Thicker Than Blood
Prologue
Thomas Shore sat with his eyes closed and head against the wall of the nondescript panel van that his fireteam were traveling in, the machine gun double bass and screaming guitars paired with the growling vocals that were coming through his earbuds soothing and centering him for the mission to come. Feeling a nudge from beside him he opened one eye and looked over to his right to see Darius tapping the left ear of his helmet mounted headset. Tom nodded, pulled out his earbuds and slid them into their case, stowing them in a pocket, after which he rotated his own ear protection down into place and clicked them down to seal over his ears. The South African accented voice of Charlie Archer, the CEO of HSS came over the comms.
“Alright gents, you all know the deal. We’ve run through the terrain model a hundred times and through the kill house more than that. This is nothing new but there’s always some asshole who needs to run through it again. We’re currently five mikes out from the objective, and the sun is just about to come up, so most of the Bloodsuckers will either be waking up or getting off watch and going to sleep. We will be under NODS for probably about the first 20 minutes of the raid before it gets too light so make sure you do last minute PCC’s and PCI’s. The geeks in the support teams should have the power cut at breach time. Alpha team is going in the front door while Bravo goes around the back and Charlie fast ropes onto the roof. Delta and Echo will take their respective guard shacks. Overwatch will be held on the surrounding buildings as well as by Helo circling overhead. We don’t have the manpower for a proper outer cordon unfortunately so that will have to do. Main objective is still to capture as many of these fuckers as possible and do SSE as quickly as possible. There may be kids, civilians and humans on site so keep your eyes peeled and don’t shoot anyone who doesn’t need to be shot. If you see a weapon, or a teammate or civvie is in danger, they’re fair game, but otherwise try to use less lethal. Any questions?” The mission lead said.
There was silence for a moment before Darius clicked his talk button and asked
“What’s the situation on sentries and other known hostiles on target?”
“It looks like four heat signatures on the roof with eight patrolling the grounds outside. Four pairs, each pacing the perimeter. Snipers should be able to deal with them without much issue but be ready for Murphy to have his say and shit to go sideways quick. These vamps are competent and do this for a living, same as us.”
“Copy that.” Darius replied over the comm and then turned to the rest of the team inside the van. He gave them a long appraising look, each of them having their own turn under the big man’s gaze. Darius was built like a brick shithouse. Well over six foot and nearly as wide, looking like he ate the weights rather than lifting them. He had a shining bald head and deep onyx skin with sharp, searching gray eyes. The man was dressed identically to Tom, as was the rest of their five-man team. Black plate carriers and helmets, under which all of the men wore matching combat shirts, pants and hiking shoes. There were slight differences here and there. Each man wore his own kit, a different plate carrier here, a personal knife there, as well as each man having his own preferred mag carrier and rifle set up.
Tom was carrying a Sig Sauer MCX chambered in .300 Blackout on which he had mounted a Surefire M640DFT- Pro on the right side of the handguard with a Steiner DBAL IR module on the top. On the top rail was a Vortex UH-1 Gen 2 holographic sight with a matching magnifier flipped down out of the way. Both of them were on optics risers to allow them to clear the Dbal. The rifle was suppressed with a Silencer Co. Chimera. In his magazines were 220 grain subsonic rounds, making the rifle deathly quiet.
“Well boys, you heard the boss, check your shit and get ready.”
Almost as one, the men in the back of the van began checking their weapons, the fit of their gear and that all their batteries and optics were working properly. Tom pulled a thirty-round magazine from one of his pouches and inspected the top round, then gave it a smack against his knee to seat the rounds all the way back. Sliding it home into the mag well of his Sig MCX, he gave it a firm slap to ensure it was seated then ripped the charging handle to the rear and released it, chambering one of the 220 grain rounds. He pulled the bolt back slightly so he could see the gleam of brass then released it and smacked his forward assist and closed his dust cover.
He did the same with the Heckler and Koch USP 9 that was holstered on his war belt then holstered it again and ensured the retention loop was up and locked. He tested the white light on his rifle as well, clicking his pressure pad briefly. Then he brought the dual tubes of his PVS-31s down over his eyes and flicked them on, bathing his vision in a pale greenish gray light. He had always hated the green phosphorus tubes of the PVS-14’s he had been issued while he was in the Corps and had jumped at the opportunity to get white phosphorus tubes instead when he had joined the company.
He took a long draught from his water bottle, then sat back to wait. He could feel his left knee aching from the shrapnel that was still lodged in it from the grenade in Afghanistan. It didn’t stop him from bouncing his legs up and down with nervous tension though. He rolled his neck around in a circle trying to loosen the growing tension in his body. A hand rested on his shoulder. Glancing over, he saw Darius looking at him with a calm, reassuring look on the lower half of his face. His upper half, on the other hand, had a slight bug-eyed look to it due to his own night vision.
“You’re going to do fine, kid. Don’t even worry about it. Just fall back on all the training and drills and you’ll be fine.” Darius drawled in that slow, rumbling way of his. Tom nodded and gave him a weak smile. He had only been with Helsing Security Solutions for about a year at that point and this was his biggest op by far. He had done a couple smaller raids and busts but nothing to this extent. The compound they were rapidly approaching was huge, about the size of a medium sized hotel. It consisted of one main mansion-like building where the majority of the Coven stayed, along with two smaller buildings where the guards slept when they were on rotation and kept all of their weapons and gear.
“One minute!” the driver barked over his shoulder. Darius acknowledged the man with a thumbs up and pointed at the two men seated next to the double doors at the back of the van. Tom checked his rifle one last time then braced to jump out of the van the moment they came to a stop.
“We’re here fellas, give them hell.” The driver called over his shoulder as the van slammed to a halt. The doors burst open and the men filed out, each of them taking a knee in an outward halo at the back of the van. Its passengers disgorged, the van peeled off and headed back the way they came.
“Alpha, fireteam column. Shore, you’re on point.” Darius instructed over the team tac.
“Affirm.” Tom replied over the radio and moved into the lead position. He kept his eyes on the lights filtering through the trees to their front, looking for any type of indication that the guards had spotted them. He felt a slap on his shoulder and begin walking forward, his knees slightly bent, his body slightly leaned forward over his rifle, which was kept at the low ready, muzzle pointed a few feet in front of him. They moved swiftly and silently through the brush, the mansion rapidly materializing in front of them. About ten meters shy of the edge of the trees, Tom held up a fist over his left shoulder and stopped, dropping to a knee once again, the other four members following his lead and taking up security, facing outwards. Tom snapped his magnifier into place behind his Vortex UH-1 and peered through the brush. He counted six guards altogether that he could see, which checked out on what they had been told.
“Dar, I count six patrolling, two unaccounted for.”
“Charlie has the other two on their side. Intel was correct for once.” The big man replied as he pulled a tin of Copenhagen long cut out of a pouch and packed a pinch into his lip.
“Hotel actual, this is Alpha one. We are in position.” Darius muttered into his radio.
“Solid copy Alpha one. All other teams are set as well. Stand by. All Guardian Angels, standby to engage your targets… Three, two, one, execute.”
As Tom peered through his night vision, he saw all of the guards jerk and drop limply, killed instantly by the snipers suppressed .300 Win Mag rifles.
“Ground teams! Take take take!”
Darius slapped him on the shoulder and all of the men rose as one and sprinted forwards, their infrared lasers painting a mural of light as they covered windows and the surrounding rooftop. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw other men gliding silently towards their own objectives.
As they reached the front doors, Tom slowed, stopped and tested the doorknob mounted on the heavy double doors that made up the main entrance to the extravagant abode. The knob moved slightly, but did not open. Tom formed a fist with his left hand and tapped it, thumb side in, against his helmet. The teams breacher, Ambrose, responded immediately, letting his rifle hang on its sling and unfurling a strip of duct tape to which he had stuck a length of det chord. He pressed it firmly along the seam between the double doors, ensuring it covered the internals of the lock and deadbolt. He clipped a detonator to the loose end of the det chord and spooled it out leaving him in front of Tom. Ambrose took a knee, checked the clacker one last time, then placed his balled fist on top of his helmet, thumb to the sky. Darius clicked his radio and said
“All stations, Alpha one. Front door is locked, charge is placed and making entry.” There was a series of replies from the other teams and then he swatted Tom on the shoulder. Reaching forward Tom gave the extended thumb a firm squeeze.
“Fire in the hole, fire in the hole, fire in the hole.” Ambrose spoke barely above a whisper, but the teams ear pro picked it up via their sound amplification. Tom tucked his chin and turned his back to the main door, bracing for the blast. He heard the clack clack of the detonator and then BOOM. Turning back, Tom glided past the still kneeling Ambrose and through the now open doors, rifle pulled hard into his shoulder and muzzle sniffing around in front of him. He flowed through the door, adrenaline blasting through his veins. He quickly took in, and then dismissed any of the irrelevant information that he was seeing. Directly in front of him was a man holding an AK loosely in one hand, staggering slightly as he tried to recover from the blast wave.
Thomas placed his dot on the man’s chest and squeezed. Once, then twice. As he dropped, he placed a third in the side of the guard’s skull. Pivoting right, he dug his corner, then swung back to cover the second story balcony. As he continued to move, the rest of the team filtered in close behind. There were other gunshots coming from elsewhere in the building, along with several muted explosions and screams. Tom let out an annoyed snort. The lights were still on.
“Dar, any word on the power?”
“Not yet. They better work faster though. Otherwise, I’m going to have to have a polite conversation with them after this is all said and done.”
There was a brief lull in the adrenaline-fueled chaos and he took the time to flip his goggles up and take in his surroundings. The building was familiar despite him never having been inside. The mock ups that the teams had used to train on was a carbon copy of the layout of the building, the only thing it was lacking was the small details like the furniture, the lavish paintings on the walls, the rich carpets and stone countertops. The walls were painted a soft white color while the floors were made of an obviously very expensive natural wood. A stone fireplace sat in one wall with a fire still burning in it. A coffee table sat in front of it with plush leather arm chairs surrounding it. To the right of the main door was a staircase leading to the second floor with a balcony overlooking the main doors and foyer. To the 12 o’clock of the main door was a hallway leading to a sitting room that was linked directly to the massive kitchen and dining room.
The place, while extravagant, was still cozy and felt lived in. A mild pang of guilt shot through Tom, but was quickly dispelled.
“Clear!” Tom yelled
“Clear!”
“All clear!” came the replies.
“Shore, start pushing up those stairs.” Darius ordered right before keying his radio.
“Alpha moving to second story, Bravo, can you finish clearing the first floor?”
“Affirmative, will do. Give us a yell if y’all need help” came the reply
The team started up the steps, rifles scanning for targets. Tom reached the top of the steps and swung right while Ambrose swung left. He stopped at the first door and waited for his second man. A hand rested on his shoulder.
“Get a banger in there.” He whispered
“Check.” Darius growled.
Right at that moment, the lights went out.
“Fucking finally.” Darius muttered. Thomas flipped his night vision back into place as he felt Darius pulling a Flash grenade out of the pouches attached to the back of Tom’s plate carrier. A gloved hand entered his peripheral vision, wrapped around the silver cylinder. Tom nodded and reached for the nob. It spun freely. He nodded a second time, indicating that the door was open. When the squeeze came, he gave the door a firm push. It swung open and the flashbang sailed through the open door, followed by a series of deafening bangs coming from inside and they pushed into the room.
Pushing into the room, Tom swept the room with his rifle. A large bed sat in the back left corner; a bedside table next to it. Tom cleared the rest of the room, then the bathroom while Darius checked the closet. Finally, they checked underneath the bed.
“Room clear boss man.”
“Ok, move to the next.” Darius grunted as he exited the room, Tom hot on his heels. They continued clearing room after room, occasionally finding people cowering in them. Only a few had weapons and of those, not one chose to drop them. The rest were restrained with zip ties by the hands and feet, regardless of being vamp or human. Chem lights were cracked and dropped in front of each room, signaling that they had been cleared and were ready for SSE. Day had begun to break and sunlight began to filter through the main windows, washing out the human’s night optics. Tom flipped his up and changed his floodlight and laser from IR to the visible spectrum.
After finishing their side of the second floor they grouped back up with the rest of the fireteam and moved to the third floor, then the fourth. After finally sweeping their last assigned floor, they met up with Charlie team. Several of them were bloody, one limping with a leg that had a tourniquet cinched around his upper thigh. Two of them were missing, he noticed.
“Torn to pieces by a couple Fangs that were hidden under a bed in one of the rooms they cleared. Fuckers were feeding on them by the time we got there and had barricaded the door. We had to shoot the hinges off the door and frag the room to deal with them.” The team leader replied with a weary, soulless look in his eyes.
“Contact! Contact on the first floor!” came a garbled scream over the radio. Everyone looked at each other and then bolted down the steps. As they thundered down the steps, screams became clearer and clearer.
“Overwatch, do you have any eyes on the inside?” Darius growled into his mic
“Negative nothing on the outside Alpha.”
“Fuck!” Tom snarled as the reached the second floor. The big man took point as they reached the last landing before the ground floor.
“I want flashes over the balcony now!” He roared and all of the surrounding men complied. Tom pulled the pin on his own and waited. The rest of the men there held theirs in their own gloved fist.
“Flash out!” Darius’ own grenade soared over the railing, quickly followed by a half a dozen more. The machine gun staccato of the stun devices drowned out the sounds of violence below them and the vampire hunters descended into the fray. Tom’s mind froze for what could have been either a second or an hour as he peaked over the railing and saw the carnage in front of him. The once pristine sitting area directly inside the main doors, was now painted with blood and viscera. There was a pair of figures in the center of the room. One of them, a man of slightly above average height dressed in a finely tailored suit that wouldn’t have been out of place in an Alfred Hitchcock movie, has holding a dark clad figure above his head with a single hand. The man’s fingers had pierced directly through his victim’s throat. His other hand was covering his eyes from the barrage of light and sound. The other person towered over even Darius, her skin as pale as her compatriot but with a long shock of jet-black hair with the sides shaven down to the scalp. Where it was clear the man was of some kind of eastern European decent, the female was clear Japanese. She was in the process of reloading a massive revolver that was clutched in her right hand, her left holding several massive cartridges. Tom vaguely noted that she was missing her pinky and ring finger on the hand holding the bullets.
She whipped her head around to glare at the two teams with bloodshot eyes so filled with hate and rage that Tom could feel it boring into his soul. Time unfroze at that moment and the woman snapped the cylinder closed and raised the oversized wheel gun. There was a boom and Tom was flung backwards on the floor of the balcony. There was no pain, only a bone deep ache in his chest. A barrage of suppressed gunfire replied, almost comically quiet after the report of the woman’s hand cannon. The two vampires moved with a speed that Thomas had never seen before, diving behind one of the structural support columns that formed two orderly rows down the length of the hall.
Tom struggled to regain the wind that had been knocked out of him for a few heartbeats and then finally gasped. Fire filled his lungs and he rolled onto his hands and knees, coughing up a mouthful of bile. A heavy hand seized him by the carry handle on his plate carrier and dragged him further from the edge. Bravo team was descending down the steps as Alpha stayed at the top.
“You hit kid?” Darius bellowed over the din. Tom wheezed and nodded, clutching at his chest. Looking down, he saw a large jagged rend in one of his magazine pouches. Darius reached down and pulled the pair of mags out of their home and looked. The shot had pierced straight through the magazines, the bullets inside and continued into the level four front plate. Unclipping Tom’s vest the big man checked the back of the plate and pointed to a huge bulge that was visible even through the rough fabric of the carrier.
“You’re lucky kid. Bet you’re glad I convinced you to get those level fours huh?” Nodding painfully, Tom was helped to his feet and clipped his plate carrier back into place, feeling the bulge press painfully against what was sure to be a nasty bruise.
The two men joined their brethren at the edge of the railing and looked down. Bravo was slowly advancing on the two that were stuck behind the pillars, putting round after round into the columns to keep them in place. When one man would empty his magazine and pause to feed in a fresh one, the man next to him would take up the slack in the suppressive barrage. The air began to choke with dust and debris from the deluge of bullet impacts and the area below Alpha team began to become hazy.
The first man reached the pillars and attempted to swing out wide to get a clear shot on his target.
“Show me your hands! Drop the weapon n…” the man cried, right before a dark shape flashed out from behind the pillar and was on the man before any of them could react. Blood sprayed from an open wound in the man’s side as the man pulled the injured human around in front of him, using their compatriot as a shield. The deluge of fire paused momentarily as the members of Helsing Security Solutions took in the sight of the former friend dangling like a hunk of meat on a hook. Silence overtook the room like a blanket, the only sound was brass skittering around the hardwood floor and the sound of a magazine hitting the ground.
Tom finally realized who the pair was. The man was the main target of the raid, Solomon Ardelean, the current Patriarch of the Ardelean coven. That meant that the woman was Yamato Akane, his right-hand woman and personal bodyguard.
Grabbing Darius by the shoulder, he whispered
“That’s them. Soloman and Yamato.”
“Yeah, no shit kid. I’m not sure we can take them alive at this rate but we have to try. The real question is, where are the other two?”
Tom scanned what he could see over the balcony but didn’t see anyone else hunkering down behind any of the overturned furniture.
“Not sure Dar, but I’m sure the old man wouldn’t let them stray far.”
Darius stood and leveled his rifle at Solomon, calling out
“Both of you! Come out with your fingers interlocked behind your head. Drop that poor fucker and any weapons you have on you. Otherwise, we will be forced to kill you. We don’t want that, we’re only here to bring you in. You will be treated humanely and with respect. Do it right fucking now before we start shooting.”
There was a pause and then the Patriarch let the man drop to the ground like a bag of dirty laundry, a sickening slap echoing through the silent hall as the cooling corpse hit the floor lifelessly.
“Miss Yamato. Do as they say.”
The middle-aged man said in soft, accented English. There was another pause and then a pale hand snaked out from behind the pillar and the massive revolver that had come so close to ending Thomas’ life clattered to the floor, followed by a collapsed MP7. She slowly strode out from behind the pillar and laced her fingers behind her head, coming to stand next to her master.
Her eyes locked onto Tom then flicked down to the visible damage on his armor. A broad, blood-stained grin carved itself across her face and she slowly, almost sensually licked her cherry covered lips. An instinctive jolt of adrenaline shot through him and he raised his rifle, the sound of the safety clicking off echoing through the blood-spattered room.
The remaining members of Bravo team swarmed the two, kicking their knees out from under then and pulling zip ties from the rigs. Alpha team descended the stairs, rifles tracking the two kneeling vampires. As one of the Bravo mercs pulled Solomon’s hands down behind his back, a cry came from the kitchen.
“Solomon no!”
Tom whirled; his rifle raised. In the hallway leading to the kitchen, stood a tall, graceful looking woman in a deep red evening dress, her white hair flowing like a torrent of liquid silver down her shoulder’s and back. A slender hand was outstretched towards the kneeling man. Tom recognized her from all of the briefings he had attended. Helen Ardelean, Matriarch of her family and coven.
Beside her was her daughter, Lorna Ardelean. Her skin and hair matching those of the woman beside her but the real difference was in her demeanor, height and dress. Lorna was dressed in loose gray sweatpants, sneakers and a loose-fitting hooded sweatshirt, her silver hair pulled up into a messy bun on the back of her head. Her vivid purple eyes flashing around the room, taking in everything in front of her from behind her large glasses.
“Hands on your fucking head! Do it now! I will fucking shoot you!” One of the Bravo team members screamed, advancing towards the two women.
Tom advanced towards the pair as well, trying to keep as much space from the pair as he could as he sidled past the taller of the two. He let his weapon hang on its sling and placed a hand on her interlocked fingers.
“Ma’am, hands behind your back now please.” Thomas said quietly. The woman complied, putting just enough resistance to her arm as he guided them behind her back to show that in spite of her slim stature, she was significantly stronger than he was.
There was a muffled thud from the foyer, causing Tom’s head to snap up looking for the sound. Solomon was on his face, a boot on his back. The merc raised his rifle butt and brought it down in a hard vertical strike. The sound of polymer connecting with bone then bone connecting with wood was sickening. The man’s teeth were bared in a feral snarl of barely controlled rage.
“You! Stop that shit. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Darius bawled striding towards the man and putting a big fist on the front of his plate carrier.
“They fucking butchered Evans and Gonzo! Not to mention all of fucking Charlie team. And we’re supposed to stand here and just take them in? Fuck that!”
The man shoved the big team leader back and brought his rifle up again.
“Don’t you touch him you bastard.” Helen snarled
Her arms jerked out of Tom’s grip and she began to get to her feet in an attempt to get to her husband. Tom lunged to grab her arm and try to get her back under control, but she was too fast. His finger tips brushed against the fan of hair flying out from behind her as she lunged forward.
Ambrose, reacting faster than his normal lackadaisical demeanor would have ever indicated he could, raised his rifle and fired twice. Helen stumbled backwards, bumping into Tom. She slumped into his arms and let out a rattle, blood streaming from the two neat holes in her chest. Chaos erupted throughout the room. A high-pitched wail reverberated around the room. The two pinned prisoners began to fight, both of them straining to break free of their bonds.
“Ambrose what the fuck!”
Tom let the wounded Matriarch down as gently as he could, his chest burning from the fresh impact. As he opened his own IFAK to begin rendering aid, the other Helsing operators converged on Solomon and his bodyguard, dog piling on top of them in an attempt to keep them restrained.
“Ma’am! Helen! Look at me. You’re going to be ok.”
The woman’s face was rapidly losing what little color had shaded her cheeks, her eyes locked on Tom as he did his best to maintain his composure. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then wheezed before she could get anything out. He leaned in as he worked to hear what she was attempting to say.
“My… Daughter?” she whispered in that quiet way that only the dying were able to produce.
“Yes ma’am, she’s right here.” He said, looking at the frozen woman.
“Hey. Snap out of it. I know it hurts but she needs you in the here and now. Hold her hand.”
The youngest Ardelean looked at him as if she was shocked he had the gall to speak to her like that but instead of objecting, she dropped to her knees opposite him and took her mother’s hand in hers.
He pulled out a sealed pack of combat gauze and tore it open with his teeth. Blood was pumping from the neat pair of holes in her chest and a deep, rattling wheeze was coming from her lips. He retrieved a chest seal from his IFAK as well as an antiseptic swab. After pulling his already blood-soaked gloves off, he pulled his trauma sheers from his rig and quickly snipped away her dress, leaving her chest bare.
Grabbing his water bottle, he attempted to wash the area clean so he could see the wounds more clearly but no matter how much sluiced away, more pumped out of her chest cavity.
There was a snap from beside him and a jolt of fear flashed through him. He looked up and froze. Lorna had ripped her hands free from her flex cuffs and crawled over to them on her hands and knees.
Tom’s bloody hand fell to the USP 9 that was in its holster on his belt and thumbed the retention catch. The youngest Ardelean was hyperventilating, her eyes locked on her mother’s prone form. She paused as if thinking, then pulled the sweatshirt over her head and thrust it at Tom without taking her eyes off her mother.
After barely a moments hesitation, he locked his pistol back in place and snatched the article of clothing from her hands. He used it to wipe away as much of the blood as he could and then tore the protective backing off of the chest seal and then pressed it over one of the wounds. He felt a hand grab his plate carrier and looked down. Lorna was rummaging around inside his IFAK, dumping its contents on the floor. She finally found a second chest seal and expertly applied it, her hands shaking but moving quickly.
After he had ensured both of the chest seals were properly applied over the wounds on the woman’s struggling chest, Tom took a moment to glance up at the chaos a few meters away. There were two separate piles of writhing bodies, shouts and curses coming from the mass of humans and vampires.
He was brought back to what was in front of him by a small voice next to him.
“She has tracheal deviation. Do you have a decompression needle?”
Tom looked down and saw that the pale beauty was right. Her mother’s trachea was indeed beginning to slide to one side in her neck, indicating that pressure was beginning to build inside her chest cavity and was collapsing one of her lungs.
Thomas plunged a hand inside his first aid kit but found it to be empty. He searched the ground around them until he found a small cylinder about the size of a pen. Snatching it up, he raised her arm and began pressing against her side right below her armpit, looking for the third intercostal space. Finding it, he buried the needle deep in her chest cavity then counted to five. He then pulled the metal needle out, leaving the plastic catheter inside.
He sat back on his haunches and let out a nervous breath. He unclipped his helmet and dropped it next to him, running blood-stained fingers through his hair.
Lorna was kneeling next to her mother, their fingers interlaced together. Tears were running down her face as she looked up at Thomas with those deep purple eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but then closed it when he couldn’t find anything.
“I’m sorry.” He said simply and then turned towards the melee unfolding behind him. It was at that moment that the bodyguard broke free of her bonds despite the half dozen fully grown men on top of her. Her hand shot out from beneath the pile and scrabbled around, eventually finding her revolver. The hand drew back into the pile now holding the gun and a moment later, a boom resonated through the hall. Then another. And another. Chunks of blood, bone and brain matter fountained into the air and suddenly she was free.
She drew a tanto from her plate carrier and whipped her arm to the side, opening one mans throat with a casual brutality. Rapidly moving on to the next, she plunged the blade under the man’s front plate and spilled his intestines across the once pristine floor. With all of the effort of a mother lifting her child, she picked the man up and tossed him aside.
Tom brought his rifle up and trained it on the rampaging vampire, but before he could react, she hurled the blade at him with such force that when it impacted with the weapon in his hand, it embedded itself in the metal of the receiver.
He stumbled back, knocked off balance by the impact. Before he knew it, Akane was on him, bowling him over onto his back. His head slammed into the wood floor and stars exploded across his vision. Somehow, he managed to wedge his destroyed rifle between himself and the monster on top of him, giving himself a few inches of space. Her teeth gnashed a hairs breadth from his exposed throat, a crimson flow of drool and blood spattering across his face.
And then, suddenly there was a guttural yell and she was thrown aside. Looking around in confusion, he saw Darius on top of her, raining down blows upon the prone giantess. Tom staggered to his feet and drew his pistol. Unslinging his useless primary weapon, he looked over at where the father had been.
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He had broken free of his restraints and was in the process of systematically disassembling the remains of the strike force. As Tom watched, the man bladed his hand and punched it through the man’s stomach under his front plate. He then tore his now crimson gloved hand out, holding the mans beating heart in his clenched fist.
“Tom! Gimme a fucking hand here kid!” Darius grunted behind Thomas.
Turning, he saw that the tides had turned in the no holds barred brawl that was taking place between the two giants. Akane was now on top, stuck in the big man’s guard. She hauled back and brought a fist down towards his head. Had the blow landed, it would have likely split his head open, however, he moved his head to the side, her fist splintering the floor beneath it.
Tom’s pistol barked three time, the rounds impacting Akane’s back plate. She was shoved forward, catapulting her over top of her human adversary. Darius scrambled backwards to gain some space and hauled himself to his feet.
Akane recovered much faster than any human, kipping to her feet and turning to face the two men. She closed the gap in a heartbeat, snatching the knife from Tom’s plate carrier and plunging it underneath Darius’ armpit. She drew it out and plunged it three more times in his chest, each time surgically avoiding the armor that was meant to save his life. At last, she drew the knife out of its human sheath and stabbed it into his thigh.
Tom reeled back, stunned at the sheer speed and violence that their adversary had demonstrated. He raised his pistol again and emptied it into her chest, the gunshots deafening to Tom’s unprotected ears. She was pushed back a few steps but nothing more.
A few dribbles of blood escaped the holes in her sides and shoulder where rounds had found soft flesh instead of hard ceramic plates. She paused as if surprised and looked down at herself. Then her eyes slowly came back up to meet his. That same hungry grin carved itself into her face and she stepped forward before he could seat a fresh magazine into his pistol.
Her fist crashed into Tom’s already compromised plate and shattered it, dropping him where he stood. He choked for breath and clawed at his vest, trying to find the quick release. His vision began to reduce to a pin prick as oxygen failed to be drawn into his lungs, his chest muscles spasming. Akane stepped over him to stand over the prone form of Helen. She bundled the still form into her arms with a mother’s tenderness and turned, walking towards Solomon Ardelean.
The man dropped the body of Ambrose, his mouth stained red. He looked down at his wife with an unreadable expression. After a long moment, his expression cracked like a marble statue and grief replaced the mask. His hands shook as he tentatively reached out and stroked her cheek with a tenderness at odds with the actions he had showed over the past few minutes. A choked groan wormed its way out of his visibly spasming throat as tears began to wind their way around the lines in his care worn face. He took his love into his arms and called
“Lorna, my dear. Are you hurt?”
His daughter looked up at him uncomprehendingly. He repeated the question again and she finally gave her head a slight shake.
Thomas managed to take in a small gasp of air, his chest screaming at him to stop bringing in the thing it needed most at that moment. His arms were leaden and his head swam but he managed to extend one hand and grab onto his friend’s pant leg. With a herculean effort he dragged himself over to Darius’ side. He took another ragged breath but lost it again immediately as a cough racked his body.
Darius’ blood was everywhere, intermingling with the amalgamation of human and vampire remnants that were strewn all over the floor. With what strength he could muster, Tom pulled a tourniquet off the big man’s belt and wobbled to his knees beside his dying friend. It took him a long time to open the tourniquet. Too long.
“Come on! Work damn you!” he wheezed at his rebelling fingers as he finally managed to undo the Velcro on the strap.
A hand entered his narrowing vision and rested on top of his trembling hand. He looked up. It was Lorna. She looked at him with red rimmed eyes as she took the life saving device from him and deftly applied it to his friends injured leg.
“Come child! Do not bother with them. They will both be dead soon enough.”
“He tried to help Mom.” She said simply, not looking up from her work.
She pulled a pack of combat gauze from Darius’ IFAK, tore it open and began packing the numerous wounds on the unconscious man’s chest. Finally, she, ran out of supplies. She gave one last look at Tom, then stood and followed her father out of the room, tailed closely by their bodyguard.
Silence covered the room like a blanket, save for the trip of blood and soft moans of the few survivors left of the assault teams. With that, Tom let darkness slip into the corners of his mind and fell unconscious.
Chapter 1:
Four years later
Tom shut the door to his apartment and sighed, lighting a cigarette as he unslung his rifle. It had been a long, tiring day of Scout Sniper course and then almost four hours of slideshows and other online training. Taking a drag, he unslung his rifle and leaned it against the desk taking up one of the walls of the small room. He unclipped the cummerbund of his plate carrier and pulled it over his head, putting it on the wooden stand next to the desk meant for that purpose. His helmet and war belt followed it.
Taking one final drag on his cigarette he ground it out in an ashtray and dropped it into one of the empty beer bottles sitting on the counter.
“I really should clean this place.” He muttered to himself.
After a moments indecision he decided to put it off once again and walked over to the small refrigerate in the kitchenette at the back of the room. Popping the top, he took a lengthy swallow from the long-necked bottle and popped a crick in his neck. He undressed and after putting an audiobook on over his Bluetooth speaker, stepped into the shower, beer still in his hand.
He let out a satisfied groan as the hot water sluiced away the sweat and relaxed the cramped muscles in his shoulder courtesy of his body armor. After finishing his beer, he washed himself, then stepped out of the shower and toweled himself dry.
He reflected on the day as he walked out of the bathroom and grabbed a second beer allowing the cool breeze from the open window to caress his bare skin. He paused mid sip. The window had been closed when he went in the shower hadn’t it? He threw on a pair of gym shorts and a Kublai Khan TX shirt he had left resting on the back of his desk chair and moved over to the window.
He closed the window, wracking his brain to try to remember if he’d opened it after coming home. He was almost certain that he hadn’t left it open and there was an itch in the back of his mind telling him that something was off. It was almost as if he could feel something was wrong.
Doing his best to appear nonchalant, he ambled over to where his rifle was and hovered his hand over it, then decided against it. The long twenty-inch barrel of the Knights Armament SR-25 was far too large and unwieldly for the task at hand. Instead, he pulled his gun belt off of the stand and buckled it on.
He turned and faced the room, simultaneously drawing and checking the chamber of the Sig Sauer P226 he had come to favor in recent months. He flicked on the Surefire X300 under the barrel of his pistol, casting a blazing white cone of light across the dark apartment. He swept the beam around the living area and then the kitchenette. Seeing nothing, he opened the small closet and checked that as well.
He softly closed the door and turned towards the one remaining door in the small apartment. He approached his closed bedroom with quiet, soft steps, his bare feet allowing him to move nearly silently. Opening the door with a soft creek of hinges in need of oil, he played his beam around the room. He slowly approached the bed, his footsteps making a creek in the floorboards that was deafening to his ears in the deathly silence.
He dropped to a knee and scanned under his bed with his light, chasing away every shadow the resided in the dark crevice. Finding nothing, he stood and gave the room one more scan before his eyes fell upon the door to his closet, the final bastion that his adversary, imagined or not, might be taking refuge in.
His hand found the cool metal of the knob and after a pause to listen, gave it a slow turn. Once he felt the latch withdraw, he ripped the door open and chased the dark out of the small storage space. Yet again, there was nothing inside. He ensured the rifle safe that was ensconced inside was still locked, then closed the door.
“Well shit.” Thomas sighed
“Maybe I did open the damn window.”
He clicked his light off, decocked the hammer and holstered his weapon, the dry rasp of metal sliding on kydex filling the still air.
There was a soft creaking behind him, almost imperceptible to Tom’s tinnitus plagued ears. He whirled, skinning his pistol and bringing it to bear and the shadowy figure that was crouched on his. Tom’s finger tightened on the trigger, the hammer drawing back under the pressure, its mechanism ravening to unleash its leaden payload.
Faster than the hammer could find its way home, a small pale hand snaked out and grasped the slide, thumb blocking the hammer’s path. The firearm clicked. The figure was now a mere arm’s length from him. In the pale moonlight filtering through the window, Tom could see the intruder was a full head shorter than he was. It was clad in dark clothing, a hooded sweatshirt covering their head and shoulders.
Tom thrust the pistol forward, jamming its muzzle hard into his assailant’s sternum. A sharp gasp hissed from the hood and they stumbled back, their legs slamming into the side of the bed. Tom followed the pistol directly, toppling the figure onto the bed. He swatted the hand that was still holding the pistol to the side and brought it back on target
The figure’ s foot stabbed out like a javelin, striking a glancing blow on his flank. Despite the indirect nature of the strike, Tom was knocked sprawling through the open door into his living room. His pistol skidded across the floor and came to rest under the coffee table.
Through the ache in his side, he vaguely registered that his assailant was significantly stronger than they should have been for their size. That meant one of two things, either this mystery person was nothing more than a junkie, high as a kite on some substance or other and looking for an easy score to fund their next escape from reality, or they were something more than human. Tom’s money was on the latter. Their movements were too quick and calculated, practiced almost. A junkie wouldn’t have had the wherewithal or intelligence to block the hammer of his pistol.
Tom found his feet and backpedaled, trying to gain space between himself and the figure that was just now emerging from his bedroom doorway. His back found the wall next to his desk, and came to rest on the cold aluminum of the suppressor on his SR-25. He scooped the weapon up and snapped the stock into his shoulder, his thumb flicking the selector to semi-automatic. The scopes caps were still on the lenses of his Nightforce Atacr, but that hardly mattered at this range. If anything, the optic would be a detriment at this close of a range. He wished he had one of his other rifles but they were all locked up either in the pistol safe in his bedside cabinet or in the vault in the small closet in his bedroom.
Thomas’ finger, squeezed, the single stage trigger breaking like a twig under his boot. Click. Nothing happened. Cursing, he went into immediate action. He slapped the magazine with his left hand, ripped the charging handle to the rear and attempted to fire. Click. Once again, nothing.
It was only then that he realized that the bolt was locked to the rear and his charging handle hadn’t sprung back forward as it should have. He looked at the weapon for a moment, dumbfounded, then up at the small shape that was standing at the edge of the light coming from the lone lamp. His opponent raised a hand, their small pale hand opening and tilting down.
Bullets spilled onto the wood with a metallic tinkling, rolling across the floor in all directions.
“Well fuck me I guess.” He sighed, feeling more exasperated than anything else. He leaned his rifle back against the table and reached down, unhooking his gun belt. It clattered to the floor behind him. He brought his hands up to guard his face and chest, his feet spread into an even, balanced stance
The two advanced slowly towards each other, sizing each other up. Tom, struck first, a quick straight jab followed by a hard right hook to the body. The shape dodged the first strike but caught the second straight in the gut, doubling them over. Thomas followed up with a hard knee aimed to take them right between the eye. They tripped backwards, twisting in the air to land on their stomach.
Pouncing on the prone figure, Tom grabbed a handful of their hood and yanked, jerking their head back. He dropped his body down on top of them and hooked his free arm around their exposed throat. He managed to get his hooks in and began to squeeze, eliciting a choked wheeze from them using this.
The pair rolled around on the ground, warring for control. He felt fingers wrap around his arm like a vice, slowly prying his arm free. They rolled until Tom was underneath the foe and finally, they got their throat free of his attempts to subdue them. Making a grab for them as they rolled off his chest, he managed to grab part of the hood covering their head. As it peeled back, a shock of silver hair put up in a familiar messy bun.
Lorna spun around, her violet eyes meeting his. They stood frozen for a moment, recognition painted across each of their faces.
“You.” Tom breathed as he stared at the almost ethereal woman. She straightened to her full height slowly, her eyes still locked on him with an almost predatory fixation. He couldn’t read the expression on her face; it seemed a mixture of trepidation and reminiscence.
“I remember you. You were one of the ones at the manor. The night that my mother…” the words caught in her throat and she swallowed before finishing
“You were there the night my mother died.”
He didn’t reply, merely giving a small nod in return. She circled him, more to drink in as much of him as possible than to gain an advantage in their contest. Tom mirrored her, prowling slowly to his right. His mind raced, calculating the distance to his pistol that lay under the table.
“What do you want?” Tom said as he continued circling towards his pistol. He wanted to get her talking, get her focused on something else other than where his eyes kept darting.
She continued circling wordlessly, chewing on her lip as if pondering something. She seemed…. Almost conflicted.
“Did your mother survive?”
She froze for a moment and then slowly shook her head, finally averting her eyes from him.
He saw his moment, taking one last long side step until he was behind the coffee table. He hooked both hands underneath it and heaved, the cheap wooden piece flipping end over end towards the small woman in front of him. Dropping to a knee his hand found the rough grip of his Sig finding his palm.
His arm came up, pointed at Lorna. Except she wasn’t there anymore. The small woman had side stepped the flying furniture and was already on top of him. His head smashed into the ground as she bore down on him, her mouth open wide. Her fangs coming into place behind her canines as she bit into his throat.
Pain flared for a moment before her venom took effect. The pain was washed away in a wave of bliss, the pain disappearing and his limbs becoming heavy and numb. He attempted to cry out for help but it was already too late. His head began to swim and his vision started to gray out as the venom of the vampire flooded his veins.
The venom was not lethal in its natural state, in fact it was able to be used as a natural painkiller often used for the small percentage of the population that was immune to the effects of morphine and other such drugs. Regular vampire civilians could often be found donating it, similar to humans donating blood and plasma both for medical purposes and for the culinary needs of their vampiric neighbors. It was, however, extremely potent and was a large part of what made them such effective hunters. Many of the covens around the United States had become a part of a burgeoning black market around the country, causing a major epidemic of it in larger cities throughout the country.
He struggled to keep his eyes open, pushing at her with increasingly numb arms as he receded further and further into the depths of his own mind. He was vaguely aware of the gentle, almost tender hold she had on him as she lifted his prone form. The last thing he saw as his vision finally faded to black were those iridescent purple eyes locked on his.
Chapter 2
Tom was floating in a calm sea, the warm water kissing his skin as he basked in the weightless sensation slowly, he felt the soft scrape of sand on the skin on his back. His fingers dug into the sand, feeling the salty water slowly recede back into the ocean.
He opened his eyes, his arm reflexively covering his face as the sun blazed down from on high. He stood, his legs shaky and unstable underneath him as though he had been floating for an eternity. He looked around as his eyes slowly adjusted to the day, taking in his surroundings.
A fine white sanded beach stretched out to either side, sandwiched between a dark blue ocean on one side and a massive stretch of dune on the other, unbroken as if it were a massive cresting wave.
Tom looked down at himself, holding out his arms to survey himself. He was naked as the day he was born, no cuts, bruises, scrapes or even scars. His knee didn’t hurt either, which was simultaneously relieving and concerning. He had grown so used to the ache that it had become a way of grounding himself.
After one more look around, he realized the only way forward was to go straight ahead. He began trudging forward, the lapping of the waves receding behind him as he approached the base of the dunes. After a moment, he began his climb up the wall of sand. His feet sunk down into the fine grains as he made the ascent, his legs shaking from the effort at first, then growing stronger as he continued
As he neared the top, a distant chattering floated through the air towards him. He finally reached the top and dragged himself panting over the top, tumbling down the other side until he came to rest in a heap at the bottom. He groaned and sat up, brushing sand out of the various crevices of his body.
The chattering continued, now intermixed with sharp and sporadic popping. Gathering himself, he continued his trek through the sand and the heat towards the noise. Slowly the terrain changed from pure white soft sand to a tan rocky landscape with sparse brush and trees scattered throughout the terrain.
He was getting closer and closer to the noise, finally realizing that it was the sound of automatic weapons fire. He continued forward, scrabbling over the sharp uneven terrain. He reached the top of a craggy spire of stone and looked out over the landscape, recognizing the land before him. Kunduz, Afghanistan.
His blood running cold, he clambered down the rocks, his bare feet burning from the sharp stones. His foot slipped, the blood from the soles of his feet making his foothold slick. He windmilled for a moment, his hands reaching for a handhold that was getting further and further away. He slammed into the ground, knocking the wind out of him. He gasped, struggling to fight off the animal panic encroaching on him.
He finally sucked in a shallow gulp of air, allowing him to relax slightly. After another moment, he stood and went to brush himself off. His fingers caught on tough fabric and he looked down again. He was now dressed in desert MARPAT cammies, with a sturdy pair of dirty and dust caked boots encapsulating his feet. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the straps of his body armor digging into his shoulders.
He took a step forward and felt something knock against his boot. Looking down, he saw an M4 and a Kevlar resting in the dirt in front of them. He picked them up, shaking the dust out of the helmet and strapping it under his chin, followed by the sling of the rifle. He pressed the magazine release and caught the mag as it fell, inspecting the green tip M855 ammunition inside it. He then pulled the charging handle to the rear and inspected the chamber, blowing some of the dust out of the weapon.
Finally satisfied, he slapped the magazine home and sent the bolt home, feeling an odd sense of relief at the familiar sound of the bolt chambering a round. He felt down inside one of his cargo pockets and retrieved the pack of smokes, sticking one between his lips. He lit it and took a calming drag off of it before continuing forward.
He continued on for a while, occasionally stopping when he reached a piece of high ground to scan through the optic on his M4. As he swept the landscape in front of him, he saw a small compound about eight hundred yards from his current position. Muzzle flashes lit the rocks surrounding the compound, answered sporadically by weapons fire from inside the compound. The characteristic chatter of AK fire was met by bursts of M4 and M249 fire, interspersed by the occasional thunk of an M203 grenade launcher being fired from the compound.
Tom scrambled down from his perch, jumping the last couple of feet to the ground. Double checking his rifle, he began to jog towards the firefight unfolding in front of him. The closer to the fight he got, the heavier the fire became. Kalashnikov fire turned into PKM and RPG fire, and eventually mortars began adding their voices to the din.
Finally, Tom reached one last overlook and paused. Now that he had a full view of the compound, he realized exactly where he was. It was the same compound where everything had changed for him six years ago. It was strange seeing everything from this angle, as an observer rather than a participant.
His blood ran cold and he could feel the cold hand of panic tightening in his chest as he remembered what it had been like inside. Bullets tearing through the mud walls as they stuck as close to the ground as they could, rocket propelled grenades punching holes in what little cover remained and throwing chunks of mud and metal through the air. Then the white-hot flash of pain searing through his leg and in his forehead.
Scrabbling his way down the loose rocks of the hillside, he took off at a dead sprint towards the compound, ignoring the snap- crack of bullets buzzing around his head. He reached the back wall of the small compound and squeezed through a breach in the wall, cursing as his rifle caught on the wall. Finally through the gap, he took off through the small yard to the back door of the building.
He slammed his back against the wall of the hut and banged on the door yelling
“Friendly coming in!”
As the door swung open in front of him, he saw everyone hunkered down underneath the windows. He saw Gomez on the radio, screaming over the din as he called for air and artillery support. Tomlinson lifting his SAW over his head and spraying bullets blindly in front of him. Doc Reyes was in the process of cranking down the winlass on a tourniquet of the severely wounded Jones. Then he turned to his left and saw a mirror image of himself reloading the M203 slung underneath his M4.
Through the cacophony of death, he heard the familiar krump of an RPG being fired that he had been hoping wouldn’t come followed by the deafening blast as the HEAT warhead released its molten copper payload through the wall.
Chapter 3
Tom’s body ached in a way it hadn’t in years. Not since waking up on the CASEVAC bird on its way to Bagram. He was pretty sure he could feel his veins trying to slither their way out from under his skin as he slowly returned to consciousness. His back was pressed against a cold hard surface, leaching the warmth from his body. He cracked his eyes open and slowly took in his surroundings. The room was dark, lit only by a single lamp sitting on a table lining one wall.
The floor, walls and ceiling were all coated in a pristine white tile, looking something like an old surgical suite Dr. Frankenstein might have used in some unhinged experiment.
“You’re awake.” Said a soft feminine voice from his other side.
He whipped his head around then hissed as the sharp movement made his head pound anew. Sitting in a chair in the corner next to the desk as a tall slender figure. She stood to her full stature, towering over Tom. Stalking towards him with the grace of a predator, she came to a halt next to him and leaned down close enough for him to catch a whiff of the coppery tinge to her breath
“It’s been a long time human. I did not think I would be able to finish what you started that day, but I am glad I was wrong.”
She leaned in even closer and inhaled, taking in his scent. Tom shuddered and pushed down his revulsion as her long tongue slithered from between her thin lips and ran from his collar bone up to his ear. She took another long slow sniff, then leaned back and sighed in almost orgasmic bliss.
“Ohhhhh I’m going to enjoy bleeding you dry. You are going to be absolutely delicious.”
She ran one finger up his right thigh with a sensuous slowness, the sharp nail gliding over his bare skin, sending a shiver down his spine. Her finger came to a halt on the tip of his flaccid cock, causing him to attempt to flinch away from her touch. She gave a mock pout and brought her finger under his chin.
“What, no blood for me? Such a shame, you really should be more considerate. Your friends certainly gave me plenty when they so rudely intruded on our home.”
Her mouth split into a crimson tinged grin as her finger dug into the flesh of his throat, a drop of blood beading on her finger tip before running down to pool in the hollow at the base of his neck.
He let out a growl of frustration, yanking against the bonds holding him to the cold metal slab, causing his still aching body to cry out in protest. Akane let out a throaty chuckle at his visible discomfort and leaned down close once again.
“You have taken much from us, human. My lord Solomon has much he wishes to discuss with you and it would be wise for you to be a good boy and tell us what we want. But I sincerely hope you don’t, I am looking forward to doing some… convincing.”
She opened her already blood-stained mouth wide and Tom saw her fangs slide into place as she neared his throat. A sharp burn flared in his throat as her fangs pierced his skin.
Just then the door swung open with a buzz and a thunk of the lock being released. In the brightly lit doorway stood a much shorter figure that Tom instantly recognized.
“That’s enough Akane. You were told very specifically to NOT injure him and especially to not feed on him. And what is the first thing I find you doing? Dad will not be pleased when he hears this. Now get out and make sure you close the door. Lorna said as she strode into the room, a bag slung over her shoulder.
Akane let out an aggravated hiss and stood, then stalked out of the room. The heavy door slammed behind her and there was another buzz as the door locked itself. Lorna watched the bodyguard leave with a look of mild disgust on her face. When the door finally swung closed, she sighed and turned towards the former Marine. Her eyes traveled up and down his body, taking him in with a pensive expression. Tom felt suddenly extremely self-conscious and instinctively shifted as much as he could while bound to hide his manhood.
She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose before pulling a rolling cart to the side of the surgical table. Reaching up she pulled a surgical light on a flexible arm from the ceiling and flicked it on, temporarily blinding Tom as he was overwhelmed in the sudden burst of light. She adjusted the light to cover his upper chest and neck and pulled the cart and chair a little closer before sitting down and opening the bag. Inside was a large array of medical supplies, everything from bandages to IV bags to syringes of various drugs and medications.
Lorna snapped on a pair of black nitrile gloves and tore the wrapping off an alcohol swab. She leaned down and inspected the trio of puncture marks on his neck, squinting as she leaned in closer. Tom watched her warily, his eyes tracking each of her precise movements.
“Turn your head please Tom.”
Tom kept his head turned toward her; his eyes still locked on her face in a show of what little resistance he could manage in his exposed position.
She sighed and leaned back, not meeting his eyes.
“Please. The more you cooperate the easier this whole thing will be. I really don’t want you to get hurt any more than you have.”
Tom’s temper flared immediately,
“Oh, silly me! I must have imagined you breaking into my home, attacking me and knocking me with those fangs of yours!” Tom spat, venom dripping from each word as they passed his lips. She paused momentarily as an angry expression flashed across her formerly serene face
“Yeah, as if you’re one to talk.” She shot back.
They sat in silence for a long moment before Tom finally, if reluctantly, turned his head.
“Thank you.” The small woman said as she wiped the few drops of blood from the cuts with a small piece of gauze. Tom grunted in reply, averting his gaze. She was right of course. It may have only been one mission in dozens more for Tom, but to her, it had been the worst day of her life.
“For what it’s worth, I am sorry about your mother. That shouldn’t have happened.” Tom said, staring at the pristine white tiles lining the walls. After a long pause she said;
“It’s not your fault. You didn’t shoot her. You’re not responsible for other people’s actions.” She said, her eyes going distant as she fidgeted with her gloves.
She finished up her work and gathered the refuse left over from the various different medical packets and stood, throwing them in a receptacle next to the table against the wall. She packed up what remained of her med bag after writing down what she had used on a piece of paper and throwing it inside the bag as a reminder of what she needed to replace.
She walked over to his side and reached down, her hand resting on one of the leather cuffs binding Tom’s wrist.
“I’m going to undo the restraints. The door is locked and there are guards outside. Are you going to play nice so I can let you eat and go to the bathroom?” she said, giving him a wry look.
“Ah yes, I’m going to punch my way out of a dungeon in an unknown location, in the middle of a hoard of vamps, with no weapons, while naked.” He replied with a snort.
She rolled her violet eyes exasperatedly and let out a sigh, undoing the leather cuffs one by one. He groaned as he sat up, his back protesting the sudden activity after its long nap. He stood, twisting one way, then the other as a cacophony of pops shot up his spine. He placed his feet on the bare floor and stood, covering himself with his hands.
“Any chance of some clothes? Or a blanket? Or really anything?” he said, eyebrows raised.
She looked him up and down with a slight smirk on her lips. She walked over to one of the cabinets and retrieved a pair of light gray sweatpants, followed by a slightly darker gray hoodie. She turned and tossed them to him from across the room. Catching them, he donned both articles of clothing and stood.
“Follow me.” She said and waved a keycard across the reader on the door, causing the same buzz to sound.
The door swung open to reveal a utilitarian hallway made of gray concrete with exposed piping overhead. The long hallway was lit with pale lights hanging overhead at five-foot intervals. The floor was made of the same gray concrete as the walls and ceiling, chilling his still bare feet as he followed his captor. Cameras were stationed at regular intervals down the hallway, leading to a door identical to the surgery suite.
Three guards patrolled the long hallway, all three dressed identically in black combat pants and shirts with plate carriers covering their vital organs. Ball caps were pulled low over their eyes and clear earpieces protruded from their ear, the cable trailing down their neck to radios attached to the webbing of their body armor. Two of the men were armed with AK-74 rifles while the third carried a Remington 870 pump action shotgun. The weapons were slung across their chests in a relaxed but wary manner. Glock 17s were locked into black kydex drop holsters attached to the sentries’ thighs, two on the right, one of them on the left.
They passed the trio, all of which gave Lorna a respectful nod as they passed, their eyes locked onto Tom, watching his eyes and hands. He heard them stop and turn to watch them continue their journey. Door after door passed until they finally reached their destination. The door was once again identical to the others, made of bare steel on heavy duty hinges. Lorna buzzed the door and gestured inside. He hesitated and looked towards the three guards.
“Don’t even think about it.” The pale beauty said, placing her hand on his lower back and giving him a firm push into the room.
He gave in without much resistance and turned back around.
“I’ll be right back. I’ll go grab you some food and water.” She said before the door swung shut with a final clunk.
Tom sighed and turned back around to take in his new surroundings. The room was constructed almost identically to the surgical sweet. White tile coated every surface and a drain was ensconced in the center of the floor. A small prison style sink/ toilet combo sat in the back right corner with a single roll of toilet paper resting on the corner. A small cot sat in the far-left corner of his new abode with a scratchy wool blanket and a threadbare pillow sitting on a bare mattress.
Tom sat down on the lumpy mattress and waited for an indeterminate amount of time. There was no window in the small cell so Tom didn’t even know if it was day or night, though he assumed it was night due to Lorna being up and about as well as the guards showing no sign of fatigue that comes with being forced to pull duty when most people would be asleep.
Eventually, the door let out the familiar tone and swung inward, revealing Lorna holding a brown paper bag in one hand and a plastic bottle of water in the other. She tossed them to him before reaching to the side of the door, pulling an office chair into the cell before closing the door behind her. She sat down in the chair and watched him intently.
Tom picked up the water bottle, suddenly aware of how dry his throat was. Cracking it open, he gave it a quizzical swig. He sighed as the cool liquid soothed his parched throat. After a couple more swallows, he put the lid back on the bottle and picked up the bag. Inside was a sandwich and a protein bar. Tom peeled the plastic off of the sandwich and took a bite, his stomach letting out a gurgle as he chewed.
“How do you know all that?” he asked through a mouthful of sandwich
“All of what?”
“All the medical training? You’re not just someone who went to a weekend first aid course for the fun of it. You have real experience.” He said, nodding at the med bag that she still carried over one shoulder as he opened the bottle of water again.
She gave him a small smile before replying;
“I’m a fully registered nurse. Believe it or not, we don’t only skulk around in the shadows hunting humans, sleeping in coffins, putting people on spikes and all that. We do need other things to do with our time. I also happen to have three masters’ degrees and two bachelors. You have a lot of free time in ninety years.”
Tom sputtered, water spraying down his front as he coughed.
“You’re how old?” he said incredulously when he had finally recovered.
“Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a lady her age?” Lorna said with mock indignation.
“That still doesn’t answer the question.”
“Sounds like a you problem.” She laughed.
Tom finished the sandwich, then the protein bar and water. Lorna took the trash from him and stuffed it back into the paper bag.
“So, what next?” Tom asked tentatively, eyeing the young beauty’s posture.
Sure enough, her spine stiffened slightly before she turned away, suddenly enraptured but her med bag.
“Next, you wait. I don’t know what the plan is after this. Dad wouldn’t tell me.”
She stood and turned towards the cell door. After opening the door, she turned and looked at her prisoner one more time.
“I don’t know what my father has planned for you but it isn’t good. He’s… changed since Mom passed. Become less stable. Quicker to anger. I’m worried about him. I don’t know what the endgame is but whatever it is, it’s not good.” She said, her voice low and grim.
Turning, she walked out and closed the door behind her, the heavy steel hatch snapping closed with a resounding clunk.
Its pretty sweet, I like the concept and the pacing. The dream sequence fit well. It actually flowed a lot like how I recall my own dreams going in terms of the way some shit just happens or appears and others just tend to flow so I think you hit the nail on the head with it.