B00724AICC EBOK (16 page)

“
Don’t say that. I know it’s true but don’t say it. I’ll never wield a sword again.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

THE NIGHT WAS ALMOST AS DARK as the interior of a cold mine after the lights went out. Under a cloud filled sky on the top of Mt Rogers in the Virginia Mountains, the forest spread out in all directions. Mosquitos and other flying insects buzzed the air. Tiny droplets of rain had commenced to fall as a branch cracked somewhere in the distance. The area was rough with rocks and evergreens. The summit was covered by a dense spruce-fir forest, and even during daylight hours didn’t offer much of a vista. But the trails that led to the top permitted entry through open meadows and across bald ridge tops with far reaching views.

A bobcat growled and then abruptly halted, screamed at them as it wandered into the area unable to detect the scent of the vampires. The animal had been in pursuit of a rabbit that had escaped it because of the biters. Its shiny yellow-gold eyes captured what light did exist and reflected it out into the night. It ran off as fast as it could as it was surprised to observe such a large number of opponents in one area. Several biters laughed at the big cat.

“
Almost gave that thing a heart attack.”

The dozen vampires waited as a small army would. There was John, Snyder, Anthony, Archie, Bernard, Aidan, Uberto, Vaile, Hayley, Gage and the Nash and Nate brothers from Orlando. Gage was the only African American of the group. The gang were gazing suspiciously at one another as they were all fairly recent acquaintances. They anticipated the arrival of one more biter, and he was just a bit on the late side. It was usually difficult to get vampires to cooperate with one another. Every two or three minutes one cracked his own neck, and another yawned intermittingly. One was like Jupiter in the sense that he was a big ball of gas. He had terrible flatulence that shot out into the night, with the smell of rotting blood and sulphur. Some laughed at it but others had the desire to pummel him.

The last of the thirteen, Boyle, blurred onto the scene as the others sat on several trees that they had knocked down. The smell of gasoline was palpable on the air, and when Boyle lit a match and threw it onto the pile of wood they had created, the fire crackled to life with the oxygen at hand feeding it. The yellow, red and orange blended and danced into the dark night, permitting sparks to rise into the dark shadows of the trees. It simply gave the area ambience, as the biters could see perfectly well in the blackness of night. Any mortals that would be unfortunate enough to check out the blaze would be ravaged in record time.

It was a bunch of misfits and killers whose encounter had been serendipitous. Their morals were virtually nonexistent and their hearts as black as midnight. They had all been wicked humans and now were malignant as vampires, having no scruples with causing death and destruction. When a person was turned usually one of two things occurred. Their personalities remained the same. Or two, they experienced a form of temporary insanity, which was an unpredictable state that some would not survive. Although it was said that criminals almost always became bad vampires. It was thought that good and bad bitters were split fifty-fifty, with half of them causing humanity to suffer, and the other half simply wanting to go about their business and live their lives. But as the numbers increased, no one knew for certain which side actually tipped the scale. But one thing was for sure, it only took one evil vampire to create havoc and terror.

A terrorist cell in an abandoned warehouse had been caught and torn to pieces by four virtuous vampires, and that had been the best news in the New York Times in quite some time. That situation had been discussed for weeks. Some people kept that paper and read it over every single day, with the thought that the decent vampires might actually come to their aid. At least it was a glimmer of hope, legitimate or not.

The vampires were there for a business meeting of sorts, a plan that would have the mortals at their mercy in months to come, with no protection whatsoever, except for the occasional good vampire that would attempt to come to their rescue. It was a plot that had been formulated in a private pool hall in Georgia at a poker tournament for biters only. Wherever evil gathered, the plots that were hatched were always from rotten eggs with putrid intentions, and of course involving the killing of humans. Now that Dracula had abandoned his brood, malevolence flourished as the mortals cowered behind locked doors.

Boyle was a Russian born into the United States; he seemed to have no Russian left in him at all except for his features; his parents had never taught him the language nor discussed his heritage, because they had been so fed up with the life that they had escaped from they wanted to pretend that they also had been born into the States. But it was the same the world over, poverty was beaten by sticks of righteousness and by holier-than-thou attitudes. His father had had a fit when his mother wanted to call him Ahtoh, chopping up the pine table in their kitchen with an axe, because the name was Russian. A large piece of the wood had narrowly missed the infants head. His temper was well known to his neighbors.

Boyle took the time to look at each and every one of them, giving each and every one their own moment of eye contact. It was his way of acknowledging each one’s importance. One of his talents was the mid-level ability to influence vampires. The group wasn’t aware of the gift and he wasn’t about to inform them. “We are one ugly looking bunch, but we are going to accomplish a lot. Vampires are going to take over this world, and rightly so. The spoils should belong to the powerful. Since we are thirteen I would suggest that we call ourselves The Thirteen. ”

“
How about we call ourselves the shit disturbers?” said someone from the back.

That statement was ignored as heads shook in agreement mixed in with shrugs, but others simply thought that since they were all relatively equal, why should Boyle be the boss? The fire continued to crackle and an air of silence held for several minutes as each went inside corroded minds to ponder the rewards and consequences of their actions to follow.

“
In years to come we could form a new government. Think of what we could accomplish with a world run by vampires!” John was the best looking of the bunch; he looked to be seventeen or eighteen with his boyish face, red hair and blue eyes.

Boyle had a scraggly beard with patches of white. His head was mostly bald with some darkish hair on the sides, and had light blue eyes. The vampire was exactly six feet tall. He had been turned when he was sixty-three, though in reality he was now over a hundred. He actually resembled Pyotr Stolypin quite a bit, the 3
^rd
Prime Minister of Imperial Russia, although his nose was a bit more pronounced. His preference was to stalk and kill gay men.

“
Boyle,” said Bernard. He was the shortest of the group at just over five feet, but was in fact a decent fighter and would be one of the top three of the group, having killed three other biters in combat within the last two years. He had dull green eyes. Bernard played with the blade of his 17
^th
century katana sword, repeatedly cutting his own hand open and watching it heal. “Why should you be the boss?”

“
We were all in agreement last week? What has changed?” Boyle crossed his arms as a small gesture of defiance, and let his influence flow over the clique like fresh snow covering the ground.

“
This is not going to work if we fight one another, Bernard.” Clifford spoke the name BERNARD as if he was spitting out putrid meat. “So shut the hell up before we become the Twelve! Why do we have to give ourselves a name? Sounds stupid to me. Well, I supposed if we’re going to end up in the newspaper they have to call us something.”

Boyle waited for the others to comment but none were forthcoming, although most did nod in agreement. “Let’s do it then.”

The twelve stood and all adjusted their positions so that four of them could lay their right hands simultaneously on Boyle, with the others taking their hands. They had become a web of energy, feeling the ebb and flow of power from one another. It was like fluctuating shocks that were unpleasant yet somehow satisfying as well. They all permitted a small fraction of their energy to run into the boss, infusing him with extra strength and power. He was illuminated with a slight red glow as gray smoke rose into the air from him. Occasionally, a vampire experienced a sort of detonation where his skin would turn to dust with an explosion of energy, but it was extremely rare. A slight hiss from the infusion was mostly covered up by the sound of the fire. It was a satisfying feeling for Boyle, as if a desert cactus had been watered and suddenly grown in stature, and its needles had become longer and more potent. He enjoyed the sensation immensely as he closed his eyes and his eyelids fluttered.

Bernard had been tempted to simply pretend to emit some of his oomph into the new chief, but had quickly dismissed it as too risky. He wasn’t sure what could be sensed and what couldn’t. He was also unaware of the group’s individual talents, and most vampires tended to keep them secret, lest a defence to it be acquired. Had anyone noticed the bogus gesture, they would have ripped him to pieces, and then stomped his bones. It was either all for one or all against one. Bernard liked his bones and loved eating and terrifying humans; he wanted to continue to do so for centuries to come.

Backs were patted and heads were nodded in agreement. They sat around their campfire in the woods in Virginia, with the discussion turning to what was to come next. The gang was created with the sole purpose of destroying all the red sheriffs in the area. The sheriffs may have been trained by the Master himself, fortified with a bit of his power to enable them to supersede most vampires that were not, but their numbers were sufficient to kill any law enforcement, vampires or not, of that they were quite sure.

“
Do we know any addresses of any red sheriffs?” Boyle jumped into the air and grabbed a regular vampire bat and drank its blood, as if a human were consuming a delicious cold bottle of Coke. He tossed the remains against a fir tree and let go with a loud belch.

Archie shook his head. “I don’t but luring one is as easy as killing a human. Take a human hostage and one will show up. Or simply kill several of them and one will be called into the area where we could overpower him or her, whatever the case may be. Or torture would be good!” He had been a bodybuilder in his life as a human, and his physique was moderately large, as he had been turned between competitions. He had tight and curly dirty blond hair, smooth facial features.

“
Why don’t the sheriffs stick with their own kind instead of protecting the frail humans?” Boyle continued to appreciate the new injection of power and its intense warm flow, like a hug from a parent. It was a sensation that would take a while to get accustomed to the fresh energy flowing within.

Archie nodded in agreement. “Because they have a false sense of righteousness. I can’t wait to kill them. One tracked me for something like eight miles in Diamond Bar California. I had come out of the San Gabriel Valley and caught this young couple at the Diamond Bar Center. They were just sitting on a sort of bench under a tree. That young couple sure tasted sweet. I am lucky to be here because of that damn sheriff. Funny thing is I didn’t sense him at all. It’s quite something when they can just pop up like he did.”

“
Do you know why they tasted so sweet?” asked Anthony. He shook his shoulder-length black hair out of his eyes.

“
Why?”

“
When you drink a human’s blood within two hours of them eating a large meal, they taste delicious.”

“
I killed this old man once,” Bernard played the scene over in his head. “He had become lost in the forest, maybe he had become lost from an old folks home. The old guy had this old dark beautiful palm grip cane, with a sword inside of it. I still have it. Anyway, he was going around in circles and muttering something about Johnny-Boy. Looked like he was throwing imaginary grenades or something. I was hungry so you can guess the ending. He must have been sick because it made me nauseous. Every damn day for almost a week.”

Archie laughed. “You ate spoiled food.”

“
Whatever sickness he had didn’t agree with me.”

Boyle interlaced both hands and cracked his knuckles. “Gentlemen, let’s go kill ourselves a red sheriff!”

The rushed off into the darkness, one after the other.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

VAMPIRE KEITH ROLLED OUT of his lair in the forest, from under the Sears-O-Pedic mattress that had blocked the sunlight as he had slept all day. Some bitters slept in bat form but he preferred not to hang from a tree. Insects of varying types scurried away from under him with several ants falling off his large mammary glands, his man boobs. His scoured face immediately scowled upon his awakening. He reeked of sweat and blood and alcohol. The sun had given him a migraine headache and his foul disposition had become even more so. His bulk was easy to lug around now that he was endowed with the strength of a biter. Keith was killing so many people in different areas of New York that he had three different red sheriffs on the lookout for him. All had his scent but that could only be detected from about a mile off. He was turning out to be a substantial foe as his talent of speed was vexing. They couldn’t kill what they couldn’t catch.