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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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Arvo Berkeley,
California
January 1, 2000 The Third Millennium
2:13 AM Rick Layne was your ordinary VIRV; running for his life, running down the slick and foggy streets near the university. Rain fell as though the lightning tore the clouds wide open. Sheets of water beat the cold skin of the pestilent creature, of the scrappy rapist, of the poisoned minds of darkness. It was less than twenty minutes, before this moment, when Rick Layne and the Men of Dread were outside the Greek Theater where the Bauhaus 2000 concert was taking place. Those poisoned minds of darkness joked and laughed about a girl they drugged and assaulted at a party. Rick was elated until Bert’s head went to pieces. Rick wiped the blood and brains out of his eyes and noticed that the Men of Dread were on the ground, twitching, gushing pints of blood from enormous head wounds. The Men of Dread were not dreadful any longer and their fearless hero was running as fast as his feet could fall, but the sound of boots, of an Incrementum, remained at a maintained distance behind him. I assimilated the waves of thought from his mind as raindrops slammed against the sidewalks and pavement. He realized that a preternatural, perhaps a dhampir, was hunting him. His New Year’s resolution was to survive. I watched the VIRV, our technical term for vampire, within a gray Russian BTR-80 armored personnel carrier parked near a football field at the center of the university. I watched his flight upon a flat-screen monitor with a microwave transmission from a surveillance hovercam. I sat upon one of six black Recaro leather seats watching Rick run from the Weird Furies who were ran parallels, methodically tracking him with the hope of finding his coven. Killing dead people is a bloody business but whom better than Incrementums, the ancient slayers from a mythical age, to kill these pestilent creatures. The Weird Furies, who are the daughters of Zeus, believe that hunting VIRVs was a perfect way to celebrate the beginning of the third millennium—but the ion rich weather was an annoyance. The storm started as an aggregate of elements; water vapor, dust and air currents that created parcels of the cloud drops and endless hills of cumulous cloud formations. Then the air currents asserted their force to cause the content of the clouds to collide without mercy. I sensed the turbulent currents as they caused cloud droplets to collide and coalesce. A powerful cloud updraft took possession of the drops to perpetuate the collisions until those billions of trillions of drops gained the strength to descend. I slid a hatch open and exposed my hand to the elements, as I listened to the metallic din of raindrops dying on the amphibious brute. Raindrops slapped against my palm. Ten hours of falling from the heavens and it came down to this. “What are you doing, Voe?” “Research, Kong.” “Research what?” “The size of the rain drops. Their large size is evidence of the brutal actions above.” I pulled my hand inside and closed the hatch. “Chaos is above thus violence is down below.” Lightning—our nemesis. I could sense it coming. Within the clouds was a greedy electric field harboring tens of thousands of volts per square inch. They were eager to neutralize. The air was breaking down into forces that Incrementums despise: positive ions and electrons. It is those ions that affect our sensibilities. Our logical reasoning gives way to our ferocity, to the beast that makes us whole. A bolt struck southwest in a shipyard in Oakland. Thunder shook the ground a moment later. “Zounds.” “Zounds?” Kong was confused. “What does zounds mean?” “It means this weather likes us not.” “Why not?” “Perhaps I will tell you some day. If you are still alive.” Kong Zhou-Shing, my anxious and eager novice, was sitting beside me, behind the pilot controls of the luxurious killing machine. The interior of the BTR-80 was different from its original, lean appearance. The harsh metal was cloaked in fragrant black leather and glossy walnut. The switches and toggles were a cool stainless steel. There were two plasma monitors above the dash area and three additional monitors on each side of the carrier. An array of black ultra servers was mounted behind the two rows of seats. The armory cabinets were at the rear. “C’mon, Voe, it’s just a little lightning.” “Kong, billions of volts of potential damage are above us. Every bolt that is delivered to the ground is as hot as the surface of the Sun. It is that heat that creates the bolts. The thunder, that you find so quaint, is the explosion of the air that surrounds that blue-white bolt. The tremor from the thunder is the compression wave as the air explodes. Therefore, a little lightning is an understatement.” “Oh. My bad, Voe.” Sheet lightning cascaded through the clouds above. Thunder followed again. Though Kong 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 mortal. Painting a VIRV with a dozen rounds would only irritate such durable creatures unless vital organs were damaged beyond their ability to regenerate. “Voe, is it cold in here or is it just me?” “It is just you, Kong. The weather must be extreme before I lodge complaints.” “You mind if I turn on the engine so I can get some heat in here?” “Certainly, I mind. Mechanical movements disrupt my ability to decipher the thoughts of Rick Layne from a long distance.” “So, Voe, are you saying you can read Rick’s thoughts from a mile away?” “Certainly. My reception of his thoughts would be improved if the weather were less severe.” “Reception? You mean like radio station-like reception? You can just tune in and know what he’s thinking?” “Yes, that analogy will do for now.” “Whoa. Now that’s phatabulous.” Kong Zhou-Shing was five feet ten inches of hard flesh. Every strand of his muscles was a testament to numerous repetitions upon multiple devices designed to tone and enlarge tissue. His crew cut hair was a complement to his wide and defined cheekbones. His brown Chinese eyes shuffled through monitors as he assimilated data. 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.” That was correct. We were the official executioners, but we did not cut wood to pieces, we cut VIRVs to pieces. Not just any VIRV, but a poisoned minded VIRV with knowledge of the target of our enterprise, Apollo. Kong Zhou-Shing knew the value of knowledge and being a good listener. He was a cast iron soldier, a Ranger, a Delta operator, a Delta-Solo. He lived in a world of suicide bombers and helicopters downed by rocket-propelled grenades. He lived in a world of covert intrusions, kidnappings, and assassinations. He thought that a Solo was the maximum extent of violence a soldier could reap. They were a soldier of one and responsible for every aspect of military action. They were trained to fly anything, drive anything and kill anything. They were given an operation and tossed into the combat zone--alone. “So, Voe, when is it my turn to rock and roll? I know I’m a bit green at this but it’s not something a few big guns and grenades can’t handle. Right?” “Kong, you’re in a different paradigm now. I will share some important facts before ignorance kills you. First, VIRVs can smell you coming from fifty meters unless you are downwind. Second, VIRVs can hear you closing upon them from a quarter mile so; therefore, the element of surprise goes to the VIRV. Third, VIRVs are twice as quick and twice as strong. Hand-to-hand combat is not a good decision and the VIRVs I described are the weakest of them all. Kong’s body jerked as raucous thunder clapped above. “The facts disturb you.” “Well, It’s not every day that I hear about someone being more bad-ass than I am.” Lightning flashed. A moment later the thunder clapped again, yet louder, closer. “What a night.” He rubbed his biceps. “Got us some backup though.” I took hold of a backpack behind his seat. “This bag of tricks I presume?” “Yeah.” He nodded, his mouth curving into an embarrassed smile. “Went to a Gothic cult shop that specialized in vampire stuff. They even had a slayer section so I grabbed some.” I was curious. “A slayer section? That sounds amusing. May I see the contents?” “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, several bottles of silver nitrate, Vampires for Dummies, and The Handbook for Killing Vampires. “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.” Kong Zhou-Shing waited until the next roar of thunder subsided “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--“ “Your thought was incorrect. We require fact, not fiction, to address this plague. We want rounds that run through vital organs and refuse to exit. Such bullets cause maximum internal damage.” I released the magazine and examined one of the bullets then replaced the bullet and snapped the magazine back in the firearm. “If these silver bullets had any affect, most of it would be squandered on trees or the sides of buildings. We use this docile type of round to wound, not kill.” “Why?“ “A wounded VIRV is easier to interrogate. They are concerned with blood loss, but these bullets would pass untroubled through most VIRV, unless you are lucky enough to hit a bone or artery.” “How about the silver stake?” “As I explained earlier, 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. There is no happy ending, for the mortal, when it is a VIRV is what faces them.” “Damn. I played myself.” “Well, listen carefully as I explain the creatures we slay.” “Go ahead, Voe. I’m down with it.” “VIRV is an acronym for the Vampiric Immunodeficiency Reconstructive Virus. When someone becomes infected with VIRV it begins to attack his or her immune system. A person infected with VIRV may look and feel well for twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Thereafter, a mortal's immune system deteriorates and the host becomes vulnerable to a plethora of 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 and 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. Do you understand?” “Affirmative, Voe. VIRV is like AIDS but it modifies the host into a bloodsucking pain in the neck so it’s our job to ghost their ass.” “There, you have it. Well bethought.” I bent my attention to the images on HoverCam-1 that continued to track Layne thirty meters above ground. I assimilated more of his thoughts but I could not extract the location of his parent coven. He thought freedom could be possessed; he thought the Weird Furies made an error in judgment until he heard the sound of pain. POP! POP! POP! Three Cor-Bon rounds in his abdomen were courtesy of Tatu and her Desert Eagle. Now he was on his back, wiping rain from his eyes, looking around and searching for the origin of gunshots as he groped his wounds. Two more rounds kicked chunks of concrete out of the street. The VIRV ignored his bloody gut 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, I grow weary of this burning of time. Contact the other furies and apprehend the target.” “Understood.” I pressed my mind to expand the field of my clairvoyance. Tatu, Mbili and Nne were informed of Rick’s movement through telepathic messages from Moja. They were ready for him, a few blocks from Oakland. They sat on the roof of a SmartMart eating candy. The Weird Furies were an indomitable foe. They were over six feet tall and they possessed the kind of body that brought about luscivious thoughts from the mortal and immortal, the sort of thoughts that would send men through walls or into the center of traffic. Kong opened a can of soda and sipped. He pressed a button on the armrest of his seat. The seat rotated toward the array of ultra-thin plasma surveillance monitors that I was observing. He was doing the Dew, as he calls it; in fact, he was doing the Dew since he joined our enterprise. The thunder interrupted our conversation again. The bolt before it made contact near the Berkeley Marina. This would be a difficult night for the Incrementum. 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, impairing our most precious gift; a disciplined mind. “So, Voe, what’s the best way to kill vampires, I mean VIRVs?”
“Well, we expected to find his parent coven, but
I will assume that Rick Layne and the Men of Dread may have been ostracized by
Charun.” “Ostra-what?” “He has been banished. Regardless, we came with a conservative aggregate of weaponry. The Weird Furies 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 funky-fresh weaponry 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 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 the transport, such as a mixed bag of firearms, plus cutting and impaling implements, necessary in the termination of VIRVs. Rick’s fear was obvious by the bright red trail of his aura. 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. Kong laughed, observing the VIRV on surveillance transmission from the HoverCam-1. “Dumb-ass moe-foe.” He glanced at the weaponry cabinet. “You’ve got some bass-pumping technology packed into this BTC. This stuff would have made a difference in Somalia.” “I doubt it. That operation needed better intelligence, pun included.” 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.” “Day-uhm. Give me this down and funky transport and two dozen of my boys, and I could straighten out some global bullshit. There were a few terrorist enclaves I’d love to pay a visit.” Kong’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. “Get out of here!” He kicked the dog, since Zephyrine was absent, which yelped from the blow. “Bitch.” The dog yelped again as its little body landed against empty brown boxes. The migraine, caused by my extraction, was becoming bothersome to him. He recoiled, to kick the dog again, but found himself thrown to the pavement by a barrage 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 furies, sheathed her Desert Eagles and tended to the whimpering puppy. She retrieved a Payday candy bar, split off a small section and fed it to the dog. She conversed with the creature in Swahili and acted as though killing Rick Layne was of no importance anymore. Ions, bred by the bolts, were beginning to affect her. “Voe, is Tatu acting a bit odd?” “It is the weather. Tatu, you must remain on task.” That moment a bolt struck a large pine beside the transport. The ions seeped into me as though I was a fallow sponge.
The VIRV looked under his shirt and checked his
wounds. Healing good. Why
is my head hurting so bad? He
peeked from behind a corner, smiled wry, snickered. 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 Weird
Furies, the daughters of Zeus, could take care of themselves.
I remained by the football field, relaxing in a plush leather seat of the
transport, listening to the thunder in the sky. The VIRV sensed around for the tracker’s companions. No one but her. I’m gonna do that bitch. He attempted courage through chemistry. He retrieved a small bag of cocaine from his pant pocket, took the spoon within the bag, scooped a large amount of the substance, and inhaled it into his nostrils. “Voe, there he goes!” The VIRV charged at Tatu, depending on his VIRV speed to catch her off-guard. Tatu placed the puppy aside, stood and faced him. He grabbed her by the coat. “I got you bitch!” There was a flash like a strobe. The VIRV was thrown back three meters, twitching. “What the hell was that? Did she just use a taser?” “The Weird Furies and I have a bioelectric defense system. Artificial stun devices are not necessary.” “How she do that, though?” “We possess specialized organs similar to an electric eel. One of the advantages of being an Incrementum.” The VIRV recovered from the shock, then recovered from the shock. He stood. Tatu walked over to the wobbling creature. She 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. Tatu released the VIRV from her vise. He collapsed to the ground and balled up. I would have thought him thankful, for the mercy she gave him, but he was not. “You slut, ass, bitch, whore!” The thunder shook our doors before the VIRVs addendum. “SLUT!” Kong clapped his hands in the anticipation of violence. “Now he did it!” “He certainly did. He’s in for more pain.” I was apprehensive. Tatu was losing the mastery of her mind. “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. Kong was excited. “Great toss!” Shattered glass fell upon him as an intrusion alarm wailed for mercy. “Holy crap!” His 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?” “Of course I do.” “She just picked up that Harley!” “Correct, Kong, she did.” “Hogs gotta be 800 pounds, Voe.” “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, Rick Layne 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. Kong could not hear this violence, but my aural senses registered the sound of plastics, wood and glass breaking. “Tatu, we need him alive.” I telepathically 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 Volkswagon Beetle. The thunder shook the foundations of the shops on Telegraph Avenue. “Voe, you see this? She’s going for the Volkswagen! Can she lift that thing?” “And more, Kong, much more. Contact Moja and –“ “She’s there, Voe. Hey, I’m picking up mortal life-forms inside that car, Voe.” Kong increased magnification. “Damn. Got to give it to teenagers. They’ll shag anywhere.” He laughed and shook his head. “Voe, you see what I see?” “Yes, Kong. There are two adolescent mortals tupping in the front passenger seat. They seem oblivious.” In the third millennium, it would take more than gunshots and lightning to end their repetitions. The scene became comical. Two pale white furies, 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 fury is pushing her sister away from the Beetle, the rear of the car dropping, and 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. “Kong, move to the street above Telegraph.” “Don’t they know there’s people in there?” He asked, as we sped out of the parking lot. “That is the topic of their argument. 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 half-naked couple onto the sidewalk. She retrieved her Desert Eagle, raised it high and discharged two rounds. “RUN!” “This really sucks,” the adolescent male said as the couple fled down a side street. Tatu was having a tantrum. She slugged the Volkswagon then kicked it across the street. She tore down sections of a metal fence then took hold of a slab of concrete. It was in pieces when she was done. Moja hopped onto the roof of the beaten Volkswagen and crossed her arms. “Tatu, if you calm down, I’ll give you a candy bar.” Tatu stopped and put her hand out. Moja tossed her a Reeses Peanut buttercup. Tatu jumped on the hood, crossed her legs and ate. I shook my head. “Bloody ridiculous.” “What’s up?” Kong said, a quizzical look on his face. “Something Moja did.” Superior beings addicted to candy. “Oh.” The VIRV felt lucky. He found a revolver below the cash register. He checked the cylinders. Yes, bullets! The VIRV peeked out of glass door of the shop and whispered, “Hell. 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 never seen any of my companions in such a state. I asked myself: were these the Incrementums who have tracked 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 did not flinch nor gave a tear when tears were due. Now, amid a mediocre Infect VIRV, they became emotional, for reasons I could not reason, but the weather. That is when I noticed the potent clouds tarried above us, sending torrential rain down upon us all. The thunder came down hard with a prologue of lightning bolts now drunken with the desire to share ions with the Weird Furies. The VIRV pressed his hands against his skull, turned to flee out the back door, 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 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 an entire clip of Cor-Bon Penetrators entered his back; some exiting his chest, the remainder fragmenting and damaging organs. Rick Layne 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?” “Apollo’s bloodline is powerful. That is why Rick is so durable.” “He’s getting away, Voe.” “Kong.” I looked him in the eyes straight. “They never get away.” The VIRV knocked over cardboard boxes and rubbish, and found himself staring at yet another replica of the tracker who shot him before. Four buffies! What the hell is this? It was a routine interrogation, followed by a routine execution issued by the official executioners. “Voe, we have company. Looks like UC campus police.” “Station communications down?” “Affirmative. He 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, Voe. Furies, check your fire, check your fire. Issue developed. Over.” “We copy, over,” Moja said. “Target has been subdued.” “Alive?” I asked. “For now.” I turned to Kong. “You may move forward. Intercept the cruiser, Durant and Telegraph. Play loud music. Frontline Assembly.” “FLA online.” He grinned. “Pumping up the jams, Voe.” The APC sped down a street, the wrong way, until it bounced onto Telegraph, just moments before the cruiser reached its position. He opened the hatch, climbed to the top and sat on the turret. He turned his Army Ranger hat so the bill was in front. 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!” He shouted in reply. “We were celebrating! You know! Y-2-K. The new millennium! We can still pop firecrackers can’t we?” “Is that what it was! Turn down that damn music!” The officer paused as he examined the APC. “Is that thing street legal?” “Sure is, officer. It has license plates and registration to prove it. I’ve got my State Farm insurance card if you want to see it.” He pointed at one of the tires. “Check it, officer. I got my dubs goin’ on. Twenty-four inch alloy spinners wrapped with Mickey Thompson mudders!” The officer looked at the tires. “You’re nuts.” He smiled. “So that noise was firecrackers?” “Yeah. Big ass mo-foe firecrackers. Don’t worry chief, the cannon and machine guns are not hot,” he lied. “Just for show.” “It’s a little late for popping crackers isn’t it?” “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. My bad. We’ll be really good. We’ll be super-chill.” He gave the officer the OK sign, and then flipped him off double-Brit style when he turned his back. The officer turned his cruiser back to the university and disappeared down Bancroft Avenue. “Well done, Kong.” “Thank you, Voe.” “Let’s get to our friends, shall we?” “Affirm, Voe.” He activated the heads-up-display above the transports dashboard and noted the team’s location. We surged forward. “Kong, Rick may be the weakest of the VIRV subspecies, but I want you to take precaution. First, do not leave this transport unless I give word. If he closes on you, activate the ultraviolet lamps and put the coaxial machine guns to use.” “Affirmative, Voe.” We entered the empty parking lot of a SmartMart. Encircled by the furies, the VIRV submissively lay on his back, as they ate their Snickers bars. I left the comfortable seat of the APC and moved swift, in a manner that would startle the oldest of Antediluvians. The VIRV turned and stared into the amethyst eyes of the darkest preternatural he 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. The Weird Furies and I never agreed on fashion. Where the hell did you come from, was the first thought out of his mind. I’m so dead, was his second thought. “Who--what are you. Dhampirs?” “Let him up.” Nne grabbed the VIRV by the shirt 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 Rick Layne’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 Incrementums who converged upon him. All five of us were staring down at him. The Weird Furies reversed their hats, “gangster style”, and unleashed their muffled shotguns and suppressed UZIs, holding them like friends. 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. I spoke to the pest. “Where is Zephyrine Laroche?” “Zephyrine? Is this what this crap is 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 ass-wipe. 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. “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. The bitch attacked me and left me for dead.” He watched Tatu flick the safety. “Hey, I’m being honest with you, brah.” “Last week, you received an electronic mail message from an e-mail address confirmed to be Zephyrine’s. What was the message?” Rick Layne laughed hysterically. “You wanna know what it said?” He laughed more. “It said ‘dear Rick Layne, you will be dead in a week. Rot in hell asshole.’” He said. “First time the bitch was right!” Tatu kicked Rick hard until pain stopped his laughing. There lies the quirk of fate. Zephyrine sent the anonymous message that informed us of Rick Layne’s location. Clever. Moja nodded after the realization. “Very cunning. I am impressed. She wanted Rick dead and she helps us to kill him. I am in agreement with her. Let us kill Rick. If we do not, Tatu will go crazy.” I nodded. “Discuss the method with your sisters.” My associates spoke quick, proficient Swahili, nodding and shaking their heads. As he stared up at them, as they continued to speak, he noticed, in the moments of lightning, that they were porcelain-skinned, chrome-hair creatures with slender visages, and sculpted cheekbones. To most mortals, they were sublime beauties, in full bloom, no older than eighteen years of age. Even I seemed young and effeminate to him, the sort of face that would be found in modeling advertisements in Gentlemen’s Quarterly. 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 Charun corrupted too many of his basal ganglia. He gestured toward the Weird Furies. “Then what the hell are the buffies talking about?” “We are deciding in which manner we are going to kill you. Mortal rapists, who become VIRVs, such as yourself, disgust us and that action you tried with Tatu has made 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 since the Poseidon excursion. It was ten years after the United States won its independence when we tracked down Poseidon in a high plains village on Crete. Vanity, and the sophomoric sense of invincibility, killed Poseidon. He made the haughty mistake of ignoring our existence and settling his coven above ground. Harsh mountains, rising out of the sea, dominated Crete. Nearly twenty-five hundred meters of peaks, filled with hidden caverns, could have been his refuge for millenniums. Ancient Dead, who lived high upon Mount Ídhi, tried to warn him. Other Antediluvians, who lived within the shelter of Mount Levká Óri in the west and the snow covered rocks of Mount Dhíkti Óri to the east, did their best to counsel him about the deadly offspring. They told him tales about the Incrementum and their gift to annihilate. They warned him about their superior capabilities. He would have none of it. He called his comrades cowards and he decided to live the way he pleased--until he died the way of the daughters of Zeus. He was a wealthy VIRV and therefore hired a large contingent of dhampirs and a few hundred mortal mercenaries to protect him from Incrementums and feuding covens. Poseidon’s fatal flaw, above all, was his obsession with mortality. He propagated Europe with his creations to produce an obstacle between his enemies and him. We would have spared him if he refrained from spreading his contagion, but his mind was too poisoned to believe that his singular existence was more important than the destruction of thousands of mortals. We swept through his kindred as one would sweep a dirty floor. So when the Weird Furies walked into the village of their kin, the soldiers thought they were whores to be used by the troops. The dhampirs, two platoons of Argonauts, thought the same until the Weird Furies closed upon the throng of sexually motivated mercenaries. Jason, the Argonauts’ leader, yelled “Incrementums!” but the mortals were too distracted by their beauty. Two-dozen mercenaries were dismembered before they realized the threat, but the Argonauts were seasoned warriors. They studied the skills of the Incrementums as they fitted their armor and decided what tactics would be appropriate, disregarding the soldiers’ need for assistance. The dhampirs took action after the mercenaries were dead or fled. I stole their thoughts from a distance and I knew they would not last long. They were braggarts already thinking beyond the hurly-burly, about what words to use as they boasted, in a nearby pub, about killing Incrementums. The only boast the survivors, who fled, could make is that they survived five times longer than their mortal counterparts. Then my associates, so innocent in appearance but so deadly when provoked, went to work. They set the town afire and those VIRVs, who depended on the protection of the dwelling, died by the raging flames or the beams of the Sun. The village was glowing cinders by nighttime. The Weird Furies waited for the Poseidon’s final line of defense, the three-dozen Antediluvians. I noticed that these old ones were skilled but too slow for Incrementums. They went the way of the mercenaries; they went the way of the dhampirs before Poseidon himself made his appearance. The Ancient Dead, now clad in gold armor, wondered why the furies made no steps toward him. I was before him in moments and unsheathed my sword. He started to laugh. He said I was the dark-skinned abomination he was waiting for. He said that he was one of many Ancient Dead sickened by the fact that Cadmilus begat such a being. A moment later, we were embroiled in combat. I was impressed with his skill. He survived my strokes for a long duration of time. One mistake killed him and he bled his black blood into the soil. The Weird Furies stood over his corpse and did something I did not understand at the time. They spat upon him. Yes, they were fifteen, but they could have been fifteen hundred years old. Perhaps, fifteen thousand years old. It did not matter because we are Letalis Incrementum. “Rick Layne, the moment I allow vengeance, 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?” Rick Layne had a death row look on his face, on the day of his execution. “Now let us play a little cat and mouse before you die.” The Weird Furies stepped away to give Rick an exit. The fear of death gave the VIRV strength to spring to his feet to escape. We allowed him to flee. We were ionized and begging for sport, begging to torment to avenge for all the crimes he committed against nature. “He’s getting away, Voe!” “Kong, what did I say before?” “Oh. They never get away.” I walked back to the APC, opened the hatch and seated myself. My associates opened the armory 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. Moja was eager. “Solution?” “Confirmed.” I said. The furies walked the way they came, flickering their tongues, following the trail of VIRV particles. I opened the hatch. “Let us finish this, shall we.” I said. “Note the positions of the furies and position yourself according to Moja’s orders.” “Affirmative, Voe.” He typed commands into the server. “Got it. Ready to get it on.” I linked my mind with the Weird Furies, as I strolled in the rain. Within their minds, I could sense Rick’s location. He leaped a fence and staggered into People’s Park, then sprinted top speed across the basketball courts. He missed the asphalt-grass transition, tottered in the thick, wet flora 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. 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. He was drunk when he was finished but his wounds healed. He jumped out of the dumpster and searched for us. Good. Now I can get the hell out of here. He ran north on Telegraph Avenue until it ended at the university campus. He sprinted down Bancroft and crossed three major streets before he was in the Berkeley warehouse district. He slowed to a jog when he saw the sign Bay Side Whiskey Company on a three-story building. “I made it,” he said. “I made it.” He ran to the doors and banged on the glass. “Hey, hey! Let me in! It’s Rick, the musician!” He ran to a side door. “C’mon!” He pounded on the steel door. “Let me in!” A stout security guard opened the door. “What the fuck do you want?” “Someone’s trying to kill me, man. I think they’re dhampirs.” “Hold on.” The guard pressed his ear set. “There’s a guy out here, goes by the name—“ “Layne. Rick Layne. I’m the musician. I’ve done gigs for him.” “He goes by Rick Layne. He says someone’s trying to kill him. Thinks its dhampirs.” The guard nodded as he listened to the reply. “Yes sir. Okay, sir. I’ll let him know.” “What did he say?” “Charun’s exact words were, ‘I don’t give a shit’. He also said for you to, ‘get the fuck away before I kill you myself.’” The door banged close before Rick could tell the guard about the power of five. “Outstanding,” I said. “We found Charun’s coven. Send HoverCam-2 to identify the occupants.” “You got it, Voe.” He typed and a moment later there was a metallic clunk. A whining sound was heard thereafter. “HoverCam-2 is up and away. What should I do with HoverCam-1?” “Continue to track Rick Layne with the HoverCam-1. Tell the Weird Furies to hold their position. We’ll pick them up and taxi them to the target site.” “Yo, Weird Furies, Voe says to hold your position. Were scanning the coven.” HoverCam-2 was one hundred feet above the Bay Side Whiskey Company minutes later. “Cam is in position, Voe.” “Well done. I’ll do the rest.” I initiated a structure scan that revealed that the building was two stories, but there were three basement levels. The second -story was the business offices, the first floor was the brewery and the first basement was for storage. “Kong, notice that there are two redundant basement structures.” I selected the humanoid identification menu and clicked, then selected thermal identification and watched the monitor light up. “Kong, what we have is the thermal signature of all the occupants. The blue dots represent VIRVs, the yellow dots are mortals and the red dots are corpses. As you can see, all of the blue and red dots are in the second basement. It seems Charun’s coven is still celebrating the coming of the third millennium.” “How come some of the VIRV dots are actually square?” “The blue boxes are Antediluvians. The blue boxes that are blinking are Ancient Dead.” Kong counted under his breath. “Snap, I count thirty-seven VIRVs in basement two. There are five Antediluvians and one Ancient Dead.” “That blinker is Charun.” Kong clapped his hands. “Bonanza! We hit the mother load. Should I call the VIRV-Ops?” “Negative, not enough time. The Weird Furies, you and I are sufficient.” I counted all of the yellow dots. They were in a regular security formation. “There are only a dozen security and they are on the first floor. Let us fetch the sisters and take care of business.” “Cool with me. We’re rollin’ like it’s stolen.” The Weird Furies were soaked but too excited about the coven to complain, as they hopped in the APC. They thought about the satisfaction of avenging crimes against nature. They strapped napalm flamethrowers to their backs, slung a pair of grenade launchers over each shoulder—all accompanied by their UZIs and handguns. “We’re ready.” Moja said. “Good. Now be careful when assaulting the first floor of the brewery. There are tanks of gas. Annihilate everything below ground then we will use C4 explosives to destroy the brewery.” The sisters nodded. We stopped a half block from the brewery. The Weird Furies hopped out and jogged toward the target. “We’re in position,” Moja addressed her sisters. “On my count. One, two, three, shoot.” “Holy shit,” he said. “They just dropped twelve security personnel in,” He looked at his watch, “four seconds!” Kong and I watched the assault from the HoverCam-2 thermal detectors. The four white dots were the furies. They quickly moved down two stairwells, spread out in the second basement and proceeded to kill everything. We watched as the blue VIRV dots went black. Kong was overjoyed. “There goes another and another and another!” The entire coven was on fire and the furies were pasting explosives to the huge vats of whiskey. “Voe! We killed every dead person in that place.” The furies were out the front window and inside the APC before the explosions shook the ground. “Kong, you must drive now.” “Oh, my bad, my bad, my bad.” He drove the APC out of blast distance. “The roof—the roof—the roof is on fire! We don’t need no water, let the motherfucker burn! Burn motherfucker, burn!” “Kong, fetch HoverCam-2.” “Already there, Voe.” “Mbili, where is Rick Layne?” Mbili stared at the POV monitor for HoverCam-1. “He’s prowling in Aquatic Park.” “Kong—“ “Oh, we’re there, Voe, we’re there.” The Weird Furies left the APC and moved into position to track and kill Rick. Kong was watching him on HoverCam-1. Two men were kissing in a Triumph TR6 as he crept upon them. “Uh oh,” he said. “It’s pleasure time for the pleasure boys.” Rick was deciding how to kill the men as we closed distance. He was ready to attack when, like a little harbinger from hell, the puppy dog appeared, poking its way past a Honda with frosted windows, limping toward him with one paw suspended. No more than two meters from the VIRV, it stopped, sniffed then barked. The men were distracted and the moment they saw Rick, the Triumph roared and kicked gravel. “Kong, notify team leader to terminate target.” “Gladly, Voe. 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 Aquatic Park. Then Moja and Tatu appeared, not like ghosts, nor VIRVs nor anything this parasite ever seen before. They were just there, leaving no evidence of where they been before. In light speed gestures, I appeared in the same manner, and then two of the complement disappeared, like apparitions beyond the imagination. Incrementums. Why didn’t Charun warn me about them? “He did not warn you because he wanted you dead.” I answered. The VIRV turned to make his escape but found two of my associates behind him. He thought about jumping into the elongated lake, swim furiously, jump the fence, then play chicken across the interstate, but then he noticed the half-submerged APC closed his last route to freedom. The coaxial turreted machine gun was auto-locked on the VIRV as he watched the amphibious machine crawl onto dry land. Kong activated the halogens that blinded Rick Layne for a moment. He crawled out of the BTR-80, entered the turret and cocked the machine guns. “Remember me, bitch?” The VIRV squinted. “Who are you?” “Kong.” “Zeffie’s ex-boyfriend?” “That’s right asshole. Here to bust a cap in your ass and blow your balls clean off.” “Fuck you, Kong.” The VIRV tried to attack but Kong’s first burst of machine gun fire hit Rick in shoulder and spun the him. His second burst was in the buttocks and, as a result, he was thrown face down into the mud. “You feel that, you bastard? I told you I’d bust a cap in your ass! Oh my, he’s getting up. That a boy, be a man. Get up and take your medicine, bitch.” “Well, Mbili, how should we end this?” Mbili recited. “Let Hercules himself do what he may.” “The cat will mew,” Moja added. “And dog will have his day.” Tatu knelt down beside the puppy that huddled close to her. “And the day for this little dog,” she petted the dog, “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 had nothing left. He dropped to his knees then fell back into the muddy grass. “You like violent penetration or will this change your mind?” Tatu shot him with her Desert Eagle, his body jerked 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,” the furies pumped their shotguns, “is what you get.” They shot him again, point-blank. The buckshot tore through his body, rupturing organs, shattering bones to a degree that they could not be restored. 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 Incrementums walk away into the waning darkness. As though by our command, the clouds dissipated. As I seated myself in the APC, I could see that helpless VIRV in my mind. The California sun will cut a path of deep orange above Grizzly Peak and then the blade would wax and consume him. His loss of blood and severe wounds, disabled his ability to move, to find the dark solace. It occurred to him that we left him in Aquatic Park to die by fire, solar cremation. Rick would reduced to putrid, black sludge after the beams of light were through with him. Kong was back in the pilot’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 Kong on his shoulder. “Not like you thought it would be.” “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 killed a man like that before. One shot, one final cut and the man was gone. These things? Like energizer bunnies on steroids.” “It wasn’t a man you killed today. It was a thing, a rabid animal that abused natural resources. You will adapt to killing VIRVs. I assure you.” “Maybe. But if we find Zeffie, 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.” His voice broke. “She was everything to me. Everything. We were gonna have a family. Just one awful phone call messed things up.” “Understood.” Kong turned to me and with realization in his eyes. “You thrive on this. It’s like you’re on a mega-mission to kill every dead bastard you see.” I thought it was a poignant question for a mortal. “We have our peculiarities.” Kong 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, Kong. I made a promise.” “To whom?” He asked. “To someone.” I thought of The One Who Bore Me. “Someone meaningful.” Meanwhile, the partially dismembered Rick Layne lay pondering mortality when he heard the happy yelp of the puppy he kicked. It was sniffling around him, licking undead blood from the fountain in his chest, and teething on his intestines. Tatu ran back to find her new little friend. She picked up the puppy; put it under her Teflon trench coat. The dying VIRV stared direct into the glowing eyes of the Incrementum. 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 just above his nose. He watched her until she shot him in the face, for good measure. |
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