I better get you up to speed. Follow the pen for me.” The male doctor said.

  I nodded and followed a pen with my eyes as he took it to the corners of my vision. He wanted me to do it with one eye at a time after that, and then beamed a light into my eyes again, momentarily blinding me. Then the nurse came and put a cup to my mouth. I reached up and took it, much to her surprise, and filled my mouth with the cool liquid. I cautiously swallowed a single gulp and immediately had a coughing fit. She fidgeted nervously and reached for the cup but I shooed her off with my free hand and drank the rest of the water without coughing. At that moment, “People in Hell want ice water” wasn’t an inaccurate description of how I felt.

  “Hmph. You're a lot better along than I thought, Sergeant.” The male doctor said.

  “You folks military docs?” I asked, noticing no rank insignias on their coats.

  “Civilian.” The female doctor responded.

  “Then call me John, please. Can I have some more?”

  The nurse took my cup and left the room again.

  “Alright, so what are civilian doctors doing in the middle of Afghanistan?” I asked, risking a smile, and quickly regretting it as my bottom lip cracked.

  The female doctor sighed and picked up a clipboard, scribbling on it as she spoke.

  “Sergeant Magnus, we're not in Afghanistan. You've been in a coma for about six weeks, the last two of it were chemically induced to keep you from… feeling too much pain. That’s why we’re here, waking you up. You were MedEvac'd to San Diego when you were recovered from your convoy in critical condition. Your heart stopped three times in the first two weeks of your stay here, and once in Afghanistan before you were sent here, brought back by defibrillator each time. Now you're here in Balboa Naval Hospital, and I've got to say Sergeant,” She set the clipboard down and smiled at me. “It's a miracle how quickly you've recovered. They're going to write textbooks about you.”

  I stared at her, my mind started gibbering. “Oh.”

  The male doctor chuckled as the nurse came back in with a cup of water and I took it from her. “Miss Williams, please get our patient something to eat,” He looked at his watch and frowned. “They should have something left from the evening meal.” The nurse nodded and began to head out the door when the female doctor spoke.

  “Oh, and please get his mail as well.”

  I finished drinking and looked inquisitively at both doctors. “Mail?”

  The male doctor nodded and then whispered something to the female doctor before leaving the room, with my query unanswered. I raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Yes,” she said, “You have quite a bit of mail. You also had a visitor about twice a week. Some big guy, said he was your uncle.”

  “What do you mean, my uncle?” I asked. “I'm an orphan; I don't have any family members.”

  She shrugged and checked some of the equipment around me. “He had all the documentation, from what I understand. We figured you must know him or something because your condition improved with each visit. Damnedest thing, too, we thought he was giving you some kind of family medicine or something, but we watched and all he did was come in and talk to you and read. I believe one of the letters is from him.”

  I considered for a moment the ramifications of having a living family member. It meant he wasn't willing to take me when I was orphaned, that's one strike. He hasn't even spoken to me since the accident, and I'm an adult now. Two strikes. I frowned—I don't play the three strike game. I was pretty sure I wasn't going to like him. I sure as hell resented him, and I hadn’t even met him yet.

  “Hey doc, how long until I get out of here?” I asked her.

  “We won’t know for sure until we run a few tests, Sergeant, but I'm guessing at least a couple weeks. You don't seem to have atrophied at all though, which is a promising sign—actually, it’s completely unheard of. I wasn’t kidding about the textbooks thing. People with your injuries take years to recover.”

  I nodded then reached up and touched my face. I felt raised lines of scar tissue and looked at the doctor while mustering my courage. “Hey, how bad was I when I was brought in?”

  She gave me the same look that she had when I first woke up. “I'm not going to lie to you, it was pretty bad, but you've recovered remarkably well, as I’ve said. Would you like a mirror?”

  I nodded and she walked away for a moment and brought me a hand mirror. I looked into it. A thick scar ran from my hairline down over my left eye and down to my jaw. The left side of my jaw also had a thick sunburst shaped scar where my jawbone had forced its way through my cheek. I touched the smooth, new flesh and inspected the rest of my head. My hair had grown in the nearly two months I estimated since my last haircut. The brownish blonde hair was stuck to my scalp like it was painted on. I lowered the mirror and looked at her.

  “How was my jaw?”

  She smiled. “It was just tissue damage, must have been a near miss with a piece of shrapnel. Your mandible was unharmed. You did however have cracked and broken bones throughout most of your body, and your right hand was completely shattered. They almost did reconstructive surgery on it, but once we saw how fast you were healing all we did was remove the debris that had been lodged into your hand and knuckles. They must’ve pulled half a pound of rock out of that hand.”

  I looked at my right hand, and noticed for the first time that almost my entire hand was a mass of old scabs and bruising, and there wasn't a single fingernail on it, excepting the fresh short fingernails that were just starting to grow back. It felt perfectly fine.

  “Not bad for a guy who died four times.” I affirmed.

  “Well, good,” She said, giving me a smile. “You'll be under observation for the rest of the night Sergeant; I suggest you get some rest. Tomorrow we'll evaluate you to begin your rehabilitation. I see the nurse outside with your meal; I hope it's not too awful.”

  I tried to laugh again and a croaking sound came out. “I'm sure it'll be fine, thanks. I'll see you tomorrow, doc. And stop calling me Sergeant, call me John. You kept me alive—I'm fine with you using my civilian handle.”

  She gave me one last laugh and left, and a second later the nurse walked in with a tray full of hospital food (including Jell-O cups) and a handful of envelopes underneath. She set the tray on a table with wheels and handed me the envelopes. She tapped the top one, which seemed to be made out of old-school parchment, and had a wax seal.

  “Read this one first, sir. I was told to tell you that.”

  I gave her a quizzical look, but nodded and she smiled and hurried out. I picked up the letter and looked it over. The envelope was a simple folded sheet of thick parchment paper. The seal was red melted wax stamped with a stylized M. I snorted, thinking about a rich yet eccentric uncle suddenly wanting into my life. I cracked the seal and almost screamed as a flash of light engulfed the room for a couple solid seconds, then faded. The wax of the seal itself dissolved into dust as I watched.

  “Okay,” I thought aloud. “That was weird.” I unfolded the envelope and removed a letter of similar white parchment and opened it. It was written in sloppy cursive completely out of character with
the other embellishments, though I did notice the pen used was probably a calligrapher’s nib-tip pen.

  “Johnny,

  Hey kiddo, you won't remember me, but we met when you were just a baby. I know you've got a lot of questions you want to ask me, but I'm gonna tell you right now they're not as important as the warning I'm about to give you. When you wake up, do not under any circumstances talk about what you saw in the desert to anyone. I doubt I had to tell you not to talk like a crazy person about vampires, but hey, I can't rule out PTSD or anything yet, because you just woke up and I won't be seeing you until you're well. Once you get done with your rehab, come visit me in Chula Vista. I’ve got a pawn shop there. By the way, you'll probably be getting honorably discharged. I know you may feel fine, but you're gonna be getting out, I made sure. Don't worry, free paychecks for the rest of your life will suit you just fine with the job I've got lined up for you. I'm sure you're sore about it, but don't be, I'll explain when we meet. Here's my address.

  See you soon,

  Uncle I.”

  Pissed couldn't even begin to describe how I felt. If I played a three strike game, this would be one colossal third strike. Assuring me that I would be discharged from the Corps—and not only that, but that he had a hand in it—was enraging. This guy basically told me that I needn't worry about my brothers and sisters in the Marine Corps. I was absolutely certain that our first meeting would be me kicking his ass, violently and all over the place.

  After three weeks of physical therapy, medical boards and testing by doctors as bewildered as I was, and dodging questions about the attack, I was released from the hospital and discharged from the military. I took what I had, packed it up and went to meet my mysterious uncle.

  *****

  I found myself stepping out of a taxi onto a deserted street in Chula Vista. I grabbed my luggage out of the trunk and walked up to the address that was in the letter. “Magnum Pawn.” The stylized letters of the sign glowed with neon malevolence, as much a warning as an invitation. The two-storied old brick structure must have been at least a dozen different shops or offices over the years, and the passage of time hung heavy on it. The place was in a really bad part of town. So much for my uncle being rich and affluent, but I was absolutely certain he was eccentric, bordering on crazy. It was noon so I was sure that the shop was open. I pulled my luggage into the shop and the door hit a bell on the way in. I left my luggage next to the door and took a look around.