by Ben Archer
When one of the other bartenders makes the mistake of stopping for too long, she gets to hear the story of the first time I met young vampire Shepherd Roberts. “Now picture this, it was the battle of Golden Gate and hundreds, NO, THOUSANDS of blood-thirsty Mongrels were pouring across the bridge. They were swarming like rabid cockroaches to overtake a defenseless downtown San Francisco.
Our unit had arrived too late to do anything other than burn down the bridge to keep them from crossing. That would at least save the city and a hundred thousand people. Well, unfortunately, those bloodsuckers hurled themselves across the wires in never-ending waves to slaughter our entire unit within minutes! There were only about a dozen of us left by the time someone got the bright idea to rip the cables out and finally take the fight to them! We swung out over the bridge, down the sides, under it, wherever they went, we followed. As good as the Mongrels were ─that day─ we were better.
We searched out every set of snapping teeth and smashed right through them. They just kept coming, diving from cable to cable, so we kept on pushing them back in the most gruesome cirque performance of all time. Anything that got in the way was quickly ripped apart.
Everything was going perfect as we fought our way toward an unexpected victory! All that remained was for our explosives expert to reach the last set of pillars, then we were home free! I tried to do my part by tying myself onto a cable directly above him and destroying anything that came within 100ft. That was the plan at least… All it took was one sneaky asshole slipping by to make the entire house of cards fold.
Maybe it was due to my over confidence, perhaps it was just my destiny to fail that day, either way I never even saw the bastard until he had already ripped the poor kid’s head off. Then all I could do was watch him melt into a lifeless puddle. Sadly, I never even knew that brave soldier’s name.
Being tied up in a steel cable kept me from doing anything to keep the explosives from tumbling into the bay. Then, out of absolutely nowhere, came a young Shep Roberts to snatch the charges right out of midair!
It was an act of bravery so fantastic, so unbelievable, that it could only be matched by the sheer amount of ironic bad luck that would strike next.
He was so focused on saving the day that the poor guy never even saw the concrete pillar waiting at the end of his swing. It also meant he never saw the violent collision coming either. While the bombs didn't detonate, the wall pulverized the entire left side of his body. Believe it or not, that mangled soldier, screaming in agony, never stopped for a split second. He couldn’t even stand, yet managed to somehow arm the explosives with only three working fingers! That day I got to witness one of the bravest acts of heroism no one will ever know about.
I pause my story to boast to the impatient waitress, “I bet you didn’t know your boss was a hero, did you?” An eye roll is what I get in return. Anyhow, “So there he was, propped up on a completely shattered shoulder, waiting for the end to come. Any sane man would have run away from the armed bomb. Not Shep though! He knew there would be no coming back and seemed completely fine with it! He sat there looking out over the city with a steady smile as if he were watching a tropical sunset in full bloom.
Something inside me clicked. Watching him happily waiting to die for complete strangers made me realize why I was there that day. He was who I wanted to be.
The suffocating anger didn’t go away completely after that, just died down far enough to let me to feel something again. I forced us to stay with the wounded hero even when my monster tried to run. He wanted to survive, while I craved redemption. Either both of us were going to make it back ─or no one was.
Now, I had been a deeply cruel person, but a smart soldier. I knew there would be no going back through the mongrel horde. Our only real option was to dive toward the bay and pray nothing too big followed us in.
So that swell of righteous inspiration launched me in the direction of the mangled hero. I began by swinging high on the cable, before dropping like a rock from the high heavens. One thing you gotta understand is that the lip of the pillar was only about two feet wide and completely covered in shattered concrete. Logically, I should have just slid right off into the bay, except the laws of physics must have taken that particular day off. My scrambling feet stuck like hot glue!
I had the broken man scooped up within seconds. The poor guy screamed bloody murder the instant my arms wrapped around him. It must have felt even worse when I had to sling him all the way down into the icy water! And we weren’t even under by the time the entire bridge exploded in a spectacular ball of fire! I’m telling you, I felt the red-hot flames licking my feet just as the shockwave rocketed us toward the muddy river bed. Dozens of flaming spears were shooting by on the way down. Only one managed to clip the inside of my shoulder, but their main damage was turning the entire bay into a giant hot tub. The immense heat released millions upon millions of tiny steam bubbles to keep us from being able to see anything other than the boiling blizzard.
Soon, the pillar-sized boulders began crashing down. While we couldn’t see them, we could definitely feel them! Have you ever been sucked under a fierce wave at the beach? You know how the manic tide tries to rip you in a thousand different directions at once, almost like you’re being turned inside out and upside down at the same time? Well, it was like that… but with boulders.
By the time we were done bouncing around the extra-large spin cycle, most of the initial explosion had passed. For us at least. Back on the bridge, things were really starting to go south for the Mongrels.
Literally.
The entire structure had become a long wave of rolling steel and concrete. It kicked like a bucking bronco with each new snapping cable, flinging mongrel after mongrel off its arching back. Hundreds were catapulted from the mighty bridge as it collapsed into the furious waters. Their screams, even if they were Mongrels, still haunt me to this day.
It didn’t take long for the rapid current to sweep us downstream onto some old, dilapidated fishing dock. Of course there were no cheering crowds as I pulled Shepherd’s twisted body from the filthy water.
No one praised us for our courage.
No tears of pride were shed.
All we got was a burning bridge and bodies drifting by like logs caught in a flood. As amazing as this battle was, our contribution would be nothing more than another link in the endless chain of war.”
Although it does makes for one hell of a drinking story.
Chapter 4: Only the Good Die Young
The night grows long as stories flow across the beer soaked bar. “...so the bartender says, ‘I was talking to the duck!!’ Hahahaha!!!!” My insane laughter is fueled by one part liquor, two parts old-fashioned nostalgia, and four parts genuine happiness. Despite all my foolish joy, Shepherd abruptly takes on a much gloomier appearance. His sudden mood change has me rushing to figure out how he could have been offended by the lame duck joke.
In an attempt to defend myself, “See, it was mainly about the duck…” though his grim look shows just how disinterested he is in hearing what I have to say. He marches away without another word and leaves me totally staggered.
“Come on now, it was just a stupid joke!” I try following the mysterious man until my drunken feet decide to send me to ground instead. The unexpected fall manages to avoid all tables, people, and bottles so that (for now) only my pride hurts. Judging by the size of the growing knot on my arm, tomorrow may be a different story.
It takes a small miracle to finally wrestle my feet back under me, and after I do, the entire room is spinning. Finding Shepherd suddenly takes a backseat to simply finding the closest chair. It takes several more failed attempts to line up my blurry ass with the elusive seat. Even then I’m kind of ashamed by the sense of accomplishment I get from completing the otherwise simple task.
Although, ultimately, it’s a short lived swell of pride.
An invisible hand shoves me back down almost immediately. From the ground I get to watch the unm
istakable power of a major explosion rip across the tiny bar. The unstoppable force hurls a sharp wave of glass through like a shotgun blast without bias. It begins up front, and takes everything in its path (including me) with it.
Next comes the ringing ears that keep the screaming crowd down to a muffled growl. The shrill silence drowns out everything except my own growing panic. In an ironic twist, the chair I fell from actually shields me from most of the debris. For once I’m thrilled to have drank myself under a table.
I struggle to comprehend exactly what could be happening because of a mind that’s as fuzzy as my eyesight. Could it have been a bombing raid? We haven't seen one of those since the war ended! But when I find the entire front of the room missing, that appears to be the leading candidate. The idea seems to be spreading over the rest of the terrified bar. They swarm like bumblebees to Shepherd waving them through the back exit. Not me though, I’m aimlessly wading through the scrambling people as if floating through a waking dream. None of it seems real yet. Even as I find myself up by the disfigured lump in the center of all the rubble.
Wearily looking at the fleshy mound reveals a scarred badge belonging to one of our Colony’s guards. There are no burns or any other telltale signs of a bomb apparent. Besides being horribly disfigured, his body is still in one piece. That’s when it hits me ─this was no explosion at all. This, all THIS, was caused by something using a human body as a wrecking ball. But what could have the strength to do it?!?!?
The terrible question forces an expedited sobriety over me. My mind strains to piece together all the improbable facts. The alcohol induced curiosity, along with a habit of making poor life choices, pushes me closer to the mystery instead of following the tide of people going the other way. I’ll forge my own path! Even if it’s with great hesitation…
As my feet exit what used to be the front of the building, I expect to find a rampaging war. Us against them. Our massive collection of guards against a mighty unknown foe. Instead, there’s only me.
Alone.
How?
Where’s the attack?
WHERE’S ANYONE???
The only evidence of this not being a normal evening are the blaring sirens and the one dead guard. Maybe the battle is somewhere else? Maybe this is just a small piece of it? Getting up to the roof should answer some of this. Although, as soon as I try, I realize that I may have overestimated my sobriety when my wobbly legs can barely make it halfway up the short jump. That results in using the lip of the building to pull myself the rest of the way up. And that’s when my problems really begin...
As soon as my drunk body pours onto the rooftop, I’m thrown across the roof like a ragdoll. It happens so fast that all I can see is a blurry grey hand before taking flight. Granted my senses are not 100%... or 60, maybe 40? Most likely mid 20’s. Anyhow, I’m pretty sure whatever it was, wasn’t human.
The abrupt trip ends in a harsh meeting with a solid wall. Any bricks not broken by the impact, immediately fall on top of me. The ones that crush my fingers hurt, but the ones that smash into my forehead do the real damage. After that I have to stay moving to keep the world from folding in on me. Everything except the area right past the tip of my nose has already gone black.
Before the tunnel vision gets even worse, I pull myself from the wreckage by basically feeling around for something that doesn’t crumble. I eventually find a vent that’s wedged against so much other broken stuff that it becomes a solid handle. And that’s when I see it…
It can't be.
A pair of unnaturally red eyes scowl at me from across the rooftop. It’s letting out a low, clicking growl from its shadowy lips. And the smell, God help me, the smell hangs in the air like a mildewed blanket. Standing only a few feet away is a living nightmare in the rotting flesh.
A Eutherian.
A creature so mind-numbingly terrifying that you can’t breathe and look at it at the same time. He literally takes my breath away. It’s also disturbing because, as a vampire, that’s my future. This devil is where we all end up. They’re just our natural evolution. And that thought burns like a cheap shot of whisky going down. Much like all vampires used to be humans, all Eutherians used to be vampires. These monsters are the horrifying result of when we live too long. No one knows why our bodies mutate into actual demons, but they do. Your nose really falls off, and then you sprout giant car sized wings!
But wait, there’s more! Your skin turns a dark scaly grey with bristly hair that could scrape paint off a house. That’s all before your fingers stretch into these long, webbed spines, and your mind loses the ability to think far beyond the concept of “meat”.
All traces of humanity disappear because you’re nothing more than a hunter. Like this guy. He’s a hunter that has me anxiously searching for the quickest way out of here. My feet try inching backwards but they’re already against the wall with nowhere else to go.
His first move is to unleash a mind piercing scream that crumples me to the ground. The powerful waves bounce around my skull and leave warm trails of blood leaking from both ears. As brutal as it was, that wasn’t even a real attack. It was merely a warning to leave him alone. The reason why quickly becomes clear.
Wrapped in those grizzly arms is a girl that couldn’t be much more than eight or nine years old. She appears to have fallen asleep with eyes wide open. Given the horrifying situation, that’s not likely. I’ve heard of vampires who can enchant, but never actually seen it in person.
What’s left of his upturned nose is busy sniffing to decide what kind of threat I could be. Before the kid, not much, I would have gladly left him alone, but after her… still not much. He must feel the same way since his bristly ass is already heading toward the outer wall. He obviously isn’t overly concerned about me.
My bruised ego decides to hurl a couple busted bricks to make him quickly reconsider, but (of course) my drunken hands miss by a country mile. Although they do manage to get his attention.
He pauses to spray me with another one of those mind scrambling wails, then casually turns back around. My only defense against the sonic assault is to clinch my head and squeeze tight. I’ve fought vampires of all shapes and sizes, won countless fights I shouldn’t have; however, these things are a different kind of beast. They don't fight with strategy or tactics. They’re simply exaggerated versions of my own inner monster ─only released out onto the real world.
Looking at all his broken teeth, somehow, makes the idea of being mauled to death even less appealing. That fear causes me to hesitate just enough to allow the big bastard to make it off the side of the building. By the time my feet are ready to move again, he’s almost across the entire courtyard and getting ready to clear the outer wall!
Well, damn! I’m pretty confident I couldn’t make this jump sober, but one way or another, the head-splitting, wobbly-kneed version is going to have to. It takes so long to talk myself into the heroic leap of faith that the bat has already disappeared over the far wall. I have to shove the nagging doubt aside and throw myself into an epic moment of greatness before he gets away completely.
So that’s exactly what I do! And (predictably) make it less than halfway before crashing into a rickety old fruit stand. At least the landing wasn’t all that painful. The squishy foods did a great job of cushioning most of the clumsy fall. On a relatively good note: squashed citrus smells MUCH BETTER than the rancid beast.
I roll out of the colorful wreckage to find a small group of guards already gathered at the gate. The way they’re lazily standing around only adds to my growing confusion. Am I the only one who sees what’s happening here? I scream for them to open the gates using authority I don’t actually have. Despite their uninterested attitude, they don’t argue, and the gates creep open. Having others will certainly help in our search for the devil in the trees. I shout out more commands on the way up the steep hill. They trigger old instincts that resurface as effortlessly as breathing. The thrill of my solo hunts are nothing compared to leading a p
ack into battle.
Before entering the first row of trees, I turn back to see that not a single person had even followed me in the first place. The entire group remains stuck back behind some imaginary barrier at the gate! I can't believe it!
I shout in genuine disbelief, “You bag of dicks!”
Well, with or without them, I’m going. I bark at the cowards a few more times before returning to the line of dense trees hiding a killer.
Alone.
Chapter 5: Mouth of Madness
It’s been a half-hour since I’ve laid eyes on him. That’s not really much of a problem since a blind man could easily follow his foul stench. It’s also pretty hard to miss the large trail he’s cut into the mountainside. Broken branches, entire trees, and dead animals litter the ground in a straight line.
Does he know I’m following him?
By the look of it, he doesn’t care.
Passing a sloppy mound of shredded flesh is a powerful reminder of what efficient killing machines these things are. It also makes me curious why he didn’t do that to the girl back in town. Why drag her all the way up here, when he could’ve just finished her back in town? He could have even grabbed a few more on the way out! Not that that would have been a good thing…
The questions linger, but at least the maddening night has drawn to a merciful end. With dawn comes a chilly morning and a dense fog to add to my rising level of discomfort. It also coincides with the cozy dirt path becoming an endless series of limestone boulders. Just knowing that each step is bringing me closer to a cave full of demons has me wanting to run ―not walk― back home.