 
Chronicles of the Vampire Hunters:

Creation

by

Dustin J. Palmer

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Dustin J. Palmer on Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Dustin J. Palmer

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

For my babies: Morgan, Zion, and Olivia.

Always follow your dreams.

Prologue

John

Benton, Kansas

January 27, 1987

"The way you screamed when that bloodsucker jumped out of that closet!" John Bishop laughed. "Oh man, Charlie! I nearly pissed myself."

"You nearly pissed yourself? I did piss myself!" Charlie Hammond laughed nervously. "That son of a bitch was literally an inch from my face!"

Terry Williams hefted his double bladed battleaxe over his shoulders and snorted a laugh, "Charlie, man, you were on the other side of the room."

"Oh come on guys, cut the rookie some slack," Ben Morris joked. "Like you guys didn't crap yourselves the first time you saw a grunt."

"I don't know what you're talking about," John said, keeping a straight face. "I was cool as a cucumber on my first hunt. You forget, Ben, I have that legendary Bishop blood running through my veins. I don't know the meaning of the word fear!"

"You forget, Bishop, I was there." Terry laughed, jabbing him in the back with the handle of his axe.

John slapped it away then joined in the laughter. "Alright, alright, maybe I did have to change my pants afterwards."

Wes Turner slapped Charlie hard on the back, knocking him forward several inches. "Pissed soaked pants or not, seven grunts is not a bad days work! Hell of a way to lose your cherry eh, Charlie?"

"Oh he hasn't lost it yet," Terry smiled. "He's still got the solo hunt with Talon and my old man coming up. That's the real test!"

"Yeah, when is that, Charlie?" Ben asked, wiping a long streak of oily, black vampire blood from the razor sharp edge of his machete.

"I don't know," Charlie, answered, his face going pale. "Talon said he wanted to find just the right den before I go in alone."

"Well don't fret then," John nodded. "Talon won't lead you into anything you can't handle. He's a hard man but he'll take care of you."

"And the last thing Billy will do is send you into the meat grinder before you're ready," Ben added, sheathing his machete on his hip. "He's trained a lot of good hunters over the years, including everyone in this room."

"Still . . ." Charlie swallowed. "It's one thing to go in with a team, but how do you do it when it's just . . . you know . . . just you?"

John placed a massive hand on Charlie's shoulder, giving it a hard squeeze. "Charlie, if you can't face the fear, if you can't fight against every gut wrenching feeling in your body telling you not to do it, and walk into a vampire's den completely alone, you aren't cut out to do this job."

"John's right, kid," Terry nodded. "We lost a lot of good hunters this past year, nine in all. That's more than the past three years combined and each and every one of them had just as much guts as any man in this room. So if you aren't cut out for this, you need to find out before it's too late. Not just for your sake, but for your team's as well. You don't want to get one of your friends killed because you lost your nerve."

"Come on guys! Let the boy enjoy his moment of victory," Wes said. "Stop worrying him about what's happening tomorrow and let's focus on today! Charlie, boy, I'm gonna get you drunk and laid tonight! I know of this little place outside of Wichita, the ladies know exactly how to treat some big bad vamp hunters like us. What do you say, John? Terry? You guys interested?"

"Nope," John said, answering for the both of them. "We're married men now, Wes. We don't want any part of where you're going."

"And so are you," Terry added, "though you seem to forget more often than not."

"What are you guys? The marriage police?" Wes crossed his arms over his chest. "What my woman don't know won't hurt her. Besides, there are certain things even a woman like her can't do for a man like me."

Ben Morris rolled his eyes not even bothering to hide his disgust.

"I won't even bother asking you, Morris," Wes said, giving him an appraising once over. "You're such a boy scout; I doubt you even know what do with a nice piece of ass like Cat. Tell me, Ben, when you stroke her just right, does she purr?"

"Shut your mouth, Turner," Ben said his eyes livid. "Before I shut it for it for you,"

"No need to get upset, all I'm saying is that a fine Mexican bitch with an ass like that needs a little . . . expertise when it comes to love." he smiled a wicked grin.

Ben took a step forward, but Terry stepped in between them. "Wes, that's enough. Back off."

"Yes, Dad," Wes said sarcastically. "I was only joking, is it my fault Morris can't take a joke?"

Terry's intimidating form loomed over him by several inches. "You crossed the line, Wes. Apologize."

Wes snorted. "Yeah, like that's going to happen."

"It's okay, Terry," Ben handed his shotgun to John then stripped off his body armor, tossing it to the floor. "Let him by. He's been asking for a beating for years. It's time I finally gave it to him."

"Ben . . ." John started to say, knowing the much smaller man wasn't up to beating Wes Turner in a straight up fight.

"Stay out of this, John!" Ben yelled.

Your funeral, John thought but didn't dare say. Ben had always had self-esteem issues, and though John wanted to, he knew that protecting him from Wes wouldn't help matters. It would just make Ben moody the entire ride back to Texas. No, John knew it was just better to let the whole thing play out.

Charlie coughed nervously from the back of the pack. "Come on guys, we've all had a long day. Let's just collect the fangs and torch this rotted, termite infested dump. I'm ready to get out of here."

Wes smiled, "The Rook is right. Tell you what, Ben I've changed my mind. If it makes you feel better, you're invited too."

Ben grabbed his body armor off the floor, jerked his shotgun from John's hands then pushed past Terry before purposefully shoving Wes out of the way. "You're a real piece of shit, Turner."

"Yeah, well you're short," Wes replied with a hearty laugh.

Some things will never change, John thought, shaking his head. Wes had been picking on Ben since they were kids. The man just seemed incapable of growing up.

"Wes, come on man," John said, coming up next to him. "Why do you have to be such a prick? Can't you just try and get along with the guy?"

"It's good for him." Wes said, shouldering his sawed off. "The little runt needs to grow some balls."

"Grow some balls?" Terry interjected. "The man killed three grunts today. I say he's got more balls than just about anyone I know. Including you, Turner."

Wes blew him off with a wave and headed down the hall toward the front door. "I'll buy him an ice cream cone if it will make you feel better! Seriously Terry, lighten up!" he yelled behind him.

"What a jerk," Terry said to no one in particular.

"Yeah, no shit," John sighed. "Come on amigo. Let's go home."

"Charlie, grab the rest of our gear and let's get the hell out of here," Terry motioned to the three bags of supplies lying on the floor.

Charlie nodded then picked up the heavy bags, slinging them over his shoulders. The mood a little more somber than it had been just minutes before, John and Terry, with Charlie lugging their supplies in the rear, headed for the open front door.

They were just in view of the stack of blackened, still smoking vampire skulls on the other side of the open front door, when John heard what he could have sworn was a little girl giggle. "Terry, did you hear . . ." he turned his head and felt something warm and wet splash across the back of his neck. He reached back with his left and brought back a gloved hand covered in blood. "What the hell?" he said, turning completely around.

Terry Williams stood swaying, a fountain of blood gushing from the large gaping hole that had once been his neck. Charlie, who had been walking directly behind him, was covered in blood. He dropped the three bags and began wiping frantically at his eyes with his gloved hands. "What is this?!" he screamed out in horror. "What . . . what just happened?!"

Wes and Ben, who had been waiting outside came charging back in, guns ready when they heard Charlie scream. They stopped short when they saw Terry's still swaying, headless body.

Almost in slow motion, the body dropped to the floor in front of them. Though his head had been removed, his heart continued to pump, sending a spray of bright red blood from the gaping hole where his head had resided mere seconds before. The massive double bladed battleaxe he had been carrying dropped with a resounding thud, cracking one of the tiles on the floor. The fingers on his left hand flexed back and forth as if grasping for it. The fingers of his right were wrapped tightly around his most coveted weapon, one of a pair of Roman short swords still sheathed at his belt.

In a daze, John looked up into darkened hole that had suddenly appeared in the cracked ceiling above them. He heard Ben yell out something he couldn't quite make out then point his shotgun at the ceiling. The gun boomed in his hands, sending buckshot flying into whatever monster lay in wait above. A half second later, the echo of Wes's sawed off twelve gauge followed. In a blind panic, Charlie fired wildly with his .357 sending bullets wildly into the hallway behind them.

John stood in a trance, his eyes unable to leave the sight of Terry's splintered spine sticking up from between his shoulders.

He had known the man his entire life; they had been best man at each other's weddings. Now all that was left of him was a headless corpse lying on the dirty white tile of an abandoned house somewhere in the Kansas countryside. "John!" he heard Ben yell from a million miles away. "John! Snap out of it!"

A hard backhanded slap from Wes Turner broke him from his trance. "Come on, Big John! We need you buddy!" He cracked open his sawed off removing the empties and filled it with two slugs from the bandolier strung across his chest.

John nodded dumbly. Finally coming back to his senses he leveled the big ten gauge in his hands and put five rounds of buckshot into the ceiling.

The severely wounded form of a teenage male grunt, crashed through the crumbling ceiling, landing on top of Terry's body. The holes in its head and body already beginning too slowly regenerate. Smoke poured off its skin as the sunlight from the open front door hit it. It roared out in pain and anger and tried to push itself off Terry but grew distracted by the sight and smell of so much blood. It began lapping at it like a dog, sucking up the bright liquid as quickly as it could.

Though his revolver was long since empty, Charlie continued to pull the trigger at the downed beast, the hammer clicking on empty chambers. Both Ben and Wes were reloading their weapons, their hands shaking uncontrollably.

Running on pure adrenaline, John jerked the Roman short sword from the scabbard on his dead friend's belt and stabbed it through the monster's chest, punching through its hardened skin and slicing through its heart. Then he yanked up Terry's battleaxe and with one chop severed its head.

Wes tossed his shotgun aside and with one hand hefted the dead vampire off Terry's body, throwing it like a ragdoll across the room where it crashed into the wall.

"My God . . . Terry . . ." Ben whispered, his voice expressing the pain they all felt.

That could have been me! John cried out in his mind, instantly shamed by how selfish that sounded. Julia . . . Jake . . . what am I doing here? That could have been me! Jake's barely three years old and I could have orphaned him just now!

Ben had to shake Charlie to get him to stop pulling the trigger on his empty gun. Wes angrily punted the dead vampire's head out the front door where it burst into flames as the sun hit it.

John dropped to his knees next to his friend's lifeless body, tears stinging his eyes. "Oh Terry . . ."

"Where the hell is his head?" Wes Turner said, looking around the room.

"What do you mean?" Ben asked, his body shaking with shock. "You just kicked it out the door."

"No, not his," Wes answered solemnly. "Terry's. It isn't here."

John placed his hand on his friend's bloodied, broken body, tears streaming down his cheeks. In that moment all he could think of was his son's tiny form bouncing on his knee. My God . . . That could have been me . . .

Chapter 1

Jake

The "Griffin" home, Midland, TX.

July 30, 1994 5:27pm

"Take that you alien trash!" Jake yelled out in triumph as his alliance of green army men and plastic red cowboys swarmed over the evil alien invaders. Though his forces had been almost decimated by the alien's surprise attack, they had somehow managed to regroup and pull off a stunning victory.

The toughest of his men, an especially rugged Marine, named Sergeant Awesome, tossed the broken remains of the aliens' general, a fiend named Lord Destructus, off the summit of Mount Desktopia. "Victory!" Jake yelled out, pumping his fists into the air, a plastic hero clutched tightly in each of his small hands.

"You have won this day, fools!" The evil Lord Destructus stumbled to his feet, pulling his arm back into its socket. "But we shall return!"

"And the same thing will happen again, Destructus, you coward!" Sergeant Awesome roared down at him. "Next time bring more than just a . . ."

"Damn it, John, I'm sick of this crap!" His mom's voice carried into his room, interrupting Sergeant Awesome's speech.

"They're fighting again?!" Jake sighed. He had been listening to his parents argue off and on for the past three days.

The central air conditioner had gone out for the fourth time in two months and his mom was not happy about it. Moreover, the fact that it was a hundred and ten degrees in the shade did not help matters much.

Dropping his toys to the stained beige carpet, Jake walked over to close his bedroom door but stopped just as it was about to click shut, his curiosity getting the better of him. Creeping ever so quietly he pulled the door open a few inches and peeked out just in time to see Julia throw her arms angrily in the air.

"John, do you have any idea how hard I work? Do you? I'm killing myself trying to dig us out of this hole!"

"I know that, Julia," John started to say, but was quickly hushed by a fiery look from his wife.

"I work twelve hours a night and all I want to do is come home and sleep in a cool house. Instead I come home to . . . to this!" She motioned around the room with both hands. "It's a hundred and ten degrees outside, John! And it's at least ninety-five in here! How the hell am I supposed to sleep when it's this hot inside the house?!"

John stared down at her from his six foot six height, his eyes fuming mad. "What do you want me to do, Julia?" He crossed his tree trunk size arms over his chest. "I can't control the goddamn weather!"

"Don't you dare talk to me that way!" She yelled back. "I'm not asking you to control the goddamn weather! I just want the goddamn air conditioner fixed! This is just ridiculous, I can't believe . . ."

"I'll tell you what," John said, interrupting her rant, "since you're such an expert, why don't you come up with a way to get the two hundred and fifty bucks to get it fixed! You bitch and complain enough, why don't you do something about it!"

Though he loomed over her by more than a foot, Julia was not the least bit intimidated. She had a fire in her eyes that John fueled into a raging inferno. "Oh that's funny! Like I don't do enough around here?" She turned her back on him, clenching her fist in anger. "Here's an idea!" she screamed back, turning and staring right into his hard, brown eyes. "How about you do something for a change! How about you get off your ass and find a job!"

Oh man, here we go, Jake thought to himself. Though he knew he shouldn't be eavesdropping, he couldn't bring himself to look away from the onslaught he knew was coming.

John had been laid off from his job in the oil field for nearly a year. The price of oil had taken a nosedive overnight, instantly cutting the incomes of hundreds of families all over Midland. Even after a year, the price per barrel had yet to come back up, and when you lived in a city that's economy was based almost entirely on the price of oil, that was a very bad thing.

To his credit, he had been looking for work every day since, often taking odd jobs wherever he could. However, mowing yards and patching the neighbors' roofs wasn't bringing in the kind of income his old job had. Not by a long shot.

Julia, who had been a housewife/stay at home mom, for over seven years, went back to work as a nurse almost immediately. Nevertheless, even with her working sixty hours a week at Midland Memorial, it wasn't bringing in enough income for them to keep the same standard of living.

The mortgage, credit cards, car payments, all that had been no problem to pay before, became almost impossible to pay. Past due notices started building up until finally the loans were all called in at once. Bankruptcy had been their only option. In the blink of an eye, they had lost almost everything.

Before Jake even grasped what was going on, they were moving out of their big two-story house and into a tiny two-bedroom rental on the seedier side of town. After it was all said and done Jake was just happy they were still a family, though admittedly not always a happy one.

John had always been a proud man, so not being able to provide for his family was a huge blow to him. As if it made him less of a man. Therefore, Jake had expected him to fully explode at Julia's harsh words. However, the giant of a man somehow managed to keep his cool. Even from where he stood, Jake could see the pain in his eyes.

John ran both of his calloused hands through his hair and barely above a whisper said, "Julia, you know that I have been looking. Every single day I look and look and look. I've put in applications at damn near every business in town. I've mowed yards, painted houses, cleaned out gutters. I don't know what else I can do!"

"There's got to be something else you can do, John?" she pleaded, her voice softening. "I can't do this alone, John. I just can't."

"Then let me call Billy," he pleaded back, his right hand gently brushing through her dark brown hair. "Just one job would be enough to get us out of this hell hole. We could move out of this dump. Get our old life back."

"No, John! No!" she said, knocking his hand away. "You know it wouldn't be just one. There'd be another and another. I don't want our old lives back. I want my husband! I'm not going to be a widow and Jake is not going to lose his father just so that we can live in a nicer house, or drive nice cars again," Tears welled up in her soft green eyes. "Damn it, John, you promised me you were done after what happened to Terry!"

"I know I did, baby, but . . . I don't know what else I can do! I don't even have a high school diploma. There's only one thing that I'm really good at and you won't . . ." John lowered his head in defeat. "No, I'm not going to blame you for me quitting. It was my decision," He sighed deeply. "My only other option is Rough-necking, but no one is hiring."

"John, listen to me," she whispered, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her gray cotton sweatshirt. "I don't want to do this . . . God knows I don't want to, but I'm going to call my dad and borrow the money. After all, he's got more than he could ever use," Julia laid her hands gently on her husband's chest. "We're not worrying about this for another second." She managed a weak smile.

"Oh that's a wonderful idea!" He said, gently grabbing her hands in his own. "Just call the miserable old bastard up and let him know where we are. I'm sure he'd just love to pay someone off at C.P.S. and have us deemed unfit parents. You know what will happen if they start digging into our past. They will ask questions that I won't have answers for."

Julia jerked her hands away from his grasps. "That's not fair John. It's really not. I know he's not perfect but he would never do something like that."

"Julia, you know what kind of man he is," John said, softening his tone. "If he finds us . . . if we show even an inkling of weakness, he will pounce on us and have Jake taken away."

At this point Julia had tears streaming down her cheeks. Jake couldn't bear to watch anymore. Gently closing the door, he dropped back to the carpet, and leaned his back against his bed. Picking up one of his toys, he stared at it for several minutes as the argument continued down the hall. Their voices were muffled but he could still make out the words.

"Well, Sergeant Awesome, it looks like we lost the battle after all." Giving up on trying to tune them out, he tossed the action figure across the room where it bounced off the lid and landed in his toy box. One by one he picked up the rest of his toys until the floor was completely clean.

When he was done, he leaned back on his hands and stared up at the broken ceiling fan hanging loosely above. A bead of sweat ran down his back causing him to itch. Stretching his arm, he tried desperately to scratch it but gave up as it progressed down his spine followed by several more.

Even by West Texas standards, it was hotter than normal. Yesterday's high had topped at a hundred and eight degrees, making it the twentieth day in a row of record temperatures. Today made twenty-one. Even when the air conditioner had been working, it had done little to keep that kind of heat at bay. At least the moving air was better than the sweltering inferno Jake found himself now living in.

Behind a set of yellow, smoke stained mini-blinds, his unopened window sat begging to be opened. However, he knew if his dad caught him opening it even a crack he would be in really big trouble.

For some reason that Jake had never been able to ascertain, John had serious problems with unlocked or left open doors and windows. Especially after dark. No matter how hot it was, he would not allow them to open a window. He was even more on edge after the sun went down.

Jake couldn't even begin to count the number of times he had gotten up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, only to find his father sitting in the dark, his eyes wide open, always watching, always listening. His body jumping at every creak the old house made. Even stranger was that each time he was sitting in a different spot. One time Jake found the TV blaring loudly in the living room with John sitting cross-legged on the linoleum floor of the darkened kitchen. The next time he was in a chair leaning against the wall of Jake's room.

Jake knew it wasn't because they lived in a bad neighborhood either. John had had the same strange late night habits at their old house as well. It was as if he was expecting something bad to happen at any moment. It had unnerved Jake to the point that unless it was an absolute emergency, he did his best to hold in his pee. He asked his dad on several different occasions if everything was all right, and John's reply was always the same: "Everything is fine. Go back to bed."

Nevertheless, deep down Jake knew everything was not fine. He may have only been ten, but he could read between the lines. He wasn't afraid of his father, though the sight of a grown man sitting quietly in the dark was a bit unnerving. Far from it, he loved his dad more than anything. It was what his dad seemed to be afraid of that frightened him. If a man the size of John felt the need to keep a watchful eye on his family at all hours of the night. What could a boy of Jake's size ever hope to do against something so terrifying?

Another bead of sweat made its way down his back. Jake thought over the risk of getting in trouble for a good minute, his parent's voices growing louder with each passing second. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders, deciding the risk was well worth the reward. "Sorry, Dad," he said aloud.

Jumping to his feet, he practically ran to the window. Turning the rusty lock, he grabbed a hold of the bottom and yanked up with all his strength. It squeaked open about half way then stuck. A slight warm breeze eased through, teasing him.

"Awe man, come on!" He yanked again to no avail. "Does nothing work in this dump?"

Taking a deep breath, he pulled for all he was worth, but the window wouldn't budge another inch. He struggled for a few more seconds before finally giving up. "You win this round." He said, giving it an angry glance. Though even that tiny movement of fresh air did make him feel slightly cooler. Well . . . it's better than nothing.

Jake dropped on to his bed and using the front of his black t-shirt wiped the sweat off his forehead, leaving a very large wet spot on the front of it. Grabbing a Superman comic off the nightstand, he began rigorously fanning himself. The voices coming from the living room were now yelling, the argument in full swing.

There was no shutting them out when they were like this, so Jake picked up the taped up headphones to his Sony Walkman and put on his newest Motley Crüe tape. A couple of hours, a change of batteries, and several tapes later a loud knock came at his door.

Julia opened it a crack and peeked through with a bright smile on her face. Her kind green eyes had only the tinniest bit of puffiness to show she had been crying. She was dressed in her dark blue work scrubs, its pockets stuffed full with pens. Her long brown hair was tied back in a ponytail. In her right hand, she held an ice-cold glass of lemonade. She looked at Jake, her eyes instantly lighting up. "Hey, Jakey," she said, leaning against the door. "Can I come in?"

"Hey, Mom," Jake replied, pulling the headphones down around his neck. "Yeah you can come in; I was just listening to some music."

"How are you, baby?" she asked, handing him the ice cold glass, before plopping down on the bed next to him with an exaggerated, "Humph!"

Jake took a long drink, the lemonade so cold he could feel it as it poured down his throat and into his stomach. He set the glass down on his nightstand then chomped noisily on a piece of ice. "I'm okay," again he wiped his brow with the front of his shirt. "Just hot. Really hot. But the lemonade definitely helped. Thanks, Mom," he smiled.

"You're welcome," She smiled back, laying her head on his shoulder. "Hopefully we'll get the AC fixed in the next few days and things will be a little more bearable."

"Yeah," he said, staring up at the cracked popcorn ceiling above. He knew she meant well but they both knew that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

"Well . . ." she said slowly. "Time to go to work, and of course I've got the graveyard shift for another two weeks."

"Well that's great," Jake said sarcastically. "What time will you be home?"

"Sometime after seven. But I'll make you a deal, be good for your dad and I'll bring you back some breakfast burritos from JumBurrito. Kay?"

Jake smiled at her. "You know me too well."

"Course I do. I'm your old Ma! Well, maybe not old . . ." They both laughed as she hugged him tight then kissed the top of his forehead.

She was almost out the door when Jake stopped her. "Mom? Before you go . . . can I ask you something?"

"You can ask me anything, baby. What's up?"

Jake let out a nervous sigh. "Why do you and Dad have to fight all the time?"

Julia frowned, pushing a stray piece of hair back behind her ear. "How much did you hear?"

"Pretty much everything," Jake shifted uncomfortably.

Julia sat down on the end of the bed, her eyes scanning around the room as if searching for just the right words. A deep, uncomfortable quiet hung over them. Outside a car with its stereo's bass booming went down the street, their next-door neighbor's dog barked loudly. Julia licked her dry lips before speaking. "Jake, baby, you know I love your dad. Don't you?"

"Yeah I know," Jake nodded. "But why can't you two just get along?" he asked, frustration filling his voice. "Why can't things just be like they used to be?"

Julia sighed, her eyes filled with sadness. "I know, Jakey. Believe me, I wish the same thing too. But things are very hard right now and grownups don't always get along. That's just the way it is."

"I know, Mom, but Dad's doing the best he can! It's not his fault all this happened. Why do you have to be so hard on him?"

She sighed again, pulling at the matching dark blue scrunchie holding her ponytail. "I'm just frustrated. Your dad is frustrated, plus this miserable heat . . . sometimes it's all too much for us. You hold it in as long as you can but sometimes it just boils over and you explode. Today was just one of those days."

Jake knew she loved his dad. He never doubted that, but the anger that came out in her scared him. He had a feeling that sometimes it scared her too. "I know you have to go, Mom, but can I ask you one more thing?"

She ruffled his messy brown hair with her fingers. "You can ask me anything? I'll always make time for you."

"Okay," he said, though he knew she wouldn't want to answer this one. Anytime he ever asked about his grandfather, her father, she would shut down completely, always making excuses to change the subject. Jake had a feeling he hadn't exactly qualified for father of the year. "Mom . . ." he started slowly. "Why does Dad hate Grandpa so much? If he can help us, why not let him?"

The smile she had instantly disappeared. She cleared her throat nervously, "I really wish you hadn't heard all that. You really need to stop listening in on our conversations."

"I'm sorry, Mom, but it's not exactly hard! These walls are paper thin, and you two weren't being very quiet either."

For a brief second she looked away, unable to meet his eyes. "Yeah, I guess we weren't, were we? But some things are better left between grownups. Understand?"

"I guess so," Jake said, fiddling with the black tape holding together his headphones. "But you said I could ask you anything."

"Fair enough," she nodded, but still didn't make eye contact. "Jake, your grandpa isn't a very nice man. Even when I was a little girl, I had a hard time getting along with him. Especially after my mother and brothers . . . well, I won't get into that right now. But the fact is he's never made any effort to get along with anyone, especially your dad. He hated John the minute he laid eyes on him and from that moment on he made things very hard for both of us."

"But Dad said he would try to take me away. Why would he do that if he's never even met me?" Jake asked, genuinely perplexed. "He can't be that bad."

Julia looked down at her watch. "Damn, I'm going to be late. Look, we'll talk about this tomorrow. Okay? I promise."

Jake knew she was just avoiding the subject, but he didn't want her to get into trouble at work, so he nodded that he understood.

"You're a smart boy, Jake," she smiled. "Sometimes I honestly forget that you're only ten."

Jake managed to fake a smile for her, which she instantly saw through. She placed a hand on his shoulder then said, "Jakey, honey, listen . . . I want you to know, that whatever happens, I love you more than anything in the entire world. More than life itself. Don't ever forget that," She placed another kiss on his forehead. "Behave for your dad and don't stay up all night watching TV. I'll see you first thing in the morning," She blew him a kiss as she rushed out the door.

"Love you too, Mom!" He yelled after her. He heard his dad's voice in the hallway and though she just told him to stop eavesdropping, he couldn't help himself. He tiptoed over to the door and again peeked around the corner.

John had her enveloped in a giant bear hug. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. "I hate fighting with you."

"Me too, babe," she replied into his chest. She lifted up on her tiptoes and placed a kiss on his cheek. John playfully lifted her off the ground, until her feet swung in open air. She laughed and swatted at him with her hands. "Let me down you big ox! I've got to go to work!"

John dropped her back to her feet and lovingly kissed her on the lips. "Love you, baby. I'll see you when you get home."

"Love you too!" she said, opening the front door. "Don't let Jake stay up all night. And Jake! Stop eavesdropping!"

Jake ducked back into his room, feeling genuinely happy for the first time since Sergeant Awesome's victory over the alien menace. For a brief moment, he barely even noticed the sweat clinging to him.

Walking over to the window he waved as Julia started the engine on her little blue Nissan. The drive belt squealed loudly. She backed out of the drive, waved back then pulled down the street out of sight.

"Hey, buddy," John's voice, sounded behind him, causing Jake to jump.

Though he stood right at six feet six inches tall and weighed in at three hundred twenty pounds, almost all of it muscle, he could move swift as a cat when he wanted to. He had short, dark brown hair, with a trimmed beard and mustache, his eyes were a deep dark brown.

"Hey, uh, Dad," Jake said, realizing he was about to be in big trouble.

"Jacob Michael Griffin," John's eyes narrowed in on the open window.

Oh crap, here it comes, Jake thought. "Yeah, Dad?"

"What is the rule about open windows in this house?" John crossed his arms over his chest, giving Jake his most terrifyingly serious stare.

"Uh," Jake stammered, nervously. His dad had never laid a hand on him, but the very sight of such a massive man looming above was more than enough to put the fear of God into him.

Keeping his voice low John said, "You never, ever leave a window or door open or unlocked in this house. Especially after the sun sets."

"I know, Dad. It's just, it got really hot and my fan isn't working . . . and besides the sun hasn't set yet . . ." he trailed off. This clearly wasn't the time for excuses, so he quickly closed his mouth. "I'm sorry, Dad, it won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't," John walked past him and easily shut the window with one hand. "Now get washed up. Dinner is on the table."

"Yes, sir," Jake said, stepping past him. Whew! Dodged that bullet!

Stepping into the bathroom Jake washed his hands then splashed some cold water over his face and neck. The coolness felt amazing against his skin, though it only lasted a few brief seconds. Toweling off he walked into the kitchen. John was already seated at the ugly green card table that now served as their kitchen table. Memories of the giant dining room they had countless family dinners on flashed through his mind. He couldn't help but lick his lips at the memory of plates heaped with fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, with freshly baked biscuits. Disappointment filled his face when he saw the less than succulent meal waiting for him. With a heavy sigh, he sat down across from his dad and pulled the plastic cover off his microwave TV dinner.

"Yeah, I know," John nodded as if he'd just read Jake's thoughts. "I miss it too, but the oven went out yesterday evening so this will have to do until I can get it fixed."

Great. Jake thought to himself. At least there's not much left in his dump to break! For the rest of the meal they ate in complete silence, both with beads of sweat streaming down their faces and wet rings around their shirt collars.

Jake started to ask his dad something about when the oven might get fixed when the doorbell interrupted him. John turned and looked out the window over the sink. The last rays of the sun streamed through. Turning back, he motioned with his head to the door. "Would you get that, Jake?"

"Uh . . . sure," Jake dropped his fork to his plate then rose to his feet. Once at the front door he turned the four deadbolts and pulled back the two chains. With a grunt, he opened the heavy oak door to find a short, gangly looking man in his mid forties. He had jet-black hair hanging down over his ears and was dressed in a cheap gray sports jacket with a Hawaiian theme tie, a pair of Wrangler jeans, and a scuffed pair of black cowboy boots. In his right hand he held a six-pack of some cheap, off brand beer Jake had never heard of. Three bottles were missing. It was one John's old work buddies, Marty White.

"Hey, Jack," Marty said, smiling a mouthful of yellow teeth with an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. "Is your old man in?"

"Hey, Mr. White," Jake said, not even bothering to correct the mispronunciation of his name. "Dad's in the kitchen."

"Cool," Marty said, stepping past him. A whiff of stale cigarette smoke and cheap beer assaulted Jake's nose.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Marty yelled out, holding the half-empty six-pack over his head as if he'd just won the World Cup. He set the beer on the table then slapped John hard on the shoulder. "What's up, Big John?"

"Hey, Marty," John said, pushing out one of the black metal chairs with his foot. "How'd the interview go?"

"Ah shit you know," Marty dropped into his seat then lit his cigarette with a cheap plastic lighter. "Bunch of commie, liberal bastards. They don't want a real man! They want some pencil pushing bitch that will follow orders. By God, John, I tell you, this country is headed to hell in a hand basket. No one gives a shit about the working man anymore," he took a drag from his cigarette then leaned back in his chair. "Don't they realize it was men like you and me that built this country? All we needed was a few rounds of ammunition and some good ole rock and roll! Now the whole thing is built on nothing but shitty rap music and nerds on computers."

"Watch your language Marty," John motioned toward Jake, who was still standing since Marty had taken his chair.

"Ah shit, kid, I'm sorry," He pulled a bottle of beer from the pack and opened it on the edge of the table. In less than a minute, he had emptied the entire thing down his throat. He belched loudly then wiped his mouth with his tie. "Just been one of those days is all. How 'bout you, Big John? Have any luck with Jester's outfit?"

John shook his head, "No, they said they weren't hiring. Check back in six months," John sighed. "The same as Simmons, the same as J.W. Poe, hell the same as K--Mart! No one is hiring in this economy."

"Man you said it, brother," Marty slammed his empty beer bottle down on the table. "Check back in six months!" he said in a high-pitched voice. "Might as well be six years! Don't they realize a man needs to feed his family? Well, I say the hell with 'um, let's go get drunk and shoot some pool! Whadaya say?"

"Sorry Marty," John shook his head no, "not tonight. Julia's got the night shift again so someone's got to watch Jake."

Marty took another long drag off his cigarette, and then tapped the ashes into the empty beer bottle. "Ah shi . . . uh . . . shoot that's right," he said cracking open another bottle. "Musta slipped my mind. But hell Jake can watch himself can't you, big guy? What are you now, fifteen? Sixteen?"

Jake snickered. People often thought he was older than he was. In fact for as long as he could remember he'd always been the tallest in his class.

John rolled his eyes then laughed. "Marty, he's only ten, and no he won't be staying alone."

"Ten? Damn, boy, you're gonna be a big-gun like your old man, ain't ya?"

"Uh . . . yes sir." Jake nodded, unsure of what else to say.

"Well, I'm headed to Freddie's if you change your mind. Meeting a few of the boys."

Marty got up from the table and straightened his gray sports coat, buttoning the bottom two buttons and then for the second time slapped John hard on the shoulder before downing the rest of his second beer. He set the empty bottle on the table next to the first and belched loud enough to start the dog next door to barking. Jake couldn't help but laugh. Marty gave him a wink.

He edged toward the front door then stopped, reaching into his pockets as if he was looking for something. After not seeming to find what he had been looking for, he looked over at John and said. "Say, uh, John. I really hate to ask, but is there any way you could loan me twenty bucks?"

With a grunt, John leaned forward in his chair and pulled out a worn, brown leather wallet. He sifted through pictures of Jake and Julia, business cards, and several yellowed receipts before finding a wrinkled twenty-dollar bill. "That's my last one, Marty," he said, plopping it into his hand. "Don't spend it all on beer."

You've got to be kidding me! Jake thought to himself.

"Thanks, John!" Marty grinned from ear to ear. "I'll pay you back soon as I get some work. Tell you what, in return you can have my last brew," He pulled the last beer from the six-pack and set it in front of John. "You boys don't party too hardy!" He said, walking toward the front door.

"Have a good one, Marty!" John called after him. "Stay safe out there!"

"Will do!" Marty replied, pulling the front door closed behind him.

"Poor bastard," John muttered under his breath, looking the warm beer over in his hands.

Without needing to be told, Jake walked back to the front door and locked the deadbolts then walked back to the kitchen and sat down in front of his now cold TV dinner. Bits of Marty's ashes had fallen into his gravy. Anger swelled in his chest. He couldn't believe what his dad had just done. They could have used that twenty dollars for groceries. "Dad?" he asked anger building in his voice.

"Yeah, son?" John replied, not looking up from his still unopened beer. Setting it aside, he soaked up the last of the gravy on his plate with a piece of white bread, then plopped it into his mouth.

"Dad, why did you give Mr. White that money?"

John chewed thoughtfully then swallowed. "Because he needed it," He answered, dropping his fork to his now empty plate.

He needed it?! What about us? "Dad, he's a bum! A drunk! He's probably just going to blow it all on beer! We could have used that money!"

John met Jake's gaze, his eyes showing the tiniest bit of disappointment. "Jake, son, just because we're hurting doesn't mean there aren't people out there that are even worse off."

"Yeah but, Dad! Twenty dollars could have bought a lot of groceries!"

John smiled. "Son, we're not gonna starve anytime soon."

"Still though," Jake replied. "We need that money a heck of a lot more than he does!"

"You're sure about that?" John asked looking his son over with an appraising glance.

"Well, yeah . . ." Jake nodded dumbly. "You see Marty and all you see a 'bum'. A 'drunk.' Is that right?"

Again, Jake nodded.

"Did you know that two weeks ago his wife took their three kids and skipped town?"

"No . . . I uh, I didn't know that," Jake stammered.

"Did you know when we first moved to Midland it was Marty that got me my first job working the rigs?"

"No . . . but . . ." Jake said, a tiny bit of shame creeping into his voice.

John took a swig from his iced tea. "Yep. I didn't even know the guy's name yet. Just met him in a bar one night and we struck up a conversation. He told me that GT Drilling was hiring. Without even knowing me, he got me a job the very next day. Said he liked the way I looked," John chuckled.

"Wow. I didn't know that."

"But, Jake, that's not why I helped him," John leaned back in his chair, a toothpick between his teeth. "Sometimes people just need an act of kindness to help them get through the day. This world is a hard place to live in and there's a lot more to it than money, son. You can always make more money. But a good friend, someone that will watch your back when things get bad," he grew quiet for several long seconds, his eyes wandering across the room. He cleared his throat then continued. "That will get you a job when your family needs to eat, that will loan you twenty bucks when you need to get drunk. Someone like that . . . well, a friend like that is worth all the money in the world."

Jake had been so wrapped up in his own family's problems that he hadn't considered that maybe somewhere, someone else was even worse off. Someone like Marty White. He felt a sharp pang of guilt for the things he'd said about him.

"You done, buddy?" John asked, starting to clear the table.

"Yeah I'm done," Jake said, eying the cigarette ashes swimming in his thin brown gravy. Man, poor Mr. White, he thought back, remembering the many barbecues they'd had when Marty had brought his family over. His oldest daughter had always had a crush on Jake. So he'd spent many of those afternoons being chased by her, I wonder what happened to her?

Sweat dripped down into the corner of his eye burning him terribly. He wiped at it with his hand. I bet wherever she's at they have air conditioning! He thought angrily.

"Dad?" Jake asked wiping his sweaty brow with his napkin, making sure another drop didn't blind him completely.

"Yeah, bud?" John asked sitting back down in his black metal folding chair. "What's up?"

He hated to ask but he just couldn't help it. Sure Marty White may have been in a worse situation, but that didn't change the fact that it was still hot in the house. "Dad . . . when is the air conditioner going to get fixed?"

John let out a loud sigh. "I don't know, Jake."

He instantly felt guilty for asking. "It's just so hot! You'd think once the sun started to set it would cool off some, but it hasn't at all!" His explanation turned into one long rant. "Sorry." he said, lowering his eyes.

"No it's okay," John nodded, giving his son a comforting smile. "Yeah, I know what you mean. It's been very hot this year. Too stinking hot. The AC couldn't have picked a worse time to go out."

"I wish we could just move back into our old house," Jake laid his head on his crossed arm. "I really miss that place."

"Well we can't," John said, his face growing serious. "For now this is the best we can do."

Jake sat there quietly, not wanting to harp on the issue any further. His dad had enough on his mind. Getting up from the table, he walked over and gave him a hug. "It's alright, Dad. I know you're doing your best."

John's shoulders relaxed and he ruffled Jake's shaggy brown hair. "You're a good boy, Jake."

"Thanks, Dad," he smiled.

"Alright, kiddo. Go brush your teeth, take a bath, and get ready for bed."

"Oh come on, Dad, it's Thursday!" Jake said, playfully shaking his dad's shoulders. "You know what comes on tonight?" He had to play this just right or he would miss the best show to come on all week.

John laughed. "You know I can't let you watch that. Your mom will kill me if she finds out. Besides, last time you had nightmares for three nights in a row."

"I only had nightmares that one night!" Jake defended himself. That wasn't entirely true. He had nightmares for a week after watching it, but his dad didn't need to know that. "Besides, who says Mom has to know," he said with a sly grin.

John rose out of his chair and picked Jake up one handed, throwing him over his shoulder. "Ahhh!" Jake cried out in mock terror. "Dad! I'm too old for that!" He laughed.

"You're never too old to get picked up by your old man!" John carried him through the house and tossed him to his bed.

"So can we watch it?" Jake begged, rolling off the bed and bouncing to his feet.

John chuckled. "Alright, pal. Go wash up and brush your teeth and we'll watch it. Better hurry though." He said, looking down at his watch. "You've got about twelve minutes till it starts."

Jake sped past his dad at Mach speed, taking the fastest bath of his life then dressed in his pajamas. Lathering up his toothbrush with a generous portion of toothpaste, he scrubbed his teeth rigorously. He landed on the couch just as the show was starting. The ceiling fan rattled loudly above. John was fiddling with the rabbit ears on top of their little thirteen-inch television.

"Right . . . no . . . right, right there! Right there!" Jake yelled as the picture finally cleared up.

"Aha! Just in time!" John dropped down on the couch wrapping his arm over his son's shoulders.

The deep, spooky voice of the show's host came on followed by an eerie music sequence: Tonight on, That's Unbelievable! We'll travel to Oregon where we will meet a family of real life vampires that claim to live off the blood of animals! A clip of several teenagers with slicked back hair and long fanged teeth came on. One of them snarled at the camera eliciting a deep booming laugh from John.

"Shhh!" Jake yelled at him, wondering what was so funny.

"I'm sorry, Jake." He said, wiping tears from his eyes. "It just amazes me what people will do for attention. Vampires feeding off animals! That's a first!"

"Shhh!" Jake scolded again.

Then we'll take you on a trip to Southern Georgia and introduce you to a man that claims he's caught footage of the legendary Bigfoot! A shaky video clip with something big and black moving through the trees came on the screen followed by a man with a long black beard in ripped overalls. I seen him! He was covered from head to toe in long black hair!

"Looks like a guy in a monkey suit," John said.

"Shhh!" Jake said, slapping his dad's knee.

Finally, we'll introduce you to a man that claims the federal government is in league with alien invaders hell bent on dominating the entire human race through alien abductions! A clip of a blacked out man with his voice altered came on. They want to harvest us for our organs. And the government is in on it!

"I should have known!" John joked. "It's always the aliens!"

All of this and more on tonight's episode of That's Unbelievable!

"You got that right," John laughed. "That's definitely unbelievable!"

For the next hour, they sat on the couch watching strange tales from around the country. John seemed to get a big kick out of the vampire story. He laughed hysterically through almost the entire thing.

It was the alien abduction story that spooked Jake the most. He watched the reenacted alien abduction scene wishing the living room wasn't quite so dark. When the end credits began to roll, he was downright scared. His eyes kept glancing down the darkened hallway, half-expecting to see a gray alien with red eyes staring back at him. He shivered at the very thought.

"Time for bed, buddy," John said, causing him to jump off the couch cushions. John gave him funny look. "I knew I shouldn't have let you watch that," he said, shaking his head. "Now I'll be up half the night with you thinking there are monsters hiding in your closet."

Jake did his best to put on a brave face. "It's okay, Dad. Really."

"Uh huh," John said, skeptically.

"You know I don't believe in things like that anymore!"

"Uh huh," John said again. "Anyway, tough guy, it's time for bed. It's way past your bed time."

"But Dad how am I supposed to sleep when it's still a thousand degrees in here?" Jake asked, wiping his sweaty brow with the front of his black pajama shirt.

"Well hopefully we'll get some rain in the next few days," John walked him to his room and tucked him under the sheets. "Now go to sleep."

"Okay, Dad. Goodnight." Jake said yawning. John started to pull the door closed. "Hey, Dad?" Jake asked.

John let out an exasperated sigh. "Yes, Jake?"

"Are there really such things as monsters? I mean, I know there's not. Right?"

John hesitated for a few seconds before smiling a tiny half smile and saying, "Monsters?" Of course not, son. It's just a silly, really bad TV show."

"It's not that bad!" Jake said, and then let out a deep exaggerated yawn.

"I love you, kid," John said, flipping off the light and shutting the door.

"Love you too, Dad!" Jake yelled after him. He waited until he heard his dad's footsteps descend down the hall and the TV in the living room turn back on, before jumping out of bed and opening his closet door. Pulling the cord for the light, he dug through his toys and clothes as quietly as he could until finding what he was looking for.

"Ah, there you are!" He picked up his aluminum little league bat. Holding it tight in both hands, he looked up at it as if he were King Arthur looking over Excalibur. Then as if the devil himself was on his trail, he ran back to bed and leapt under the covers, clutching the bat tightly to his chest.

Though he was exhausted, he tossed and turned for almost an hour. It was just too hot to sleep, but he didn't dare kick the covers off for fear that some alien might grab him up by his feet and haul him off to some alien world where they'd hunt him for sport. The unmoving ceiling fan once again taunted him. His eyes couldn't help but wander to the once again locked window.

Sacrificing safety for a few brief seconds, Jake got up the courage and opened his window. He winced as it squeaked loudly. If John caught him, doing this, aliens would be the least of his worries. However, his immediate concerns were of dying of a heat stroke, while not very likely, it was still a possibility. Behind alien abductions of course. Nevertheless, a closed window wouldn't keep a technologically superior race out anyway. That's Unbelievable! had made that abundantly clear.

The cool breeze that streamed through the window made the risk well worth it. He climbed back into bed and after a few minutes fell asleep.

Around two am a loud screeching sound woke him from his slumber. He instantly grasped for the bat, only to find that it was nowhere to be found. Looking around the room, he tried to figure out where the sound had come from. Sitting up in bed, while still clutching his covers, he glanced around the room. He didn't see anything out of place but something definitely wasn't right. He just felt it.

Nervously he laid back down forcing himself to relax. He couldn't believe he was even considering it, but maybe it was a good idea that he didn't watch That's Unbelievable! again. It was probably just his overactive imagination. Just as he was about to fall back asleep he heard something that was definitely out of place. A deep, raspy breathing. It was not his imagination. Something was in his room.

Chapter 2

Jake

The "Griffin" Home, Midland, TX.

July 31, 1994 1:20am

Jake's eyes frantically scanned over the room, searching for the source of the sound. It took him less than a half a heartbeat to find it. Something had managed to open the rust covered, corroded, nearly sealed shut window, all the way up. A feat he had never been able to manage.

Jake's heart pounded like a jackhammer, threatening to rip through his chest, his breathing coming in gasps so heavy he was almost panting.

A dark form with crimson, almost glowing red eyes moved in front of the closet, partially blocking out the light. Its breathing was ragged and excited, almost like a lion stalking a gazelle.

Jake opened his mouth to scream but just barely managed a whimper. With both hands, he pulled the sheets tight over his head as images of aliens abducting people from their homes filled his mind. Where's my bat? Where's my bat! He screamed inside his head, his shaking hands frantically searching under his sheets for the comforting feel of cold aluminum. Sweat poured from his brow but he felt cold for the first time that day. Please God. Please God! He prayed from the bottom of his soul. Make it go away! Just make it go away!

The monster/alien shuffled closer. Jake could hear it breathing in deeply through its nostrils as if taking in his scent. Closer and closer it came until finally Jake could feel the creature's breath pushing against his sheets.

Squeezing his eyes shut, warm urine poured down his leg soaking the front of his pajama pants. Wake up! Wake up! He screamed in his mind. It's all just a bad dream! Just a really, really bad dream! I'll wake up any minute now and it will all be okay! The breathing grew deeper, more excited. He could almost feel its hand reaching for him. Any minute now . . . why haven't I woken up?!

Grabbing hold of his left arm with his right hand, he pinched as hard as he could but still didn't wake up. My God, it's not a dream . . . It was then that Jake knew the end was coming. Soon they would have him in the mother-ship doing God only knows what. His parents would never hear from him again. Please . . . God . . . please help me . . .

His prayers were suddenly answered as the door to his room opened a few inches flooding the room with light from the hall. His dad had decided to check on him one last time before he went to bed.

Jake pulled the sheets down from around his head just in time to see John hit the monster like a defensive lineman sacking a quarterback. The creature slammed to the ground, John on top of it, his massive fists pounding into its face like hammers striking an anvil. Leaping to his feet in one swift motion, John grabbed the creature by its ankle with both hands and jerked it into the hall. The next thing Jake not only heard but felt, was the two of them crashing down the hall with enough force to knock the pictures hanging over his bed off the wall.

Jake lay there too afraid to move for several long minutes before finally getting the courage to step out of his room. As his feet touched the carpet, his bare foot brushed against the cool aluminum bat, lying just under his bed. Grabbing it up, he crept over and peeked around the corner to see John wrestling with a short man wearing a shredded, bloody gray sports coat. "Mr. White?" Jake exclaimed.

He couldn't believe what he was seeing. It was Marty White. The same man he let into his house just hours earlier. It was Marty but at the same time, it wasn't. Thick, four-inch long talons ran from his fingers. His cowboy boots were in tatters where claws protruded from his toes. His jacket and shirt were shredded and coated in dried blood. More than half of his Hawaiian tie was gone.

Why would Mr. White break into our house? Jake tried to rationalize what he was seeing. He must be an alien in disguise! To his young, frightened mind, it was the only thing that made sense. Whatever that thing was, it most certainly was not human.

Even though John was a foot taller and at least a hundred pounds heavier, the creature/man he was fighting was winning. John was on the defense, moving at speeds with martial arts abilities that would put Chuck Norris to the test.

Jake gripped his bat tightly in a white knuckled grip. He had no idea of what to do. Part of him thought that maybe he was still asleep. The fight carried into the kitchen. Both men crashed onto the green and brown card table they had a conversation over just hours before. It collapsed to the floor under their combined weight. John was back on his feet in a flash hitting the creature with everything he could lay his hands on, pots, pans, a toaster, a coffee maker, none of which even slowed the beast down. It's claws slashed at John's face and chest.

Jake watched helplessly as Marty cornered John against the counter. His jaws were filled with razor sharp teeth that snapped like a crazed beast. John's muscles strained as his hands pressed up against the creature's throat, trying to keep it from ripping his face off. Its claws wrapped tightly around John's arms drawing blood. Only John's much longer reach kept them from ripping his throat out. Sweat poured down his face. Jake could see his dad didn't have much left.

"Bishop!" the creature called out in a deep guttural voice, saliva dripping from its teeth.

Something deep down inside of Jake snapped, the fear completely disappeared. He ran into the kitchen letting loose a violent rage filled cry and slammed the bat as hard as he could into Marty White's head. "Mr. White stop!" he cried out as he swung. "Please! Stop!" Marty didn't even acknowledge him. Jake swung for the fences, slamming the bat again and again into his body. Without even turning, the creature grabbed the bat in its clawed grip and yanked it from Jake's hands. It squeezed tightly, leaving large finger print indentations in the aluminum, and then tossed it across the room where it crashed through the kitchen window.

Jake stared at his empty hands. Yelling out a cry of disbelief, he grabbed a giant butcher knife off the countertop and stabbed as hard as he could into the monster's back. It was like plunging into solid rock. The blade sunk at most two inches.

The beast turned, grabbing at the knife, its face now less than a foot from Jake. Its red eyes held a haunted look filled with fear and confusion. It was the most terrifying thing Jake had ever seen. He fell back to the yellow linoleum, his eyes locked on the creature's twisted features. John grabbed the knife in his massive hands and plunged it to the hilt then twisted it. The beast roared out in pain and turned back to face him. John yanked the knife out and thrust it deep into the side of its chest just below the left armpit, puncturing its heart. As the beast turned back to face him, a dark blackish blood sprayed from its lips, spreading across John's hands and chest.

The creature's crimson eyes rolled back into its head and it dropped to the floor completely motionless. Tears began streaming down Jake's face, his moment of courage having faded after seeing the horrific look in Mr. White's eyes. Before he could utter a single cry, John grabbed a meat cleaver off the counter and with two chops cut Marty's head off. Jake screamed a high-pitched scream then fainted onto the floor.

When he next awoke, he was laying on his parent's king size bed looking up at the ceiling. The sound of running water was coming from the bathroom. Was it a dream? He thought to himself. Then he looked down at his still urine soaked pants. "Dad!" he cried out, "Dad!" he screamed again even louder.

"I'm here! I'm here!" John said, coming out of the bathroom in his boxers, his hair soaking wet with a towel over his shoulder.

Tears streamed down Jake's cheeks. "Dad what's going on? What . . . what happened? Where's . . . the monster?" he said shaking, his eyes searching around the room.

John sat down next to him and wrapped his massive arms protectively around Jake, cradling him as if he were an infant. "Shhh. It's okay. It's okay. The monster can't hurt you anymore."

After several long minutes of crying, Jake looked up at him, his eyes puffy and red with tears still streaming down his face and said, "But, Dad, you said there's no such thing as monsters." Jake sobbed again. "Is there?"

John looked down at his son with a sad, defeated look in his eyes. He didn't answer. Instead, he carried Jake into his bedroom and helped him get out of his wet clothes and into a pair of blue jeans and a fresh white T-shirt. It was then that Jake noticed the deep claw marks running across his dad's right arm. "Dad! You're hurt!" he cried out.

"It's nothing son, nothing," John said, looking down at his arm. When Jake was fully dressed, John took him into the bathroom and washed his face with a wet washcloth then carried him back into the master bedroom setting him gently on their bed.

"We've got to pack up and get out of here," John said. "There will be more of them coming."

"More of who? Why was Mr. White trying to hurt us? Was it . . . was it the aliens?" Jake asked, not at all sure of what was going on.

"That wasn't Marty." John said, pulling a first aid kit and bottle of alcohol from under the bathroom cabinet. "And they aren't aliens."

"Then what are they, Dad?" Jake stammered, his voice shaking with fear. "His eyes . . . they were so red! Those claws . . . Dad what was he?"

John poured the alcohol onto the cuts of his arm over the bathroom sink. "Damn it!" he cried out in pain as it burned. Gritting his teeth, he dried his arm and covered the wounds with a large bandage.

"Dad? What are they?" Jake asked again.

John sighed. "I'll explain everything later, right now I'm going to call your mom at the hospital and tell her we're coming to pick her up," John pulled a long sleeved, red flannel shirt over his shoulders then pulled on his blue jeans. "Then we're getting the hell out of here. Go pack you a bag; we're leaving this house in ten minutes."

"What about Mr. . . . uh, the guy in the kitchen?" Jake asked. The last thing he wanted to see as he walked to his room was Marty White's severed head staring back at him.

"He's gone. I took care of it," John picked up the phone and began dialing.

"What? How?" Jake asked.

John angrily put down the phone. "Jake, do what I say!"

Jake didn't say another word but walked straight to his room. His eyes strayed to the kitchen to see the body was indeed gone. Only a large pool of black oil looking blood remained. Putting it out of his mind, he stepped into his room and jerked a suitcase from the top of the closet then as quickly as he could, stuffed it full of clothes. He stopped as he heard his dad's raised voice coming from the other room.

"What do you mean she never made it in? My God, Pam, they found us. They found us!" he yelled.

Jake dropped the clothes in his hands and ran back into his parent's room. John slammed the phone down then angrily knocked over the lamp on the side table smashing it against the wall. "Seven years. Seven goddamn years! And the bastards come now?" John paced back and forth. His eyes found Jake staring up at him. He took a deep breath composing himself. "We have to go son. We've got to get out of here."

It was then that Jake realized something bad had happened to his mom. "Why, Dad? What's happening?" he asked frantically. "Where's Mom?" John tried to calm him, but at this point Jake was beyond upset, he was downright hysterical. "What happened to Mom?!" he yelled at the top of his lungs.

John grabbed him by the shoulders harder than he meant to. "Jake!" he said, shaking him. "Listen to me! I need you to calm down!" Releasing his shoulders, he looked his traumatized son in the eyes. "I'm sorry, Jake, but I can't have you falling apart right now. I know it's a lot to ask after what you've been through tonight, but I need you to hold it together. We both just have to hold it together. Your mom needs us. Can you do that for me?"

"Just tell me what happened to Mom," he answered his voice barely above a whisper.

John lowered his head, "She didn't make it in to work."

"We have to find her!" Jake screamed.

"We will, son, we will. But first, I've got to get you out of here before more of them show up. Now, finish packing your things."

Hesitantly Jake did as he was told. In less than two minutes time, he returned to his parents' room, a suitcase tucked under his arm. Two suitcases lay across John's bed, filled with clothes and family pictures from off the walls. Pushing down on them John clicked them shut. Then from the back of his closet, he pulled a long rifle case and three boxes of shotgun shells. Jake had no idea his dad even owned a gun.

John pulled out a shotgun and loaded it with five shells then cocked it. "Grab your stuff. We're leaving," he said, walking down the hall, a suitcase tucked under each arm.

Jake stopped at his room, it dawning on him that he didn't have any shoes on. "Dad, I forgot my shoes!" He called out to him.

"Leave them! We've got to go now!" John's panicked voice cried out from the front door. Jake came outside to find the suitcases dumped on the front yard. The shotgun held tightly to John's shoulder. He was scanning over the yard.

"What is it?" Jake asked, afraid to even step outside.

"Get my bags and get in the truck," he whispered. "Quickly, go now!"

Jake jerked them up from the ground, running clumsily to his dad's old '86 Ford F-250. Tossing them into the bed of the truck, he climbed into the passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt.

John walked backwards toward the truck, his eyes never leaving the darkness of the front yard. As Jake stared past him, he could just make out a lone figure standing at the edge of the yard looking back at them. "Why couldn't you just leave us alone?!" John yelled, his finger hovering over the trigger. "I was out damn it! Don't you understand?"

The figure didn't move forward but didn't retreat either. Jake heard the stranger say something he couldn't quite make out, before disappearing back into the night.

Climbing into the truck, John slid his gun behind the seat. Then started the truck, it's diesel engine roared to life. He peeled out of the driveway, leaving their home behind.

Jake stared at the house as it disappeared behind them. Somehow, he knew he would never set foot there again. "Who was that?" he asked. "In the yard? Was it one of them?"

"It doesn't matter," John said, glancing in his rear view mirror.

"Well what did he say?" Jake asked, infuriated his dad was being so vague.

John didn't answer until they had reached the end of the block. "He said he was sorry," The truck pulled onto the highway speeding ten miles over the speed limit. The clock on the radio said the time was now 4:26am. Both father and son were beyond exhausted, not just physically, but emotionally as well.

Jake laid his head on his dad's lap, something he hadn't done in years. Reaching back, John pulled a dusty red jacket from behind the seat and covered his son. Right before he dozed off Jake asked one last time, "Where's Mom?"

"I don't know son. I don't know," John patted him gently with his right hand. Jake looked up at him one last time, and in the passing glow of a street light saw tears streaming down his cheeks. With that image, he fell asleep.

Nearly two hours later he was gently shaken awake by a rough, calloused hand on his shoulder. Sitting up he looked around. It was still dark out. The slight orange glow of the sun was just peeking in the sky to the east. They were parked on a dirt road seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Jake rubbed his eyes sleepily. "Dad, where are we?"

John looked straight ahead, his hands gripping the steering wheel. "Jake, I have something I have to show you. I don't want to, but you need to see this to understand what's happening to us," He stepped out of the truck and lowered the tailgate, pulling several large black trash bags out of the back then dumped their contents into the middle of the road where they were lit by the truck's bright headlights. Jake was so in shock at this point that the sight of the Marty White's dismembered; bloodied body parts dropping onto the dirt road didn't even bother him. Marty's dismembered head lay staring at Jake with its lifeless red eyes wide open.

It all seemed so very unreal, as if he was watching it through someone else's eyes. John came back into the truck then killed the engine, shutting off the headlights illuminating the scene before them. They sat in complete silence, Jake was too tired and too in shock to say anything.

As the sun began to rise higher in the sky, John finally broke the silence. "Jake, you're about to see something terrible, but also . . . amazing. Something so awful that no one should ever have to know about it. But I can't hide you from it any longer," he sighed lowering his head. "All I can tell you is that the world isn't what you think it is."

As the sun rose higher, its rays hit the body parts lying on the road. One by one, they burst into bright blue flames. Jake grabbed his dad's arm, too afraid to look too amazed to look away. After thirty seconds there was nothing left but charred, smoking pieces of skeleton. Marty White's head was now an eyeless, blackened skull. John looked over at his son with tears in his eyes. "I've tried to shield you from this. I tried to take you and your mother away from it all. But they wouldn't just leave us be. They found us," he grew quiet again. "Jake." he said, "There are such things as monsters."

Chapter 3

Jake

North US-87

July 31, 1994 6:37am

John pulled the old Ford back onto the highway, leaving Marty White's still smoking skeleton in the middle of the hard caliche road.

He reached into the front pocket of his shirt and handed Jake something loosely wrapped in a blue handkerchief.

With his hands still shaking, Jake slowly opened it. "What is it?" he asked, staring down at two three-inch long white things that looked a lot like . . .

"Vampire fangs," John said, as calmly as if he had just handed him a piece of candy.

"What?!" Jake exclaimed, dropping them on the seat between his legs.

"Careful with those, son," John carefully wrapped them back up in the handkerchief. He flicked open the change filled ashtray and set it gently inside then snapped it closed. "They're still dangerous. You won't turn, but they will make you extremely sick."

"Wait, what? You mean to tell me . . . that . . . that thing was a vampire? That . . . Mr. White was a vampire?"

"Yes and no." John said sadly. "Marty was a lot of things, but he wasn't a vampire, at least not always. My guess is he was turned shortly after leaving our house."

"A real life vampire? As in drinks blood, killed by crosses, turns into a bat, hates garlic? That kind of vampire?"

"Again, yes and no. Not all of the legends are true. For one, vampires are extremely hard to kill. No flask of holy water or clove of garlic is going to do it. Crosses? Yeah that's a joke. You go waving a cross at one and he's going to break it off in your . . . well let's just say it won't be very nice what he does with it."

For Jake this had just gone from strange to the edge of insanity. Vampires don't exist. Everyone knows that. He rationalized to himself. But what else could it have been? The fangs, the claws, those eyes, my God those eyes! Jake thought, remembering the haunted look in his crimson red eyes. Those were not the eyes of a human! Then he remembered the show they'd watched earlier that night. "Like that family we saw on That's Unbelievable! The Goth looking teenagers that lived in the woods and drank animal blood!"

John snorted a laugh. "No. That was just a bunch of lunatics playing dress up in the woods. Vampires can't live on anything other than human blood and they sure can't come out in the sunlight."

"This is crazy!" Jake exclaimed. "Wait, Dad, how do you know so much about them?"

"I used to hunt them."

"You used to hunt what? Vampires?"

John let out a deep sigh. "It's a long, long story, son. I'll tell you about it sometime. Right now I've got to concentrate on the task at hand."

"Which is what exactly?" Jake asked, realizing they were still driving in the middle of nowhere. "Where are we going?"

"To your Grandpa Cort's house," John rubbed at his temples with his thumbs. "In Lubbock."

"Grandpa Cort, as in your dad? I thought he was dead."

"He's not dead. I just haven't talked to him in a while," John sighed. "We didn't exactly part on good terms."

"Then why are we going there?"

"Because he's the only one that can help us."

Silence grew between them for several long minutes. Vampires! Jake thought over and over in his head. It just seemed impossible. But he couldn't ignore what he'd seen. How else could you explain body parts exploding into flame when the sun hit them? He had heard his parents arguing about his dad going back to hunting, but he'd always assumed it was bears or something like that. That's why she worried about him getting hurt. But hunting vampires had never occurred to him in his wildest dreams. Jake closed his eyes shaking his head. The image of Mr. White's ferocious teeth, snapping like a crazed beast wouldn't leave his mind. The lost, hungry look in his eyes . . . it would haunt him for the rest of his life. He really would have preferred aliens.

Jake lifted his head and stared at the edges of the blue handkerchief peeking out from the closed ashtray. "Wait . . . if those things are poisonous, why keep them?"

"Because those little babies carry quite a bounty on them. They are worth at least three grand apiece."

Again, Jake's mouth dropped open. "Who on earth would want to buy vampire fangs?"

John yawned deeply then slapped his cheeks. "I'll tell you what, once we get your mother back and everything calms down, I'll fill you in on every little detail of what I used to do. But right now, I'd rather not get into it."

Jake started to say something but John held up his hand. "Jake . . . later." he said, in a tone letting Jake know the conversation was over.

Jake closed his mouth swallowing his questions. The entire world had just changed forever. Things would never be the same. As they passed the city limits sign entering Lubbock, Jake couldn't help but ask. "So how exactly is Grandpa Cort going to help us?"

"He's going to keep an eye on you for a while. I'm dropping you off at his house then heading back to search for your mom."

That was the last thing he expected to hear. "Dropping me off? Why? I can help you!"

"I have to get you some place safe, Jake. Believe me I don't want to, but I need to focus entirely on your mom right now. I can't do that if I have to worry about taking care of you. You'll be safe with your grandpa."

"How will an old man keep me safe from vampires? Why don't we just call the cops?"

John gave a dry chuckle. "Son, that old man is the Cort Bishop. He's the biggest, most badass vampire killer to come along in the past hundred years. No one, and I do mean no one, has killed more vamps than he has. Besides, if we call the cops we're just going to get them killed. That or they'd lock us up in a mental hospital."

Jake nodded. That made sense. He was neck deep in what was going on and even he wasn't sure if it was real. Wait a second . . . did he just say Bishop? "Wait, why did you call him Cort Bishop? If he's your dad why does he have a different last name?" The same name the vampire called out.

"Jake, there's a lot you don't know about my past. Things I hoped you never would know. Things I really don't have time to get into right now. Just know that there is absolutely no one in this world that I trust more than him."

"Dad you can't expect me to sit here and not ask questions after you tell me that my Grandpa's name is the same one that Mr. White . . . err . . . that vampire called out back in the house. Did Mr. White know Grandpa?"

John grimaced. "I was hoping you hadn't heard that. But I guess there's no point in you not knowing. Bishop is my name. It's your name, your real name. I changed it to protect us from something like this happening. No one but Pam Williams, a doctor that worked with your mother, knew who I really was. She's an old family friend."

"So my name isn't Griffin? It's Jake Bishop?"

John nodded. "Bishops have been hunting vampires since the first settlers landed on American shores hundreds of years ago. We're legends in this business. Which I'm here to tell you, isn't always a good thing. Especially when you're trying to start a new life. Vampires can read a phone book just as well as a human can, they can infiltrate social security offices, police stations. You name it they can buy their way in, or infiltrate it themselves. That's why everything was in your mother's name, the house, the cars, everything. I can't say it's been easy, but sometimes a man has to do what he has to, to keep his family safe."

"That makes sense," Jake agreed. "So how smart are they?"

"Marty was what we call a Grunt. Dumb as dirt, they only know one thing, hunger. Red eyes, long claws, pale skin, pretty much no way, that they could pass for a human. Now a Maker, that's something different entirely. They're stronger, smarter and look just like you or me, right up until they extend those fangs and rip your throat out. They're vicious, incredibly fast killing machines with the mind of a serial killer. These creatures have to feed every single day. They live for . . . hell, far as we can tell they're immortal. And we really have no clue how many of them there are. Could be hundreds. Hell there could be thousands!"

John let that sink in for a few minutes while Jake did the math. One vampire plus one kill a day, times three hundred and sixty five days a year. The math didn't add up. "But Dad that doesn't make sense. How could they kill that many people over that kind of time span without someone noticing?"

"Millions of people disappear every year without a trace. Millions. I'd lay good money that most of those so called disappearances are vampire victims."

They didn't talk the rest of the way. Jake had a million questions but he could see that his dad's mind was somewhere else. His thoughts returned to his mother. My God what if they turned her into one of them? Panic gripped at his heart. The thought of her sweet, kind eyes, replaced by those terrifying red ones was almost more than he could bear. Then again, so was the thought of her lying dead, drained of blood.

At 7:38am, they pulled up next to a tan, late 70's model Bronco, parked in the driveway of a white painted house, situated in a nice middle class neighborhood. Though the area looked safe enough the windows and front door were covered in heavy duty iron bars.

John grabbed Jake's suitcase out of the bed of the truck and holding his hand took him to the front door. Taking a deep breath, he rapped on the door three distinct times. After a few seconds a man in his late fifties, with long gray hair hanging down almost to his shoulders, opened the door. Jake was amazed at how much of a resemblance he had to his dad. His hair was longer, he was several inches shorter and about a hundred pounds lighter but the eyes were the same.

The older Bishop looked at John, looked at Jake, surprise filling his soft brown eyes. Turning a lock with a key, he opened the barred gate. "What the hell?" he asked running a wrinkled hand through his hair. "Johnny?"

"Hi, Pop," John said, with a smile. "It's good to see you."

The three stood there unmoving for a few seconds before Cort seemed to come to his senses and stepped out of the way ushering them in. "Well come in, come in!" he said, motioning with a newspaper in his left hand. John cleared his throat nervously. "Pop, I want you to meet your grandson. Jake this is your Grandpa."

"Hi," Jake said, nervously.

"Well hi back!" the older man laughed picking Jake up off his feet into a giant bear hug. "By God boy! Last time I saw you, you were only three!"

Jake was surprised at his reaction but also warmed by it. Part of him had expected the mean old man he'd heard his parents arguing over, his other grandfather.

John stood awkwardly to the side until Cort pulled him into a hug as well. John quickly began to lose what little control he'd managed to hold onto. His eyes teared up; his shoulders lurched forward in loss and sadness. Jake had always viewed his father as a rock, the Superman of men. However, seeing him with tears in his eyes, hugging a man he hadn't seen in seven years, Jake realized for the first time that he was human. He was just like any other son looking for the approval and support of his father. He was capable of hurting just as much as Jake was.

"Damn it's good to see you boys!" Cort exclaimed, patting John hard on the back. He looked down noticing Jake's feet. "John where is this boy's shoes at? And where's Julia?" He looked out toward the truck as if expecting her to come walking up. "Is she okay?"

"One question at a time, Pop. I . . . I don't know, I honestly don't know. They hit us. After all these years, they hit us! Julia never made it in to work and she sure didn't make it back home. All I could think to do was to get Jake out of town. One of those bloodsucking bastards was in his room! His room!"

"My God in heaven," Cort said, shaking his head. "Well come in, have a seat, and tell me everything. Jake you too," he ushered them in locking the massive gate and steel front door behind them.

"I can't stay long, Pop. I have to get back and try to find Julia. I just, I need you . . . I know it's a lot to ask, but can you watch Jake for a few days?"

"Of course! But you don't have to do this alone. Just have a seat for a few minutes, take a deep breath and tell me exactly what happened. I'll make some calls and we'll go from there."

John and Jake sat down on the couch as Cort fell into a worn, but comfy looking leather recliner. John filled him in on the night's events. When he was done, Cort slammed his fist on a side table causing Jake to jump. "Goddamn bastards!" Cort exclaimed. "Alright head back to Midland. I'll call Billy Williams, Ben Morris, Mike Holloway and his crew. We'll get everyone on this. Talon Parker should be working in Abilene today. I'll call his motel and have him there in a couple of hours. If anyone can find her it's him."

"Thanks Pop," John said, getting up and heading toward the front door.

"Johnny wait. What's your arsenal like?"

"I've got a twelve gauge with three boxes of buckshot."

"Hell, boy, you're going to need a lot more than that. Come here; let's get you geared up proper."

Following him through the house Jake took in all the pictures hanging on the walls. There were more than a few of him as a baby, a few of his mom and dad, and one family picture of a much younger Cort with a woman he didn't recognize, with two young boys, the oldest was clearly John, but the other Jake didn't recognize, though he did have most of John's features. At the end of the hall was a heavily locked door. Cort pulled a key ring from around his neck and turned several locks. Inside was a large vault, about six feet wide by six feet long. It was lined with more guns than a sporting goods store. Large caliber pistols lined the walls on hooks. Large caliber shotguns and rifles leaned on racks against the wall. On the top shelves were hundreds upon hundreds of boxes of ammo.

Cort pulled a large duffel bag off the shelf with the ammo and began loading it with boxes of shotgun shells and several other cartridges. He loaded a very large pistol, spun the chamber and handed it to John who tucked it into his waistband. Then he pulled a very long, very sharp looking machete off the wall along with a black sheath and stuffed it into the bag. Lastly, he pulled a lever action shotgun out of a case on the floor and handed it to John. "The Cleaner's tasted more vamp blood than any other gun I know. Let it taste a little more."

"Hell yeah," John said, gripping the gun firmly in his hands and cocking its lever action one handed. "Been a long time since I've held the old girl."

"I think that should set you up for know," Cort said, looking around the vault. "Is there anything else you need?"

"Stakes?" John asked looking through the duffel.

"Ah that's right." Cort said, rubbing his chin. "Let's see here . . . you know what? I'm fresh out. Holloway and his boys came by a few weeks back and needed supplies. Completely cleaned me out. I'll have Talon or Ben bring some extra."

John nodded. "Thanks Pop. This will work fine."

"If there's anything else I can do don't hesitate to ask. Look . . ." he said, searching for the right words. "I know we've had our differences but you're still my son Johnny and I love Julia like she's my own daughter. I'd do anything in the world for you three. I'd hunt every one of those bloodsucking freaks down myself if I could. Climbing in my grandson's room is a declaration of war far as I'm concerned."

John gave him a weak smile. "Pop, please just take good care of Jake for me. I'll handle the rest."

Cort grabbed his shoulder firmly and nodded. "I will, son. Listen, I know you're upset. But it's time to go to work. So remember to watch your corners, watch your back, and more importantly, come home alive. Understand?"

John let out a deep breath, calming himself. "I will, Pop."

Cort nodded. "Go find Julia."

John turned and placed his own heavy hands on Jake's shoulders. "Jake, be good for your Grandpa. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"I will, Dad," he choked back tears. "Please . . . just find Mom." He waved from the front door as his father drove away.

Cort walked over and laid his hands on Jake's shoulders. "Come on kid. Let's get you something to eat," Locking the heavy door behind them, he led Jake into the kitchen and sat him down at the round wooden kitchen table. "Do you like bacon sandwiches?"

"Uh, I guess so," Jake said, laying his head on the table.

"Of course you do, everyone likes bacon sandwiches," he replied opening the fridge. He proceeded to pull a large package of thick cut bacon out, then a skillet from under the stove. After a few minutes, the bacon was sizzling.

Jake's stomach growled loudly as the smell reached his nostrils. He'd barely touched his TV dinner last night and hadn't realized how hungry he was until that moment.

When the bacon was done Cort lathered two pieces of bread with mayo and put six crispy pieces of bacon between them, then set it on a paper plate in front of Jake with a big glass of milk. "Eat up," he said, sitting down in the chair across from him.

Nothing had ever looked so good. Jake dug in. The sandwich was everything it had looked to be. Pure deliciousness.

As he took a big bite, Cort leaned back in his chair. "Jake, son, do you understand what's going on?" he asked then took a sip of his steaming cup of coffee.

His mouth full of bacon and bread Jake nodded yes.

"How much did your daddy tell you?"

"Vampires," Jake said, through a mouth full of sandwich.

"Yeah. Vampires," Cort said, with a sigh. "Blood sucking vampires. What else did he tell you?"

Swallowing the bite, he took a long swig of his milk then set it down. "He said he used to hunt them."

"That he did, son," Cort said with a smile. "That he did. But Johnny wasn't just a vampire hunter. He was the vampire hunter."

Taking another massive bite of his sandwich, he listened intently as his Grandpa continued. "Boy, I've hunted vampires for damn near thirty years, and I can honestly tell you that I've hunted with the absolute best. Billy Williams, Tom Turner, Talon Parker, hell Big Mike Casino! The absolute best in the business! And no one, I mean no one was as good as your daddy was."

"Funny," Jake swallowed another bite. "He said the same thing about you."

Cort snorted. "In my younger days I was good, but nowhere near as good as your old man."

"Then why'd he quit?" Jake said, wiping away the mayo from the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

"It's complicated. There were a lot of factors . . . but what it really came down to was that he quit to protect you and your mother," he took another sip of coffee. "I told him not to do it. But he was determined to try. Said it was the only way to keep you safe. I told him that there is no safe! Not from them, but he wouldn't listen. So, I told him what I really thought. That he was abandoning us when we needed him the most," Cort grew quiet as he blew on his steaming coffee.

"He told me you two hadn't spoken in a long time, but didn't really elaborate."

Cort smiled, "I can understand him not wanting to talk about it. Times were tough. Twelve hunters were killed that year, including one of John's best friends, Terry Williams, Billy Williams' boy. I think that was the nail in the coffin for John's hunting career. Terry was just a few feet away when one of the blood suckers cut his head clean off." He snapped his fingers for effect. "Just like that. They never did find his head."

Jake stopped eating his full attention now on his grandfather.

"It could have just as easily have been your dad. After that I think . . . I think John just lost his nerve," Cort sipped his coffee. "I wasn't very . . . understanding, I guess you'd say."

"Man that's terrible . . . I had no idea." Jake said quietly. "Is that why you don't talk anymore? Or didn't talk . . . or . . ." he trailed off.

"Not exactly. We'd been having problems since John was a teenager. I just pushed too far that time around. Let my temper get the best of me and said some things I really shouldn't have. He did the same. At the end, he told me he didn't have a choice and that he didn't want to see me again. Damn near broke my heart. Funny thing is . . ." he chuckled. "I quit hunting a couple of months after he left. Just didn't have the heart for it anymore."

Jake finished the sandwich and stared up at his grandpa. He had often wondered what it would be like to have grandparents. Now he had one and it amazed him how much like his dad he really was. He even had some of the same mannerisms. The same hand gestures when talking. The same laugh. Jake had a feeling that if anyone understood what he was going through it would be him. "Grandpa?" Jake looked down at the table. "Can I call you Grandpa?"

The older man's eyes lit up, his mouth curving into a smile. "Of course you can call me grandpa!" he laughed with tears sparkling in the corner of his right eye. "Boy, you have no idea how much I've wanted to see you. And after all these long years, here you are."

Jake smiled weakly then lowered his eyes. "Grandpa . . . I stabbed Mr. White, I mean that vampire, I mean, whatever he was! I stabbed him in the back. He was hurting Dad, I saw the knife and . . . and I didn't even think, I just grabbed it and . . . I didn't have a choice!"

"Well good for you!" Cort said, leaning forward and patting his hand. "That's the Bishop blood running through your veins!"

He doesn't understand . . . "But I stabbed him! I stabbed him and then Dad killed him!"

Cort set his coffee mug on the table and leaned forward gently lifting up Jake's chin so he could look him in the eyes. "That thing wasn't a man Jake, and he sure as hell wasn't your daddy's friend. He was a monster. A vicious killing machine that would have ripped John limb from limb, drank his blood and then done the same to you!" he slammed his fist hard on the table. "If you hadn't done what you did you'd be dead right now. Don't you ever feel sorry for them! You hear me boy? Not ever!"

"Yes sir," Jake answered, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

His grandfather's eyes softened a little and he reached over again patting his hand. "I'm sorry, Jake. I'm sorry this happened to you. I'm sorry that you even have to know about all this shi . . . uh stuff. But this is the real world. We're not the top of the food chain. These things hunt us and only us. The minute you feel pity for them is the day you get yourself killed."

His grandpa's words running through his brain, Jake wiped a milk mustache off with his napkin. Finally, the question burning in his mind wouldn't wait any longer. He needed to know the truth. "Do you think Mom is okay?" he blurted out. "Do you think she's still alive?"

Cort coughed nervously. "Uh . . . I don't know son. I just don't know." he leaned against the counter. "I wish I could tell you she is, but honestly, I don't know."

He had been hoping for better news, but was glad that he wasn't being lied to and treated like a little kid.

"But I can tell you this much." Cort continued. "If anyone can find her its Talon Parker."

"Who's he?"

"He's the best damn tracker in the business. A genuine Comanche Indian. He's also one of John's oldest and best friends." Cort drummed his fingers on the countertop nervously. Jake could tell he didn't like talking about this. "That's enough for now kid. Let's get you into bed, you must be exhausted."

He led Jake through the living room and back down the hall. "The bathroom is right here on the right." He said, flipping on a switch to a tiny, bare bathroom. "This room on the left is my office." Jake peered inside to see the walls covered with maps with pins in them. A black typewriter sat on an old metal desk. "Now this one here was your daddy's room when he was a kid, you can sleep in here." The room's walls were bare of any pictures. Old blue curtains covered the barred windows. A large king size bed sat in the middle of the room. A small dresser sat against the wall.

"A king size bed?" Jake said, looking at the bed taking up most of the room.

Cort laughed. "Yeah well. Your dad hit six foot when he was in the fifth grade!"

"Wow!" Jake said, with a laugh. Cort pointed at the last room at the end of the hall. "This is my room. Anytime you need me kid, I'm just a yell away."

Jake glanced around his room nervously. The last thing he wanted to do was go back to sleep. What if they find me here? "Grandpa. I'm afraid to go to sleep. What if one of them crawls through my window and sucks the life out of me?"

Cort leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. "Don't you worry son. For one, it's daylight. Rule number one, vampires can't come out in the daylight. Turns 'em into crispy critters. Two, I've got bars on the windows and doors and the attic is reinforced with rebar. There's no way a vampire can get into this house without making a hell of a lot of noise. It's built like a fort. And three . . ." he reached behind his back pulling out a large caliber revolver. Jake's eyes grew large as saucers. He'd been sitting with him the entire time and had no idea he had that on him. "Let them come. I'm ready if they do. I've got at least five guns stashed in every single room in this house. By God, it will be the last thing they ever do. You're safer here than anywhere else. Oh and if you come across one of those guns, leave it alone, don't touch it, don't mess with it. I'll teach you to use it in good time. For now, though leave it alone. Understood?"

"Understood." Jake nodded. "Thank you Grandpa," he said, wrapping his arms around him.

Cort hugged him back. "Everything is going to be okay. I'm really glad you're here son. Now get some sleep. I've got a whole mess of phone calls to make," Cort gently closed the bedroom door leaving Jake alone in his new room.

Jake climbed under the covers of the massive bed, his thoughts dwelling on his parents. He lay there praying as he'd never prayed before. Praying that his mom would be found okay. That he would wake up to find this was all just a bad dream and though he didn't think it would ever come, sleep finally took him.
Chapter 4

John

The Bishop Home, Midland, TX.

July 31, 1994, 9:32am

John pulled back into Midland a little after 9:30am. His wounded arm throbbed painfully. Pulling back his sleeve, he noticed the bandages were soaked all the way through. Later. He thought. It can wait, Julia can't.

Turning down their block, he held his breath and prayed that her car would be in the driveway. That she'd be sitting in the living room with her arms crossed over her chest, mad as hell that he and Jake were gone. His heart sank when he saw it wasn't. It leapt into his throat when he saw the front door broken off its hinges.

John pulled into the driveway and angrily shoved the truck into park, then pulled The Cleaner from behind his seat along with his Smith and Wesson .357 magnum. The odds of a vampire still being inside with the sun so high in the sky was damn near impossible, but he'd been trained by the best and didn't take chances. Never again, not after last night, I'll never let my guard down again.

Deep down he almost hoped to find one of the bloodsuckers hiding in a closet. He'd enjoy turning it to ash after what they'd done.

Slowly stepping inside, he held his gun ready. The house was completely ransacked. Most of the living room furniture was literally ripped in half. The TV had been tossed completely through the sheetrock of his living room wall.

He carefully stepped into the kitchen, trying to avoid the now thick, clotted vampire blood still covering the floor. Marty, I'm sorry brother. Of all the people, why did it have to be you? You poor drunken fool. Both doors of his refrigerator were ripped completely off. Long deep claw marks were carved into the wood of the cabinets and counter tops. From the amount of carnage, it was clear there had definitely been more than one.

Scanning the rooms with The Cleaner held tightly to his shoulder, John walked down the hall stepping over broken family photos and pieces of Jake's toys. Stopping at Jake's room, he looked over the worst of the damage. His son's twin bed had been broken into a dozen pieces, the sheets and bedspread shredded. All of it sat in a large pile in the middle of the room. What few clothes Jake had left in his closet were gone.  Bastards got his scent and by now, they've probably passed his clothes around to every vampire in a hundred mile radius.

Fear for Jake's wellbeing swelled in his chest. For seven years, he'd believed himself to be safe. After Terry, he just couldn't do it anymore. He had lost far too many friends over the years and he wasn't going to lose Julia or Jake the same violent way. All he cared about was getting them away from that life. He was done with the whole bloody, violent business. Let the others take on the task of killing he'd told Cort. This hunter was done. Thirty-eight notches in only six short years marked the vampires he'd sent to hell. He'd taken his first kill at eighteen. He'd taken his last at twenty-four.

Now it's thirty-nine. I'm sorry, Julia . . . I should have taken you both across the river. "They never cross the Mississippi river." His old mentor Billy Williams had told him. Years later Ben Morris had confirmed it. He had searched through the records of every single confirmed and suspected vampire kill in the history of the U.S. and he hadn't come across a single kill east of the Mississippi.

Of course, his pride kept him from running. It was bad enough cutting ties with everyone and everything he cared about. He would be damned if he'd leave Texas. It was his home. It was in his blood. No one would push him out. He just wasn't going to take the fight to them anymore. He'd never forgive himself for making such a brash, selfish decision. That old Bishop Pride.

John stepped into the master bedroom to find the same thing. The furniture was all destroyed, pictures ripped to shreds. "John," A voice sounded behind him. Startled, John turned and pulled The Cleaner tight to his shoulder only to find the form of a middle age, six foot tall Comanche Indian with long black hair braided down his back, staring back at him. It was Talon Parker.

"Talon," John said, lowering the gun, his voice filled with relief.

"Is the boy safe?" Talon asked walking carefully so as not to step on the broken glass. His footsteps were quiet as a ghost.

"Safe as I can make him for now. He's with the old man." John gripped his old friend's hand tightly. "Damn it's good to see you, Talon."

"And you brother," Talon said, warmly.

"Thank you for coming."

"There were four of them," Talon said, getting down to business. "All Makers. The first one you killed in the kitchen was just a grunt."

"Yeah, I know," John, said sadly. "He was a friend of mine."

Talon nodded thoughtfully. "A convenient target. Once they turned him, they knew all that he knew. The layout of the house, weak entry points, everything they'd need to come in."

"You know Talon, it was strange. I had the feeling that he was holding back. There were several times he could have killed me. Hell he probably could have snatched Jake off his bed and been feasting on him out in the yard and I never would have been the wiser 'till it was too late. But he didn't," John shook his head. "It just doesn't add up."

Talon thoughtfully rubbed at the large bone handle of the knife strapped to his belt. "Yes, very strange. Why did they wait so long to attack? Once they had his knowledge of the house, they could have come on their own. Instead, they waited. If the Makers had come first you and Jake would be dead right now. Why send in a single solitary grunt? And so much anger. So much hate," Talon knelt down and picked up a picture of Julia and Jake that had been ripped in half. "It all seems so very . . . personal."

"I don't know what's going on here." John shook his head. "But I've got to find Julia. I talked to Pam Williams. She's a doc now, over at Midland Memorial. She said Julia didn't make it to work last night. And she sure as hell didn't make it back here. So, the question remains. Where is she?"

"I'll find out," Talon said, silently walking out of the house. John looked over the room for a few more minutes, staring at the remnants of the life he had tried so hard to make. How many times had he curled up next to Julia in their bed and whispered in her ear how much he loved her? Now it lay ripped and broken hanging through the window. How many times had he rocked Jake to sleep as a baby in the rocking chair now in pieces against the wall? In one night, they had brought it all crashing down around him. He'd make them pay for this. Before it had all been a game. Who could score the most kills, collect the most fangs, or make the most money. Now it was personal. Now it was war. He would hunt them to the very last one if it killed him.

Saying goodbye to his old life, John walked back out of his house. He opened the door to his truck before he remembered the photo albums his wife had worked so painstakingly on over the last few months. It was her latest hobby.

John jogged back into the house and into their bedroom. Sure enough, in the bottom drawer of their broken dresser sat two photo albums. He leaned The Cleaner against the wall and pulled them both out. He let out a sigh of relief.  Finally a break! They hadn't been trashed along with everything else. He flipped the biggest one open. His relief turned to terror. The pictures had been colored over in crayon. Each and every picture with himself and Jake had been scribbled over with black crayon. Julia's pictures were circled and colored with bright red hearts. "My God." he said, dropping the album to the floor. He snatched the gun resting on the wall and ran through the house at a dead run. I've got to find Julia! Throwing caution to the wind, he burst out of the house and bowled right over two police officers. The three men crashed hard to the ground with John, still clutching The Cleaner, on top.

Chapter 5

Henry

Midland Police Department, Interrogation Room 2

July 31, 1994 4:22pm

Henry Anderson leaned back in his hard metal chair, trying to find just the right spot. His slightly overweight stomach hung a tad more over his belt than it had the month before. Better cut back on the damn candy bars. He thought to himself as he readjusted the black gun belt holding his Sig Sauer .357.

Henry hated uncomfortable silences. If there was one thing consistent about him it was that, he loved to talk. He'd spoken his first word at seven months old, nearly fifty-nine years before, and he hadn't shut up since. However, the man handcuffed to the table in front of him didn't feel much like talking. He kept staring at the black clock ticking loudly on the wall. Even though the air conditioner rattled above, beads of sweat clung to his forehead.

Henry pulled the tan Stetson off his head and set it gently on the table, then wiped his own sweaty brow with a red handkerchief. With his other hand, he slicked back what little gray hair he had left on his balding head. "Whew! Damned if it ain't hotter than the devil's asshole shitting jalapeno peppers!"

The man looked at him for the first time and cracked a smile. "Never heard it put quite like that."

"Yeah well . . . that's my . . . I guess you'd call that my specialty," Henry shoved the handkerchief back into his pants pocket then loosened the tie that was strangling his thick neck. "So . . . Mr. Bishop. Or do you prefer Mr. Griffin?"

"Call me John," he reached his hand out as far as the restraints would let him. "Guess your lab boys ran my prints already. At least they're efficient."

Henry, without hesitation reached out his own hand and shook John's. "Quite a grip you got there, John. Calloused, looks like you've had a couple of broken fingers . . . I take it you're an oilfield man? Warm hands too. You know what they say about that don't you?"

John started to reply but was quickly interrupted as Henry noticed something else. "Well, well would you look at that," he said eying the cuts and bruises on the big man's knuckles. "Who've you been fighting with, son?"

John jerked his hand away without answering. Henry gave him a warm smile. "John, my name is Lieutenant Henry Anderson. But you can call me Henry. Everyone does. Except my ex-wife of course, she doesn't call at all," he laughed heartily at his own bad joke.

"Lieutenant?" John asked, sitting back as much as his shackled hands would let him. "I take it you're not local MPD. Sheriff's department? Or DPS?"

"No, 'fraid not," Henry reached into his pocket and set his badge made from a silver cinco peso on the table. Any other time it would be proudly displayed on his left breast pocket, just over his heart. Henry liked to give his suspects a little surprise, as expected John's face grew more serious.

"Texas Ranger? Well, well . . . I guess they called in the big guns."

Henry chuckled. "I was just passing through when I got a call from an old friend of mine. Imagine my surprise when Chief Roberts told me that none other than John Bishop was locked up in his jail. So I thought I'd drop in and say hello."

"Begging your pardon Ranger, but as far as I know I've never done anything to be on yours or anyone else's radar. What's your interest in me?"

"I guess you're just an innocent good ole boy that got picked up for no reason at all. Is that it?" Henry smirked. "Then why the alias John? If you're such an upstanding citizen with nothing to fear, why the fake ID? The fake social security number? You sure went the full nine yards for someone living on the up and up."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," John said, looking back up at the clock. "You know . . . I've always been curious about you Rangers. Even did some reading about you. Now if I'm not mistaken, you boys are quite a hard little group to get in too. Not just anyone can join."

"Oh it's not that hard," Henry waved the remark away with his hand. "There's a couple hundred of us."

"A couple hundred Rangers watching the whole state of Texas?"

"It's not too bad. We mostly handle big cases. Things that demand a little more attention than the local PD or Sheriff departments can muster. You know, serial killers, things of that nature," he said, giving John a cold stare.

"That so?" John chuckled. "I doubt you'd understand but I can relate better than you'd believe."

You twisted son of a bitch. Don't you dare compare yourself to me! "Really? Why don't you tell me about it?"

John tapped his fingers on the table nervously then looked up at the clock again. "I have a better idea. How about you tell me what this is all about? I mean, like I said, a Texas Ranger seems a little much for such a small misunderstanding."

Misunderstanding? I've been hunting you for a long time boy and now I've got you! "We'll get to that. But I'd like to get to know you first. So tell me, John, with the big slump in the oilfield you must be having a hard time finding work, so what do you do for a living these days?"

"Oh you know, this and that . . . say Ranger, you think you could have these cuffs loosened up a bit? Those boys I bumped into slapped them on a little tight."

Henry laughed inwardly. "Bumped into? You mean those two officers you assaulted coming out of your house armed to the teeth with . . ." Henry held up a piece of paper with John's weapons listed for effect. He knew perfectly well, what he had been armed with. "One Winchester Model 1901 ten gauge shotgun, one .357 magnum . . . in your vehicle they found . . . one twelve gauge pump, one machete, three hundred rounds of ammunition. Do I need to go on? No Mr. Bishop, I think I'll keep those cuffs nice and tight for the time being."

"I didn't assault anyone!" John slammed both handcuffed fists hard enough to shake the table. "I came out of my house with my own legally owned, constitutionally protected, firearms and these two assholes . . ." He motioned to the two-way mirror on the other side of the room. "Got in my way. It was an accident!"

Henry turned in his seat, staring at the mirror. "Sure, sure, I believe you, John. I really do. And in the state of Texas, it's perfectly fine to carry your own firearms on your own property. But we both know those guns aren't registered to you."

John snorted, "Yeah well . . . I'm sure I'm not the only Texan with guns passed down to him. That ten gauge belonged to my great grandfather; his name is engraved on the stock. And the .357 was a gift from my father."

"Uh huh . . . your father you say? Well we'll get to that in a minute. Now . . . a 1901 . . . that's a damn rare gun wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah I guess," John bent down and scratched at his beard with his left hand. "Look Ranger, this is ridiculous. I've already told you that I didn't do anything wrong. I'm the victim in this. Someone broke into my house and completely destroyed the place! Poured some weird thick, black shit all over my kitchen floor."

"Is that the same person that cut up your arm? The ER Doc that patched you up said they looked like animal claw marks, and I don't see any mountain lions running loose on the streets of Midland."

"I don't know who they were," John wiped the sweat from his forehead on the sleeve of his flannel shirt.

"Tell me, John, where's your wife? Where's your son? What happened to them?"

John stared daggers through him. "What do you know about my wife?"

"Your wife? What about your son?"

"My son is fine," he said, gritting his teeth. "Now answer my question."

Henry sat there quietly, listening to the clock tick. Very slowly, he opened the file in front of him and held out three pictures for John to see. "We found her car off I-20, twelve maybe thirteen miles east of town. Passenger side door was completely ripped off its hinges."

"Was there blood in the car?" John asked, frantically staring at the pictures.

"Tell you what, John," Henry pulled the pictures away. "You answer all of my questions. Truthfully. And I'll do whatever I can to help you. Tit for Tat. What do you say?"

"Damn it, Ranger, you're wasting my time!" John again slammed his fists repeatedly into the table. "She's running out of time!"

The door opened and the two cops John had 'assaulted' stepped through. "Everything alright, Lieutenant?" The taller of the two asked.

"Everything's fine." Henry said, not even glancing in their direction. "Thank you, officers."

They nodded then hesitantly stepped back through the door. "Listen, son, you're in a whole mess of trouble. So just tell me what I want to know and I'll help you as much as I can."

"I'm not saying another damn word until I see a lawyer," John leaned back, trying to remain calm. "I know my rights; you can't hold me here without letting me consult an attorney."

"Well, the local boys busted a big drug ring this morning. So, the public defender's office is going to be busy for quite a while. That should give us at least a couple of hours to chat. Unless you can afford some high priced attorney, and from the look of that shack, you were living in I'm betting that's a no. Am I right?

John stared at him unmoving, his eyes hard and cold. "So back to my first question, why do you have an alias?"

John leaned his head back and rolled his eyes, "Like I said, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me," Henry laid the handcuff key on the table between them. "Believe me son, I have heard it all. So tell me what I want to hear and I'll loosen up those cuffs."

The two sat their quietly for five more minutes, John continued to sweat profusely staring up at the clock. "You want to hear a story?" Henry asked, suddenly changing the subject. John sat there silently. "You ever heard of Lee Harvey Oswald, John F. Kennedy?"

Again, John wiped the sweat from his brow on his sleeve, "Of course I've heard of JFK. Who hasn't? I was only three years old the year he was shot."

"Well I figured as much. A man of your education probably doesn't want to hear a story from a man that was actually there," Henry grew silent again, knowing full well John wanted to know.

"You were there the day JFK was shot?"

"Not exactly. But I was there when they caught Oswald."

"No shit?" John asked his interest clearly peaked.

"I'll tell you what, John. How's about while we sit here waiting on the Public Defender to make his way through the twenty or so gang bangers they busted this morning, I tell you my little tale."

John rolled his head around cracking his neck. "Do I have a choice?"

Henry chuckled, "You've always got a choice, John. I'm ready to listen anytime you're ready to start talking."

"Alright, as long as I'm stuck here . . . tell me the story about the brave Texas Ranger that single handedly brought down the man that killed JFK."

"Now I never said all that," Henry chuckled. "Besides, if I'm going to tell this story I might as well start at the beginning."

"Might as well," John, agreed sarcastically. "I wouldn't want to miss out on the miracle of your birth."

"Well, I don't think we need to go that far back." Henry chuckled again. "Did you ever have a dream, John? Something you knew you was destined for?"

John nodded. "Sure, who doesn't?"

"Well sir, for as long as I can remember my dream was to be a cop. You see, three months before I was born, my daddy was killed by a drifter. So, I never got to know him. But throughout my entire childhood I listened to my older brothers tell stories about what a great man he was. I guess it just always bothered me that they never caught the guy that did it. So, I suppose that was my main influence in wanting to become a cop. The other was Dick Tracy." Henry said, with a laugh. "Did you ever listen to or watch Dick Tracy?"

"A time or two," John answered. "I saw the movie with Madonna a couple of years back. Never was that big in to it to tell you the truth."

"Well we didn't have televisions like kids today have, but we did have a radio. And every weeknight my brothers and I would gather round it and listen to the adventures of Dick Tracy. My older brothers favored the villains of course. They were much more interested in Big Boy and Flat Top than they were Tracy. I on the other hand was a Tracy fan through and through. I wanted to catch bad guys and solve crimes more than anything else. I figured that if Dick Tracy had been in town the day my daddy was killed he wouldn't have been killed at all. Ah the innocence of youth.

"Well when the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor my brothers all joined up. I was far too young, barely six when the war started, so it was just Ma and me for a while. One by one men in uniform delivered letters saying my brothers had been killed in action. Jimmy was killed at Normandy, Sam at Iwo Jima, and Troy, well Troy was killed in some freak accident on the way home of all things! He made it through the whole damn war and was killed by some yahoo dropping a jeep on him on a transport ship. Terrible luck I guess.

"In '52 Ma got sick and died, leaving me to fend for myself. I was only seventeen at the time, but I decided right then and there I was going to do whatever it took to become a Detective. To stop crimes before they were committed. And that's just what I did."

"Just like that?"

"Well of course it wasn't easy. But I took the test and in '57 got my first job working for Dallas PD as a Patrolman. Man I tell you, things were sure different in those days. People were respectful; neighbors actually spoke to one another. Just all around better times. That all seemed to change one November day in 1963. For me especially."

"The day Kennedy was shot?" John said, leaning forward.

Henry took a few seconds to answer, trying to put it into just the right words, "Well . . . yes and no. While the President being murdered was horrific and tragic, it wasn't the thing that changed me. You see another murder happened that day, one that's often overlooked in the whole Kennedy conspiracy plot. J.D. Tippit. You see John, Tippit, like me, was a Patrolman. He was brutally murdered by Lee Harvey Oswald not long after Kennedy was shot."

"Yeah I remember seeing that in that JFK movie by Oliver Stone," John nodded. "Some people said it wasn't Oswald at all. It was some impostor dressed to look like him."

Henry held up his hands, "Now I'm not going to get into if Oswald killed Kennedy or not, but I know for a fact he killed Tippit. You see I was first on the scene that day. I didn't know Tippit; I had never even met the man before. But when I pulled up on that scene and saw his bullet riddled body lying there on that street. Well, John, I'll think about that scene every day until the day, I die. It just rattled me like I'd never been rattled before. I can tell you personally that I interviewed those witnesses and all of them gave us Oswald's description. I have no doubt he murdered that man in cold blood."

Henry grew quiet for a few seconds before continuing. "Well, a couple of hours later we caught him in the Texas Theater. He put up a little bit of a fight and got roughed up a bit by a couple of the boys, but with a little effort, we got him under control. Two days later Jack Ruby put a snub nosed .38 in his stomach and pulled the trigger, ending his life and leaving unanswered questions that people would debate for decades to come."

John snorted. "Man that's no joke. Shame one of you guys didn't pop Ruby before he got to him."

"Well anyway, I made Detective in '64. Most the cases they tossed my direction were cold cases. Cases other detectives had long since given up on. At first, the other men in the department gave me a hard time. Started calling me Cold Case Anderson. But I shut them up pretty quick by cracking cases that had been unsolved for years. I'd meet with victim's families, old friends, ex co-workers, neighbors, anything to crack the case. In '67, my career took a drastic turn. I'd gotten a job with the DPS and was loaned out to a small West Texas town to help solve a multiple homicide. The Riker family."

"The Riker family?" John asked, his body going stiff.

"Thought that might get your attention. You see, John, I know you better than you think I do. I interviewed your wife when she was only five or six years old. She'd seen her entire family murdered by some preacher in a frock coat. She said he'd also kidnapped her seventeen year old brother, Michael."

John coughed uncomfortably then fidgeted in his seat.

"Yep, the only survivors were poor little Julia and her old man, Richard Riker," Henry spat the name out as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. "Now that man was a miserable human being, cold, arrogant, a real piece of work. For the longest time I thought he was the killer."

"I don't think I'd ever classify Riker as a human being," John added. "More like a slimy little snake. You think it was bad having to talk to him? Try having him for a father in law."

"I can imagine," Henry nodded. "But his alibi checked out. Turns out, he was just a piece of trash that had been out all night drinking with his buddies. The son of a bitch made millions in the oilfield a few years after his family was killed. Over the years, he turned it into billions! Crazy world ain't it? But I don't need to tell you that. Anyway, I met a strange character while I was investigating. A man by the name of Cort Bishop."

John sat there quietly looking up at the ceiling, "Seems like Cort had an interest in the same case. However, I never could determine why. So anyway, the Riker's case remained unsolved. But it put me onto a couple of other strange cases. An elderly couple several miles away were murdered, their heads were cut clean off. The house was burned to the ground. Even stranger, a local cop sent to investigate the fire disappeared without a trace," Henry snapped his fingers. "Just like that, without a trace. No squad car, no body. He was just . . . gone. To this day, I haven't a clue as to what happened to him.

"So anyway, over the next few years I started connecting the dots on dozens of other cases of disappearance with the same MO's as the Riker boy. Strange cases, where people that disappeared out of their houses without a wallet, money, or ID. No one just walks out of the house leaving their car in the garage and their wallet or purse on their nightstand.

"Always in the same area I'd find arson cases with beheaded bodies burnt all the way down to bones. Sometimes, we'd find the heads burnt to a crisp, a few feet away from the house with teeth missing. Sometimes we wouldn't find them at all. Trophies would be my guess. But there were never enough bodies to match the number of disappearances. I knew in my gut they were connected.

"Another thing that struck me odd was that when I really started digging, the same names kept coming up. Names like Bishop, Turner, Williams Anderson, and Casino. You wouldn't know anything about that would you, Mr. Bishop?"

John looked down at his hands cuffed tightly to the table. Henry stared at him watching his every move. "So I dug deeper and deeper, connecting cases going back decades. I'd spend hours digging through file after tattered file of cases going back all the way to the 1920's. As crazy as it sounds some kind of weird mass conspiracy appeared.

"My superiors thought I was obsessed. I was even reprimanded and forced to take time off. But I knew I wasn't crazy."

"You sure about that?" John asked looking him in the eye for the first time since he had mentioned the name Riker.

Henry ignored him. "My theory was this: a very old serial killer or group, or possibly even a family of killers were operating in the Southern U.S. and was damn good at taking people, torturing them for several days and then beheading them. Last but not least, they torched the scene of the crime to cover the evidence. I just knew there was something to this. In the Dallas/Fort Worth area alone I'd found at least ten separate cases over a thirty year period."

Henry stopped and watched his suspect for any signs of nervousness. John showed absolutely no emotion. The sweat hung heavy from his brow, but it didn't seem to be a nervous sweat. Something's wrong here. It's hot but not that hot . . . "Still with me John? Do you need anything? A drink of water?"

"No. I'm fine." John shrugged.

I bet you are you sick son of a bitch, your sweating bullets. "Well one day I had a strange visit from an agency man. I never knew which agency he came from, but I could tell that by the way my superiors catered to him that he was Government. FBI, CIA, NSA, the initials didn't really matter, the message was clear. The Agent man, with my commanding officer at his side, told me point blank to stop looking, stop digging, some things weren't meant to be solved. Stop or lose your job.

"By this time I was married with two kids and had little choice. So I stopped. Three years after that I applied to one of the most respected law enforcement agencies in the world, the Texas Rangers. To my surprise, I was accepted in almost record time. I had the sinking feeling my application had been pushed through on purpose. That someone was rewarding me for keeping my theories to myself."

"You sure you're not a tad bit crazy?" John asked. "Now there's a big government conspiracy to get your career on track?"

"That's funny," Henry chuckled. "You're a funny guy. Well believe it or not, the exact opposite turned out to be true. Two days before I was to take up my position, I met with my new commanding officer, Captain James Barnes at his ranch outside of Alpine. Barnes told me straight to my face that he'd been pressured to take me on and wanted to know why. I knew an honest man when I saw one so I took a chance and told him my theory."

"And you still got the job?" John said, feigning amazement.

"Barnes leaned back in his big leather chair listening very closely to my every word. At the end of my speech, he leaned forward and said three words I never expected to hear, I believe you. Boy, I nearly fell out of my chair!"

"That would have been my reaction as well." John snickered.

"'Henry,' he said, 'I've read your reports and your case files. Seems to me,' Barnes said, never taking his eyes off mine, 'that someone very high up doesn't like where you're digging. This says to me that we should dig just a little bit deeper.' I sat their speechless."

"Speechless? You? Man I bet that was a first."

"I honestly didn't know what to say. For years I'd been told I was crazy, obsessed. Now here sat this man telling me he believed me. Before I could say a word Barnes continued, he told me that there was less than two hundred Ranger positions in the whole state and that they currently only had two openings and a lot of good men had applied for them. But he was going out on a limb and hiring me! Can you believe it?"

"I can honestly say that I can't."

"Within weeks, using the resources of departments around the state, I found at least forty different cold cases that had the same characteristics. By then I knew I was on to something very big. So, in my off time I kept digging. I followed the trail. And do you know where that trail led me?"

"No idea," John said, with a straight face.

For the first time Henry's eyes grew angry. "It's been a long road, John, and it's cost me almost everything I've got. My wife is gone, married to another man. My kids are grown and won't have anything to do with me. My social life . . . what social life? Other than cops I don't have any friends to speak of."

"Come on Anderson. You're breaking my heart." John rolled his eyes.

"You want to know why I'm here? I'll tell you," Henry leaned forward until he was mere inches from John's face. "It took me years of digging. Searching through reports and evidence. I've scoured charred crime scenes digging for shotgun shells that match the very gun you were found with earlier this morning. You and your old man and Williams were always one-step ahead of me. But I've got you now, Bishop."

John spat on the floor. "What exactly is it you think you have? Because from where I'm sitting your just a crazy old coot. You've become so obsessed with this . . . fairytale you've made up; you've lost all sense of reality."

"You're not the first to tell me that. I've had to sit and listen to that kind of shit for years! But now I've got you! I've got sixteen missing persons in the past two nights. Sixteen! That's a lot for a town the size of Midland. I've got you armed to the teeth making a getaway with a 10-gauge model 1901 Winchester. Can you guess what the shell casings were from about a quarter of those murders I've been digging through for the past twenty years? That's right John, 10gauge. I've got two teeth I found in the ashtray of your Ford. I've got your hands and arms bruised and bleeding. I've got you right where I want you. So, tell me what really happened, John? Did Julia find out the truth about her family? That your old man and a couple of his buddies killed them? That you've been out of the business for a while but suddenly got the urge again? What happened, John? Where's your son? Did you kill him too?"

John stared at him, his eyes cold as ice. "Here's another question for you, what happened to Marty White? Last time anyone heard from him he was headed to your house. Why'd we find his wallet in the bushes outside your missing son's bedroom?" Henry looked down at his watch then crossed his arms behind his head. "Better start talking son."

To his complete surprise John actually laughed. "I told you you're not going to believe me."

Henry held out his hands. "Try me."

"Vampire," John answered his eyes cold and hard.

"Vampires?" Henry said, rolling his eyes. "What do you mean vampires?"

"I told you, you wouldn't believe me."

"Well, son, I gave you a chance," Henry rose to his feet picking his hat off the table.

"I'm telling you the truth!" John said, his voice almost pleading. "Please Ranger. You've got to help me!"

This time it was Henry that lost his cool. He slammed his fists hard on the table. "I know what you are, Bishop! You're a killer! A cold blooded, vicious, killer! I've been chasing you and your sick, demented family for most of my career! I know everything about you!"

John looked at the Ranger for a few seconds, recognition settling into his eyes. "I do remember you! I was only about twelve but by God, I remember you! You're that crazy cop that arrested my old man, way back in . . ." "That's right boy! Nineteen seventy-one and again in '76 and again in '79! I never could make anything stick on that slippery old snake, but now I've got you right where I want you! You're going to tell me where your father is hiding. You're going to give me everything on Billy Williams and the rest of your band of killers! If not, I'm going to make sure you never see the light of day again! I'm talking the electric chair! You'll fry boy, and I'll be there to flip the switch!"

John rose to his feet in a flash, snapping the bolt holding his cuffs to the table. Before Henry could even reach for his pistol, he was being held against the door, his own gun pressed firmly against his forehead. "You don't know anything!" John yelled spit streaming from his lips. "If you knew how many lives I've saved! How many demons I've sent to hell, you Rangers would get down on your knees and thank me! You have no idea what you're talking about!"

The cops on the other side of the door began banging frantically trying to push it open. However, the combined weight of both men against it was too much. "Okay . . . okay . . . John . . . just put the gun . . ." Henry started to say.

"Just shut up! You think this is what I wanted? She's all I've got, Ranger! And you are wasting what little time I've got left with your bullshit theories!"

A new voice Henry didn't recognize called through the door. "John Bishop!"

John stopped talking and listened intently. "Yeah?"

"John, this is Special Agent Morris with the FBI. John, put the gun down. I promise we're going to do everything we can to find your wife. But you have to put the gun down."

Henry's eyes remained focused on the barrel of his Sig Sauer. John's burning hot breath ran across his face. Please God. Not like this. He prayed. Not with my own, damn gun!

John seemed to be responding to the FBI agent's words. He didn't lower the gun but he did step slowly away from him. Henry let out a gasp of relief as the barrel pulled away from his forehead.

"That's good, John," The voice on the other side of the mirror said, "Now put the gun down and lay down on the floor. You have my word no one will harm you."

John did as he was told, setting it on the table, then laid down flat on the floor before lifting his handcuffed hands behind his head. Henry rolled to the side and the door opened, allowing the two cops in. Both had their 9mm Berettas drawn and pointed at John. Behind them was a short, gangly looking man in a dark suit with jet-black hair slicked back with oil. A thin pair of wire frame glasses covered his hazel eyes.

Henry picked his gun off the table and pointed it at John's head. "You make one move, boy, if you so much as pass wind, I'm going to scatter your brains all over this room." John must have believed him, because he didn't move a muscle.

"Lieutenant Anderson? Sir, are you alright?" The Fed asked.

"Yeah," Henry said, clearing his throat. "I'm just fine. Just caught me by surprise is all."

"He's a swift one alright," The Fed said, his eyes filled with concern. "We've been trying to get a hold of Mr. Bishop for a long time now. He's wanted for questioning in several different murder cases."

The two cops yanked John to his feet roughly and pulled him out the door to the cells beyond. "Well you federal boys are going to have to wait. He's wanted here in Texas first. I've got jurisdiction until I hear otherwise."

"I have his transfer papers right here," Agent Morris reached into his pocket pulling out a stuffed envelope. "From the Deputy Director himself."

Henry scanned over the paperwork then shook his head. "I don't like this. No sir, I don't like this one bit. How is it every time I get a break with one of these cases you damn Feds show up! First with Williams now Bishop!"

"I'm sorry, sir, but this prisoner is mine. I'm to take him back to Houston where he'll be questioned. I am not at liberty to discuss the details, sir."

"What about him getting a phone call and a lawyer and all that?" Henry asked. Stinking Feds! Something smells fishy here.

"It's all been taken care of," Agent Morris said, with a warm smile. "Now if you'll excuse me, sir, I need to get this man processed and on the way out of town. Don't need my boss riding my ass too hard today. Oh! Speaking of which, I talked to your Captain, he said you're to report back to Dallas ASAP, something about another homicide meeting your usual M.O."

"Great . . ." Henry muttered under his breath. "I'm not turning him over. I'll hold him here until I confirm this."

"I'm sorry to step on your toes like this Lt. Anderson. I really am. But orders are orders," The Fed said, extending his hand.

Henry shook his head in defeat and walked away leaving the man's hand hanging in mid air. "This isn't the end of this! And you better add assaulting an officer to his charges!"

"You have a good day, sir." Agent Morris called after him. "Thanks for your cooperation."

"Cooperate with this!" Henry said flipping him the finger then walked out into the mid afternoon sunlight. Henry climbed back into his sedan and beat his hands on the steering wheel. I was this close! This damn close! "The hell with this!" He said, starting the car and pulling around to the small parking lot across the street. He watched the police station until Agent Morris brought Bishop out, the evidence bags containing his weapons firmly in his grasp. "Let's just see where you take him Mr. Morris."

Chapter 6

John/Henry

Outside Midland Police Department

July 31, 1994 7:48pm

"It's about damn time!" John said, as 'Agent' Ben Morris led him out of the police station still in handcuffs. "That damn Ranger has been grilling me for hours!"

"Yeah, it's nice to see you too, John," Ben opened the backdoor to his blue sedan letting him in. "By the way, nice job nearly getting yourself shot in there. What the hell were you thinking?"

John climbed into the backseat still in handcuffs. "It's just been one hellacious day and I haven't slept in nearly thirty six hours. Besides, he needed to be knocked down a peg or two."

Ben scrunched his brow looking John over. His skin was pale and covered in sweat. Ben stretched out his hand touching John's forehead. John angrily jerked away. "Damn it John, you're burning up with fever," Ben pulled his hand away. "Son of a bitch . . . You got scratched didn't you?"

"I'm fine," John, scratched his wounded arm against the back of the seat. "They took me to the ER before booking me. Pam slipped me some powerful antibiotics. I'll be fine in a day or two."

Angrily Ben slammed the door behind him then climbed into the driver's seat tossing the evidence bags with John's weapons and belongings onto the passenger seat. "You know better than to hunt when you're injured, John. You need to get some rest." Starting the engine, he shoved the car in gear and pulled away from the police station parking lot, his eyes glancing at the image of his friend in the rear view mirror.

"Look Ben I don't need this shit. I have enough on my plate without you telling me how to be a hunter. If that's all you came here for, you can just drop me off at the next corner."

Ben let out a deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened to you. It's just . . . it's been a long time John. You know, Terry's death wasn't easy on any of us, and you just skipping town didn't make things any better."

"Pull the car over," John said, angrily. "Get these damn cuffs off!" he said, kicking the seat.

"You can't do this alone, John! You know that!"

"Screw you, Morris! I haven't seen you in seven years and the first thing you do is bring up Terry? Screw you, man! I was there remember? I had the man's blood all over me! Besides, who the hell are you to lecture me? I carried your sorry ass for years! Who pulled that grunt off your back in '81? The Maker outside Denver in '82? Me that's who! If it weren't for me, you wouldn't be sitting here today. You'd be some vampire's little bitch boy! So don't you dare lecture me!"

"Screw me? Screw me! Screw you Bishop! You left us!" Ben said, pulling the car to the side of the road and turning in his seat. "It was bad enough losing, Terry! But for you to just throw it all away because you were just too damn scared! We were your family, John! Seven years and not one phone call, a letter, nothing! You just picked up your wife and your kid and left!"

"Don't you think I've paid the price?!" John yelled back at him. "My wife is probably dead right now! I barely got my son out before they killed him!"

Ben took a deep calming breath, gripping the steering wheel tight in a white-knuckle grip. "Look . . . I'm sorry John. I didn't mean to start in on you like that. For what it's worth, whatever you need I'm here for you. You're still my friend John. Hell, you're like my brother."

"Thanks," John said, quietly. "Look, I'm sorry I left the way I did. But I had to get my family to safety. I had to get them away from that world. Terry was the last straw. I couldn't watch what happened to him happen to Jake or Julia."

"I understand why you did it; I just don't understand how you did it. How could you just cut us out of your life like that?"

"Benny . . ."John sighed, lowering his head. "You know me. If I was anywhere around you, or Billy, or Talon, or even Pop, it would just be a matter of time before I was sucked back in. God, Ben, you have no idea how many times I've thought about coming back. But Jake deserved a shot at a normal life. A life away from all this . . . this . . . soul sucking shit! But I made a mistake. I got too comfortable, too relaxed. This never would have happened to me five years ago, hell this never would have happened three years ago! But somewhere along the line, I just thought . . . I thought I was finally safe."

Ben nodded. "But there is no safe." he quoted the elder Bishop, Cort. "John, I'll tell you what, let's focus on what we've got in front of us and then you and I can settle up later. Deal?"

"I'd like that." John nodded thoughtfully. "For what's it's worth, it's damn good to see you again."

"Same here." Ben pulled back onto the street. "I just wish it was under different circumstances."

The two rode in silence for the next five minutes before John broke it with a laugh in the backseat. "How the hell did you become a fed anyway?"

Ben chuckled. "I'm not. Just a little favor from The Judge."

"What judge is going to help us out? Someone Billy knows?"

Ben shook his head. "Buddy, you've been out of the game a long, long time. I'm talking about Colonel Frank Judge. He's our government contact now. A few years back they started doing a lot more than offering bounties on fangs. Believe it or not they actually put a team on the ground. Bunch of Special Forces guys, Marines, Navy Seals, Army Rangers, even a few guys from Delta. The whole nine yards. They picked Judge to run it. The guy really knows his shit."

John shook his head. "Things really have changed. You'll have to fill me in on all that I've missed."

"Will do. By the way, how is Jake doing? I mean, how's he coping with all this? It's got to be a shock to his system."

"Yeah that's an understatement." John sighed. "I honestly don't know. To tell you the truth I've tried not to think about it too much. Once I get Julia back, I'll deal with Jake. For now he's with Pop."

"That's good." Ben nodded. "Cort will take good care of him."

"How's Cat and . . . damn I'm sorry Ben I can't remember your son's name."

"That's okay; you've got a lot on your mind. It's Chris. They're doing pretty good. Cat is beautiful as ever and Chris . . . Chris is like his old man. Nerdy, small, the poor kid even got stuck with glasses."

"Ah hell, Ben. That's the worst news I've heard all day!" John said, sarcastically. "Might as well do the kid a favor and smother him in his sleep."

"Smart ass." Ben said, under his breath. "I can't help it John. You know how hard it was for me when we were growing up. You, Terry, and Wes were athletic and strong. I never stood a chance against you guys. You all breezed through Cort and Billy's training. I barely survived!"

"I wouldn't say we breezed through it. As I remember it, I spent more than a few occasions getting my ass chewed out. But you survived. Your skills may lie in other areas but your one hell of a hunter. Until you came along contact with the authorities was spotty at best. Chris will be okay. He has Cat as a mom after all. She'll make sure he turns out alright"

"Thanks John." Ben chuckled. "That means a lot."

Twenty minutes later Ben's car came to a stop near a cotton field off Interstate twenty. Julia's car was gone. Talon's truck was parked on the side of the road, a jack under it with one of the tires off.

"That's the spot." Ben said, pulling the sedan to a stop.

"Good. Now maybe you can get these damn cuffs off of me." John answered.

"Yeah it should be safe now."

Ben climbed out of the car and opened John's door then unlocked the handcuffs. Big red circles encompassed his wrists where they'd cut into his flesh.

"Man, that's much better." John said, rubbing at his wrists. "So this is the spot?"

"This is it. Talon got to it about fifteen minutes before the cops found it."

Talon Parker came walking seemingly out of nowhere. As if he had just appeared in the middle of the large cotton field.

"Hello, John." He said when he was within arm's reach. "Glad you finally got yourself out of jail. I'm sorry I couldn't help you earlier. I saw them coming but by then it was too late. I figured it wouldn't do any of us much good to get myself locked up as well."

John waved it away, "You did the right thing. I'm just glad you got here before the cops did. Talon, did she make it out alive?"

"Her tracks lead away from the car into the field. She was followed by two other sets. They caught up with her about twenty yards out."

"Damn . . ." John knelt down and looked at the tracks. He couldn't make out anything but a bunch of tossed around dirt. "You're sure it was her?"

"I'm sure." Talon said, sticking a piece of grass between his teeth.

"Alright." John stood up and tossed a rock into the field. "Where did they take her?"

"John I know you probably won't want to hear this." Ben spoke up before Talon could answer. "But there were at least eight missing persons last night in the Midland/Odessa area."

"Yeah. And?" John crossed his arms. "What's your point?"

"One meal for each Maker? That's a lot of Makers John. And in case you haven't noticed, there are only three of us. Not to mention the sun will be down in just a couple of hours."

"What about Holloway?" John asked looking from Talon to Ben.

"His team is taking out a nest near Oklahoma City." Ben answered. "They won't be back this way for several days."

"Turner is in the area." Talon kicked a rock with his foot.

"Oh no. No, no, no." Ben held up his hands, shaking his head. "I'm not working with that lunatic."

John gave him a questioning look. "What's wrong with Wes? We used to work with him in the old days."

"He's changed John. There are a lot of rumors going around about him." Ben answered. "Really twisted things. Killing civilians, torturing vamps, things like that."

"But nothing has been confirmed." Talon said, "Like Ben said, they are only rumors."

"Ben, make the call. We can't take that many Makers on our own." John laid his hand on Ben's shoulder. "Please Benny; she doesn't have much time left."

"Damn it Bishop, you owe me for this. Okay," He nodded. "Let's get to a pay phone and I'll make the call to Billy. See how many other Hunters we can get into the area. Tomorrow, though, I'm not doing anything until you get rested up."

"Don't worry, John." Talon patted him on the shoulder. "I'll find them tonight. Tomorrow morning we'll have us a nice vampire barbecue."

"Good. Until then, we need to gear up." John said, "I had two Grunt teeth we could cash in for the funds. Did they leave that in the evidence bag?"

"Yeah, I think so." Ben pulled the evidence bag out of the car and dug through it. "I know just the place." He said, holding the two teeth in the palm of his hand.

*****

Henry Anderson watched through a pair of binoculars as the so-called 'Fed' un-cuffed his prisoner and let him out of the car. A few seconds later, a large Native American man joined them.

"Son of a bitch." Henry muttered to himself. "Federal agent my ass." He watched them converse for twenty minutes before nods and pats on the backs started. Then Bishop and Morris loaded up in the Sedan. The Native American popped a tire back on his truck and within five minutes, they were on the road headed back to Midland.

The Native American exited off the interstate right before getting back into town, so Henry decided to stick to the Sedan. Staying far enough behind not to be noticed but close enough to keep an eye on them, Henry followed them to a small dusty looking pawn shop on the east side of town.

Back on the hunt, are we? Henry thought to himself as he waited for a cup of coffee at the shop across the street. And who are you Mr. Morris? Who are you really?

Coffee in hand, Henry stepped outside. Making sure to stay well out of sight, he walked to a pay phone on the corner. Setting his coffee on top of the phone booth, he picked up the phone and put a quarter in. After a few rings their came an answer on the other end. "Hey Susie. It's Henry."

"Hey sugar!" She said, in her deep Texas accent. "You know Captain Holt is looking for you? You were supposed to check in earlier this afternoon."

"Yeah Susie I know. Listen, I'm on a lead here but I need you to do me a favor. I need you to run a name for me."

"You got it baby. What's the name?"

"Ben Morris, possibly Benjamin. See if there's any record of him working for the FBI."

"Benjamin Morris . . ." she said, slowly as she scribbled it down. "F . . . B . . . I . . . Alright hon I've got it. Where can I send it?"

"I'll call you here in a few hours Susie. Not sure where I'll be."

"What do you want me to tell Captain Holt?"

Tell him to kiss my ass! I'm doing real police work for a change. Henry wanted to yell into the phone. He took a deep breath then let it out slowly. "Tell him I'm on a lead and I'll call him first thing in the morning."

"Henry, you know he's not going to like that. This isn't Captain Barnes we're talking about."

"Yeah I know." Henry sipped from his coffee. He's not half the man that Barnes was. "Good ole Barnes. God rest his soul." He glanced across the street to see Morris and Bishop loading two duffels and four rifle cases in the back seat of the sedan. "Listen Susie I've got to go. I'll call you tonight."

"You stay safe out there Henry Anderson." Susie said, before hanging up.

I'll try Susie girl. But I've got a feeling the shit is about to hit the fan and for some crazy reason I'm jumping right into its flight pattern. Henry grabbed up his cup of coffee and rushed back to his car.

*****

"Ten grand a piece!" John said, shaking his head. "By God Ben, when I quit it was only three thousand for grunt teeth! What the hell happened?"

"A new administration is what happened - one that wants some dead vampires." Ben pulled their sedan away from the pawnshop where they'd met one of his government contacts.

"Man things have changed." John looked in the backseat at the heavy artillery they had just purchased. "Shame the guy didn't have any hollow points."

"Yeah well, we'll have to make do with what we got." Ben said, adjusting his rearview mirror. "It's almost sundown. We need to get holed up someplace for the night. They might still be looking for you."

"At this point I could care less if they are. Let them come."

"So now you've got a death wish?" Ben looked over at his friend. "You think that's what Julia would have wanted?"

"No Ben, Julia just wanted the air conditioner to get fixed. She wanted to stop worrying about if the electricity was going to be shut off because I didn't pay the bill on time. She didn't want any of this to happen. But it did. Now, one way or another, I'm going to deal with it. She's still alive Ben, so don't talk about her in the past tense."

"John, I'd like to believe she is but . . ."

"Don't but me Ben. She's alive." John said, in a tone letting him know the conversation was over.

"Regardless John . . ." Ben said, slowly. "We need to get someplace safe for the night. You need to get rested up. We can't do her any good if we get ourselves killed."

"I can't just go get some sleep knowing she's still out there somewhere! Scared, hurt, alone! Praying that I find her!"

"John, you need to calm down and get some rest. What's the first thing Cort taught us? Use your head. How many times did he tell us that if you rush in without thinking you will just get yourself killed? Let's go get some rest and I'll call Billy and get a hold of Wes. Anyway, we can't do anything until we've gotten word from Talon just where we're going."

John sat there silently.

"John?"

"Alright damn it!" He said, angrily. "You're right, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

Ben's beeper started beeping at him. Pulling it off his belt, he looked at the number. "It's Talon. I need to get to a phone."

Ben pulled the car into the nearest 7/Eleven and used the pay phone to call Talon. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since he last ate, so John took the opportunity to run into the store and grab a bite. He came out munching on a hot dog covered in chili and mustard with a cold bottle of Dr. Pepper.

"Whatcha find out?" he asked through a mouthful of food.

"You're not going to believe this." Ben said, with a frown.

"What?" John asked impatiently.

"They are set up in the old Carver Estate right outside of town."

"He's sure?" John said, before shoving the rest of the hot dog into his mouth chasing it with a long swig of soda. Ben looked at him as if he had just asked the stupidest question ever. "Right. Talon." John said, wiping his hands on his jeans. Pulling a bottle of aspirin from the plastic bag in his hand, he ripped off the cap and downed three pills then took another long swig of soda. "Okay, let's crash at the Sandy Inn; it's about two miles from there. We'll hit them first thing in the morning."

"Sounds like a plan." Ben said, climbing back into the car.

*****

Henry yawned deeply as he sat outside the Sandy Inn. Morris and Bishop had checked in a couple of hours before. The sun had set an hour after that. He had called Susie from the phone in the lobby. Strangely, Benjamin Morris' file was marked locked, top-secret clearance only. This was getting stranger by the minute. He did his best to keep his eyes open but he was fading fast.

A loud crash awoke him from his slumber a little after midnight. Henry opened his eyes and the first thing he noticed was that his driver's side door was missing.

"What the hell!" He started to yell as an arm reached through the hole where his door had been and yanked him out like a rag doll, causing him to bump his head on the doorframe. Groggily he reached with his right hand for the pistol on his hip. It was missing; he cursed himself inwardly for taking it off and setting it on the passenger seat before he had fallen asleep.

An ice-cold hand wrapped over his mouth. Henry pulled at it frantically but could not make it budge. Darkness began forming around the edges of his vision until finally he passed out.

*****

The alarm sounded at six am but John was already on his feet. He still felt horrible but the fever had broken sometime in the night. He was just glad it was a grunt that scratched him, if it had been a Maker he would be laid up for days. Though their claws wouldn't turn a human like their fangs, they were still very poisonous to humans.

The Cleaner was cleaned and loaded, his new Kevlar vest hung loosely open over his chest. It had been seven years since his last hunt. Seven years since he had watched one of his best friends get decapitated before his eyes. Seven long years. That was a long break for even the best hunters.

Ben rose groggily out of bed rubbing his eyes. "Ugh, damn John." he yawned deeply. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

"I got enough." John set The Cleaner back in its case then checked the two sawed off twelve-gauges he had bought from the pawnshop and the .357 tucked into the back of his waistband. "Time to go to work Ben."

"Alright." Ben said, grabbing his glasses off the nightstand and putting them on. "Did you want to call Jake before we head out?"

John thought it over for a few seconds before shaking his head. "No. Why worry him."

"You're sure? This might be the last time you talk to him."

"No. I'll call him when I've gotten Julia back."

"Okay then." Ben said, with a sigh then picked up the phone.

"What are you doing?" John asked snapping the cases shut.

"I'm calling my wife and kid. You know, in case I get killed?" Ben said, sarcastically. "Is that okay with you?"

"Yeah. Of course." John said, feeling bad that he had even asked. "Sorry Ben. I've just . . . I'm sorry."

"It's alright, don't worry about it. I know you're anxious to get this done. I'll just be a minute okay?" Ben picked up the phone and dialed. "Hey baby, it's me . . . yeah, we're about to head out. I just wanted to call and tell you I love you. Give Chris a hug for me and tell him I love him too . . ." he grew silent as he listened to his wife on the other end. "Cat, I don't think . . . alright, alright." He held the phone out to John. "She wants to talk to you."

John picked up the phone. "Hi Cat."

"Hi John." she said, in a thick Spanish accent. "Look. I'm sorry about what happened to Julia. But you get your head in the game okay? If my Ben is killed because you're not doing what you're supposed to, you're going to have to answer to me. Understand?"

"Yeah Cat, I got you. I promise I won't let anything happen to him."

"Good. Take care of yourself John and bring Julia home."

"Goodbye Cat." John handed the phone back to Ben.

Grabbing up his gun cases, duffel, and the keys off the dresser John headed out the door leaving Ben alone to talk with his wife. Time to get your head in the game. He thought to himself. God let me be swift. Let me be strong. Let me be your right hand of judgment on these monstrosities. Watch over my team and please God don't let me get them killed. Watch over Jake and protect him and please God, let my Julia come home to me. Amen. Oh and God . . . if Terry's up there with you, tell him . . . John smiled to himself. Tell him he's just going to have to wait a little longer till we can share a six-pack again. Amen.

Tossing his duffel and gun cases into the trunk John climbed into driver's seat. Turning on the engine, he put it on his favorite rock station and cranked it up until the speakers were at their max. Gun's N Roses Welcome to the Jungle was on. Closing his eyes John let the music flow through him, putting everything else out of his mind. He barely noticed when Ben climbed into the passenger seat next to him.

"Ready to go to work?" Ben asked.

John looked at his old friend, his mind clear and determined. "Let's Rock and Roll."

Chapter 7

John/Henry

The Carver Mansion, Midland, TX.

August 1, 1994 6:45am

John pulled the sedan into the drive of a very large house situated six miles east of Midland. The spooky old two-story loomed eerily above; its white paint long since chipped and faded. All of the windows were either boarded up or painted over, a sure sign that something inside did not want the sun coming in.

Twenty years ago, the Carvers had been one of the more prominent oil families in West Texas. George Carver's net worth was estimated to be somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty million dollars. However, like many big oil companies the bust in the early eighties hit him especially hard, almost bankrupting Carver Oil. Riker Oil and Drilling, seeing its chance to wipe out one of its biggest competitors, leapt at the chance to buy Carver out. Carver, who had built the company from the ground up, refused to sell. So Riker cut him out of the equation by offering the members of his board well over what the company was worth.

George Carver was ruined. So one Christmas Eve, not long after his company was stolen out from under him, George Carver walked silently through his house murdering his entire family with a large kitchen knife. Among his victims were three small grandchildren. The only survivor was one of his teenage grandsons, who had decided to camp out in the attic the night before. He came down that Christmas morning expecting to open presents, instead he found his family with their throats slit and his grandfather hanging from the rafters of the front porch.

It had been one of the biggest murders in Midland's history and over a decade later, the house still sat empty. Not a single person had taken up residence there. Rumor had it the floors were still coated with the dried blood of his victims and that every night Mr. Carver's ghost wandered the halls, looking for the one grandson that had escaped his wrath.

Only brave teenagers looking for a cheap scare, or a place to get drunk or high had dared to go there after dark. The vampires could not have picked a more perfect place to use as a den. Secluded, abandoned, without any neighbors for miles coupled with its proximity to a small city made it a perfect base of operations. Containing well over a dozen rooms the mansion was nothing short of tremendous in size. It was a death trap for only three hunters. Nevertheless, John couldn't wait any longer. With or without backup he was going in. Julia could be inside that house, and he would do whatever it took to get her back.

"Hell of a coincidence that the house these suckheads decided to take up residence in once belonged to a man screwed over by your father in-law." Ben said, looking over the daunting task before them.

"No, not really." John replied, putting the car in park. "Riker screwed a lot of people over the years. I'm sure there are more than a few ghosts roaming houses emptied by that son of a bitch."

"Yeah no joke." Ben agreed. "Is he still alive?"

"Last I heard," John nodded. "He's had every cancer imaginable, but is just too damn mean to die off. Can't say I blame the devil much for not letting him in. If Riker actually did die, he'd probably be running hell within a week."

Talon was sitting on the tailgate of his truck with his back to the house. Two large caliber pistols sat in holsters on his hips next to his bone-handled knife, two sheathed machetes were strapped to his back and a long seven-foot lance sat across his lap. Unlike most hunters, Talon didn't wear body armor; he preferred the freedom of movement over the protection of the restricting body armor. Only a sleeveless black t-shirt and the two leather straps holding the machetes to his back covered his chest. He puffed one last drag on his cigarette before tossing it to the ground and stomping it out.

As John and Ben climbed out of their car, a dull roar sounded in the distance. John's spirits rose slightly as he turned to see five Harley Davidsons followed closely by a white van, throw up clouds of dust on the caliche road to the house. The bikes pulled to a stop behind Ben's sedan.

The meanest looking man of the bunch killed the engine of his chopper then dropped the kickstand. Climbing off the bike, he pulled the dust-covered sunglasses off his face then dusted himself off. The tall biker stood six feet two inches tall with his head shaved completely bald with a pair of crimson eyes tattooed on the back of his it. Tattooed snakes and spiders completely covered his right arm leading all the way up his neck. His left forearm had well over forty, bloody long vampire fangs tattooed across it, one for each of his kills. Like the rest of his group, he wore a black leather vest. The top rocker of the patch on his back identified their group as The Slayers.

Though his appearance was much different than he remembered, John smiled warmly. It was his old friend, Wes Turner.

"Well, well, well . . ." Turner said, in a raspy smoker's voice, "If it isn't big bad John Bishop!"

"How are you Wes?" John said, pulling his leather glove off and reaching to shake his hand.

"I'm doing great brother," He ignored John's hand and gripped him in a tight bear hug, pumping his fist hard on John's back. "What's this?" he stepped back looking him over with a laugh. "Man you're getting a little soft around the middle, what happened to the six pack?"

John managed a laugh. "That's what happens when you try to play civilian."

"Shit, man, I could have told you that. So how are you? How are you holding up?"

"I'm hanging in there," John tried his best to smile. "It's good to see you, Wes."

"Same here, John. I'm sorry to hear about Julia, but I promise you'll be doing a lot better in an hour or two. Isn't that right boys?!" Turner said, turning to face his crew. "You boys ready to kill some vamps?!"

A loud, "Hell yeah!" erupted from the bikers behind him followed by whistling and laughter.

"Damn Wes, when'd you start running your own crew?" John asked looking over the mixed group.

"About six months after we lost Terry. Billy and his crew stopped calling me in for jobs. So I joined up with Franky Simmons, then Franky passed on a couple of years back and the boys elected me as Prez. Funny though, as soon as the shit really gets heavy who's the first person Billy calls?" He gave Ben a nasty look. "How ya doing Morris? Still doing Billy's grunt work?"

"Doing great, Wes." Ben said ignoring that last remark. "How about you?"

"Oh I'm just peachy! I'm about to kill some vampires, make some money! If I had a fine bitch on my arm, I'd be damn near perfect! Hello, Talon! Still running with Billy's crew?"

"Wesley," Talon nodded lighting up another Marlboro.

"Same old Talon! Not much for conversation. Just one word here, one word there. But still the best damn tracker in the business! Next to old Tank that is." he motioned to a large stocky Mexican man sitting on a cherry red Fatboy.

John could tell by the look on Talon's face that he wasn't impressed. "How's your wife and kid doing?"

"Well you know." Turner shrugged his shoulders. "Same shit, different day. Rebecca is always bitching about something. If she wasn't I'd swear she'd been replaced by an alien clone. And Buck, I tell you John, that boy is going to be one hell of a hunter when he grows up! Tough as nails, beats the shit out of kids at his school all the time! I couldn't be prouder."

"That's . . . uh . . . great." John said, uncertain of what else to say. "Well . . . uh . . . let's get to it then."

"You heard him boys!" Turner yelled. "Gear up!"

The bikers pulled various gear from the back of the white van, sawed offs, magnums, one guy even pulled two matching Uzis out of his saddlebags. Their armor of choice seemed to be almost entirely made up of leather jackets and motorcycle helmets with face shields. It might stand up to a grunt but any Maker would rip through it without much trouble. Should have spent less money on partying and more on gear. John thought to himself. Only Turner had any real armor, consisting of a chain mail collar with a top of the line custom fit chain mail lined flak jacket.

Ben loaded shells into a Remington pump action shotgun then leaned it against the car. Opening a large metal case, he pulled out a chain mail collar he had had custom made and with John's help tightened it around his neck. Next, he slipped a long chain mail lined duster over his shoulders that ran all the way down to his ankles. His hands were covered with a pair of shark proof gloves. A bandolier of sharp metal spikes hung across his chest, and a single razor sharp hatchet hung from the belt on his waist, completing his ensemble. He clicked a headlamp on his head to make sure it worked then picked up his shotgun.

Once Ben was completely geared up, John grabbed a large roll of gray tape and a flashlight he had picked up at the pawnshop. Placing it next to the stock of The Cleaner, he wrapped the light tightly around it then pushed the button on and off several times, making sure it worked. Next, he loaded and strapped his two new sawed offs to holsters on his legs then strapped a sheathed machete to his back. Spinning the chamber on his .357, he made sure it was fully loaded. He wrapped a carpenter belt filled with railroad spikes, a very large claw hammer, and a pair of pliers around his waist.

Trying his best John just couldn't manage to pull his heavy Kevlar vest together over his massive chest. "Benny? Would you give me a hand with this? Piece of shit is too small."

"It's the biggest the pawn owner had." Ben grabbed hold of each side and pulled as hard as he could, trying to bring the straps together. Finally with a click they snapped. "How's that?"

"I can barely breathe." John panted, pulling at it. "Damn I miss my old gear. This cheap government crap isn't worth a damn.

"Yeah, yeah." Ben said, checking over the rest of John's armor. "I guess they just don't make them like they used to." He rolled his eyes. "How's the arm?" He said checking the bandaged arm tucked under Kevlar coated shoulder pads.

John jerked his arm away. "How do you think it feels? It hurts like a son of a bitch."

Ben shook his head disapprovingly. "You should sit this one out John. You're still weak from the fever."

"Would you sit it out if it was Cat in there?" Ben didn't answer. "That's what I thought. Now help me finish strapping this shit on so we can get to work."

Ben looked away in defeat then finally nodding helped John strap the rest of his armor on. Both men checked each other over making sure everything was in its place and secure. "You sure you're ready for this?" Ben asked pulling one of the straps on John's Kevlar vest a little tighter causing him to grunt. "It's been a long time since you've been in the game."

John answered by cocking The Cleaner one handed, then headed toward the front door. A hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks.

"No offense old buddy," Turner stepped past him. "But I'm taking the lead on this one. You've been out of the game for too long."

John hadn't been on a hunt that he wasn't the lead on since he was twenty-one, and though it stabbed at his pride, he didn't object. More important things were at stake. In addition, it only made sense, as most of the hunters were Turner's men anyway.

"Alright!" Turner yelled out turning the headlamp on his head on. "This is how it's gonna be! Myself, Tank and Ortega take the front door. John, you, Talon and Morris, take the back. Dozer, FatAss, and Diez take the basement entrance. Alright ladies, stay safe and keep your eyes open for John's wife, she's about five foot six with short brown hair."

"Long brown hair," John interrupted.

"Right, long brown hair." Turner corrected. "Anyway, she's the reason we're here. So be careful where you shoot. Comprende?" Murmurs, grunts, and nods came from Turner's men. "Alright everyone get in position. It's a good bet they know we're here." Turner pulled a double-bladed axe from off his back and nodded at John. "Wait for my signal."

"What's the signal?" Ben asked.

Turner laughed. "Screams and gunfire would be my guess."

"Turner. Be careful." Ben frowned. "We don't want any mistakes. Not with Julia involved."

"Morris, relax." Turner smiled. "Now . . . let's have some fun!"

Hesitantly Ben followed John and Talon through a broken fence to the back of the house. A rusty swing set squeaked loudly in the wind. John stepped up to the back door. Talon placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "John, do not trust Turner's men. These men are not the kind of professionals you are used to working with. They're dangerous, unpredictable, and untrained."

"He's right, John." Ben agreed. "These guys are a bunch of half assed amateurs cranked up on meth. Don't turn your back on them. Especially Wes Turner. He's not the same man we grew up with."

John turned to ask what they meant but gunshots from inside shattered his train of thought. It was time to get into the game. Julia . . . I'm coming baby. John put his foot into the termite riddled backdoor. It shattered under his weight. Loud growls and snarls erupted from inside as the sunlight streamed in. Most men in that situation would feel terror, but John Bishop felt something he hadn't felt since his last hunt so many years before, elation. He was born to do this. Pulling The Cleaner tight to his shoulder, he charged in with his friends at his back.

******

Henry awoke lying on a hard, dust covered floor. Bits of grainy dirt coated his lips. Turning on his side with a groan, he spit trying to clear it out of his mouth but didn't have much luck. His mouth was completely dry. He rolled back and forth trying to move his hands and feet but they were bound tightly. He flexed his hands and felt hairs on his wrists pull free. Duct tape. He thought fighting back the beginning feeling of panic. Keep your cool, old man. Now isn't the time to lose it. He glanced around the room frantically searching for any source of light, but it was pitch black, he couldn't see a thing.

The room had a musty stench to it, as if it had been sealed up for a very long time. "Hello!" He called out into the darkness. Silence was his only answer. "Hello! Is anyone out there!" he screamed even louder. The wind whistled loudly through a window or loose boards somewhere in the room, but he couldn't place exactly where.

Think dammit- think! There's got to be a way out of this. His gun had been left in the car. His belt that carried his spare ammunition was removed along with his boots. Turning slightly he felt a slight jab on his right butt cheek. They hadn't found the tiny pocketknife he kept in his back pocket. Repositioning himself, he tried to reach his hands into the pocket. The knife wasn't much, no more than a couple of inches long, but at the moment, it was all he had. He sat there for what felt like hours trying to move it into his hand. Unfortunately, they had gone numb after being bound for so long. Somewhere outside the room, there came a loud thump.

"Who's there?" he called out into the darkness. On the other side of the room, a door cracked open, revealing a large figure lit only by a faint flickering light. The figure dropped something heavy to the floor that looked distinctly like a body then pulled the door closed again. "Let me outta here!" he yelled out. "You dirty, cowardly son of a bitch! Let me outta here!"

A woman's voice moaned loudly. "Please just let me go! I'll do whatever you want! Just please don't hurt me anymore!"

"Don't be afraid," Henry said, grunting as he tried to squirm toward the sound of her voice. "I'm not going to hurt you. My name is Henry, I'm a Texas Ranger and I'm here to help you."

"Oh thank you God!" She whispered. "Quick we have to get out of here before he gets back!"

"Before who gets back?" Henry asked again struggling with the tape on his wrist. "Who is he? What does he look like?"

"I . . . don't know who he is. I was on my way to work a few days ago and . . . and, this big, huge man grabbed me. I woke up here. There were several others in here with me, but he came and took them one by one. My God the way they screamed!" Her voice shook with fear. "Then . . . last night he came for me! But he didn't kill me." She cried. "I don't know why but he didn't kill me."

Bishop. Henry thought to himself. Bastard brought me here to kill me, just like the others. "Calm down miss. I'm going to get you out of here. Now tell me, what's your name?" Finally, he reached the small knife in his back pocket and clicked it open then slowly began to cut the thick duct tape that bound his wrists.

"My name? It's Kelly." She answered

"Alright Kelly, just sit tight. I'll be free soon and together we'll get the hell out of here."

"Why is he doing this to us?" she asked barely above a whimper. "I've tried to live a good life. I've never hurt anyone. I don't deserve this!"

"I know Kelly, I know. There's no rationalizing it. The man is just a psychopathic lunatic that gets off on torturing folks. But I promise you, everything is going to be okay."

He wasn't making much progress when the distinct sounds of motorcycles sounded in the distance. He stopped cutting listening intently. "Do you hear that, Kelly? Sounds like a whole mess of Harleys."

"Damn," Kelly suddenly sighed, "never a moment's peace."

Henry heard her climb to her feet. "Wait." he said, confused. "Are you untied?"

"Oh shut up!" she said, in a very different voice than the one he'd been talking to moments before. "I've got bigger problems than you at the moment."

Henry heard the distinct sound of drywall cracking above him. He wished like crazy he could see just what the hell was going on. "Kelly?" He called out straining his eyes. "Kelly!" A loud crash sounded up above and several small pieces of debris rained down on him causing him to sneeze violently. He scratched and scratched his itchy eyes and nose with his shoulder until the sneezing subsided. "Kelly?" he called out one last time. There was no answer.

Henry swallowed back his fear and continued cutting but the knife was extremely dull. He'd been meaning to sharpen it but just hadn't gotten around to it. Gunshots rang out from somewhere nearby. A lot of gunshots. What the hell is going on here? After what seemed like an eternity, the door burst open flooding the room with light. Henry closed his eyes tight; his nostrils were filled with the stench of something burning. Again, the door slammed shut plunging him into darkness. Henry heard ragged breathing nearby.

"Kelly? Is that you?" He asked. A loud animal snarl was his only answer.

"What the hell?!" He screamed out just as the door again crashed open.

******

John spit out a mouthful of blood. Two grunts had hit them immediately after coming through the door. Talon had spit one of them with his lance, pinning it up against the wall but the other had hit John in the face knocking him hard into a kitchen cabinet. The Cleaner had flown from his hands.

Ben's shotgun barked fire at the grunt, blowing the right side of its head to pieces. It's broken body dropped to the floor twitching, the head slowly pulling itself back together.

Talon's machete severed the head of the grunt he had impaled. It crashed to the floor but its hands continued to pull at the lance holding it to the wall. Talon had it held with all of his weight. John shook off his daze and climbed to his feet. Grabbing one of the railroad spikes out of his belt, he yanked the claw hammer free and with two swings had the spike sunk deep into the creature's heart. Finally, its arms and legs stopped moving. Grabbing up another spike he did the same to the one Ben decapitated with his shotgun.

All three men stood panting. It was Ben that spoke first. "Well, it's a start." Gunshots continued to ring out from rooms all over the house.

John picked The Cleaner off the ground, his leadership instincts instantly kicking back in. "Alright boys! Let's get back in the fight."

******

Two men stood with shotguns in their hands. Henry closed his eyes ready for the blast that would end it all. He heard the deafening boom, boom, boom, boom of the shotguns blasting. Something heavy dropped to the floor next to him.

Henry opened his eyes to see the gunshot riddled body of a very large man lying next to him. One of the men pulled an axe from off his back and walked towards him. "Don't you move one muscle. You do and I'll bury this blade into the middle of your head. Tank, keep him covered, if he moves an inch blow his head off."

"You got it boss," Tank answered.

Henry screamed out in horror as the man with the axe, cut the man's head off with three hard whacks. He turned and laughed at Henry's horror.

Tank smiled an evil grin. "I think he's one of them Wes. Let's do him right now." He said, pulling the gun to his shoulder.

"Better safe than sorry." the man with the axe, now known to him as Wes, said, shrugging his shoulders.

"What are you doing?" A familiar voice said, peeking his head in through the door. It was the Fed that he had seen with Bishop, 'Agent' Ben Morris. He was dressed in some type of long black duster. "Wait Turner I know this man."

"Mind your own business Morris," Wes said, shoving him back out the door.

"Wait, you're not planning on killing him!" Morris yelled, shock filling his voice. "He's human!"

Human? What the hell is going on here? "Look I don't know what you boys are about but . . ." Henry started to say.

"Shut up old man!" Tank shoved him hard in the chest with the barrel of the shotgun.

"We can't be sure," Wes shoved Morris harder out the door.

"You bastards!" Anderson screamed out in rage. "You'll pay for this!"

John Bishop's head appeared in the doorway. His lips were split and covered in blood. "What's going on here?" he pushed past the other three men. "Anderson? What the hell are you doing here?"

"Screw you Bishop! You sick twisted freak!" Henry screamed at him.

Bishop rolled his eyes. "Anderson you have no idea of the shit storm you've gotten yourself into."

"John." Morris said, "We've got to get him out of here. Turner and his friend here were about to kill our favorite Texas Ranger."

"What?" Bishop said, looking at Wes and Tank. "Why?"

"Well hell, John," Wes answered. "He could be a vampire. We don't take chances."

"We don't kill innocent civilians either," John said, angrily. "Ranger Anderson, why don't we take a nice little walk outside, till we figure out what's what."

"Why don't you go screw yourself." Henry said, mustering what little spit he could and sending it Bishop's direction.

"I'm sorry but I must insist." He said, cocking the familiar ten-gauge shotgun, held tightly in his fist. "Unless you'd rather deal with my friends here."

Before he could come up with a reply, the tape binding Henry's ankles was cut and he was yanked to his feet then led out the door. The last thing he noticed before leaving the room was a very large hole in the ceiling above. Gunfire sounded from all over the house. The next thing he knew he was shoved hard into the bright sunlit sky. Henry squinted his eyes tightly. From what he could see, they were in the middle of nowhere. There didn't appear to be any other houses around for miles.

Bishop smiled at him lowering the gun. "Good."

Henry looked around as if he was missing something. "Good what?"

Bishop continued smiling as he cut the thick tape binding his wrists. "You passed the sun test."

"Sun test? Bishop what the hell are you talking about? What is going on here?"

"I told you, you wouldn't believe me." John frowned. "No one ever does. Some things you just have to see for yourself."

Anderson looked around completely confused by the strange turn of events. "Just what the hell do you plan on doing with me? People will notice if I just disappear like your other victims."

"Victims?" Wes said, coming up behind him. He started laughing uncontrollably. He laughed so hard he actually bent over on his knees.

"What's so damn funny?" Henry said, feeling strangely like he had just entered the twilight zone. "How about you just tell me what this is all about."

"I will, but first I need to know, have you seen anyone else? Any other survivors? A woman with long brown hair? Slim build, green eyes, about 5 feet six inches tall?"

"Your wife?" Henry asked.

"My wife." Jon nodded.

"No." Henry shook his head. "There was a woman though, her name is Kelly. We were tied up in the same room together; at least I think she was tied up."

"You think?"

"Yeah . . . no . . . look it's complicated, in the past twelve hours I've been knocked out, tied up, nearly shot by some crazy hyped up bikers . . ." He paused, giving Wes a nasty glance. "Seriously Bishop just tell me what the fu . . ."

More shots from inside followed by a man's gut wrenching scream distracted them both from their conversation. Wes charged back inside followed closely by John.

"What in the world have I stumbled into?" Henry said aloud, standing completely alone. He stood there for a few more seconds seriously contemplating running away and calling in for backup but he didn't have any boots on and didn't want to chance running God only knows how many miles in his socks. The need to figure out what he had stumbled into over powered him. Rubbing his bruised wrists, he jogged back into the house and followed the shouting down into a dimly lit basement. John's voice screamed out, "Damn it Ben! Hold him!"

Chapter 8

Henry/John

The Carver Mansion

August 1, 1994 8:12am

"I'm trying damn it! Stake him! Stake him! STAKE HIM!" the voice from the basement screamed. Anderson heard two more shots followed by some intense cursing.

Henry bounded down the stairs taking them two and a time; he stopped cold at the bottom. John and Ben were wrestling with an old Hispanic man that looked to be in his late 70's. Wes was checking the pulse of another man lying bloodied on the floor.

It took Henry a minute to register what he was looking at. The elderly man seemed to be having no problem fighting the two men off. His forehead and chest were oozing a strange blackish blood from what looked to be bullet holes. Large, razor sharp fangs protruded from his mouth.

Anderson took two steps back, "No!" he whispered. His brain wouldn't accept what he was seeing. He knew it was impossible, but at the same time what other explanation could there be? He couldn't even say the word in his mind. Bishop had been right. As crazy as he knew it was, there was no other explanation. It was vampires.

"Welcome to the party, Ranger!" John said, trying to hold the vampire's clawed hands from ripping Ben's throat out. "Now how about giving us a hand?!"

"FatAss is gone." Wes said, stepping away from his dead companion. "That grunt bastard ripped his throat out. Anyone see any sign of Dozer or Diez?"

"How about you give us a hand and then we'll find out!" John yelled at him.

"You two haven't finished with that old coot yet?" Wes said drawing a sawed off from its holster on his leg. He cracked it open, popped in two shells reloading it then snapped it back together. "Do I have to do everything myself?"

"You can talk shit later, right now how about giving us a hand?!" Bishop yelled at him. The vampire snarled at John its jaws snapping like a mad dog.

Wes holstered the shotgun then pulled his axe from off his shoulder and started to drive it into the old man's head. At that moment, another vampire charged out of the shadows and slammed into Wes sending the axe flying across the room. The beast fell on top of him, Wes's hands quickly wrapped around the monster's throat keeping his teeth at bay. "Dozer!" Wes managed to get out before the beast sunk its teeth into his chain mail collar. "Get him off me! Get him off me!" He yelled out in a panic.

John made the mistake of letting go for the briefest of seconds giving the elderly vampire enough leverage to get an arm free. He raked his claws across John's cheek leaving a vicious slash all the way from the corner of his left eye to his mouth.

"John!" Ben screamed out. John turned, blood pouring down his face. A rage filled his eyes that Henry had never seen in any man. His massive fist slammed into the beast's face repeatedly shattering bone. Black gooey blood went flying in every direction as his facial bones collapsed under John's onslaught. A wooden table lay on its side nearby and John easily ripped off one of its legs. Ben jumped out of the way just as the leg penetrated the old man's chest.

Henry stood unsure of what to do for a few seconds before his instincts finally snapped. He grabbed the other vampire, the young man Wes had referred to as Dozer, by the back of his leather jacket and tossed him across the room.

Turner's axe was in his hand before he even realized what he was doing. As the monster charged, he sunk the blade deep into its neck. Dark oily blood splashed out over his hands. The vampire fell to the floor writhing and grabbing at the axe.

Wes jumped to his feet and with a grunt yanked the axe free from the creature's halved neck with one swing he severed its head from his body, then turned and did the same to the old man with the table leg stuck in his chest.

Henry felt the cold taste of shock come into his body. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. He had drawn and fired his gun at least a dozen times in the line of duty, but had never killed. Now his hands were covered in blood. He stared at the dark substance, staining his hands. The same stuff he had seen on the floor at John Bishop's house.

A bloodied Ben Morris walked over and laid a hand on his shoulder. "It's never easy your first time. But you just saved Turner's life."

"Bullshit," Turner piped up. "I had him. I was just waiting for the right moment."

Henry's ears rang, his heart beat like a drum and sweat cascaded down his brow. "Would someone please just tell me what the hell is going on?!"

"Morris get him out of here before he pisses himself," Turner said, wiping the blade of his axe on the shirt of the elderly vampire. "Any sign of Diez?"

"No not yet." John said, picking his shotgun off the ground. "But odds are if Dozer and FatAss are dead, he is too. Or worse, he's one of them."

"I'm back here!" A voice called from somewhere deep in the basement. "Get me out of here!"

"Diez? That you?" Turner said, shining his light back into the darkness.

"It's me!" He called back. "Someone get this damn thing off me!"

"Diez you stupid son of a bitch, if I get back there only to find out you're a Maker, I'm really going to kick your ass!" Turner yelled.

"I'm not a vamp! I swear!" Diez called back.

"Uh huh. That's exactly what a Maker would say." Turner said picking his way through the debris littered room.

Henry followed them through the darkened basement, their lights casting on various pieces of furniture covered in dusty white sheets. "Damn it Diez! I don't have time for this shit! Where are you?" Turner called out.

"I'm right here." A voice next to Henry's foot said, causing him to jump. Henry looked down to find a young Hispanic man trapped under a toppled over armoire.

"Get this damn thing off me would you?" Diez said.

"You sure you weren't bit?" Turner asked swinging his axe back and forth over his head like a pendulum.

"Boss it's me! I swear!" Diez cried out, terror filling his voice. "Please don't kill me!"

"Geez Wes, when did you get so goddamn twitchy?" John shoved Turner aside. "Someone help me get this kid out?"

"Just being careful." Turner said, taking a few steps back. Together the three men strained but managed to lift the armoire off him while Turner kept his pistol trained on his head.

"Shit I thought I was dead for sure!" Diez said, dusting himself off.

"You aren't out of the woods just yet. Get your ass upstairs." Turner replied cocking the hammer on his pistol. Diez didn't hesitate, he turned faster than Henry would have thought possible and bounded up the stairs into the sunlight. Once everyone was back outside, Turner finally lowered his pistol. Diez' shoulders visibly relaxed. "What the hell happened?" Turner asked crossing his arms.

"Boss man, we came through the door and began searching. We made it all the way through the basement when a grunt landed on Dozer's back. Ripped his helmet clean off is head and sunk his teeth into his neck. I grabbed hold and tried to pull him off but the dirty bloodsucker knocked me backwards into that damn china cabinet. It toppled over and knocked me clean out. Where's FatAss? Is he okay?"

"He's gone." Turner said, shaking his head. "Dozer too."

"Damn." Diez said, shaking his head. "I need to take a breather for a few minutes. I mean, if that's okay."

Turner didn't answer but turned to Ben. "Morris, stay here with Diez and the Ranger. John and I will head back down and mop up, make sure Julia's not down there somewhere." John nodded at Ben letting him know it was okay.

As Turner and John stepped back inside, Ben walked to their sedan, pulled out a white towel and two canteens, and handed them to Diez and Henry. "Here guys, wash up."

Diez took it without saying a word and disappeared back toward The Slayers van.

Henry splashed the lukewarm water over his face and hair clearing it of any blood and dirt then wiped down with the towel. "Please Morris; tell me I didn't just see what I thought I saw."

Ben wiped down his own face shaking his head. "I hate to tell you Ranger, but this is as real as it gets."

"Tell me everything." Henry said, tossing the towel back into the car. "And I mean everything." So Ben told him. He explained about vampires and hunting. After he was done, Henry looked him up and down. "Bullshit. That's just not possible. I mean. Come on? Vampires? That's just not possible!"

"You tell me then." Ben pulled the shark gloves off his hands and unbuttoned his duster. "You're in law enforcement. I'm sure you've pulled your gun in the line of duty at least a few times. How many times have you seen someone take bullets to the head and keep moving?"

Anderson started to reply when Ben suddenly pulled him out of the way as John and Turner tossed the elderly man's headless body from the house into the yard. It was then that he knew it was all true. The body burst into a huge ball of fire and burnt down to the skeleton in a matter of seconds.

"God in heaven!" Anderson said, his hand going to his mouth in shock.

"Here Henry, have a seat." Ben opened the back door to his sedan.

He sat down shakily. He couldn't help but stare dumbfounded at the young man sitting in the front seat. Ben Morris was the last thing he would think of when imagining what a vampire hunter would look like. Yet here he stood, full of courage and confidence that Henry could only marvel at him. The man was half his age but Anderson couldn't help but feel a kinship for him. For some unknown reason, even though they'd just met, he liked this man.

"Look Henry I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to see this. But if we hadn't gotten here when we did, one of these freaks would probably have had you for a midday snack. This is as real as it gets."

"But why here? Why Midland?"

Ben sighed, "They hit an area. They kill all they can before anyone notices and move on to another town. It's our job to watch the papers, follow the patterns, and put it all together. It's not perfect but we kill our fair share of vampires."

Anderson took a deep breath then cleared his throat trying to regain his composure. "But this doesn't make sense? Why haven't I heard of this before? Why bother to keep all this quiet? Why not tell the authorities and get some help?"

Ben nodded thoughtfully. "I'm all for it, but there's two problems with that. One, you start spewing 'nonsense' about vampires and they are going to lock you up in the nuthouse. Two, the government doesn't want people to know."

He couldn't argue with the first reason but the second he had a hard time believing. Henry had listened to his fair share of conspiracy nuts within Dallas PD when Jack Ruby killed Oswald, but he'd never believed any of it. He just couldn't believe his own government could be that corrupt. "I don't believe it, Ben. Tell me why. Why would they cover it up?"

"Fear," Ben shrugged his shoulders. "Can you imagine if someone told you that your neighbor, that just happens to work nights, might be a vampire? People would go ape shit! There'd be mass murders all over the country, probably the whole damn planet."

"I don't buy that." Henry disagreed. "People are smart. Give them the chance and they'll do alright."

"Oh yeah? You ever hear of a little thing called the dark ages? Or the Salem Witch trials? People tortured, hung, even burned at the stake? A single person is afraid, a group of people . . . well, that's something different entirely. That's called mass hysteria. But that's not even the only reason. I'm not saying all of those in D.C. are corrupt, but a lot of it is good old fashion greed."

"Greed? Like what? They're on the vampire payroll? Come on Morris, that's pretty thin."

Ben sighed loudly, "While the makeup of the vampire leadership is still a mystery, like damn near everything else about them. We do know that during their centuries of existence they've accumulated quite a little nest egg for themselves. Enough to buy off quite a few politicians. Think about it . . . money has no real value to them other than a bargaining tool, a means to control the greedy men in office. I'm willing to bet they've been doing it as long as there have been governments. The U.S. is no different. If anything it was probably easier then what they had dealt with in the past."

"How so? What's wrong with the good ole U.S. of A?"

"Nothing. But you have to admit that a democracy would have to be easier to control than a dictatorship or even a monarchy. In the U.S., it doesn't matter if you lobby for a cigarette company or a group of blood sucking vampires. Campaign contributions make all the difference."

"But they can't all be corrupt. I've met some crooked politicians, but selling out your own species for a few bucks . . . man that's dark."

"Don't get me wrong, Henry. Not all of them are corrupt. While a lot of them sold out, some very important people at the top couldn't be swayed. The idea of something evil lurking in the darkness, that could sneak into their children's rooms at night didn't cause them to hide in fear, but to step up and do their very best to make sure the vampire population didn't get out of control, especially with this new administration. This guy's got it out for vamps. Hell a few years back we'd get a few bucks here and there from Government Defense funds, but today we are paid huge bounties for any vampire fangs brought in."

At that instant, two men in leather jackets came outside dragging two more headless vampires. Again, they burst into flames at Anderson's feet. "So, is that why do you boys do it then?" Anderson said, taking a quick step back from the burning skeletons. "The money?"

John walked outside and handed Henry a pair of long teeth. "Here," he said, dropping them into his hand. "You earned them."

Henry looked down at his hand confused. "What's this?" he asked looking them over.

"About ten thousand dollars," John said, before walking back into the house.

"Is he serious?" Henry asked Ben, his eyes never leaving the fangs in his palm.

"Those are grunt fangs. Worth about five grand a piece."

"Damn!" Henry said, his eyes growing big. "You weren't kidding!"

"To answer your question, yes, some of us do it for the cash." Ben admitted, motioning to the bikers walking back into the house. "Not that I have anything against making money, but some of these guys cut a lot of corners to make a buck."

"How long has this been going on? Hunters I mean?" Henry asked, his eyes following the two men back into the house.

"As long as there have been vamps is my guess. No one really knows exactly how long they've been around. Some say they've been around for thousands of years. Others say they've always been here, hunting man from the very beginning."

"So how do you kill them?"

"Anyway we can," Ben, said his face completely serious. "They are hard as hell to kill and can regenerate entire limbs. Bullets will slow them down. Fire most definitely does some serious damage, but you usually end up setting everything else on fire in the process. The only sure way to kill one is to stake its heart, cut its head off and put its remains in direct sunlight. Even the tiniest bit of UV light will slow their regeneration; direct contact with sunlight will stop it altogether."

Four more bodies were thrown into the pile of ash and bones, each one burst into flame. John walked back out with his own set of teeth in his hand. "God damnit! She's not here!" He kicked one of the charred skulls across the yard where it shattered into ash. Angrily he walked over to their truck and stared at his mangled face in the mirror. "Son of a bitch!" he yelled out. "Why didn't someone tell me the bastard damn near ripped my face off?"

"That's what you get for letting him get the drop on you. It's your own damn fault." Diez said, coming back from the white van. "Has-been." he added stepping past John. John in one swift motion turned and punched the man square in the face breaking his nose and knocking him to the ground. He was out cold.

Wes Turner walked out and looked at his friend on the ground, "What the hell happened to Diez?"

"He called John a has-been," Ben answered.

"You stupid son of a bitch," Turner said, giving Diez a hard kick to the ribs. "That has-been just staked the grunt that nearly had you for dinner. Show a little respect!"

"We've got a survivor!" A voice called from inside the house.

Everyone including Henry charged back into the house. Their gazes fell on the top of the stairs where a rickety wooden ladder stood leading to the attic. A woman's high-pitched scream filled the small space above. John pushed passed everyone and climbed to the top of the ladder. Henry was right behind him. What he found wasn't what he'd been expecting. It was a woman with her shirt ripped completely away exposing her breasts. Her long blood soaked blond hair hung down past her shoulders. She was bound with wire to a large post running through the middle of the room. Black blood poured from her mouth and nose. Wounds all over her were oozing blood.

"Let me go!" She screamed out in an inhuman voice. "You hunter bastards! I'll kill you all!"

"Kelly?" Henry said, recognizing her voice.

"I swear I will rip your balls off if you don't let me out of here!"

"Well . . . in that case, let's untie her boys! Time to go home!" Wes Turner said, sarcastically. "My you're a feisty one aren't you sweetheart! And look at that rack! Boy howdy!" Turner's crew laughed and whistled. It turned Henry's stomach. These were some sick, sick men. "So how'd you boys manage to take her alive?" Turner asked.

"It was the big Indian." One of Turner's men motioned toward the Native American Henry had seen earlier that day. He was kneeling in the corner with his .44 Smith and Wesson pointed at her head.

"We came up here and he had her pinned to that post with that big lance of his. He jabbed her right in the throat, nearly cut her head clean off! So quick as we could we wrapped as much wire as we had on us around her. She's not going anywhere."

"Damn fine work Slayers! Damn fine work!" Turner yelled.

"She's one of them?" Henry asked his voice full of shock.

"You know her Ranger?" Turner asked.

"Who ripped open her shirt?" John asked disgustedly, interrupting Henry's answer.

"What?" Tank Russell asked shrugging. "Like Wes said, she's got a nice rack."

John turned to slug the man but was quickly stopped by Ben. "Not now John, later." he said. Tank stood with a long knife in his hand ready for John's advance.

"Come on Bishop! I hear you used to be a real badass before your wife had you neutered. Let's see what you've got!"

"Shut up Tank!" Turner yelled. "Put that damn blade away! This man's killed more vampires than any of you little punks could dream of."

"Yeah right." He grunted sheathing his blade. "You got lucky this time bitch."

John rolled his eyes. "You know her Ranger?" Turner asked.

"Yeah, we met momentarily." Henry nodded. "I thought she was a victim. Someone else these monsters had kidnapped."

"That's how they get you." One of Turner's men spoke up. "They play the 'please help me card' and get you feeling sorry for them. Right up until they sink their fangs into your neck. Man I hate Makers."

"But why? They already had me tied up!"

"Because they get off on it! Bunch of sick freaks." the man answered.

"Sick freaks?" Kelly spat out. "We're the sick freaks? I kill for food, hunter! What do you kill for? For sport? For money? You dare call us freaks."

"Where is she?!" John said, stepping up, mere inches from her face. "Tell me!"

She spat a mouthful of black blood on his Kevlar vest. "Go to hell."

John smiled at her. "You first. Ben . . . get Anderson out of here."

"What? Why?" Henry stammered as several of Turner's men began pulling him away.

"John . . ." Ben started to argue.

"You're not going to want to see this either, Ben."

"Don't do this, John. I know you want to find Julia but this isn't the way to do it."

"Have it your way." Turner said, pulling a sawed off from his hip and pointing it at the woman's foot. A loud deafening boom filled the small, enclosed space. Her foot disappeared in a large stain of bloody gore. Wes moved his aim and did the same to the other foot. The woman's screams echoed through the entire house as she slouched forward, only the wire holding her in place.

Henry and the other men covered their ringing ears. "That was for Dozer and FatAss. I'm going to burn their names right into your forehead." He said, running a long knife blade across her cheek. "Right before I cut off all your limbs and toss you out into the sunlight."

"Where is she?" John screamed again slapping her with the blunt side of his machete. "Tell me!"

Turner grabbed the pliers from John's carpenter belt and latched on to one of her fangs. He yanked as hard as he could. It came loose with a pop. Kelly pulled at the wires binding her to the post. They cut deeply into her wrists leaving deep gashes in the post. Pushing her head against the post, he grabbed the other tooth and yanked even harder. She cried out in agony, blood pooling from her mouth.

"You bastard!" She spit. "Those don't grow back!"

"Oh I'm just getting started sweetheart. You ain't seen nothing yet!" Turner answered.

Henry looked down disgustedly at the woman's feet to see they seemed to be regenerating. He felt sick to his stomach. Ben grabbed him by the shoulder and almost pushed him down the ladder as the woman's screams grew louder and louder behind him.

"What the hell is going on up there?" Henry asked when they were outside.

"You don't want to know." Ben answered blocking the door.

"It looked like her feet were . . . coming back together! They can do that?"

"Henry, I told you about this . . . she's not a woman. She's a monster. They can regenerate limbs, heal bullet wounds all kinds of crazy shit."

Even from outside they could hear her screams. "My God what are they going to do to her?"

"She's one of the Makers that kidnapped John's wife. John and Wes are just . . . getting information. You see, she's not alone there are several more of her kind in the area. So John's going to find out where the others went."

Henry started to say something else but Ben held up his hands. "I'm not saying I agree with it. I'm just telling you how it is. This isn't usually John's thing, but Turner has his own way of doing things. He can get a little twisted at times."

"A little twisted? Seems to me the guy is an A one psychopath! He would have killed me if you hadn't come in. Wouldn't he? Hell he damn near killed his own man down in that basement!"

"If John hadn't interceded I have no doubt that he would have killed you."

"That sick sadistic bastard." Henry said, shaking his head in disgust.

"Come on Ranger. Let's get you back to your car. I'm sure your superiors are looking for you."

Henry nodded thoughtfully, his mind still in a daze. He had a lot to process. "What will you do now?" He asked looking over at Ben after they were well on their way back to his car.

"We'll finish mopping up the house, and then we'll torch it. Only way to make sure we didn't miss any. After that . . . we'll try to find John's wife."

"The arsons . . ." Henry said, thoughtfully.

"You've been chasing this a long time haven't you?" Ben asked turning into the motel parking lot.

"Most my life." Henry answered. "But now . . . it all makes sense."

"I'm sorry you had to see all this Henry. This is a world no one should have to know about."

Henry shook off his head in disbelief and shock. This world was real. He could either let it overwhelm him, or deal with it and do what he could to help. Right there he made up his mind. "Ben, listen. If you or John need anything at all, if there is anything I can do to help find his wife or help with the hunts, just let me know. You boys saved my life. I won't forget that."

"Thanks Henry." Ben extended his hand. "We'll be in touch."

Henry shook it and climbed out of the car. Ben pulled away heading back to the big house. Henry stood there watching him drive away. He had a lot to think over. Turning he looked at his wrecked car. Number one was how he was going to drive back to Dallas in a car that was missing its driver side door.

******

Turner's filet knife cut another long piece of flesh and muscle from Kelly's arm. "Just tell us what we want to know and I'll end it."

Only Wes, John, Talon and Tank Russell remained in the room. The rest of Turner's men were finishing up with the cleanup downstairs.

"I . . . can't . . .," she whispered, bloody black tears streaming down her cheeks. "Please, please . . . don't do this . . ."

"Oh I can do this all day long sweetheart." Turner tossed the flesh onto a pile on the floor as her arm slowly regenerated. "You see, you aren't human to me. So I have no qualms about doing things to you that you can't even imagine. Things you don't want to imagine and when I'm done . . . I'm letting my boys have a chance at that ass."

"That's enough, Wes." John said disgustedly, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Let me talk to her."

Turner shrugged and sheathed his knife. "You're in real trouble now, bitch. Do you know who this is?"

John leaned The Cleaner gently against the wall. The cut on his cheek was burning wickedly. If he didn't see to it soon it could turn life threatening. First, he had to know what she knew. "Kelly." he started gently. "If you give me what I want I give you my word we won't hurt you again."

"You'll let me go?" She asked her black stained red eyes pleading with him.

"You know I can't do that. I let you go and I'll have two dozen corpses on my conscious by the end of the month."

"I can't help what I am! I didn't ask for this!"

"I can't help what I am either. I didn't ask for you and your friends to come beat down my door and kidnap my wife. I haven't killed one of your kind in seven years."

"We had orders!" She screamed at him. "This wasn't my idea! I swear!"

"Who gave you the orders? What's his name?"

"I can't tell you that! Don't you understand! I want to tell you, I really do! I just can't! He won't let me!"

"Who won't let you?"

"My Maker's Maker!"

John looked around the room for affect. "I don't see him anywhere around. Do you Wes?"

"Nope." Wes answered playing his part. "Only bloodsuckers around here are in a burning pile in the front yard."

"It's just us here Kelly. Your Maker's Maker's Maker's Maker can't help or hurt you now. The only way you can end this is to tell us what we want to know. I promise I'll make it quick."

"You dumb redneck son of a bitch!" she screamed in his face. "I can't! He gave me an order not to say a word about who he is or where he is! I can't, no matter how hard I try, tell you. I can't disobey an order given by my Maker or by any Maker that made him!"

"So it's a mental control thing?" Turner asked. "Wow that's new."

"I'm telling you the truth!"

John nodded thoughtfully. "You know what Kelly, I believe you. But you have to give me something. Here's an easy one, where did they take my wife? Where did they take Julia?"

"I honestly don't know. The others . . . they all had different locations they were headed towards. After we hit your house, we split up. I was ordered here so that's where I came."

"Wes do you got a piece of paper?"

Wes gave him a strange look. "Do I look like I've got a piece of paper?"

"Ask. I'll remember." Talon said speaking for the first time since the torture began. "But when she answers you let her die. Understand? I'll help you John but I'm not taking any part in this."

"I thought you Comanches enjoyed torture?" Tank said, giving Talon a nasty snarl. "Tell me Parker, how many settlers did Quanah torture over the years?"

"I don't know Russell. It is a shame he didn't torture more Mexicans though. Maybe he'd have strung up one of your ancestors and I would not have to listen to your foul mouth."

Tank pulled the knife from behind his back and charged at Talon. In one smooth motion Talon, sidestepped, pulled his own blade and knocked Tank's knife across the room. The razor sharp edge of his bone handled knife pressed against Tank's throat drawing beads of blood. "Maybe a nice incentive would help the vampire to talk." Talon smiled. "A last meal."

"Cut it out Talon." Wes Turner said, stepping in between them. "Tank! Go help the rest of the boys clean up. We've got bounties to collect."

Tank looked past Turner giving Talon a venomous stare. "We'll settle up later asshole." He walked across the room and picked his knife off the floor then sheathed it behind his back. "You're mine bitch!" He yelled from the ladder.

"Whenever you are ready, Russell." Talon called after him. "I will teach you what torture is all about."

"Where'd you find him?" John asked.

"Vampire Hunters Anonymous." Turner answered with a straight face. "Where do you think I found him? Most of these guys are wanted by the law; you don't find many people that do what we do in a church."

John shook his head then nodded at Talon. "I give you my word, Talon. You hear that Kelly. You tell me where they are, and I'll make it quick and as painless as I can."

Kelly spit out some blood then lowered her head in defeat. "San Marcos Texas, Shreveport Louisiana, Corpus Christi Texas, Albuquerque New Mexico . . ." She listed a dozen more cities before finishing. "That's all I know, I swear."

"Is she alive?" John asked.

"Yes." Kelly answered.

"Okay then. Thank you." John said, relief filling his face. He pulled the machete from off his back. "I'm sorry for this Kelly . . ."

"Wait! Wait! Please! Don't do that. The sun - please let the sun take me. I want to see it one last time before I die."

"Do you think we're just going to cut you loose and walk you quietly down the stairs?" Turner asked.

"Please Mister! I won't hurt anyone, I promise! Besides where can I go! It's daylight outside."

"I'll take her." Talon said, walking up to her. He plucked the pliers from where Turner had dropped them on the floor and proceeded to cut the wires from around her wrists. She dropped to the floor in a lurch. Talon grabbed hold of one of her arms and gently pulled her up. "Do not betray my trust. If you do, I can assure you my associates will take their time cutting you up."

"I won't hurt anyone." She said, covering her bare breasts with her hands. Talon picked a ratty old sheet off a trunk in the corner and wrapped it over her shoulders. "Thank you."

He nodded and held out his hand to the ladder leading below. Keeping his hand close to the .44 strapped to his hip, he followed her down the steps. John was right behind them. Stepping to the first floor her skin began to smoke and smolder as the sun steaming through the open door hit her skin. She looked at John one last time then shrugged the sheet from off her shoulders. "This isn't going to stop, Bishop. This war is just beginning. My Maker will make all of you pay for this. He will know when I die. To be honest . . . I'm glad I won't be alive to see it. It's been nearly thirty years since I've felt the sun on my face." With that said, she turned and walked out into the sun. Her skin burst into bright blue flames, her blonde hair turned to ash. Soon she was just another skeleton in the pile.

"At least she died bravely." Talon said.

"That she did old friend. That she did." John nodded.

Ben pulled up the drive in the Sedan and got out of the car. "Did I miss much?" He asked stepping over the pile of dead vampires. John turned without answering.

"We have to get John away from these men." Talon said when John was out of earshot.

"That bad?" Ben asked pushing his glasses up on his nose.

"Yes. It is." was Talon's only reply.

Chapter 9

Cort

Cort Bishop's Residence, Lubbock TX.

April 9, 1995 3:56am

"TOMMY!" Cort yelled out, palming the revolver tucked carefully under his pillow. He cocked the hammer back with his sweaty thumb and frantically scanned over the darkened room. His sweat soaked undershirt and boxers stuck to him, as did his long gray hair. With his left hand, he reached up brushing it out of his eyes. Just barely over the pounding of his heart, he heard the phone threatening to ring off the nightstand. Only that had saved him from the nightmare he'd been having.

Relief flooded through him as he scanned over the room one last time again finding nothing. Un-cocking the hammer, he dropped the revolver to his navy blue sheets letting out a long sigh of relief. "Son of a bitch." He cursed running his fingers through his damp hair. "Tommy . . ."

Tom Turner, Cort's first hunting partner, had been dead for over thirty years, but Cort still dreamed about his demise on almost a nightly basis. Some memories were just too horrific to fade.

The alarm clock on the dresser across the room flashed a red 3:57am. The phone continued to ring. "Alright, alright I'm coming." He grabbed for the phone knocking over a glass of water in the process. It spilled, drenching a Louis L'Amour paperback he had been reading earlier that night. "Damn it!" he cursed, reaching for the switch to turn on the lamp.

With a click, the room filled with a soft glow. Cort grabbed the phone up with his left hand, "Hello, hello!" he held it to his ear with his shoulder and tried to shake dry his soaking wet book with his right.

"Hey, Pop," John's exhausted voice said from the other end.

"Johnny?" Cort asked, his mind coming fully awake. He dropped the book to the floor. "Damn it, John where are you? I haven't heard a peep from you in months. Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine." he said, in a very tired voice. "I'm in Tucson following a lead."

"A lead? In Arizona?"

"We torched a maker a few days back outside Santa Fe. Before he died we, uh . . . we managed to get some information out of him."

"How exactly did you mange to do that?" Cort asked rigorously scratching his head. "Makers don't just spill their guts if asked nicely."

"It's not important, Pop. Look, I'm sorry to call so late but is everything okay? How's Jake doing?"

Cort leaned over resting his elbows on his knees. "To be completely honest, not too good. I've actually been wanting to talk to you about that. He's getting into a lot of trouble in school."

"That's not like him at all. What's the problem?"

"What's the . . . what's the problem?!" Cort said, almost laughing aloud at such a ridiculous question. "Boy, what the hell do you think is the problem? It's bad enough he lost his mother! You being away has just made a hundred times worse! The boy needs his father. My God John you missed his birthday! Not even a phone call or a card! I may not have been the best father in the world, but I raised you better than that."

John sighed. "Well he's got you Pop."

"Son, are you listening to me?" Cort's face grew red with anger. "I said he needs his father! Not some broken down old man!"

"I really don't want to get into this, Pop." John shuffled around on the other end of the phone. "Did you get the money I sent?"

Cort put down the phone for a few seconds before answering. "Yeah I got it, but John I don't seem to be getting my point across. When are you coming home?"

"When it's done. Look, I've gotta go. Give Jake a hug for me okay? Tell him I love him."

Cort let out a deep sigh. You'll never be done! He wanted to scream. Nevertheless, he knew it wouldn't do any good. Once again, his son was all but lost to him. After all these years, he had thought he had finally gotten him back. But John was blinded by his anger, his hatred, and his loss. He knew nothing he could say would make a difference. All he could do was pray his son would come to his senses. "Why don't you call tomorrow and tell him yourself?"

"I don't think I'll have time, Pop. We've got a job in just a few hours. I'm close to finding her. I can . . . I swear I can almost feel it! She's close by, I just know it!"

How could he tell his only son that his wife was dead? Or worse? There really was no hope for her safe return after such a long period of time. However, Cort knew deep down his son knew that. He had been in the business long enough to see more than one family ripped apart. Now wasn't the time to confront him with it, not with him going into a hunt. "Alright son, you be careful, you hear? Get some rest, and watch your back."

"Will do Pop, I'll talk to you again when I can. Until then I'll keep the money coming in." John said, and then hung up the phone.

Cort sat holding the phone in his hands for several long minutes until it beeped loudly breaking his train of thought. Very slowly, he hung it up. He didn't like the sound of John's voice one bit. It wasn't only the fact that he sounded exhausted. There was something else beneath the surface. Something had changed.

Grabbing his paperback off the floor Cort stumbled into the bathroom and tossed it into the sink to dry, then grabbed a towel hanging on the wall and stepping back into his room wiped up the pool of water on his nightstand. His mind wandered over John's words. Something was definitely off. He would call Ben in the morning and find out what was going on.

Cort lay back down and flipped off the lamp. He tossed and turned for nearly three hours. Sleep just wouldn't come. He lay there wide-awake as the sun began to shine through his barred windows a little after 6:30am. Giving up, he tossed the sheets off and decided to start his day. Jake would be up in about an hour anyway to get ready for school so he figured he might as well make sure the boy got a good breakfast.

After taking a short shower, Cort stepped in front of the fogged up mirror and wiped it clean with his hand. Lathering his wrinkled face with shaving cream, he stared at his features in the mirror. Who's that old codger staring back at me? He thought to himself with a chuckle.

He lost a lot of good friends over the years, in situations just like John's. They had grown so obsessed with the hunt they'd gotten themselves, and often those they loved killed. He hated to see that happen to John, or Jake for that matter. This life was the last thing he ever would have wanted for his grandson. But once you were in you could never get out. Cort found that out the hard way.

Turning on the faucet to rinse the stubble from his razor, he completely drenched the paperback lying in the bottom of the sink. He had been so distracted he completely forgotten about it. Huffing in frustration, he grabbed it and chunked it into the trash. Ten minutes later he was fully dressed, complete with his .357 revolver tucked into his back waistband.

Making his bed, he tucked the .45 Colt revolver back in its place in his nightstand and headed down the hall past Jake's room, through the living room, and into the kitchen. Taking his time, he fixed a large plate of bacon and eggs with a large cup of black coffee. He had just sat down to read his morning paper when Jake came in rubbing his eyes. "Morning." Cort said, with a nod. "Have a seat, eat some breakfast."

"Morning," Jake said, stifling a yawn.

"You're up early this morning." Cort pushed the plate of food to Jake's side of the table.

"Bad dreams." Jake said, sitting down.

"Yeah I know all about that." Cort nodded thoughtfully. "Same ones about the . . ."

"About the grunt. Yeah." Jake dug his fork into some eggs with one hand and shoved two pieces of bacon into his mouth with the other.

Cort contemplated telling him about his conversation with John, but quickly dismissed the idea. He would wait until he had a few words with Ben and found out what was really going on before breaking the news that John still wasn't coming home. "So you ready for another exciting day of school?" He asked sipping his piping hot coffee.

"Can't wait." Jake said, through a mouthful of food.

School didn't seem to be going very well for Jake. Cort just wished he had more experience with this sort of thing. He had no idea what the boy was going through and knew even less about how to deal with it if he did know. From what he could tell, he wasn't making many friends. He would come back from school more than once with black eyes, busted lips, and bumps and bruises. Worst of all he seemed to be keeping it all built up inside. He never talked about what he had seen, what he'd felt that night in Midland. Not since the first morning he had come to live with him.

Cort did his best to try to prepare him for the world he now lived in. Day after day, he taught him what he could about being prepared at all times. He'd even taken him to the gun range a couple of times, but none of it seemed to be sinking in. The poor kid just seemed lost within himself.

Finishing his coffee, Cort took out a large pinch of chewing tobacco and shoved it into his cheek. He was about to say something to Jake about making sure his homework was done, when a loud knock came at the front door.

"Who the hell is that at 7:45 in the morning?" Cort said, looking down at his watch. A small sense of dread settled into his stomach.

Jake jumped to his feet. "Maybe it's Dad!" he ran excitedly to the door.

"Jake wait!" Cort called after him. But by the time he got there, Jake had already opened the front door to three men in business suits and an overweight police officer that badly needed a shave. Even from behind him, Cort could see the disappointment as the boy's shoulders slumped. Stepping up beside him he gently placed a hand on the boy's shoulder.

Cort looked the four men over, instantly not liking the look of them. Smells like lawyers. He thought to himself. He was glad Jake hadn't opened the gate. Maybe some of his lessons were finally sinking in after all. "Jake. Go finish your breakfast and get ready for school." he said, wanting to get the boy out of earshot in case it involved his father.

Jake looked from Cort to the men at the door and hesitantly did as he was told. Cort noticed the man in front give Jake a little wink with a smile before Jake turned and walked away. The kind that always creeped you out far more than it did to comfort you. Creep, was the first thought that came to mind.

Cort gave them all a long hard look before spitting into his spit cup. His eyes took in everything about them. What caught his attention the most was that the cop's holstered .38 was unlatched and ready to be pulled. Also from the look of the bulge in the two rear men's jackets, they were both packing shoulder holstered weapons. This wasn't going to end well. So Cort figured he'd go with the polite approach, "Who the hell are you? What do you want?"

"Mr. Bishop?" The thin man in front said. He looked to be in his late thirties with a receding already graying hairline. "My name is Mack Murphy. These are my associates Mr. James and Mr. Dolan, and this is Officer Brady."

"Son, I'm afraid you've got me confused with someone else. My name is Griffin."

The lawyer smiled at him. "Mr. Bishop, we both know that's not true."

"Okay then." Cort leaned his left hand on the barred gate. "Get to the goddamn point."

"Mr. Bishop, we have a court order to remove a young Mr. Jacob Bishop from your custody. Immediately."

I was right. Goddamn lawyers. "The hell you do. This boy belongs with me. I have permission from his father to be his legal guardian until his return."

"Uh huh." Officer Brady nodded slowly. "And where might I ask is John Bishop? Or would you prefer I call him John Griffin?" he added with a sly grin.

Cort spit a mouthful of tobacco juice into his spit cup. "You can call him John the Baptist for all I care. You're not taking the boy. And as far as John goes, I don't know where he is. I haven't seen him in over six months."

Brady stepped forward leaning his hand against the gate, a little too close for Cort's liking. "Mr. Bishop if you have any information about your son, you best tell us now. He's wanted in connection with the disappearance of his wife Julia and a Mr. Martin White."

Cort spit again this time missing the cup and hitting the cop's hand. "Oops." he said, as the cop yanked his hand back wiping it on his pants. "Sorry 'bout that. But tell me something? What's a Lubbock cop doing with three lawyers and asking questions about a case that's out of his jurisdiction? It's my understanding that the Texas Rangers cleared John of any involvement. So that leaves the question, what do you really want with him?"

"That's none of your concern." Murphy said, speaking up for him.

"Oh but it's yours?" Cort said, sarcastically. "Listen here son. Take your lawman and get off my property before someone gets hurt."

"I'm afraid I can't do that Mr. Bishop. You see we're representatives of a Mr. Richard L. Riker."

"Son of a bitch." Cort said, shaking his head.

"I thought you might remember him." Murphy said, with a wicked smile. "We're not leaving until we remove Jacob and transport him to his rightful guardian in Santa Fe."

"Son of a bitch!" Cort said, even louder. "Why can't that miserable old bastard just die?"

"If you would just be so kind and read over this paper work." Murphy shoved a document through a mail slot in the gate.

Cort snatched it out of his hand and glanced it over. "Son-of-a-bitch." He said, slowly. "No good, crooked . . ."

"What's going on?" Jake walked up tucking his shirt into his jeans.

"Well, Jake. These dirt bag lawyers have come to take you away." Cort said, and then nodded toward Officer Brady. "And they've paid off just the right people to make it happen."

Murphy ignored Cort and leaned down getting eye to eye with Jake. "Now Jake, I've got a very special man that would very much like to meet you. He's your Grandfather. Would you like to meet your Grandfather? He's a very rich man and he lives in a very big house."

Both Cort and Jake rolled their eyes in unison. "Mister I'm not five, so don't talk to me as if you can bribe me with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. I already have a Grandpa. I'm not going anywhere." Jake crossed his arms defiantly.

The lawyer let out a deep breath. "Officer Brady?"

The overweight cop stepped back up to the gate and hit it repeatedly with his baton. His other hand gripped tightly on the butt of the .38. "I'm done being nice old man. Open the door. We're taking the boy."

Cort looked down at the papers still clutched in his hand and spat a mouthful of thick brown tobacco juice on them before shoving them back through the hole in the gate. "The hell you are fat boy." He reached behind his back and in the blink of an eye yanked the .357 from his waistband. "You better be packing a hell of a lot more than that little .38, if you plan on coming in this house."

He cocked the hammer back pointing it leisurely at all four of them. They scattered, running for cover. In his haste, the cop actually dropped his revolver and had to stop to pick it up. For a split second, Cort was tempted to shoot him in the ass just for fun. He let out a loud laugh at the idea, but his better judgment got the best of him and he slammed the heavy door shut locking all four deadbolts. "Well that could have gone better." He said, with a chuckle.

"Grandpa what did you just do?" Jake asked his face going white. "You just pulled a gun on a cop! You can't do that! I mean, seriously Grandpa, you can't do that!"

Cort laughed. "Jake my boy, I'm not shooting a cop. Even if he is paid off by one of the most crooked sons of bitches, the world has ever known. I just did that to buy us some time and maybe get a few more cops here for backup. I don't want that little bastard claiming I resisted arrest and shooting me in the back. He had a nasty look about him and I'd rather be locked up than dead."

"You really think he would have shot you?" Jake asked his face filled with both excitement and fear.

"I wouldn't put anything past Riker, and at least two of those so called 'lawyers' were packing. Knowing Riker, he'd do just about anything to have me out of the way, and he's got the money to do it."

"We've got to find dad!" Jake exclaimed. "He's the only one that can help us."

"Yeah well . . ." Cort said, walking over to the phone. Picking it up, he began dialing numbers. After a few rings, Ben Morris picked up.

"Yello!" Ben answered as he always did.

Sorry 'bout this kid. Cort thought to himself. "Benny. It's Cort. Listen, I'm in trouble and I'm going to need some help."

"Ah hell Cort. What have you gotten yourself into now?"

Cort swallowed deep. He had to find just the right words to explain this. "Well, I uh, I pulled my .357 on a crooked cop and a bunch of high powered lawyers." Oh, you're on a roll today old man! He thought to himself.

"You did what?!" Ben yelled into the phone.

"I know, I know. But what else could I do? I had to buy some time. Riker's trying to get hold of Jake. Claims he has full custody rights." Cort began pacing around the room as he listened to Ben breathing heavily on the other end. He glanced out the window his eyes growing large as three more cruisers pulled up in front of the house. Four cops stepped out each with shotguns in their hands.

"You damn Bishops. I swear \- every chance you get, one of you puts me in a bind!" Ben yelled into the phone.

"Yeah, yeah." Cort rolled his eyes. "Listen Benny, I'm running out of time here. You've got to get a hold of John and tell him what's going on."

Ben let out a deep breath. "Cort, I don't know where John is. I haven't seen him since Albuquerque, almost three weeks back."

"What do you mean you don't know where he is?" Cort asked his voice filled with shock. Things with John were a lot worse off than he had thought.

"John kinda split ways with Talon and me after that. He, uh . . . well . . . let's just say he's running with a different crowd nowadays."

Cort talked very slowly so that Ben would know he was dead serious. "Ben. Listen to me very carefully. Who is watching my son's back?"

"Wesley Turner."

A loud pounding began on the gate outside, followed by a voice demanding Cort come out with his hands up. Cort barely heard it over his pounding heart. God anyone but that psychopath! "Turner? Bloody Wes Turner and his group of scumbags are the only ones watching John's back? Ah, shit Ben! This is bad, really bad! Why didn't you call me? Why didn't someone tell me?" The pounding on the door grew even louder.

"I'm sorry Cort. We should have, it's just that . . . well I was hoping John would find his own way back home. Listen, it's a long story, Cort. And from the sound of things, you don't have time to hear it. Listen, I'll do what I can from my end, I'll contact Henry Anderson and see what he can do, but you make damn sure you don't get yourself shot. Although it would make my life infinitely easier, we can't afford to lose you."

Cort nodded as if Ben could see him. "Alright Ben, but when I get out of this you and Talon have some explaining to do. I need to know exactly what is going on with my son. Do you understand?"

The gate banged even louder as something massive slammed into it.

"Yeah, Cort, I understand." Ben said, quietly.

"Well, Ben, it looks like I'm all out of time. I guess I'll call you from jail. I better go before a SWAT team rips my damn door down." He hung up the phone and looked over at Jake. "I'm sorry son. There's nothing I can do."

"What about Dad? What did you find out?" Jake asked, completely ignoring the now enraged pounding on the gate.

"Later. Later." Cort said, dismissing him and peeking out the window again.

"Grandpa I know you know something. What is going on with, Dad? Who's Bloody Wes Turner? Is Dad in trouble?" Jake said, raising his voice.

Cort would rather not do it this way, but he couldn't put it off any longer. "I don't know kid. I'm not going to lie to you. All I can tell you is that I talked to him last night and he didn't sound too good. Sounded very tired. But other than that, as far as I know he's fine."

"So he's okay?" Jake asked. "They haven't killed him or turned him?"

Cort gently grabbed his grandson by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. "No son, he's just fine. I would tell you if something like that happened. I promise."

Jake nodded solemnly and looked away. "At least he's okay."

A pounding at the backdoor started as well. "There's not a vampire on earth that could kill your dad kid." Cort walked over and peeped out the blinds. There were now at least a dozen cops outside. Most were wearing body armor.

"Grandpa, are you going to go to jail?" Jake asked.

"Hmm?" Cort said absentmindedly pulling away from the window he had been looking out.

"Jail, Grandpa, jail!" Jake yelled at him.

Sometimes Cort forgot that his grandson was still so young and needed things clarified. "Oh that? Yeah. You can't pull a gun on a cop and not go to jail. Even in Texas. But don't sweat it son. I've been locked up a time or two in my life. Ben will figure something out and get me out in no time. But until we can figure out just what the hell we're going to do, you're going to have to go stay with your other Grandpa for a bit."

"But I don't even know him! I don't want to stay with him! Dad always said he was a miserable, mean old son of a bitch!"

"Watch your cussing." Cort said, walking down the hall to the gun vault. He pulled his keys out and shoved each one into its lock then with a grunt pulled it open. He pulled out the .357 he had shoved back into his waistband and set it inside then pulled another gun from an ankle holster and set it next to it. When he was done he slammed shut the heavy door, turned the locks, and handed the keys to Jake.

"You take good care of that son. I don't want these cops getting into that vault and robbing me blind." Jake shoved the key ring into his pocket. "Now listen to me very carefully. Your grandpa is a very evil man."

Jake started to say something but Cort held up his hand silencing him. "I'm not kidding Jake. Don't you trust him for one minute. He's out for one person and one person only. Himself. Blood or no blood it doesn't matter. Do you understand?"

Jake shrugged his shoulders. "I guess so . . ."

He'll learn soon enough. Cort thought. "Best go pack some clothes before they get inside. Once they do, you won't have much time before the lawyers haul you away."

Jake ran into his room and began packing. Two of the windows in the kitchen shattered and a police officer's voice carried in over a megaphone demanding he open the door.

"You ready kid!" Cort yelled through the house. "These guys aren't going to wait all day!"

Jake rushed into the living room his bag slung over his shoulder. Cort gave him a firm grab on his shoulder and smiled at him. "It's all going to be okay, kid. We'll get all this figured out and I'll see you in just a few days. Now I want you to go in the living room and keep your hands above your head."

Jake nodded nervously.

Cort took several deep breaths, walked over to the front door, and turned all the locks. He opened it slowly and then turned the locks on the gate pushing it open with his foot while keeping his hands high in the air. There were at least fifteen cops outside, all with their guns pointed in his direction. "I ain't armed!" He screamed at them. "Don't shoot!"

"Get down on the ground!" The cop with the megaphone yelled.

Cort grunted as he landed on his knees. They popped and groaned, but somehow he managed to keep his hands high in the air. He prayed deep down that none of these men had itchy trigger fingers.

Minutes later Cort was handcuffed and in the back of a squad car. He watched helplessly as the lawyers escorted Jake to the back of a brand new Lincoln Town Car. The one named Murphy took Jake's bag from him and tossed it to the front yard. He gave Cort a one handed salute and a smile as he shut Jake's door.

"Yeah smile you little son of a bitch." Cort said, aloud. "You'll get yours. You can't work for the devil and not get burned."

Chapter 10

Jake

Lubbock, TX.

April 9, 1995 8:17am

Jake watched the houses of his street speed by as the car he was now trapped in pulled away from his life in Lubbock. For the second time in less than a year, he'd been ripped away from everything he knew and cared about. Is this what my life will be like from now on? He thought to himself. What's the point of ever caring for anyone or anything if you're just going to get ripped away from it?

"What's going to happen to my Grandpa?" He asked the silent men on either side of him. Both men continued to stare out the window, neither of them bothering to answer.

"Ah come on guys. The least you can do is answer me." Jake said, looking at the cold, glaring eyes of Mr. Murphy staring back at him from the rear view mirror.

"Just sit back and keep your mouth shut." Murphy replied with a snarl. "We'll be at the airport soon."

Jake smiled inwardly. Keeping his mouth shut was the last thing he was going to do. Time to play the kid card. "An airplane? Cool!" He exclaimed. "I've never been on a plane before! Man this is going to rock! What kind of plane is it? Is it a jet, or a single engine? What color is it? Man I sure am hungry, you guys wouldn't happen to have something to eat would you? Wow look at that car over there! I bet it goes real fast! Could you turn the air on? It's getting too hot back here." On and on he went the entire thirty-minute drive to the airport. The white knuckled grip Mr. Murphy now had on the steering wheel and the grinding motion he was making with his teeth just made Jake complain and ask questions that much more. This was the most fun he had in a long time and it didn't stop once they had boarded the plane. For the next four hours, he did his best to drive the three men nuts. He kicked their seats, pushed every button he could find, say he needed to use the bathroom every thirty minutes. By the time they landed, all three men's faces had turned beet red.

The plane landed in a small airstrip surrounded by trees. "This doesn't look like New Mexico." he said, stepping off the plane onto the tarmac. "Where the heck are we?"

"None of your business." Dolan said, grabbing him by the arm and shaking him violently. "Shut your mouth before I shut it for you!"

Maybe I should stop pushing. Jake thought to himself as Dolan shoved him into a waiting suburban.

An hour and a very quiet car ride later Jake's eyes grew large as saucers as the car pulled up to a very large chain link fence. Behind it stood the biggest house, he had ever seen in his life. It looked like a castle out of medieval times. The property was surrounded on all sides by a fifteen-foot high razor wire fence with giant floodlights protruding from dozens of different poles. Heavily armed guards patrolled the grounds with automatic rifles and German Sheppards. Jake's first impression was that it looked very much like a prison.

On three sides of the property was a mass of solid trees. As he stared at them, he almost felt as if something was staring back at him. A sickening feeling grew in his gut. He had a very good idea of why his grandfather had so much security. Monsters in the night . . .

Two guards approached, checking the IDs of the men in the car. After they were cleared one spoke into a walkie-talkie and the two sets of electronic gates pulled open. After the car pulled through, they were immediately closed back. "Whatever you do boy, don't try to climb that fence." Opening his mouth for the first time, the lawyer known to him as Mr. James, barked at him. "They're electrified with a few hundred thousand volts. You'd be dead before you even realized your hand had touched the wire."

After exiting the car, they led him through a large set of heavily fortified doors that looked as if they could withstand tank rounds. Immediately inside was a massive room with a two large staircases. Standing in the middle of the room wearing a large gray frock was an older man with slicked back gray hair and an annoyed look about him. "He's your problem now, Paul." Murphy said, shoving Jake towards him.

"Indeed," he said, with a thick English accent. "Mr. Riker would like to have words with you now that the boy has been safely delivered. I believe you know the way to his study."

"I do." Murphy said, with a nod. "Good luck kid." he said with an evil grin then got close and whispered in his ear. "You're going to need it."

"Uh, hi." Jake said slowly, not sure what to make of this.

"My name is Paul. Please follow me. I will take you to your room. Your grandfather will meet you later this evening for dinner."

"Uh, okay." Jake said, slowly. "Is there any way I could make a phone call real quick? To make sure my Grandpa is okay."

"You may not," Paul said, heading up the stairs.

They walked up the stairs, down a hall completely void of color or pictures to a room at the very end. Paul opened the door to the most amazing sight an eleven-year-old boy could hope to see. The room was absolutely packed full of toys and games. Three large arcade games sat in the corner as well as four different pinball machines.

The biggest TV that Jake had ever seen sat against the southern wall with a VCR and state of the art surround sound system sitting on top of it. Next to that was every gaming console ever made with several hundred games. Jake's mouth hung wide open. Everything a kid could ever want was right in front of him. Maybe this won't be so bad after all! He thought to himself. Walking slowly into the room he tried to take it all. He turned to say something to Paul only to see he was already gone. "His loss!" Jake said, aloud.

Jake immediately ran over and grabbing the remote off the top of it, turned on the TV. "Yes! Cable!" He exclaimed flipping through the channels. Turning on the Super Nintendo, Jake sat down on the edge of the king size bed, controller in hand and went to work. For the next two hours he did his very best to play through every video game.

Right about sundown, as Jake was winding down a game of Super Mario World, Paul returned with a handful of clothes. He laid them gently on the king size bed in the middle of the room.

"Dinner will be served in one hour," he said, in a thick English accent. "Shower and make yourself presentable." he then walked out of the room closing the door behind him.

Jake took one look at the clothes and knew he wasn't about to change into them. He'd never worn a tie in his life and he wasn't about to start now. An hour later, he walked downstairs still wearing the clothes he had put on that morning.

Paul stood at the bottom of the stairs. Jake took one look at the rage building in the old butler's eyes, and knew he had made a big mistake. "Stupid boy!" He yelled, his voice echoing through the large room. "I gave you express orders to change!"

"Orders?" Jake reached the bottom of the stairs and looked down at his faded black T-shirt. "Who are you? The clothes police?" Jake never saw it coming. Paul backhanded him right across the bridge of his nose knocking him to the bottom step.

"You will do as you are told!" he exclaimed. "You will not dress as a common hoodlum! Not whilst you reside in this house!"

Jake grabbed his now throbbing nose in shock.

"Come." Paul said, seeming to gather his wits. "Your grandfather is waiting."

Jake stood up hesitantly keeping his distance from him.

Paul led him through the giant entryway into an even larger room with wood paneling on the walls. As with most of the house, he had seen so far, the room was completely devoid of any pictures or artwork. A long mahogany dining room table sat in the middle of it. At the head of the table sat a very old, very frail looking man with an overly large straw cowboy hat on. His bushy gray eyebrows threatened to overwhelm his cataract covered eyes and an overly large blue flannel shirt hung loosely on chest. Instead of a dining room chair, he sat in an electric wheel chair. Oxygen tubes attached to his nose and a brownish yellow urine bag hung from the side of his chair with a tube running up under a stained blanket covering his lap.

Jake tried to hide his disgust. Even from across the room he could smell the old man's strange musty stench. He stood there nervously not quite sure what to do next when Paul's overly loud voice caused him to jump. "Mr. Riker, sir! May I present your grandson, Jacob!"

"Eh?" the old man screamed across the room.

Jake could have sworn he saw a glint of annoyance in Paul's eyes but the butler quickly hid it. "Forgive me sir!" He said, even louder. "Your grandson sir, Jacob!"

The old man didn't say anything but nodded, his mouth chewing some unseen morsel hidden away in his cheek.

"Uh . . . hello." Jake said, nervously.

"You'll have to speak up. Mr. Riker has trouble hearing." Paul whispered.

"Hello!" Jake yelled across the room.

"Hmmph." The old man muttered then began coughing. "What the hell are you wearing?" he said, when he was done hacking. Reaching into a pocket on his flannel shirt, he pulled out a very thick pair of glasses and placed them on his nose. His eyes seemed huge as he stared at Jake for what seemed like an eternity before speaking again. "You look like a hippie."

"Nice to meet you too." Jake said, rolling his eyes.

"Don't give me lip boy!" He exclaimed then began another hacking cough that ended with him spitting a large wad of yellow phlegm into a rag.

He hears better than he lets on. Jake took a second to remember his mother's smiling face. This was her dad. Disgusting or not, he deserved a little respect. "I'm sorry, um, Grandpa!" he said, loudly. "I didn't mean any disrespect!"

"Ah well. I guess you can't help it." He said, snapping his frail boney fingers. "Your daddy was trash. Only figures you'd come out the way you did."

Jake was speechless. He hadn't the slightest idea how to respond to that.

Paul walked into what could have only been the kitchen, and returned with a very large, very rare, bloody T-bone steak and set it in front of him. A matching steak he set in front of Jake. There were no sides, no baked potatoes or vegetables just a large bloody steak. Jake stared down at it in disgust. It wasn't that he didn't like steak. He loved steak! He just preferred them not to still be mooing.

Paul stepped away from him and began cutting up the steak for the old man. When he finished, Riker, without a word of thanks, waved him away with his hand. Man Grandpa and Dad were dead on about this guy. Jake thought to himself, He's a real mean son of a bitch.

They ate in silence for the next ten minutes, all of which Riker chewed or rather gummed the same piece of steak the entire time, his eyes never leaving Jake. Jake felt a tingle up his spine as if someone had just walked over his grave. He lowered his eyes unable to meet those of the old broken down man before him. "You look like your daddy." He said, then snorted and dropped his napkin to his plate. Without saying another word, he turned his electric wheel chair and wheeled away.

Paul walked over and looked down at Jake. "Return to your room. Dinner is over."

"But I'm not done yet." Jake said, quickly taking another bite of his bloody steak. It was disgusting but he was ravenously hungry. Paul hit him in the back of the head knocking the piece of meat from his teeth. "I said, dinner is over!" he jerked the plate away.

All the video games in the world aren't worth this. Jake thought to himself. Alone he walked slowly up to his room and laid down on his bed then stared around at all the pointless stuff surrounding him. When his parents had been broke and living in little more than a shack, he had dreamed of having a room like this. Now he would gladly give it all up just to have them both back. "I sure miss you Mom and Dad." He said aloud into the big lonely room. A tear fell down his cheek. "And you too Grandpa." Although it was barely nine pm, he fell asleep.

The next morning he was awoken bright and early at five am by Paul opening his curtains. "What! What's going on?" Jake said, jumping out of bed, images of creatures lurking in the darkness filling his mind. He had the same old nightmares again.

"Your tutor will be here in one hour's time." Paul said, "Do not make the same mistake you did last night. Get yourself bathed, and dressed properly! I will return in one hour."

Not wanting to be hit again Jake did what he was told. He stepped into his very large personal bathroom and stripped down to take a shower. When he got out, the clothes he had laid on the marble countertop were gone. Angrily he stepped back into his room with a towel wrapped around him. He was beyond mad. First, they had left his suitcase back in Lubbock now they had stripped him of the only clothes he still could claim as his own. "Where are my clothes?!" He yelled out to no one in particular.

"I disposed of them." Paul's voice carried in from right outside his door. "Now put on something presentable before your tutor arrives."

"But it's Saturday! School's out on Saturday!" Jake yelled back at him.

"School is never out here. You will be taught every single day from six am to three pm."

Jake heard the butler's footsteps proceed down the hallway. He dropped the towel around his waist in disgust and grabbed up the shirt and tie neatly laid on his bed. Jake shook his head in disbelief then dressed. Less than thirty minutes later a "properly" dressed Jake made his way downstairs, where Paul handed him a plate with two dry, nearly burnt pieces of toast on it. Jake picked one of them up and hit it against the plate. It was stale as cardboard. "What's this supposed to be?"

"Breakfast. Not hungry? Fine." Paul said, reaching for the plate.

Nearly starving from barely eating the entire day before, Jake jerked the plate away before Paul could take it. Grabbing up a piece in each hand he shoved them into his mouth as quickly as he could. "Sumting drink?" He asked through a mouthful of bread.

Paul disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a glass of warm water. Jake didn't even bother arguing, but downed the entire glass then finished the last of his toast. After he was done Paul led him to a large room where dust covered books lined the shelves. A single solitary table sat in the middle of the dim room with a single green lamp sitting on it.

Sitting at the table with a worn black briefcase in front of him was an overweight, white haired man with a thick set of bifocals covering his eyes. He wore a tight fitting suit with a red bow tie. He nodded at Jake and smiled warmly. "Good morning Mr. Riker. I am Mr. Orwell. I will be your tutor."

Jake turned around half expecting to see his grandfather wheeling up behind him. When he noticed there was no one but him standing there it dawned on him, the tutor was addressing him. "Uh, my name isn't Riker. It's Bishop. Jacob Bishop. But you can call me Jake."

"I'm afraid you are mistaken." Paul said, coming up behind him with a stack of books. "Your name is no longer Bishop."

"What do you mean?" Jake asked spinning around to face him. "You can't just change my name."

"It is your grandfather's wish. He is your guardian now and he has decided you need a name more befitting your new stature."

"Unfreaking believable." Jake said, rolling his eyes. "Just when I think this can't get any worse." Paul ignored him and walked out of the library, closing the doors behind him.

Mr. Orwell leaned across the short table and just barely above a whisper said, "It's not all bad lad. Believe me, things could be a lot worse."

HOW! Jake thought but didn't dare say. Over the next six hours, he struggled to stay awake as his tutor prattled on about the great Roman Empire and Julius Caesar. At twelve, he was given a one-hour break for lunch but was not allowed to go outside. "It is forbidden." was all Paul would say as he brought him a peanut butter sandwich.

Undaunted, Jake tried to sneak out anyway and ran smack dab into three armed guards who quickly escorted him back inside. To his relief they didn't tell Paul. At three, he was released back to his room where he was able to play video games and watch TV until dinner, but Jake didn't feel like doing any of that.

As he lay on his bed, his mind began contemplating plans to escape. From what he could see there was no way out. The windows were all heavily barred. The only way in or out that he had seen was the front door but beyond that was two fifteen foot tall, electrified, razor wire fence. There was little hope for an escape, but his Grandpa Cort had taught him that even the worst of situations could be gotten out of if a man just took the time to stop, think, and plan. So that's just what he did.

At dinnertime, he was once again escorted to meet his grandfather in the great dining hall. Again, they sat at the football field length table. Riker, as Jake had begun to think of him, seemed to be wearing the exact same clothes he had had on the day before. "Hmmmph." he said, making a deep rasping sound in his throat. "That's more like it."

"More like what?" Jake asked, looking at him confused.

"Your clothes. That's the way a boy should dress. Not like some bum off the streets."

Jake couldn't take it another second. He threw his fork down on his plate. "Why did you bring me here? I was more than happy at my Grandpa Cort's house."

"Who could be happy living with white trash like that? No heir of mine will be living in such filth."

"My Grandpa isn't white trash!" Jake yelled across the table. "He's twice the man you are! What the hell have you ever done?" Jake asked his heart pounding in his chest.

The old man stared back at him. He took several long raspy breaths then tilted his cowboy hat back with one skeleton finger. "Boy." he said, slowly. "Look around you. I'm the fourth richest man on this planet. I can buy anything or anyone I set my eyes on."

Though he knew he would catch a beating for it, Jake couldn't help himself. "Could you buy my mother's love? Could you buy my father's respect?"

Riker's eyes blazed with fire. He had most definitely hit a nerve. "I don't need his respect! You worthless piece of Bishop trash!" he yelled then began coughing into his already stained blue handkerchief. He spat a mouthful of phlegm into his rag. A long piece of it stretched from his chin down to his chest. "How dare you talk to me like that! I had hoped at least some of my blood ran through your veins. But I see you're nothing more than a sniveling piece of shit just like your sorry excuse for a father. You will never see one penny of my money! You hear me boy! Not one penny!"

"You mean old bastard!" Jake yelled back, unable to control his anger. "I don't want any of your money! And I didn't ask to be brought here!" Paul's hands were suddenly on his shoulders pushing him back into his chair. "Get your hands off me!" Jake said, trying to pull away from his grip.

Riker snarled at him. "You are dead to me! You hear me, boy? Dead!"

"Good!" Jake yelled back still struggling against Paul. "Then let me go home!"

"Oh no!" Riker said, grinning. "I can't do that." Jake could almost see the light bulb forming over the old man's head as an idea took root. "I've got a much better idea. I'll use you as bait!"

"Bait?" Jake asked confused at this strange turn of events. "I don't understand."

"They want you bad, boy! Real bad! All my sources connected to their world say they are looking for you. So maybe, just maybe I'll just let them have you."

"Who?" Jake asked, terrified that the answer would be what he thought it was. "What are you talking about?" he said, praying it wouldn't be that. Please God anything but that.

"You dumb little snot! The vampires of course!"

Jake felt his heart leap into his throat. His own grandfather was about to serve him up on a silver platter to the one thing he feared more than anything else in the entire world. "Why would you do something like that?"

"Oh I won't just let them come in and take you. But I'd wager they'd be willing to do just about anything to get their hands on the son of the legendary John Bishop!" He said, followed by a combination of violent coughing and laughing.

"You're insane!" Jake yelled at him. "You are totally insane! These monsters took my mother! Your daughter!" Jake shook his head in disbelief. "What could you possibly want from them?"

Riker stopped coughing and inhaled several long breaths from the oxygen tubes in his nose. "Stupid, stupid boy. My daughter died the minute she married that piece of shit John Bishop. But vampires could give me so much more!"

"Like what?" Jake stammered.

"The one thing I can't buy, immortality?" he said, then turned his chair and wheeled away.

Paul let go of him and Jake jumped to his feet knocking his chair over. He didn't even look back but ran as fast as he could upstairs to his room. He slammed the door as hard as he could with tears pouring from his eyes.

He had to find a way out. There had to be a way. The front door was too well guarded. The windows were all barred. A phone was his only hope. He would call his Grandpa Cort and teach Riker a thing or two.

Hours later, when all the lights in the house were finally off, Jake crept slowly through the house. After thoroughly exploring every room upstairs, he hadn't found a single phone. Just empty, dusty, long unused guest rooms.

Ever so carefully, he crept downstairs. He hadn't taken a single bite of food at dinner. Dining with a complete lunatic had caused him to lose his appetite. Now his stomach rumbled loudly. Might as well make a stop at the kitchen while I'm down here.

It was dark downstairs. Not a single solitary light was lit, but he didn't dare turn on one on. Somewhere on the first floor was not only Riker's room, but Paul's as well.

Creeping through the darkened dining room, he walked through a pair of double doors he had seen Paul go through earlier that evening. On the other side was a massive kitchen filled with various appliances. It was hard to make out though as the kitchen had no windows. Searching along the wall, he found a row of light switches. He flipped them one by one until the kitchen was bathed in light. All of the appliances looked as if they hadn't been used in years. He opened a row of cabinets to find stacks of plates coated in a thin layer of dust. Where's the fridge? He thought looking around. A large door that could only lead to a walk in freezer stood at the other end near a large dishwashing station. Opening it, Jake stepped inside the chilly room. It wasn't a freezer at all but a large refrigerator. Jake's jaw dropped.

Hanging in rows four deep from the front to the back were dozens of bags of blood. "What the hell?" Jake exclaimed. "What is going on here?" He quickly stepped back through the open door and slammed it shut much louder than he had intended. Jogging quietly back to the door he flipped the light switches off and crept back into the dining room, fearful that someone would come to investigate the loud noise. A snack can wait! I'm getting the hell out of here! He thought to himself in a panic.

As he crept further into the house, he began to hear voices steadily coming closer. Jake quickly ducked through a door to find a dimly lit staircase leading into what looked to be a very small basement. He leaned close to the door listening. Paul's voice accompanied by someone he didn't recognize walked by and then out of earshot.

Jake dropped to the floor completely motionless. Then he began hearing something else. A strange high-pitched whistling and it seemed to be coming from the bottom of the stairs. His curiosity got the best of him and he began to ever so quietly to descend into the room below.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he couldn't believe how tiny the room really was. It was barely eight feet wide and was completely empty; only a single swinging light bulb lit the small space. A small hole was on the left side of the wall. The whistling stopped as Jake stared into the hole. "Hello?" Jake said, his voice quivering with a touch of fear.

A grizzled, dirty face appeared smiling back at him with deep red eyes and long fanged teeth. It took Jake a few seconds to register what he was looking at. When he did, he fell back in terror. "What do we have here?" The creature on the other side asked, "Why if it isn't a young lad! Has the greedy old corpse sent me a treat? Another one of his bribes?"

Jake was speechless. A vampire! A vampire!

"No, not a bribe . . . hmm . . . an adventurer then! Come to see the monster in the basement? Well then boy come along. Have a good look!"

His stomach spinning and his heart pounding, Jake stepped back to the hole and glanced inside. All he saw was an even smaller room without a single piece of furniture in it.

"Up here." The voice called to him.

Jake angled his head up so he could look at the room's ceiling. Hanging from it was an old man with a very dirty, long white beard. He smiled with a mouthful of fangs and began laughing. Jake stumbled back in terror. Riker had a vampire locked in his basement. Not just any vampire. Not some mindless, brutish grunt like the beast Marty White had become. This one was intelligent. This one was a Maker.

Chapter 11

Jake

The Riker Mansion

April 11, 1995 2:01am

Leaving the booming laughter of the Maker behind him, Jake ran back upstairs as fast as his legs could carry him. By the grace of God, he managed to make it back to his room without anyone noticing he had even been gone.

A vampire here! He thought to himself as he struggled to shove a large wooden desk up against the door. A vampire! This can't be happening . . . this can't be happening . . . Jake struggled and panted as he pushed even more furniture against the door. When he was done, he wrapped a shirt around his neck for protection grabbed a blanket off the bed and fell into the furthest corner of the room.

Why in the world would the old man have a vampire locked up in the basement? His grandfather wanted to be a vampire. That much he had made clear. So it didn't make sense to Jake that the he needed him for bait when a Maker was literally right under his feet. It just didn't add up.

Jake wrapped the blanket around himself and crouched in the corner, his heart pounding with fear, his eyes watching the door for even the faintest movement. What if it gets loose? Will a desk, a chair and a couple of bookcases be enough to keep him out? He seriously doubted it. The blood! That's why he has the blood!

He didn't sleep the entire night. Every time he dosed off he would hear the house creak and would think the Maker was in his room preparing to feast on him.

Paul knocked at his door at five a.m. but Jake refused to come out. He wasn't going anywhere until the sun was up. Paul knocked harder and harder and even tried to force his way into the room. He became highly enraged when he couldn't budge the door. Through all of the butler's threats and curses, Jake remained completely quiet. There were far worse things in this house than an angry Englishman on a power trip.

Jake remained locked in his room for the next three days. After the second day Paul didn't even bother to try to get him out, he knew he had to come down and eat at some point.

On the third day, Jake's eyes were red and his stomach long since empty. He only slept when the sun was high in the sky and even then, he barely dozed off. When he actually did sleep, he would jump from some nightmare and wake himself up. He stayed hydrated by drinking from the bathroom sink, but the pain that had settled into his stomach was near unbearable. Letting out a deep sigh, he rose from his corner and pulled the furniture away from the door one by one. Walking down those steps was the beyond terrifying. He knew when Paul found him it would be very bad. What happened next was worse than he could have imagined.

The moment his foot left the final step, Paul had him by the hair and was dragging him through the house. He tossed him roughly into his grandfather's study, where the old man sat in his electric wheel chair. He wheezed loudly as Jake landed at his feet.

"You just made a big mistake, boy." The old man pointed at him with one of his boney fingers. "A big mistake." He reiterated. He nodded to Paul.

Jake's body twisted in pain as the thick leather belt hit him square in the back. He screamed and tried to escape but two of his grandfather's guards were quickly there to hold him down. Paul swung again and again. Tears and snot poured down his face as his consciousness faded. The last thing he heard before passing out was the hacking laughter of Richard Riker.

A week later, after his cuts and bruises were healed enough for him to walk again, Jake made his way down the stairs dressed in his new clothes. He ate his dry breakfast without daring to look Paul in the eye.

He sat down at the table and buried his head in his books. "Let me know if this little miscreant misbehaves." Paul smiled. "I will be more than happy to correct him if he does."

"That's quite enough, Paul." Mr. Orwell said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "Leave us."

"Do not suppose to give me orders you fat porpoise!" Paul yelled. "If you ever speak to me that way again I will have you removed from these premises!

Mr. Orwell placed both of his hands on the table and leaned forward until he was mere inches from Paul. "Do not threaten me you little English bastard. I am not an eleven-year- old boy, and I will not be bullied by the likes of you. This library is my domain. You will not threaten my student and you will not enter this room again unless invited. Am I understood?"

"We shall see about that." Paul said storming from the library.

"Thanks for that." Jake nodded to Mr. Orwell. "I hope you didn't just get fired."

Mr. Orwell snorted. "Paul thinks too much of himself. He is little more than a puppet that Riker enjoys controlling. Now young man, let us finish our lessons."

Mr. Orwell continued his lesson on the Roman Empire. Even though Jake was grateful for him standing up for him, he didn't hear a single word. Even after the terrible beating he received at the hands of Paul, his mind was still fixed on the beast locked in the basement.

It went on like that for nearly a month. He saw no one other than the evil old man, Paul, and Mr. Orwell. Other than the tutor's lessons, very few words were spoken to him, which Jake honestly preferred. He didn't have anything to say to them. They had imprisoned him in a hell where his biggest fear lived beneath his feet. Terror was his new companion, fear was his new best friend.

On several different occasions he got up the courage to search the house for a phone, but always staying as far from the basement door as possible. Only two rooms remained that he had not dare to search, Riker's study and bedroom.

He was pretty sure there would be one at the guard bunkhouse about fifty yards away from the main house, but there was no way he could traverse that much area without being spotted by the guards.

Time was running out. Jake could feel it. Soon he would either be gift wrapped by his own grandfather as some sick offering to the vampires, or he would be fed on by the one locked in the basement. That's if Paul didn't beat him to death first.

He couldn't take it anymore. He had to do something, anything to improve his situation. On May third, while dining on his peanut butter sandwich at lunch, he made up his mind to confront the Maker. He couldn't stand the fear any longer. He knew in his heart that neither his dad nor grandpa would sit around and just wait to die. They would charge in headfirst, as Bishop men always had.

Again, he waited until all in the house were asleep then crept quietly downstairs. Luckily, Riker was so concerned with outside security that he never bothered to post guards in the house. He was so confident in his fortress that he'd never bothered to consider what would happen if a vampire actually did make it into the house. Jake wasn't about to complain. It gave him the perfect opportunity to do what he wanted after the sun set.

Step by step he soundlessly tiptoed through the house to the door leading to what he'd deemed the dungeon. It opened with a loud almost deafening creak, causing him to cringe inwardly. He paused for nearly a minute waiting to see if anyone had heard. When Paul didn't appear, he figured it was safe to continue. Very slowly, he began to descend the long dark staircase. He was half way there when the Maker's voice called out to him nearly causing him to pee in his pants. "Do not be afraid my little adventurer. You are the only one awake."

His heart pounding in his chest, it took everything he had to make it to the bottom of the stairs. Pressing his back against the opposite wall, Jake felt as if he were a gazelle that had just willfully pranced into a lion's den. He didn't dare look through the hole in the wall.

"How did you know it was me?" Jake asked, his voice shaking.

"I heard your heart rate and I smelled your scent. Both are very distinct in the house of a half-dead corpse. That disgusting wretch has the stench of death about him. At times, it nearly gags me. I keep hoping he will die but his soul is too evil to perish," the vampire said coldly. "Besides, the old fool would not be able to traverse these stairs without the help of his slave, and he only comes when the sun is high in the sky and its rays filter into my room."

"His slave? Do you mean Paul?"

"I never cared to learn his name," the vampire said, with a chuckle.

Jake swallowed the lump of fear in his throat. "If he's afraid of you why does he come down here at all then?" Jake asked standing like a statue against the opposite wall.

"He brings me a taste of blood each day but never enough to restore my strength just enough to let me keep my sanity."

"Sanity?"

"Yes. If I do not feed daily, I can become quite insane. Though in my current weakened state I doubt I would be much of a threat to anyone. I have been merely surviving for more years than I like to think about. A tiny shell of what I once was I am afraid."

Jake pushed himself even closer to the wall, ready to leap up the stairs in half a heartbeat if the Maker tried to reach him.

"Come, come my lad. Let me have a good look at you!" The Maker said, his eyes peering through the small hole. "Step away from that wall. I could not harm you even if I wanted to."

"You don't seem very surprised to see me." Jake found his inner courage and stepped a few feet closer to the hole in the wall, but still well out of arm's reach.

"I am not. A young boy's curiosity often outweighs his fear. Do not fret; you have nothing to fear from me."

"How do I know you're telling the truth? My Grandpa said I should never trust a vampire."

"Sound advice. He must be a very smart man. However, the fact that you know what I am at all surprises me greatly. I am told my people still take great lengths to keep our existence secret from outsiders."

"Who are you?" Jake asked sitting down on the concrete floor. "Why are you locked down here?"

"Who are any of us? I have gone by countless names in my years. I have marched entire armies into battle. I have ruled over the greatest nation to ever grace this planet, I have worked in the pits of the deepest darkest mines in all of Persia for nothing more than the experience of such a thing, I have stalked the streets of London and Baghdad feeding on any that I saw fit to. I have watched nations rise and fall. I have tasted the blood of Kings and Queens. I have done it all with a smile on my face." The vampire's voice faded back into the room. "As for your second question, I, like you, am a prisoner here."

"I'm not a prisoner here," Jake lied.

"But of course not," the vampire said, sarcastically. Jake could almost hear him smiling.

"So what do I call you?"

"Call me Immortal for that is what I am. Or call me vampire, though many of my kind hate that word. Or perhaps demon is more fitting. Honestly, I care not. What is a name other than a brand? Tell me young one, what shall I call you?"

"My name is my own, vampire. I will keep it to myself." Jake said, crossing his arms over his knees.

"Indeed. You are a smart lad. A name is a powerful thing. Much can be learned from such a thing. Are you by chance a Riker, a child of the old corpse above?"

"No. I'm not a Riker." Jake said, coldly. "He is my grandfather but not by choice. He is . . . was my mom's dad. I hate him. He's the most evil man I've ever met. And considering the fact that I'm talking to a vampire . . . that's saying something."

The vampire laughed heartily. "Ah, on that we agree. In all my years, I have encountered some foul beings, but none as foul as that creature. Your mother . . . I have not smelled the scent of a woman in this house in a very long time. Might I ask where she is now?"

Against his better judgment, Jake opened up to him. "I don't know where she is. No one does. She disappeared one night almost a year ago."

"I am sorry to hear that. Loss is never easy, especially that of a loved one. In my many years, I have lost many loves. And it has never grown easier, the pain any less dull."

"Tell me about it." Jake nodded. "It's been nearly a year, and I swear sometimes right before I wake up, I swear I can almost hear her calling my name."

"Please, tell me your tale. For I have nothing but time on my hands and I must admit that it is rather nice to have someone to talk to."

What could it hurt? Jake thought to himself slowly letting his fear slowly slide away and so he told him the story of the vampire in his room, his mom's disappearance and dad's obsession. The Maker sat quietly through it all.

"What you call grunts, we call slaves." The Maker said when Jake was done. "They are little more than mindless servants to their creators. If such a creature was in your presence for such a long period and did not instantly fall upon you, then he was not there to kill you."

"What?" Jake asked shocked. "Why else would he be in there?"

"I do not know. I do know that such a creature is incapable of such actions unless otherwise instructed. They cannot resist an order given by their creator. It is impossible. So if the slave did not instantly fall upon you, he was sent there for other purposes."

"Like what? What other reasons would a vampire have then to kill me?"

"That is a very good question. Only the one that turned him would know."

Jake sat there thinking that over for several long minutes. Why would a vampire go into my room and not kill me, but try so hard to kill my Dad?

"Young man?"

"Yes."

"Would you be as kind as to tell me what year it is?"

"The year? It's 1995. Why? How long have you been down here?"

The vampire let out a deep sigh, "Much longer than I thought apparently. I was moved here in; I believe it was 1980 . . ."

"You've been locked up for fifteen years!"

"Oh Gods no. I was moved here in 1980 . . . I believe it was. I have been imprisoned since nineteen twenty-three or was it twenty-four? It has been a long time to say the least!"

"Over seventy years?!" Jake had heard of life sentences, but this was ridiculous. "You must be joking."

"I've been locked away far longer than that. The twenties was simply the last time that I was captured. I escaped in 1889 and was not captured again until then."

"Why? Who?" Jake stammered. "I don't even know where to begin . . ."

"Well it is a very long story. I'm sure one as young as yourself is not interested in such things."

Jake shrugged. "I don't have anything else to do. Riker won't let me out, won't let me talk to anyone. He has Paul beat me if I even look at him funny." Jake lowered his head to his knees. "You were right, you know. I'm as much a prisoner as you are."

"Well then. Perhaps we do have time. But not this night. I hear the old corpse's slave moving about. You should return to your quarters before you are discovered. If he finds you down here I am not sure what he would do to you."

"Slave? Paul isn't a slave."

"Interesting. He serves such a vile creature willingly? Things really have changed."

"Would it be okay if I came back tomorrow then?" Jake asked unsure why he felt such a need to see a monster who just hours before he had been terrified of.

"I will look forward to it. Thank you for the company."

"No problem." Jake said, "Anyway, it beats sitting in my room playing video games all afternoon."

"What is a 'video game'?" he asked with a touch of wonder in his voice.

"It's not important. I'll be back tomorrow night."

"Until then my new young friend."

The next day went as the one before except for one major detail. The fear that had been his constant companion for the past month was little more than annoyance. He still had to watch every move he made around Paul, but his fear of the monster in the basement was greatly reduced. Jake sat through that morning's lessons in a daze, his mind wandering to the fierce but seemingly curious creature trapped beneath his feet. He couldn't help but wonder who he was. How had he been trapped for so long? Seventy years was just an unbelievable amount of time to be locked in such a tiny cage. Three weeks had been hell for Jake and he had plenty of things to keep himself occupied.

"Jacob? Jacob?" Mr. Orwell's voice asked breaking him from his train of thought. "What was I just talking about?"

"Uh . . ." Jake said, looking down at the textbook in front of him. "You were talking about . . . the second emperor of Rome. Tiberius something . . ." he trailed off waving his hand around.

"Tiberius Julius Caesar Augustus." he said, "And that was well over an hour ago. Where is your head at today young man?"

"Sorry." Jake said, lowering his head. He really did feel sorry, the tutor wasn't that bad. He was just a teacher trying to do his job.

"Pay attention lad." He said, gently. "Nothing can equal a good education."

He continued his lesson but Jake couldn't help the daydreaming. He wondered what his grandpa Cort was doing. Had he gotten out of jail yet? Jake doubted it; otherwise, he would have lead some kind of rescue mission to get Jake away from Riker.

Soon it was dinnertime again and again Jake sat in front of what he was beginning to call 'the old corpse', as the Maker did. He hated this man. If the hunters knew, what he was holding in his dungeon they would have some serious questions for him to answer.

The two didn't speak, which didn't bother Jake much. However, the old corpse's constant dead eyed stare and brutal hacking coughs were beginning to weigh on him. Jake scarfed his bloody steak down as fast as he could, knowing it wouldn't take Riker long to finish gumming the piece in his mouth.

After dinner, Jake was back in his room with the door shut. He lay back on the bed and waited to make his move. As he lay there waiting his eyes grew heavy. He hadn't slept at all the night before. Glancing at his clock, he saw that it was barely 9:20pm. Just a short nap, he thought to himself yawning. Just an hour or two then I'll go downstairs.

When next he opened his eyes, Paul was hammering on the door. Jake looked over at the clock on his nightstand to see it was now five AM. He had missed his chance.

Cursing himself inwardly Jake rose to his feet and dragged himself to the door. "I'm up, I'm up." He yawned deeply as he walked into the bathroom where he showered and dressed. He was furious with himself for falling asleep. Would the Maker be angry that he hadn't shown? Fuming, he made it downstairs to the library where he met the tutor. Today's lessons were covering Great Britain during World War 2. Jake sat through the lesson until his lunch break. Taking his peanut butter sandwich in his hand Jake walked through the house nonchalantly as if just another teenage boy mindlessly wasting his time.

When he was sure that no one was around, he made his way to the basement's entrance. Popping the rest of his sandwich into his mouth, he pressed his right ear up against the door to make sure no one else was down there. Carefully he made his way down the stairs. A terrible burning smell filled his nostrils. It reminded him of burnt bacon with a strange sulfur smell mixed in. Jake covered his nose and mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. His eyes watered.

At the bottom of the stairs Jake was more than a little surprised to see the room flooded with the midday's sunlight. It poured in through small six-inch slits in the wall at the top of the ceiling. A tiny moan was coming from the Maker's prison. Jake crept to the hole and peered in. The Maker was curled up in a fetal position in the corner of the room, his skin an ashy black. "My God." Jake whispered his hand going to his mouth in shock.

"Vampire?" he called out softly. The Maker didn't respond. His body writhed in pain as chunks of flesh fell from his charred back, revealing large spots of black blood, which also turned to ash.

"Vampire?" Jake called again slightly louder. Again, the Maker was unable to respond. Jake stepped away from the hole, his stomach threatening to give up his peanut butter sandwich. How could anyone torture another creature to this extent on a daily basis? Even a vampire deserves better than this.

Feeling sick to his stomach, Jake ran back upstairs. He was shaken beyond words. The dismembered body of Marty White burning to ashes in front of him was bad enough, but to see a living creature writhing in so much pain as it was literally cooked from the outside in was more than Jake's nerves could handle. Coming to the first open container he could find, a large antique vase, Jake emptied the contents of his stomach into it. The smell of that poor creature's burning flesh wouldn't leave his nostrils. He vomited again and again until only the taste of bile erupted into his mouth.

Ten minutes later, he sat in the library his stomach empty and in knots. Mr. Orwell returned from his own lunch with a yellowed paperback in his hand. "Well then, let us continue . . . My Lord in heaven child what has happened to you!" He exclaimed. "You are white as a sheet!"

"I don't feel so good." Jake said, meaning every word of it.

"I should say so!" he said, coming forward and placing his hand gently on Jake's forehead. "You are clammy young man. Are you ill?"

"Yeah." Jake said, laying his head on the table.

"Well that's enough for today then. Return to your room, I will inform Paul."

"No!" Jake exclaimed sitting up. "Please don't."

"I must young man. You are clearly ill."

"I'm okay really." Jake said, gathering himself. Paul's full attention was the last thing he needed. "Please Mr. Orwell! Don't tell him!"

His eyes went soft as he laid a hand on Jake's shoulder. "Very well lad. Get yourself upstairs and get some rest. I will tell Paul that your lessons ended early today."

"Thank you Mr. Orwell." Jake stammered. Kindness was something he wasn't used to expecting in his grandfather's house. Slowly Jake traversed the stairs one by one.

The rest of that afternoon, he sat alone in his room, the image of the burning body of the vampire running through his brain. At dinner, he barely even touched his food. For the first time since arriving, he didn't notice the old man's stare fixed squarely on him.

Hours later, shortly after midnight, Jake once again made his journey downstairs. He crept back into the basement expecting to find a pile of blackened bones and ash just as Marty White had been when the sunlight ripped through his remains. Instead the Maker was whistling. Only a slight whiff of his charred flesh remained in the air.

"Good evening my young friend." The vampire called out to him.

Jake made it to the bottom of the stairs and glanced through the hole. The Maker sat cross-legged on the floor, his flesh completely restored. He smiled as Jake looked in at him. "You're okay!" Jake exclaimed.

"Well of course I am." The vampire chuckled. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I saw you!" Jake blurted out. "I felt bad for not coming last night so I came this afternoon and . . . and I saw you burning!"

The vampire's eyes pulsed an angry red. Jake stepped away from the hole backing up to the opposite wall. "You should not have witnessed that." He said, his voice dripping with anger.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to!" Jake blurted out his body filling with fear.

The Maker took several deep breaths. "Fear not young man, as I told you before I could not hurt you even if I was inclined to do so. You must give me your word to never do that again. I do not wish to be seen in such a state. All I have left is my pride."

Not wanting to anger him further, Jake gladly agreed. "I promise. I'm really sorry."

"Think nothing of it."

"Does it hurt?" Jake asked stepping away from the wall.

"Like you cannot imagine," he said, softly. "I feel every second of it. My body is incapable of sleep. Therefore, I cannot pass out. Which really is quite inconvenient. But let us put the ordeal behind us."

"Okay." Jake said, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"I must admit, I am quite glad you came back. I have so little to look forward to."

"Well, to be honest I've been looking forward to this as well." Jake said, uncertain if he should tell him this, but his nervousness wouldn't let him stop. "The only other person I get to talk to is a tutor named Mr. Orwell. He's nice enough compared to Paul and my grandfather. But he rambles on and on about the Roman Empire! You'd think he'd actually lived there!"

"Indeed?" The Vampire chuckled. "The Roman Empire?"

"Yeah. I hate it here! I wish my Grandpa and Dad would come get me. Grandpa said it would just be a few days, it's been over a month now."

"Well I am sure if they could be here they would be. You would be surprised what a grandfather would do for his grandson." The vampire said, sadly. "Tell me about your family. I have not seen my own in so very long."

Therefore, Jake told him about his dad, his grandpa and some of their strange habits. About his mom and how much he missed the smell of her perfume. He didn't know why he told him. Part of him just wanted a friend, someone to confide in. It had been a long time since he had had someone to talk too. Not since he had been torn away from his life in Midland nearly a year before. He knew he couldn't trust the vampire, not really, so he kept his family history and their employment a secret. He felt he could speak in confidence to this vampire. No names were ever given and the vampire never asked. The vampire listened to it all, asking questions now and then but overall being a very patient confidant. Before Jake knew it, it was nearly four am and he had to go back upstairs.

The next night he was back again, and again his new vampire friend was glad to have him. That night Jake decided to ask the questions. "Do you want to eat me?"

The vampire laughed heartily. "No. Though your blood does smell quite good to me, I would not if given the opportunity feed on you."

"Why not?"

He laughed again, "Is it not enough that I do not want to?"

"Well yeah, I mean. I was just wondering." Jake stammered, not even sure himself why he cared to know. It should be enough that he didn't want to.

"Oh it is alright. I have lived long enough to learn to control my thirst far better than those younger than I. I must feed daily to stay strong, but I have learned to tame my thirst. I have learned to cherish the hunt. I have even on occasion, when at full strength of course, gone a full nine days without feeding."

"How often do young vampires need to feed?"

"At least once a day. The thirst really is a terrible curse. It takes centuries to learn how to control it."

"Centuries? How old are you!"

"At least two thousand years, possibly more. You tend to lose track after a while."

"Two thousand . . . did you just say two thousand years?!"

"Oh yes. Two thousand long years."

Jake couldn't believe his ears. "You don't look any older than sixty or seventy!"

Again he laughed. "Why thank you! Yes alas, I was almost eighty when I was turned. Therefore, that is the age I will forever be. However, I am much healthier and stronger than even a twenty-year-old human is. Just not strong, enough to escape this blasted prison. The old corpse has made sure of that."

"How do you eat? Does Paul bring you humans?"

"Oh if only!" He laughed. "As I told you before, the slave, or rather the servant, brings me my food once daily. Blood contained in very odd bags. I heard the guards speak of him owning a blood bank once. Whatever that is. I cannot imagine one banking in blood. Unless they were an Immortal perhaps." He grew quiet as if thinking of such a possibility. "Anyway, that's what the hole in the wall is for. If not for the blood, I have little doubt that I would be completely sealed in behind it. For a time during the sixteen hundreds I was actually buried alive."

"Why does he keep you here?"

"Why does he keep you here?" he answered Jake's question with a question.

"Bait." Jake answered truthfully.

"Bait?"

"Yeah. He thinks the vampires want me since they wanted my mother. Therefore, he keeps me here hoping they will come for me and he will convince one of them to turn him into one of you. Or something like that, I'm not exactly sure."

"Using his own grandson, as you put it, bait. This creature is viler than I had imagined."

"So, I answered your question. Will you answer mine?"

"He longs to be immortal and believes I can turn him. He has begged me, threatened me. He has starved me, tortured me. Everything imaginable, horrible things that I will not say in front of such young ears, but no matter what he has done to me or threatened to do to me, I have refused. I will not unleash such a foul creature upon the world as an Immortal again. As a human, he is evil, as an immortal . . . it would be as if releasing the devil himself upon the world. I will burn in the pits of hell before I do such a thing again. Therefore, he keeps me walled up in this prison of iron and brick. At full strength, I could dismantle it with my bare hands. That will never happen. The corpse will not allow it."

"Again? So you've made vampires before?" Jake asked.

"Yes. It was long ago. Another life."

"Tell me about it. I mean . . . if you want. I would love to hear it."

"Very well. If you insist, but you might want to take a seat, it will be a long tale."

"That's okay. I brought a blanket from my room to keep me off the cold floor."

"Good thinking dear boy, for this is a long tale."

Chapter 12

Jake

The Riker Mansion

May 7, 1995 1:46am

Jake sat cross-legged on his blanket as the vampire began his tale.

"I will not bore you with the tale of my early human years. To be honest I have trouble recollecting most of them. I have been an immortal far longer than I was ever human. In comparison, those years are little more than a blink of eye. I will tell you that I was once a ruler of a great and powerful nation. It is my opinion, that history judges me much harsher than I deserve. True at times I was cold, even heartless. Nevertheless, I was fair. I did not learn to the find humor in life until long after my human death.

"As I grew old in human years I decided I had had enough of the corruption of those around me, always clamoring and positioning to take my seat. A seat I never wanted to begin with. I belonged on the battlefield leading my legions into glory! Not in the dealings with corrupt politicians trying to increase their own wealth! My place was with my men. So shortly after the death of my son, I turned my kingdom over to those I trusted most. Among them was my adopted grandson. He was a kind young man that seemed to care for the masses a great deal. Therefore, I left him in my stead and took my leave.

"Wandering into the wilderness I prepared for death. It was there that my Maker found me."

"After two weeks alone with nothing but the snow, trees, and the beasts as my companions, I was on the edge of death. I had not eaten in nearly fifteen days and had gone without water for at least four or five. I lay there looking up into the bright stars above, praying to the Gods that my legacy be a good one. I had not always been a good man, but I had tried my best to be righteous.

"I was at my weakest, mere breaths from death when he found me. His shrouded form stood over me blocking out the stars. I remember thinking that he was Pluto, the God of the underworld come to take me for my judgment." The vampire grew quiet for several seconds.

"He was far worse than the God of the underworld." Again, he paused. "By the Gods he was terrifying!"

Jake leaned forward resting his arms around his knees. "Who was he? I mean did you ever learn his name?"

"No. I have no idea why he chose me . . . He was massive, taller than any man I had ever seen. His red hair hung down around his shoulders like a mane. His eyes glowed the darkest red of any immortal I have ever known."

"Did he tell you what he was going to do? Did you choose to become a vampire?"

"No, I was given no choice in the matter. At first, he toyed with me, like a child torturing a small animal. He broke the bones in my arms and legs with his bare hands, as if they were twigs. He placed his massive hands on either side of my skull and squeezed until my skull cracked.

"As the darkness finally crept in on me and he allowed me to die, I lost all feeling in my body. Only a vague awareness of what was around me remained, that is until he bit into me. His fangs sank deep into my neck puncturing my skin. My lifeblood spilled from me by the gallon. He lapped at it like a dog drinking water."

Jake shivered in disgust.

"I saw a bright light in the distance and my mother's voice called to me . . . by the Gods it was beautiful. Once he had his fill he sliced his wrist open with one of his talons and poured his own blood into my mouth, then placed his hand over it forcing me to swallow. The bright light disappeared forever; my mother's voice was gone." The Maker cleared his throat.

"The taste was disgusting, utterly revolting. My body lit up with a terrible feeling, like liquid fire coursing through my veins, burning me alive. I screamed louder than I had ever thought a man capable. My body spasmed in pain for the Gods only knows how long. Perhaps minutes, perhaps hours. I only know that I was fully aware through it all. As the pain finally subsided and the transformation was completed, my wounds closed, my bones healed themselves. When I rose to my feet, I was whole again but I instantly knew that something had changed inside me. I felt strong! Stronger than I had ever felt in my life! I looked around for my assailant, ready to rip him to shreds with my bare hands. However, he was gone. I stood alone in my tattered rags. Nothing but frost covered trees around me.

"Where did he go? Did .you ever see him again?"

"No, I never saw him again, and to this day I do not know why he did what he did. Years later, I learned from others like me that most Makers remained with their children. They did not create another Maker unless they were prepared to remain by their side. Creating a slave is one thing, but to create an equal is a very intimate, very personal event. I would imagine it to be akin to giving birth. I have no idea why he did not just turn me into some mindless beast that he could control. I doubt that I will ever know. Whatever his reasons he made me powerful among my kind, stronger than all others. Of course I did not learn this until many years later."

"What did you think had happened to you?" Jake asked. "Did you know you were a vampire?"

"I did not know what I was. Without my Maker to guide me, I was lost. I had no idea if I was unique or if there were others like me. I just knew that I was different. Ripping the tattered, blood soaked rags from my back I took off running across the land, my feet carrying me faster than I had ever run before. I was a force of nature! I covered mile after mile without tiring! I picked up and threw an ancient, broken log the length of the two coliseums! Nothing could hurt me. I fought toe to toe with a pack of wolves and killed them all with very little effort. The darkness of the night held no power over me, I could see clear as day on even the darkest nights. It was absolutely amazing!

"But all too soon, I learned of the curses that came with my new gifts. I could not walk in the sunlight. At the end of my first night, an overwhelming feeling to dig deep and hide overcame me. No matter how hard I tried, I could not fight the urge. I buried myself deep underground, but was not fast enough. Before I could finish the sun began to rise in the east. My skin began to smoke and char. Bits of skin fell off as ash. It hurt worse than anything I had ever before endured. Even worse than the beating, I received at the hands of my creator. So I climbed into my shallow hole and covered myself with dirt . . . Gods how I long to see the sun again! Even after all these long years I still long to feel the warmth of it on my face just one more time."

Jake sat there patiently waiting for him to continue.

"I'm sorry. My mind sometimes wanders. What was I talking about? Oh yes, curses! Worse than my newfound fear of the sun was the hunger growing inside me. It took me some time to grow accustomed to that. On the second night of my transformation, I waited too long to feed. My mind became lost with insanity and when I became aware, I had feasted on an entire family. The man, the wife . . . the child . . . I was sick with agony. I could not stop myself. Each night if I did not choose a victim I would go into a blood rage and my body would choose one for me. After many months of fighting it, I learned to give in to my desires and begin to hunt. Therefore, it went for many years. I wandered alone in the shadows, growing accustomed to this new strange existence.

"One day many years later, I began to hear rumors. The people were becoming unhappy with my grandson's rule. Many said that he was plunging not only himself but also the empire into insanity. Rumors of mass trials and executions for so-called 'enemies of the state' began to reach my ears. Then I heard even stranger things, rumors of my grandson proclaiming himself a God.

"Now rumors had always run rampant during my own rule, so this did not surprise me. It only seemed natural that my grandson would face the same. Nevertheless, I had to know for sure. Moreover, I longed to see my home again. So I returned.

"Once there I lurked in the streets at night as a common vagrant. You would be surprised what you can hear when those around you think you are little more than trash. I felt a fear emanating among my people that had not been there as I ruled. They reeked of it. It did not take long for me to learn why. The rumors were true. Anyone that questioned the new emperor was branded a traitor and executed.

"But the acts I saw with my own two eyes were much, much worse than any discontent my people felt for their new ruler. What I saw shocked me beyond words. Even today nearly two thousand years later I cannot convey to you the disappointment . . . the embarrassment I felt."

Jake could almost feel the pain in his voice.

"One night, while hiding in the shadows, I watched my grandson dress up as the Great God Apollo. He covered himself from head to toe in human blood, and then danced with seven naked women like some wild barbarian!

"I tell you truthfully young man, that if I had not seen it I would not have believed it. He was mad. Mad with power, mad with . . . Gods only knows what.

"What had happened to the young man I had become so proud of? I never should have left such a burden on his shoulders." The Maker let out a deep breath before continuing.

"I knew he didn't have much time left. It would not be long before the Senate put an end to his madness. Therefore, I watched, I waited. Sure enough, within a month's time they plotted the murder of not only himself but of his sister. I could not help but feel responsible for his fall. I had not prepared him, as I should. I had left him alone, abandoned him to his own demons. It was my fault. To this day I still feel as such."

"So what did you do?" Jake interrupted. "Did you let them kill him?"

The vampire took in a deep breath then exhaled. "I did what I thought was best. I waited until the act was committed and then as he lay dying I gave him the gift that had been given to me. I made him immortal. It occurred to me at the time that with a lifetime of my guidance I could lead him back to the light. Show him the error of his ways. After he awoke to his new life, he begged me to do the same for his sister. She was the Senate's next target. However, I refused. She was cruel and manipulative and I wanted to separate him from his old life, but alas, it was not to be. Without my permission he turned her and then turned the man she loved, a man I had grudgingly left behind to rule alongside my grandson. He was a brutish, violent man. It did not bode well."

"Why? What happened?"

"For centuries everything was fine. My grandson had some very . . . bad eating habits as did his sister and her companion, but I chose to ignore them. Who was I to judge? I was a killer the same as them."

"I don't understand," Jake said, scrunching his brow. "How does a vampire have bad eating habits?

"They . . . well I suppose the only way to say it is to come right out with it. They ate children. Young children. Babies still clutched in their mother's arms. They would rip the tiny babes from their beds, feast on them and then laugh when the mothers discovered what had been done. "

"My God . . ." Jake said, shaking his head.

"Another thing that bothered me was their constant creating of slaves. In every town we dwelled they would create two, three, sometimes even six slaves! Then it got to the point where they were creating Makers! 'Why did you do this?' I would ask. Why bring such attention to our kind? They would shrug their shoulders and say, 'Why not?'

"The decades turned into centuries, the centuries into millennia. I saw countless wars fought, even the fall of my beloved empire. All those I had cared for as a human were long dead. Even their bones had turned to dust. All were dead but my three companions. I began to see in their eyes that they had grown tired of my company. I know now, if they had been able to kill me they surely would have."

"Why couldn't they kill you?"

"For whatever reason a Maker cannot be killed by those he made or by those his children make. Having never known my own Maker I have no answer as to why this is, and no immortal I have met since has been able to answer either. It is something written into our blood."

"Have you ever met an immortal older than yourself?"

The vampire thought for several seconds. "Every Maker I met after my transformation was no more than fifty or sixty years older than myself. But there was one. It was around the time of the first Crusades. I met him one night prowling the streets of Jerusalem like a crazed beast babbling incoherently. When the sun began to show in the sky, I took him with me to my home and cared for him. I learned little from him, only that he was well over five thousand years old, possibly older, but who could say for sure. I remember he seemed to be obsessed with finding his pet cat. I let him go the next night and never saw him again."

"Five thousand years old! That's amazing."

"I must admit that even as old as I am, I cannot imagine living for that long. I believe I would walk into the sun long before that point. Perhaps that is why he was insane. Perhaps his mind had left him long ago and only the most basic reasoning skills remained. Who can say? Anyway, we are running out of time and I have much of my tale to tell."

"I'm sorry. Please continue." Jake said.

"Well as I said, I began to feel that my companions wanted to be free of me. On several different occasions, I was attacked by other immortals while my companions were conveniently occupied with something else. Of course, they were nowhere near my power, so I dispatched them easily enough. However, after the fourth attempt I knew it was just a matter of time before they found a way. So without so much as a goodbye, I left their company."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. I did not see my grandson for nearly six hundred years. By that time, a new land had been discovered. Though I am not exactly sure as to how it was suddenly 'new' when our ships had sailed there centuries before. I am getting off topic again. I was in England at the time. Raleigh had set up his colony at what was called Roanoke. My kind had nearly been hunted to extinction in Europe. The Templar Knights led by Grand Master Richard Bishop with his brother and sons at his side led a great campaign to rid the world of vampires and they did their job very well."

Bishop! Jake's heart leapt into his chest. He knew the vampire could hear it so he struggled to calm himself down. It didn't work.

"Are you alright young one? Your heart is racing quite fast?"

"I'm sorry, it's just, it's getting close to the time I usually have to get up is all. I just don't want to get caught." Jake lied.

"Should we end it now then? I assure you the corpse's slav . . . servant has not yet risen."

"No, please . . ." Jake said, trying to hide his nervousness. "Please continue."

"As you wish young man. I will try to wrap it up quickly then. As I was saying, Lord Bishop and his men did their job very well, almost too well. They came with swords, sharpened lances, crossbows, armor that our fangs could not penetrate. They used fire to burn us out of hiding places during the day. Those of us wise enough to bury ourselves in the earth were pulled from their graves, set a blaze and reburied. I am sure that more than a few of my kind buried themselves too deep to dig themselves out. I imagine they are still buried in the earth, starving, insane." The vampire's voice shook slightly. "A hell I would not wish on my worst enemy.

"Within ten years time only a handful of us remained, hiding wherever we could, afraid to even feed. Somehow, they always seemed to know exactly where we were resting. The great Council of the Immortals, of which I was a founding member, was wiped out first. Beings that I had known for hundreds of years. Friendships so deep and rich you could not possibly comprehend them unless you had lived more than one lifetime, all of them . . . gone. Soon only I remained. Of my grandson and his companions, I had no word. I never felt their deaths so I knew that they were alive. I assumed they were in hiding as I was.

One night I encountered one of the Bishop sons, the youngest, Nathaniel. I asked him point blank how had they known?"

Jake's mind raced. What would the Maker do if he knew a Bishop sat in front of him now? Now, more than ever, he knew he couldn't let him know his name. Surely, he would do his best to kill him if he knew he was the descendant of the ones that had nearly caused the extinction of his entire race.

"Are you sure you are alright young man?" He asked again peering through the tiny hole.

"Yeah I'm fine." Jake lied again. "It's just . . . I should really be getting back. If I am caught out of my room, Paul won't be happy. The last thing I want is to catch another beating."

"Very well then, I am sorry to have kept you so long. I forget sometimes that humans do require sleep. It is something I can honestly say I miss a great deal. Even when I must hide from the sun, my mind does not shut down as it does when you sleep. So go young man, rest yourself, I hope I have not been boring you with my tales."

"Oh no, not at all." Jake said, inching his way up the stairs.

"Good. Well good night then. Will I see you tomorrow night?"

"Yes." Jake said, not entirely sure if he still felt comfortable in his presence. "Good night." He said quietly from the top of the stairs.

The entire next day Jake dreaded his upcoming meeting with the vampire. A very large part of him didn't want to go back. However, another part had to hear the rest of the story. How had he come to be locked up? What had happened with Nathaniel Bishop?

That night as he sat across from his grandfather, he didn't even hear when the old man addressed him. He didn't know he had missed it until Paul smacked him in the back of the head. Jake saw red. He seemed to go outside of himself and when he came back, he was standing over Paul's unconscious, bloodied form. He'd had enough abuse, and for the first time it was just him and the old man. Jake wiped his bloodied knuckles on the white tablecloth and took several steps towards Riker.

The old man's breathing became ragged as fear filled his eyes. He coughed uncontrollably. But Jake didn't feel an ounce of pity for him. This man was keeping him against his will for his own personal gain. He cared nothing for Jake and had cared nothing for his mother. Jake could kill him and there was nothing he could do about it.

For a brief moment, Jake entertained the idea of pinching his oxygen hose. A perfect picture formed in his mind of wrapping his hands around his throat and choking the last bits of life from him. No one would ever know. He took two steps toward him when his mom's smiling face appeared in his head. This isn't me! I'm not capable of murder! Even if it meant his freedom, Jake could not do something so terribly evil. He wasn't a monster like the pitiful creature locked down in the basement.

He took two more steps and leaning down close to his grandfather said, "Good night Grandfather." then yanked the power cord from his wheel chair. He turned and walked away with a newfound self-respect he had never felt before.
Chapter 13

Jake

The Riker Mansion

May 7, 1995 8:05pm

Jake made up his mind right then and there. He was done. One way or another he was getting out of that house. He wouldn't sit and rot waiting for that miserable old man to trade him to the vampires just to satisfy his own twisted desire for immortality.

Tonight had been the last straw. Tomorrow morning he would make his escape. There was no telling what Paul would do after the beating he had just received and he sure wasn't waiting around to find out. Paul would never lay hands on him again. No one would. Jake promised himself that much.

He had one last thing to do before he left. The Maker. His tale wasn't finished yet, and Jake had a feeling that kind of knowledge would be useful to his dad and the other hunters. But that wasn't the main reason, not really. He wanted to hear it, but mostly he needed to hear it. Vampire or not, he had been a friend when Jake needed one the most.

Walking back into the dining room he found Paul still unconscious on the floor. Riker sat in his chair trying desperately to move the plug back into its socket, but he just couldn't move his arms the way he wanted to. When Jake stepped into the room, he started hyperventilating. "What are you going to do?" He yelled between violent, hacking coughs.

Jake ignored him and grabbed hold of Paul's left leg. The old man began a tirade of cuss words calling him every name under the sun, but Jake didn't care, after this night he would never have to listen to him again.

Using all his strength, he pulled Paul through the dining room and into the kitchen. Paul moaned loudly as his head bumped on the hardwood floor. Opening the large freezer door Jake dragged him in dropping him to the freezing cold floor then slammed the door shut behind him. He grabbed the small pin hanging on a chain and shoved it through the door handle. He couldn't help but smile to himself. Now Paul would know what it was like to be locked up.

Stepping back into the dining room, he found his next target. "What are you going to do?" Riker wheezed again.

Jake got down to eye level with him. "I'm thinking maybe I'll feed you to the vampire you've got locked up down in the basement."

Riker's eyes lit up with fear. "You wouldn't! I'm your . . ." he coughed again. "I'm your grandfather!"

"Yeah well, I'm your grandson but you were more than willing to trade me in. You've hurt a lot of people old man, ruined a lot of lives."

"Jake . . . I'm sorry . . . please . . . I can give you anything you want!" he wheezed. "Money! I've got more money than you could ever dream of!"

"I don't want your money!" Jake said, reconnecting the battery to his wheel chair. "I don't need anything from you. As far as I am concerned, you're already dead to me. I just want to go home. So tell me where I can find a phone and I'll be on my way."

Riker stared daggers through him. "You'll never get out of here alive. My guards will make sure of that."

"Yeah well, we'll see about that. First, I'm going to lock you up, and then I'm going to make a phone call. When I'm done fifty pissed off hunters will know what you have locked up in that dungeon of yours. I'm betting within twelve hours they will be beating down your front door, two of which will be my dad and my grandpa. I'll let them deal with you." It was a bluff, Jake wasn't even sure exactly what sate he was in, but Riker didn't know that.

Once again, fear filled the old man's eyes. He knew how much John and Cort hated him. Jake had to fight the old man's feeble attempts at controlling the wheelchair for the better part of a half hour as he wheeled him into his study. He would have just unplugged the thing entirely but the wheels seemed to automatically lock down when not powered.

He had never been in Riker's study before. It had the musty smell of disinfectant mixed with old sweat. It was filled with various medical devices from IV poles, oxygen tanks, to a large hospital bed with what Jake assumed were heart/blood pressure monitors next to it.

"You'll pay for this boy!" Riker said, as Jake wheeled him into a large closet. "I'll have every bounty hunter, every cold blooded killer I can find hunting you and your family! I'll put a price on your head so big, you won't be safe anywhere! You hear me boy?"

Again, Jake yanked the battery cable from his chair then started to close the closet doors but stopped short. "Riker, my family hunts vampires for a living. Vampires! Do you think that there's anyone that my family is afraid of?"

"I guess you'll find out won't 'ya?" Riker said, and then spit a wad of phlegm at Jake's feet.

Jake slammed the doors shut and though he doubted it was needed, he shoved a chair up against them as well. The old man's coughing and cursing continued to grow louder from inside the closet.

Now to find a phone. There, on a nightstand next to the bed, was an old antique looking rotary phone. Jake picked up the receiver and dialed his Grandpa Cort's number. It rang and rang but no one answered. "Come on Grandpa! Answer the phone!" After about thirty rings, he gave up and angrily tossed the phone across the room. That had been his only chance, his only way out.

It was five minutes until ten when he made his way downstairs to the basement. From the other side of the house he heard the faint sounds of Paul banging on the freezer door.

"You caused quite a fuss today." The Maker's voice called out to him when he was only half way down. "I smelled the servant's blood all the way from here."

"Yeah well . . ." Jake replied. "He hit me one time to many."

"Oh how I would love to feast on him." The Maker said, sucking in a lungful of air. "So many times he tortured me. Did you know that once he cut every one of my fingers and toes off? And they call me monster!"

"You can regenerate entire limbs?" Jake said, pacing back and forth across the floor.

"You seem distracted my young friend." The vampire said, brushing his question aside. "Is everything okay?"

"I have to get out of here!" Jake yelled slapping the wall with his palm. "I . . . I . . .don't know what to do! I locked Paul and Riker up! But it's only a matter of time before the guards realize something is wrong!"

"My, my! You have been busy today! Fear not young one, I'm sure it will all work out."

"What do you know?" Jake yelled at him angrily. "You're just a . . . a . . . damn blood sucking vampire! You have no idea of what I'm going through. I bet if you were given the chance you'd drink my blood in a heartbeat!" A deep silence settled over the two of them. Finally, Jake let out a deep breath and broke it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take it out on you. It's just . . . look I'm sorry."

"No." The vampire replied coolly. "You are right. I have no delusions of what I am. However, I give you my word I will not harm you. It has been a very long time since I have had someone to talk too. I will not forget your kindness. I would not worry so much my young friend. Your father and grandfather will not let anything happen to you."

"How do you know? You don't know them." Jake said, beginning to pace again.

"I may not know them but I know your family very well Jacob Bishop."

Jake stopped pacing. "You know my name?"

"I do."

"What? How? When did you learn it?"

He chuckled. "I've known since you first got here. I hear everything that goes on above."

"Then why have you been so nice to me? Why have you . . . well let's face it, been my friend? Didn't you tell me that my ancestors nearly wiped out your entire kind?"

"They did. It was also a Bishop that imprisoned me. I hold no grudge against you. It was not you that bound me in chains that buried me alive."

"Why would they do that?" Jake asked. "Why didn't they just kill you?"

"They needed me. You see, I am the oldest living vampire left in the world. Well . . . as far as I know of course. I am also the creator of the most powerful free vampire on this continent. Caligula."

"Where have I heard that name before?" Jake said, scratching his head. "Is that your grandson?"

"I didn't get to finish my tale last night, while it was hunters that wiped out every Immortal in Europe; it was an immortal that led them to do it. A master of manipulation, my own adopted grandson, Caligula."

"What kind of person would betray his own grandfather?" Jake asked.

"What kind of person would betray his own grandson?" The Maker countered. "We can't always comprehend the actions of those around us. Even those we consider family."

"But you told me before that you knew he was crazy. So why did you make him into a vampire? Feeling guilty or not, you had to know it would end badly."

The Maker sighed. "I was a fool. I believed I could change him into the boy I had once known. I see now the boy I thought I knew was the real act. He did what he had to do to grow close to me - to ensure his place on my throne.

"I know your name Jacob Bishop. Therefore, it is only fair that I trust you with my own. I am Tiberius Julius Caesar Augustus. I was the second emperor of the Roman Empire."

Jake's jaw dropped. "I just learned about you from my tutor! And Caligula! That's where I've heard that name! He was also a Roman emperor."

"Yes."

"Wow! This is just insane." Jake exclaimed

"For years Caligula worked with the Templars. If I had had any knowledge of it, beforehand I would have put a stop to it and him. He deceived them by pretending to be a priest that received visions from God. Using the network of immortals he gave the Templars the location of every single immortal save himself, his sister Julia Livilla and her brutish lover Macro."

"Did you say her name was Julia?"

"Yes, though most called her Livilla. A vile creature really, I never should have allowed Caligula to turn her."

"That's my mom's name." Jake said, quietly.

"Odd." The vampire said, "A strange coincidence indeed."

"Yeah maybe . . ."

"For whatever reason I was the last of my dark brothers and sisters. Why I was saved until the very end, I do not know. However, one thing was for sure, I was his Maker and he could not kill me. His attempts using other immortals had all failed, so he had the hunters try to do it and at the same time sent them to their deaths.

"You wiped out the Templars all by yourself?"

"No, I did not. He sent them on two hunts. The one led by young Nathaniel and his brother Daniel was to kill me. The other was led by their father Grand Master Richard and their Uncle Edward. The Grand Master, his brother, and all of their men were slaughtered like lambs."

"How?"

"Caligula set up an estate filled with over two hundred beasts. As soon as they entered, gates slammed down trapping them inside. None of the Templars escaped. I could have easily killed Nathaniel and his brother, but I disarmed them instead sparing their lives. Then I exposed Caligula for what he really was. The Bishops were enraged beyond words. They led me to the church where Caligula had taken refuge, but it was too late. He was already gone. Ransacking the place, we found documents where he had planned to board a supply ship bound for the Roanoke colony. I do not know the exact details of what happened after that, as I was tricked and put in chains by Nathaniel and men loyal to his Uncle, Sir Francis Drake."

"Why would he wipe out his own kind like that?"

"Two centuries before myself and many other Immortals started a ruling council we deemed the Immortal Council. We instituted laws governing all of the Immortals of Europe. Most were quick to accept them. Caligula, Macro, and especially Livilla were not. They believed there should be no rules; that we should live within our nature, killing whenever we saw fit. They did not see, or did not care about the danger of such a thing. The humans were growing more aware of us by the day. A single vampire feasting in a village killed only one a night. However, a host of vampires brought too much attention to our kind. While a single person posed no real threat, as a whole they could wipe us from existence. Nevertheless, Caligula and his cohorts did not care. They had absolutely no fear of the humans. Soon they became outcasts among our kind, shunned wherever they went. I never dreamed they would take their discontent as far as they did."

"But why come here? If they had wiped out all of the competition in Europe, why travel all the way across the Atlantic?

"In Europe the fear of vampires was growing on a daily basis. People were being burned at the stake for such outlandish crimes as witchcraft. Here, in this so called 'New Land' Caligula could be a God among men. With nothing but natives to stand in his way he could feast at will."

"How did they survive the trip?"

"I have no proof as I was not there, but I assume that they feasted on the members of the crew one by one and hid deep within the ship's bowels during the daylight hours. There is no other way that they could have made such a long journey. What I do know is that when they finally arrived on shore, the colony at Roanoke was more than willing to embrace them. They were starving, near death; some had already resorted to cannibalism to survive. Therefore, Caligula offered them a way out. Most accepted. Those that did not became food. It is amazing what . . ." Tiberius paused in mid-sentence. Jake walked over and peered inside his cell. He was looking up at the ceiling. "One of my kind is here . . ." he said, slowly sniffing the air.

"What? What do you mean?" Jake stuttered. "How can you tell?"

"I can feel him, I can smell him. How he got past the guardians outside is beyond me."

"Guardians? What guardians? You mean the guards?"

"No. I do not. Wait . . . there are more than one!" The muffled sound of gunfire erupted from outside. Tiberius slammed his fist into the brick wall causing Jake to jump. Repeatedly he punched it. The wall shook violently but held.

"Listen to me son, I cannot help you. I cannot get out of this blasted cage!" Again, he punched the wall. "You must get outside, run into the woods, run as fast as you can! Do not stop!"

"What? You want me to go outside? But... but they'll catch me! I thought you were my friend! Now you're telling me to go outside and get eaten!"

"Silence boy! If you want to survive, you must do as I tell you! I do not have the time to explain. All I can tell you is that you will not be safe inside this house. Get to the woods!"

"But I can't! There are electric fences! I'll fry if I do!" The light bulb swinging above flashed a few times then went out plunging the room into darkness. Jake felt betrayed. He let himself begin to trust this creature and now he was sending him to his doom.

"Do as I say boy!" Tiberius yelled at him slamming his entire body into the wall.

"The hell with you! You damn vampire! I should have known better than to trust you!" Jake ran up the stairs as quickly as he could, bursting into the dining room.

"The woods!" Tiberius screamed from down below. "Get to the woods!"

Automatic weapons fire rang out from right outside the front door followed by horrific screams. The gigantic doors burst inward. Jake looked around frantically for a place to hide. Just as the first vampire stepped through the doors, Jake leapt under the dining room table.

One by one, they filed through the doors. There were seven that Jake could see, all different ages, races, and sizes. One of them was much larger than the others. He stood at least as tall as Jake's dad, had a mane of long blond hair hanging over what looked to be some sort of twisted looking fur coat. He held a short chain in his grasp, attached to it was a man on all fours like a dog, but it wasn't a man at all, not anymore. It was a grunt. It was also, the lawyer that had brought Jake to Riker. Mr. Murphy. "Find the boy!" The large vampire yelled releasing the chain from around Murphy's neck. Murphy sniffed the air like a dog then bounded up the stairs toward Jake's room. "And bring me Riker!"

"Macro! We can't stay here!" One of the vampires yelled at the larger one. "Their reinforcements are coming!"

Macro! My God! It's the one from Tiberius' story! Jake thought to himself, panic rippling through his body. There was something strange about the second vampire as well. He seemed very familiar for some reason.

"Coward!" Macro yelled in response. "You are an Immortal Michael! Act like it!"

"And you are a fool!" Michael responded. "They will come here and kill us all! We should not have crossed the border!"

For a brief, second the one known as Michael looked directly at Jake making eye contact, and then leapt up to the balcony above. The big one, Macro, looked toward the door leading to Tiberius' cell and smiled. At a slow almost striding pace, he headed downstairs somehow completely oblivious to Jake hiding less than fifteen feet away.

It didn't make sense. Jake knew the other vampire had seen him, yet he hadn't said anything. Who is he? Jake thought racking his brain. The other vampires branched out throughout the house. He could hear them crashing through walls and tossing furniture left and right. Jake crept to the door to the basement and hiding behind a dresser listened in to the conversation between Macro and Tiberius.

"You're still alive old man?" Macro called out with a laugh.

"I could say the same for you. I am surprised Livilla has not killed you. Surely, she has become bored with you by now. Maybe that is why she sent you across the border. You always were brave Macro, I will give you that, but crossing the border and breaking the treaty is pure madness. Even for you."

"I don't fear that bunch of apes." Macro said, with a snarl.

"You should. But then again you never were that bright."

"Enough old man. I did not come here for you. Tell me, where is the boy?"

"What boy?" Tiberius said, keeping his voice calm and collected.

"The one the rich man has been keeping here, the hunter's boy. I want him as my pet."

"I do not know what you are talking about. I have been locked up in this cage for decades. I have seen no boy!"

"You lie Tiberius. I smell his stench all over this very room."

Macro looked up the stairs just as Jake peeked around the edge. For a brief second their eyes meet. Macro's eyes glowed a sharp red, his fangs protruded.

"Stop!" Tiberius commanded Macro. "You will not hurt the child."

Macro stopped in mid-step, struggling to break Tiberius' hold on him. "You're weak old man! You can't hold me long!"

"Run boy! Run!" Tiberius screamed. "Get to the woods! The woods!" Jake heard several loud thuds that could only be Tiberius slamming into the wall.

Jake didn't wait to see the rest of the exchange. He put his feet in motion and took off at a dead run toward the front door. He knew it was futile. There was no chance to outrun a Maker vampire, much less seven, but he had to try. Just feet from the door, he could almost feel the giant on his heels. Then suddenly something had hold of the back of his shirt and threw him effortlessly in the air. Jake saw trees fly by and the electric fence pass below him. He landed hard with a thud and felt a sharp pain in his arm and head. Screaming out in pain, he passed out.

Chapter 14

Jake

May 8, 1995

10:01am

When he awoke, he was being carried through the woods by something very large and hairy. Jake looked up into the face of something very un-human, almost ape like. A terrified scream escaped from his lips. He closed his eyes tight and when he looked, again it was just a man carrying him. A very large man, but a man. In the moonlight, Jake saw him smile. "Do not be afraid son. You are safe now."

"Vampires . . ." he said, weakly.

"Oh don't worry about them. They won't be bothering anyone ever again."

He blacked out again and when next he awoke, he smelled bacon sizzling. For a second he thought he was back at his Grandpa Cort's. Then Jake heard someone singing the lyrics to Sweet Home Alabama that most certainly was not his grandpa. Jake sat up in bed and the world started spinning.

"Easy now." The singing man's voice said, "You had a pretty bad fall last night."

"Where am I?" Jake said, looking around the room. From the look of it, he was in a small, one room log cabin. Jake was lying on a four post bed with several old quilts covering him. Next to the bed was a massive bay window, outside all he could see were trees. Birds chirped loudly. "What time is it?"

"It's a little after ten in the morning." The man that looked to be in his mid thirties with jet-black hair, in a white t-shirt and blue jeans answered him. He was cooking on a black stove not far away. He stirred something around with a spatula then set it down. Wiping his hands on a rag, he came over to the side of the bed. "How are you feeling?" He asked, sitting in a wooden rocking chair next to the bed. "You had a pretty rough night last night."

Jake tried to remember exactly what had happened but it wouldn't come. "What happened? Where am I?"

"Well as to what happened, that's hard to say. I found you in the woods not far from the Riker place. You'd taken a bad fall, hit your head pretty good and broke your left arm. You were unconscious when I found you. As for where you are. Well, you're at my home about twenty miles into the woods of Southern Georgia."

Jake reached up to find a small square bandage on his forehead. His arm was wrapped tightly to his chest. It was throbbing terribly.

"I saw something," Jake said, remembering the large hairy creature. "Something big and hairy."

The man climbed out of his chair laughing. "That would be me I guess. I know I need a shave but I didn't think it had gotten that bad."

"No. It was something else. It looked like a . . . I know how crazy it sounds, but it looked like a big gorilla, but different."

He laughed again. "A big gorilla? You must have hit your head a lot harder than I thought."

"I swear I saw it! It was there one minute, the next it was you carrying me."

"You got me kid. I've lived in these woods for a long time now and I've never seen any gorillas. Maybe it was bigfoot," he said, with a touch of humor in his voice. "They say he runs loose in these parts."

"Bigfoot? That's crazy." Jake said, shaking his head. Maybe it had been some delusion from sustaining such a hit to the head.

"So. What's your name? And what were you doing in the middle of the woods in the middle of the night?"

"My name is, Jake. Jake Griffin." He lied.

"Well Jake Griffin. I am Nathan. Nathan Bishop."

"Nathan Bishop?" Jake said, unable to hide the surprise in his voice.

"Yeah? Have we met before?"

"No. At least I don't think so."

"So what were you doing out there? Are you kin to Richard Riker?"

"Not by choice." Jake said, pulling the covers off him and sitting on the edge of the bed. "Honestly. I'm not exactly sure how I got there. One minute I was running, the next I was flying through the air."

Nathan walked over and stirred the food cooking on the stove. "You like bacon and eggs?" he said, pulling the two pans off the stove and setting it on a small wooden table.

"Yeah, that sounds great." Jake said, rubbing his hand through his messy hair.

"Well, have a seat. Let's dig in."

With Nathan's help, Jake managed to hobble across the room where he sat down. Nathan put half the pan's contents on a plate and set it in front of him with a napkin and fork, then poured a glass of orange juice out of a large glass pitcher. The two ate in silence for a few minutes. What are the odds that a man named Nathan Bishop just happened to rescue me from a full on vampire assault? He thought to himself. Nathaniel . . . Nathan . . . hmm, odd coincidence. But it couldn't be the same guy. The only way he could have lived this long was if he was a vampire. But if he were a vampire, he would be frying in the sunlight. This is too weird. "So how long have you lived here?" Jake asked scraping some of the eggs onto his fork.

"A long time." Nathan said, biting into a piece of crispy bacon.

"Do you live here alone? Way out here in the woods?"

"Yeah pretty much. I have friends over every couple of weeks or so but mostly it's just me."

"You're not lonely living out here?"

"Me? Nah. You get used to it. I mean, it's not like I'm a million miles from civilization. I go into town about once every couple of weeks to pick up supplies, get a drink with some friends. It's really not that bad."

Jake had to ask him. No matter how crazy he thought it might sound. "What happened with the vampires?"

"They're dead." He said then sipped from his orange juice. "Well, most of them are anyway. The big one called Macro and one of his friends got away but the rest are dead."

"Macro, huh? So I'm guessing you've dealt with them before?"

"I was about to ask you the same question." Nathan said, pushing his empty plate forward and leaning back in his chair. "It's a rare thing for a kid your age to know about vampires."

"My family hunts them." Jake nodded. "That's what I'm going to be when I'm old enough.

"Is that right?" Nathan asked.

"Yep. So . . . I'm guessing you're a hunter too?"

"Of sorts I suppose. I don't exactly go looking for trouble, but when they cross into our territory I usually meet them head on."

"Your territory?"

"Uh huh. They cross the Old Miss and we kick their asses back across it. Doesn't happen often, but when they do we make sure they never do it again."

"How many are in your group?"

"A few." he said, with a chuckle.

"So tell me about your family. You said they hunt vampires? How long have they been doing that?"

"For a few years." Jake said, sarcastically.

"Fair enough. I've got my secrets; it's only fair you do too."

"I'm glad you understand." Jake said, taking another sip of his orange juice. He hadn't had food this good in over a month.

"So what do you want to do now? Should I take you back to Riker's?"

"God no!" Jake said, a lot louder than he had meant.

"That bad huh?"

"You have no idea. He basically kidnapped me and was about to sell me to those bloodsuckers. I need to call my Grandpa Cort. I tried last night but there was no answer. I hope everything is okay. Do you have a phone?"

"No I'm afraid not. But I can drive you into Hometown if you'd like. It's the nearest town. You can call whoever you want to come pick you up from there."

"That sounds great. Thanks! Oh and by the way, thanks for the breakfast and for . . . saving my life."

"You're welcome," he said, with a warm smile. "It's not every day I get to entertain a future vampire hunter. Well let's get you dressed and ready to go, then I'll take you into town. By the way, who put you in those clothes? Who are you supposed to be? Richie Rich?"

Jake laughed looking down at the now very dirty sweater vest and tie he still had on. "It's a long story."

"Well, I think I might have something here that will fit you. It might be a little big but it beats wearing those dirty rags. I have a shower out back if you'd like to clean up. We can wrap a plastic bag around the arm."

"Do I need to go to a hospital?"

"Yeah, but there's no immediate danger. It wasn't a bad break and I set it so you should be okay for now. Just try and stay off your feet for a day or two."

Jake winced as he tried to stand. The room started spinning.

"Easy now kid, you bumped your head pretty good. Here take these." He said, laying two aspirin on the table in front of him. "You can take a couple, now that you've got some food in you."

An hour later Jake was dressed in an overly large pair of jeans bunched up with a belt and a flannel shirt that was two sizes too big. They climbed into Nathan's jeep and headed for town. Thirty minutes later, Nathan pulled into a small friendly looking town with small shops on both sides of the main street. Stopping at a small repair shop on the outskirts, Jake carefully climbed out and used a pay phone to call his grandpa collect. It rang several times before he finally answered.

"Hello?" Cort said, sounding extremely grumpy.

Jake was elated to hear his voice. "Grandpa! It's me Jake!"

"Jake!" he said, concern filling his voice. "Son, are you okay? Where are you?"

"I'm a little banged up but nothing too serious. I've got a bump on the head and a broken arm but otherwise I'm okay."

"What! What happened? Did Riker hurt you; by God I'll kill that son of a bitch!"

"I'm okay really, I'm just . . . I really want to come home." Jake said, his voice almost pleading.

"Where are you? Riker's lawyers said, you were going to Santa Fe but we haven't been able to get any news out of them since. It's like they just dropped off the map!"

"I'm in a little town called Hometown, Georgia."

"Georgia? Why that slimy lying bastard. All right son, you just sit tight. I'm getting a map out right now and I will be there within twenty-four hours. You sit tight you hear me?"

"Yes sir." Jake said, unable to control the emotion in his voice. He'd never been so happy to hear someone's voice. "I'll see about getting a room at this motel not far from here and I'll see you soon."

"A motel? Boy, no one's going to let an eleven-year-old check into a motel? What exactly happened? Where's Riker?"

"I don't think we need to worry about him or his lawyers anymore. He . . . well, let's just say he made a deal with the wrong people. It's a long story Grandpa. I'll tell you when you get here. For now let's just say I've got a friend that's helping me out."

"Alright kid. You take care of yourself you hear? What's the name of the place you'll be staying?"

"It's called," Jake said, looking across the street. "the Tear Drop Inn."

"Okay son. I'll be there soon. I love you boy."

"I love you too Grandpa. Wait! Grandpa, is Dad okay? Is he back yet."

His Grandpa sighed loudly on the other end of the phone. "As far as I know he's okay. Listen we'll talk about it later okay? I promise." With that said, they hung up. Jake walked back over to Nathan's Jeep. He was leaning against it smoking a cigarette.

"So how'd it go?" He asked dropping the cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his boot.

"I got a hold of my grandpa. Listen, you've already helped me out so much I hate to ask this but I need one more favor."

"Ask away."

"Can you get me a room at the motel across the street? I can pay you back once my grandpa gets here."

"I'll tell you what; I've got a good friend that owns that place. And he owes me a few. I'll get you the nicest room they have, no charge."

"Are you sure? I know my grandpa would be more than happy to pay."

"Hell no. I wouldn't hear of it. What kind of a Christian would I be if I did something like that? No, my buddy Joe will set you up with anything you need. Just call the front desk if you need anything. Anything at all."

Jake couldn't argue with that. Twenty minutes later, he had a key in hand and was walking toward room number six. "Thanks Nathan. I really can't thank you enough for everything you've done for me."

"No problem at all, Jake. You just take care of yourself okay?"

"I will and you do the same." Jake said, extending his hand.

Nathan shook it and smiled. "Oh one more thing. If you or any of your hunter friends ever need a safe place to stay, you're always welcome here. Think of this place as a safe haven. Bloodsuckers don't come here. After last night they will especially think twice before crossing our borders again."

"Thank you Nathan. I'll tell the others."

"When you see your old man again don't be so hard on him. It's not easy losing the woman you love."

Jake stared at him amazed. He hadn't told him any of that. "How did you . . .?" He asked, shaking his head.

"Take care Jake Bishop," he said, climbing into his jeep and giving him a wave.

He knows my name! Who the heck is this guy?

Chapter 15

Jake

The Bishop Residence

Lubbock, TX

July 19, 1995 10:52pm

Jake told Cort almost everything that had happened to him while he was imprisoned in Riker's mansion/prison. Everything but about the time he had spent talking to Tiberius. Somehow he just felt as though he would be betraying his trust if he did. In the end, it had been the Maker's words that had saved Jake's life. If he hadn't stopped Macro on those steps and bought him those precious few seconds of time, Jake never would have made it to the woods.

Jake couldn't help but wonder what had become of Tiberius. A piece on the news said The Riker Mansion had burned to the ground, but that Riker and his butler had somehow survived. The fire was being blamed on a gas leak. So the question remained, had Tiberius escaped? Or had he burned alive? Deep down Jake had the feeling that his vampire friend was still alive and that they would one day meet again. A bigger mystery still was what to make of Nathan Bishop. Who was he? How did he know so much?

While Jake kept Tiberius a secret, he told Cort everything about Nathan. He was as perplexed as Jake was. As far as he knew, they didn't have any family in that part of the country. Regardless though, he'd spoken to Billy Williams about it and Billy had made contact with him. It was a refuge the hunters desperately needed. Billy had even talked to Cort of retiring there in the next few years.

Strangely, they had never heard another peep from Riker or his lawyers. Cort, with the help of Ben Morris, managed to get full custody of Jake. Riker didn't even bother fighting it. He gave up without as much as a word. Jake marveled at how easy it was for him to refer to his grandfather as Riker. He didn't consider the man as family in any sense of the word. In Jake's mind, he was just a bitter old man too afraid to die.

It wasn't until mid July that John finally returned home. He had been waging a war on the vampires and it wasn't going very well. Almost all of his former friends and allies had lost contact with him. Only Wesley Turner and his group of outlaw bikers remained at his side.

Jake was lying awake in bed late one night, when the familiar sound of his dad's truck came pulling into the drive. The front door opened and Jake heard his dad and grandpa's voices carry through the house. Jake crept soundlessly down the hall. Squatting down on the carpet, he peeked around the corner and watched them in the kitchen.

John laid a large green duffel on the floor then sat down at the table. Jake had never seen him look so bad. His once nicely trimmed beard was a rugged, dirty mess. His clothes were dirty and ripped in several places and he looked as though he had lost at least thirty pounds. He looked to be utterly exhausted. Worst of all was a long wicked looking scar running from his eye, down his cheek almost connecting with his mouth.

Cort was clearly furious. "A year! A goddamn year without so much as a word to your son! By God John, I didn't raise you like that."

"Give me a break, Pop." John groaned. "It's been a really long day."

"Long day? Long day! You selfish little . . . It's been a long year for us! Did you know your son was kidnapped a few months back? Did you even care?"

"What! What are you talking about? Is he okay?"

"He's fine, no thanks to you! Your father in law decided he deserved full custody a little more than we did. So him and his lawyers took Jake to Georgia and nearly got me killed in the process! I had to spend three weeks in jail! Three weeks, John!"

"That miserable old snake!" John said, slamming his fist on the table. "I should have known! I should have known he'd try something like that!"

"Oh it gets a lot worse than that. He was planning to make some deal with the vamps for Jake. I haven't figured out all the details yet, but one thing is for sure, they want him. They followed him all the way across the Mississippi River, took some heavy losses doing it too. If it weren't for some crazy, heavily armed hunters that I've never heard of before, Jake would be drinking human blood right now as if it were Kool-Aid!"

"That son of a bitch! I'll kill him, if it's the last thing I do I will choke the life out of that man with my own two hands."

"Oh so now you suddenly care?"

"That's not fair Pop! Jake is my son, of course I care!"

"You could have fooled me." Cort said, crossing his arms. "What the hell happened to you Johnny?"

"I don't want to talk about that right now, Pop. I just came to rest up a few days then I'm heading back out."

"The hell you are!" Cort yelled slamming his fist on the table. "I might be old as dirt, and half your size, but by God you're not too big for me to whoop your ass! Because that's exactly what I'm going to do if you take one step towards that door!" Both men grew silent for several long minutes. It was Cort that broke it. "I've been hearing some dark things about you, John. Things I've been trying to ignore."

"I've had to do what I've had to do." John replied coldly.

"Bullshit. You've done a lot more than that. Ben told me son. He told me what you did to that vamp in Corpus."

"Like I said, I've done what I've had to. I'm not proud of it."

"Cutting limbs off of vamps, waiting for them to grow back and them cutting them off again and again! Setting them on fire! Torture? Two days of torture?"

"What do you expect me to say Pop? I'm looking for Julia. I get information anyway I can."

"And that includes working with Bloody Wes Turner? The Slayers?"

"What if I am? At least he'll give me a hand! No one else will! My so-called friends, Billy, Ben, and Talon, none of them had the guts to do what needed to be done! Anderson? What a joke." John snorted. "He was gone after one hunt!"

"That's because they don't work like that! Not like Turner and his bunch of flunkies! He's a twisted, sadistic son of a bitch and his men aren't any better."

"Everything he learned he learned from you, Pop. And what if he is? That's what I need right now. What do you care anyway? They're bloodsuckers! No one hates them more than you do!"

"I don't care what they are. And Turner didn't learn torture from me. That boy was bad. He was always bad! We don't do that John. We're not like the vamps, we don't torture. We kill them and we're done with it. I raised you better than that."

"Yeah well . . ." John trailed off.

"John you've got to stop this. It's been a year now. You've become obsessed."

"Please Pop, I really can't do this right now."

"Then when? I'm sorry son but I've kept my mouth shut for too long as it is. Julia's gone. I know it's hard but it's time to deal with it and move on."

"How do you know how hard it is? You don't know anything about it!"

"I lost my wife too John."

John rose up from the table knocking his chair over. "Mom left Pop! She wasn't carted away by some bloodsucking slime! She took William and left!"

William? Jake thought to himself. That's the other kid in the pictures! Dad has a brother!

Cort held up his hands trying to calm him. "You're right, you're right. I'm sorry. You're right; I don't know what it's like. But I do know that this isn't what Julia would have wanted."

John also calmed himself and picked up his chair. "Look Pop. I've got to get some sleep. Wes has a lead on a nest up in Oklahoma, somewhere near Norman. I'm leaving as soon as I've gotten some rest."

"You're not going anywhere. Jake needs you John, especially after what happened with Riker. He needs you more than ever."

"I'm out there because of him Pop! I'm protecting him!"

"Bull. You're out there because you're afraid to face him. You can't stand to look that boy in the eye and tell him his mother's not coming home!"

John leapt up again this time throwing his chair completely across the room. "Don't you ever say that! You don't know that!"

"You want to get mad! Then get mad!" Cort said, throwing his own chair across the room smashing it into a large china cabinet. "But when you're done throwing a temper tantrum maybe you can grow up, be a man, and be a father to your son! You need to face it son, she's either dead or one of them. At this point there's no other option."

"What if she's not? A Maker in Reno told me they were holding her hostage! As bait to draw me in! He said she was still alive!"

"Vampire's lie son. That's what they do best."

John's face grew serious. "When he told me that Wes had cut every limb off his body, stripped his skin down to the bones, and plucked out both of his eyes three times. There was no lying in that bloodsucker. I promise you that."

"My God, John." Cort said shaking his head in shame. "What have you turned into?"

John looked away with tears stinging his eyes. "Pop . . . What if it's true? What if she's out there being tortured by those . . . those monsters, just to draw me in! I can't stop Pop. I just can't. Not until I know for sure."

Cort stepped around the table and put his arms around his son's shoulders. "John. Son. You have to let her go."

"I can't Pop. I just can't!" John said, crying. "I love her too damn much! She's everything to me. It's my fault this happened."

"No son. It's not." He said, gently. "It's their fault. They did this. I know you're hurting. But you're going about it the wrong way. You've cut out everyone that loves you, everyone that cares for you. If you keep going this way, you're going to get yourself killed and leave this poor boy an orphan. I'm too damn old and too damn tired to raise Jake on my own."

John lifted his head. "I quit before and look what happened. I can't stop. Not till we've killed every damn one. Not till Jake can grow up without wondering if a monster is going to sneak in through his window."

Jake leaned against the wall in the hallway and wiped his tears with the front of his shirt.

"I'm not asking you to quit." Cort said, with tears in his own eyes. "I'm asking you to take a step back. Regroup. You still have friends out there John, friends that are worried about you. Take a year or two off hunting. Let's regroup, plan and do this together."

John let out a deep sigh. "I need to see Jake. Is he asleep?"

"No, he's sitting in the hall listening to us." Cort said, looking in Jake's direction.

Jake ducked back into his bedroom and jumped under his covers. John came in a few minutes later. He gently closed the door behind him and sat on the end of the bed.

"Hey big guy." he said, with a smile. "Man you've gotten tall!"

"Hey Dad." Jake said, squeezing his sheets in his fists.

"I'm sorry about what happened with your grandfather. He's a very sad and lonely old man Jake."

"Yeah well . . ." Jake trailed off. "He's a lot more than that."

"Look kid, I know things have been hard."

"You don't know anything!" Jake yelled, unable to hold it back any longer, tears stinging his eyes. "You don't care about me! I was stuck in that house for over a month. A month! I prayed every single night that you would come save me, to get me out of that prison! But you didn't. You didn't even know I was gone until tonight!"

"I'm sorry Jake. You have no idea how bad I feel about it."

"I don't think you feel bad at all. I honestly don't think you care anymore."

"Jake, please don't say that. You have no idea of the things I've done for you."

"You aren't here! I know that much. You think you've had it hard? You think you're the only one hurting? You may have lost your wife. I lost both of my parents!"

John hung his head in his hands. "I didn't want this for you. I tried to get away from all of this to protect you and your mom. But it backfired in my face. I got too comfortable. Relaxed too much. I should have been ready. I should have been prepared." Tears streamed down his face.

Jake could see he was utterly lost. Nathan's words echoed in his head. When you see your old man again don't be so hard on him. It's not easy losing the woman you love. Jake got up out of bed and wrapped his arms around his father and the two cried together.

"I'm sorry Jake. I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you. It's just . . . I don't think I can live without her."

"It's okay Dad. It's okay." Jake comforted him.

"I've killed dozens of them Jake. Done things I never dreamed I would do, just looking for one shred of information that would lead me to her. Every time I thought I was close I ran into another dead end."

"Come back Dad. Please . . ." Jake pleaded.

"I can't Jake. She needs me."

"Mom's dead!" Jake screamed pulling away from him. "I've dealt with it why can't you?" He had never said, it aloud before, had never even let himself think it. But he knew as he said, it, it was the truth. He had to let her go. John had to let her go. "Mom wouldn't have wanted this Dad. She wouldn't want you to kill yourself for her. She would want us to be happy. Together. I've had to grieve for her alone for a year. For both of you!"

John grew quiet for a long time. After several minutes of sitting in silence he finally spoke. "You're a smart boy Jake. You remind me a lot of your mom. She'd be so proud of you. You know that don't you?" He patted Jake on his leg then wiped his eyes. "I'll stop. But this isn't something we can run away from. You know that don't you?"

"I know Dad."

"This isn't the life I wanted for you. But we're stuck with it. They won't stop coming. Not ever. What happened at Riker's was proof of that. If they don't get me, they'll get you. If they don't get you they will get your children or grandchildren. Our family has been fighting them for what seems like forever."

"What can we do Dad?"

"All I can do is promise that I'll never leave you alone again. I'll always be there for you. All we can do now is try and survive. But at least we'll be together."

"What if I don't want to just survive? What if I want to kill every single one of them?"

"Then I'll help you do just that son."

The story continues in:

Chronicles of the Vampire Hunters:

Judgment

Now available on Ebook and paperback!

Here's a sneak peek at the first chapter . . .

The Bishop Residence, Lubbock TX

May 30, 1997 4:09am

"Jake, whatever you do, whatever you hear, do not come out of this room!" Jake's dad's hands shoved him forcefully into his Grandpa Cort's safe room. "No matter what."

The pounding on the barred front door grew louder by the second. The windows in Cort's room shattered and the ceiling shook violently then cracked as something heavy crashed into it. Jake knew the rebar reinforcing the ceiling and the iron bars protecting the doors and windows would only hold them at bay for so long, any minute now they would be inside.

"Come on you dirty bloodsucking sons of bitches!" his Grandpa Cort roared from the living room. "Come suck on this!" The Cleaner, a ten gauge shotgun handed down from Jake's great-grandfather, blasted away in the older Bishop's hands. "John! Make it quick son! They're almost inside!"

John grabbed a pump action 12 gauge off the wall and a box of shells and tossed them to Jake. Then he yanked a razor sharp machete down and laid it on the floor at Jake's feet. "Load the gun. Hold it tight to your shoulder, remember to squeeze the trigger don't pull it. If anything manages to get through this door you keep blasting until it's not moving then you cut its head off. You have to take its head to kill it. Do you understand?"

"But Dad, please just give me a chance!" Jake pleaded, fumbling to get the shells into the shotgun. "I know I can help you!"

"Not this time kid." John ruffled his shaggy brown hair. "It's nothing personal but you'd just get in the way. Pop and I have got everything under control."

"If you won't let me help then come in here with me! You and Grandpa both, we can all fit! We'll just wait until the sun comes up."

"This is our home, son." John said solemnly. "They're not taking this from us. Not again."

An even louder crash sounded in the living room. "Johnny!" Cort yelled then fired a three round burst. "Dammit boy! It's game time and you're late for the kickoff!"

John grabbed two .357 revolvers off the wall and tucked them into his waistband, another machete, and two boxes of ammo. He smiled at his son then slammed the heavy steel door closed and locked it behind him.

Jake angrily pounded his fist against it. "No! Dad! No!" he yelled in anger. "I can help you!"

The door was at least six inches thick but Jake could still hear the muffled sounds of continuous gunfire. Terror gripped tightly at his chest. Please God! Please let them be okay! He prayed. Please!

Something heavy slammed into the door hard enough to dent it inward. Jake fell backwards over an ammo box and fired his shotgun into the steel door. He landed hard hitting his head on a steel shelf. Buckshot ricocheted around the room missing him by mere inches. His ears rang as darkness crept around the edges of his vision. With his left hand, he touched the back of his head and felt blood in his hair. He tried to sit up but the room started spinning violently.

With another thud, the heavy steel door bent further inward as some monstrous foe struck it. Razor sharp talons wrapped around the top right edge and peeled it back a full three feet. With one final pull the door groaned outward and the crimson eyes of a Maker peered in at Jake. "Evening mate!" He smiled a mouthful of fangs. "We've been looking for you."

He was dressed in a strange punk rock getup; complete with black leather jacket, fishnet stockings, and leather biker gloves covering both hands. His stringy purple hair hung down nearly to his waist. He climbed fully into the tiny room before dusting off and straightening his jacket. "Bloody hell that attic was dusty!"

His head still spinning, Jake picked up the shotgun and racked in a fresh shell. His aim wavering badly, he pulled the trigger filling the small space with a loud BOOM! Bits of buckshot tore into the side of the Maker's face, causing him to wince in pain.

On reflex, Jake dropped the gun and grabbed his ears in pain.

"You miserable little snot!" The Maker snarled in a British accent, sticking his fingers in his ears and wiggling them around. "Don't they teach you hunter pups anything?" He seemed completely unfazed by the buckshot lodged in his skull. "You don't fire a gun in an enclosed space! Everyone knows that. Stupid bastard . . ."

Jake reached for his gun but the Maker kicked away. "Once Macro is done with you I'm going to rip your head from your neck and shove it up your arse!"

Silent as a ghost, another figure, dressed entirely in black, suddenly dropped in behind the first Maker. Punk Rock Maker took two steps closer toward Jake's terrified form. His smile faltered when he noticed Jake was staring behind him. He turned just as the figure clad in black reached out with his hands and wrapped them tightly around the Punk Rock Maker's neck.

The Maker in black extended his talons into Punk Rock's pale white skin then jerked both hands apart. Surprise and terror filled his eyes as his head was ripped from his body, sending an eruption of black blood onto the ceiling and walls. The body, still twitching, slumped to the floor at Jake's feet.

The remaining Maker stared down at Jake. He stood right under six feet tall, had short brown hair, and couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen years old. At least that was the age he had been before being turned.

His cold, dead eyes turned from blood red to a familiar soft green. It was then that Jake realized he'd seen this Maker once before. Years ago, at his Grandpa Riker's, it had been the same Maker that had spared his life when Macro had come looking for him.

Michael! Macro called him, Michael. "Why?" Jake mumbled softly as the blood pooled around the back of his head.

He started to answer then frowned, as the gunshots from the living room grew closer. He turned and grabbing up the Punk Rock Maker's body in one hand, his head in the other leapt through the vault door and disappeared into a hole in the ceiling.

Jake's head throbbed painfully; he slumped to his side, closed his eyes and dreamed of his mother's loving, green eyes.

"Jake?" His Grandpa Cort's familiar voice finally broke into his sleep. "Jake? Come on kid wake up." The old man's weathered hand gently slapped his cheek. Jake's eyes popped open and looked right into the eyes of a blood soaked Cort Bishop.

"Grandpa?" Jake muttered groggily. "What happened?"

"You hit your head." His father's concerned voice said from beside him. Jake turned his head several inches and again the room started spinning.

"Easy now kid," John said squeezing his shoulder. "Take it slow and try not to move too much. You might have a concussion."

"What? How did I get in the safe room?" Jake muttered looking around at the dozens of rifles, shotguns, and handguns lining the walls.

"What's the last thing you remember?" John asked.

"Uhhh . . ." Jake had to think very hard for several long seconds. "I remember someone beating on the front door. You came and got me out of bed . . . then Grandpa yelling something about football . . . then I saw . . . Mom's eyes . . . those green eyes."

"Great," John said to Cort. "He's definitely got a concussion. It was vampires, son. Six grunts. And from the look of things, one of them got in here with you. There's plenty of blood on the walls, floor, and ceiling so you must have gotten a pretty good piece of him."

"What!" Jake exclaimed trying to sit up.

"Easy, easy." John gently pushed him back down. "Pam Williams is on her way here to check you out. Just lie still till then, okay? I don't want to move you until she says it's okay."

"But, but the vampires!" Jake yelled.

"It's okay." Cort grunted, climbing back to his feet, his knees giving a very audible pop. "It took some doing and the house is trashed, but we killed them all."

"Holy shit." Jake muttered looking around the room in confusion.

"You're out of it right now, so I'll over look that." John smiled at Cort.

A tall African American woman with short black hair and dark circles under her eyes placed a hand on Cort's shoulder then stepped past him into the tiny space. "Hey now fellas? How are we doing?"

"We're doing okay, Pam. A little shook up with a few cuts and bruises, but I think we're okay." John smiled giving her arm a gentle squeeze. "I think Jake might have a concussion though."

"Is that so?" Pam said kneeling down and giving Jake a good once over. "John, Cort, go in the other room and have Holloway take a look at your wounds. I'll be in, in a few minutes, once I've checked Jake out."

John nodded noticing for the first time the big gash running across his forearm. "I'll be in the next room if you need me, son."

"Hello, Jake." She smiled. "Can you tell me where you are?" she asked checking his pupils with a small penlight.

"Uh . . ." Jake groaned. "I'm in Grandpa's gun vault."

"Uh huh, and who is the President of the United States?"

\-----

John stepped into the living room where three of Mike Holloway's guys were keeping guard. Mike, a heavyset cowboy, complete with a big straw hat and pair of cowboy boots, came back from outside where he had been talking to the police.

"So what's the damage, Mike?" John asked grabbing a towel from the kitchen and wrapping it tightly around his arm.

"I've got an old friend in the Sheriff's Department that used to be a hunter. He's covering things with the PD. Though there were more than a few that wanted to come in and have a look around. I heard a couple of them saying something about a standoff involving Cort?" He looked from John to Cort. "Cort, you old outlaw you, do I even want to know?"

"Big misunderstanding." Cort grumbled.

"Well anyway, lucky for you my man convinced them to look the other way. How's the boy doing?"

"He's doing alright." John nodded. "Pam is checking on him now. It's a damn good thing you guys were still in town when these bloodsuckers hit. Thanks again for coming so fast, Mike."

"No problem at all, hoss." Mike grinned a crooked smile. "My pleasure. It's just a damn shame you two killed them all before we could get here."

"Well, what can I say? When you're good, you're goo . . ." Cort said falling back into his old leather recliner. The chair immediately broke apart, dropping him hard to the ground.

"Son of a bitch," he cursed, lying flat on his back with his feet up in the air. "Well don't just stand there looking ugly! Give me a hand!"

John and Holloway both gave each other a half smile before reaching down and pulling Cort to his feet. "Son of a bitch." He repeated looking down at his ruined chair. "I loved that chair." He shook his head in anger biting his bottom lip. "Son-of-a-bitch!"

John placed a hand on his shoulder trying to calm him, "It's just a chair, Pop."

Cort angrily shrugged it off, "Just a chair my ass! Look at this place." He said motioning around the room. Bullet holes riddled every wall; almost all of the furniture was covered in black vampire blood. The windows were shattered, the front door hung off its hinges and the ceiling had collapsed where one of the grunts had managed to punch his way through. The big iron-gate that had protected the door was nowhere in sight. "The house is completely destroyed!"

"It's just a house, Pop." John said in a tone suggesting it was much more than that. "Just a house . . ." He had spent almost his entire childhood in this house.

"How the hell did they find us?" John said picking a broken picture of his old friend Terry Williams up off the floor. "You've lived here for what Pop? Forty years?"

"I'll tell you how they found you." Holloway said heatedly. "It's that goddamn Coalition!"

"Mike . . ." John started to say.

"I warned you John! I warned you and Billy that everyone knowing everyone else's business was a bad idea. When you're dealing with the government there are just too many damn leaks! You boys should have left well enough alone. Just kept it all independent like it's always been."

"Mike, damn it, not now." Cort said angrily.

"I'm just saying . . ."

"Mike. For the love of god, man, my house just got destroyed! My grandson is laying in there dying!"

"He's not dying, Pop." John rolled his eyes.

"Shut up boy! He's lying in there, severely wounded, so I don't need this whole oooohh the Coalition is so evil and we're all so stupid for supporting it, speech right now!"

"Alright, alright." Mike said holding his hands up in defeat. "Excuse the hell out of me. Man he's cranky." He whispered loudly to John.

"Yeah well, you'd be cranky too if a bunch of vampires decided to kick your door in at four in the morning, then crash through the ceiling like some goddamn Santa Claus on steroids." Cort said giving his chair a hard kick for good measure. "Ruining perfectly good chairs . . ." he trailed off.

"I'll buy you a new chair!" Mike said throwing his arms up in the air.

"I don't want a new chair!" Cort roared. "I want that chair! I've worn my ass imprint into it just right. Do you have any idea how long that took?"

"I'm guessing forty years." Mike said sarcastically.

"You're goddamn right it took forty years! Forty of the most comfortable sitting years of my life! Why I watched Super Bowl number one in that damn chair! Billy and I bought the pair of them when John was still just a boy!"

"I'm going to go check on Jake." John said excusing himself. Man Pop is upset about Jake. He thought to himself. He knew the older Bishop was just using the chair as an excuse to vent his frustrations. He had always been like that. John supposed it was easier for him to do that than face what was really eating at him.

John stepped into the tiny room barely bigger than a closet, to find Pam checking Jake's pulse. "How is he Doc?" He asked leaning against the dented door.

"He's going to be fine." She smiled weakly. "Just a concussion. Looks like he hit his head pretty good so you guys will need to keep an eye on him for a few days."

"Yeah I think something came through the door, spooked him and he fired off a round then tripped over some boxes. There's some vamp blood on the door, walls, and ceiling, so he must have hit what he was aiming at. Poor kid." He said looking down at his only child. "I'm betting he was scared out of his mind."

"Here, let's get him on his feet into his room."

"That might not be such a good idea." John said sourly. "His room has a few of our, 'guests' in it. Well, what's left of them anyway."

"Oh." Pam crinkled up her nose. "Okay then, where can we lay him?

"Let's get him into the backseat of my truck. I'm taking him and Pop to a hotel. We need to get in at least a few hours sleep before we have to come clean up the place. I'm sure Mike and his guys will keep an eye on things until we get back. Probably raid the fridge, drink all of our beer." He chuckled.

"How's Jake doing?" Cort poked his head around the corner.

"He's okay Pop. It's just a bad concussion. We'll need to keep an eye on him for a few days."

"Damn." Cort cursed. "The boy should have been ready. He's more than old enough."

"He's only fourteen, Pop." John said.

"That's a year older than you were when you started training." Cort ran his hands through his long gray hair. "Johnny, he could have been killed tonight."

"I sure could go for some Pop-Tarts." Jake said groggily. "Cherry Pop-Tarts. They're the best . . . or blueberry pancakes! Remember when Mom used to make blueberry pancakes? Man that was the best . . . Mom?" he said his eyes tearing up.

"Shhh, Jake." Pam said touching his forehead. "Just take it easy. I know things are confusing right now, but everything will be better in a few days."

"Yes Mom." He muttered. "Mom? Mom! Where have you been? I've missed you so much."

John sighed then lowered his head to his chest. "You're right, Pop. I hate to say it but it's time. I'll call Billy and get him signed up for the training. If he's going to do it, he might as well do it with the best."

"The best? Shit." Cort said. "I doubt a bunch of government punks can teach my grandson how to hunt like I could."

"Not to rain on your macho vampire killer parade, but why don't you guys just get out of here? Move to New York City or Miami or just about anywhere east of the Mississippi. Didn't you say that vampires won't cross the river?"

"I'm not running again, Pam." John said coldly. "I tried that once. It didn't work."

"I know that, John." Pam argued. "But Julia wouldn't want this for her son. You know she wouldn't."

"Pam. Enough. This is our life. You chose to stay out of it, we didn't."

Pam sighed. "There is just no arguing with you people!" She said angrily. "You're just as stubborn as Billy. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"Look. I don't need this crap. I'm coming off an eighteen-hour shift at the ER . . . I went home to get a couple of hours of sleep and had just dozed off when who should call me? Why my old friends the Bishops! That's who! The ones that only call when someone is either dead or needs to be patched up!"

"Pam I'm sorry . . ." John started to say.

"Oh and guess what else?" She interrupted. "I've got to be back at work in two hours! Two hours! So I'll tell you what, next time one of you gets hurt, don't bother calling me." She picked up her bag pulled out two bottles of antibiotics and tossed them at John then headed for the door. "If Jake gets any worse take him to the ER."

She stopped right outside the door. "You two . . ." she poked her finger at John, then at Cort. "Get your wounds stitched up and get on those antibiotics before you both get sick and die. You know how poisonous those scratches are. What am I saying? Of course, you know! You've both been scratched at least a hundred times by those monsters!" She stormed out still ranting.

"Well . . . that was awkward." John said reaching down to help Jake to his feet.

"You're telling me," Cort said peeking around the corner of the broken steel door. "What the hell did she mean by you people?"

"Pop . . ." John shook his head laughing. "Go pack a bag. We're going to a hotel."

"Hotel? I'm not paying to stay at some damn hotel."

"I'm paying Pop."

"Yeah? Hell then, let's get going," He said, rushing down the hallway to his room.

Author's Note:

I'd really like to take the time to thank you for reading my book. This has been a real pleasure to write. Honestly, I can't tell you how many times I just wanted to toss this thing out the window, but alas the threat of divorce from my loving wife kept me from it. Seriously though, I hope you enjoyed Jake's story as much as I enjoyed writing it. He's developed from so much more than that young kid I'd envisioned storming into a farmhouse trying to make his family proud. I plan on writing MANY more books based in this universe, tying up Jake's tale and possibly delving more into Tiberius or Nathan's history.

I'd like to take the time to thank those that helped me trudge through the late nights, long days, and countless days of editing.

First and foremost I have to thank my wonderful wife Natasha. Thank you baby for your counsel, encouragement, and kind and sometimes much needed harsh words. Not to mention your hours of editing. None of this would have ever made it onto paper without your support. You are my rock in this world. The single greatest thing that ever happened to me, was meeting you.

Next I'd like to thank my family for ALWAYS encouraging my imagination. Their excitement to read my work helped me through many a days. Thanks Mom and Dad, Mimi, Lin, Aunt Paula, and Uncle Danny (the greatest storyteller I know) for getting me into reading so many years ago with his copy of The Lonesome Gods by Louis L'Amour. I love you guys, thanks for the support!

I'd like to thank Mark Clodi. (Author of The Zombie Chronicles Novels) Mark pointed me in the right direction when it came to self-publishing and gave me a helping hand when I needed it most. I'd still be lost in the woods without his help. If you get a chance and you enjoy Zombies, check out some of his books. And of course my hard working editor Doree Anne Colon who took the time to give my book a once over and fix all of my MANY mistakes.

Thank you all so very much for taking the time to read my books! Keep your eyes open for MANY more to come.

If you enjoyed this or any of my other books please take a minute and leave a review wherever you purchased a copy. If you're not comfortable leaving a review but would like to leave a comment or maybe ask a question please drop me a line at DustinPalmerbooks@gmail.com. Or you can visit my blog at dustinpalmerbooks.blogspot.com. If you would like more information about this or any of my upcoming novels please check out my facebook page, keyword Chronicles of the Vampire Hunters. Thanks again!

-Dustin J. Palmer

