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The Tao of Vampires
In the Third Millenium
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The Tao of Vampires In the Third Millenium
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Part
One Thrive
on Chaos
January 1, 2000. The VIRV was your common, ordinary VIRV; running for his life, running down the cluttered, wet streets of Berkeley, California. Rain fell upon him as though the clouds were ripped open with a broadsword. Raindrops slammed against the sidewalks and pavement, raindrops beat the cold skin of the pestilent creature, his murky, red eyes wide in disbelief that he was the hunted. His New Year’s resolution was to survive. I watched this VIRV, this parasite, this poisoned mind of darkness upon a flat-screen surveillance monitor, running from my aberrant associates who were systematically closing on his position. Marty Wong, my anxious but eager novice, was sitting behind the wheel of Hummer. Though Marty had dealt death on frequent occasions, as a Delta operator, this was his first training exercise in how to kill dead people. Killing dead people was a different experience than killing a mere mortal. Painting a VIRV with a dozen rounds from an M16 would only irritate such durable creatures. Marty knew this without long-winded discourse. His fingertips were etching marks in the leather steering wheel, as he mumbled a Taoist prayer in Mandarin. “There is always an official executioner. If you try to take his place, it is like trying to be a master carpenter and cutting wood. You will only hurt your hand.” Yes, indeed. We were the official executioners, but we did not cut wood to pieces, we cut VIRVs to pieces. Not just any VIRV, but a VIRV with knowledge of the target of our enterprise, Phoebus Apollo. Marty Wong knew the value of knowledge and being a good listener. He was a soldier, a Ranger, a D-boy, a Delta-Solo. What he thought was reality, was dreaming and the sickness of ignorance would make exit through the pores of his skin as the VIRV’s blood spilled. His body jerked slightly as raucous thunder clapped above. “Nervous?” Marty noticed himself, let go of the wheel and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Yeah. Kindof.” He removed his ARMY Rangers cap and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, replaced his cap and inhaled deeply then exhaled slowly. “Yeah. I am.” “You should be.” I said. “Nick Bain is a poisoned mind of darkness. He is vicious and eager to commit crimes against nature. He abused human resources and is the reason why your beloved Cassandra had disregarded caution and became involved with Apollo. Nick Bain drove her to an Ancient Dead.” Lightning flashed. A moment later the thunder clapped again, yet louder, closer. “What a night. Got us some backup though.” I took hold of a backpack behind his seat. “This bag of tricks I presume?” “Yeah.” Marty nodded, his mouth curving into an innocent boyish smile, which belied his muscular frame. “Went to a Gothic cult shop that specialized in vampire stuff. They even had a slayer section so I grabbed some stuff.” I was curious. “A slayer section? May I see the contents?” “Sure, sir.” Marty had been calling me sir since we had a briefing of the creatures we hunt. I suppose the countless battles I fought impressed him. “Let’s see here.” I opened the bag and found modern myths. Garlic abstract, a silver stake, a crucifix with a blade attached, a bottle of what I presumed was holy water and several bottles of silver nitrate. “Interesting collection of slayer material.” “Yeah, plus I’m toting Glocks with custom-made silver bullets. Phat, huh.” “No, not so phat, as you call it. Your false conceptions could have killed you.” Marty Wong waited until the next roar of thunder subsided before he replied. “How’s that?” “False security is a VIRV hunter’s worst enemy. There is nothing in this pack that could kill or annoy our quarry. The garlic is nothing but a curative, the crucifix,” I shook my head, “and the holy water is better for a baptismal. Now, using silver bullets, or any other bullet, in a Glock 24 will not result in instantaneous death, unless it is yours.” “But I thought-“ “You thought was incorrect wrong. We require fact, not fiction, to address this plague. The Glock is a good firearm, but silver bullets have no better affect on a VIRV than any other bullet. The bullet’s design is more important than its metal. Maximum speed with maximum fragmentation is our goal. Such bullets cause maximum internal damage.” Arvo released the magazine and examined one of the bullets. He replaced the bullet and snapped the magazine back in the Glock. “If these silver bullets had any affect, most of it would be squandered on trees or sides of buildings. We use this type of rounds to wound, not kill.” “Why?“ “A wounded VIRV is easier to interrogate. They are concerned with blood loss, but these bullets would run smoothly and carefree through most VIRV, unless you are lucky enough to hit a bone or artery.” “How about the silver stake?” “An Infect VIRV is, on the average, twice as quick and three times stronger than your average mortal. Now imagine being face-to-face with one these creatures and all you have is a silly sharp stick in your hand. Only in the fiction ridden frames of motion pictures could you live through such a body to body encounter.” “Damn,” Marty laughed and relaxed. “I feel like a sick fool.” “Yes, but now you are an enlightened fool with less sickness. I will continue to remedy your situation by explaining the definition and types of VIRVs. Mind acute?” “Copy.” “VIRV is an acronym for the Vampiric Immunodeficiency Reconstructive Virus. When someone becomes infected with VIRV it begins to attack their immune system. A person infected with VIRV may look and feel well for twenty-four to forty-eight hours. A person's immune system deteriorates the host becomes vulnerable to illnesses. These illnesses ravage the body until the host falls into a comatose state that is required for the reconstructive phase of the virus. During the coma, VIRV attacks and destroys all other viruses becomes sole inheritor of the host. Under the sole control of VIRV, the reconstruction phase begins. The reconstruction phase is when the host’s mental, physical and paranormal abilities are enhanced. When the reconstructive phase is complete, all bodily functions resume and the host recovers from the coma. Acknowledge?” “Yes, sir. VIRV is like AIDS but it remakes the host into a bloodsucking pain in the neck so it’s our job to cap their ass.” I bent my attention to the matter at hand. Tatu was the herder, the tracker who violently guides the target toward the ambush point where her sisters awaited to apprehend the VIRV. The VIRV thought freedom could be possessed; he thought the tracker finally made a mistake, an error in judgment until he heard that sound of dread. POP! POP! POP! Three Cor-Bon rounds in his chest were courtesy of Tatu and her Desert Eagle. He was moving the wrong direction so she shot him. Now he was on his back, looking around frantically searching for the origin of gunshots. Two more rounds kicked chunks of concrete out of the street. The VIRV ignored his bloody chest and struggled to his feet. He was not sure which way he should run but it was obvious Berkeley was not a wise place to remain, so he ran south towards Oakland. Moja, Mbili and Nne were informed of his movement. They were ready for him, a few blocks from Oakland. Moja scaled a two-story building like a gecko, and waited. Mbili squirreled into an enormous oak tree, and waited. Nne bounded onto the roof of a jazz club, and waited. Weapons ready, eyes acute, senses heightened, they were ready to ambush. All was well. I continued to educate Marty. “Now for the VIRV types. There are currently four types of VIRV: VIRV-1, VIRV-2, VIRV-3 and Z-VIRV. Worldwide, the predominant virus is VIRV-1, known as Infects or Congens, and when most people refer to VIRV, without specifying the type of virus, they refer to VIRV-1. They are the most common of all types and obviously the weakest because of the lack of years required to increase their powers. Significant changes in their physical, sensory and para-psychological abilities usually begin between five hundred and a thousand years of age. When these changes occur, they are usually classified as VIRV-2, or better known as Antediluvian. Both VIRV-1 and VIRV-2 are transmitted by sexual contact, through blood, and from mother to child, but they cause clinically distinguishable results. Additional information is difficult to find regarding VIRV-2 because they only constitute half a percent of the overall population of reported VIRV hosts.” Marty was struggling to comprehend. “Okay now, in Army soldier terms, VIRV-1 would be like a newbie Army regular, nothing special. You get to VIRV-2 and you have yourself an Army Ranger kind of guy. That right?” I nodded. “Close enough for now.” The VIRV decided a break west would find him refuge at a band member’s house near Shattuck. Four rounds of Cor-Bon hospitality, courtesy of Tatu, changed his mind. He was staring at the clouds again. The VIRV required time to rise to his feet. He hobbled southbound. He needed time for his wounds to heal. “Now we move to the next level.” “There’s more, sir? I knew it because there’s always more. You’re in the shit and they tell you not to worry, there are just a few of them they tell you, then here comes the storm. So tell me more, sir. I’d rather hear it now than when they’re in my face.” “More is VIRV-3, Marty Wong. They are called the Ancient Dead and are the most powerful of all VIRV types. Since they are usually between three thousand and eight thousand years of age, the Ancient Dead possess the ability to conceal their existence. There are no public records of the Ancient Dead. Now, let us discuss the dunce of the types. The letter “Z” in Z-VIRV refers to the term zombie. A Z-VIRV is an errant mutation of the VIRV types created by the infection of a mortal host with significant predisposed defects. They are characterized by their diminished mental, sensory and psychomotor capacity. Though slow and dull, their blood and saliva is extremely contagious. They are indiscriminate attackers and will bite anyone or anything that is not of their type. Since Z-VIRVs do not possess the mental capacity to follow established VIRV mores, they cause the most notable infestations. Understand.” “Yeah. What kind of VIRV is Nick Bain?” “Nick Bain is a VIRV-1, but his bloodline is powerful.” “Oh. Okay, there are so many, so many kinds of VIRVs out there. Just walking around, like nothing’s nothing, ripping throats open?” “Yes.” “Well then, sir, if there’s all those kinds of scary, badass VIRV things out there, hundreds, thousands of years old, and your crew can kick their ass then I gotta ask one question. What hell are you?” I sipped my tea to calm him. “My companions and I are dhamphyres. That is all I can tell you presently. If the enemy captures you, they could decipher your thoughts and gain information that would compromise our operations.” “I understand completely. Secrecy was what Delta-Solo was all about.” Yes, I am a dhamphyre. We are creatures born from a pairing of Antediluvian or Ancient Dead and, in my case an Unknown and an Ancient Dead. As children we possess all the abilities of an Antediluvian host and can significantly increase our strength, beyond Ancient Dead, after the violent puberty we define as the changeling. After completing the changeling, we cease to age and resemble young mortal adults. We are more than six times faster and four times stronger than an Antediluvian. We possess certain gifts that are exclusive to our kind and the gain of strength increases at a much higher rate, per year, than a typical VIRV. The difference that defines us is the microorganisms that are the progeny of the original virus. These supernatural organisms are of such power that they can corrode their living-dead antecedents out of existence. We do not require the consumption of large quantities of blood to exist and have no sensitivity to light. Marty opened a can of soda and sipped. He pressed a button on the armrest of his seat. The seat briskly rotated toward the array of ultra-thin plasma surveillance monitors, that I was already observing. He was doing the Dew, as he calls it; in fact, he was doing the Dew since he began to lead us to our quarry, Nick Bain. The thunder interrupted our conversation again. The bolt before it made contact near the Berkeley marina. This would be a difficult night for the dhamphyre. Electricity has a great affinity for our physiology. Even though we were miles away from lightning ground zero, the associates and I could sense the dispersal of ions, consequently impairing our most precious gift; a calm mind. “So what’s the best way to kill vampires, VIRVs, zombies or whatever you call them?”
“Well, we expected a bigger party, but I will
assume that Nick Bain has been ostracized from Apollo’s circle for some
reason.” “Ostra-what?” “He has been banished. Regardless, we came with a conservative aggregate of weaponry. Squad members are equipped with Two UZIs with suppressors; one muffled twenty-eight gauge shotgun, two Magnum Desert Eagles with Leupold laser sights. The rounds are high-grain Cor-Bon Penetrators." “All that?” Marty exclaimed. “Must have cost a fortune.” “Money was not an issue.” The issue was being prepared for the unexpected. Where there could be one VIRV, there could be many in hiding. In such cases of sudden proliferation, Tatu had modified five 240 62mm machine guns for handheld use. MK 19 Mod 3 grenade machine guns were used to clear out covens or corporations with large numbers of VIRVs. There were other miscellaneous items dormant in Hummer, such as a mixed bag of firearms, plus cutting and impaling implements, necessary in the finishing of VIRVs. I deciphered the plethora of brain waves emitted from Marty’s brain. He was thinking of Cassandra again. That thought brought on another thought, our present target, Nick Bain. His brain waves became dissonant. His serotonin reuptake was increasing. Depression. Marty had met Cassandra in high school and had been romantically involved until he enlisted in the Army. After Marty was thousands of miles away, Cassandra met Nick Bain the rocker. Her life quickly proceeded downhill from that point. Nick Bain was as abusive as Cassandra’s father. To counteract his depression, Marty tried to remember all the wonderful times they had together; Fisherman’s Wharf, Jack London Square, alternative dance clubs, BART trains to anywhere. His mind continued to fight against depression. His weapon was a song by Siouxsie and the Banshees. In the sharp gust of love. My memories stirred. When a time wreathed a rose. A garland of shame. Its thorn my only delight. War torn afraid to speak. We dare to breathe. “Arvo, any way out of this mess. Anyway I can stop being addicted to her?” “Marty, was not the last decade of military operations a remedy for memory? You were quite entertained with violence in Panama, Persian Gulf, Somalia and Bosnia. Yes?” “Guess so. It sure helped me forget about a stupid soap opera relationship. Tell you that. Is violence the only way I’ll forget about her?” “Marty, you will need to answer that question yourself. Mortal flesh is heir to such trappings. If it were any other way, if you had the mental discipline of a dhamphyre, you would not be mortal.” “How about VIRVs?” “VIRVs are slaves to what mortals are only heir. They are the antithesis to your Taoist beliefs. Imagine all the worse qualities of mortals and there you have a VIRV.” Certainly I spoke true, and this VIRV’s poisoned mind was vulnerable to my probes within his scarred gray tissue. His fear, so obvious by the bright red trail of his aura. Shrouded by the clouds, an East Bay dawn was drawing near. The VIRV streaked down the deserted Telegraph Avenue, knocking over bagmen, women as he ran. The wet remnants of a regurgitated celebration caught him in mid-stride, forcing him to skid and fall into withering balloons and putrid waste. Marty laughed, observing the VIRV on a ComSat surveillance monitor. “Dumb-ass moe-foe.” Marty increased resolution. “My, oh my. You’ve got some phat technology packed into this Humvee. I can see the fear in his eyes. This stuff would have really made a difference in Somalia.” Lightning flashed again and Thunder followed, closing slow upon us, the ions creeping closer. “Where’d you get all this stuff? It’s gotta be military issue.” “You are correct but it has been refined and enhanced by Tatu. She is our weapons expert.” “Give me the this bomb-ass Hummer and two dozen of my d-boys and I could straighten out some shit. There were a few terrorist enclaves I’d love to pay a visit.” Marty’s machismo was on a rampage. “I assure you, your enthusiasm may wane as this expedition progresses.” The VIRV clamored to his feet and was cheerfully greeted by a gullible, floppy eared puppy, with desperate puppy eyes wanton for love and attention. The VIRV ignored it for a moment as he sensed around himself. They’re gone. Finally gone. That was what he thought as the little dog nudged his leg with its nose and stared up into the undead eyes of the VIRV. The dog reminded him of Cassandra, his ex-girlfriend-victim, who left him for Apollo. “Get the fuck out of here!” He kicked the dog, which yelped from the blow. Fucking bitch! The dog yelped again as its little body landed against empty brown boxes. Cassandra. Too quickly, Nick Bain’s mind was flooded with the memory of her and those memories I took from him. The migraine, caused by my extraction, was becoming bothersome to him. He recoiled, to kick the dog again, only to find himself thrown to the pavement by the heavy rain of UZI rounds. The VIRV scaled a garbage can to regain his footing. He looked back where the shot was fired. Tatu, one of the four chrome-hair trackers, had sheathed her Desert Eagles and tended to the whimpering puppy. She retrieved a Payday, split off a small section and fed it to the dog. She began to converse with the creature in Swahili. She acted as though killing Nick Bain was of no importance anymore. Ions, bred by the bolts, were beginning to affect her. Marty remarked. “Tatu’s, acting a bit odd.” “It is the weather,” I replied. “Tatu, remain on task.” That moment a bolt struck a large pine beside Hummer. The ions seeped into me as though I was a fallow sponge.
The VIRV looked under his shirt and checked his
wounds. Healing nicely. Why
is my head hurting so badly? He
peeked from behind a corner, smiled wry, snickered quietly. Saved
by a mangy dog. He tried to see
the tracker’s face but her French braided hair was all he could notice behind
the bill of her Oakland Raiders cap. Then
her Teflon-lined Oakland Raiders trench coat opened and what he sensed, beneath
the wet Bauhaus 2000 tee shirt, made him want to “fuck” her without
consent. These socialized thoughts,
retained from his days as a mortal, repulsed me.
I was prepared to move in response before I realized there was no need
for my intervention. The Daughters
of Zeus could take care of themselves. I
remained in the Greek Theater, relaxing in the plush leather seats of Hummer,
listening to the music inside Marty’s head, and listening to the thunder in
the sky. Majestic, imperial, a
bridge of sighs. Solitude sails in
a wave of forgiveness on angel’s wings. Reach
out my hand. Don’t turn your
back. Don’t walk away. How in the world can I wish for this never to be torn apart.
Close to you ‘til the last beat of my heart.
I retrieved my tea from the cup holder and sipped. “Not bad, Marty.” “Thank you, sir. Tatu taught me how to make it.” Now, back to the violence at hand. The VIRV sensed around for the tracker’s companions. No one but her. I’m gonna do that bitch. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small bag of cocaine. He took the spoon within the bag and scooped a moderate amount of the substance and inhaled it into his nostrils. Courage through chemistry. “There he goes!” Marty said. The VIRV charged at Tatu, depending on his VIRV speed to catch her off-guard. Tatu swiftly placed the puppy aside, stood and calmly faced him. He grabbed her by the coat. “I got you bitch!” There was a flash. The VIRV was thrown back three meters, twitching. “What the hell was that? Did she do what I think she did?” Marty exclaimed. I explained. “Bioelectric emission. Quite a defense system.” “How she do that?” “We possess specialized organs similar to an electric eel. One of the advantages of being a dhamphyre.” The VIRV recovered from the shock, then recovered from the shock. He stood. Tatu walked over to the wobbling creature. Tatu grabbed him by the genitals, squeezing until there was blood. The VIRV was in so much pain, he could not scream, he grappled her hand with both of his yet she was too powerful for him. “You are so small. Double meaning.” Tatu released the VIRV from her vise. He collapsed to the ground, his head between his knees. I would have thought him thankful, for the mercy she had given him, but he was not. “You slut, ass, bitch, whore!” “No shit, Sherlock.” Marty mumbled. The thunder shook our doors before the VIRVs addendum. “SLUT!” Marty clapped his hands in the anticipation of violence. “Now he did it!” “He certainly did,” I replied, yet I was apprehensive. She was losing the mastery of her mind, the ions begging for revenge. “Tatu, we need him alive.” She was not listening. She was too busy grabbing the VIRV from the back of his jacket, twirling him several times, then tossing him across the street where he crashed into the plate-glass window of a Vietnamese clothing store. “Great toss!” Marty added with alacrity. Shattered glass fell upon him as an intrusion alarm wailed for mercy. “Holy shit!” Marty’s fingers scrambled over the keyboard. The alarm was disabled. “Got it, my bad. Look, she’s going for the Harley. Oh man, that’s a beauty. Electra Glide, Lazer Red. I’ve always wanted – wait, do you see what I see?” “Yes, Marty, I do.” “She just picked up that Harley!” “Yes, Marty, she did.” “Hogs gotta be 800 pounds, sir.” “Seven hundred and eighty-eight dry weight.” “What’s she gonna do with it?” “Tatu, this is a covert operation. Put the motorcycle down.” The VIRV gawked at the shards of glass that protruded from his torso. He rolled to his side and pulled the large chunks of glass from his body. Bitch. Bloody and dazed, Nick Bain looked up just in time to avoid being crushed by a Harley Davidson. The Electra Glide crashed against a counter then bowled through racks, destroying half the store. Marty could barely hear this violence, but my aural senses registered the sound of plastics, wood and glass breaking quickly. “Tatu, we need him alive.” I transmitted, but she was in her own world, pacing about, ion factories striking all around her, as she fixed her eyes on a late model Beetle. The thunder shook the foundations of the shops on Telegraph Avenue. “Arvo, you see this? She’s going for the Volkswagen! Can she lift that shit?” “And more, Marty. Much more. Contact Moja and –“ “She’s there, sir. Hey, I’m picking up life-forms inside that car, sir.” Marty increased magnification. “Damn. Got to give it to teenagers. They’ll shag anywhere.” Marty laughed and shook his head. “Sir, you see what I see?” “Yes, Marty. Two adolescent mortals tupping vigorously in the front passenger seat.” I said. “They seem oblivious.” In the third millennium, it would take more than gunshots and lightning to end their actions. The scene became comical. Two pale white sisters, arguing in Swahili as two mortals were copulating, until one sister lifted the back end of the feather-light auto with one hand. The other sister is pushing her sister away from the Beetle, the rear of the car dropping, then bouncing up and down, in a motion similar to one of the adolescent mortals, before this interruption. The young mortals clung to the seat, for dear life, as Tatu made several attempts to lift the yellow insect and set the car bouncing again. “Marty, move to the football pitch in the center of town.” “Don’t they know there’s people in there?” Marty asked, as we sped out of the parking lot. “That is what they are arguing about. Tatu is telling Moja that it does not matter if there are adolescent mortals inside, because new Volkswagen Beetles have air bags on both sides.” The Beetle could not withstand the torture any longer, as it deployed the air bags, pinning the coupled couple against the back of the passenger seat. Tatu killed the air bag with her knife and tossed the naked couple onto the sidewalk. The bewildered lovers partially dressed themselves before asking any questions. The adolescent mortal female asked, “What’s going on? My dad told you to do this?” Tatu was scoping the area as she groped into her coat pockets. “No.” Tatu’s right hand emerged with a large fold of bills. She placed it in the female’s hand. “That is for damages. Now go before you become breakfast.” “This is fucked up,” the adolescent male said as the couple fled down a side street. Tatu was having a tantrum, tearing down sections of a metal fence. Moja hopped onto the roof of the Volkswagen and crossed her arms. “Tatu, if you calm down, I’ll give you a candy bar.” Tatu stopped immediately and put her hand out. Moja tossed her a Reeses Peanut buttercup. Tatu jumped on the hood, crossed her legs and began to eat. I shook my head, “Bloody ridiculous.” “What’s up?” Marty asked with a quizzical look on his face. “Something Moja did.” Superior beings addicted to candy, was what I thought. “Oh.” The VIRV felt lucky. He found a revolver below the cash register. He checked the cylinder. Yes, bullets! The VIRV peeked out of glass door of the shop; said in a whisper, “Shit. Two bitches.” Tatu and Moja heard him and were not pleased. Their heads turned fixing their eyes upon him, peering deep, their bright serpentine orbs burning into his mind; marinated with a variety of psychotrophics. A pain ripped through every cell within his brain. “I repeat we need him alive.” I was losing my patience. The situation was becoming unbecoming. I had never seen any of my companions in such a state. I had to ask myself: were these the dhamphyres who have tracked Phoebus Apollo through the most ghastly exemplars of the mortal condition? They strode indifferent to the putrid corpses the Nazi’s left behind in Auschwitz, Bergen-Belson and Buchenwald; to the pox-full corpses of native tribal people, emaciated African slaves, rotting below the decks of slave ships at port in the United States. They had seen every inhuman act mortals and VIRVs could manifest, yet they had not flinched nor gave a tear when tears were due. Now, amid a mediocre Infect VIRV, they had become emotional, for reasons I could not reason, but the weather. That is when I noticed the dark, potent clouds had tarried above us, sending torrential rain down upon us all. The thunder came down hard with prologue bolts of lightning now drunken with the desire to share ions with my Weird Sisters. The VIRV pressed his hands against his skull, turned to flee out the back door, only to find, Mbili, obstructing his escape. She wore the same cap, coat, white Nikes and gray FUBUs as her counterpart. Shit, three buffies! His shaking hand trained the revolver on Mbili. “Take this you bitch!” He fired every round. Mbili dodged the sluggish missiles easily and stood there, before him, unimpressed. “Buffy cannot dodge bullets.” In a flicker, Mbili trained her Desert Eagles on the VIRV. “Mark.” He turned to run, at an unearthly pace, yet two entire clips of Cor-Bon Penetrators entered his back; some exiting his chest, the remainder fragmenting and damaging organs. Nick Bain ran on, bleeding to death and he could not believe what was happening to him. The VIRV’s shirt was a mess. The original light blue Megadeth t-shirt was now splotched with black polka dots. “Damn, he can run. Gotta say that. Almost in Oakland.” “Apollo blood.” “What?” “Strong bloodline.” My father’s bloodline. Teledamus, the trickster VIRV. A VIRV that mocked his own kind yet remained untouched. “He’s getting away, sir.” “Marty,” I looked him in the eyes straight. “They never get away.” The VIRV knocked over cardboard boxes and rubbish, only to find himself staring at yet another replica of the tracker who shot him before. Four buffies! What the hell is this? What the hell was it? It was a routine interrogation, followed by a routine execution appropriately issued by the official executioners. “Sir, we have company. Looks like UC campus police.” “Station communications down?” “Affirmative. Must have heard the VIRV’s gunshots or maybe the crash of that beautiful Lazer Red Harley Davidson. Oh, that was a phat bike.” “Inform the team to hold their fire until we take care of this minor impediment.” “Affirm, sir. D-Team, check your fire, check your fire. Issue developed. Over.” Moja replied. “We copy, over. Target has been subdued.” “Alive?” I asked. “For now,” Moja replied. I turned to Marty. “You may proceed, Marty. Intercept the cruiser, Durant and Telegraph. Play loud music. Frontline Assembly.” “FLA online.” Marty grinned. “Pumping up the jams, sir.” Hummer, Marty and I sped down Durant, the wrong way, until we bounced onto Telegraph, just moments before the cruiser reached our position. The cruiser stopped and the officer exited his vehicle with hand on holster. “You’re impeding traffic!” He shouted over the gothic-techno. “Sorry officer!” Marty shouted in reply. “We were celebrating! You know! Y2K. The new millennium! We can still pop firecrackers can’t we?” “Is that what it was! Turn down that damn music!” “Yeah. Big ass firecrackers. Sorry, my bad.” “It’s a little late for popping crackers isn’t it?” Marty laughed at the double meaning. “Year 2000. Bigger than the Fourth of July. None of us will see it again, right?” “Yeah. Right. Just don’t be so enthusiastic about it. All right?” “All righty officer. We’ll be really good, really.” Marty gave the officer the OK sign, then flipped him off double when he turned his back. The officer turned his cruiser back to the university and disappeared down Bancroft Avenue. “Well done, Marty.” “Thank you, sir.” “Let’s get to our friends, shall we?” “Afirm sir.” Marty activated the heads-up-display on Hummer’s windshield, noted the team’s location. We surged forward. “Now Marty, put aside all previous beliefs about vampires. VIRVs are simply mortal beings infected by a complex virus of an unknown origin. VIRV’s ability to infect and reengineer the host makes it the most dangerous and powerful virus in existence. Yet, there is the rub. It is a virus and therefore cannot exist outside the host. It is sensitive to light and can be destroyed by the ultraviolet rays of the stars. If there is any superstition that holds some credence, it is the VIRVs vulnerability to ultraviolet rays, but this only pertains to Infects and Congens. Ancient Dead and the Unknowns are immune, though in a weakened state.” “What’s Nick Bain?” “Infect. The weakest of the VIRV subspecies, but I want you to take precaution. First, do not leave this vehicle unless I give word. If he closes on you, activate the ultraviolet lamps. Two, arm yourself with the M16 with grenade launcher and electronic sighting. Three and four, holster my Desert Eagles and sheath a machete in case you run out of rounds.” “What’s the machete for?” “If you wound, but not kill, the VIRV, you will need to behead him before he regenerates. No head, no brain; no brain, no ability to regenerate. Understand?” “Affirmative, sir.” We entered the empty parking lot of a SmartMart. Encircled by the quadruplets, the VIRV submissively lay on his back, as they ate their Snickers bars. “Remain inside,” I told Marty, left the comfortable seat of Hummer and moved swift, in a manner that would startle the quickest of antediluvians. The VIRV turned quickly and stared into the amethyst eyes of the darkest preternatural he had ever seen. Unlike my companions, I wore a gray, wool, English, double-breasted business suit with a white shirt, black tie. My black trench coat was beaded with water. We never agreed on fashion. Where the fuck did you come from, was the first thought out of his mind. I’m so dead, was his second thought. “Who...what are you?” Was what he asked. “Let him up.” Nne grabbed the VIRV by the coat and lifted him to his feet. In the presence of my companions, their ion anger possessed me. Boiling hot hormones flooded my system. Lightning landed nearby. Thunder shook the ground. Chaos had come again as I recalled Nick Bain’s attempt to rape my companion. Business became anger as I conjured a storm of blows too fast for the VIRV to see. He collapsed, his back against the concrete, looking up at the dhamphyres who converged upon him. All five of us were staring down at him. My four associates (Moja, Mbili, Tatu and Nne) reversed their hats and unleashed their muffled shotguns and suppressed UZIs, holding them casually. Common thugs. Stupid ass Oaktown gang members. He knew he was fooling himself. Gang bangers could not throw a VIRV across Telegraph Avenue, let alone a motorcycle. Only the Volkswagen survived. I spoke to the pest. “Where is Cassandra Ross?” “Cassandra? Is this what this shit is all about?” “It certainly is. Where is she?” “Why? She’s just a skank-ass vampire bitch!” My associates moved to terminate him. I gestured otherwise. “I must ask you to charm your tongue. It offends my associates. This weather likes us not.” “So what asswipe. Your buffies aren’t here to wish me a happy New Year so why-” Tatu, the puppy lover, trained her UZI upon the VIRV’s forehead. “Do you understand?” I asked the creature. He nodded his wet bloody head. “She went off with that guy. That old ass vampire...ugh.” I answered for him. “Phoebus Apollo. We know that. We need information on their precise location.” “Well, hell, I can’t give you that. I have no goddamned idea where they are.” He watched Tatu flick the safety. “Hey, I’m being honest with you brah.” My associates began to speak quick, proficient Swahili, nodding and shaking their heads. As he stared up at them, as they continued to speak, he finally noticed, in the moments of lightning, that they were porcelain-skinned chrome-hair creatures with slender visages, and sculpted cheekbones. TALL. To most mortals, they were sublime beauties, in full bloom, no older than eighteen years of age. Even I seemed young to him, yet somewhere within his VIRV mind, he knew that our perfection, as he beheld, shrouded our true nature. He sensed this strange feeling when he was in the presence of the antediluvian, Apollo. I tried to sift through his dilapidated mind for approximate images of his meeting but the drugs, the virus or Apollo had corrupted too many of his basal ganglia. Petrified, he lain there, watching the quartet in their malicious splendor, speaking Swahili. Jamaican vampires with chrome hair? The VIRV was puzzled. I’ve never heard of Jamaican vampires like that. “Hey Rasta.” The females' words stopped abruptly. They glared at him as though insulted. “No you, the bloke or British guy, whatever.” The VIRV pointed at me. “You.” The VIRV smiled, his broken fangs exposed. “Let’s cut a deal here. What do you want from me?” “What I want, you cannot provide for me. The pure strain of VIRV.” “VIRV?” “VIRV is a virus of unknown origin. The same virus that has infected you. We need the pure strain to create a cure.” “What the hell does VIRV mean?” “No concern of yours.” “No concern of mine.” He gestured toward the quartet. “Then what the hell are the buffies talking about? If it’s the rape attempt then give me a break. Men rape women every minute. What’s the big deal? You can’t be a man and not tell me that they have great tits.” I knelt, on one knee, faced the VIRV, and clamped my fingers around his throat. “I could kill you in forty-eight different ways; forty can be very painful. So charm your tongue.” Thunder. “You see, mortal rapists who become VIRVs, such as yourself, disgust us and that action you tried with Tatu has her upset. Did you believe you could rape her?” I turned back to where my companions were debating. “Mark. I have not seen them so motivated to torture since the Poseidon adventure. The weather was identical. Poseidon was never the same.” Again, I turned my attention to the VIRV. “The moment I allow affirmative action, there will be a reckoning for every women you have raped, infected or abused. There will be no mercy for you tonight. Have I made myself clear?” Terror gave the VIRV strength to spring to his feet to escape. We allowed him to flee. We were ionized and ready for sport. “He’s getting away, sir!” “Marty, what did I say before?” “Oh.” Marty relaxed. “They never get away.” I walked back to Hummer and casually seated myself. My associates opened the back of Hummer and replenished their ammunition and candy bars. They tilted their heads upward, sniffed, their nostrils flaring. They flickered their tongues, sensing particles left by the VIRV. “Solution?” Moja stated. “Confirmed.” I replied. My associates walked the way they came, flickering their tongues, following the trail of VIRV particles. “Escape is an illusion, Marty. We dhamphyres are mortal, in some aspects, and unhuman, in others.” “How…how?“ “How can this be? The answer is…classified information.” I opened the door. “Let us finish this, shall we.” I exited Hummer, flickered my tongue and followed the trail of my friends. “You don’t need a ride?” “No thanks, Marty.” I desired a stroll before killing. “Note the positions of the team members and position yourself according to Moja’s orders.” “Affirmative, sir.” “Go softly on.” As I walked in the beloved rain, I linked my mind with my associates. In their minds, I could sense his location. He leaped a fence and staggered into People’s Park, then sprinted top speed across the asphalt basketball courts. He missed the transition, stumbled in the thick, wet grass then fell to the ground. When he stood, he felt something sticky and viscous on his hands. His nostrils flared as his brain recognized the stench. The VIRV wiped the shit onto his bloody shirt and ran behind a large crop of greasewoods. Panting, reeking, bleeding still, and perplexed. All of this because of Cassandra. She never knew that he had raped her while she was unconscious. After he hooked her on the alcohol, he moved her to joints, and then took her to Chronic, up the chain to crystal, crack, heroine. He used her like an animal, beating her when she was pejorative, leaving her out in the rain, naked. Then she met Apollo and was infected with the Vampiric Immunodeficiency Reconstructive Virus. She returned to see her ex-abuser one last time, to show him her appreciation. Her goal was homicide as she ripped into his throat. She wanted to drain him as dry as straw, but her inexperience left him blood enough for VIRV to repair him. Now here I am, because of her! The VIRV remained in denial of his predicament. It seemed less than two hours since he was watching the Peter Murphy and Bauhaus Revival 2000 concert at the Greek Theater. He could still remember the thirteen minute trance version of Bela Lugosi’s Dead, going on forever while prime kills, from dozens of vampire films, splashed on and off a theater screen behind the band. White on white translucent black capes. Back on the back. Bela Lugosi’s dead. The bats have left the bell tower, the victims have been bled, red velvet lines the black box. Bela Lugosi’s dead. Undead, undead, undead. Over ten thousand were in a rave, dancing to the pulsating music that mesmerized them into a rhythmic frenzy. The VIRV recalled the moment when, Peter Murphy, stared at him, as though he knew the VIRV was a VIRV. Then the black haired singer looked away from the VIRV, into our direction to inform us. I can’t believe it! Murphy set me up! Now the VIRV was shot, bleeding, reeking of shit, all because, in his opinion, of his ex-victim. Cassandra that bitch, was all he could repeat in his burning mind. He pulled off his shirt to assess his wounds. I’m not healing! I need blood, more blood! He looked for a bum on the ground, found one, toted the toxic body to a nearby dumpster and tossed him inside. He ignored the acrid smell of urine as he ripped the bum's throat open and gorged. When he was finished, he was moderately drunk but his wounds had healed. Good. Now I can get the fuck out of here. He jumped out of the dumpster and walked aimlessly. He tried to remember where he left his metallic green Honda, but the drunken blood had dulled his memory. The Greek Theater, that’s it. If I could just make it back there. If I could just...
Then, like a little harbinger from hell, the
puppy dog appeared, poking its way past the sleeping bums in People’s Park,
limping toward him with one paw suspended.
No more than two meters from the VIRV, it stopped, sniffed then barked.
That goddamned dog! My walk was enjoyable. I was relaxed when I reached People’s Park. I sat on a wooden bench and gave the word. “Marty, notify team leader to terminate target.” “Gladly, sir.” Marty replied. “Moja, you have the green light to terminate that asshole.” “Gladly.” I watched as Mbili and Nne appeared instantly, as though out of nowhere, in People’s Park. Then Moja and Tatu appeared, not like ghosts, nor VIRVs nor anything this parasite had ever seen before. They were just there, leaving no evidence of where they had been before. In light speed gestures, I appeared in the same manner, and then two of the complement disappeared, like apparitions beyond the imagination. Dhamphyres. Why didn’t Apollo warn me about them? “He did not warn you because he wanted you dead.” I answered. The VIRV turned to make his escape, only to find two of my associates behind him. Hummer closed his last route to freedom. The halogens blinded Nick Bain momentarily. Marty jumped out of the Hummer, cocked his shotgun. “Remember me, bitch?” The VIRV squinted. “Marty? That you, man?” “That’s right asshole. Here to bust a cap in your ass, for what you’ve done to Cassandra.” “Yo, Marty, you got it backwards. She did this to me.” “You don’t think I knew what kind of trash you were? She wouldn’t have been with Apollo if it weren’t for you. I tried to warn her, what an asshole you are, but she didn’t listen to me, so after we put you down,” Marty could barely speak the next words, “she’s next.” “Fuck you then, Marty.” The VIRV tried to attack but Marty’s first shot hit shoulder and spun the VIRV. His second shot was in the VIRV’s buttocks. He was thrown face down in the mud. Impressive gun work, for a mortal. “I told you I’d bust a cap in your ass!” Marty said. “Oh my, he’s getting up. That a boy. Get up and get your medicine, bitch.” The VIRV stood in defiance before me. “Apollo told me to give you a message if I ever met something like you.” The VIRV put on a bloody grin. “There’s much fun to be had.” He laughed. “There’s much fun to be had!” “That’s amusing. When I see him, I will let him know you were true-blue to the end.” “You better, motherfucker, cause he’s gonna kick your ass!” “Well, Mbili, how should we end this?” Mbili recited. “Let Heracles himself do what he may.” “The cat will mew,” Moja added. “And dog will have his day,” Tatu knelt down beside the little puppy that huddled close to her. “And the day for this little dog,” she petted the dog, lovingly, “Is today.” Moja, the leader, pointed her muffled, big-bore shotgun at the VIRV’s crotch and shot him. The impact threw him into the greasewood bushes where he lain suspended by the branches. He tried to walk it off, but he simply had nothing left. He dropped to his knees then fell back into a soft bed of grass. “You like violent penetration or will this change your mind?” Tatu shot him with her Desert Eagle, his body jerking with every round until the clip was empty. “Do you still want to fuck me without my consent?” Tatu sheathed her Eagles. “That is what you wanted. Yes? But this,” they pumped their shotguns, “Is what you get.” They shot him again, point-blank. The buckshot tore through his body, rupturing organs, shattering bones. The VIRV felt so enveloped in pain that he could not feel anything else, except for the rain pouring inside him, each drop burning pain deeper. His migraine was relieved. He felt the light thump of the empty shotgun shells falling on the ground. Then he heard the dhamphyres walk away into the waning darkness and, as though by their command, the clouds began to dissipate. As I seated myself in Hummer, I could see that VIRV in my mind, lying helpless. The California sun had cut a path of deep orange above Grizzly Peak and soon the blade would wax and consume him. His loss of blood, from severe wounds, disabled his ability to move, to find the dark solace. It finally occurred to him that we had left him there to die by fire. Solar cremation. Marty was back in the driver’s seat, his trembling hands at the ten and two positions of the steering wheel. His blank Chinese eyes stared at the drops on the windshield. “I’ve never seen weather like this before. Lived here most of my life. Never seen so much thunder, lightning now it’s gone.” Tatu patted Marty on his shoulder. “Not like you thought it would be, Marty?” “I’ve killed, I’ve killed so many people. The bastard just wouldn’t stay down.” He stared down and shook his head. “I never had to kill a man like that before. One shot, one final cut and the man was gone. These things? Like energizer bunnies on steroids.” I consoled him. “It wasn’t a man you killed today, my good friend. It was a thing, a rabid animal. You will adapt to killing VIRVs. I assure you.” “Maybe. But if we find Cassandra, I can’t be there, when you do what you do. I don’t wanna pump forty pounds of ammo into her before she’s a confirmed kill. Okay?” His voice broke. “Understood.” Marty turned to me and with realization in his eyes, said, “You thrive on this shit, don’t you, sir? Not only the VIRVs. You do too.” I thought it a poignant question for a mortal. “We have our peculiarities.” Marty always finds ways to impress me without knowing. “O’ cursed spite, that ever I was born to set it right. My curse is to be addicted to my occupation, Marty. I made a promise.” “To whom?” He asked. “To someone.” I though of The One Who Bore Me. “Someone meaningful.”
Meanwhile, the partially dismembered VIRV lay pondering. He always thought the transition from rapist to VIRV was perfect. Prey on the weak or confused, taking by force or intoxication, painful penetration and forever marking the victim forever, was all the same. I was made to be this. Wait...I’ve always been this. Those were the thoughts he was thinking as he heard the happy yelp of a little puppy. The puppy dog he kicked was sniffling around him, licking undead blood from the fountain in his chest, teething on his intestines. Tatu ran back to find her new little friend. She picked up the puppy; put it under her bulletproof trench coat. The dying VIRV stared direct into the glowing eyes of the dhamphyre. She spoke her farewell. “Beset his appearance. No king could replenish his state. Now browning, sinking, dying a thousand deaths.” He watched her pull out her shotgun. He watched her train the weapon. He watched her until she shot him in the face, for good measure. Soaked to the bone, we moved in silence, raindrops pounding the windshield, the heater on full speed, no music, just thought. “Should we debrief now or later?” “Later,” Tatu tossed a travel brochure in my lap. “Let’s go to Madagascar.” I picked up the brochure and stared at the glossy picturesque photo of ocean and beach. “Marty, back to the Claremont Hotel.” “Affirm, sir.” He thought of Cassandra. “Sir, did I ever tell you the Claremont is where Cassie and I went after the prom?” “Yes, you did.” I stared at the beads of rain run like tears. That is when I realized a fear, a horrible fear, I possessed. It was not the fear of death, as many mortals may suspect; it was not defeat to my antediluvian foe, it was the fear that someday this chaos would end. Year 2042. Harbinger, an interplanetary battleship, resembled a stingray with its tail chopped off. Beneath its gently sloped wings was evidence of its bitter business: four pairs of turreted long-range cannons and a half dozen nuclear missile silos. It was fully operative. It was authorized to operate only as a VIRV sterilization cruiser, reprogrammed to vaporize any humanoid population that was victim of extreme VIRV amplification. Arvo had been given military clearance to fry or nuke any site overrun by VIRVs. Harbinger had been busy. The potbellied, ventral side of Harbinger was the storage section. Most of this section housed Ghetto Bird, now retrofitted for spaceflight as well. Behind the potbelly was a bigger swell of skin that housed the ventral pair of thrusters modified by the engineering expert, Nne. The mad scientist had now created hard-burn drives capable of pushing the conventional spacecraft to velocities superior to any craft designed by a mortal. The dorsal side of Harbinger maintained a stingray’s appearance its stern became a grotesque bulge of skin that accommodated the top part of hard-burn thrusters. The bow of the mammoth was lead by the bridge, followed by the passenger section. The topside weapon batteries were isolated from the passenger section by one hundred meters and high-impact insulation. Isolated and insulated below the topside batteries of death were the mess hall, combat training chamber, prisoner containment room, and a fitness center. The deck below was the living quarters. It was the antithesis of the brutality that was wrapped around it. Lush grass, fruitful trees and ponds full of Koi surrounded the walkway to all eight of the condominiums. The violent ship did have a soft spot. Arvo pondered as his amethyst eyes stared out into the star speckled black of space. Yet another hunting expedition. Another day of bringing death to the Undead. O cursed spite, that I was ever born to set it right. Mars and the lights from the tan shuttle instrument panels, reflected off the gloss-black HUDspecs of this dhamphyre, who knew better than to fall into the illusion he observed. Mars, the god of war, concealed its true nature by distance. Its surface seemed nothing more than pristine contrasts of red. The only other characteristics visible to Arvo, at the present distance, were the enormous polar ice caps of water and carbon dioxide. The beauty of Mars was much like the beauty of a VIRV; graceful and compelling at a distance, cold and merciless in close proximity. Then he thought about dhamphyres, like himself; psionic, preternatural, and in his case, cybernetic. There were only four other dhamphyres, he knew, that possessed the same lethal qualities; Moja, Mbili, Tatu and Nne. Together, they were a rare and endangered species, traveling the centuries, terminating VIRVs with no mercy. Never forget that I am not mortal Never forget your species is my food Never abuse or I will come hunt you I am Arvo and twice removed -- Arvo of Teledamus 1586 Arvo
recalled the tale of a boy who was born in the pitch of a cave, in the deepest
recesses of an African rain forest, near the base of an active volcano.
The first sight, as the infant entered the world of air, were glowing
lavender eyes of the creature who bore him and the members of her tribe, the
Unknown. His existence was
celebrated. There were sounds of
voiced melodies; there was the stench of the rotting remains and the slick,
sticky texture of his skin covered in the red blood of mortals.
This infant was a prophetic creation.
It was the first child born from natural insemination, a phenomenon
thought impossible for their kind. The
key, the origin, of this phenomenon was the derelict creature that coalesced
with the one who bore the child. A
creature from the far north, beyond the farthest reaches of Unknown exploration.
This creature’s skin was the color of bone, eyes a brilliant yellow but
not tall. Trickster.
They named him Trickster. Its
difference, its ignorance; its mannerisms were amusing to the Unknown.
He was their pet and they were sad to see his abrupt departure brought
about by nature’s misfortune, the rage of violent water.
Its prodigy was all that remained.
The Unknown were certain in their belief that
this child would create havoc among enemies of the Unknown, that he was designed
for chaos. The insurance of the
perpetual existence of those who worshipped him as their protector.
All of this was prophecy. All
of this was written on the cave walls that confirmed prophetic words passed on
through the millenniums.
Unknowns resembled the mortals they preyed upon
for sustenance. Their long, woolly
hair was woven in to rows that were tied into ponytails, pallid brown skin
covered wide cheekbones, their lips were full and their wide pierced noses
adorned with diamonds and gold. Yet,
there were unhuman differences. These
beings were very tall; their glowing eyes were purple or lavender, their
superior intellect and strength seasoned by millenniums of existence. There were other Unknowns throughout the continent, but this band was an exception to the others. They refused to evolve. They were complacent and content with their state of existence, their consumption of meat. They were a rare and reckless tribe, who decimate entire mortal villages rather than facing their fears, by following progression. They fought evolution; the |
