Supernatural Fresh Meat

TWENTY-FOUR




Sam turned to Bobby and Marta. “There! In the field! Vampires. They attacked me outside Johennie’s shop. And now they’ve got Johennie.”

The two hunters followed Sam’s pointing finger, seeing the reflective eyes in the darkness.

“Vampires?” Marta asked. “I didn’t know there were any nests left around here.”

“This is special,” Sam said. “They knew my name. They’d come specifically for me. They might not be locals.”

Bobby coughed into his sleeve. “They probably set this fire to drive us out.” He glared in their direction. “Divide and conquer.”

“Those bastards,” Marta hissed. “They burned me out of my restaurant. Didn’t they? Didn’t they?” She turned to Bobby. “What do you have in your van?”

“Two machetes. A chainsaw.”

Marta set her jaw. “That’s a good start.”

Bobby opened up the back and they armed themselves, hacking and coughing. Then they marched toward the field.

As they walked, Bobby gripped one of the machetes, his knuckles white. Marta swung the other one, getting used to the weight. Sam opted for the chainsaw. If it weren’t for them pausing to hack up a lung every few feet, they’d look pretty formidable.

Sam could still feel the heat from the blaze, even in the vacant lot. He counted six pairs of eyes.

“Winchester,” sneered Leather Jacket when Sam drew closer. His face was a mess. The buckshot had tattered the flesh. “You ran like a squealing little pig back there.”

“Now you have to fight three of us instead of ambushing me.”

The five other vampires clustered around in a semi-circle. Sam recognized Cowboy Boots and a couple ofothers who had pounded on the van’s windows. One of them sported a black Mohawk. Another struck Sam as out of place, a professor type in an honest-to-goodness tweed suit with elbow patches. One circled them in a rockabilly red and black bowling shirt with a skull vomiting fire. The last was a gaunt and pale female, her dark eyes glittering beneath a mane of tangled, ebony hair.

Mohawk held Johennie’s shotgun, trained in Sam’s direction.

Leather Jacket sneered, moving the blade tighter against Johennie’s neck. The spice shop owner’s face remained expressionless. He stared up at the sky, unmoving.

“We’re willing to make a trade,” said Leather Jacket, apparently the leader of the nest. “The old man for Winchester and Singer.”

Johennie shifted, moving for the first time. “That’s hardly a fair trade. I’m worth ten of them.”

That made Bobby smile.

“No trade?” the vampire growled.

“What am I? Chopped liver?” Marta said.

“Listen. We don’t want to fight,” the lead vampire said. “We just want to kill you.”

Sam looped his fingers through the pull for the chainsaw.

“Oh, hell,” Leather Jacket added. “Who are we kidding? Of course we want to fight!”

He had no sooner finished his sentence than Johennie spun suddenly, forcing the vampire’s knife hand down and stabbing the blade into its belly. In a flash, Johennie threw him to the ground, then lashed out and grabbed the barrel of his sawed-off. He slammed his fist down on the end, causing the stock to careen upward and smash Mohawk’s mouth. His hands went slack and Johennie took back the shotgun.

Sam revved up the chainsaw, feeling the powerful thrum of it. The female and Rockabilly scattered at the sound of it, but the other four held their ground.

The creatures attacked, running toward them. Marta stepped in, wielding her machete like a samurai. She swung it forward over her head, connecting with Mohawk. His head flew off in a spray of blood, landing in a bush some ten feet away. Then she ducked and rolled under the Professor as he tried to dive-tackle her. The vampire hit the ground and Sam closed in with the chainsaw, sawing through the creature’s neck as he tried to stand up. The body flinched, toppling over in the dirt. Two down, four to go.

Sam moved in toward Leather Jacket, who stood with a hand clasped to his injured side. The chainsaw was bulky and cumbersome, but Sam knew it would be hard for anything to get near him and keep its head.

Leather Jacket started circling.

Bobby closed in on Cowboy Boots. Blood streamed from the vampire’s broken lip. Sam saw the eyes flash again, and the vampire barreled toward Bobby. Johennie darted out of the shadows and threw out his leg to trip him. He went sprawling, cowboy boots stretching into the air. He rolled to a stop and Bobby came down fast and hard with the machete blade. The head rolled away.

Sam saw fear enter Leather Jacket’s eyes now, replacing some of the cockiness. Marta, Bobby, and Johennie approached him from different sides, and the vampire started to look downright panicky.

Then Sam heard brush break behind him and turned in time to see two eyes flashing in the darkness only feet away. He lashed out with the chainsaw, connecting with something soft and pliable. Blood sprayed outward, coating his shirt and arms. He’d cut right into a vampire’s stomach. In the flickering light from the restaurant fire, Sam could just make out a ripped bowling shirt coated with blood. The vampire cried out in agony, and Marta raced in, swinging her machete down on his neck. The head separated, white bone gleaming in the light.

Sam glanced around for the other vampire who had hightailed it. She could be circling around like Rockabilly had just done. Something whizzed by his ear, thunking into the trunk of a tree right next to him. He snapped his head that way, seeing a crossbow bolt thrumming in the wood.

“I’m on it!” Marta shouted, and tucked and rolled as another crossbow bolt hit the dirt when it missed her head. Sam caught movement in the corner of his eye and saw the last vampire, standing up on a small hill, putting another bolt in the weapon. Marta was on her so fast that Sam almost couldn’t believe it. Marta thrust a leg out, kicking the vampire in the chest and knocking her down. Marta punched her in the trachea, then brought the machete down on her neck. Sam heard a sickening shick and the head came rolling down the hill, landing at Leather Jacket’s feet.

He really looked nervous now, glancing around for an escape route. Bobby advanced, gripping the machete, while Sam circled around. Leather Jacket turned to run away, but Sam intercepted him. He felt the chainsaw bite into bone as he slid the blade across the top of the vampire’s shoulders. Blood showered Sam, and he wiped his face off with his jacket sleeve. Marta came running down the hill in time to see Leather Jacket’s head fly off his torso and land in some weeds. In one hand she carried the newly acquired crossbow.

Sam did another pass with the jacket sleeve and checked around cautiously for other vampires.

“That was weird,” Bobby said. “Vampires seeking us out?”

“Dad said once, they get your scent, they never lose it.”

“You’re thinking old vendetta?”

Sam turned the chainsaw off. “Maybe.”

Marta was staring at her still-burning restaurant.

“That’s quite a blaze,” Johennie said.

The firefighters were making headway though, and Sam let himself hope that they would be able to put it out and some of the structure could be salvaged. They watched for a few minutes longer, but Sam didn’t feel safe in the open. The vampires had sought them out, and something told him that they might see more of them.

“I have to get back to check on my shop. If those jerks set fire to my place…” Johennie’s voice trailed off. “I’m getting too old for this.”

Sam withheld a laugh; he sounded just like Bobby. “I’ll drive you.”

They left Bobby and Marta staring at the blaze, and Sam returned Johennie to his store. He heard Johennie sigh with relief when they found it untouched. “I’m ready for sleep. Live on the upper floor,” he told Sam.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you,” Sam told him, and meant it. He hoped he was just as spry when he got to be Johennie’s age.

“You, too.” Johennie shook his hand in another painfully tight grip, and got out of the van. When he was safely inside, Sam retrieved the spices from under the VW Rabbit. None of the bottles had broken. Relieved, he drove back to the Pelican’s Nest.

Bobby and Marta were still watching the terrible fire. Sam joined them, seeing sadness consume Marta’s face. He could feel the heat blasting over him, even from hundreds of feet away.

“I hate to rain on this joy parade,” Bobby said, “but we still need to finish that weapon.”

Marta tore her eyes away from the flames. “We salvaged everything, but we need a place.”

“Not enough room in the van.”

“We can go to my house, but I live with my niece. She doesn’t know squat about hunters and monsters, and I want it to stay that way. So no mention of ghoulies or things that go bump in the night.”

Bobby nodded. “Understood. We’d be much obliged.”

“Okay, then.” She looked at Sam’s bleeding head wound. “First we need to get you cleaned up. Let’s stop at a gas station.”

They piled in the van and reluctantly Marta closed the passenger door behind herself.

From the back seat, Sam tried to reassure her. “I’m sure they’ll notify you as soon as they get it under control.”

She frowned. “Yeah, but there’s some kind of perverse longing to watch it. Like if I take my eyes off it for an instant, it’s going to burn to ashes. What’s that old saying? ‘A watched pot never boils?’ Maybe a watched restaurant doesn’t burn.”

Bobby turned in the driver’s seat and met her eyes. His voice was compassionate. “There’s nothing you can do here. I know what this feels like.”

She crossed her arms. “Hell. Okay. Let’s go.”

Marta directed Bobby to a nearby gas station and Sam cleaned his head wound in the bathroom, wiping the blood from his face, neck, and hands as best he could. He removed his blood-splattered jacket. When he looked presentable, he emerged, getting back in the van. She told Bobby to turn down a few side streets and they ended up in front of a beautiful Victorian two-story house. A girl in her early teens sat on a porch swing, reading a book. She looked up as they parked.

“Aunt Marta?” she asked, standing up. “What happened?”

Marta did look bad, covered in soot and sweat. “The Nest caught on fire. But no one was hurt, honey.”

“Oh no! Will they be able to put it out?”

“We’re hoping.”

Her niece rushed to her and hugged her. “I’m so sorry.”

Marta turned to Bobby and Sam. “This is my niece, Aggie.”

Sam shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you. Sam.”

Bobby grinned, shaking her hand, too. “And I’m Bobby.”

“Nice to meet you.” She looked shell-shocked. “Are you sure there’s nothing we can do?”

Marta shook her head. “The fire department’s working on it now. We just have to wait.”

“I’ll get iced tea for everyone,” Aggie offered, and they all entered the house.

When she turned her back and walked away, Marta made a zipping motion across her lips and whispered, “Remember! Nada!”

Sam and Bobby nodded their understanding.

After Sam washed the grime off his face and hands properly with hot water and soap, he walked into the living room, where iced tea in tall, sweating glasses awaited. Aggie sat on the couch, bare feet tucked up under her. She was engrossed once again in the book.

“What are you reading?” Sam asked.

“This book for school. I was kind of dreading it at first, but it’s actually really good. It’s called Fahrenheit 451.”

Sam couldn’t help smiling. “That’s a great book.”

“Yeah, it really is, isn’t it? Kind of creepy, though. It’s supposed to be about some future dystopia, but it kind of feels like this could happen now.”

Bobby and Marta entered the room, and Sam could actually see their skin now all the soot was scrubbed away.

Marta lifted one of the iced-tea glasses and drained half of it in one go. She turned to Aggie. “We’ve got some stuff to do in the art studio. You going to be okay out here?”

Aggie nodded. “Sure.”

Bobby cleared his throat. “Did you see anyone prowling around tonight?”

Marta stomped on his foot, trying to make it look like an accident.

Aggie looked alarmed. “What?”

“It’s just that… the restaurant might have been arson. We want to be careful, that’s all.”

“No, I didn’t see anyone. But now I’m totally freaked out.”

Sam was quick to step in. “It’ll be okay. It might not have been arson at all. Bobby’s just a little paranoid.”

Aggie pursed her lips together. “Okay.”

Marta kissed the top of her head and motioned Sam and Bobby to follow her into the back of the house. At the rear of the property stood an artist’s studio with a locking door. Marta loved to make ceramics in her spare time, when she had any. She invited them into the room. A potter’s wheel stood in one corner, and shelves lined the walls, stacked with vases and saucers. Most hadn’t been glazed yet. Another door led to the back yard.

Sam regarded them appreciatively. “These are good.”

“Thanks. Maybe one day I’ll be able to finish one.” She turned to Bobby as he entered. “Lock the door.”

Against one wall stood a desk, and she moved to it, clearing it off. “We can work here.”

“This is perfect,” Bobby said. “Thanks again.”

“I’ll go get the stuff,” Sam offered, and left through the back door of the studio. As he stepped out into the cool of the night, Sam felt eyes watching him. He didn’t like this. The whole thing didn’t feel right. His gut told him that this was the eye of the storm, and that he had to stay vigilant.