Fanghunters (10 page)

He hacked away at the grass some more
before he began making his way into the undergrowth, feeling like some kind of
explorer. The grass made a rustling sound as he pushed his way through it. Some
of it was getting in his eyes and it tickled his face making him want to
sneeze. A bunch of stinging nettles hidden away in there scraped across his
hand and he winced at the pain.

Goddamn
stuff!

He hacked away more and more grass with
angry swipes as he delved deeper and deeper into field of green. In no time, he
found himself lost in it all. It tangled and curled all around him and the rug
as if trying to eat him. He tried to look back, but he was surrounded; it was
like the grass was alive and had closed around him on purpose.

Great! Where the hell am I?

Panic began to take over. He hacked away at
the grass with more ferocity, his teeth clenched, as if fighting it off. He was
pretty sure that he had gone in a straight line so far, so the back of the
garden should be right ahead of him. All he had to do was follow his nose. But
the more he cut, the more he hacked and slashed away, there was more grass
waiting. And now it was getting itself tangled up with the stake as if it was
purposefully trying to snatch it from his grip. Drake was starting to get heavy
too and a dull throb was going off in his shoulder.

Man, I’m really earning this bounty! I
don’t think I’ll ever be so happy to see my crappy car.

He wished he could be back at his
apartment, kicking back with a cold Bud. But instead he was tangled up in grass,
weeds and stinging nettles.
“I should’ve Google Street-Viewed this mofo
first...”
he said to himself with regret.

He yanked his arm back, tearing the blades
of grass wrapped to it from their roots. He shook them off, freeing himself of
them. Now he could go ahead. He hacked away at the grass in front of him,
beetles and lice crawling everywhere; going in his ears and mouth. He spat them
out in disgust. Something nearby scampered away; a rat, or a cat, or a dog, or
some other feral creature that he didn’t wanna cross paths with. He ignored it
and carried on. More grass came away. And then more. And then more still.

Arrgh, when does this crap end? Huh?
WHEN DOES IT END?

His head started spinning; he had about of
dizziness. It was like he was having a flashback. The grass around swayed from
side to side like it was dancing. Then he saw it was doing the Hula. The green,
green grass of Hell, tangling him up, swallowing him up, its tendrils wrapping
around his neck nice and slow and pulling tight. Then he heard the Grassmen
speaking.
‘Chill out, man,’
they were telling him.
‘Soak up some
rays. Sip on a cocktail or two. We’ll take care of the rest…’

And the grass tightened around his neck
some more...

Keep going straight, buddy!
a voice erupted in his mind, severing the weird trance he’d just
entered.
And screw the grass people!

So he did just that. He hacked away at the
grass with more force, a groan escaping him every time he swiped his arm around
because it was starting to hurt, and Drake was beginning to get heavy.

Goddammned
Beauchamp! Sitting on his regal ass, while I’m here, in the freakin
jungle!

He threw the stake forward with an angry
grunt as if he were a lunging fencer. His arm jarred on something solid,
sending a mild shock running up his arm. A twinge of excitement gripped him and
he laughed. It was a wall. A wall! He never thought he’d be so happy to find a freakin
wall! He frantically cleared the grass ahead of him and soon could see old, dirty-red
bricks. He laughed louder.
It’s a frickin’ wall. A wall, yeah!

His eyes rolled upward. His joy was
abruptly cut short.

The top of the wall was lined with razor
wire.

His laughter stopped dead. He stared at the
razor wire with a slack jaw. It quickly turned into a grimace of hate. He
smashed the wall with the stake, enraged, a jolt of pain jarring up his wrist.
He managed to choke a scream, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

How the hell am I gonna get over this
now?

What’s going on today? Did I run over a
black cat on my way down here or something?

He growled and looked around. All he could
see was the Grass People surrounding him. His first thought was to follow the
wall along to the next yard, jumping into that and then finding a way out from
there.
But what if that wall was wired too?
a voice piped up in his
mind.
Or worse? Or what if it was too high to get over?
At least
this wall was a couple of inches above his head, meaning he could get over it
pretty easy, it was just the damn razor wire that was the problem. He tried to
look back the way he came, but the Grass People had appeared to move over into
the furrow he’d created and covered it back up, thus eliminating his pathway.
It was eerie. Like they were alive...

He shivered.

He shook it off. Now there was no clear way
back, he was stuck. He faced the wall again.

Why is there goddamn razor wire on this
wall, anyway?
he asked himself in disbelief.

He hacked at the wall again with the point
of his stake, chipping off brick and red dust.

Okay. Okay. Think, Dom. There’s a way
out of here, there always is. You would’ve been a dead man a loooong time ago
if there wasn’t.
He let his mind go blank again,
trying his best to focus on a solution, instead of letting the panic rising in
his stomach overcome the whole situation. He assessed where he was at.
Okay.
Wall. Stake. A shitload of grass. Vampire corpse. Rug.

His eyes lit up. He clicked his fingers,
nodding his head in unison as the puzzle began to unravel in his mind.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. That’s it, buddy. The
rug! It’s pretty thick. If I can lay it over the razor wire, it will flatten
the crap out and make it safe to cross.

That’s great, Dom. But what about Drake?

Arrgghh... He grabbed his clammy
forehead.

I’ll just have to unwrap him (snug as a
bug…), lay the rug out over the wire, throw him over, climb over myself, then
pull the rug down, roll him up again (…in a rug) and run like a crazy mofo to
the car.

Great. Now stop talking and get going!

He got to work straight away.

He lowered rolled-up-Drake to the ground
head (or foot, he didn’t know which anymore) first, leaning him up against the
wall; the rug crumpled slightly in the middle but held upright. Now relieved of
the pressure, Dom’s shoulder screamed at him; he winced as he grabbed it,
twisting his arm around in the socket to get the blood flowing again. While he
did that, he watched helplessly as the bend in the middle of the rug deepened
as gravity worked on Drake’s dead weight; it all crashed to the ground, flattening
surrounding grass.

Great...

Dom huffed, reached down, grabbed the
flapping edge of the rug, and yanked. He instantly strained, a groan shooting
out from between his clenched teeth. He managed to pull a bit of rug out from
under Drake, but the vamp was acting like a paper weight and was clamping it
down. Dom placed one foot on the wall to get a bit more leverage and tugged
upward with all his strength, his muscles trembling. Bit by bit, Drake began to
spin on the spot like a paper roll spindle as the rug came away from beneath
him. Dom now grabbed the rug a little further in and yanked with all his might,
all the blood rushing up to his head; it felt like it was about to burst. He
pulled some more until there was a soft thud and the rug came away freely; it
flopped over Dom’s head, the momentum from his exertion sending him back into
the wall. He hit it with a painful thud.

He growled in anger, the rug now over his
head.
Great plan, Dom, great plan,
he scolded himself.

Down by his feet, he could see Drake’s
crumpled body; his dead, black eyes were staring at him.

But something was happening and it was
happening fast.

He watched in horror as Drake’s face
rapidly began to redden in big blotches. In the next instant, the redness
became pulsing blisters. They burst, spraying puss all around.

“Jesus Christ,” Dom exclaimed, recoiling.
His mind worked. Then, he realized what it was. Daylight. The sun.
It was burning and flaking Drake’s skin. In no time, his whole face was dark
red and blistered.

Then it caught fire.

Dom’s eyes bulged. “Oh, crap!” he yelped.
He threw the rug off his head, bent down and began blowing on Drake’s face.
Don’t
burn, don’t burn, no, no, no, don’t burn!

If he burnt beyond recognition, Beauchamp
wouldn’t have a vamp to identify. 

Dom snatched handfuls of nearby grass and
flattened it down over Drake. Now, snugly wrapped in grass, he was protected
from the effects of the sun. The cool grass killed the flames and the hot
sizzling petered off. Dom faced the gray sky; he breathed a sigh of relief, the
astringent stench of burnt hair and flesh caught in his nostrils.

Now he knew what the next problem would be:
getting Drake over the wall and back into the rug uber fast before he burned.
He huffed and turned his attention to the rug once more; it was concertinaed
against the wall. He went ahead and grabbed the nearest edge, before throwing
it over his head again. He eased it down his back until he reached the far
edge; it now trailed behind him like some kind of exaggerated Bride’s train. He
steadied himself, eyes fixed on the top of the wall. He lifted his arms as high
as they’d go, the edge of the rug still in his grip. He had the rug way higher
than the razor wire; now he just had to get it over and down.

Okay, buddy. Let’s do this...

On the count of three, he propelled his
arms forward with a grunt, allowing the edge of the rug to fly over the wire.
Even though he put all his force into it, the heaviness of the rug coupled with
the hindrance of the surrounding grass meant that it didn’t go as far as he’d
hoped. The edge he threw forward went a little way beyond the wall, before the
next section of the rug got stuck to the razor wire. As a result, the edge he’d
thrown was brought down midair. It ended up hanging just over the other side of
the wall like a very short tongue. The opposite end of the rug slapped him in
the back and stayed where it was. He came out from under the rug and it flopped
against the wall. He put his hands on his hips and weighed up the results.

Hmm, not bad. Not great, but not bad...
Doable.

Might be better if you doubled it over.

He nodded.
Good idea.

He swiped the sweat from his brow before he
lifted up this end and threw it in a way that made it
fold over itself, doubling it up. He dusted his hands.
Nice job.

He’d
now created a
thicker and heavier barrier that flattened the razor wire further, leaving a
clear path for his escape.

He reached up and put his weight on the
rug; it went down, but the razor wire didn’t break through. He hoisted himself
waist height over the wall. He scanned the area beyond, making sure there were
no nasty surprises waiting for him. Once bitten, twice shy and all that. He
found himself surveying a thin alleyway littered with trash and old dumpsters;
it ran further away into the distance both left and right, ultimately leading
around to the front of the house. Opposite him were more brick walls, sans
razor wire.
Typical,
his mind vented. But the most important thing was
that the alleyway was quiet and empty. He grinned to himself before dropping
back down and dusting his hands. He stepped over to the spot where he’d stashed
Drake. He carefully pulled the grass covering him to the sides, conscious of
the sun. The awkward position in which Drake fell back pushed his chin into his
chest, jutting his jaw up. It now looked like he was grinning.

“Yeah, I bet you’re enjoying watching this
from wherever you are now, ain’tcha?” Dom asked him. “But I’ll enjoy it much
more when I’m counting them dollars I’m gonna get for your ass, buddy.”

Dom reached down and grabbed the belt of
Drake’ robe and yanked it free. He then slipped it underneath both Drake’s
armpits, and around his back, creating a lasso. And then it was time to go. Dom
dragged Drake from out of the grass and up to the wall as fast as he could. On
reaching the wall, he propped Drake’s back up against it. Now exposed to the
sun, he began to burn again. Dom let out an agitated huff before he pulled some
grass back over him as best he could to block the rays out.

Sun tan lotion; another thing I forgot
to bring. Stupid...

I’ll remember for next time.

Dom then turned back to the wall. He was
all set. He nodded his head and smiled, his tongue buried in his cheeks.

Almost there. Almost there. I’m not
forgetting this day in a hurry, I swear to Christ.

He wiped his hands on his pants and reached
up to the rug. He hoisted himself up, hooking his knee and then pushing down on
it to lever his other leg up onto the wall. Once there, he stayed low, now
squatting on the rug, razor wire either side of him. He took a look back. The
derelict house he was just inside stared at him like a beat-up sentry. A sudden
feeling of triumph suffused him; it was a sensation of release as if an ongoing
nightmare was finally over. He had overcome. Beaten the enemy and made it out.