Talent Lord of the Geeks

Spoken-- send in version

By Lord of the Geeks | 1998

the submission guidelines for tor request a passage of 10,000 words or so, so i figured if they get that much of the story, so should you guys. so this is the same as my other spoken- sword and key, it just goes further into the story.
Spoken
Sword and Key

Part one

Aggregation

The city lay huddled against the fury of the storm. Dark forms of concrete and steel betrayed by the blue white glory of lightning, and the dim yellowed flickers of man. He watched. He waited. Caring no more for the rain washing across his body, than the rain cared for him. His black hair lay heavy across the shoulders of the black leather longcoat spilled around him, puddled upon the roof of the cathedral beneath his crouched form. He remembered the city when it was young, horse drawn carts still rattling down the streets. He had grown with the city, matured with it. It was deep in his blood, and the blood he took. This was his land. He was a vampire; he would take the girl.

The door to the small bookshop where she worked part time came open. One figured emerged, shoulders hunched against the cold rain. She stopped briefly to lock the door before turning to the four block walk that would put her at her apartment. He drew his thin lips up into a smirk, while glad she hadn't driven today it was obvious that she wasn't. This was his perfect chance. He moved for the first time in hours, but nothing hesitated. He was as lithe as if he had been streched and warmed. He was the perfect killing machine. So much stronger and faster than he had ever been in his prior life. Effortlessly he came off the roof and to the street below. The rain danced around his feet as he silently came in behind her. She was bowed to the storm as she passed beneath the corner streetlight, and toward the row of abandoned apartments. It couldn't be more perfect. His quickened pace was lost in the pounding roar of the storm. He would leap upon her. A leap so high he would seem to simply drop from the sky. Razor sharp claws slid from their sheathes beneath his fingernails, fangs emerged filling his mouth with death. The air suddenly erupted in a blue-white concussion of power. Before being plunged into the true darkness night was meant to be. She paused, stunned by the noise and dark. He struck. Three running steps, and he leapt into the air, wind and rain tearing at his clothes, flapping his coat open and back. He looked down on her,focusing on the strike. The rain, the night, the noise all slowed to a silent crystal perfection. This was his purpose, his moment.

Shock washed over him as the world suddenly shifted. Pain filled his body. Something was crashing into him. Cutting him. The window to his right shattered against him, glass cutting and flying. Pieces of the windowsill followed him and this thing into the empty apartment. Crashing into the far wall. Lathing and plaster exploded around him. The thing bounced off of him, and rolled across the floor. He shook his head to clear the confusion. A man rose up before him. Soaking wet and dressed in denim. Blue jeans, jean jacket and an untucked black shirt. He was a short man, heavy set. The tilt of his head showed a single eye, blazing with hatred. he held a gore slicked knife in his right hand, and panted. The vampire shook the plaster from his shoulders, and felt the knife wound twinge in his side. He touched it, fingers returned sticky with his dark blood. He bared long fangs and hissed at the jean man. He raised his clawed fingers and rushed forward. The jean man moved like water, slipping away from his strike so fast it was like magic. Claws caught air, knife cut flesh. The vampire looked down at his ruined shirt, the blood that didn't soak into his pants washed onto the dirty wood floor. His rage spilled out of him with his blood, blind and uncoordinated. He balled up a fist and punched the jean man in the stomach. With his increased strength, he had punched through walls. Killed men with a neck snapping slap. This was like punching a padded steel boiler. The vampire's fist simply stopped against the dense muscle of the jean man. The jean man smiled at the vampires faltering confidence, and punched back. It was like being hit by a sledge hammer. He doubled over, momentarily gasping. The rage at this fat little man completely overwhelmed him, and he attacked wildly. Arms thrown wide, he hit the jean man with his whole body and lifted him to smash his into the far wall. The wall gave first, casting them both into a filthy rusted clawfoot tub. A tangle of arms and legs showered in a spray of white tile. He planted both feet against the jean man's chest and kicked as hard as he could. The jean man flew up and away, bouncing off the ceiling with a snow of dust and plaster. He came crashing down, shearing the sink from the wall with the crash of shattering porcelain. The jean man lay very still on the cold tile floor. The vampire peeked over the edge of the tub at the man lying on the floor, dusted with rubble and wetted plaster. Carefully he stepped from the tub, and approached the man laying on the floor, claws ready to rend out a throat. The jean man's hand moved faster than even he could see. The man grabbed the vampire's ankle and jerked his feet out from under him, casting him back. His head crashed into the toilet bowl, broken soiled pottery cradled his head. The jean man was suddenly above him, fingers digging deeply into him, lifting him and smashing him into the floor again and again. Finally lifting him and flinging him into the far wall. The vampire lay in a stunned heap upon the floor. The jean man approached knife out, and spoke. "you are an abomination. A foul thing on the tongue of the speaker." He turned the knife in his hand, "and I cast you from his mouth." He brought the knife down in a quick death strike. The blade slipped between the ribs and tore at deeper more vital parts. The vampire spasmed, tremors wracked his body as it curled and flopped. The skin greyed and began to sluff off the body as liquids poured from the deep inner recesses. Vapors jetted from the vampire, coughing into blinding white flame. The jean man wiped his blade clean on his pant leg, and went back out the window they crashed through. Without a glance back he dropped from the third story window, back onto the street and into the storm.

He rinsed his hands off in the torrent of water rushing down the storm drain. As he stood, the streetlight above him flickered back into life, and the city seemed to shake itself awake as power flowed once more. He smiled to himself as he stuck his hands into his pockets and started following his charge once more.

*********************************************************

The door closed behind him with a solid clunk of the knob. He shook off his soaked jean jacket, and laid it out to dry on the small table beside the door. A voice came from around the corner, “Is it still raining out there Sam?” He stepped out of the entryway to see Abby in her worn old tie-dye t-shirt, settled low on the couch, remote control balanced on the flat of her stomach. She was watching some anime cartoon he didn’t immediately recognize.

“It’s settled down some now, but I think it’s going to be doing it off and on all night.”

“Do any good out there?” She ask, eyes remaining focused on the television, as he walked past her to the kitchen.

“Eh, I got the one that’s been tracking her the last couple days. I think he made a phone call a couple hours ago, so I’m going to have to follow her close on this little road trip she’s planning.” Sam flipped the light on in the kitchen and began to fumble through a drawer.

“She still doing that?” She turned from the tv to crane her head in his direction.

“Yeah. She packed her sexy clothes last night, and put ‘em in the car.” He said as he switched drawers and rummaged again. “Have you seen the keys to the old beater? I want to take it in case I have to dump it.”

“Did you look on the key rack?” She said.

“We have a key rack?”

“Yeah, it’s over by the fridge. The board on the wall shaped like a key.” She smiled at him silently.

“Well, damn.” He said, going to the fridge.

She heard the door open, and the plastic cover over her dairy open. “Don’t drink out of my milk jug. Use a glass.”

“Bah. I gave you those ears. Don’t use them against me.” She heard him swallow a few times, the door shut, and keys rattle. He stepped in and tossed a set of keys to her. Her hand flicked up and snatched them from the air mindlessly. “Take the war wagon, and meet me at the rest stop just before the state border in the morning.”
“Why?”
“Because its on the way, and I’ll be tired.”
“Fine, but you owe me a jug of milk.”
“You owe me far more than that.” He said over his shoulder as he headed for the door.
She stuck her tongue out at his back.

He smiled at the wet sound it made.

******************************************************
The house was quiet in its anonymity. Sam had spent more than a few nights looking over this house turned 4-plex. Its cookie cutter façade, trimmed bushes, and merrily lit path were like old friends now. While sitting in a tree, he had quickly learned the easy ebb and flow of the neighborhood. He preferred the tree, but between the weather and the promise of a road trip he had brought the old ford truck he now set in.
He grimaced as he swallowed and clicked his tongue at the awful coffee he had picked up at the service station just off of Main Street. He leaned the cup on the dash against the windshield. Reaching over to dig in the glove box for extra sugar packets, he also avoided the wash of headlights from a Trans-Am making a right hand turn through the intersection before him. He checked its plates in his rearview mirror, while shaking the sugar to the bottom of a handful of packets in preparation for a clean tear. He made a mental note, and watched it closely. It was not a vehicle he had seen before. It pulled to a halt half a block down, and shut down. Sam waited, but no one got out. Word had gotten out about the girl's plans then. He contemplated his next move, sipping the sweet but still poor coffee.
The light in her apartment went out, it was go time. She came out of the building; her blonde hair was loose; tossing in the night breeze. She flipped her keys in her hand, looking for the proper one to start her mustang. The old engine roared into life, pulling the girl away. As she turned left in front of Sam the Trans-am started, and pulled away. Sam smiled, they were smarter than most. They were going to circle the block to come in behind her. Sam carefully stowed his coffee; secure he had a definite advantage following her.
He knew where she was going, and how she would get there.
He pumped the gas peddle as the engine turned.
Wisdom was a good thing.
*-------********************
The main thoroughfare was crowded on an early Friday night. Peacock tails of multi-hued cars thumped out the incessant mating calls of today’s youth. Sam rubbed his ear, muttering curses to himself as he passed a particularly powerful import. Had he not been glaring at the car in his rearveiw, he might have missed the man on the motorcycle shaking his head hard enough to almost fall over. The booming car was bothering him enough to give him away as one of them. A double tail; interesting.
Sam played with traffic until he worked his way behind the motorcycle, then started to follow it. He intentionally followed too close, trying to be as imposing and obvious as possible, waiting for the rider’s hubris to kick in. Four miles later; he wasn't disappointed.

The bike made a sudden turn, which Sam fought the lumbering truck to emulate. A slalom of turns later, the bike had him on a darkened, quiet street, away from casual eyes. It was perfect.
The bike accelerated hard, then spun sharply to face him. Sam smiled; floored the gas pedal and spun the trucks wheel hard, slamming the truck into the nearest tree. The chime of shattering glass mixed with the squeal of rending steel, then the air filled with the sweet intoxicating scent of anti-freeze. Sam lay still, draped across the truck seat, colt 1911 firmly in his hand.
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The kickstand clicked firmly into place, as the rider dismounted. He laughed to himself at how stupid this guy must have been, to panic and hit the tree. His leather creaked as he padded onto the grass. The butterfly knife appeared dancing in his hand, moonlight flashing across its surface. Steam rose from the ruined truck engine, curling in the dark air. He grasp the door handle, thumbed the button, and threw the door open. The driver lay slumped across the seat, helpless before him. He smiled, a sharp fang sliding out into place. He was going to do this slow, and enjoy it.

The biker grabbed the guy by his jean clad leg, and pulled his limp body out of the truck. The body slid bonelessly to the ground, outstreatched arms swinging high arcs as he fell. The gunshot was a sudden dull crack in the night. It echoed flatly against the unmoved trees. The rider was pitched back, as much by surprise as the impact. Sam was a blurred shadow, moving fast and low to the ground. He stomped on the rider's chest, pinning him to the ground.

"What do you want with the key?" Sam said, his voice low.

The rider's face twisted into a smirk. "We're going to kill the bitch before you nut jobs can use her."

Sam raised his curved blade, "Good. Now I know who's who." Dirt flipped into the air as the tip of the knife dug through the earth beneath the rider's throat. Sam quickly threw the corpse into the truck's cab. The liquefying body soaked into the cloth seat before erupting into violent flame. Sam looked at his handiwork, hands on hips. It would appear to be just another tragic drunk driving accident.

He mounted the motorcycle, and kicked it to life. He revved the engine just to hear it's throaty roar. This would be a good night, he had some hunting to do.
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The time abused mustang growled as she eased it into the orange glare of the Conoco. Engine killed, she stepped out of her car and breathed deeply of the beautiful stink of Gasoline and oil; her cell phone held loosely to her ear. “Hell no, I didn’t tell him what I’m really doing. As far as Jack knows I’m at my aunts this week, because she just got out the hospital.” With her free hand, she flipped open the car’s fuel cap, and slid the nozzle in, setting the catch with a single motion. Digging in a pocket for her debit card, she continued. “Yeah she just got of the hospital, but it’s not my job to go take care of her.” The face of the pump brightened as the headlights of another car pulling in washed over it. “Look, as far as I’m concerned; I don’t have a fiancée this week, and what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I’m 22 and still have some party left in me.” As she started the pump, she looked up in time to see a very rough looking man on a beat up motorcycle pull in and go into the store, just behind a greasy looking guy who got out of the passenger side of a car that was still running. The place was busier at 2 am than she thought it would be. Her phone chimed at her, “Sorry honey, but my phone is dying on me. I’ll just have to talk to you when I get there in the morning, okay? Yeah, love you guys too.” She pressed the button to shut off her phone, and tossed it through her open window. Leaning against the side of her car, she brushed a few stray strands of her long blonde hair from her eyes. The nozzle popped, and she put it up, considering for a moment if she should get something to drink. Deciding that the greasy guy who was still meandering around inside the store was too creepy, she got back in her car and pulled back out onto the old two lane highway.
The driver of the car lifted himself through the window, and pounded on the roof, catching the attention of his companion, who had lost himself in a shelf of glass figurines. The companion looked up, and seeing the driver gesturing emphatically hurried from the store, barely getting his door closed as they tore away behind the girl’s Mustang.
***********************************************************************
She had given up finding a worthwhile radio station so far from the city, and was digging in her backpack for a CD when she almost missed her turn to the college. As she slipped the disk into the player, she did miss the sight of a pair of headlights following her off the interstate, and onto the back roads. She was going fast, exalting in the raw power of the machine at her control. Her mouth moved along with the heavy and hard rock blasting from her stereo. With delicate hands, she unconsciously fought away her hair whipping in the turbulent air. She breathed in the sweet scent of an approaching thunderstorm, and smiled. It had been a good day. She fought the wheel as her tires struck a washboard, speed transforming the rumble to a buzz, and easily compensated for the watery feel that came from such speeds on gravel.
“Exit light… enter night… take my hand, walk through never-never land.” She sang along, bobbing her head, and drumming her hands on the wheel. She didn’t notice the flashing red light behind her for a moment, her concentration focused on controlling the car on the rough road. She turned blue eyes to her rearview mirror, finding a pair of headlights staring back at her from beneath the single red strobe. She muttered a curse to herself as she braked and drew to the roadside, careful not to be sucked into the ditch and through a wire fence. The car behind her drew close, with lights blazing, blinding her to any features. She turned down her stereo, and primped herself in her mirror, ready to flirt her heart out. She adjusted her breasts as she heard a door slam behind her. Foot steps crunched in the gravel, approaching her window. Composing her best smile, she turned to ask what she could do for him. Blinded by the flashlight he shone in her eyes, she squinted and raised a hand.
“Get out of the car.” The voice was heavy and unquestionable. She unbuckled her seat belt, and swung the car door open, focusing her eyes on the man’s sneakers and ragged jeans.
Reeling, her throat clamped shut as adrenaline flooded her system. She pulled herself back into her car, swinging the door shut. It leapt out of her hand as the man pulled it back open. He tore her out of the car with a single powerful motion. A ringing numbness stunned her when her head struck the door frame as she was flung like a rag doll into the road. She skidded across the gravel, limp arms dragging dark trails in the road surface. The world became slow and distant for her. The canted scene shimmered as tears flooded her eyes. The man came toward her like death, easy and sure. He grabbed her by her shirt, and lifted her to a sitting position. She watched from another world as her body rolled up loosely. Her head lolled back as the man straddled her legs. He leaned in, and drew her to him, his mouth moving to her throat. She felt a warm breath brush her flesh, then the cooler one of summer wind. Warmth washed over her as she helplessly crumpled to the ground. Fluid in her nose choked her body back under her control.
She sat up spitting, coughing, and wiping her face. A Motorcycle lay in the ditch, motor puttering, front forks crushed against a tree. The rough man she had seen at the gas station had lifted the greasy man over his head, and was bringing him down onto a metal fencepost on the other side of the road. She screamed as the fencepost burst through the greasy man’s chest, his t-shirt tenting, and darkening with blood. The motor-cycle man turned and his voice boomed at her, “Run!” Her legs felt like she was pushing through syrup as she moved, slipping and skittering on the wet gravel. She leapt into her car and slammed the door just as a second man slid beside her window, and grabbed for her. His head jerked to the side as the echoing peal of a pistol rang out. He turned as he slumped, the raw gaping hole in his head weeping black blood and grey bits of brain. His fingers spasmed in little scratching clutching movements on her door. She froze for a moment, focusing with perfect clarity on his fingers. His fingernails covered curved claws that pulled at the leather inside her door, before clattering along the steel outside as he fell to the ground. She turned back to running like hell. Her panting breath came in hard ripping sobs as she fumbled with her gears. The man on the fencepost was now burning brightly, blue/white jets of flame surrounded by a greasy yellow corona. Black smoke billowing up. Grinding her gear selector into first with shaking hands, she pulled away as fast as she could accelerate.
*******************************************************
The rain beat steadily, dampening his hair again, and rinsing the blood from his hands. He watched her taillights vanish before lifting his face to cleanse it in the rain. He shook his head, fanning droplets around him. Walking to the car, cheap red strobe still blinking, he moved with the lithe grace of any true predator. He slapped the light off into the ditch, before slipping into the car and driving away from it; pulsing like a heart in the weeds, waiting to die.
***********************************************************
She was still in shock. Realizing she was wet, she rolled up the window with a shaking arm. She switched on the wipers and let it sink in. Her mind simultaneously accepted, and rejected what had just happened to her. Part of her said that it couldn’t have been real, while the other irritatingly pointed out the blood soaked into her clothes and the four narrow slits in the leather of the door. Should she call the police? She really hadn’t seen what had happened, and they’d want to know who killed that man, and set him on fire. She didn’t have those answers, they might blame her. What could she say? I was being attacked, I hit my head, the guy tried to give me a hickey then suddenly he was on fire… the blood? When did he bleed on her? She needed to wash, and see a doctor… Who knows what the bastard had. Besides, who would have seen her on such a remote road? No one knew she was there at all… except the motorcycle guy that killed those two… She shivered at the thought of anyone who could be that brutal. Thunder boomed above her. The cool summer night had birthed a storm that would be as short lived as its formation, and would balance its lack of endurance with intensity. She decided that with the combination of the storm and her fried nerves it would be best to pull into a motel for the rest of the night. She’d decide what to do in the morning. For now it was somebody else’s problem.

It was still pouring when she got to the next town, and into the first cheap motel she saw. She jogged through the rain, hugging herself as she was instantly soaked, to the front door which jangled a bell when she opened it. She pawed her wet hair away from her eyes, and stood before the Formica clad front desk. She could hear someone rummaging around in the back room, and what seemed to be a spaghetti western on television. The door opened swiftly, showing a very cluttered living area, and a sweaty older man in a stained shirt moving to the desk. He squinted at her, lifting a pair of glasses hanging on a string around his neck. “What the hell happened to you?” She paused, trying to think of how to explain what had happened; opening her mouth to speak, the man cut her off, “Is it really raining that hard out there? Poor thing, it’s soaked you to the quick ain’t it?”
Her response was reflexive, “Yes it is.”
“You know, you really shouldn’t use the real cheap stuff to color your hair, it leaks out and ruins your clothes. My ex-wife did that once... and I didn’t hear the end of her complaints... See I was the one who bought the damn stuff and didn’t know any better.”
She looked at her blouse, now stained a purple-red from blood, but it didn’t look like blood; it looked more like ink.
“You’re right. But I didn’t know it was going to rain on me when I did it. We never really seem to plan for the worst case do we?” She smiled as innocently as she could manage; patting her own back at the stream of lies erupting from her without thought.
“You’re right, we never really do. You need a room I guess.”
“Yeah… I would like to get this blouse soaking to see if maybe some will come out, a shower to get the rest, and a lot of sleep would just push me over the top.”
“Well, I doubt it will come out without bleach, but hell it’s worth a shot… can’t hurt it!” He laughed heartily at his own thoughts. “Well are you just stayin’ the night? If it’s two nights, the rest of tonight is free.”
“One night is fine.”
“That’ll be twenty-seven eighty-two.”
She fished two twenties out of her pocket and handed them to him.
“What should I put down in the guest register darlin’?” He asked as he pulled a drawer out for her change.
“Parks, Eden Parks.”
He smiled, and handed her the key to the room third from the far end. She drove over, and suffered another wetting as she let herself into the sparse and generic room. Dropping her backpack, she went straight for the rear of the room. In the large mirror over the sink outside the bathroom she could see that she was now a Gothic brunette. Her hair looked like she had tried to dye it with black ink. It was streaky, and very sticky. She splashed her face with hot water, and the blood simply melted off of her. The stains on the shirt were hopeless. The cold water, rather than lifting the stains seemed to be setting them. After laying her shirt out on the floor to dry she stepped into the shower. The hot water was soothing as it beat against her face and back. She watched the purple/black blood run down the drain, before she washed it twice, using all the little shampoos she could find. After toweling off hard enough to redden her skin, she lay on the bed, hearing a plastic under layer shift and crinkle. She just had enough time to notice that the blankets were cool against her back before she was fast asleep, without even switching off the light.

Dawn and wakefulness came far too abruptly, as a fist pounded heavily on her door. She looked at a clock reading 5:40 as she stuffed on the first shirt she touched in her bag, stumbling as she went to look through the peephole. It was still dark outside, not even pre-dawn light leaked into the sky; if not for the porch light beside her door, he would be impossible to see. Distorted by the fisheye stood the man from the motorcycle. He was a heavyset man, his hair wet and slicked back; dirty jeans, t-shirt, jean jacket. His arms were crossed as he looked at her door. “Yes?”
“Ma’am, I need to talk to you about your being here.” His voice was smooth and touched by an accent she couldn’t place.
“Are you the police?” She asked.
He paused, “I’m not with the Police, but I assure you it is with only the greatest regards for your well being that I must plead for egress.”
“Why am I not safe?”
“I believe the incident earlier tonight should have tipped you off that all is not right with the world.”
“Okay, I Don’t know anything about those guys. Okay and I’ll forget who you are if you want. I didn’t get a good look at you and I promise not to call the cops, Okay?” She yelled through the door.
“Look, you are in great danger. You have been stationary too long and they will soon catch up with you again. Will you let me in, or do I have to wait for you to get hungry enough to come out? Believe me, it would be much safer for you to let me in.” His voice was beginning to be tinged with irritation.
“Who’s after me?”
“It’s a lot to explain and I’d really much rather not do it through this piece of hollow, flimsy, wood.”
“Look, I don’t know what happened last night, and I don’t want any part of it. I promise I won’t tell anyone or anything ok?”
Silence came from the door.
“Ok?” She looked out the peephole again, and saw that he was gone.

She dressed as quickly as she could, throwing her still damp shirt into her pack, she was pulling on her boots when the knock came again. “Look mister, I don’t want to get involved.”
“This is the police Ms. Parks, we need to speak with you.”
She could feel her face flush as she looked out the peephole to see the uniformed officer waiting. Her day had just gone from worse to bad enough. “Just a second.” She opened the door, and stepped back to allow the officer in. “Look, I don’t know what happened last night, I hit my head and I really didn’t see anything. I…” She dropped off as the officer stepped in, followed by a man in leather pants, a leather jacket, and very dark sunglasses. The uniformed man shoved her to the floor as the man in the leather jacket began to close the door. A ripping crack resounded in the small room as the door exploded from its frame, crushing the man to the floor before splintering along its center. The cop turned as the jean-jacketed man swung a curved machete, decapitating him. A fountain of scarlet gore erupted from the stump as his head bounced across the floor to stare up at Eden. A scream locked in her throat when it looked at her and blinked.
While Eden stared at the police man’s dying head, The jean-jacketed man turned, still welding his Gurka knife, to face the leather-clad man as he burst up through the remains of the door. The leather man hissed, baring fangs and claws, and leapt at his attacker. With the fluid grace of an experienced fighter, the Jean-Jacketed man sidestepped and threw the Vampire, using its own strength against it. The Vampire flew across the room, barely giving Eden a chance to duck, and smashed into the mirror over the sink. The man moved quickly, stepping over Eden, and to the Vampire. Dark purple blood welling from several deep cuts, the Vampire lifted himself to attack again, meeting the deeply hacking blade. The cut ran deep, passing between ribs, and shattering his breastbone. The razor sharp blade split the vampire’s heart in two, damaging several other vital organs in the process. As blood washed out of his wound, he shuddered and collapsed against the wall opposite the bathroom door. Eden bolted as the vampire’s flesh began to soften and run like hot wax. She slipped on the walkway as she turned toward the manger’s office, heart and feet thumping. Jerking the glass door open, she was inside before the heavy stench of raw blood and seeping viscera drove into her. Her hand covered her mouth as she gasped, eyes following the pool of blood back behind the counter, where all she could see was a single hand protruding from the backroom door. Blood a dark contrast to the waxen pallor of the flesh. She backpedaled, opening the glass door behind her. She turned to run again as her mustang squealed to a halt, the passenger side door open.
“Get in.” The man in the jean jacket was behind the wheel.
“That’s my car.” She said stupidly.
“Yes it is. Now get in.” He said, turning toward the front; she could see the key ring she left in the room dangling from the ignition.
“Get out of my car.” She said, moving toward him angrily.
“Fine then.” He started to roll forward.
“No Stop!” She said, her voice lilting up in a small scream.
He jerked to a stop as Eden jumped in. The door slammed itself shut as he pounded the accelerator, squealing onto the deserted street.

“Just who in the hell do you think you are?” She yelled, holding the dash as she kneeled in her seat.
“My name is Sam, and I am with the Spoken.” He checked the side mirror before changing lanes. “I have been charged as your bodyguard for the next little while.” There was no hint of jest in his voice.
“What ?!”
“I am charged with your protection.”
“From what?”
“People like your friends back at the motel.”
“What was that guy? The one with the black blood, he was like the guys last night wasn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“What was he?”
“A Vampyre”
“You’re shitting me.”
“No I’m not.”
“Vampires aren’t real.”
“What other creature do you know of that bursts into flame when killed?”
“So then you’re what? A vampire hunter?”
“Yeah, you could say that.” Sam kept a watchful eye out for anyone following. His constant head movement calmed as they drove.
“Who decided that you should be following me?”
“The rest of the Spoken.”
“What are the spoken?”
He faltered for a moment, his wheels turning, “We are an old society… which…” The rest came out in tumble, “protects mankind from the forces of evil.”
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“No, really... I know it sounds like bullshit, but it’s the basics in a nutshell. Do you think those guys were the good guys?”
“I don’t believe this.”
“What?”
“All this. It’s bullshit. I don’t know whose idea of a joke this is, but they can get fucked. Shut the hidden cameras off, I’m not signing any release, and I’m suing your ass.”
“This isn’t a joke.”
“Alright then, let me just get this straight. I am being hunted by mythical monsters, which as a profession, you hunt and kill.” She said, incredulously.
“Yes.”
“So why am I so wonderful? What the fuck do they want with me?” Her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“That’s one of the things I’ve been trying to piece together while I’ve been after you.”
“What?”
“I’ve been protecting you for three months now.”
“You’ve been following me for three months! What are you? Some kind of sick stalker?”
“No. Can’t we at least agree that my intentions toward you are not violent?”
“Not yet. I want to know why in the hell you’ve been following me!”
“That’s what I’m telling you. I’m here to guard you. Protect you from guys like the one last night.
“So what happened last night; my ‘oh so great’ protector?”
“I was indisposed momentarily, and got behind.”
“Indisposed?” She raised an eyebrow.
“I had to piss… alright? Shit happens. That’s why I decided to change from covert to overt. Let you know I was here. It will be much easier to keep a close eye on you.” He looked nervously around, “You need to keep moving.”
“Wait… This group you’re working for. Do they know that you’re letting me know?”
“No.”
“Are they going to be ok with that? I mean are you going to get in trouble?”
“No.”
“So why didn’t you tell me from the beginning?”
“We were hoping they’d not track you down, and you’d never have to know.”
“Good to know you have great intelligence. What do you know for sure?”
“Well, I know they need you by the winter solstice, or not for another year.”
“If they need me, then why were they trying to kill me?”
He laughed, “You assume all vampires are working together. There are several different tribes, with lots of agendas. In your case, several of them have allied together and made basically two groups. One wants you dead; the other wants you alive. Some of which makes this easier. Half the bad guys will help keep you alive, but they want you for themselves. Which is just as bad.”
“Obviously.”
“An associate of mine is supposed to meet us at the next rest stop to swap cars. Do you trust me?” He made a left turn.
She studied him for a moment, really taking him in. He was a short man with a pudgy look to him, but she had seen him move and fight. He didn’t look like he should be able to do what she knew he had. As yet, he hadn’t tried to hurt her. She knew he had secrets, but really… what choice did she have? “For now.” She said.
“That’s the spirit.”
“What about your motorcycle? You left it back there, won’t the cops see it, and the bodies?”
“I’m not worried about it, it was time to dump the bike anyway.”
“Why?”
“I just felt like I needed to dump the stolen bike.”
“You stole it?”
“I don’t exactly have a travel budget.”

**********************************************************************

In a moment, they were speeding down the highway.
“So, should I have garlic wrapped around my neck, or what?”
“You mean is there some talisman to ward them off?”
“Sure.”
“No. Vampyres are not supernatural creatures. They’re perfectly natural.”
“So no crosses or Holy water, or sunlight to save the day?”
“No. We are safer in the daylight, it’s a deterrent, but they don’t die if it touches them. There are no symbols or beliefs which ward them off, any more than painting a sign on a sheep stops a wolf from killing it.”
“There’s nothing I can do to protect myself?”
He reached into his jacket, and pulled out a 1911 .45 automatic, “Are you a good shot?”
“Hell if I know, I’ve never touched a gun.”
“Then I’ll keep this.” He slipped it back to the shoulder holster.
“We don’t have to worry as much as long as there are groups of people around; that makes them weary. Its instinct for them to conceal their presence. However, that’s not total protection. When we’re alone, that’s the worst danger.”
“Like now?” She asked.
He looked up and down the empty stretch of interstate, “Yes like now.”
“They can’t drop from the sky can they?”
“No. Now all we have to worry about is one leaping out and letting us smash him.”
“Would he survive?”
“Probably not, but he might damage the car enough to slow us down for others. That’s why I’m having Abby bring us the war wagon.”
“Abby?”
“My associate.”
They drove silently for a moment before she turned to him again. “You… are a pessimist.”
“What?” He looked at her with a furrowed brow.
“You have not once tried to comfort me, or reassure me that everything is going to be ok. All you have done is list off ways they are going to get me.”
“But they haven’t yet.” He sat back, arm propped on the window.
She waved her hand in the air, “There you did it again, ‘yet’ how’s that supposed to make me trust you?”
“I’m telling you the honest truth; that I don’t know what will happen. This is not a world of absolutes. You should never trust anyone that deals in absolutes.” He glanced at a mirror; “Company at 6 o’clock” An old Buick was slowly gaining on them. “Don’t worry yet, it could be nothing.”
“Alright.” She said, tensing.
“It’s good that you don’t trust me, you shouldn’t.”
She watched him smile at that, in an odd dark little way. The Buick was still climbing towards them. “You know for that car to be gaining, it has to be going more than a hundred.” She said.
“I know.” The car continued to gain ground. Her heart rate picked up. Sam was perfectly still driving calmly. She could now make out that there were at least three people in the car behind her. She told Sam this, but he continued to look forward, silent. The following car hitched a bit, then slid over to pass. She glanced over as the car passed her, seeing a Mexican boy smile at her through the rear side window. She sighed as the car slipped ahead and moved back into her lane.
“Damn it. Am I going to be this jumpy all the time?” She said glancing over at Sam. She looked back to the road in time to see the Buick coming back at her, brake lights blazing. Sam swerved hard, intentionally fishtailing. The Buick stuck the passenger rear of the Mustang, setting them straight on the road.
The Mustang lept forward, jumping to what it had been designed for. The needle surged in upwards of 140. They continued to accelerate, but the needle was buried. The Buick fought to stay with them.
“We can keep ahead of them easy enough.” He said, “Probably shouldn’t worry yet.”.

They passed a sign reading ‘Rest Stop 2 miles’.
40 seconds later both vehicles roared past the rest stop, where a girl in a tie-dyed shirt was pulling a bottle of soda from a machine. The sound of the Mustang’s engine roaring made her perk her head up in time to see both cars disappear behind a row of trees. She sprinted for the turbo diesel she was driving. The bastard child of an armored semi-truck, farm-all tractor, and a dragster; the War Wagon whirred to life as the turbo fan ran up to speed. It seethed with dragon’s breath as she pumped it, and it clattered to motion as she put it in gear. She worked her way through the gears as fast as the engine could pull. She was at home in the cab, she loved the way the engine surged under her, and could feel the simple raw power. With each gear shift, the twin pipes would belch dark smoke as the rust coated beast lurched forward with more speed. The hungry grill snarled at the approaching trunk of the Buick.
“Ok... Abby’s back there.” Sam said, watching the pursuing car; now quite distant.
“What? The rusty truck?” Eden was turned in her seat watching closely.
“Aye. Just stay out of their way. She’ll take care of ‘em.”
The Wagon roared as Abby let it taste the Buick. The steel rear of the already time abused car rumpled inward like foil behind the mass and density of the truck. Abby backed off to strike again.
Immediately the speed of the chase dropped well below a hundred; as the Buick swerved, wounded. Abby downshifted, and rammed them again. The rear of the Buick jumped up, and spun away to the side of the road, edges of tires digging deep furrows in the loose soil, throwing it into a barrel roll. It impacted and continued to roll, jouncing up and then disintegrated in a flurry of steel shards and glass shimmering in the dawn light.
The mustang died as Sam skidded to a halt. He leapt out, keys in hand. Abby pulled up behind them, giant engine growling. Sam slapped the side of it, a sparkle of rust falling off and staining his palm. Abby swung the driver’s door open, and tossed a pistol gripped pump shotgun over the roof of the cab to him. Sam caught, and cocked, it with a single fluid motion. Eden watched as Sam strode toward the vehicle with the calm air of a man who had done this sort of work for years. Abby hopped from the cab and followed Sam, her heavy lions mane of curls bouncing as she chambered the first round in her Ak-47. The Mexican boy was the first to emerge from the twisted wreckage.
“So... look’s like they’ve seen us, huh?” Abby said, watching the boy pull himself from the now smoldering remains.
“Aye. No survivors.” He said, hefting the shotgun, his voice level and emotionless.
“Understood.” She said in the same level tone.
The boy sprinted for them. Fangs sprang from his over-wide mouth, and he leapt high into the air. Sam fired; the flat roar of the weapon spawned a single heavy slug. It caught the boy in the chest, caving it in, and flipping him back end over end. His body thumped to the ground with a wet dragging clump. Motion caught Abby’s eye, and she spun. The assault rifle spoke in its clattery way, tiny puffs of dust erupting as she stitched a line toward the figure sprinting across the hardpan. She caught his legs first; shattering bone, and tossing him to the ground. The crumpled figure lamely attempted to stand but failed, collapsing into the dirt where it seemed resigned to crawling. Abby began to walk toward it. Sam walked to the wreckage where the driver was still pinned. He bent low, then crouched, both knees popping gently, and looked at the woman in the seat. Her left arm was broken, lying crooked against the roof. She looked at him with one blood filled eye, and bared her fangs.
Sam balanced himself with the shotgun and spoke softly, but firmly. “Who sent you?”
“Fuck you.” She said, her voice thick with pain. Dark blood sprayed when she spoke, bubbled from her nose and ran up her forehead.
“What clan are you with?”
She simply hissed in response.
“Now look, I can tell by the way this thing smells that it’s likely to start burning very shortly and you, my dear, are in absolutely no position to be obstinate.” He said.
“You’re the one that’s been giving us the trouble.” The blood flowed from her mouth freely as she yelled, “You think I’m going to do anything to help you?” She began to claw at her seat belt, shredding it under her talons. When she tried to move, she found that metal also held her. Sam simply sat and watched.
“I could give you a hand... In return for telling me what I want to know.” He said soothingly.
“Fuck you.”
“See...” He stood again, turning a circle as he spoke. “This is where we started.” There was a dull whump as the spilled fuel ignited. “Whoops! There she goes!” Flames began to embrace the wreckage. He bowed to see her, “Now you really must hurry if you’re going to get yourself out of there.”
“I’m not telling you shit. And when I get out of here, I’m going to kill you.”
“I’ll be waiting over by the truck.” Sam stood, lifting his rifle over his shoulder, and walked back to the rear of the wagon.
The woman pulled madly on the rapidly heating shards of metal that wrapped and occasionally penetrated her body. Her hands quickly began to blister and split as she pressed soft bare flesh against the reddening steel. Her movements became more panicky and her efforts less useful as the air heated and pain settled in. She disappeared behind a curtain of flame. Eden walked up behind Sam as he leaned against the side of the truck and watched.
“Are you going to just let her burn?” She asked.
“Unless she actually gets herself out.” He said in a flat bored way, as he folded his arms. A peal of enraged and tortured scream began to carry out from the flames. Her jittering figure could barely be discerned. “Which I really doubt.”
“You are a sadistic son of a bitch.” Eden said slowly and quietly, looking at him in disbelief.
“I won’t stop you if you want to get her out.” He shook a finger at Eden, “But remember, she was trying to kill you.”
The scream wailed on, pausing only to quickly gather another lung searing breath to scream again. Eden could feel the heat from the fire wash over her as more and more fuel fed the steadily increasing fire. To her astonishment, a pair of charcoal black arms leapt from the fire, scrabbling at the soil outside the window. The broken arm flopped limply, but the good arm found purchase and pulled. A black, crackled, and smoking face emerged from the hell of the car. She was sightless and still screaming. Sam stood upright a little taller, seemingly surprised.
“Tenacity of a cockroach.” He breathed, lifting the shotgun.
The clawing, crusted, figure paused in its abortive fiery birth, seeming to sense the comparatively cool air now entering what remained of its evaporated lungs. It then lunged forward, completing its escape. Eden gasped in realization that the woman had torn herself from her own waist and legs. Her abdomen ended in a charred, bubbling stump which dragged a few well cooked strings of sinew and part of what remained of her tailbones. It stopped its painful herking movements to scent the air. It squealed once more enraged and pulled again.
“Do something!” Eden panted, not hearing the cough of Abby’s rifle in the distance, as she gagged at the scent of roasted, and burnt pork.
“Do what?” He walked slowly next to the figure as what must have been the remains of her left breast, the fat tissue liquefied and drizzling, tore away from the cooked meat beneath, sticking to the grass she scraped against. He squatted low again, gesturing across the lump. “Grant mercy, bend low and heal this woman?” He stood, and kicked her solidly. Wet flaps of cooked skin stuck to his boot as she rolled away clawing at the place she was kicked, trying to kill her attacker but only opening her wound deeper. “This foul creature that is only wounded because she sought to harm you? You would wish me to end her suffering?” He walked over and kicked her again, this time she wailed in protest. “You just called me sick for allowing her die, but now you beg me to make it so. It can’t be because of her pain... that’s the thing about really deep burns like that. She doesn’t hurt. The wounds don’t throb.” He prodded her with his shotgun, punctuating his words, and she wrapped her fingers around it. He jerked the gun back, her fingers separating from her hand, remaining locked around the barrel. Sam grimaced and bent to the ground to wipe them off as one would clean a sword on grass after a kill. “Would you have me release her from what she’s become? A bleeding shadow of what she once was?” He stood again, “Really she should be proud of what she is, its a testament to her strength and power. This is what she wanted to be… what she chose to be.”
“Sam what in the hell are you doing?” Abby said, coming up behind Eden.
“I’m trying to make a point.”
“Well you’re rambling. Finish what you’ve started and let’s get out of here before anyone sees us. We’re lucky its so early, no one’s out here yet.”
“Fine. I shall release her to her final judgment.” He struck a pose, feet splayed and powerful as he aimed the shotgun one handed at the writhing things face. “May the speaker grant solace on what remains of her soul. (Speaker’s will be done.)” He fired; the concussion an echoing peal of death. She stopped moving, the already carbonized tissue began to slowly break off of her in chunks. The humorous bone in her left arm exploded, sending fragments of bone and flesh out like shrapnel. There were a few more dull pops as the already indiscernible body melted into an absolutely amorphous pile. He turned to Abby as he walked up, “Did you get anything?”
“He said they were with clan Pinte. Have you heard of them?”
“Sure...” Sam looked down, “He just said that they were with the Clan Penis.”
“Oh.”
“Anything else?”
“Nope.”
“So I’m guessing word of us, beyond faceless trouble makers, hasn’t gotten out yet.” Sam opened the rear doors, exposing a small arsenal of weapons, from throwing knives to set of stinger missiles packed in boxes.
“Anyone that could have gotten word out has been dispatched.”
“Good. You know Abby; we might actually pull this off.”
“We can hope.” He pulled a canister from a crate. “Make sure she gets anything she wants out of her car before I go sterilize it. Can you manage to get to the hall by noon?”
“Maybe by sundown.”
“Just hurry. And please try to keep your temper down.” He closed the rear doors, and left to deal with the girl.
“Grab whatever you need out of your car,” he hefted the cylinder in his hand, “We have to make a false trail, and wipe our scents from everything. Get in the truck with Abby.” Eden grabbed her backpack, and a few CDs from the car. Sam revved the engine as he pulled away.
Abby pulled up beside her, “Come on.”
“What was that can?” She asked as she climbed in.
“Did you ever see outbreak?” Abby asked as she shifted gears.
“Yeah.”
“It’s like the stuff they used to wipe out those towns.” She smiled at Eden broadly.
“He’s going to blow up my car?”
“It has to be done sweetie. They can track better than bloodhounds.”
“Ok… Will you tell me what’s going on?”
“I can’t tell you much, cause I don’t know hardly anything.”
“Are you one of these spoken people?”
Abby chuckled, “Kinda but not really. They are a class all to themselves, but I do work for them… With them.”
“How long you been with them?”
“Awhile. But I’m still a wet behind the ears pup compared to Mr. Nutzo.”
She looked at Abby gravely, “Is he really crazy? I mean I’ve seen some sick things in my time but when he kicked that woman back there… I mean I know she was trying to kill me… but; damn I wouldn’t have wished that on my greatest enemy... even though she was an enemy… I mean... well... You know.” She crossed her arms and set back in her seat.
“He’s really not so bad once you get to know him... Not really graced with social skills but he tries... Sometimes... Right now he’s been working really hard, and is worried. He’s spent his whole life fighting the good fight, and he sees a major battle in you. A battle that could be easily lost.”
“What is so special about me?”
“We’re going to the hall of records now. The Library of the Spoken, to see what we can dig up.”
“You’re going to look up stuff about me in a library?”
“Well, see what they find interesting about you.” Abby scented the air around her, and noticed that the girl wasn’t quite right. Not horribly off, just a tinge of something she couldn’t put her finger on. “They might do a few blood tests as well.”
“I’m used to needles.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I’ve been in and out of hospitals as long as I can remember.”
“Why?”
“They don’t know. I lack some protein that does something. I get these spells of horrible muscle cramps. They paid for the injections for me at the Home.”
“The Home?”
“I’m a ward of the state. Bounced from orphanages, to foster homes, and back all the time.”
“Interesting.”
“So why did you join up?” She poked in her backpack searching for a pack of gum..
“Join?”
“This Van Helsing society?” She said sarcastically.
“Oh… I guess I was drafted… They pick who joins.”
“How long has it been around?” She shook out a few pieces and tossed them into her mouth.
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
“One of those things?”
“Kinda.”
“Does that radio work?”
“Sure does hun’.” She clicked on the radio, and sat back as rock and roll flowed out over them.

***********************************************************************

It was just past one in the morning when the battered and rusty looking hulk found its way into the parking garage outside of an industrial complex. She pulled to the lowest level, and pressed a button on the wagon’s ceiling. A wall drew away, revealing a secret motor pool area. She parked beside a rusty Jeep, the engine shutting down with a whirr. “Wake up, we’re here.”
“You mean it wasn’t a dream?” She said groggily, eyes still puffy and bleared from sleep.
“No darlin’ fraid not, your life has been forever altered.”
“Shit.”
“That’s the usual reaction.” Abby said, dropping from her seat. They shuffled to the rear of the wagon. Eden jumped with a start when Sam spoke.
“Bout time.” He had been sitting on the ground, leaned against the far wall. He now stood, brushing himself off. He opened a small unmarked door, inviting them inside. The door opened to a small closet looking room. Sam must have flipped a hidden switch in a way that she didn’t see, because the rear wall silently swung open into a dimly lit downward reaching hall. Their footsteps echoed loudly. At the bottom of the hall, it canted to the right, and back up at a much lower grade, to end at an elevator. Sam placed his hand on a pad, which scanned it, and flashed red at him. He cursed, and wiped his hands together, clearing oil and grease off of them in little pellets. He tried again, and kicked the machine as it started. This time it allowed the doors to sweep open. “Don’t you love modern Technology?” He said, as he swept an arm towards the open door. She and Abby followed suit, and filed into the little room. The elevator sped downwards fast enough to make her stomach lurch, then seemed to slow to a slightly faster than normal rate, before slowing to a stop. The doors opened on a hallway lined with boxes and stacks of paper.
“This is our nerve center for the moment, please excuse the mess, we’re still in the process of transferring files to computer. Most of our stuff is still on paper.” He said squeezing between stacks.
“You have a lot of files.” Eden passed a hand over a stack of boxes; the top one was labeled ‘1942 England’
“Mostly old books and lore, sighting accounts, intelligence reports, you know how bureaucracy is.” Sam was looking around apparently not finding what he wanted, but not being upset by it.
Eden smiled, “You must be a loose cannon then…”
“What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know… You just look horribly out of place here.”
Abby peeked over Eden’s shoulder, “She’s right Sam you really do.”
He looked down at himself. “So I’m a bit rough and tumble. Good thing I’m not here often. Where is Alkiad? Alkaid!!!” Sam’s voice was a heavy roar. A small man in a suit with round glasses, who definitely looked like he belonged here among these piles of boxes and papers, came out from a door tucked beside one of the stacks; papers piled in his arms.
“Sam? That you?” Alkiad stumbled for a moment, papers slipping. Sam darted forward and helped him catch them.
“Who else comes in and starts barking?” Sam smiled.
“Good point.” Alkiad fumbled a little more to adjust his glasses.