Fanghunters (7 page)

Dom sparked it and held it out in front of
him, suddenly grateful for Mary Lou’s unintentional genius foresight. It lit up
the surrounding walls and floorboards in a small yellow circle, illuminating
the way for him. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. Now he could finally get
going.

He allowed for another of those deep,
steadying breaths, just as a drop of sweat dripped off the end of his nose and
hit the floorboards with a small
duff
sound that seemed a lot louder in
there than it actually should have.

Christ, this isn’t going well at all!

He decided to take off his jacket and dump
it on the floor to help him cool off. He could get it on his way out.

If you get out…

Now in only his tee, he took a cautious
step forward, his breath baited, his neck craning his head around this way and
that as if he expected something to jump out of the darkness. Now, every horror
movie he’d ever seen whirled around his mind in vivid images like a
self-destroying movie reel of torture. His mouth was sand paper and his face an
oily mask. He wiped it with the back of his hand. The trusty Zippo in his hand
illuminated a small area ahead of him, revealing that the kitchen most probably
contained no nasty surprises.
But, you never knew…
By then, he’d nearly
made it to the door. He carefully placed his feet down on the floorboards,
almost tiptoeing along, his teeth embedded into his bottom lip, turning it
white. Now he was deeper into the hallway, he could hear his breathing like he
was Darth Vader, the sound of the crows now a dull drone somewhere in the
background. He could smell the stink of himself coming from the sweat patches
under the arms of his tee, which was now plastered to his back like Velcro. He
stopped by the first door and listened for a second, his eyes fixed on the
stairs. He didn’t like them being empty like that, it was the same effect as
watching a lonely swing in the park swaying to and fro on the wind as if a
ghost kid was riding it. There wasn’t a sound coming from inside the room, but
that meant nothing. If Mr. Vampire was asleep in there, he wouldn’t be making a
peep. Well, there was no choice, he had to go in and check it out.

He said a small prayer to himself before he
reached for the doorknob. He slowly began to turn it, easing it round bit by
bit, not wanting it to make a sound, telling the vamp there was an intruder in
his nest. All the while, sweat dripped off his skin. He felt it run down the
back of his legs, down his arms and down his chin. The doorknob finally went
all the way around.

And stopped.

Dom puffed his cheeks and then flicked his
light out.

A second.

Two.

Three passed before he slowly eased the
door open, praying that its hinges weren’t as decayed as most of the house,
that they weren’t about to inform the thing asleep somewhere in 1428 that
intruders were inside by screaming at the top of its voice with their dry,
rusty mouths.
Easy, buddy…

Easy…

A guardian angel must have been watching
over him because luckily for him, they didn’t make a peep. Instead, the door
swung smoothly open into another dark room. Dom wiped away the sweat from his
forehead, then poked his head into the gap between door and frame. The room
beyond was pitch black as he expected it to be.

God, I wish I’d brought a flashlight
along...
he bemoaned with deep chagrin. He
flicked his Zippo on again. He shut his eyes briefly, then took a
big step fully into the room, his stake bared like it was a deadly weapon. His
head swung left and right, trying to soak in as much information as possible.
The flame on his lighter showed him bare floorboards that ran all the way to
the blocked up windows, a tattered, cushionless sofa sitting on them. But no
sleeping vampires. His chest relaxed and he brought the Zippo around; a
smashed-up TV was pushed up against the far wall.

Apart from this, the room was empty and he
was glad about that. A wave of relief washed over him. He was suddenly grateful
for the experience of walking into a room with nothing but a metal stake and a
Zippo, and surviving. It would give him a much-needed confidence boost for
later on. He let the lighter go out, plunging the room into darkness again
before he stepped back out of the room and into the gloomy corridor. There, he
wiped more oily sweat from his face and puffed his cheeks. The adrenaline
flowing through his body was giving him a bizarre kind of rush that he supposed
would be the same as running out onto a battlefield with an AKA47. It was a
danger rush, the kinda thing you experienced while walking through the cemetery
at midnight. But it was greater than that, more concentrated. More intense.

He shook his legs to try and stiffen them
up and checked the time again: 1:35. He was taking too long, he had to get
moving.

Having already realized the kitchen was
empty, it meant the ground floor was clear.

Now it was upstairs.

He stared at the staircase; it now
resembled a trail of hot coals. He didn’t want to go near them, never mind
actually step on them. The hard truth was he had no choice; there were no vamps
on the ground floor, so he had to be sleeping upstairs. That tingling in his
spine told him so. He tiptoed back the way he came, careful not to step on any
bits of grit loitering on the floorboards. When he reached the foot of the
stairs, he stared up them. The summit was a black hole. One or two paintings
had been hung on the adjacent wall, but it was too dark to make out what they
were.

Up there’s where you gotta go, buddy.
He gave himself a wry smile before reaching for the rickety banister
rail with his free hand. Carefully, he put a foot on the first step and placed
his weight on it, testing it for sturdiness and squeak factor. It passed both,
so he got moving up them, sparking up his Zippo. The sudden light shone
something up next to him and his head spun. His eyes locked onto a giant
messed-up face with a massive hooter. He flinched back. It was some kind of
weird painting; looked like the effort of a five-year-old. He shivered;
something about it creeped him out. Its flat eyes watched him as he turned his
head back the way it came. He puffed his cheeks and started climbing the steps
one by one. As he did, the gloom at the top of the stairs began dancing in a
kaleidoscope of shadow and light with every movement, the shadows created by
the banister spindles resembling bars on a jail cell. There was a cautious,
restless fear gnawing away at him; on the one hand, he wanted to get business
over with. Quickly. But on the other, he was scared to make too sudden a move
just in case he made a sound and the vamp jumped out to surprise him. He licked
his dry lips with a tongue that felt like it had been sun-dried. As he passed
more weird paintings hanging on the wall—1960s ladies lying on trees, weird
portraits with swirly lines—he found himself transported back to when he and
Eddie were kids playing
Resident Evil
on Playstation, walking around the
creepy old mansion shooting badly pixilated zombies. This,
this
felt
just like that freaking game. There were weird paintings hanging on the walls
of that mansion too, just to freak you out while you played it. Exactly, the—

His foot landed on a loose step and the
floorboard moved down like a pressure plate. It screamed in agony; a long,
drawn out sound like rusty nails wrenched out of a wooden plank. The silence
shattered, the noise lasting for what seemed like forever. Dom’s heart leaped
up into his throat; he stopped dead in his tracks like the music had been
killed during a game of musical statues. The only things moving were the flickering
flame on his Zippo and his eyeballs rolling around their sockets in crazy
circles. In his chest, his heart hammered like a hummingbird’s wings, the sound
of it pulsing in his ears.

Did he hear? Did he hear?!

He remained rooted where he was for a prolonged
second. Waiting. Waiting for something to happen. Expecting the vamp to jump
down from the top of the stairs and tear into his throat. His eyes rolled left
and right, sweat dripping, tickling the end of his nose. He tried his best to
ease his breathing, but his chest was desperate for air as if he was
suffocating. The following seconds were an infinity.

But, nothing happened.

Soon, thankfully, silence punctuated by the
occasional caw of a crow took over and everything settled down again, the
danger averted.

Dom’s chest loosened. He was finally able
to inhale deep, which felt glorious.

I can’t take more of this,
he realized with mild alarm.
He
wiped the grime from his nose and forehead with the back of his free hand.
Slowly, he lifted up his foot once more. The floorboard clicked back into place
without another creak. He thanked his lucky stars for that before lifting his
Zippo up high; the top of the stairs was illuminated. He was now about halfway
up.

Slowly, with the caution of a professional
thief, he carried on up the stairs step-by-step, being uber careful where he
placed his feet on his way to the summit.

*****

M
a
rlon’s eyes
snapped
open to full darkness.

His head spun; he couldn’t see jack. But he
could
hear, and he knew he definitely just heard something.
What the
hell was that noise that just woke him?
It was a loud creak like a
floorboard or something. Outside the room somewhere. At first he put it down to
the effects of the venom, but the high had already worn off; his head was
pretty clear. No, he knew he definitely heard something. Something felt wrong.
Drake was pretty paranoid about the danger he was in, which explained the
guards outside. Maybe it was them, patrolling the corridors.
Maybe...

Marlon scanned the darkness while his mind
ticked over. If it
was
a threat, it needed taking care of; he enjoyed
the venom rush and he wanted more of it, not less. If someone wanted to take
out Drake, then Marlon could kiss that venom high goodbye. That thought was
suddenly the worst thing in the world. Besides, Drake was
his
responsibility now. He had to protect him at all costs. In the darkness, he
could feel a snarl emerging on his face. There was no way he was gonna sit
there like a chump and let some punk kill his buzz; kill his new father.

He began fumbling in the dark till he found
the bare lamp on the floorboards. He flicked it on. The room was then lit up in
artificial light. He stood up, laying eyes on Drake sleeping soundly on his
makeshift bed. A sudden rush of love and compassion flooded his heart. “I won’t
let anyone hurt you, Father,” he whispered. Drake’s eyelids flickered, but he
didn’t awaken.

Marlon threw on his pants. He dug his free
hand into his pocket; he pulled out his folding knife. He opened it up, the
blade razor sharp and virginal. If there
was
some punk out there meaning
to do Drake harm, he’d see them off.

“I’ll just be gone for a second, Father,”
he whispered before he tiptoed toward the door. 

Dom edged nearer to the summit of the
stairs. Since the loud, creaky step, the rest had been quiet like church mice.
He prayed that the last few would keep it shut too. The closer he made it to
the top, the more of a rush he was getting. It was a dark excitement that
swirled around his stomach like toxic gas. At the same time, the unknown
quantity of the situation ate away at him like termites. He tried to swallow,
but his mouth and throat were as dry as a desert well. Instead, he continuously
puffed his cheeks, releasing hot air into the surrounding atmosphere.

He made it to the corner step before the
stairwell curved around. He stopped, breathed in and held it. With a shaking
hand, he pushed his lighter forwards and around the corner, daring to poke his
head round with it. The clipper illuminated the landing. He couldn’t see much
bar an old rug that had been laid down over the floorboards. The good thing
about that was it would quieten his footsteps. He smiled to himself. Maybe
someone up there
was
looking out for him.

He tried to crane his neck more; he ended
up putting too much weight on one side and lost his balance. He threw an
instinctive hand out for the wall. He turned his head to be faced by yet
another bizarre painting; a giant pumpkin head that looked like it had its eyes
gouged out. Two black holes stared at him from where they should have been. A
shiver raced up his spine and he turned away, not wanting to stare at it more
than he had to.

Man, these things are freaky.

Just carry on and forget the weird
paintings.

He steadied himself and nodded. The good
thing, he now realized, was that the creak the step made a little earlier
hadn’t caused any serious damage to his mission. He’d surely be dead by now if
it had. It meant the vamp still slept like a lamb. That particular thought made
him feel slightly nauseous.

He ignored it and took another step.

He eased his body round the corner, now
almost on the final step. From here, the flame on his Zippo showed him that
there was one room across the landing from where he stood. The closed door
faced him. The vamp could be behind it. He tightened his grip on the stake
noticing how it felt like it had been rubbed with Vaseline. He took the last step,
finally, his foot touching the landing. Soon, the other joined it, both of them
touching the rug. Relief surged up into his chest.
Man, that was hell!
He
took a look over his shoulder to see the bottom of the stairs, which was now
like staring down at the base of Mount Everest from its peak. He turned back.

Now it was about to get serious.

He surveyed the landing. Over to his right
was another closed door leading to yet another room. On the left was what he
guessed was the bathroom and another bedroom door. He squinted his eyes, trying
to get a better look. Yeah, the door was slightly ajar, but he couldn’t see
behind it. A faint glow came through the gap, lighting up the gaps in the doorframe.
Dom frowned.
Was that a light burning in there?
He arched his body
forward and moved his clipper toward it to get a better look. His fast movement
caused the flame to bend back and burn the webbing between his thumb and index
finger. Hot pain shot across his hand; he gasped, instinctively shaking the
lighter till the flame went out. The whole area was dumped into pitch black. He
quickly tried to light it up again, but the flint wheel was as hot as a
branding iron; it burnt the tip of his thumb, forcing him to stick it in his
mouth afterward to cool it off. He then started blowing frantically on the
wheel to try and cool it down. All the while, the darkness grew terrifying. It
swallowed him, sending his nerve endings into overdrive. He wanted light. Any
light. Just enough so he wasn’t trapped in this sea of darkness. He panicked,
his breathing rattled while he tried to spark up the Zippo again. It sparked
endlessly, refusing to light.

Come on! Come on!

He shook it in his hand to stir up the
lighter fluid and tried again, ignoring the fact that although he had partly
cooled it, the wheel was still as hot as hell. It sparked again and again, teasing
him.

Work! Work, goddamn you!

By then the things that were hiding in the
darkness had come out to play. He heard imps and demons with big noses and
gouged out eyes cackling, could smell their rotten breath on the air around
him.
You’re all ours now,
they told him.
We’re going to rip you open
and eat you alive!
He heard the
Twilight Zone
theme tune playing in
his tender mind. He looked down at his feet because he swore he just felt
something brush past his leg...

Work, work!
he
pleaded, on the verge of tears.

He shook the lighter like crazy, feeling
the fluid inside it swish up and down. He tried it again. It sparked and
sparked again. The voices in the darkness around him grew louder. Buckets of
sweat streamed off his face. He wiped his grimy cheeks and forcefully flicked
the flint again.

This time, to his relief, the flame lit and
danced on the air. The demons were instantly shut back in their boxes and
everything became as silent as a tomb. His chest collapsed in a sigh. A small
laugh jumped out alongside it.

Christ, that was painful…

He briefly closed his eyes. Calm took over
and he opened them again. Now that
that
crap was over, he turned his
attention back to the slightly open door to his left. There was definitely a
glow emanating from the room beyond it. Dom nodded; he knew that was where his vamp
was sleeping. He took a step toward it, his feet falling on the thick rug,
cushioning his steps. Compared to the hot-coal-like floorboards, it felt like
damp grass. As he approached the door, he became more and more certain that it
was the vamp’s sleeping quarters. That tingling in his spine increased the
further he delved into that corridor. The closer he got to that door, it upped
in volume, telling him he was getting closer. Closer.

He tiptoed across the rug, his breath
baited, feeling like an insect caught in a test tube, feeling like there were a
million eyes on him. He was so far into this, there was no escape. That
corridor seemed to go on forever, every step he took seemed to make the door
move further away. He constantly had to wipe the sweat from his face, his whole
body overheating in the pressure. He was barely breathing, his heart hammering
harder than it ever had.

Stay calm, buddy. Stay calm...

He fixed his stare on that door as it drew
closer. His feet stepped off the rug and onto hard floorboards once more. He
was nearly there. Nearly. There.

He moved further into that deathly silent
corridor, his senses on high alert, that door drawing closer. Closer.

The glow from inside beckoned. It called.
And like a moth to light, he was drawn.

In the next instant, he was standing ahead
of the door. He turned to face it, tightening his grip on the stake again. He
steadied himself that tingling now a burn.

Okay, buddy, this is it. This is it...

He reached out to push the door fully open.
He stopped.

His ear pricked.

His head snapped to the side.
What was—

His heart stopped, his chest seizing. He
spun to the left, his Zippo held high. It lit up a face. And this time it
wasn’t a painting because it was rushing towards him from the bathroom.

What the—

Something swung across the air. Dom’s
reflexes took control. He ducked his head in a flash, managing just in time to
dodge it. He heard it thwack into the doorframe behind him. The light on his
Zippo went out, plunging the area into darkness again. He staggered back, his
legs suddenly feeling like they were about to collapse. From somewhere deep
down inside him, a burst of adrenaline jolted him, stabilizing them. He used it
to spin and propel himself forward, away from his attacker. Big, rough hands
caught him around the waist, foiling his getaway. Before he could react, he was
shoved forward, control of his own limbs now completely gone. He yelped as he
flew back through the dark corridor, across the rug he’d just traversed. He
tried to shake off the hands stuck to his waist, but they were as strong as
metal clamps.

Wind
rushed past
him, his arms flailed. There was a sudden shove to the right, dangerously close
to the stairway. “Woah!” Dom shouted, his eyes wide in alarm as he found
himself staring down that set of stairs. His back straightened. His arms
thrashed on the air as he teetered on the edge of the stairs, fear juddering
through him. He threw out an arm, latching his hand onto the banister. His
forearm flexed; it held him there like a Rottweiler’s lockjaw. He wanted to
swing his stake, which he somehow still managed to hold onto throughout, and
hopefully connect with his attacker. Bu, before he had a chance, there was a
loud grunt, and then a massive jolt of pain to his lower back, winding him in
an instant. Dom gasped under the pain. His body flaked under the strain. The blow
loosened his grip on the banister. The momentum from behind pulled him forward,
and then gravity took over. His eyes bulged as the stairwell came rapidly into
view. He fell head first down them, helpless. He thudded onto the wood, pain
rocketing across his chest and shoulders. He bounced and rolled like a ball,
the world spinning. Jarring pain jolted him with every step he hit. He smacked
his head on the wall on the way down, just before he finally hit the floor at
the foot of the stairs. He smashed into the floorboards back first with a
forced grunt, the wind stolen from his chest. He lay where he was for a second,
his mind hazy, his body a heap of pain.

He zoned in and out, barely able to make
out the huge figure now coming down the stairs toward him.

Get up!
his
mind screamed.
Get up, Dom! Or you die!

His head rolled in woozy circles, his focus
blurred. He asked his limbs to work, but they wouldn’t respond. All the while,
the guy was making it down more steps toward him.

Come on, get up, Dom! GET THE HELL UP!

Through his blurry vision, he was a body
looming large over him in the gloom. He saw a face; a snarl tattooed on it. A
thick hand then clamped around his throat, and he felt his tongue pop right
out. Now, breathing was totally impossible. The hand squeezed and the pressure
built in Dom’s head; he could feel it turning red.

Fight! Fight, Dom!

He tried to struggle. But, the guy was
thick-set like a bull; he was pinning Dom to the floor like a pro wrestler
waiting for the three count.

He must weigh twenty stone!

Dom struggled hard against him, but it was
nothing more than a whimper. He tried to breathe harder to push his chest out,
but it wasn’t happening.
This
wasn’t happening. And then it got worse.

The guy revealed what he had in his other
hand.

Dom watched in dumb horror as the guy
raised a blade into the air. Dom saw just how razor sharp it was; it glinted in
the small shaft of light coming through the steel front door. He groaned, but
what came out was a choke.

“Neh-neh. Neh,” he managed to blurt,
shaking his head.

“You ain’t gonna hurt MY father!” the guy
sneered through clenched teeth. His eyes glimmered with hate. Dom had invaded
his turf, looked to snuff out his drug dealer. And now it was time to pay. He
held Dom in place by the throat.

And then brought the knife down.

Dom’s eyes bulged.

The final remnants of his survival
instincts kicked in. He managed to throw an arm up and grab hold of the guy’s
wrist. The knife stopped inches from his heart. With the last of his strength,
he pushed back against it. The guy realized what happened and began to apply
more pressure, his teeth bared like a rabid dog. A stalemate broke out; the
guy’s brute strength against Dom’s base desperation for survival. The knife
shook on the air under the pressure exerted by both of them in their struggle.

Fight! FIGHT, DOM!

Dom watched the guy, watched his cheeks
tremble. He watched his tongue dart out of his mouth and heard a grunt bolt
from his chest. With a grimace of hate, the guy began to apply more pressure.
And Dom felt it. He had the strength, the momentum, gravity was on
his
side. Dom groaned. Through bleary eyes, he watched helpless as the sharp tip of
the blade began to inch toward his chest, painfully slow.

FIGHT! FIGHT!

Dom pushed back, but it was useless.  

The guy’s face shook under the pressure he
was applying. The blade kept coming down, the strength virtually gone from
Dom’s limbs. He watched on with apathetic eyes.

I’m about to die… Jesus, I’m about to frickin’
die…

Push him off!
Push him off
!
Dom gave it one
last effort. But the knife kept on coming.

Dom saw the sweat streaming down the guy’s
face, saw the sick grin now spread across his face; he knew he was so close to
winning this bizarre arm wrestle. So close. He pushed harder with another
grunt. Dom groaned in horror as the tip of the blade poked his rib, pricking
the skin beneath his tee.