unDEAD

unDEAD by Scott Connelly

18,525 words

19 April 2011

Prologue

         It starts like any other cop story: a dark night, a killer on the loose, a police officer hunting for the killer, trying to figure out where and who he’ll strike next, following a lead in a seedy side of town…
         As usual, just as the cop is wondering if he got bad information, or if his instincts are not working properly, he stumbles onto the killer, and his next [potential] victim. The cop is just in time, as is usually the case in stories like this…
         The man is stocky, with long black hair, and has a triumphant, ecstatic expression on his wide, ugly face.
         The cop can’t shoot him; it's not how the real world works. The cop must separate killer and victim, hold the killer until backup arrives (the cop had called for it when he realized his information/instinct was good), and Save The Day. He gets between the two, pushes the victim (a young woman) out of the way, and struggles/grapples with the killer. He is quite surprised when the killer easily holds him and smiles…and that’s when the cop sees the fangs.
         Maybe the cop has time to wonder if he could have led a better life, if perhaps he could have found a happier, if not safer, career as a dishwasher in some second-rate diner…
         The killer sinks his fangs into the cop’s neck, starts to drink, hungrily. The cop thinks it’s all over; he may as well lie back and die. But that isn’t what's supposed to happen, damn it, it can’t end this way! Some little part of the cop rebels and wants to fight back. It may be desperate, it may not change the outcome, it may not even challenge fate, but at least it’s something!
         The cop feels his blood draining away, he is getting colder, he is drifting out of consciousness, and he sees that the killer has left his own neck exposed – probably because of sloppiness, or arrogance…
         It may mean nothing, but it is the only idea the cop has, now. He bites down, hard, into the killer’s neck, sinks his teeth in and starts to drink. The killer is now the one to be quite surprised!
          The killer throws the cop across the room, as the sirens sound in the distance. Both cop and killer are weakened, but the cop has lost a lot more blood, although he did drink some back…
         The killer runs away, the police will never catch him tonight. The cop is found, unconscious, without much blood in him. The victim is safe, if a little shaken.
         The sirens scream again, this time an ambulance, racing to the Emergency Room, with the cop on the stretcher. Orders are passed over the radio, calling ahead emergency preparations at the hospital. The cop is in a bad way, very little blood left in his body, but somehow still semi-conscious.
         Meanwhile, back at the crime scene, the investigators are having trouble finding any of the cop’s blood, and thinking oh, no, we got a maniac out there who thinks he’s a vampire…
         And the cop hangs on, while doctors and nurses hustle and bustle around him…and draw his or her own conclusions about what happened. By now there are rather a few people who know what happened: cops, doctors, interns, reporters monitoring police frequencies…
         And the night becomes just a little more claustrophobic, a little more…confining...
         Like a tomb.

PART ONE

Chapter One

         Jack Spring, Police Officer, did his job, no more or less. He’d go to work, sit at his desk, type reports, sort files, walk the streets, track down leads, look for clues, talk to people, say good night to his fellow cops, and go home at the end of his shift. In other words, he was just another policeman, nothing special about him; he did his job.
         No more, no less. Nothing special.
         Now he hangs on, with very little blood in his veins. They try a transfusion, but that doesn’t help. His life is just fading away…
Slipping in and out of consciousness, he can barely give a description of the killer before he passes out again. The truth is, he didn’t get all that good a look at his assailant – it was too dark, the guy was in shadows, he attacked too fast, got in too close to get an accurate image; it just happened too quickly!
Sometime during the third night, Officer Spring died. He simply slid into unconsciousness, and never woke up. The hospital staff unhooked the monitors, loaded him onto a gurney, and wheeled him to the morgue. The bed was stripped of the linen, the room was cleaned; people who were still alive needed the space. Life goes on…
The word got out onto the street, to the cops, to the reporters, to anyone who pays attention to this kind of thing – there’s a cop killer on the loose. In an unspoken agreement, which every policeman knows: shoot to kill.
What no one knows, what no one even thinks is possible, is the killer doesn’t care; he just laughs. “Ah, drama,” he sneers, “This could be an amusing adventure for the next ten years here…”
Jack Spring, Police Officer, Deceased, awakens in total darkness and silence. He is not amused. Wherever he is, it’s cold and stuffy, and smells like death. “Cold, stuffy, silent, dark, death…oh, no, those idiots put me in the morgue!” thinks Spring, “What the hell? I’m not dead!”
He tugs, pulls, rips the cover off of his face and body. He is still wearing the hospital gown. “At least they haven’t stripped me yet,” he grumbles. He steps off the gurney, but his legs give out from under him, and he falls to the floor. “Dammit, I’m weak, “ he says to himself, “I gotta get my legs to work, get some clothes, and get outta here. Go home and rest up for a little while. And then go after this bastard.”

Back at the scene of the crime, there's no one around – police tape covers the door, trash on the carpet; couple of bloodstains. A tall man, in shadows, ducks under the tape, has a look at the apartment. It's obvious this place hasn't been used as a home for a while; probably where the whores take their clients for a quick one, or maybe the junkies go for some fix from diluted shit. It stinks in this place, like desperation, dead dreams, and fear.
And vampires, and blood, and...something else? “Hmm...” thinks this guy. There's something new to the story. The tall man looks around, crouches at the few drops of blood, gets down on all fours, sticks his nose to it. “Ugh.” Yeah, some human blood, but also – vampire blood?
“Hmmm...”

Only the dead are the residents of the morgue, maybe the occasional security guard – and let's be honest: sometimes he likes to look at the OD victims – they ain't too old, or ugly, thinking “What a waste of some good tail; clean her up, get her off the drugs a bit, we fall in love for about a week, then put her back on the streets with $50 in her hand – she'll go right back to whatever crap she was on before her Prince Charming left her.” HR always skips the background check if there's nothing outstanding in the records...and the perverts get hired and do nasty stuff when they can get away with it.
Circle of life, baby.
Jack Spring, creeping quietly out of the refrigerated room, limping past the preoccupied perv guard who's  – well, maybe it's better left unsaid, huh?
Despite the chill in the air, Spring can feel heat coming off the guy as if he was in a sauna, can smell his sweat (and other bodily fluids), can hear the labored breathing. He's drawn to it; oh he wants to go and latch on to it so badly, but what he really wants to do is get the hell out of that dead place as soon as possible. He's a cop; he's been to that hospital, that morgue so many times he could find his way around in the building with his eyes closed – he knows where the spare scrubs lockers are. In no time, he looks like any other overworked intern finishing their shift. One snag: the lockers are located near the blood bank. Now Spring gets this gnawing, hollow, almost unstoppable hunger! He's thinking, “This place is full of food! I can go anywhere, and I'll have my pick of whatever I got a taste for – Chinese, Mexican, Middle Eastern, Indian, Italian – just whatever! What the hell am I waiting for – let's eat!”
“Whoa, wait...”
The cop in him starts analyzing these thoughts. What kind of hunger is this? Yeah, I want something in my stomach, or do I? This isn't about filling my gut with food, this is more like...addiction? I'm jonesing? For what?!
Shit, I gotta get back to my place, gotta get a shower, gotta figure out what that maniac did to me. Gotta think...

That walk home, man, what a nightmare. He was cold, weak, hungry, and everywhere he turned was that desire to grab the next person who looks at him funny and just tear them to pieces. Funny thing, though: morning, noon, night the city was full of people and for some reason they didn't mind shoving you aside to get where they were going, but tonight it's like folks were nearly jumping out of the way when Jack lumbered by. He had an...idea...that if he didn't get home before sunrise he was gonna have a really bad day. But a couple blocks more and he'd be in his nondescript apartment, and he'd get a coffee and a sandwich and – shit, he didn't have his keys! They were probably in a box in the hospital, or in the evidence locker! Now what?! Wait, calm down; he gave a spare key to the cat lady in the place across from his door, and she's a light sleeper, just like her five million cats. It's cool.

Well, that could have been easier. First, Spring knew he looked like he was stuffed in a bag for a couple days, and tried to straighten out the more obvious rogue hair strands. Second, even before he knocked on her door, it was like he could feel the cats tensing up, or like they were getting ready to fight for territory, or something. But the kicker was when Cat Lady opened her door after being assured it was really Officer Spring – damn if those cats arched their backs and started hissing like he was the devil himself! Sounded like steam escaping from an overheated boiler! Weird thing was, he hissed back, and those cats went nuts, scattering around that room like they were on fire. Surprised him, Cat Lady, and the cats, and Cat Lady gave him the spare, stepped back and slammed that door right on his nose! She looked very scared, and Jack knew that look was on his face too.
Ah, finally! Back in his flat, but man, all he wanted to do is sleep – what happened to shower, coffee, and a snack? Oh, well, just cover the windows – he was used to that; he's pulled night shifts before – curl up, and crash. “I'll wake up in four hours, and get to doing stuff, but now – good night!”

Chapter Two

A rare sunny day in the city.
“How the hell can you lose a body?! It's not like he got up and walked away!” The Coroner never liked the night shift guard – he was a little too creepy, even for the morgue. If he could somehow prove his negligence for this, that fella was gone.
Detective Menzel wasn't much happy, either. Not a lot of blood at the scene, Spring had some on his neck, and mouth, almost zero juice in the body, and still he was semi-conscious? Some questions were gonna be answered this morning, and instead of having a ton of paperwork to do on the case now there was gonna be ten tons of paperwork because a security guard took a break at the wrong time! Oh, Menzel could already feel the migraine starting behind his eyeballs and it wasn't even Nine O'Clock.
“I..uh, I had to go to the bathroom 'cause of, uh, stomach troubles, uh, you know? And...I was in there for about...an...hour...or so...so, uh...”, the security guard stammered, “Uh, I didn't...have a lot of time to...make a notation of...why I left the desk...”
“You never make a notation when you leave the desk!” the Coroner hollered, “All I know is, sometimes, the log book has times marked in it, sometimes the stations are checked, and sometimes no one knows where the hell you get to! I'm wondering if you need a partner down here to hold your hand while you pretend to give a damn about your job!”
Now the security guard can feel a migraine coming on.

Nobody notices the rather tall janitor mopping the tile floor. Balding, long, wide nose, thin lips, sunken blue eyes that look like they've seen hell, muscular body, and scarred hands; despite being taller than average, the Tall Man looks like, well, nobody. Or, maybe, everybody. The Coroner and the Cop dismiss the inept guard, and confer. Tall Man hears word like “cop killer”, “body snatchers”, and “where's the body?” He hears “now what do we do?”
The Tall Man's name is Yeager. It's German for 'hunter'. He comes from a long line of hunters.
With a very specific prey.

“He'll go to ground, now. The sun's up, and he will go to familiar territory, like his home. I gotta get there before he wakes at dusk, 'cause if I let him awaken, he'll be very powerful, very angry, and very, very hungry.”
Oh, don't think he's following sign on the sidewalk. After all this time, Yeager knows his way around computers, passcodes, and databases. And he knows how to track his prey in all conditions – rural, suburban, urban, desert, jungle, swamp; you name it, he's been there, and he's killed his quarry. As it says, he comes from a lot of generational training.
A dead cop's address? Pfft, he was practically asleep when he called it up.

It took ten prepubescent boys and girls before the killer started to feel a little more himself. He hasn't had a thing like this happen for at least a thousand years. Maybe the last time was he was turned; he isn't sure. The unimportant memories fade to almost nothing after a while...
His name is Wolfgang, and once, he was an aristocrat. Now he's a hunter, too, but for sustenance, rather than for pest control.
Someone approaches him, the hospital night guard, bowing respectively. “I, uh, lost the body, sir, before I, uh, finished what I was doing, what with being in the bathroom and all. Stomach problems...he must have escaped.”
Wolfgang smiles, razor-sharp teeth, top to bottom. “You dirty little blood bag, you. Were you doing dirty little things?”
The guard looks frightened and urinates in his pants. “No, sir! I-I j-just turned my head for a minute, and he was gone! I swear!”
Wolfgang growls, loudly. “You maggot! You filthy shit! You dare to think you can lie to me, of all people?!”
With lightning speed, he reaches out to the guard, grabs him by the arms, and squeezes until they are nearly crushed. The guard screams in agony. Wolfgang lets go, throwing him towards the door. “Now, go! Get back to your toilet of a job and stay there and don't come to me again with mistakes!”
As the guard limps away, Wolfgang ponders. Hmmm...He's still weak, still vulnerable...
“Hellhounds!” he shouts. A dozen or so strong-looking slaves stand. “Find this policeman's home and tear him to shreds! Bring back his head!”
They go.

It's an apartment building made before all this high-tech stuff, so no electronic entryway or security cameras – just what a cop a couple of grades above base pay can afford. There's a buzzer, but some little old grey lady who smelled like cats was charmed into letting him slide on in. She got kind of nervous when she noticed Yeager was following her, but he explained he wanted to see his old friend Jack Spring – “Man, I haven't seen him since we trained together at the Academy; you know how that is, Ma'am, you graduate, you move away, you move on...thanks, Miss, you've been a big help - no, I can let myself in and it'll be a big surprise when he sees me, you better believe it...”

Chapter Three

Jack Spring is having a nightmare. Bloody pre-gunpowder-era battles, swords, spears, knives, clubs and blood, blood, and more blood. The screams of the wounded and dying, and the cries of the looted and raped and murdered – WHAT WAS THAT?!
Spring is bolt upright, and he doesn't know how he went from being tangled in his blankets to standing next to his bedroom door in such a short amount of time, but WHAT WAS THAT?!
Somebody trying to be very quiet just entered his place; someone who almost got away with sneaking in. Some body...very warm, very alive, and very stupid.
Say what you will about how the Desert Eagle .44 Magnum is too heavy for a cop to carry on the job, but let's face it: it was tailor-made for home defense – even if you don't get off a shot, you still have close-enough range to whack a burglar with the barrel of that monster and that guy will go to sleep immediately. Plus, how that thing looks scores high on the intimidation scale, too. And Spring has one near the bed, just for circumstances like this one, loaded, and it's so easy to undo the safety...
Yeager makes his way quietly to the bedroom door, and he knows he's got a good thirty minutes before it's official Vampire Morning. But still...no two hunts are the same, and this one is way different than all the others – what happened in that room? Oh, but he has a sneaking suspicion of what happened, and if he's right (and he is really praying that he isn't) this will be damn near impossible.
He puts his hand on the doorknob, gives a tiny twist, there's a squeak – and the door's practically ripped open, and there's a red-eyed, wild-eyed vampire swinging something at him!
Yeager brings up the hand crossbow with the silver-tipped bolt and fires. Spring squeezes the trigger straight at the chest of the intruder. Zip-BOOOOM!
They didn't get to live as long as they did without having reflexes. Even though Spring was a bit groggy, and still confused about the last few days, that inhuman speed of the vampire let him slip out of the path of the bolt with ease, and he was already bringing the gun to bear on where the target had moved to.
Yeager saw the gun in the undead cop's right hand, so he rolled to the right, kicking his foot at Spring's right wrist, using his right hand to brace for the floor, while his left was pulling the stake out of his trenchcoat. The bloodsucker, he knew, was not too steady on his feet yet, so there might still be time to kill it before it regains balance.
The kick didn't knock the gun completely out of his hand, but Spring did lose his grip for a nanosecond, and now he was holding the Eagle by the top of the frame. No problem – just hit this guy until he's out. But what's this? A tentpole?
Yeager bounces off the floor and aims the pointy part at Spring's heart. Spring, holding the gun in his right, uses his left hand to reach over and grab Yeager's wrist, pulling down on it, then twisting it behind Yeager's back. Yeager is now shoved against the wall, with a vampire leaning in to take a bite. In his right sleeve, he's got a little surprise for Nosferatu here.
Spring sees something flash in the guy's right hand, and as he starts to reach for what it is, he gets an eyeful of blinding white light. His eyes burn; he ducks down and plants his face against the middle of this guy's back, screaming in pain. His grip weakened, Yeager uses the moment to push back on the cop's body and swing around for another go.
Spring jumps back, a good distance away from Yeager; so much so, he thinks for a second why he made it all the way to the other side of the apartment, but then returns his mind to the current situation. He gets the Eagle pointed in the general direction of the assailant, but that blinding, burning light is in his view and makes it hard to draw a bead on the guy.
Yeager lost his hand crossbow somewhere over by the vampire, and he knows he can't close the distance between where he is and where Spring is, and the only thing that is keeping him from being a snack is his small silver crucifix, which is clearly troubling the cop.
They stare angrily at each other. It's a stalemate. Now what?

With his eyes nearly shut, Spring breaks the silence. “What the hell do you think you're doing with that tentpole?! What do you think I am – a vampire?!”
“Yeah, you are. And this is a stake, cut from pine, sharpened at the end, to stick in your heart cavity to kill you!”
“Man, you are all kinds of crazy! FYI, there's no such thing as vampires! It's all made-up shit!”
“Oh, yeah? How do you explain those fangs on your teeth? Or the fact that you're salivating like a hungry dog? Or the crucifix that's clearly keeping you from chowing down on me? If you could see yourself in a mirror...”
“Ha, everyone knows that vampires can't see themselves in mirrors, nutbag!”
“And where did you hear that? Movies? TV? It's all bullshit, Officer Spring. The only things that are true are what the old books say. And they say a lot that the fiction writers got wrong. But they got a few things right, too.”
There is something screaming at him to pounce on this guy and tear his throat out and just guzzle his blood, but that goes against his police training, and it's making Spring uneasy – it's hard to believe this whacko, but he might know what is wrong with whatever is going on...
“Okay”, Spring says calmly, “I'm gonna lower the gun – but it's still gonna be pointed near you – and I'm gonna let you explain yourself. Truce?”
Yeager thinks, he's got the advantage, and he's getting stronger every minute...okay, let's stall; see where we go. “Yeah, truce. Same over here – I'll lower the crucifix, but just a little out of your sight. Clear?”
Without taking their eyes off of each other, the weapons are slowly dropped; they're not pointed at anything, but they are not pointed away, either.

Built like a running back, with a close-cropped haircut (reddish-blond on top, some grey on the sides), narrow face, green eyes, and the devil's own smile, Jack noticed that, although he stands at about six feet, two inches tall, this guy with the cross still stood one or two inches above him, and that made him dangerous...

Spring: “You seem to know who I am – who are you?”
Yeager: “Call me Yeager. I'm a vampire hunter, and I'm real good at it.”
Spring: “Not from where I'm standing. I'm not sure what's going on with me, but vampire? Come on, kids' scary stories? It's not real.”
Yeager: “Officer Spring, I can assure you that there definitely are such things as vampires. And werewolves, ghouls, and ghosts. Their populations are controlled, by their own organizations, but sometimes they forget pacts they made centuries ago, and, since they're so powerful, human organizations working closely with them send the hunters.”
Spring: “Sounds like a conspiracy. And you think I'm a vampire?”
Yeager: “Consider this: You were attacked by some crazy who bit you, but didn't kill you. You were taken to the hospital, where...let's say you fell into a coma and everyone else thought you were dead, so they put you in the morgue. You woke up, went home before the sun came up, and went into a deep sleep. Tonight the sun is gone, your reflexes are warp speed fast, and you're hungry as hell. So go ahead; you know where the kitchen is. Have some cold take-out.”
Spring looks toward his little kitchenette, and thinks about the sub sitting on the top shelf of the fridge, next to a couple or three bottles of imported beer. The thought makes his stomach turn, and he makes a disgusted face that Yeager catches.
Yeager: “And yet you're hungry as hell. How do you explain that?”
Spring: “Hey, man, I've had a weird couple of days, okay? Could be anything screwing with my belly.”
Yeager says smoothly, “Oh yeah? Watch this.” He drops the stake, reaches in to his coat and pulls out a pin. Still holding the crucifix, he pushes the pin into the side of his thumb, and draws out a dot of blood. Spring is completely mesmerized by the cut, so much that he drops the gun and starts to wobble on his legs. A sigh comes out of his mouth, and he takes a step towards the hunter. Yeager, ignoring the wound, brings up the small cross; Spring growls and averts his eyes, reaching for the gun on the floor. Yeager is ready for that move as he takes a step closer to Spring. Like Spring, Yeager starts blindly searching for his weapon.
Spring is still blinded by that damn cross, so Yeager gets to the stake before he gets to his gun. Nevertheless, it's easy to see where the hunter is because of him holding the crucifix. Also, the smell of blood is deep in his nostrils. All Spring has to do is follow the light – without looking straight at it – and follow his nose.
Yeager, crouching, holding the cross, puts his hand on the stake, and starts to rise. Spring leaps, and wraps his hands around Yeager's midsection, slamming them both back on the wall, again. This time, however, Yeager's wind is knocked out of him and he drops cross and stake. Fangs fully bared, eyes pale yellow, a look of desire on his face, Spring leans into the neck, and just touches the skin with all that hot, tasty, sweet blood pumping right under a rather thin covering...and stops.
Spring thinks. Hard. What the hell am I doing?! If I'm not a vampire, then what's all this shit?! I don't know what I am except...I'm a cop. And if I make this guy bleed, maybe even die, that's assault and murder. And then I won't be a cop, I'll be scum. So, okay, let's give him the benefit of the doubt, and get some answers.

Slowly, fighting the killer instincts all the way, Jack Spring backs off of Yeager's throat and body. Yeager, shaken but not wasting the opportunity, begins to pick up the cross and stake. “Hold it.” growls Spring, “I just spared your life – that means you owe me.”
Yeager is a man of honor, even among the undead. He sits with his back to the wall, crosses his legs Indian-style, and clasps his hands. Spring crouches on his haunches with his arms draped over his knees some distance away from the hunter.

With a steady voice, Spring says, “I almost didn't make it, Yeager. Or,should I say, you almost didn't make it.”
Yeager, coolly. “I noticed. What stopped you?”
“Two things: First, I'm a cop, and it would've been murder. Also, you know stuff I don't. If I'm gonna fix this, I gotta know what's going on. So tell me. What's going on? Oh, and I'm hungry. What are we gonna do about that?”
“Can you hold off for a little while? Because this is gonna take some time to explain.”
“All right. But keep in mind that I'm close to breaking.”
“Okay. Tell me about the encounter in the hole in the wall.”
Spring tells. When he finishes, Yeager stares at the ceiling and sighs.
Yeager: “That makes my job pretty difficult, then... See, what we got here is a transference of blood, instead of him just draining it out of you.”
Spring: “What's the difference?”
Yeager: “Bloodsucker drains the blood of the victim, the victim dies and three days later rises up as a vampire, but one who is weaker than the one who turned him, which makes him a slave. A transference of blood is when the vampire drains someone almost completely dry, then offers his own neck to the victim to drink. This goes on a few times, each time the blood is transferred between both people. But the difference is, both of them become more like equals, or peers, rather than master and slave. It's kind of like the difference between having a baby and buying a dog.”
Spring: “So there was a transference. What does that make me?”
Yeager: “By being an equal instead of a slave, you have more power, but not a lot more. It was only one time that you both drank blood; that's why the transference happens several times – the more drinks, the more powerful the new vampire becomes. Still, the host vampire drains the victim almost dry, and then returns a little back. From what you said, it looks like you drained him as much as he drained you.”
Spring: “How much power?”
Yeager: “Well...I'm not sure exactly, but you can probably control lesser animals, and maybe control, say, the mentally ill, but for now that's what I can figure. Tell me...you slept today; did you have...dreams?”
Spring's eyes widen. “Yeah. Some kind of violent fighting, like vikings or medieval stuff. How did you know?”
Yeager: “That's another thing: by drinking the blood, the vampire can know all there is to know about the victim. Borrowed or stolen memories, like. It means you know a little about him.”
Spring: “Hmm...he's been around a long time...and he's extremely bloodthirsty...he's had a lot of names, but I don't know what he's using now...?”
Yeager: “Wolfgang. It's an ancient name. Means 'advancing wolf'. He's been a bad boy for a while, and he's eluded the vampire aristocracy for a long long time.”
Spring: “'Vampire what?”
Yeager: “The ruling class of vampires. Strigoi. That's Romanian for 'troubled souls'. The organization that I was telling you about. They hate Wolfgang. He lies low, but every 20 to 50 years he builds this army of vampire slaves – just because he can – and plays hell with the old pacts between humans and, uh, they call themselves 'trans-humans' now. PC bullshit, really; we used to call them what they are – the undead.”
Spring: “Ruling class, trans-humans...sorry, but I'm distracted...I could bleed a horse dry right now.”
Yeager: “Funny you should mention that – I did say you can control lesser animals. That mostly means vermin, like rats, but also cats, some dogs...”
Spring: “You gotta be kidding! Rats?! They eat garbage!”
Yeager: “Listen: It'll satisfy your hunger for the moment, okay? Now just relax, close your eyes, and think about the life flowing around the neighborhood. Once you begin, it gets easier. Try it.”
Spring, dubious, stands and closes his eyes. He can sense the immediate heat of Yeager so close...spreads his consciousness outward, and can feel the tiny cat bodies and the frail fear of the Cat Lady – she must have heard the shot fired in here – but he doesn't want to try cat blood so soon; maybe there's some stray in the alley or something...he senses all kinds of warmth and heat all along the block, and...
Thirteen very cold spots moving closer fast – real fast.

Chapter Four

Spring snaps open his eyes, says to Yeager, “We got company shooting toward us! Thirteen of them. Vampires?”
“They're Hellhounds – Wolfgang's slave overseers; hunters and enforcers! They got just a touch more power than the other slaves. They've come to kill you.”
Yeager grabs the stake lying on the floor, picks up the little crossbow, and readies another bolt. Spring finds the Desert Eagle, goes back into the bedroom, and gets two more clips of ammunition. “That won't do any good,” Yeager cautions, “the only true way to kill a vampire is to sever the head from the spine.”
Spring senses them moving into the building; some breaking open the foyer door, some actually crawling up the walls of the tenement. “What about stakes through the heart? I thought that did the trick, too?”
“Nope. Remove the stake at any time while there's still some substance left on it – happens with the younger ones; the older ones just turn into dust – and they awaken very very thirsty and angry. Break the neck, or cut off the head; that's the best bet.”
Yeager and Spring, forgetting their loathing for one another for the moment, stand back to back, trying to cover all entrances to the flat – door, bedroom windows, bathroom window. Spring has both hands on the .44, Yeager has the stake in his right hand, and the little crucifix in his left. There is no sound, except the distant hissing of the cats next door, and Cat Lady trying to soothe them.

“I got two climbing near the bathroom window, six on the bedroom, and five coming up the stairs. How about I take the eight coming out of my room, and you take the ones hitting the door?” Spring whispered.
“Got it.” Yeager mumbles back tacitly.
Standing in the middle of the living space, Spring turned towards the bedroom, Yeager staring at the front door, they wait for the attack, each thinking How many times have I been in this predicament? Too damn many, that's how much.
Spring is pondering: Well, this is a new one. Usually I'm the guy breaking down a door or two, jumping in at the criminals holed up in a duplex, or crackhouse, or that time in a motel. Now I'm waiting for them to come to me. Get back to business, Jack, you're working again! Let's see...the two under the bathroom window have a smaller opening to crawl in, not to mention they have an extra room to move through – my bedroom, so I don't have to worry about them for the time being....it's the six in my room that are gonna be dealt with first...okay, so maybe the gun won't kill them, but let's face it: there's no such thing as a flesh wound with a .44 – even a glancing shot can rip a man's leg nearly off. They won't be killed, but they won't be combat-effective any more, either...
Not surprisingly, Yeager was thinking along similar lines: I've taken down a lot of undead in my day, but I've never stood with one, waiting for hellhounds...this is a first. There's more to this Spring than I can see right now; maybe I should keep an eye on him, tell him a few other things. He could be useful...All right, I got seven stakes, and five bloodsuckers, and they're gonna be bunched up at the door for a second or two, I can kill two, possibly three right as they come in...

         They hear the smashing of the glass in the bedroom and bathroom, and the front door is crushed into splinters. Yeager reacts first, staking one of the vampire enforcers; the aim is straight and true, and the vampire crumbles into dust. The other four are shocked to see a vampire hunter here, and Yeager uses that to quickly grab another stake and plant it into the one on the right, whereby she melts – not quite as old as Dusty there, but old enough to disintegrate, if in a sloppy way...
         Meanwhile, Spring doesn't wait for them to break down his bedroom door – he kicks open the door which sends one vampire flying back over the bed. There are five vampires, standing still in fighting stances, shocked that they've been hit first. Training and instinct take over Spring's mind and body – hold gun in two-hand grip, aim for middle of chest, hit them from closest target to farthest – BOOOM goes the massive handgun, and the one three feet from him is lifted off the floor and slams between the shattered windows. BOOOM and that one by the dresser gets her right arm blown off and she's screeching like a banshee. The one that fell behind the bed pokes his head over the bedsheet and BOOOM the head turns into red mist – first kill!
         Yeager falls back a few steps as the vampires scoot into the room. One starts to lunge, but the crucifix has them all ducking away from the bright burning light. Yeager steps forward, puts his left (crucifix) hand on a shoulder, and drives home the stake. A howl, and the boy crumbles in a heap – this one must have just been turned.  However, in doing so, Yeager had to take the crucifix away from the other vampires' line of sight. They get in close, and before Yeager can recover one leaps, grabbing his throat and landing fully on top of him. Poised above him, the vampire has one second for a triumphant look, and then Yeager fires the crossbow directly into it's gut. AARRGGHH! The vampire screams, a fire blazing in his innards – silver! He rolls off of Yeager, curling into a fetal ball while the last vampire through the door drops to his knees to deliver a large knife right into Yeager's own guts. But with gutted vamp off to one side, Yeager can bring the cross back into the fray. Just as the last vampire leans in to slit his throat, Yeager plants the silver cross onto it's forehead, scorching a crucifix-shaped tattoo between the eyes, and sending it backwards against the door frame in screaming pain. Reaching for stakes, one after the other, Yeager kills the last two and turns to help Spring.
         Cop instincts and vampire reflexes have put down all of the vampires but only two of them are actually dead, leaving six in various states of injury as Spring reloads. Just as he slams home a fresh round into the chamber, the vampire that was thrown across the room by Spring's kick now leaps at him, closing the distance before Spring can bring the gun to bear. Claws grip his neck like a vise, but Spring is ready. He reaches out to the vampire, grabs it's chin in one hand and the back of the head with the other, and twists. Ugh, too much vampire strength – the head whips straight off the shoulders, blood spurting out of the gaping hole. Jack gets a taste of it – tastes like rotten meat, but still – and then Jack Spring starts to gorge himself on the others, leaping from one to another and ripping off their heads when he's done.
         Yeager arrives just in time to see Spring's blood frenzy. Something that hasn't happened to him in a long time occurs now – he's frightened of what he sees.
         Spring is learning so much. Arocha, the Spanish conquistador searching what would be Florida for the fountain of youth, but discovering that immortality has a steep price. M'Bouti was eight years old when they bound him in chains headed for America – he had been a slave for as long as he could remember, and Spring heard him whisper softly in his ear, “Free at last...” Anna, just fifteen when, on her way to Grandma's cottage, she met a man who looked like a wolf – or was it a wolf that looked like a man?
         They all were simply minions, bringing meals to the Master, but he saw potential, and for each of them there was a little initiation ceremony – they offered their necks, and he gave them some of his...and some of his power came with it...
         Yeager sees the carnage, sees Spring's look of pure satisfaction, and thinks: He's preoccupied. Maybe I have time to -
         Spring whips his head around, glares at Yeager and in the blink of the eye is standing directly in front of him, intently staring into his face. “What was that? Didn't hear it so clearly.”
         “Easy, Spring, it doesn't mean anything. You really can't hear actual thoughts, but you can sense intentions – makes for a great game of Poker, if you don't mind taking advantage of everyone else. Hear that? Sirens. Our mini-battle is bringing the authorities running. Put some essentials in a bag and come with me.”
         Spring, suspicious. “Where we going?”
         “Someplace safe. Where we can settle down and talk without interruption for a while. Man, whatta mess! Why'd you drain them all?”
         “I was hungry – er, thirsty, remember? Tasted like shit, but I got some info on some stuff, and I think I know where Wolfgang is, if at least the general vicinity...”

Chapter Five

         
         The mansion used to be something to see, in what used to be an affluent part of town. Times change, people of 'lesser incomes' move in and the gentry move on and out to bigger, more protected, homes. Once it was a boarding house, once a 'house of ill repute', once it tried to be a retro-style apartment house when the real estate developers were trying to bring folks back to the 'rejuvenated inner city'. It looks like a shell, with its empty lawns, dead sticks for trees, darkened windows with bars on them, and peeling paint. Yeah, it's worthless and dead.
         Inside, though, the windows are barred with steel shutters, firing slits cut into the quarter-inch thick metal. There's a training room, a huge file room, a chemistry lab, a machine shop in the basement. The walls are soundproofed, fireproofed, undead-proofed. It's a fortress, hidden in plain sight.
         After punching in the entry code, Yeager welcomes Spring into his lair. “Vampires go where they please; there's no truth to the story about how they can't enter where they're not invited. That's just made up to give humans some kind of comfort. But the rumor is so prevalent that even the undead believe it. Lucky for us, they may have superhuman strength and speed, but they still have what passes for brains from when they were mortal. With all the old superstitions and such...”
         “'Us?'” queries Spring.
         “Well...us humans, anyway. Have a seat while I look over some emails and other intelligence.”
         While Yeager roots around, Spring has a look at the place. Everywhere he looked he saw a command post, with sketches of possible vampires or their minions stuck to walls, newspaper clippings of incidents, handwritten reports from all over the world, extra bunks for...what? A siege? A major engagement? A war?
         On top of the clippings is the latest headline reading “Policeman Dead. Was it a Vampire?” Reading further, the report says, “Police officials say there's a 'mentally unstable man, possibly several, who think they are vampires. Lock your doors at night, and if you must go out after sundown, please travel in groups of two or more.' There are also rumors that the body of Officer Jack Spring disappeared from the morgue last night, but the authorities aren't talking as of yet...”
         Two nights ago, thinks Spring; today's paper will be all about the bloodbath at my place this morning. The hell am I gonna do about this? Vampire, huh? Maybe...I can be cured, somehow?
         Spring senses Yeager coming down the hall. Yeager steps in to the room and sees Spring staring at him. “What is a vampire, really?” asks Spring in a curious voice.
         “Have a seat, Jack. Don't think of vampires as demons from hell or ghosts with attitude, or whatever. Vampirism is more like a disease: The blood is infected through saliva introduced into the bloodstream. Yes, most of the blood has been drained, but some of it remains and turns into some strange chemical we call ichor, but we still don't know all there is to know about it. Ichor converts certain fluids into more ichor, but it still looks, feels, and tastes something like blood, but it's thicker, more gooey in substance. In fact, that's how we remember to pronounce that word - “If it's thicker, it's ichor”. Ichor acts kind of like alcoholism in that there develops a craving or thirst for blood. Any blood will do but the difference between animal blood and human blood is like the difference between pet food and steak. It's a quality issue.
         “Eventually ichor takes over the entire body; consuming all flesh and fluid, leaving only a hard shell filled with it. The heart still pumps, but now it's pumping ichor through the vessels. Interrupt the heart, and you can stop the flow of ichor for a while, rendering the body stiff and unresponsive. But somehow the body's chemistry is still functioning, so at any time, when the stake is removed, the ichor flows once again, and  the trouble starts all over. For the ones who dry up into dust, someone can come along and put a few drops of blood into it and the ichor somehow recreates the whole being, and gives it a mighty thirst.
         “While the brain is tainted just like all other parts of the body, it's still lasts a long time, thanks to a symbiotic relationship between it and the ichor. We think the brain produces, or reproduces, the chemical ichor. This is why severing the spinal cord at the  neck destroys the whole process – no brain, no ichor, no undead.
         “Ichor has a major aversion to sunlight and silver. We haven't nailed that down, either, about what element resides in silver that makes it so deadly to undead, so we just call it 'anti-ichor'. Yeah, lame, but it's all we got to go on.
         “Anyway, ichor likes warm, damp, dark, living places, like humans, and sunlight disintegrates ichor at an alarming rate. So does fire.
         “I wish we could do more research on what makes vampires tick, but it's impossible to hold on to one for long periods. Another thing they do is mesmerize a person of lesser intelligence – that's not to say mentally handicapped people, but anyone dumber than you is susceptible to your will. Anyone smarter, can resist but it might give them headaches. So vampires can eventually control the researcher to do anything for it, like feed it some of their blood, set them free, unlock the restraints, let them into the compound, and of course gladly get ripped to shreds for even daring to bind a vampire. Lots of times in the history of undead/human relations this has happened. We've learned enough, but there's always something new, so the reports never stop.”
         Jack Spring, determined, growls, “I don't wanna be a vampire. I wanna be human. How do we do that?”
         Sadly, Yeager says, “The ichor that you drank from Wolfgang, and all of the stuff you took from those hellhounds...once you're turned, you can never go back.”
         “Shit. Now what?”
         Yeager stands, takes a large stake from the hallway, and shows a long, ornate-looking dagger. “Now...it's time for you to die. Too bad, though; I kind of like you...”
Spring notices the blade out of the corner of his eye. “What’s that thing? It smells like metal – is it silver?”
“It's a silver-steel alloy, and it's been in the Yeager Clan for 200 years. It never had a name until people started trying to buy or steal it. Now it's called the Yeager Blade. Stupid name, I know.”
“Can I hold it for a second?”
Without waiting for a reply, Spring reaches out and grabs it, yells, and gingerly hands it back.
Yeager says apologetically, “Yeah, the whole thing is a solid chunk of alloy, and I gotta re-wrap the handle; the leather straps are wearing thin...”
         “Whoa, hold it! What about Wolfgang? He's still out there, and you don't know where, but I got a fix, sort of...”
         “It'll be quick. I promise. I don't think of it as killing; it's more like putting a sufferer out of their misery.”
         Spring stands, gets into a fighting stance. “Wait! I want Wolfgang as much as you do! I gotta deal for you. Just listen?”
         Yeager pauses, cocks his head, but doesn't let his guard down. “I'm listening.”
“Okay: So Wolfgang put me to death. I can't be human any more, and I don't want to be a vampire. But I'm still a cop, and I want justice. Here's the deal – you teach me everything you know about vampires, Wolfgang in particular, and I'll help you kill him and all his minions. In exchange, you put me out of my misery when it's done. I promise, I won't fight back – I'll go quietly. Whaddaya say?”
Yeager thinks: Has this ever occurred before? I've never read of this in the ancient tomes. I mean, there are the old deals between humans and undead, the old collaborations, but vampire and human hunting together? There's no way that could be trusted! And yet...
“Okay, deal. We stop Wolfgang and company, then I kill you.”

Wolfgang is enraged. Thirteen of his best hellhounds, and the little policeman and WHERE DID HE COME FROM Yeager the hunter! Through the psychic connection he has with all of his lackeys he saw the assault, saw the hunter kill his dark children, saw that stupid cop tear them to pieces. He felt their deaths as if he had died in that apartment right alongside them!
Just to feel better he tore apart thirty of his children and told the others to throw the pieces into the afternoon sun to sizzle and burn.

Chapter Six

“The Yeagers have been hunting the undead since the time before the Romans tried to conquer our homelands. Yes, we did capture the undead for studies, to find weaknesses, to learn more about the chemical, physical, and psychological nature of the beasts, and we did have some problems trying to control them for extended periods. There were many old books and grimoires and scrolls dedicated to human/undead encounters; some more benevolent than others.
“The vampires seemed to have more ambition, more intelligence, more creativity than the other undead races, so naturally they came to rule all the houses of undead creatures. Like a government: you have the boss, the committee he rules, and each committee member represents a House. Under that member, you have regional bosses, and so on. But the House of Vampire rules over all.
“They each have their own records-keeping facilities, and through diplomatic channels even the Yeagers can be privy to secret files. From these files we studied Wolfgang and his evil ways.
“It turns out, he was a cousin of the current line of Yeager! His last name is lost to history, but we know he was an aristocrat, and treated hunting the undead more like a sport rather than a duty. He also captured undead for study, but it was more like torture. It was when he started acquiring vampires that the trouble began.
“Wolfgang was brutal to the vampires; unfortunately, it's also where we got the most accurate information on what kills or discomforts them. He'd drain their blood, and open the roof to watch them burn and scream themselves into dust. Then he'd drain a few drops of his own blood into the pathetic pile of dust, just to watch them re-form with that terrible thirst. He had rigged up an apparatus to be able to leave the cell, pull a cord, drop his blood from a vial, and when the vampire regenerated, there was a cow, or a horse, or a pig, or, yes, sometimes a servant to feed the bloodsucker!
“Cows, horses, pigs – not a lot in the brain department, but the occasional servant or peasant – that vampire learned some stuff. Like I said before, he mesmerized his keeper – not Wolfgang, just a poor stable boy – and tore the hell out of there, but not before holding Wolfgang by his throat and promising he'd be back.
“Wolfgang isn't a coward, but he just pissed off a creature that knew plenty about him, and he knew the monster would come for him. He retreated to a mountain stronghold, with fifty of his best men, a year's worth of provisions, and many, many weapons, particularly undead-killing implements.
“What Wolfgang didn't know, and what we read in the records, was that tortured vampire went to his master and told her everything. She was livid, and wanted to make an example of this 'sportsman'.
“Her name was Bethany. Not much is known about her, but she came from the Middle East, and I guess she didn't start out ruling anything – her name means 'house of poverty' in Hebrew. Some records put her 'dark birth' at 1,000BC.
“She devised a plan to use all the local Houses of the undead to attack this stronghold. She called in a lot of favors, and promised favors in return. Easy to do...most of the undead don't get many opportunities to consume human flesh. It's a delicacy, after all.
“That tortured vampire was able to give some of his blood to Bethany to tell her all he knew of Wolfgang, but his body had suffered too much at his hands. Weakened beyond repair, and not having a taste for immortality any more, he limped out to await the sunrise...
“Bethany had as much information on Wolfgang as he had on vampires, but the odds on Wolfgang winning were nonexistent. He knew it, but he also knew he didn't want to die as an old, feeble man, lying in his own shit in a musty bed. This was going to be the greatest battle he ever fought, and it would be his last.
“To be honest, it was an epic battle. While the initial blood was drawn from the human outposts, falling under the werewolves and ghouls, they would pause in their bloody work to eat until they were filled, giving the defenders time to mount a counteroffensive and just as quickly kill the invaders. It was not all one-sided, and for a moment it looked like Wolfgang had a chance to survive. It lasted for four days, nonstop. Wolfgang had to kill some of his own men because they had been infected and would have turned by nightfall. In the end, it would turn out to be a Pyrrhic victory for Bethany – the Houses had been decimated by the assault, and it would take years, if not centuries to return to power in the region.
“But, in the end, she was standing in the presence of a true warrior: Wolfgang, pale and weak from possibly fatal wounds, but still upright and defiant. 'A true hero like yourself should be given a prize. Something to remember for eternity,' Bethany purred.
“She reached out and drained Wolfgang of all the blood he had left. He was so weak he didn't even have enough breath to cry out. And then...she offered her own neck. Close, so close to death, he resisted. But while he didn't want to become something he hated, he also didn't want to die. And so he drank. Immediately he felt renewed strength, and power, and vitality. He drank and drank, until she tore his mouth from her throat – he was too strong! But even so, she regained her composure, and drained him dry once again. The transference continued many more times, and finally she made Wolfgang her favorite minion.
“This happened around 800AD, and the union lasted about two centuries, but Wolfgang was very ambitious, and wanted more freedom, more vampire blood, more power, and so he escaped Bethany, and traveled the world seeking the old ones, to drink their blood, and take their place in the Houses. Just as when he was mortal, he continued to test, to study, to torture both humans and undead alike. And when he had drained the Old Ones dry, he'd stake them to the ground for the sun to finish what was left.
“How do you stop a monster like Wolfgang? By stroking his ego, and offering lands, and treasure, and slaves, and a place at the table. Yes, this would satisfy his cravings for a few decades, but then, just to prove they can't stop him, he'd go on a rampage, feeding off the violence and blood of us silly humans, taking part in their wars, their politics, their land grabs. He would build an army of minions, slaves to worship him as an angry god, demanding tribute. And then, just as suddenly, he'd let the hunters and townsfolk and his own kind destroy all of his conquests, all of his minions. He would stride back to the table, head held high, and sit in his vacant seat, looking like the conqueror he is. Rebukes he would ignore, shouts and insults; he'd just laugh it off as 'some amusement to keep me from being bored to death.'
“The vampire aristocracy, eventually all the houses of the undead came to hate him. They couldn't stop him, and they found out that neither could the humans called to duty – he knew both sides too damn well. Now everyone just looks the other way, hoping Wolfgang tires soon, and goes back to being complacent.”

“Wow”, breathes Spring, “What a douchebag.”

Chapter Seven

“The sun's coming up,” states Yeager, “Go to the basement. It's an old root cellar, and there are no windows. You can sleep there for the day. I'll get started on what intelligence I can dig up about recent events. And re-arm myself for tonight.”
“Wait, don't I need some dirt from a cemetery to sleep in, or something? And I don't know if I want to sleep, because of the dreams I might have...”
“No, that's another fallacy. All you need is someplace dark and underground. Basements are perfect. And everybody needs to recharge their batteries at some time. After checking reports, and making sure the house is secure, I take a long nap, too.”
“And the dreams?”
“Well...” Yeager hazards, “Maybe your police training will kick in, and you'll start picking apart pertinent information from trash details. Couldn't hurt to try?”

Fighting and blood, and now hunting. Jack Spring sees the years fly by, the Old Ones, betrayed and fearful, and...welcoming? Relieved? He witnesses whole cities torn apart, all for angering a jealous god. In his eyes – people, running with no place to go, but running, running, gotta get away! In his eyes – the hunter, the Master, ripping shredding clawing at those poor suckers whose only problem was that they were in his way. The blood lust, the triumph, the tributes, and the laughter of a very pleased demon deity.
Shit! Shit, shit...okay calm down! Settle. They're random thoughts and memories. Where's the good stuff? Where's something I can use to get at this guy?
A big, dark place. Underground. Vibrations means the city's close. Above? Bodies all around, maybe 100-150? A raised platform in the middle, with furniture – a huge bed, desk and chair, computer, Internet connections? A grate just above a comfortable leather chair, one of those wingbacks? In the grate, something humming, getting louder, then...fading? A voice:
“This is all mine. Come and see.”

He wakes in the near darkness, but he can see every detail. Damn, night vision, too? It's not right, but nothing bad is happening to him – Yeager wouldn't screw him over, would he? No, it's another thing...yeah, the sun is still up; it's a couple hours before sundown – he can sense it. Gotta ask the hunter. Let's see where he is...
Spring can't remember if he walked up the basement stairs, or floated, or flew, but soon he was standing at a heavily locked door on the second floor. Locks are nothing to a vampire, but he also knew there were other forms of protection in there, like silver, and talismans, and some holy things? Huh. Maybe that old story about vampires not going where they're not invited has some basis in truth – I mean, I think it's fairly rude to bust in to a buddy's house...without a warrant. He smiles, then knocks.

Ah, the instinct that comes with familiarity. Out of a deep sleep, Yeager woke to something not quite right in the mansion. After years of using this safehouse, knowing all of its nooks and crannies, its noisy plumbing, the other hunters that have worked, and sometimes died of their wounds here...yeah, this place is like an old pair of work gloves.
And that's how he knew Spring was right outside the door. But how did he get past all the hidden alarms? Unless...he's getting more powerful. All of that vampire blood he drank put him a little closer to Wolfgang, but that means he's got some extra qualities and experience from those hellhounds.
The big crossbow is just a stretch of the arm away...
Knock-knock. “Hey, Yeager, I got some more questions. I can't stand food, but maybe I can mix you up a policeman's breakfast. C'mon, we can talk more while there's still some daylight.”
And he could hear Spring walk away, down the staircase. Well, don't that beat all? If he can keep his word, I'll keep mine. Let's eat.

Chapter Eight

Spring knows his senses are heightened, but he wasn't prepared for the stench emanating from the refrigerator. Ugh, if I had anything in my stomach I'd puke it up, thinks the cop, but I'll just try not to dry-heave too much while I give Yeager something that sticks to his ribs...Hmmm, eggs, potatoes, bacon, green peppers, onions, ketchup; yeah, I can do a lot with this crap...
Yeager showers, dresses, opens the door, and smells a wonderful aroma coming from the kitchen. He wanders downstairs, walks in, and sees some big omelet smoking on the stove, and coffee dripping in the pot, and Jack Spring looking a touch more pale than his usual vampire self.
“You had a few rats in the house.” Spring burps. “They helped me to keep from vomiting all over your meal. Have a seat; it's almost ready.”
Yeager, bemused, takes a seat at the counter, and looks curiously at Spring. “You're up early. Bad night?”
“Yes and no. I got some more info out of my head while I was snoozing; it might help. But I am up way before dusk. And as I recall, the sun was in the sky for an hour prior to me heading downstairs. What do you think?”
Yeager sighs. “Unfortunately, it means you're getting stronger, more powerful. See, vampires that were just drained and die later have very little power over lesser animals, and not much strength to walk outside except when the sun goes down. But with a transference, there is more of everything, including being able to withstand some sun, and the more powerful the vampire, the more time it has to walk in daylight. Some of the really strong vampires can go out at high noon, but only when it's overcast. So far, vampires cannot handle the power of a full day of sunshine.”
“'More of everything'? Like...what else?” Spring has forgotten all about the stink of burning meat and vegetables.
Another sigh. “Okay. Okay. Even though you could've busted through my door despite all the protection, you chose to be civil. So I'll tell you all I know. But I gotta warn you: the more you hear, the better the chances are that you won't like your predicament.
“You and Wolfgang shared some blood, right, but not a lot, and not several times. Sure, you had a tiny portion of strength, but still, it wasn't a lot. It was when you drank the blood of those hellhounds – that's gotta be it. Hellhounds are created when the master vampire decides  a slave has more to it than what was initially perceived. Maybe more intelligence, or cunning, or hunger; whatever the reason, the master takes the slave aside – or, in the case of some more dramatic vampires, has a little ceremony – and shares some of his blood with the servant. While not being an equal with the master, and still having a blood loyalty to it, this slave gets more power than the other slaves. These new slaves now become the master's elite guard, acting as bodyguards, enforcers, overseers, liaisons, whatever the master wants.
“Those hellhounds create their own minions, and acquire just a little more power while doing so. They still answer to the master, that doesn't change, but they grow stronger regardless. Some occasionally have been known to challenge their masters after a kind of vampire pyramid scheme – the more vampires are created, they create their own, those create their own – and the master gains more from them through blood tributes. It's all passed up the line to the one Master, but everybody gets a piece. So sometimes the slave takes on the master, but usually it's bad news for the usurper. Their blood is drained, they're greatly weakened, like when they first turned, and they're staked in a nice open spot to wait for the sun to rise.  Once in a while, the servant becomes the master, but it's rare.”
“Is that what happened to Bethany? Wolfgang challenged her, won, and tore her up?”
Yeager grunts. “No, that was a draw. They put everything they had against each other, and they lost a lot of strength and power, but finally the sun peeked over the horizon, and they knew if they didn't go underground they were both finished. They parted ways, and never fought again. And, yes, later they both had seats at the table, but by then there was a grudging respect between the two. And when I say they didn't fight any more, I meant that they didn't go toe to toe – but they locked horns plenty of times over some committee issue that they had an interest in.”
“They had a stake in it, huh?”
“Ha-ha.”
“So what kind of powers do I have?”
“Well, hmm. Walk in early dusk and late morning, that's one. A psychic connection to the people you drain; getting memories, experience, and skills...Sensing people's intentions...Calling to lesser creatures, including folks less intelligent than you...vampire reflexes, lightning speed, superhuman strength and endurance, enhanced senses...as long as you have a good supply of blood, you recover from wounds faster...and I think you can change your shape by now.”
“Say what? Like, turning into a bat, or a wolf?”
“Or a panther, or a raven, or even mist. Yeah, you can do that. The thing about animals smaller than your mass is, you take on the shape of a little fruitbat, but surrounding the area is something like a thick, greasy cloud. That's the rest of you, floating and waiting to coalesce back into something bigger, like a human. The intelligence resides in the bat, or whatever, but not the mass.” Smugly, Yeager says, “We got that tidbit when we snooped around the vampire archives a couple times. They do research, too. Try it; see if you can.”
Spring concentrates. He does feel a...loss...of self, a kind of spreading out, but not enough to make a difference in his appearance. After a few seconds, he gives up. “Nah, nothing. Maybe it's too early, maybe the food is putting me off, but I can't do it right now.”
“Hey, maybe when you've had some more vampire blood. Those instincts come more naturally the more you get into it. Speaking of which, what are you gonna do about feeding? I can't condone you spilling human blood, but all other animals don't have the same properties as that does. And you're gonna need all the strength you can get.”
Spring looks him square in the eyes. “I thought about using criminals instead of civilians, but no matter how I try to rationalize, it's still taking from innocent people, even the scumbags. And you're right; animals just don't have what it takes to power me along. So here's what I'm gonna do: it may taste like shit, but I'm gonna drink vampire blood. I get some human blood with it, and I get their memories and all that stuff, and I gain more strength with each gulp. Besides, I'm getting a taste for that crap. Maybe vampirism is a little like addiction, and I got a craving for bloodsucker blood.”

The sun is half a ball of red fire on the horizon when Spring and Yeager get their equipment for a night of hunting. Jack Spring took his riot gear from his apartment, along with body armor, and the Desert Eagle and 100 rounds of .44 Magnum Hydra-Shoks – they put big holes in little things. He has loaded five eight-round magazines, and now slides them into a shoulder harness with the gun under his left armpit and the mags under his right. Again, they won't kill vampires, but they will make it more difficult to kill the hunters. Spring also loads his Sam Brown belt with the policeman's friends – flashlight, handcuffs, pepper spray, baton.
Yeager's coat has many hidden compartments. It's kind of like Spring's belt – all the things a vampire hunter needs to have a rewarding hunt. Holy water in three vials, the silver crucifix, seven stakes, 20 crossbow bolts, and the little crossbow in a shoulder/belt harness on his left hip.
Attached to the mansion, in the back, is a three-car garage. Two of the bays have clutter, and some shapes under tarps. In the farthest bay there sits a large green windowless (except for driver and passenger, and of course the windshield – tinted) van. Inside are more vampire-killing weapons, a large bag with a red cross on the side, some blankets, and some water bottles, one with a yellow cross painted on it.
Spring climbs into the passenger side while Yeager sits at the wheel and turns the key. The engine rumbles to life, and the van glides out of the garage, with the door sliding quietly closed.
The hunt is on.

Chapter Nine

The word on the street is: Officer Spring was just in a coma, not actually dead, and of course activists are calling for more stringent policies in the handling of whether or not someone – cop, criminal, or civilian – is still alive when they take them to the morgue. Extra resuscitation measures, more fun with the defibrillator, and more attentive security guards.
Detective Menzel was just getting ready to clock out when some men in black strolled through his office door like they owned everything they saw, including Detective Menzel. Badges were flashed, official-sounding names were dropped, and papers materialized in front of the beleaguered Detective.
“What the hell you mean, 'we're taking over the case'?! Who the hell are you guys? I never heard of 'Trans-Authority Investigative Branch'! What are you, Green Beret bus drivers?”
Ah, who was he kidding? So much of this case was so beyond him, if the Girl Scouts walked in with papers – and maybe some Do-Si-Dos – and told him he was off the case, he would gladly sign over everything. But something just wasn't right about these dudes, and he couldn't figure out what. He stared at the crisp-looking paperwork sitting neatly on his desk, reached over to take them, and since they were upside-down, he started turning them right side up in his meaty hands – shit, paper cut straight across the palm! Damn, that stings – huh?
Those four men in black sure got real interested in that trickle of blood, all of a sudden. They looked at that red line and their faces just lit up. It was like they were staring at one of Horowitz's fine pastramis with a side of sweet crunchy coleslaw!
When Menzel spoke, they all had to tear their eyes away from that blood, and focus back on the detective, and it took a lot of effort.
He looked at the one in charge. The guy was six feet tall, swarthy complexion, dark brown, straight hair, a little on the thin side, prominent nose, with a handlebar mustache, and almost black pupils. Carried himself like a cop, though.
“Listen, Agent...uh...”
“Galindo. I'm leading the investigation; these are my associates.”
“Uh, yeah. Galindo. Uh...” that look they gave him after the cut was bothering the officer, “So...Agent Galindo, I gotta turn over all the records, notes, and leads to you guys? Gotta warn you – lots of weird stuff, you know?”
“Don't worry, Mister Menzel,” - (“Mister”, Menzel thought). - “We're used to weird. Comes with the territory. Thank you for your cooperation. The files, please?”
And then back to staring at the cut – did I just see that one guy drool a little? Nah, gotta be my imagination; it's late, I gotta get home to Brenda and, uh, I got a feeling I gotta tell her how much I still love her, after all these years. Uh, yeah.
“Uh...if you could just wait outside, in the break room, until I get all this stuff together...gonna take about thirty minutes, okay?”
“Thank you for your assistance.”
“Hey, if you're hungry, someone's wife made vegetable soup, and we got some gourmet coffee in the big percolator? Just help yourself.”
Now what was that disgusted look for?

Chapter Ten

A large, green, windowless van rolls through the city. If someone was paying attention, it would look like there were two little red lights where the passenger sits.
Yeager doesn't usually have someone to talk to, even among humans, so he finds himself awkwardly trying to fill in the spaces between the silence.
“Now, normally, I don't use the van to track bloodsuckers – I'll just park it close to where I think a bunch of them are, and trail them by foot. But, since you have some psychic connection to Wolfgang, what we should do is cruise around until you start getting some kind of reading?”
A non-committal grunt. Spring stares at the people blinking by on the twilight streets.
Fine, Officer Dracula, thinks Yeager. My mouth gets dry when I gotta interact with things that talk. I'll just enjoy the hot summer night with the windows down.
“Seems like a million years have gone by in a couple of days,” muses Spring, “I don't know if it's being turned into a vampire, or if it's all the thoughts and feelings I've absorbed from the blood, but -” sigh “- I just feel really run down. Can the undead get headaches?”
Yeager smiles. “What's going on is, the craving is getting to you, and the anticipation of the hunt is pumping up that craving. Whaddaya say, wanna go to the ghetto to sniff around? Vampires try to find poorer parts of towns 'cause the only people walking at night in those places have a purpose, and they don't get nosy when strangers leave their houses at midnight...”
“No...I feel...like we should head downtown. There's something drawing me that way...”
After Seven PM downtown closes everything, and doesn't open up again 'til Seven AM the next day. Like the ghetto, the only people in the city after Seven are moving with a purpose. The van creeps along at 10MPH, and no one notices.
“Geez, I can see people like they're on fire. They're all red and orange, and pink, and I can almost hear the blood pumping through their veins! Tell me, Yeager: How do you spot the undead?”
“They move like junkies after they get a good fix. Kind of...on automatic, you know? But they aren't walking so much as they're gliding, or flowing, along. It's like they've forgotten how to walk like humans, but they don't want to be seen moving inhumanly fast, so they take impossibly long strides, with blank expressions on their faces. How do you perceive them, Jack?”
“Humans I see as shades of red and yellow, right? Vampires, they look...blue. Dark blue; almost black. They look like shadows with substance, I guess. I'm kinda new to this, okay?”
“I've been to this city quite a few times, and I like to think I know this place pretty well...now we're coming into a part of downtown where real junkies and whores congregate. Let's keep our eyes peeled?”
Lots of folks running on automatic now, but they stumble every three feet. It's obvious these dregs are human. The sun's been down for a good two hours. Yeager parks the van at a choice spot – far enough away from the crowds, yet close enough to cover ground quickly between predator and prey. They watch the parade of wasted lives for a while. Then-
Spring straightens up. “There!” He points. “That guy taking money and handing little bags out! He's as blue as the moon!”
Yeager looks to where Spring is pointing. He may not be walking, and he may not flying on automatic pilot, but he's definitely moving like warmed-up cheese.
Neither of them gets too excited – stake-outs are nothing new to these pros – they just watch, and wait.
Dealer spends some time trading bags for money. He gives close inspection to all who pass his way, talking with some, yelling at some, ignoring some desperate ones...Dealer touches practically all of the pathetic people; he's trolling, looking for someone to take home to the Master.
A strung-out girl; can't be more than nineteen, and already has seen too much of how rotten people can be. It won't be long before the night shift guard is hovering over her corpse. Dealer watches her limp along, up to him, her hands spread, palms up – no money. No money, honey, no happy-happy. She's crying now – I'll do anything, anything! Just please, I need some bad, please...
Dealer makes a decision. Looks up and down and all around – no one there. He pulls out a little baggie, dangles it in front of the girl, she's all attention. The baggie disappears, Dealer nodding to the alley behind him, and casually walks into it, knowing his little doggie will follow.
Spring and Yeager, on the curb, watching the drama unfold. They see the girl obediently shuffle into the dark alley.
“NOW!”
Yeager can move when he wants to, like now, but Spring is a blur. Halfway across the street, he hears the girl screaming, then he hears the cry of something animal, cut off quick, and then there's just the loud sobbing of the girl. He reaches the entrance to the alley, turns on a flashlight. There's the girl, on her knees, sobbing. The beam travels along the wall, and stops at the sight of Spring drinking from a mangled throat, and Dealer's eyes are open, but see nothing.
Spring spills not a drop, and when he's done he gently twists Dealer's head 180 degrees, and lets him fall.
Yeager is about to ask Spring what he found out, when their attention falls once more on the girl. She's quiet now, determined; she's going through Dealer's pockets looking for that magic powder that'll carry her troubles away. And she doesn't care if his head is backwards – she's on a mission. Her eyes light up – she finds not one, not two, but three little packets of happy, stuffs them into her grubby purse, and scurries out of the alley, past human and vampire, without a second glance. The hunters share a look.

“Well?” says Yeager impatiently, “What'd you get?”
“He was a Hellhound's hellhound. One of Wolfgang's enforcers turned him, then gave him some of his own blood. He procures 'snacks' for the other hellhounds. Just people no one's gonna miss, and it seems that if there's some illegal drugs floating in the veins when they're drained, the drinkers get a little high, too.
“They have some more...clean-blooded people they keep as pets and lackeys, to do their dirty work during the day, and can go where vampires can't. They...sip...on those people, and those people are promised to become vampires when they reach a certain age, like when their blood starts to taste 'old'. I guess they'd rather be immortal slaves instead of mortal nobodies...”

And it's like that for the rest of the night: they cruise to different spots downtown, eyes open all the time, pick a spot, and watch. They have three encounters that night. One is just a bunch of really sharp Goth performance artists, but not vampires. One pair of vampires spot the two hunters, and escape. The third is like the first: another vampire predator who becomes prey.
They learn:
Wolfgang is definitely somewhere downtown.
There's about 130 slaves, both vampire and human, in Wolfgang's still hidden lair.
Wolfgang knows they are coming, and doesn't care. He's confident that he can stop Yeager and Spring without breaking a sweat.

Chapter Eleven

It's almost Seven when they call it a day - er, night – er, the end of shift. Getting back to the mansion, putting the van in the garage, disarming the system, and checking the intelligence.
That's when they find out about the 'Trans-Authority Investigative Branch'. TAIB. And Agent Galindo.
“The hell's TAIB? Never heard of that before.”
“Of course not – you were human. What business would you have had with the trans-humans?”
“They're undead?”
“Vampires, werewolves, ghouls; the occasional free-range ghost, who wanders the earth instead of having a place to haunt...”
“You know these guys?”
“Uh-huh. I've worked with these undead from time to time. You might like Agent Galindo – he used to be a cop, too. He was turned by mistake; they really thought he was John Wilkes Booth, and thought he should get a promotion from assassin to vampire. When they realized that they didn't turn Booth, but someone out tracking him, well, they were mad for a while, but then they saw how much of a good tracker he was, and shared some hundred-year-old blood with him. He moved up the ranks, but then he joined TAIB, and hasn't looked back.”
“Are they all cops?”
“No. Almost all of the agents were just enforcers with more on the ball than the rest of them. I'll tell you: the undead don't like civil servants much. They have a stronger sense of duty, more discipline. They make lousy slaves; always questioning orders, trying to find logic behind the instinctive undead habits. They're always taking everything in, absorbing information – it's unsettling to their masters, since those guys get paranoid after a while, what with wondering who's gonna try to kill them and take the throne from them...”
“Well, I don't plan on being a vampire for long, so they don't have to worry about me. I gotta clean up and take a nap. I'll see you later.”
“Yeah, me too. I'll root around for loose information, then I'm putting my head down for some deep meditation. It's been a long night.”

As was said, this neighborhood, no one gets involved, no matter how out of the ordinary things get. So when two big black SUVs pulled up to the curb in front of the mansion, and two more crept up the alley behind it, and sixteen men dressed in SWAT gear slipped out of the trucks and made their way quickly and silently towards the building, nobody saw a thing.

Chapter Twelve

Remember all of those silent alarms that Jack Spring somehow didn't trip when he stood at Yeager's bedroom door? Well, there's also a bunch of them scattered on the grounds.
Those SWAT guys were almost across the bare lawn when the AK-47s started blasting from the upstairs windows. Spring should have been on the front windows; he'd have a clear shot with no cover for the attackers, but that was also the sunny side of the house. So Spring was left to deal with the shady backyard with a garage right below the windows. Good cover for any professional killers. Switching to semi-auto, he still managed to shoot holes in the SUVs tires, so it wasn't a total bust for him.
Yeager, out front, had four on the ground – one not moving, three screaming in pain. But the other four were just below the windowsill, firing up at his position. These guys are human, he thought, slow to act, slower to react, and not harmed by the sun's rays. Okay, they must be mortal slaves of some undead, but is it Wolfgang? Or some other player we don't know about yet? Gotta get one or two alive...
Yeager had a ton of vampire-killing weapons, but zero human-killers. But that doesn't mean his arsenal didn't include some non-lethal weapons...
The four crouched below the bedroom window, spread about four feet apart, had their guns trained above, at where Yeager was. Three were giving cover for the fourth, who was busy arming a block of C-4 so that they could gain entry into the mansion in a spectacular way. Just as Number 4 was inserting the detonator, a black canister dropped among the team. Slow to react, indeed – even in broad daylight the bright white flash blinded them immediately while the loud thunder popped their eardrums. It's not called a 'Thunder-flash' grenade for nothing, boys and girls. It's got eight packets of fireworks in it, set at random intervals, and those killers were out of the game.
Spring didn't waste time when they took refuge behind the garage. He just stopped firing the AK, flew down to the basement (he's getting used to flowing and flying more and more), shut off all power, turning the house black as night, glided back up the first floor, and waited. Sure enough, a couple of ounces of C-4 turned the back door into a zillion splinters, and there was silence, except for the thunder out front. Spring crouched low, in shadows.
Quietly, gingerly, the four came in the kitchen, covered by the four poised outside; then the four inside started motioning the outside ones to enter cautiously. They didn't have night-vision goggles, so they had to wait for their eyes to adjust, but they kept sweeping their submachine guns back and forth, up and down.
Eight. Two at the back door, two watching the door to the dining room, two on the basement landing, and two moving toward the hall to the foyer. Where Spring was crouched.
With his Desert Eagle, and eight shots ready to go.
Four of them, straight down the line of sight – the two on the door, the two in front of him. Fish in a barrel. He'll worry about the others later.
BOOOM! BOOOM! BOOOM! BOOOM! Now the thunder was in the kitchen, and there were four bodies thrown far away from Jack Spring and his .44. But the other two pairs had time to jump for cover. Basement boys on the top of the stairs, in the shallow alcove, and two in the dining room, probably circling around to the living room even as he thought of it.
The walls aren't that thick, over there. Simultaneously taking his time and hurrying up, Spring shoots the basement pair, going through the wall. The wall took the brunt of the force of the bullets, but they still got broken ribs. They're out.
Now Spring whirls around to his right just as the last two start firing from behind the dining room/living room partition. These pros open up with full-auto fire, chewing up the shelves behind Spring, who has set down the Eagle, and is now pulling a pump shotgun off his back.
These punks are good, muses Spring. While one puts down a ton of lead, the other reloads. Let's see what they think of some double-aught buckshot...
Taking two steps to his right to get a clearer shot, Jack Spring sets the shotgun to his shoulder while the shooters swing their guns at him. Three triggers are squeezed at the same time.
BLAM CHK-CHK BLAM CHK-CHK BLAM BRRRRT BRRRRT!
All three fall to the floor. Only Spring will ever get up again.
Yeager bounds down the stairs two at a time, a taser in each hand. Spring is on the floor screaming curses; he's obviously in some kind of pain. No time for that, though; Yeager runs out the front door to bind the four professionals' hands and feet and drag them into the living room one at a time. It's tough work, and it would have been nice if Spring helped – in fact, Spring was probably strong enough to carry all four in at once – but something is really giving him trouble.
As Yeager drags and gags the last one, Spring has quieted down, and is now moaning softly. He motions Yeager closer, whispers, “Two more...basement alcove...busted up, but still breathing...”
Yeager looks, finds two killers, passed out from shock. Not wanting to move them, he just binds and gags them and makes them comfortable on what's left of the kitchen floor.
Spring lies still. He's not moving, not moaning, but the pain is plain on his paler than normal face. Yeager now has time to take a look at the killers' hardware.
“MP5Ks. German Nine-Millimeter machine pistols. C-4, detonators. timers, fuses, hmm...Hey, Jack? You still undead? These guys are very well-equipped pros, but I don't think they're used to vampires and vampire hunters...”
Yeager unlatches the long magazine from one of the MP5Ks, slides out a round, inspects the bullet. He gives a long, low whistle. Maybe they are...?
“Hey Jack, you gotta get into a sitting position, and you gotta get some blood in you. These jerks may not have been ready for us, but somebody was. C'mon, Jack, we gotta get you to those unconscious guys in the kitchen. No one'll remember them...”
Yeager half-drags, half-carries Spring to the two warm bodies in the kitchen, and sticks Spring's head right at one of the necks. Blood – pumping loudly just beneath the skin – what an aroma – blood, human blood -
An animal instinct takes over, and Jack Spring disappears under an avalanche of vampire hunger, and he drinks, and he drinks, and now it's dry, and he slithers to the one next to this empty vessel, and he drinks and he drinks and THIS ONE IS DRY and there is another, standing nearby, shouting indistinct words at him, but he hungers hungers I want more I want more I want MORE MORE MORRRAARRGGGHHH!!!
A blinding flash sends him/it skittering to a dark corner, growling. And then...he sees, and comes back. Yeager's got that little silver crucifix held at arms' length shouting Latin at him, making his head hurt.
And Jack Spring comes all the way back, and realizes what he very nearly did. He feels terrible, maybe he deserves to be destroyed like this, like an animal. He raises his hands in supplication, yelling “Okay! Okay! I'm okay! I'm back! Stop the yelling, Yeager! I'm good!”
Yeager quiets, but doesn't drop the cross. “Jack? That was a really ugly side of you just now, Jack. But not surprising. C'mon, break these two's necks and walk back to the living room with me.”
His head hung low from the guilt of what he almost did to what was almost a friend, Spring does what he's told, and sits on a bullet-riddled chair, looking glum. He speaks. “Yeager, man, I am so, so sorry. I don't know what came over me – I got shot, I got weak, I was dragged into another room where something that tasted like heaven was pouring down my gullet, and then I blacked out? What was that?”
“That – was human blood. And that's why vampires are never to be trusted. Yeah, they can pretend that they have the will to abstain from human blood, but it's just a matter of time before the craving, the addiction, takes over...and then the hunters are called. I had to double-tap you with the crucifix and the vampire-binding incantation, and it was still touch and go! You are getting powerful, man.”
“The what incantation?”
“Never mind. Vampires can't ever know that spell, and anyways, they can't fight it. It temporarily holds a vampire in one place, making it easier to deliver a killing shot. But...it takes some time to recite the spell, so it's usually gotta be when the bloodsucker's already weak for some reason.”
Spring realizes something else. “Wait. Did-did you say – I drank human blood? Oh, shit, I didn't wanna become a monster like Wolfgang! I didn't wanna have all these powers! I didn't-”
“STOP IT RIGHT NOW, JACK!” shouted Yeager, “You're a cop – you haven't shot and killed people before?! How is this different?”
“It's different because before when I shot someone they didn't come back to life later! They just stayed dead! I was sworn to protect life, not make monsters! Not become a monster! I wish I didn't bite that bastard back! I woulda died, had a policeman's funeral, maybe a big gravestone...” he trails off, drained of emotion.
“Hey. We don't get to be professionals without thinking something's watching over us, keeping us sane, okay? Yeah, you drank his blood, and became a vampire, and now you're maybe almost as strong as Wolfgang. Now is the time to strike. I'm gonna make some phone calls – there has to be some cleanup around here – you go to the basement, and get some sleep. Things'll look better when you get up. You'll see.”
With very little energy, and a lot of his brain on automatic, Jack Spring stumbled into the cellar, and went to sleep.

The dreams are more calm, not as jumbled as the others. Less chaotic.
Mm-mm...that blood sure tasted like the finest wine, a Kansas City steak, a banana split with extra whipped cream! Tasted like that first drunk, or the best night of sleep, or the best night of sex! Is that what human blood tastes like? Some kind of euphoria? Wow, no wonder I felt a craving – that stuff is the ultimate drug!
But wait, then, am I still high on it, or am I coming down off of it right now? Shit, what's withdrawal gonna feel like? How untrustworthy will I become?
All right, all right, let's not panic. While I am in a comfort zone, what have I learned from drinking those guys' blood?
They were mercenaries, not even from this country. Very high-tech, very well-funded, very big paycheck! Seven figures. Didn't deal directly with their employer – dammit, that's one dead end.
Or, hah, one undead end...ah, this is no time for jokes.
Hmmm...a middleman, a go-between, hard to see...badge, belt, uniform...a cop? And what's that smell? Even the humans can smell it – cleaning products, lots of cleaning products? What can I smell through his nose – pain, suffering, death, fear – prison? Nuthouse? Funeral home?
Hospital morgue??

Chapter Thirteen

Yeager's been busy. He had to tell the council the mansion had been compromised, and that he was getting closer to Wolfgang, but he also had to keep quiet about Spring – there are rules for associating with a vampire without taking certain measures. He was assured that the recovery crew would be there after dusk.
Yeager signed off. Now he had some time to examine the firepower those killers had, particularly the ammunition. Wearing magnifying glasses, he peered at the bullet's tip. Hollowed-out point, filled with a gooey substance. Is it glue, or grease, or what? Using a dental pick, he scooped out some of the gunk and placed it on a small glass sheet. He took it into the chemical lab and ran it through a series of tests. The result was -
“Well, no wonder he got sick.”

Spring awoke, feeling ill. This must be withdrawal; I got a bad desire for more human blood, he reasoned, but I got news...
He found Yeager in what was left of the dining room. Everything those killers had had with them were laid on the table: clothes, belts, helmets, guns, explosives, ammo. The four still-living killers were stripped down to their underwear, bound, gagged, and blindfolded, on the floor in the living room.
“Yeager, I got something to tell you – I know where Wolfgang is!”
“I found out what made you sick as a dog, Jack. Uh, Jack...you don't look so good.”
“Human blood withdrawal. I'm hurting, but I'll be okay. What'd you find out?”
“Take a look at these rounds. See that grey stuff in the hollow-point?”
Spring saw what Yeager meant. Curious, he dug his pinkie finger into the bullet, and got a little bit of the substance. His finger felt -
“Kind of tingly...what is it?”
“Silver,” Yeager said simply, “Silver sulfadiazine, also known as Flamazine, or Silvadene. It's a cream they use to treat serious burns. Let's see your wound.”
Spring lifted up his shirt and they both gazed at an angry red puffy hole that was just starting to close. It looked infected.
“Damn, that's ugly”, Spring commented, “Burns, too. Silver, huh?”
“Yeah, and it works for both people and undead – the silver cream can incapacitate a trans-human, and the lead slug just does what it always does to humans. Neat little package. Did you say something about Wolfgang?”
“Oh, yeah, I nearly forgot. I learned the histories of these guys – they're mercenaries – and they were hired by, well, they dealt with a go-between, so I don't know who hired them...but I can take a real good guess: I recognized where they were doing business – the morgue I was in a couple days ago, and that weird security guard was handing over an account number to these punks. Wolfgang hired these guys, and Wolfgang is somewhere in the downtown hospital!”

In one of the undead's city safe houses, Agent Galindo awakens from his slumber to the ringing of his cell phone. While it's important to get some rest, business never sleeps. Only one side of the conversation is heard:
“Galindo…You found him? Where?...We're on our way!”
With inhuman speed, the agent and his men get ready for a big meeting.

An hour before sundown, Yeager and Spring get ready for war.
“Those big office buildings all around downtown have connecting tunnels. They used them to ship sensitive documents between companies without dealing with traffic. I been down there a couple of times when VIPs were trying to keep a low profile. They go for miles, just like the subways! You could easily hide an army down there and no one would know about it!”
Yeager nods. “Right. Okay, in addition to my usual vampire-killing gear, I've loaded these four MP5Ks with their special ammunition. You get two, I get two. Now, you said you think there's about 120 to 140 bodies down there, both human and vampire, so I taped two magazines together for each gun. That's 60 rounds ready to go, and another 60 if you get time to reload. 120, plus the 120 I have. 240 rounds should take care of most of them.
“Now all we have to do is wait for the cavalry to show up.”
Spring is puzzled. “What? What cavalry?”
“I called my superiors and told them what happened here at the mansion, and that we'd have some idea on where Wolfgang might be. They're sending a 'recovery crew' to help out. Not only will they assist in bringing down the horde, but they stick around and rebuild this old house.” Yeager smiles reassuringly.
“It's getting late. When are they supposed to be here?”
“After dusk. That's in about twenty minutes.”
“Dusk? Isn't that a little late for humans? We clean up Wolfgang's nest, then what? They break out the lumber and welding kit and start putting this place back together? In the night? That doesn't sound suspicious to you?”
Yeager suddenly realizes he's been had. “Shit, it's a set-up. Get your gear and let's get out of here!”

“Dammit, they figured it out,” Galindo tears away the earpiece, “Move in!”

Grabbing the guns, one in each hand, they hustle their way to the garage. As they reach the gaping hole that used to be the back door, two men in black block the way. And then they hear something crashing through the front door.
With his vampire reflexes, Spring doesn't hesitate. Firing from the hip, he shoots the two in front of him – one in the gut, one in the chest. As they fall, he spins around and sends a few rounds towards the two who were closing on him and Yeager. While Spring gives him cover, Yeager runs to the van, starts it up, and screeches out of the garage, slowing a little to allow Spring to jump in the rear door.
They get away.

Galindo got a bullet in the gut, and it's not the first time, nor is the bullet unknown to him. Silvadene. Where the hell did they get Silvadene?
He checks his partner while the other two pick their way to where he crouches.
“He's had it, boys. One right in the heart. Tough way to die. We gotta leave him, find out where they're going. You got anything?”
“We got four humans tied up in the dining room,” he smiles, showing long fangs. “Let's ask them, over lunch.”

Chapter Fourteen

Yeager drives into the heart of the city. Spring is sweating little pink drops. He really wants that sweet blood again. He keeps having to stop himself from staring at Yeager. Focus on the job, focus on the job, he repeats to himself, you got a job to do; you gotta earn your pay, Officer...
“So how do we get in?”
“Huh? Oh, sorry, my mind wandered. We get in the same way I got out: through the morgue.”
“What about security?”
“C'mon, you saw that weirdo. If he's one of Wolfgang's pets, or guard dogs, we can ask him exactly where we can find his master.”

And that's what they did. Broke in to the morgue, and there was Rent-a-Cop Creepy, surprised to see a dead Officer Spring and some other guy advancing on him; so surprised that he forgot to make a run for it, or to alert the Master.
There was no time for anything fancy, and anyway Yeager needed Spring to be a little sharper than he was now. He used the unique-looking blade he always carried, and cut into Creepy's palm. The reaction was instantaneous. Both Creepy's and Spring's eyes bulged with realization. Creepy struggled harder, but Yeager had to give credit to Spring: he hesitated. All three of them knew he wanted that blood, but Spring knew it would send him right back into addiction. Nevertheless, he grabbed Creepy's wrist, put it to his mouth and drank for a minute or two.
Creepy was feeling faint when Spring willed himself to let go, but along with getting a big boost, Spring got the information they needed. “Yeah, he's in the tunnels, there's a freight elevator down that hallway, and Creepy has the keys. Get them, and let's go!”
As the elevator glided downwards, Yeager and Spring took the safety's off the guns, and waited. Yeager noticed Spring's high. He also noticed that his face seemed ...longer. Spring said, “Yeah, it feels great. But don't worry; I plan to drank a lot of vampire blood in the next few minutes – try to gain more power.”
A pause.
“And,” Spring continued, “He's waiting for us. He knows we're here, and there's a ton of people between him and us.”
“Try to fly, get above their heads, strafe them,” Yeager replied, “I'll go to the left, try to circle around to the platform.”
The elevator ground to a stop at the bottom of the shaft. They didn't have to tug the doors open because the doors were ripped apart by hundreds of claws.

The horde was armed with some guns, but mostly clubs, knives, and their own clawlike hands. It was easy pickings for Spring and Yeager, at first...the hordes had to climb over each other just to get a chance at the pair, and they were constantly getting in each other's way. Yeager and Spring didn't have to worry about getting in the way – Yeager striding purposefully to the left, firing, taking his time between shots to aim, and Spring, making short hops over the masses, firing indiscriminately into the crowd.
Yeager empties the magazines, wedges one gun under his armpit, reaches in to his coat, and pulls out a fist-sized packet. He throws this at the advancing monsters, where it explodes in a bright ball of fire. They jump back, temporarily stunned. Yeager quickly reloads both guns, and resumes firing.
Spring is hanging by his legs onto the rafters, reloading. He snaps the clips into place and, instead of flying again, just hangs there, aiming and shooting at the writhing bodies.
240 rounds fired.  115 creeps downed. About 25 left. And Wolfgang. He points to Yeager and growls, “Yay-grrrr. Kill him!”
As the remnants of Wolfgang's minions charge, Spring swoops down and hits a pack of them in their midsections.
Yeager has time to take a good look at the cop. Spring's eyes are yellow-red, his fingers are claws, his fangs are fully bared, and his ears are a little pointy. He's shifting, thinks the hunter, letting the animal out. How much power does he have now?!
Jack Spring is in the midst of about 13-15 bodies, ripping, clawing, biting and guzzling blood from wherever it spurts. Yeager gets into the bloody business of killing vampires.
It takes most of the night to dispatch the minions. Finally, there's just three still standing: Yeager, Spring, and Wolfgang. They glare at each other. Yeager pulls out  the fancy dagger and points it at Wolfgang. There's a moment.
Laughter from the platform. Wolfgang smiles, his visage becoming more wolf-like. “Do you really think that toothpick can kill me?”
Spring leaps into the air, swooping towards the ancient vampire, hissing viciously. Wolfgang lunges, gaining height and speed. They crash into each other in midair, grappling for a weak spot, something to tear up, something to bite. Whirling around in the upper reaches of the man-made cavern, bouncing off of beams, pipes, and walls, hissing and spitting and growling, vampires locked in a death dance. It looks like they are evenly matched, and there is no advantage to be taken by either one, as they tumble around the vast space, but not for long.
Perhaps Wolfgang just hasn't had a challenge like this in so long a time, or that Spring has a more noble cause; regardless, Spring sees an opportunity and seizes it. He kicks Wolfgang between the legs, and the old monster cries out and loses his grip momentarily. Spring snaps forward, and latches on to Wolfgang's throat, drinking deeply.
A split-second of surprise from the ancient bloodsucker, and then he, too, stretches his fangs and clamps down on the officer's neck. With all of their concentration distracted by their desire to drain blood from one another, they plummet to the floor and crash near the raised platform.
Yeager moves in to deliver the final blow to Wolfgang. As he bends down to stab him with the blade, Wolfgang whips his eyes to the hunter, and slaps the knife out of his hands. It skitters across the ground and slides to a stop near the dazed body of Jack Spring.
The vampires have lost a lot of blood. They are weak, but still have their powers, and they are recovering quickly, but Wolfgang has had enough. Without trying to defend himself against Yeager, he leaps straight up to the barred hole above the platform, rips the bars away, and swoops up into the darkness.
Yeager tries to peer into the opening, but he is pushed aside as Spring shoots up into the inky blackness. Yeager starts hurriedly picking his way out of the tunnel, looking for a quick exit.

Chapter Fifteen

Wolfgang's escape route is an elevator shaft, and he doesn't notice the floor numbers as he flies by, nor does he pay attention to anything else that might be moving in it. That's why, two seconds later, he rams his head into the elevator coming down. He hits it so hard that the cab is knocked off of its tracks, and jams just above the eighth level, setting off alarms, alerting emergency crews.
Wolfgang starts to fall, but Spring catches him and punches through the seventh floor doors, spewing them into the hospital's administration offices. They fight through the rooms, throwing equipment, chairs, computers, whatever is in the hallway as they make their way to the other side of the offices. They barely look human anymore when they crash through the chief doctor's office door, into a nice office with tall, wide windows.
Spring is first into the room. He nearly keels over from the exertion, but manages to stay on his feet, glaring at his enemy as it limps through the door.
For a moment the adversaries look into each other's yellow eyes. Then -
Wolfgang's leaps, putting every ounce of what little strength he has left into catching Spring's chest and crushing it with his bare hands. As Wolfgang flies toward him, the Yeager Blade materializes in Spring's hand, and plunges deep into the old vampire's heart. Wolfgang's cry of hatred becomes a cry of pain and surprise as the two smash through the window, heading for the pavement.
The sun is just coming up.
Not wanting to be on the bottom as the ground rises to meet them, Spring twists violently around, and now Wolfgang is underneath the cop. He tries to do the same, but they are too close, and they barrel in to a parked car, almost flattening it from their terminal velocity.
Because the sun is quite over the horizon, and because they have lost a lot of blood and strength, their flesh is smoking and bubbling as they struggle lethargically on the wrecked car. Spring gains his senses first, and kneels on all fours above Wolfgang's still form. He takes the Yeager Blade out of Wolfgang's chest forcefully, causing the old monster to twitch.
They look into each other’s eyes one last time. Wolfgang smiles, tries to say, “Yesss,” as Jack Spring chops off his head. Wolfgang crumbles to dust, and the wind scatters it away.

Spring slowly, weakly, gingerly climbs off of the car, and feels a strange burning in his hand. He looks, then throws the silver Yeager Blade to the ground.
A large, green, windowless van pulls up next to the curb.
Spring collapses against the van's side, smiling happily. “My turn,” he whispers.
A tarpaulin is thrown over his body, and gentle hands carry him into the warm darkness of the van's back space. Spring drifts to sleep, and doesn't dream.

Epilogue

Cool, dry darkness envelops Jack Spring. He isn't dead; he's...somewhere else. It smells like old death, and dust, and...stone?
With a cold realization, he knows he's in a tomb, in a cemetery!
Still weak from loss of blood, he cries softly, pink tears streaming down his cheeks.
“You promised, you bastard, you promised!”

END OF PART ONE