C.O.T.V.H. (Book 3): Extermination (6 page)

“Damn!” he coughed. 
They sure forgot to mention this in training.  I’ll have to make a complaint next time I see Ortega. 
He coughed again,
yeah right.  Ortega would probably take a deep breath, eat a bowl of chili, then call me a whinny little bitch.

With his left hand Jake reached up and turned on the headlamp attached to the hardhat.  Slipping
Judgment
into the sheath on his back he pulled
The Cleaner
from off his shoulder and with gun in hand stepped inside.  The yellow beam shone across the darkened room.  His aim roamed the room methodically, checking every inch of it for threats.

The only light coming in was from the now open front door.  Every visible window was either boarded up or painted over. "Crap," he whispered. 

Until that very moment he'd still been holding out hope that the house might not be a vampire den.  Maybe Talon had been wrong.  Maybe the smell was from a backed up septic tank.  Not likely but a guy could hope.  But the windows . . . there was no sensible reason that he could come up with, short of some terrible George Romero-esk Zombie uprising, that a dining room table would be nailed up across a window. 
No, there is only one reason for that, to keep the sunlight out.

Jake looked around the room taking in his surroundings.  It was an old house with scuffed and scratched hardwood floors, covered sporadically by large dusty rugs.  An ancient, stained tan couch sat in the middle of the room in front of an old Magnavox TV with rabbit ears on top.  The only thing out of place was a pile of destroyed furniture in the middle of the room that seemed to be made up of what looked like a twisted bed frame, box springs, a mattress, and a shattered dresser.  Jake shone the light up at the landing upstairs.  The rails were sheared off.  Someone had been tossing furniture from the rooms above.

Jake's training kicked back in and he pushed the button on his walkie and whispered into it, "I'm in.  Definitely vampires.  The windows are all boarded up."

"Copy that.  Be careful," John’s voice responded.

Jake began searching for a light switch along the walls.  He didn't have to look long, right next to the front door were three switches.  He flicked them all up and down. Nothing. 
Great,
he thought to himself,
someone forgot to pay the electric bill.

Confident that the immediate area was secure, if just for the moment, he slung his shotgun back around his shoulder and pulled the claw hammer out of the belt.

Slowly, making as little noise as was humanly possible Jake pried the boards off the windows, letting in the early morning sunlight.  On closer examination Jake discovered many of the boards had black, bloody handprints where someone had hammered the nails in with their bare palms.  Not letting himself get distracted, he shook the sudden fear from his shoulders and ripped the dusty yellow curtains from their rods.

Some of the windows hadn't been boarded up but had been painted over with a darkish red paint.  Jake ran his gloved finger across one and discovered that it wasn't paint at all, but what looked like human blood.  He shuddered in disgust and moved on to the final window that was covered by the large dining room table.

It took a little more effort and a lot more noise than he would have liked but it finally gave way and fell to the floor with a crash.  The early morning sunlight streamed through.

Now that the room was filled with as much sunlight as possible, Jake returned the hammer to his belt and began his search. 

Keeping
The Cleaner
tight to his shoulder, he methodically checked every corner, every dark spot, every closet, every nook and cranny where a vampire might hide from the sun.  Just as Sgt. Major Castle trained him. 

Clearing the living and dining room he next moved into the kitchen.  Opening all the cabinets he found only dishes, boxes of stale cereal, and dusty canned goods.  He opened the refrigerator to find it fully stocked with rotting leftovers.  He picked up a half gallon of clumpy milk and checked the expiration date to find it had gone bad a little over a week ago.

Leaving the kitchen, Jake rechecked the first floor, making sure he hadn’t missed anything.  When he was done he sighed with relief.  It was completely clean.

He pushed the button on his walkie. "First floor clean.  Moving to the second."

"Copy that," John's voice replied.

One down, one to go,
Jake thought to himself.  
Thank god it doesn’t have a basement!
He thought back to Billy William’s story of being trapped in a basement with a crazed, perverted vampire. 
Yeah we definitely don’t need any basements.

With
The Cleaner
in hand Jake walked ever so carefully up the creaking staircase. The closer he got to the top the stronger the smell became.  He had to will himself not to throw up his bacon sandwich breakfast.

At the top of the stairs was a landing overlooking the living room with two doors at each end and two running along the wall.  He opened the door directly in front of him to find a closet filled with musty blankets and boxes of old Christmas decorations.

As he approached the second door he began to hear a loud buzzing sound.  He slowly turned the knob and discovered the source of the smell.  It was a bathroom.  An old claw-foot tub was hidden behind a bloody white shower curtain.  He pulled it back to find six naked bodies, wedged tightly together, hanging by their feet.  Their throats and wrists were slashed wide open and coagulated blood was oozing into the tub beneath.  The blood was clotted, giving it a sick chunky look, almost like some twisted cherry Jello. Thousands of flies circled above it.

Jake’s stomach churned violently and he couldn't hold back any longer.  Dropping caution to the wind Jake ran out of the demonic butcher shop, dropped
The Cleaner
to the floor, and ripped the bandana off his face then puked over the edge of the landing into the living room below.  Unable to help himself he looked back into the room at the fly covered bodies, the faces drawn in terrible screams. Only vacant holes remained where their eyes once sat, he turned and again wretched over the rail.

This was the worst den he had ever heard of.  To his knowledge, no vampire had ever collected remains like this.  It was unheard of.  A vampire, even a grunt, would feed, draining or turning their victims then dispose of the remains.  The scene before him was unprecedented.

Wiping his mouth with his hand and pulling the bandana back over his nose and mouth, Jake took two steps down the stairs.  The fear in his chest was near panic level. Everything in him was driving him to run away as fast as he could, screaming like a mad man.  The training hadn’t even come close to preparing him for something like this.

Grandpa and Dad will understand won't they?  I'm only seventeen . . . eighteen years old!
 
Training or no training people aren't supposed to do this kind of stuff!  I can't do this! I just can’t!
 He took two more steps down the stairs.  Tears of both shame and fear stung at his eyes. 
What was I thinking?! 
He gripped the rails tightly in a white knuckled grip.  He wanted to scream to the heavens.  To curse a God that would allow such monstrosities to exist.  Suddenly, above the pounding of his heart and the screaming in his head he began to hear something else.  Crying.

The fear subsided as something else took over.  Something buried deep down inside that always seemed to come out when he needed it most.  He didn’t know if it was courage or anger or just plain stupidity.  But in the end it didn’t really matter.  It helped get the job done, and when it came down to it that’s all that really mattered.

He ground his teeth and in two steps was back up the stairs.  He picked
The Cleaner
up off the floor and pulled it to his shoulder then followed the crying to one of the last two doors. 
This is it!  It’s all or nothing! 
With one swift kick the cheap particleboard door collapsed under his heavy boot.

Taking a step forward he scanned the light around the room until his headlamp shone across the faces of two very scared, very dirty little girls crouched down between a queen size bed and the wall.  They covered their faces as the light shone across it.  The youngest looked to be no more than five or six and was dressed in a dirty white night gown.  She clutched a teddy bear close to her chest.  The older girl was about ten and had dirty blond hair. 
My god . . . survivors!

The older girl pulled the younger closer as Jake stepped into the room.  "It's going to be all right," he said in a gentle voice. "I'm here to help you."  Taking several steps forward he reached out with his left hand causing them both to withdraw even further into the corner.  Realizing how scary he must look to two already traumatized little girls, he reached up and yanked the red bandana from his face and pulled off the safety glasses. "It's okay,” he said gently.  “My name is Jake.  I'm not going to hurt you." He knelt down to their eye level, "What are your names?"

The oldest spoke up, barely whispering, “My name is Pearl and this . . . this is my sister Anna."

"It's nice to meet you,” Jake said carefully.  “Now listen, I'm going to get you out of here.  Just take my hand and I promise everything will be okay."

Pearl pulled her sister back into the corner, "No!  There's a monster out there!  It killed Mom and Daddy! Daddy said there are no such things as monsters,” she shook her head from left to right, “He was wrong."

Man you said it kid.  "
It's okay, I won't let anything hurt you, but we've got to get you out of this house.  If we don't, the monster
will
find you."

Hesitantly, she reached up and took his outstretched hand.  Her small hand shook uncontrollably in his loose grip. 
Poor thing is in shock.
 Leaning
The Cleaner
against the wall, he reached over and pulled a blanket off the bed and wrapped them both up in it.  He picked
The Cleaner
back up and with both girls in tow headed back toward the stairs.

Jake's terror was completely gone.  He'd been so selfish thinking only of himself, of
his
fears,
his
doubts.  These poor, defenseless little girls put it all into perspective.  This is why his family did what they did.  It wasn’t for the money, it wasn’t for the glory, they did it because someone had to fight back the darkness.  Someone had to protect those that couldn’t protect themselves.

"Stay behind me," he told them as they moved slowly down the hall.  Not wanting them to see the carnage inside the bathroom he pulled the door closed.  The girls followed closely, the blanket wrapped around them to where only their dirty faces could be seen.  The oldest continued to hold tightly to her little sister.  From the room furthest from the stairs something big started moving across the floor causing the floorboards to creak loudly.  The door opened a crack and a pair of red eyes peaked out at Jake then just as quickly disappeared.

Jake pulled
The Cleaner
to his shoulder covering the doorway.  "Go.  Get downstairs and get out of the house," he said, no longer afraid of being heard.  “You will be safe outside.”

"Please don't leave us," the oldest cried out, pulling frantically at his arm.

"You can't stay with me," he said, gently pulling away, his eyes never leaving the door.

"Please!" the youngest started to cry, grabbing hold of his leg.

"All right, but you have to stay back.  Do you understand?  I've got to take care of whatever is in that room so that it never hurts anyone's mommy or daddy ever again. Okay?"

The oldest nodded.  Jake looked around and spotted the closet with the Christmas decorations.  Clearing out some boxes he made enough room for the girls to sit.

"Keep quiet and don't move,” Jake said sternly.  “If anything happens to me I want you both to run as fast as you can and get out into the sunlight.  These things can't go out in the sun.  My dad and grandpa are outside, they will take care of you.  Do you understand?"  

With terrified, vacant stares they both nodded yes.

Jake closed the door and headed back down the hall.  He grimaced as the walkie squawked loudly with static.  Jake could just barely make out Cort’s voice asking if he was okay.  Reaching up he turned the volume down without answering. 
If I don’t answer or hit the emergency signal in the next thirty minutes they’ll come looking for me.  Better make this quick then.

Taking two deep breaths to calm his nerves, he stepped toward the bedroom door and pushed it open with the barrel of his gun then scanned the pitch black room with his headlamp. 
Thirty minutes . . .
It appeared to be completely empty of furniture.

The lair, I’ve got you now you piece of shit. 
Jake took a step into the room then heard Sgt. Major Castle’s voice echo through his head,
Never follow a bloodsucker into its lair.  Draw it out.  Make it come to you.  Only go in if you absolutely must.’

Jake stepped back and aimed his gun at the doorway.  “Hey,” he said his voice breaking.  He cleared his throat.  “HEY!” he said this time with a lot more gusto.  “Hey Bloodsucker!  Soups on!  Come and get it!”  Nothing.  The room remained completely still.

“Here boy!  Here boy!” he taunted.  “I know you’re in there!  Come out and play!”  Again nothing.  Unsheathing the machete a couple of inches Jake ran his thumb across the razor sharp blade, drawing a tiny cut.  Squeezing it with his index finger, he flicked the blood toward the open door splattering tiny droplets on the floor and wall.  “It tastes as good as it smells!”

No response.  “What’s wrong?”  Jake stepped closer to the door.  “Maker got your tongue?  Or are you too much of a chicken shit coward?  It’s easy when it’s a bunch of innocent farmers, why don’t you try for a little bigger game?”

Jake stepped even closer to where his head just barely peeked into the room.  “That’s right suckhead!  It’s Jake Bishop!  You know who I am y . . . SHIT!” Jake yelled out as something hit him from behind knocking him headfirst into the room.
The Cleaner
flew from his grasp as he stumbled to the floor.  His hard hat skidded across the hardwood floor, coming to a stop on the opposite side of the room.  Two of his greatest weapons were now out of his reach.
  Stupid!  Stupid! Stupid! 
he chided himself, leaping to his feet and drawing his revolver.