C.O.T.V.H. (Book 1): Creation (7 page)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hi," Jake said, nervously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“
Stakes?” John asked looking through the duffel.

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

John nodded. “Thanks Pop. This will work fine.”

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

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

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

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

Cort nodded. “Go find Julia.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His mouth full of bacon and bread Jake nodded yes.

"How much did your daddy tell you?"

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

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

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

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