Night 5

Nameless and alone, he woke up with a sharp pain in his ankle. He felt stiff and knew that he had to move. He felt sore and weak. He needed food and did not have much money left. He felt out of breath. He sat up and winced at the aches and pains that seemed to come to a needlepoint precision of life when he accepted the fact that he was awake. He walked over to the window and pulled open the curtains. The darkness seeped in and he saw the city alive with the people and the cars and the noise seemed to reverberate through the very glass. He realized that he was home and the aches and pains were simply a different take on things he should be used to. He could feel the drone of the hive calling out to him, but he could tell that he was not part of that annoying buzzing. He was different. He was the darkness in the night. When the thought hit him, it felt like something from a comic or that old cartoon.

The fact that a cartoon was coming to mind felt nice, it was different from the casual feeling of so many things being familiar. He was remembering faces and then a name came to mind, or maybe it was just a guess. What was the name of that old show? He almost laughed to himself when the name came rushing forward. Then it seemed as if a whole teenage life might burst forward, then it sagged and failed and then there was no more than some cartoon duck faces and that name. And there was some strange hint of a voice saying something odd like, “I am the sour cream on your baked potato, I am the rain on your parade, I am...” He was not sure that the line was one that was from the cartoon. It just kind of popped in there as the rest faded away. He wished that he could hold onto something for longer than a few seconds.

Then he saw a glint of yellow in the glass and turned as a real memory ran through his still fragile mind. That yellow could very well have been blonde and if that woman was anywhere near him he did not want to be caught off guard, especially now that he knew she was no nightmare. Those strange green eyes could be peering from anywhere and then there was the fact that it could have been any one of the four girls in the Mustang. He did not know how they could have followed him, but then again, he was not entirely certain as to why the one was coming to his window at the asylum, and let’s face it, that was exactly what that so called hospital was.

He started peering through the darkness and his eyes were amazing. He could see detail in the faint light from the New York skyline as if it were a cloudy day. He could feel the darkness. It was a veil to him, something between his world and a world that was so close that only something so light as darkness, visible and yet never really possessed of a weight, could separate the two from one another. There was nothing being hidden in the room but there was still the bath. He started walking towards the door that led into the bathroom. There was no light coming from under the door. He was walking as he always walked, with almost no sound issuing from beneath his feet and his breath and heart beat nearly nonexistent. He knew that it was no defense against some of the things out there, but in most cases it was an advantage. He looked around and then put his right hand to the knob. He opened the door and again, there was nothing more suspicious than a mirror and a porcelain bowl glinting in the dim lights that came from the rooftops and bridges and through the window of whatever floor it was he was on.

He turned around and looked back at the window. He had to find a way to get past the paranoia and he had to get some help and he knew that the only one person that could possibly help him was Jessica Fairchild. He hated to admit it, but some help would be nice. He could use some more money and a nice meal, something home cooked and intended just for him would be amazing. For some reason he thought he might like some Mexican food, something sunny.

He flicked on the light and then shut the door and decided it was time for a nice hot, leisurely shower. It would feel great to have one after all the stuff he had been through and he had all the time the night would allow. Forty-three minutes and a bathroom that seemed more like a sauna later, he stepped out and took a look around. The darkness was still filled with some presence, some something more that seemed to live just beneath the blackness. He knew it was not so much the room, but the fear that he had of the dark.

He walked over to the lamp by his bed and flicked on the lights. He stretched and felt his muscles slide into place. He started kneading his shoulders and then bent his neck to one side. The successive snapping made him grin slightly. He bent over and touched his toes, held the stretch and then grabbed the back of his calves and pulled himself further down. His ankles burned as the flesh strained over the scratches and bruises. Then he stood up and bent backwards. His fingers touched the ground and he felt his ankles tense. He then pulled himself back up slowly. He then felt his back creak from the bat. He wished that his escape could have been a little less painful.

He started rubbing the place in his lower back and felt the bruise. Whoever that little girl was, she had one hell of a swing. He then stretched to either side. Feeling the pain course through his muscles, he continued through every stretch that he could think of. Soon, he felt that his muscles were somewhere close to what they once had been. Then he went to the foot of his bed and sat down. There was something that he was missing. He started thinking, trying to pull up the memory of what was not there that should have been. He had a good pair of tennis shoes, some decent jeans and a tee and belt. He had had a decent dinner and a good rest for the first time in what seemed to be forever. He shrugged the feeling off and then stood.

He walked over to the phone and the picked up the phone book. He started thumbing through the pages. Then he found the page he wanted. After a glance and finding the Fairchild he wanted, he got an address. Then he called the number and got nothing, not even a ring. He decided not to waste time and just head on over to her apartment. She would be a little alarmed to have some nut show up at her front door, but he had no other choice. He needed someone to help him remember who he was and why he was. He started his journey by leaving the hotel room behind and stopping at a diner for a burger and some soda.

After his cheap, but oh so good meal, he paid the ticket and started to leave. He stepped out of the door and looked up. Then he started walking toward the building where Dr. Fairchild was supposed to live. The people were a welcome sight. They were all strangers and yet they were more of a security blanket than the hospital had ever been. He was so far from the helpless individual that they had turned him into, it amazed him. He saw a young woman look at him, her piercing blue eyes from beneath dark brown waves of hair. Something was strange about that look.

He kept walking as if nothing had happened. Then he saw the cats. The cats were following him. At first there were only a couple and then out of nowhere there was a flood of cats. He stopped and turned to look at them and then they were gone. He shook it off. It was probably the same kind of feeling one gets when they have been looked at too many times. He turned back around and then started walking again. Then he saw the rats. He turned to look again. There was nothing. He thought that maybe he was still asleep.

A few more blocks and a ‘don’t walk’ signal stopped him. A dog came out of a dark, shadow shrouded alleyway. It was huge. He stared at the creature in disbelief. The thing could have been a wolf, it was so big. He looked at the dog and realized that it was a German Sheppard. He also realized that it was frothing at the mouth and baring its teeth. Its ears were streamlined against its head and it was down ready to pounce. Then he noticed the cats and rats behind it. They were darting in and out of the light like ghosts in the alleyway entrance. The other people around him noticed it as much as they would have a strong wind in Chicago.

He turned and started running. His ankles throbbed with pain as he took off down the street. The strange, rabid mastiff was fast on his heels with a few feline friends along for the ride. He started taking turns not knowing where he was going in his efforts to throw off the overgrown bloodhound wannabe. Soon he had no idea where he was, he only knew that the dog was behind him and still growling and no one gave a damn what happened to him.

Then he was running through grass instead of along pavement. He slowed and then heard the growling. “Oh shit,” he spat as he picked up the pace and then jumped over an embankment and onto soft bare ground. That was not exactly his idea of a stroll through Central Park. The trees seemed to fly by and then he stopped face to face with a horse. The horse reared immediately and came down trying to stomp on him. It knocked him to the ground. He turned and saw the dog snarling at him and stumbled to his feet. He darted down the path, the dog and several more that had come from the darkness closed on him. He was amazed to see that he could run so fast with his ankles in so much pain. Then he realized that few people could outrun dogs when they were in perfect health.

He could hear a stampede behind him and then there was a fence. He leapt and clung. He pulled himself over the top and dropped on the other side. For some reason the word Cujo stuck out in his mind and then he realized that the fence would not be enough to hold back the horse. He turned to assess the situation. There were more horses and the cats were pawing at the ground just like the dogs as they tried to burrow under the fence. Rats poured from the sewer covers.

He let his jaw drop. Then he ran as fast as he could. Then, there was the darkness as he heard the rats squeaking and the cats mewing and the dogs growling and it was like a rabid circus behind him as he felt himself enveloped in darkness. He spun around and there was nothing. He jumped and fell. Then he laughed because he was unsure of what he had landed on. He rolled and still tried to get away from the sounds of the crazed animals that pursued him.

The darkness was alive this time. He could feel its fingers wrapping around him. He could feel the wind moving the wrong way. He wanted to reach out with something and stop whatever this new darkness was. He realized that he had spun around and ran back toward the noises of the animals only to fall down through a hole, or over a ledge. It made little sense to him until he felt the pile of soft, moving fur with a strange stench worse, yet somehow similar, to the smell of a muddy dog. Then he recognized it. It was the feel of landing on a pile of sewer rats. He did not know how disturbed to be, not to mention which was more disturbing; landing in a pile of sewer rats or remembering what it was like to land in a pile of sewer rats.

Then the inky darkness receded and there were eyes staring at him. They were large red and green and milky glazed eyes. He backed away as the rats scrambled out from under his feet. He was left sitting on the cool cement looking into those eyes. There were five pairs of those strangely colored eyes looking at him with some peculiar intent. There was almost a childlike wonder in them and yet they were monstrous eyes that would have scared even the hardiest marine into paralysis. He stared back, seeing only faint, humanoid outlines and smelling an odor that was all too much like that of the rats and the sewer.

Then came the whisper of a female voice that was almost erotic, “It is him, isn’t it?”

A man’s voice answered, “Oh yes, it is.” The ‘s’ was held like someone imitating a snake.

He started to back up and the milky eyed one stood. The height of those iridescent, ghastly orbs almost doubled, “There is no need to fear. We are here to help you.”

He leaped back this time, not wanting to know what these things really were.

A match danced to a bright life and the smell of sulfur rose to his nose and then a torch blazed. What it illuminated was worse than the eyes alone could ever have been. The five people, no things because no person could ever be that ugly, were all crouched like animals except the one that had the murky eyes. They were like feral creatures that had been grafted onto human skeletons and then contracted leprosy. Their bodies were broken and twisted with bones in the wrong places and they had boils and blisters all over them and they were clothed in rags and tatters that were rotting where they hung. “What the hell are you?” he sputtered.

The one with the milky, cataract eyes stepped forward, holding the torch with one hand and offering to help him up with the other, “We are the Nosferatu. There are many more of us under this city and throughout the world. We are not like the Pure Bloods. They rule from among you, of course, all this is only a matter of you remembering who you are. Please, Kris, come with us.”

The name sounded like the perfect sound to answer to, but it was odd that the only thing that seemed to remember him was a creature that was barely human. “How do you know my name?”

The creature retracted his hand, “There are few undead in this city that do not know your name. You are very popular among the Nosferatu. The name Kris Bane seems to strike fear into the hearts of even those without a heartbeat. Surely, you recall that.”

He stood and dusted himself off. “What do you mean by undead, those without heartbeats?”

The one with the cataracts turned and the others crawled around his feet as he moved through the sewers, the shadows flowing around the masculine demon as if he was their lord and they his servants. “We are vampires, Master Bane. We drink the blood of the living to stay strong and haunt the night as the demons we are. But there is one among the sheep who has seen that not all creatures of the night are evil.”

“The sheep, what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Kris said.

“How else should we think of mortals? They are, after all, food for those higher on the food chain. They just don’t know it.”

Kris watched as the four Nosferatu scurried along at their master’s feet, the shadows and darkness and rats seethed in and out of the spidery limbs and over the ratty clothing as their nails or claws, from the clicking sounds they made on the sewer floors, clamored along. The light flickered about, throwing even more chaos into the strange, undulating dance at the master’s feet. “So, what makes me so feared?

“You are deadly to the never dying. You are the final death in the form of the mortal creatures that are supposed to give us eternal life. You are the perfect hunter. Kahmir will tell you all you need to know about yourself.”

Kris followed the creature through a metal grate, “Who’s this Kahmir.”

“He is the eldest of our kind in the city, even older than Octavia and Domitius. He has kept the peace among our kind since this city was still called New Amsterdam. He did not plan on certain interventions and he did not ever expect to find you.”

“Okay, what are you not telling me?”

“You were supposed to be one of us. Sometimes the blood does not take, sometimes, neither does the dying. It is rare, very rare and yet it happens. It does not happen often and leads us to believe that you are a very special case. Our powers do not work on you as easily as they might on someone else. Once you remember, you will be even more potent. There are those that believe they have found ways to kill a creature like you. Such as armies of animals that can tear you limb from limb.”

“Now, I’m really lost.”

“Follow and wait for your old friend to answer your questions. He is far more knowledgeable than I. You will see.”

He followed the strange creature and thought of how ridiculous it was that he was following a creature that considered rats good company and sewers a home. He wondered why it was that the only being that seemed to know anything about him was that wretched creature. He followed, watching as the four others writhed about their master’s feet along with the rats and shadows as he walked along the meandering sewer tunnels. He thought that it was like descending some downward spiral into a Golgotha-like hell, one that could only be worse than the simple purifying flames of the Catholics.

They walked for what seemed like an eternity through the chambers of stench and shadow. The rats squeaked and chattered at his feet. He was beginning to wish that alligators in the sewers were a real fear. Then he realized how easy it must be for the other kind, what did they say, ‘True Bloods.’ These Nosferatu could never roam the streets without being noticed, there were some crazy looking people up there, but nothing like these.

After a while, they came to a small stairwell that led up to what might have been a tortoise shell if it were not six feet tall and four feet wide. It even had the green-brown color and hexagonal plates. The Nosferatu that had been leading him moved the shell out of the way to reveal a room full of darkness. Then the torchbearer gestured for Kris to enter. Kris walked into the darkness, thinking he might be trusting a little too much. Then the shell was pushed back into place.

He stood in the darkness for a moment, his eyes incapable of adjusting to the absolute darkness. His back and ankles still ached and throbbed. He thought that it might soon stop if this Kahmir was not a friend. He could hear wind whistling through cracks and could hear the slightest rustling as if of cloth or paper. He found that fear was burning inside of him, yet it was controlled and directed. This all seemed natural to him, almost as though it were something he had done often.

He heard a slight click and then the room was flooded with soft electric light. Shadows still danced on the ceiling and he was surrounded by artwork. There were paintings and carvings and sculptures that all looked as if they had been part of one of the world’s great collections. Then he noticed that everything was not quite the beautiful thing it seemed at first. Each awe inspiring piece was flawed; paintings clawed through or dashed with a blob of paint, sculptures missing chunks or limbs, carvings that had begun to grow again and had twigs and sprouts writhing out of them. Each was a testimony to ruination and ugliness. It was as if someone had built a shrine to the hatred of beauty.

Then he noticed the center piece. It was a rose, a dark rose set in a beautiful French vase and covered with a glass on a wooden pedestal all set on a table that was as ordinary as any in any household. He moved closer to get a better look. The rose seemed to make all else in the room fall away into shadow and sink away from sight. He walked to it and noticed that the petals were nearly black and that the water in the vase was not water at all but some dark, thick, viscous liquid that seemed to be darkly alive. The rose did not show any signs of age or wilting and the bloom was full despite the prior darkness of the room. He wondered if that meant that light was not a new fixture to the room.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Kris did not flinch, “Yes.”

“It is as old as Egypt, not quite the roses of today’s florists, yet a rose nonetheless. Do you believe in eternity, Kristian Alexander Blade-Baines?”

Kris felt that he had heard this all before, “I don’t have much choice, do I.”

“What kind of answer is that?”

“Vampires are real, aren’t they?”

“Why ask me, you already know the answer, just as you know your name is the one I call you by and just as you know who I am.”

Kris thought and the voice seemed to be inside his head, “Kah, Kahmir right? Kahmir Ridzahn?” The name rolled off of Kris’ tongue as if it had been there for an eternity once he got it right.

“I don’t think it is quite time to say welcome back, but we are making a bit more progress than Jessica, yes.”

Kris turned to look at Kahmir and saw nothing from where the voice, a strong, powerful voice, seemed to be emanating. As Kris watched, a gruesome and disgusting sight manifested before his eyes. He saw a figure that looked remotely human. It was a corpse with brown, cracked and split skin that had been dried to the texture of mummy flesh, and was pulled taught over bones that were all wrong lengths and ended in pointed and knobbed spurs and twists. It had claws in place of fingertips and its face was sunken and dry with its lips peeled back in a wide lifeless grimace that displayed an array of fangs with the ones where the incisors should have been looking like five inch long half rotten twisted boar’s tusks that closed in a wild and unruly mesh over a dry and forked tongue that was far too long for the depth of that dry hole that housed it. Its eyes were dark orbs with red embers of life glowing intensely within and its hair hung in oily strands down its back to its waist. Kris knew that this was one of his friends despite his immediate revulsion. “Who am I, what am I that things like you know my name?”

Kahmir walked over to the rose and stroked the glass with a claw. “You are a strange thing, young master, one who could not be turned, embraced, brought over, given the curse, what we call passing the Red Baptism. Your blood keeps you from becoming a vampire and it makes you immune to most of their mind tricks, some few can still fool you and right now, you are not at your best. You found out about us because of a clumsy youngster who wanted to show off his newfound powers. He discovered that a mortal can be a match for an undead. I then discovered that the mortal that gave him his end was impossible to change. I guess you could say you’re vampire proof.”

“I am Kris Bane, but I don’t get the vampire thing.”

“That’s odd. You’re the best hunter I’ve ever seen, in all my five thousand years.”

“Five thousand years?” His eyes were huge.

“There are older, none of those know from where we come. There are rumors and stories and legends, but none are certain. I am older than the pyramids and have kept that rose for eons. As for the vampire thing, get used to it because you have a vampire to kill.”

“If I’m the best, then why is this one going to be such a problem?”

“There are different kinds of vampires, remember. Think for a moment.”

“I can’t remember, I don’t know.”

“There are the True Bloods, the Nosferatu like myself, ghouls and incubi, but it is age that makes the truly powerful vampires. They are the dark lords of the night and rule over the younger ones. The Nosferatu can hide and manipulate shadows and our strength, cunning and toughness are legendary. The True Bloods are known for using and interacting with mortals. The incubi are notorious sexual predators, the ghouls are almost base zombies, wandering about and eating flesh. The ancients of each are the most fearful of vampires, little more than ghosts with nearly no limit on the forces they control. I have fought the ancients before and lost, lost much.” Kahmir trailed his fore claw down the glass and his eyes seemed colder.

“And you want me to go up against something like that, a real nasty. But who is it?”

“You already know who it is, Kris.”

Kris looked into those dark orbs, questions in his eyes, “But she is just a dream. She is just a dream, right?”

“I think you know of whom I speak. I know that Domitius believes he brought her to kill hunters and that she is enjoying her killing spree. I also know she has her own little hive and I think that she may not be as weak as Domitius thinks. Perhaps Arthur would stand against her, but few others would go against the anti-hunter decree of Domitius.”

“That means that they are hunting the hunters and … There’s only one cell here.”

“It’s dead, all but the old professor.” Kahmir laughed, it would have been sunny if it were not a corpse that generated it. “You do have a memory, I was worried. Especially if that little knock on the head could knock the instincts out of you.”

Kris looked at the rose and memories rushed back. His head hurt for a moment and then the deadly gaze of a war trained killer came through. He thought on some of those memories and started to recall seeing many people, many things die. He straightened and Kahmir seemed to be smiling somehow, despite the frozen dead flesh that was his face. Kahmir pointed with a ragged claw-finger toward a chair sitting outside the gallery.

Kris looked over to where the creature pointed. He saw a coat hanging there. It was a long black coat with a silk red lining that was faded and stained nearly black that he could see through in places because of countless cuts, tears, claw marks, bullet holes and burns. He walked over to it and discovered a pair of old worn-out Nikes that were once black but now a dull gray and broken in almost too well. A pair of faded blue jeans, a leather belt, a white t-shirt and a blue plaid flannel button down sat in the chair. He knew those clothes well and had worn many similar outfits. In moments, he was fitted for the adventures of someone who might befriend a sewer dwelling demon. He looked to Kahmir and stood like an imperial figure which had been found the last standing after a battle that lasted too many nights.

Kahmir’s eyes gleamed, “Now, some of the old trinkets.” He walked to an old chest and tossed to Kris a katana with a black hilt and sheath. Kris remembered bits and pieces of a story about a sword of that description that was used to kill demons in Japan when America was a dream in the minds of people who did not know the continent would be there. Then there was an old shotgun made in Italy to fry people that did not die the first time around and its stories from its homeland were engraved on the barrel. The western revolver was a werewolf hunter’s tool not two hundred years past and silver bullets and exploding rounds were strapped inside the coat. For some reason Kris thought the idea was funny. Two Berettas and three ash stakes fleshed out the ensemble, and the crucifix was more of a staple than a tool. He was loaded to bear and the coat hid everything, even from the trained eyes of a war veteran.

Kris pulled the coat on and then Kahmir snapped on the flap that made it look like it should have belonged to Van Helsing and he could feel something under it that he knew was a hood if he reversed the flap. A man who went around killing people had to have a way of changing appearances; not that it was much good after so many scars had been left on the coat, but it was a nice touch when he first bought it.

Kris stood there in the silence as the corpse-thing looked on at him with those piercing black eyes. If ever there was a man who looked the part, it was him in that instant. His eyes held the eternal gaze of a man forged in battle. His sandy blonde hair was mussed up and in disarray. His chin was covered in thick stubble and he stunk of the sewers. His body was not as honed and cut as it would have been a few weeks before, but the evidence of it was still there. His face was cold and his hands were ready to move.

Kahmir nodded a gesture of acceptance, “Do you remember, now?” he said in that nearly poetic voice.

Kris’ eyes glided to those dark orbs which burned with some unhallowed life, “I am Kristian Alexander Blades-Bane. I’m not really sure about anything else, but everything fits, I mean the clothes and stuff, and then there’s the fact that the sword seems so comfortable in my hands. I’m not totally sure about this but I’ll give it a shot.”

Kahmir cocked his head and Kris felt odd, “Well, I just,” his body dropped and he seemed to lose the assuredness that was there only a moment ago.

Kahmir seemed to smile, some strange intensity in his eyes increased. “I hope you remember all, but do not believe that you are anywhere close yet. You may still suffer from headaches and you are already at a disadvantage with that slight limp and the pain in your back.”

Kris was caught off guard. “How’d you know?”

“You’re good, but you’re not that good, yet.”

Kris looked at the rose, “She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”

Kahmir looked at him and he saw Kris’ thoughts. “You are remarkable. You always were a bit of a poet under all that tough guy stuff.”

Kris smiled, “I’m beginning to think that I had to be, old man. And besides, with all this darkness, there’s got to be something good.”

Kahmir looked around, his eyes falling on every piece of art for what was probably the millionth time, “I think it is about time for you to go. Do not forget that we have many gifts and a few do work on you, if the vampire is old enough.”

“Do you really think that the woman is one of the old vampires though? I don’t think she seems that powerful. And why would she play games with me, watching me and waiting? She should be capable of getting into anywhere.”

“She was summoned by Domitius and has been out with her little group of girls. They hunt hunters, the real ones that have been working since men first discovered the children of the night and they also hunt other vampires as I used to. It’s their way of cleansing the blood and making sure we don’t overpopulate. We conceded to the idea of hunters to do that, but some have new ideas that only we should be allowed to determine the ones who live and die. The thing is that our beautiful new bitch is in too much control and not enough people seem to notice. Most of the original girls are dead, she has created another brood. She is taking too many privileges and not even Arthur is trying to stop her. Don’t try to fight her, go for Domitius and find out what she’s up to. I fear that it’ll take the oldest vampires in the city to stop that bitch.”

“Where do you think I should begin?” Kris asked, still unsure of his memories.

“Perhaps you should start with a shower, a clean change of clothes and a warm meal. Maybe, it will start you down the path to being the warrior you used to be.”

Kris looked down. He was ready to kill and hunt, but he was not so certain as the monster that it was what he was supposed to be doing. Not to mention the fact that he was a social disaster with sewage and sweat dripping from him and he was hungry again after the things he had already gone through. He thought that Kahmir was right. He decided to go back to his apartment, which he realized was not very far away, and clean up some before going to pay an old informant a visit.

He started walking toward a flight of stairs that would lead up to an alleyway that would be only a few blocks from his small but effective apartment. He turned to Kahmir, “Why do I trust you? Why does it all seem right?”

Kahmir chuckled behind his deathly grimace, “In time you will know the answers. Go, and do not forget the evils of the night.” With that, Kris left.

He showed back up at his apartment and found the key under the welcome mat in a pocket of carpet and slipped into a crack in the floor. He stepped in and flicked on the lights. It was a small room with a large couch, two chairs and a small dining set off to the right, a TV set and clothes everywhere. It was white walled and had black everything. Silver and glass offset the darkness and there were plants that accented the room. He rushed to get out of his clothing and into the shower.

He stepped out of the hot water and felt a pain course through his head from his temples to the base of his neck. He fell, hitting his knees with a thud and he could see faces; faces with pale skin and ancient eyes that should not exist but did, there were faces that were wrenched with insanity and faces that looked as though they had been distorted by strange diseases. He knew those faces, they were the faces of the dead and they would haunt him forever. He hoped the headaches would go away, the faces he could deal with.

He stood after the pain passed and then walked out and began to clothe dress. It felt good to be clean, dressed in his own clothing and resting on his own bed. He knew that he had to eat and then get started. The night was growing old and the hours before dawn were growing short. He chuckled, if only Stoker had known that it was easier to hunt at night. You could not get away with the stake through the heart during the day if the undead friends and family were free to wander at night as you slept. They did not need an invitation to enter your house as the old stories said, and traps were unreliable.

He stood up and stretched. His ankle and back tensed and he gritted his teeth against the dull pain that raced between the two. He was not sure how well he could do if he was missing his marbles, suffering from headaches and had the pain in his ankles and his back. The good guy always seemed to get fucked up the worst though. He made himself a quick microwave dinner to sate his hunger. He went to the window and looked out. He could see the eyes watching him. They were filled with a strange and unnatural wariness and they were waiting patiently for the right moment to do away with him. They were not really there, of course, they were only in his mind’s eye; but they were real nonetheless.

He walked back to the small alcove style kitchen and dropped his paper plate in the trash. He felt the food settle and he winced as his ankles screamed again. He took a deep breath and knew that it was time to go talk to Tyler. He would enjoy seeing his old friend again. He walked over to the counter and grabbed his keys, he did not have a car and he did not remember what all the keys went to. He knew that three were keys to the back doors of clubs that the undead of the city frequented and that two went to Arthur Larden’s manor in the hills north of the city. He then grabbed his coat and felt the familiar weight of the weapons hidden in the generous folds. He pulled the coat on and felt that something was missing. He looked through the pockets and then reached for his chain that had been left on the end table. The pendant was a rose, a Rosicrucian rose, with a crucifix. It was time to rock and roll.

He stepped out of the building and onto the street. He breathed in the darkness. The late summer air was filled with the smell of grease, trash, fumes and people. It was disgusting, but it was befitting. It was a hive of darkness, a city that never slept and housed evils no man would dare dream about. It was a city for sinners and Kris knew where the baddest of the bad spent their nights. He was on the job, a cop outlaw son-of-a-bitch with a cause and the guts to back it up, or so he hoped. He started walking. It was going to be a very bad night for someone.

He went in through the back of the building and up the emergency exit stairs and came out into the midst of more people than he had expected. They were everywhere; drunk, stupid, horny, annoying and everywhere. The place was loud with modern music that was a little too fast, but exciting nonetheless. He saw half-naked women working too hard for the hard goods they wanted for the night and men who were so caught up in women that they could do little more than drool. Then he started walking. They parted like the Red Sea for Moses, only his was the cold glare in his eyes and not the staff of God.

He moved like silent thunder, and his eyes pierced like lightning. Men stepped out of his way to keep their footing and women to get a better look. His rough beard and bright blue eyes were enough to grab their attention, the fact that his lean muscles and catlike walk made him the badass of your dreams were just cake on the side of the platter. The people at the bar moved out of the way and the dark man behind the bar serving the drinks smiled, showing a set of teeth so white they looked like they could have appeared from nowhere if the place were a bit darker. “What you doin’ mon? I’ve not seen you here for ages.”

Kris smiled back, “What’s up, Ty? I was a little down on my luck and I just got back. What’s the word?”

Ty slid a drink to a man down the bar, “Seems like the word is dat a new lion took over the pride. Or maybe I should be sayin’ lioness.”

Kris’ eyes narrowed, Ty was backing up what Kahmir had said. “So, who is she?”

“No one knows, other than Domitius. Dey be sayin’ he brought her over from the old country.” Ty held up his index finger and took an order from a sultry brunette to Kris’ left. When Ty finished mixing her drink he turned back to Kris, the brunette gave Ty a long, thoughtful look up and down and then turned and left.

“From Europe then. So, what’s been the story going around?”

“Domitius’s boys be sayin dat da big man be tryin to bring back the old ways, mon. Dey say dat he be getting da world ready for some bad fuckin’ ju-ju.” Ty’s dark eyes became deathly serious and his usually celebratory Jamaican voice seemed hallowed and reverent. “Dey say he be making for a world were da vampires rule and the mortals be da slaves and servants. It gonna be a dark day for us all when dat shit happens, mon.” Kris could see the dark skinned islander with his dreads pulled up on top of his head as some kind of Houngan witch doctor or voodoo priest, it was an odd way to see the light hearted man.

“How does he plan to do that?” Kris asked, leaning in close and feeling a set of eyes on him that were too heavy to be those of an ordinary mortal.

“By doing away with hunters and strange phenomenon such as yourself, Kris.” The voice was regal and held a Spanish accent that had faded with time.

Kris turned to see Fernando Martinez. “What the hell do you want?”

“I want a shot at the big man himself. I also want to see Domitius succeed, and it looks like he might with this new weapon of his.” The dark Spaniard beamed with self-righteousness.

“First off, I’m not here to start a fight. Secondly, what the hell do you mean by new weapon?”

“She’s like a goddess of darkness and like a thief in the night. Not even the old shit rats can fight like she can and she’s been taught to hunt the likes of you. She’s too strong for even Octavia and Arthur cowers from her in his hilltop citadel. Domitius has outdone himself.” Fernando was loving the way it made Kris sound doomed to failure.

Kris’ blue gaze was cold and calm, “Domitius has always shied away from Arthur, if he has control over someone who makes Arthur afraid, who’s to say Domitius holds the leash.”

Fernando chuckled, “Simple, that’s what he does best, holding dogs in their place.”

“I hope your right.” Kris said and looked back to Ty.

“So do I, mon, so do I.” the Jamaican agreed.

Fernando started to walk away then he turned and grabbed Kris and tossed him into the middle of the floor. Kris’ coat flapped wildly as he arced through the air. Then he hit the floor and people began to scatter. Kris stood up slowly, rage building in his eyes. Fernando was already in front of him; no one had seen him move, he simply appeared in front of Kris. Kris punched the vampire in the face and Fernando reeled back. Everyone watched, stepping back to make room for the two. Ty shook his head. When Fernando steadied himself, he had a shotgun pointed at his crotch, “If you do so much as flinch, I’ll stake your ass to the side of a building where only half of you will burn, understand.”

Fernando tried to maintain his composure and then rage took over. His fangs sprouted over his lips and his fingertips became two inch long claws. Kris pulled the trigger and a tongue of flame engulfed the lower half of the vampire. People were screaming and hitting the floor for cover. Fernando lost all control and started beating at the flames and roaring in pain. Kris hit the panicked bloodsucker with the butt of the shotgun and then pulled a Beretta from under his coat, it glinted in the dark. He blew half of Fernando’s head off in the same movement. Then he stamped the flames out as the unconscious vampire began to heal.

Kris stood there a moment staring. He looked around. Then he looked back at Ty. His mind was reeling with questions.

“He never was a fighter, mon. He always be relyin’ on his charm and mind tricks. But, he comes back from everyting.”

Kris was starting to trust the undead and their inherent fear of him. He waited for the undead mouth-off to grow enough of his head back to talk and then turned back to him. “So, you going to tell me where to find Domitius, or do you need more proof that I’m back?”

Fernando wiped blood from his suit jacket and lightly fingered the burns near his groin. “You piece of shit, I’ll kill you.”

Kris shook his head, “You’re fast, but you’re also weak and too cocky. Just tell me where to find Domitius.”

Fernando stood and touched the bald scar tissue that was starting to smooth into normal flesh atop his head, then traced the edge of the hole that still showed bone and gray matter, “I don’t know, he’s been hiding. He doesn’t want people coming for him, people like you, before she finishes her work.”

Kris stepped over to him and wrapped his hand around the vampire’s neck, “You don’t know a goddamn thing, do you?”

Fernando looked away. In his pain and shock, he could not maintain his composure and lie at the same time. Kris Bane was dead, Domitius had said so. He was supposed to have died at the hands of Ekatarina. He had put up a little bit of a fight, but she had finished the job with ease according to the old Roman. It was over and yet here he was, alive and well, just as always. Why wouldn’t that God bedamned freak of nature just die? All the other mortals passed away without too much of a scream, but not him, his heart seemed to just keep beating and beating and beating like the drums of war carrying death in their dramatic reverberations. He wished he were able to fight like most of the others. “No, just that she is supposed to do Domitius’s dirty work.”

Kris nodded, “Figures. Now go away.” Kris pushed Fernando away and Fernando crawled away on all fours and people started to move back in even as Ty started making the fight into a mere bar brawl, no shotgun included and definitely no exploding heads and dead bodies that could talk in the mind’s eye of the people in the bar. Kris watched as people began to mill about as if nothing, or very little, had happened. Then he saw the brunette that Ty had served earlier staring at him and wondered what was going through her mind. He thought it best not to think about it.

Ty walked up behind Kris, “Hey, mon, not bad for a man with half his brains in the right place.”

Kris looked to the tall, powerfully built black man in his designer clothes. Tyler could have been a model, if he were not dead. “Domitius, an ancient vampire that has most of the bad guys working for him and he has that guy on his side. I can’t believe that that guy was that weak and still came back from all that damage.”

Ty laughed a hearty, strong laugh, “Fernando never was much of a fighter, mon, what else can I say.”

“How do I find Domitius, I don’t remember?”

“Course not, mon, you never knew to begin wit’. Besides, you don’t want to go to a rave, not wit’ all dose vampires around.” Ty was joking, but only half way. He did not want his friend that he just got back to jump into the flames. “You’re not tinkin’ bout goin’ after Domitius tonight, mon. You’re not yo’self.”

“I don’t know. I have to start somewhere.” Kris looked around and saw the faces of Fernando’s party looking back at him from different places. They would not forget so easily what just happened to their master and they would be more of a challenge. “Where do I go if I want to talk to Domitius?”

“No fuckin’ way, mon. You don’t go talkin’ to him, he comes to see you.” Ty clasped Kris’ shoulder with a large hand that felt like it could crush the bones beneath his flesh like dry twigs.

“It’s time to change the rules, before this shit goes too far.”

“You ain’t in no shape to be changing’ da rules. I can’t be letting’ you go out dere like dis. Kahmir would kill me.”

Kris thought about what would happen. Ty was right, if he went after Domitius in his current condition, he would not stand a chance. He was still weak and he had too many aches and pains to deal with to be truly effective. “So, then where do I begin?”

“You knew to be looking here, mon, so why don’t you follow dose instincts of yours?”

Kris looked into the nearly black eyes of the old Jamaican with the young body and heart. He saw faith, confidence, strength and trust. He also saw a pendant much like the one he was wearing under his shirt. He thought of Arthur Larden and his hilltop mansion outside the city. He wondered why the usually forward and public leader of the vampiric New York was in hiding. There had to be more to it than a female vampire. “Hey, Ty, is Arthur really hiding out?”

“No one be seein’ him for ‘bout as long as you been under the weather, mon. Maybe someone should pay him a visit, maybe.” It was obvious that Ty was telling him to do what he had already thought might be a good idea. He was going to go see Arthur.

“I think I’ll be going now.” He started to walk away and then noticed the brunette again. Her dark brown eyes were locked on him. It was strange. Those eyes seemed to see more than they should. They held a crystalline shimmer that was much like the eyes he associated with the long undead. She did not look away despite his long glance. He turned and walked toward the back where he had come in.

“Don’t be a stranger, mon.” Ty shouted after.

Kris replied with a lifted hand, something of a wave with no effort.

Danny had called Ally’s place more times than he could remember. He knew she had been freaked out when he walked her home; but to not answer her phone, something had to be terribly wrong. He walked into his kitchen and poured a glass of water. He started to chug it, poured it out in the sink and opened the cabinet and decided a little Jack would be better. He filled the glass about a third of the way and then tipped up the bottle and downed as much as he could take without throwing up and slammed the bottle down. He could not remember ever giving that much of a damn about any girl, let alone some slutty blonde.

He wiped his face and then slammed down some more of the burning drink. He felt better already. He turned and leaned on the counter and held the bottle of Jack in a hand that was growing weak from dialing the phone and not being able to sleep. He was hoping that she might call or send a message to one of her friends but even they had not heard from her in a while. He walked into the living room and sat down in front of a football game that he could barely see from the tears in his eyes. He tried to remedy that with another draught from his bottle. Then the frustration broke through and the bottle broke through the television set after he threw it. Alcohol splashed everywhere and a sizzling and popping came from the broken TV.

He stood and kicked the set and then tossed the couch onto its back. He slammed a table and the lamp on it fell off and broke into shards of glass all over the floor. He stopped and stumbled around. He had gone out of his mind over a bitch he could barely stand unless she was on her back. Then, through the drunken sleepiness a thought boiled up to the surface. Maybe they were two of a kind looking for the same. He did not know and he did not want to think about it. He collapsed into a chair.

He wiped his face and slouched as far into the chair as he could. He had no idea how much time passed as he sat there waiting for the room to stop spinning. Then, there was a knock at the door. He stood and stumbled. Too many bottles of beer and shots of Jack and not enough sleep and a ten foot trip could take forever. He pulled open the front door and saw Ally. She was dressed in skin tight black pants and was wearing a tight black top that showed off her curves without baring any flesh. Her eyes were begging. He stepped out of the way to let her in.

She looked around and the sight did not affect her. He slammed the door, “Where the hell have you been?”

She turned to him. He thought her eyes were different, like a lion in one of those Discovery Channel documentaries; they were predatory. He always thought she had moved like a cat, but now the house pet seemed more like a deadly panther; quicker, more wary, deliberate and watching. Her lips parted slightly and he could see the gleam of her teeth. She was more beautiful than ever, her flesh was paler and her fingernails were pointed. He liked how dangerous she looked. “I’ve been…” she let her eyes wander slowly, “thinking.” She said the last staring into his eyes and he thoughts felt clearer. “I know that we’re not exactly dating, but,” she bit her lip, “I want you.” Her right hand caressed her neck, slid down the cleft between her breasts and slipped inside her pants. She began to rub and moaned lightly. Danny felt an unstoppable urge to drop to his knees. He did.

She stepped closer to him. She used her other hand to rub the top and back of his head. She pushed her pants down and thrust his head toward her. He tried to resist, but his body was obeying something else and he was licking and sucking. It was the first time that he had not wanted to touch her. He tasted something too bitter, too slick, something too metallic and felt his stomach twist as he thought that she might be on her period. He wanted to sick up, yet he could not stop sucking the fluid down his throat. In the back of his mind he heard her say, “Drink, fool, drink.” He wanted so badly to stop. He knew that too much was wrong. She was wrong. She was not the Ally that he knew, she could not have been. Then she wrenched his head away and he saw that it was blood pouring from a gash in the soft flesh where her leg and labia met that he had been drinking. He tried to spit, but the blood was in him and for all the red spittle on the floor, she had already prepared him for the torment he was to endure.

He crawled backwards from her, scrambling over the strewn furniture and through the broken shards of television screen, cutting his hands and his lips quivered in disgust. Finally, he got to his feet and began to run back to the kitchen. He ran with all the speed he could find in his tired legs. Then, he felt an intense pain across the bridge of his nose and landed in the floor. He was looking up at Ally who was holding her arm out. She had clothes-lined him and he had not even seen her move. She could not possibly be that quick. She began to walk slowly toward him. Her face was calm and patient.

He pulled himself up and to his feet and then ran and felt her grab him from behind. It could not be her, it was too strong. He was flung to the wall face first and then fell onto his back. She picked him up with one hand and held him, feet dangling in the air, slightly off the ground against the wall. His eyes were wide with fear and he was sober with vampire blood. He did not know what it was that made him so intensely aware of everything and was convinced that fear and panic had honed his senses.

“You should have treated me better. You should have treated me like a woman.” Her lips rested slightly apart as if she were ready for a kiss.

He had overcome the fear and was now in a state of terror. “Why, you never acted like one?”

Her lips pulled back and then he saw the fangs, each of the four canine teeth were three inches long and her mouth seemed to open exceptionally wide to allow for them. He knew that those gleaming ivory daggers were meant for him on that night. “A real man would have cared. You used me and countless others, now you will know some small part of my pain.”

He was speechless. How was she to know that he had actually begun to feel something for her, something more than an ache in his prick? He was aware of something beyond physicality for the first time in his life and he knew that it would not be a long-lived experience.

She growled, or maybe it was in his mind and then she tightened the grip on his throat and he began to kick and slam his fists into the wall behind him. He thrashed until his arms and legs bled, his jeans and shirt hung in bloody tatters and then she lifted him more. He was beating the walls so hard he did not feel the dry wall crackling as his shoulder blades and neck left trails in the surface of the wall, trails of broken dry wall and blood. She held him as high as she could and her eyes gleamed. He had pissed his own pants. A puddle of blood, urine, and dry wall dust had pooled in the floor. She could smell it and it pleased her.

He calmed and the pain became dull. She loosened her grip and then nicked his chest with the claws of her other hand. He gasped. She took one claw and scraped it from his shoulder to his stomach and then stepped close to lick the blood. It was spiced with terror, panic, fear and despair. She could taste the emotions, the endorphins, and the adrenaline like a cornucopia of flavors at a feast. She loved to see him in agony. It excited her in ways she had never known.

She waited what seemed like an eternity to her. For Danny, it was truly the longest thirty minutes of his life as he recovered from the new pain. Her claws burned and itched like poison and it seemed to drag the minutes and seconds into days, or nights. Then she reached down to his crotch and slowly massaged his scrotum. He felt soothed, a voice in his mind seemed to drown out the pain and then, after a few moments; or was it hours, she clawed into the base of his penis and ripped up the length of it and blood splattered on the floor with dangling shreds of denim lying about it and partly in it soaking up the red liquid.

She licked her hand and it looked like she was enjoying herself far too much to be licking up blood. She smeared some of what was left on Danny’s face. “You’ll never get the pleasure again.” He was in too much pain to respond. He could feel darkness infringing on the edges of his vision. He was about to black out, but he did not. He could not understand why he did not. He had lost so much blood and was in so much pain. He was certain that by this point, the body was supposed to give up. She grinned like the devil. “You’ll not be going to sleep, not with my blood in your veins.”

He focused enough for one question, “What are you?” The words were broken and his voice was so quiet that only her vampire ears could hear it.

“I am revenge, hatred, death, I am a vampire.” She kneed him and he felt a shock of pain as something busted between her knee and his pelvic bone. Then she threw him down on the floor. She began crawling toward him and then she began the scratching, slow, deliberate scratching. She etched her hatred on his flesh as he lay in the darkness, screaming when enough strength was there and wriggling uncontrollably until finally, even the vampiric blood gave out and he was consumed by darkness.

She waited for him to awaken, knowing he would. He did and then she smiled, “You know, there is something I always wanted that you never gave me, so I think I’ll just take it.” She clawed into his chest and his body coiled tight under the pain. She closed her hand into a fist and ribs shattered and crunched, flesh tore and she ripped open a hole in his chest through which he could see his own lungs and heart. That was impossible. No one could survive what he had, and now this on top of it. He wondered if anyone who had died had a story like this. Then he thought to himself, yes, of course they had. He knew that the wounds on the inside were worse than any she could inflict on him.

Then those fangs sank into his heart and she slowly sucked him dry, like a black widow spider draining her old mate. She finished hours later, her mouth dripping with his blood and her body filled and brimming with the strength of darkness. She licked her lips and looked up, not seeing a ceiling, but peering into mother night herself.

A woman stepped out of the darkness. Her long blonde hair framed a beautiful face set with dark green eyes. Her full, dark lips widened into a generous smile. That smile seemed to split her face and was both warm and friendly and dark and perverted, like the grin of a demented clown. Her teeth were perfectly white and her fangs showed plainly. She wore a light green dress of some velvet-like material that clung to her lithe, well endowed figure like a second skin and then turned into a sea green river of cloth that pooled around her feet. Her hands were small with long fingers that ended in claws that could easily have been mistaken for very long but well-kempt nails that where painted pearl. “Come to your mother, child. Taste true love and know the warmth of passion that only we, the eternal can share.” She held out her arm and pulled back the long sleeve to bare the soft looking flesh of the inside of her lower arm.

Ally bit into the flesh and the woman moaned in delight. “Yes, darling, revenge does taste sweet, and so much more when everything you have tasted and will taste is so bitter. Now you will be my lover until all things end.” Ally looked up and her lips curled in a smile around the four bloody holes on the woman’s arm. She, too, was in pleasure.

When she was finished, she asked, “What’s next, Ekatarina, what do I learn next?”

Kris got out to the parking lot behind the building and looked around. He smiled as he remembered that one of the keys went to a new Chevy 3500 full cab with a full towing package. He grinned as he went to the truck. The onyx black paint jab was nicely complemented by the burgundy interior. He loved to drive in style. Before long he was hauling ass toward Arthur Larden’s house in the woods. He remembered as he drove that Arthur’s real last name was Larden and before that it was something entirely different. The Romans had named him Artorius and it stuck. Kris wanted to know what had put the ancient warrior into hiding. He was not easily frightened and if Arthur was out of the picture, Octavia and Domitius would be running the city in a few nights.

Then it dawned on him. They already did run the city. The only real opposition they had was Kahmir and Ty. Without Arthur backing them, that was very little and soon the city would return to the way it was in the eighties. That was back when the place was a true hive, with no real hunters and no laws set down by the vampire masters of Wall Street and the mafia. It was a time when death and disease ran rampant throughout the city. He could not imagine what would happen if things reverted to the dark age of the city.

He knew things. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place and yet he still did not know who he was. He had a name, some allies, a few enemies and an apartment. He was starting to really believe that he was a hunter and yet he still did not know who the man was. He did not remember his parents, going to school, where he grew up and what made him who he was. He hoped that it would come soon.

He finally pulled onto the winding, wooded road that led to the mansion that housed one of the most ancient forces in the city. To most, that long deserted drive would have been haunting, but to Kris it was just another stretch of road. He pulled up to the gate and got out. He walked to the lock in the base of the large lion that stood guard to the left of the gate and slipped in a key. The gate opened on electronic hinges. Kris then went back to the truck and drove the rest of the way to the manor.

He stepped out and looked at the ancient castle that Arthur had had brought from the British Isles when he moved in to give some direction to a city ruled by fear and terror. Kris had still been in a small town and Kahmir had just discovered him. Back then, Kris had no idea he would hunt the undead and Arthur would have laughed if you told him that he would befriend a mortal that could fight vampires toe to toe.

He went to the doors and knocked. The large brass knocker was a lion’s head with the bolt through the snout. He clanked the bolt against the striking plate three times, waited and then struck it three more times. No one answered. He tried the door and found it locked. He opened it with one of the keys he had and walked into a long, dark hall that was lined with artifacts that any antique dealer would have died to see. He was walking on a carpet that had come from seventeenth century France and saw his faint, dark shadow in mirrors from China that were older than most of the trees in New York State. He pulled his shotgun and checked to see that it was loaded with a flame round. He did not want to destroy anything in his friend’s house, but he did not want to take any chances with his own life, either.

He took care to look in each room and rounded every corner with a caution that only a trained war veteran would have seen the reason in. His footsteps were silent and his breath and heartbeat were controlled. He knew that if they wanted to hear him, they could, but their lackeys and agents would not be so lucky. He scanned every alcove and all the shadows were suspect in his hunt. He trusted nothing. The undead were too unpredictable and devious to rely on experience and knowledge alone. His eyes moved over every detail slowly, detecting the subtleties of movement and position. He had to be prepared.

He came to the stairwell and went up. He trained his shotgun on an opening at the top of the stair and took each step with care. He paused at the top and listened. He slipped out into the hall so slowly that no human would have noticed him in the relative darkness. A floor board creaked. He turned to see if something had made the sound and saw shadows. He realized that his memory was truly not fully there when he noticed that none of the second floor was the least bit familiar. He very well could have been in a dark maze, knowing only where the exit was. He moved toward the sound.

A few steps into the darkness and a shadow seemed to take on shape. It was huge, eight feet tall and nearly three feet across. He pulled the old revolver from his coat and balanced the shotgun in his right hand. He got closer and saw the snout and the muscular torso had taken shape. He felt the urge to run. At least you could not see that a vampire was so much stronger than you. He stopped and closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them, the shadows were two vases sitting on high tables and eight feet was only about six. He knew fear, but he had forgotten that his imagination was also prone to playing tricks on him when his fear got out of control. He let out a silent breath and then continued on. He did not enjoy having only fractured memories.

He started walking again. He slipped the revolver into its holster and went back to a two handed grip on the shotgun. He walked into a study and found a large leather chair with its back to him. He walked toward it and then it moved slightly. He stopped. He raised an eyebrow and focused on the chair, careful not to lose all awareness of the room. The chair rocked slightly. Kris took a step closer and looked up into the window. There was no reflection in the darkness. He gritted his teeth, wondering who he was going to meet.

The chair spun around and in it sat Arthur, his dark blue eyes and long blonde hair framing a face of regal features with a full beard. His chest was broad and well muscled and his hands were large. He was covered in thick hair and wore a pair of slacks. His feet were bare and still callused as they had been when he had gone through the Red Baptism. He looked up at Kris, “What do you want?” His voice was still commanding even though it had deteriorated.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kris asked.

“Waiting for her.” Arthur looked down.

“You’re the heart of this city. You’re the reason it’s so strong now, and you’re just going to wait for her to come here? And then what, die passively?”

“You don’t understand. I’ve seen her kind before. They aren’t like us. They’re stronger, faster, they don’t die. They are eternal. She will kill us all if we stand in her way. Domitius doesn’t realize that he is the pawn. I know what those like her are capable of.”

“You don’t even know if she’s that old. For all you know, she’s just a damn good fighter and here you sit letting Domitius and Octavia take the city from right underneath your nose. We need you out there, doing the things you do. The others listen to you. With your help, we can fight her. Besides, there has to be a chance even if she is one of those ancient vampires.”

“You’ve never seen one like this one before, Kristian. She’s all beast and no humanity, not anymore. They lose all of their humanity during the change. They give no thought to the lives of the mortals they use for food, they are to be slaughtered. And now there is new prey to be had, us, the weaker vampires. They are the most terrible beasts in all the night, Kristian. I know she is one of them. I can feel it.” He sounded tired, broken.

“You were a warrior once. Be one again. You fought against the odds. You were taken into the night because you impressed the vampires of Rome when they came to fight you. Impress these creatures by standing against them. You alone can rally the vampires of New York against her. Leadership is in your blood.” Kris lowered his shotgun.

Arthur stood. He was well over six feet tall and his body looked as though it was carved from stone, “She may look fragile, but she is as indestructible as the night. No one has ever beat one. I saw one once. It wreaked havoc on a group of vampires who met in the wilderness of France and was not even scratched. Kahmir says he fought one, once. His story ends with the loss of far more than just lives. They destroy souls and do not care. They are demons, Kristian. We cannot fight them.” He walked to the window and looked out. “They are the originals, the ones that we fear. They are to us as we are to mortals. Not even you can fight them.”

“Come on, man, get a grip. You have held Domitius at bay for thirty-some-odd-years and now you’re going to let this one ruse get in your way. So, he pulled out an unexpected wild card. That doesn’t mean you have to fold this hand. You still haven’t seen all the cards you have to play yet.”

Arthur turned his cool blue gaze on Kris, “This is no game. I know battle. I breathed it when I was alive. This is one that cannot be won.”

“You said that you’ve never heard of anyone beating one of them?” Kris asked more than stated.

“That is what I said.”

“Well, let’s just say that I asked some guy on the streets of New York if he thought that he could kill, I don’t know, let’s say a sixteen hundred year old Scottish guy who fought against the Romans, became undead, doesn’t even feel bullets, heals broken bones in minutes, and can throw dump trucks like a kid tosses a softball. What do you think he would say to that?”

“Impossible.”

Kris nodded, “Alright, now, let’s give that guy a year of martial arts classes, practice at a shooting range, incendiary rounds, some oak stakes, a few hours at a gym every other day, a damn good cause and a little knowledge about the undead and then what are his odds?”

Arthur looked out the window, “You’d have your average vampire hunter. A plausible threat if anything I did was not promptly covered up.”

“Exactly. So, let’s take your average vampire and load him with some lore, the right weapons and I don’t know, maybe two more vampires, a couple hunters and how about mother nature’s cure for the undead.”

Arthur shook his head no, slowly, “Too many have died against them. It is futile.”

“Then at least run your city and control what you can. If we can maintain some semblance of order among the undead, then maybe we’ll be able to fight this threat.”

“He’s trying to bring back the ways of Egypt and the Incans and Mayans.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, who and what? Huh, what the hell are you talking about?”

“There are old rumors that the Egyptian, Incan and Mayan gods were not gods but vampires. Their blood sacrifices were to indeed appease the gods, as it was dinner for them. The people served the vampires and the vampires served only themselves. They did not have to hide as we do now, because the people accepted it and those that fought the vampires were seen as sacrilegious and offered up as sacrifice to the gods. Some say that our own roots can be found in the tales of those ancient peoples. Domitius wants another city where the vampires are gods and with her here, he might be able to do it. Let’s face it, if any city in the world was to be conquered by the undead and lead the way for the world, it would be this one.”

Kris walked up to his friend, “All the more reason to fight with everything we’ve got. Don’t give in, man, we can take this prehistoric bitch.”

Arthur clasped his friend’s shoulder with a hand meant for wielding claymores and battleaxes. “I don’t know about that, but I do think you’re right about me taking control of my city. I just don’t think it will help much.”

“She can’t be that powerful, or you’d already be dead.”

“No, she doesn’t see me as a threat and she’d rather keep Domitius’ hopes for controlling her up. I don’t think he knows how strong she really is.”

“Then maybe you should work at weakening his confidence. If he begins to think she is controlling him, maybe he’ll start to pull in the reigns and if she is controlled or trying to make it look that way, at the very least it’ll give us some time.”

Arthur walked out into the hall and Kris followed. Arthur flicked on a light and began walking, “I don’t know, it will be treacherous.”

“I know things are looking rough for you, but imagine being a mortal.”

“You are no ordinary man. I’ve never met one like you before. No one I’ve met has.” Arthur stopped outside a large chamber. A young woman with short dark hair and big brown eyes dressed in a blue shirt and tight jeans came to him carrying a towel, washcloth, liquid body soap and shampoo. She smiled at Kris with her full lipped mouth and Kris smiled back. She walked away. “Autumn is a very pretty little thing, isn’t she? She likes you, you know.”

“Too bad I’m wanted in fifty states and two dozen countries by creatures more powerful than you. Otherwise, I might have to talk to her.”

“I don’t think she’d mind, she’s got my blood in her veins, after all.” He left to get cleaned up. Kris wondered why it seemed so easy to make such a stubborn creature as Arthur see his reason. Of course, it was the call to battle, though he had learned to fight on a different front, it was still a battle. Arthur would not die in shame, not even the second time.

Kris walked around for a while, trying to remember the whole mansion. He was lost even in the bed chamber. After a while, Autumn came back. She had freshly pressed a suit for Arthur and was hanging it up for him. She glanced over to Kris and smiled again. “You need a hair cut.” She said and led him into the parlor. She sat him down and pulled out a tray that was set up with all the necessary tools for hair styling; someone like Arthur had to have someone to keep him looking good through the centuries.

By the time Arthur was dressed; Kris had a new do and was looking more like an action hero than ever. Kris stood and Autumn dusted off his shirt and tossed him the coat without a word about its weight or appearance. Arthur was smiling, his beard was gone and his hair was short. He wore wire rimmed glasses and looked like one of those business types that spent their mornings at the gym hours before the sane people woke up. Autumn walked over to him and straightened his tie, “You look good, but I like the rough, tough and shaken look better. And there’s just something about a guy who’s not afraid to kick a little ass.” She glared at Kris out of the corner of her eye. He remembered her, from before, way before. He just could not place her. Who the hell was she? He thought.

“We should be going, don’t you think.” Arthur said in a voice that was strong and willful.

“Yeah,” Kris said, only partly wanting to go, the rest wanting to know who Autumn was and why she was so interested in him. Her dark brown eyes were hypnotizing.

The two left, Kris dragging himself away and Arthur forcing himself to be the warrior that he had been all his life and unlife. Both were struggling with the past and the future. They were arguing with themselves over who they were and where they were headed and they both were relying on the other to get them there. They knew a general direction and yet the road map was nowhere to be found. One was afraid of a new foe and the other was afraid of what he would discover that was still missing from his mind and hoping that he was the person he thought he was.

They walked out to the truck and Arthur looked up at the moon. “At least she won’t get too far without a good fight if she decides to leave the city by moonlight, not now anyway.”

Kris gave him an inquisitive look and wolves began to howl. He heard their eerie voices echoing for miles, back and forth, from pack to pack. “I didn’t know there were that many still around here.”

Arthur smiled, “They’re my pets, vampires’ best friends, you know.” He smiled and they climbed into the truck. The two drove toward the city silently, contemplating what was to come. The night was alive with evil; darker, fuller and stronger than before and it was as always, Domitius pushing it to the hilt. Arthur was the yang to Domitius’ yin and Kris was just one of Arthur’s pawns according to Domitius. Domitius believed that evil was the meat and drink of vampirism where Arthur thought that it was a second chance, a kind of purgatory to amend for one’s wrongs while being punished. There were also those who saw it as a godlike status, to control people and do anything they wanted with their lives. Kris would never know what that was like. He was unable to go through the Red Baptism, to crossing over. He was not immune to amnesia.

They pulled back into the parking lot behind Erzebet’s and got out of the truck. The two walked up to the back door and Ty was outside waiting. Arthur stopped and Kris walked over to him. “We’ve got to see Kahmir, mon, somthin’ be goin down and he don’t be likin’ da vibe.”

They all piled into the truck and in moments were back at Kahmir’s abode. Kahmir welcomed them all in and they sat at a table in a room that Kris remembered but did not find familiar enough to be truly comfortable in. Once they were all seated in the room, with moss hanging from the ceiling and water running about their shoes and trickling around the bases of the legs of the chairs and a candle flickering to provide light on the small, slowly rotting table, Kahmir began to explain why he had summoned them.

“It appears that Domitius’ raves are no longer the mere vampire socials we’ve come to expect from the lord of lust and ludicrous behavior. He’s using them as a rallying point to promote his cause. A few of my friends watched from the shadows and discovered that he is fanning the flame of rebellion against the live and let live ideal. He is calling the young vampires of New York to arms against mortals and vampires alike to make way for his old world order. He compares himself to a Prometheus of darkness, who will descend into hell to bring shadow and death to mankind and make them like the cavemen they once were. If he calls them all out, even those that support us will be overwhelmed. While Arthur’s been gone they’ve been reproducing like flies and the city is about to feel the effects.” Kahmir turned away from the table, he was distraught.

Kris looked at his companions, they were deep in thought, “There used to be a lot of hunters in the city, what about them?”

Kahmir shook his corpse skull and the leathery skin creaked, “Most of them are dead and they are so focused on what is killing them that they do not see the new ones yet.”

Arthur looked over to Ty, “What about Octavia, she’ll want a piece of the city and with a war on our hands, the city will be open for mafia and gang wars. She’ll drive the dark side of humanity as Domitius will the dark side of vampirism and the whole city will fall to pieces.”

Ty shook his head in agreement, “Looks like some bad fuckin’ ju-ju if you be askin me, mon. I don’t like dis one fuckin bit. Octavia is goin’ to have a hay day with this shit an’ we goin’ be here watchin’ da whole damn ting, mon. And then dere’s the fact that zombies are running rampant through da streets.”

Kris’ eyes narrowed, “We could always wreck one of his raves. Think about it. The four of us waltzing into a place filled to the brim with leeches and kicking ass like some kind of superheroes and they wouldn’t give Domitius’ idea a second thought. They’d know we were more powerful.”

Kahmir turned and his beady black eyes seemed to burn with life, “We are not. She would destroy us all.” His voice was fierce and filled with rage, concern and madness forged wisdom.

“How do you know?” Kris asked, wanting a real answer.

“I think I know who she is.” Kahmir spoke in a soft, thin voice that cut like a knife.

The room went quiet. All three of them stared at Kahmir. The skeleton shape trembled in the flickering shadows. His claws curled and uncurled and he licked his jagged fangs with a long, reptilian tongue. They could see the story in those black orbs, ready to play itself out again and again for the tormented creature. Kris slumped down in his chair, his tennis shoes squished in the water that passed beneath them. He knew the memories that he had triggered within the living mind of a dead being. He did not want to look Kahmir in the eye. The being’s visage was unsettling without that enraged light burning in those pits of darkness.

Kahmir walked over to the side of the room and reached up onto a ledge and then he tossed a letter onto the table in front of Kris. Kris looked at Ty and then to Arthur, “Read it, Kris. I received it tonight, it is the real reason I called you all here. It confirms our worst fears.”

Kris picked up the letter. It was written on thick paper that rustled loudly as he unfolded it. The words were written in the most beautiful, flowing hand he had ever seen. “To my dearest and most terrifying creation, I have waited millennia to see you once more Abdallah Fah Hazim and now the time has come. I did not think to find you over the endless ocean and burrowed in a cave with rats. It is below you, is it not? I have heard tales that you fancy friends of a new kind, those among the living. What a pity, I thought you had learned your lesson when you were still a feeble whelp in a world where I and those like me were the gods of the night and death. Rumors tell that ancient powers gather in this, the New York, New Amsterdam, or by what I think to be most accurate, Gotham. I hope to see what powers these may be and may we usher them in as I did long ago on those nights when you were still in waddling clothes. Perhaps I will have to sacrifice a new mortal friend once more. I regret to say that Domitius Gullucci is indeed the one being used, but he is a powerful puppet. I am certain that you already assumed that I was the Ekatarina that you so delightfully and fearfully remember and now, you know. I do hope that your newfound friends hope to stop me. It has been an eternity since I have played at these games and I grow bored with the unlife that has been made for me, so either I will be worshipped or I shall be truly dead; a very new concept, but one that seems to be very well alive and thriving on this New World and in this New York. I hope to see you in tears again and I pray to the dark gods of my ancient forefathers that I will hear your ghastly shriek once more. With great love and the tender caress of mother night, Ekatarina.” Kris wet his lips. “What the hell does this mean?”

“She has a vendetta to close. She is not finished tormenting me.” Kahmir said in a near whisper.

Arthur cocked his head, “You’re the most powerful vampire in the city and she plays games with you like a lion with a mouse. How do we confront something like that?”

Kahmir slowly took the letter and folded it, “With great care and much hope.”

Ty patted Kris on the back, “And a little white magic, mon.”

Kahmir raised a dry, cracked hand, “I think it best to sleep on it for now and deal with things when the coming sun sets. Perhaps it will clear our heads and tomorrow night may present us with new options, or some work of God.”

They all looked to the ancient in awe. He was not a religious creature by any means and to hear him looking to the Christian God for help was startling to them all. They recovered and then resigned to small, well hidden alcoves in Kahmir’s sewer hideaway to sleep away the day. Kris did not remember being used to sleeping through the stench. He crawled in and found that it smelled of freshly cut grass and roses. He fell asleep quickly in the stone tomb.

James woke from his sleep with a start. He sat up and wiped the sweat from his brow. He was having memories in his dreams and he did not want to remember. He wondered just how long he could go on at that rate, keeping in touch with his skills as his emotions struggled to the surface. He figured that it was probably that way with most people who had to live lives like his. It was probably why all those war veterans locked themselves away and tried to stay away. He hoped he could put the war he fought behind him when the battle was over.

He stood and walked over to a mirror and saw a man nearing his forties staring back with the eyes of a man who had survived hell for half a century. He wished he could see the ocean reflected in the dark eyes that stared back at him, but there was only ice, pain and blood. He wiped his face again and felt tears welling up that he had last cried fifteen years earlier. He could still see her lying on the beach in the bushes with that blonde haired, brown eyed thing that was sawing at the tender flesh of her leg with fangs that could not have existed. He remembered thinking he was going to kill that vampire wannabe, Goth freak if he had to die himself to do it. He remembered being tossed around like a rag doll by a guy who looked like some kind of computer geek and feeling like shit because he knew that surfing and weightlifting had turned him into a machine. He could remember the reek of her blood mixed in the sand and the bitter taste in his mouth after the boy tried smashing his skull against a rock. He felt the place where the scar had healed long ago.

He was stronger; the kind that people could not see by looking at you but found out when it was time to knock heads. He was tougher, the kind that made you ignore the wounds despite how much blood was pouring out of your veins. He was wiser; fifteen years of hunting things that live forever would wizen up anyone. He was a vampire hunter. He laughed at the mirror and scoffed the so-called vampire hunter that looked back at him. Vampires were not real, they never had been. They were all perverts with fake teeth and fucked up ideas on how to get off. It was just his job to make sure their meat throbbed no more. Vampire hunter, maybe it was supposed to be slayer or perhaps ghost buster or paranormal exterminator. What the fuck did the guy in the mirror know? Nothing, except for surfboards, bonfires, beautiful California babes and hitting the reefer every once in a while. Vampires were not real. None of that crap was real.

His eyes dropped as fifteen years of cutting off heads and burning corpses rushed back into his mind. There were times when it was his job. There were others when it was his life. He still had trouble believing that those things could happen. Women losing half their head and walking toward him, dogs that could outrun cars, men who could rip open stainless steel and bend shotgun barrels; that was the stuff of horror novels and scary movies. It happened all too often in his life. He worked with a woman who was stronger than he was, possibly even one of the enemy. If she saved his life, he could live with that for a while. He thought about all the people held in thrall, all the animals and creepy abodes. He remembered all those faces as they died and burnt away to ashes or exploded into flames. He tried to imagine how he could see so many of those things and still see people walking down the street who did not know. How the hell could someone not believe in those creatures that walked past them on the streets and kissed them in the darkness of the clubs and told them what to do with their money and jobs? How could anyone not feel how cold their bodies were or notice that they did not breathe? How could anyone not recognize the strange lifestyles and the bizarre company they kept or people that served them like pets more than human beings? Then he realized that he was looking for them. He spent years learning to tell the difference just because he did not want to believe and then he met Anya and she brought him to New York and it got tougher. The nights were longer, the people colder and less personal. It was the only place that any guy could get laid by any chick by asking, or maybe that was just a sign of the times. He did not know the difference between the eighties and the year two thousand because he had been outside humanity so long.

He looked back up into those cold, calculating killer’s eyes and saw that he was no longer so far outside those boundaries and a dark haired beauty had only pulled him closer to his own humanity. The vampire hunter that he had never truly admitted was real was fading; no, cracking, splintering, falling to pieces like a statue that was being slowly crushed under the weight of a mountain and underneath the stone was something still living and breathing and remembering what it was like to walk and talk with the people who did not know, who did not have to know and never would know. He was almost done, whether they wanted him to be or not, he was going to be finished with hunting. It was almost over and he was fighting one last battle. His time was almost up.

He walked over to the pile of clothes by the bed and shook his head. Everything he owned amounted to a pile of clothes and some weapons. Even his food was at the whim of the Almighty. He fought to protect the innocent, ignorant masses and yet he had nothing. He grabbed his clothes and went to the bathroom. He began to run hot water and then started scrubbing his clothes with the soap on the sink. After he was finished, he wrung out the clothes and hung them over the shower curtain bar. Then he climbed into the hot water that was steaming in the tub and scrubbed himself, trying to get the feel of the sweat and the memories off of his flesh. The sweat washed away, but the memories clung to him and he could not make them go away. He hated New York. He needed a few drinks. He should have stayed with the others.

The clothes were dry and he was slightly more relaxed. He pulled on his clothes, left his weapons and his trench coat and left the others to stay and discover he had left. He knew he would go back that night at least; he had made a promise and would live up to it. He just needed a few drinks to cool off and clear his head. His feet pounded the streets. He had no idea where to go. He wished he knew where to begin. He was afraid that someone else was going to start things for him.

Finally, he ducked into a bar. Some Irish pub with a good number of young types out to get drunk, laid or maybe both. He preferred those kinds of places. They offered a lot to look at and had good opportunities for killing a vampire. He walked to the bar, sat down and ordered a Bud. He drank the first one quick and the second one even quicker. The third, he drank more casually, but he still did not feel relaxed.

He started taking notes without so much as a precursory thought. Three bartenders at the central bar, two well muscled guys and a sexy blonde, all three could have been on the covers of magazines. There were seven cooler girls, dancing and swaying and nine bouncers inside with two more bartenders, one a tall blonde woman. At the door were two huge men checking identification but letting in young girls anyway, anything for a lay. There were mostly college age kids and a few upper class folk looking to catch a good time without the bullshit in a high society club. He put away his fourth Bud and the female bartender put another one in front of him as quickly as he sat it down. That was about as good as it got.

He sat and watched them. They had no idea that they were in the midst of the most one sided hunting ground on the planet. At least a gazelle could smell and hear the lions coming; here, there was no warning until the bitch was sucking the blood out of your neck through one hell of a nasty hicky. He spun around and watched some people dance. There were couples on the dance floor that looked like they were having sex, that had been going on as far back as he could remember, but the blatancy of the women on other women was something that, though exciting, was still a little strange to him. He began to think about what Doc had said. There was a red headed girl that he had linked to the dead vampire hunters. He was fighting an Asian woman at what seemed like every turn. He watched a brunette in a tight blue shirt and black spandex pants kiss a blonde with pig tails in her hair. He glanced away and focused on the notebook that had been lost to them. Somewhere, some guy had no recollection of who he was and his only help was a vampiric pawn that was now dead, undead, or being held for bait.

Jessica was gone, not fully, but still her life had been altered. He thought it mostly due to his own intervention. He turned away from the dance floor and stared into his beer as he swirled it. He was hypnotizing himself, more with thoughts of Jessica than the swirling of the beer in the glass. Then he realized something was more comfortable with the place. He spun around and watched everything. His eyes caught every detail. He smelled everything and felt everything. There was not a single undead critter, one blood sucking rat, or even a hint of supernatural in the whole goddamn place. He smiled a little. He thought he might be starting to understand how their minds could be so clouded. He was always looking for the undead, following them and pushing into their unlives. Here he was, in a place that was probably like ninety percent of the world. More, if you took into account the rural areas where vampires could only live alone, if at all. Between his constant hounding of the creatures it was all that he would see. He had happened across an ordinary, normal, simple little bar and discovered that the only thing supernatural was perhaps the bartender’s ability to know when he needed a drink.

He relaxed. Not because he had had enough alcohol or he had figured anything out, but because the nightly threat of the undead was not present in a place where he was. He thought that he might truly be able to leave the darkness behind for the daylight again. He had found his ray of hope and it was in a bar in New York. He chuckled to himself.

“What’s so funny?”

He turned to see the brunette that had been dancing with the blonde, “Nothing, sorry.”

She smiled out of the corner of her mouth, “Something must be funny, or you wouldn’t be laughing.”

He smiled again. It made him feel bad to smile when he knew Jessica was in trouble, or dead. “I just realized that for the first time in years, I’m not going to have the graveyard shift.”

“You’re out right now, though.” She said quizzically.

“You could say this is my coffee break.”

“Shouldn’t you get back to work, then?”

“I hate to say it, but, you’re probably right. I’m wasting time.” He put a couple twenties on the bar and started to walk away. He felt a swing from behind and ducked. He pivoted on one heel and looked the attacker in the face.

“You talking to my girl?” The guy was six foot three and built like a linebacker.

“I think the pretty blonde’s more of a problem than me, big guy.” James said.

The guy threw another punch and James swung. James’ fist landed in the guy’s chest and the guy landed on his ass. “Don’t fight someone unless you have a good reason, and can stand getting hit.” He walked out, leaving the roar and the ruckus behind him. He may have found a bastion of hope, but he was still a vampire hunter for a while. And he still had one last vampire to kill.

He did not feel like going back and seeing Anya or Brick. He really did not want to see Doc either. He had no idea what to do, where to go or how to get anywhere. He was completely dumbfounded by the situation. In all his years he had never imagined what it would be like to fight a being like this one. He thought that all vampires were relatively weak, a little faster and stronger but a good team could take them down. But it had turned out that there were far worse things in the world. He really should have known. If there were vampires then there were bound to be things worse than vampires. He wandered around the city for hours and slowly the city grew quieter and darker and then before he realized how many bars he had stopped at, a light grey was breaking the darkness. He turned and walked due east and found the sun beginning to crest. It was bright and yellow white and powerful. It was warm on his face and it reminded him that he had a mission to complete.

He walked slowly back. He remembered every detail from the night before. He could smell it, taste it. He was reliving it so that he would be ready for his next encounter with that creature. The images faded as he came into the present. He was prepared and he was focusing for battle. He would have to be at his best, even with the gashes in his chest. He traced the wounds and knew they would not heal for a very long time.

He walked up to the little room where they had gathered the night before and found Doc, Brick and Anya waiting. Something that looked like a dead body lay on the desk under a white sheet that was stained black, green and red.

Anya raised an eyebrow. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“Out, why?” his answer was simple and harsh.

“Because, we just killed two…things. Doc says they’re zombies. I don’t know.”

“Zombies. Look, I kill vampires and I’ve seen some crazy shit, but mindless corpses walking around feeding on flesh is just a little too kooky for even me.”

Doc uncovered the thing on the table. It was humanoid. It was decaying. It was an aged corpse, blood, guts and all. The hair was falling out. The fingernails were long with fungus underneath them. The shoes had rotted off its swollen feet. Skin had been eaten away by maggots in places and liquids leaked out of open sores that showed no signs of healing. The mouth was peeled back and showed black and green rotting bones that were once teeth. The stench emanating from the thing was a horrid mixture of excrement, blood, rot and dirt. James blew out his breath and made a ‘whew’ sound and then grimaced as he stepped forward to take a closer look.

Doc looked up at James with a deep concern written in his aging features. “I’ve never seen anything like it, but it looks like a zombie if you ask me. Like something right out of a New Orleans nightmare.”

Brick stepped around to stand beside James, “It’s like a fucking Nightmare on Wall Street, man.”

James shook his head, “I guess there’s a lot we don’t know. What’s next, the return of King Tut?”

Anya looked at the floor, “This is getting ugly fast. What do we do?”

James rubbed the gashes in his chest through his shirt. “I don’t know. We don’t know shit about that red head, Jessica’s gone, the notebook is no longer in our possession and we’re being attacked a little too often. We need a fucking clue.” He paused. “We need to go back to Jessica’s apartment.”

Brick jerked his head toward James, “Do you really think anything’s left?”

Doc shrugged, “What else is there? Unless we can retrace the steps of these zombie things?”

Brick nodded his head slowly and absentmindedly. “Guess so. What if we go back and she’s waiting for us?”

James eyes narrowed, “Then we figure out how to kill the bitch.”

“What do we do with friendly Bob, the walking ankle biter, then?” Brick asked.

“Dump them in the river, and hope they don’t come back.”

Doc looked at the zombie. “It might be best to wait for nightfall to do something so suspicious as dropping body shaped bags in the river.”

Eddie chimed in, “Yeah, maybe we should wait.”

James nodded his approval. “Ok, we wait until night. Let’s start cleaning up this mess.”

Next Chapter: Night 6