C.O.T.V.H. (Book 3): Extermination (8 page)

"You bloodsucking son of a . . .” John clenched his teeth.  “You have no idea of the man you just killed.  He was like a father to me!"

Again Pearl threw her head back in laughter, "I've walked this earth for over one hundred years! Do you have any idea how many thousands of your kind I've feasted on? You are little more than a snack to me!"

John sneered. "You stupid bitch.  I've cut the heads off of far older vampires than you.  Do you have any idea how many of your kind I've turned to ash?!  I’m John goddamn Bishop!"

Jake struggled to stay conscious as his father argued with the vampire now attached to him. 

"I know exactly who you are John Bishop!” she said with an evil grin.  "Look back at every tragic moment in your life and you’ll see me looking back at you!  You never found your friend’s head did you?  The
other
Williams . . . Terry, you called him.”

“You lie!”  John yelled.  “I killed the grunt that killed Terry.”

“You stupid Hunter,” she sneered.  “You killed who I wanted you to kill.  I was hiding in the attic just waiting for one of you to walk by so I could snag myself a little trophy,” she laughed even harder then suddenly stopped.  “Say, did you ever find your wife's body?  I'll admit there wasn't much left of her when we were done.  Just a few scraps for the coyotes really."

"You killed my Mom?!" Jake said, struggling to pull the machete from his belt.  Pearl smacked it away with her hand, knocking it over the landing.

She leaned her head in closer to Jake's neck and ran her tongue across his cheek.  His body shuddered in disgust.  Her tongue was cold as ice and her breath reeked of rotten flesh.  “Mmmm, you taste
just
like her!”

"It was you?"  John said a fire growing in his eyes.  “All this time, Terry, Julia, Billy . . . it was you?”

"It was me," she smirked.  “Did you like my drawings in your photo albums?  I left them just for you John,” she batted her eyes.

"Let the boy go,” John said slowly.  “Then you and I will settle up.  Once and for all."

“No Dad!”  Jake yelled out.  “Don’t do it!  Just get out of here!”

"Tell me Hunter, where is the old Bishop?  Where is Cort?  I smelled his familiar tobacco tainted stench when you first came in.  It's been years since I've had the pleasure of his company.  Where is he hiding?"

"Oh he's around," John said, ever so slightly nodding toward the floor below.

Three rounds from Cort’s M16 smashed into the little girl's head, splattering brain matter across the wall.  She tumbled to the floor her claws slicing across Jake's chest as she went.

Jake felt liquid fire run throughout his body.  The pain was worse than anything he’d ever imagined.  He just barely hung on to consciousness.  As John ran to his side and pulled him wobbly to his feet, he struggled to get the words out, "Dad . . . Dad!  She's not alone!"

At that moment the younger vampire dropped from the ceiling onto Cort’s back, her skin smoking from the open door and windows on the first floor.

  John put his arm under and headed toward the stairs.  Pearl was already back on her feet.  The wounds to her head completely healed.  She set her sights solely on John and charged.

John fired his shotgun one handed.  The slug tore into her shoulder but didn't stop her.  Just before she hit, John shoved his son out of the way and took the full brunt of her attack.

She slammed into him with the force of a semi, knocking them both down the stairs. His shotgun flew from his grasp over the railing landing out of sight.  Jake fell into the bathroom door knocking it open and landing with his right hand in the bathtub of coagulated blood.  Gritting his teeth he struggled to his feet.  The pain in his chest was absolutely excruciating but he knew his dad and grandpa needed him.  Down below, Cort yelled with rage.

Whipping
The Cleaner
from around his shoulder, Jake stumbled down the stairs.  As he reached the bottom he watched his grandpa gain the upper hand on the younger Maker.  Cort thrust his massive Bowie knife deep into Anna's back.  The bloodied tip stuck out through her ribcage, covering her white night gown in blackish blood.

She struggled, trying in vain to pull it out.  The sun streaming through the open door and windows crisped her skin a dark ashy black.  With a grunt Cort twisted the knife in her back.  She turned spat a mouthful of blood in his face.

The grizzled old Hunter didn't even blink, he spat a mouthful of chewing tobacco back in her eyes and punched her square in the face with his spiked brass knuckles, then reared back and kicked her through the front door.  She screamed a terrible, agonizing cry of pain as she burst into flames.

Pearl rose up from behind the couch her mouth covered in blood.  "ANNA!" she screamed in a gut-wrenching plea.  “NO!”

Jake lifted
The Cleaner,
took aim and fired.  The gun clicked.  He'd forgotten to eject the empty shell.  Pearl took advantage of his mistake and leapt up to the ceiling.

"Dad?!" Jake called out for his father, frantically searching the room.

"John!  Where are you son?!"  Cort yelled.

Jake spotted his size sixteen boots sticking out from behind the couch where Pearl had been hiding.  "Grandpa!  Over here!" he said stumbling over to John's unmoving form.

"Dad?" Jake said, quietly touching his shoulder.

John's throat and chest were covered in blood.  His eyes opened a tiny bit and barely above a whisper, he said, "Pop, get Jake out of here." His eyes closed and his body spasmed so violently he broke three fingernails off on the scarred hardwood floor. 

“Get away from him, Jake!”  Cort yelled grabbed Jake by the back of his vest.

John’s eyes opened wide, his features contorted into something completely unrecognizable.  Long fangs sprouted from his gums, cutting deep into his bottom lip. “Get back!” Cort screamed, jerking Jake to his feet.

"Poppppppp!" John grunted climbing to his feet.  “Jakkke?”

Cort placed himself between the grunt that had once been John and his grandson.

John leapt to his feet in one swift movement, his skin immediately began to burn as the sunlight hit him.  He cried out in pain shielding his face with his hands.

“Dad?”  Jake pleaded, trying to pull away from his grandfather’s iron grip.

John’s eyes locked onto the blood flowing freely from Jake's wounds.  Letting out a loud guttural growl he stalked forward, all but ignoring his burning flesh.

"Get out of here Jake!  Goddamn it run!" Cort yelled pulling his Python.

"Dad!" Jake screamed.  "NO DAD! NO! NO! NO!" he repeated over and over.  He couldn't believe what had just happened.  He wouldn't.  Not his dad.  Other people got turned, but not
his
father.  He was too good.  Too fast, too strong to be turned!  He was
the
John Bishop!  The man that had walked into the Twister den and come out with over a dozen pairs of fangs in his pocket.

The grunt knocked Cort to the ground with one hand and charged at Jake, the tantalizing smell of blood drawing him in.

John was almost upon him when the bullets from Cort's Python slammed into his back.  John turned and snarled at him then turned his attention back on Jake.

"Kill it Jake!  Kill it!" Cort yelled, emptying the spent rounds from the gun’s chamber.

Jake leveled
The Cleaner,
the very weapon his father had gifted him just hours before, but could not bring himself to fire.

"He's not your dad anymore, Jake!  Kill it!" Cort screamed frantically reloading his gun.

Jake closed his eyes tight and pulled the trigger.  His Dad's skull shattered before him. John's broken body dropped twitching to the floor.

"No!  God please no!" Jake screamed out in anguish dropping to the ground, tears streaming from his eyes.

Cort ran to his side and pulled him up.  "Come on son, we gotta go.  Did you see where the Maker went?"  Jake couldn't answer him.  "Damn it boy where's Pearl?" Cort said shaking him.

Jake snapped out of his momentary trance and shook his head.  "I . . . I . . . don't know . . . I didn't see . . ." a growl from above answered Cort's question.  They both looked up to see her crawling across the ceiling trying to stay out of the sun's rays.

"Get out Jake!  Get out now!" Cort said pushing his wounded grandson toward the door.  He grabbed the shotgun from Jake's hand and covered their retreat, firing at the girl.

Both men broke out into the sunlight.  Jake leaned against the truck panting, grabbing at his shredded chest.  Cort jerked his knife free from the still smoldering skeleton of Anna and with one hard chop separated her skull from the spine.  He held it high into the air so Pearl could see it.  She roared an anguished cry of pain and hatred from inside the house.

Cort tossed the skull into the bed of the truck then reached over the side.  Jake couldn't see exactly what he was doing but when he came back he had two large whiskey bottles filled with gasoline in his hands.  He stuck rags into both and whipped his Zippo lighter out of his pocket igniting them both.  The first, he tossed through the front door, the second through a window upstairs.  "Take that you blood sucking bitch!" he yelled at the house.

"Cort!  You bastard!  You killed my sister!  I'll drain you like I drained your precious son!  I will kill everyone you've ever loved!  Everyone you've ever cared for!  I will make the boy my slave!" she yelled back at him.  “You will be the last, Cort!  I promise you!  YOU WILL BE THE LAST!”

Both men watched through the doorway as the flames began to engulf the house.  The last sight Jake saw before Cort heaved him into the truck was the broken, deformed face of his dad staring back at him. 

Chapter 4

Cort

Patricia, TX

September 10, 2001 9:56am

Cort pulled the red Ford out of the drive, his foot pushing the gas pedal all the way to the floor.  The pickup fishtailed down the dirt road as dark smoke billowed from the broken windows of the house behind them.  Jake turned in his seat unable to take his eyes from it.  Flames, fueled by the high West Texas winds, danced across the dry wood consuming all it touched.

What the hell just happened?!
  Cort screamed inside his head. 
John!  Please god, not John!

Cort had always known death.  It came with the life he’d chosen.  Hunters died, that was a cold hard fact.  However he’d never dreamed that John could be taken down.  He was one of the best Hunters to ever live.  It was almost too much for his mind to bear. 

He knew without a doubt if Jake hadn’t been with him he never would have left that house.  He would have gladly met his end with Pearl at the end of his blade.  At least he would have taken her with him. But he had to keep Jake safe.  That’s what John would have wanted. 
That
was his dying wish.

"We've got to go back!" Jake yelled.  "We can't just leave him there!"

"You're dad's dead, Jake," Cort said, trying his best to remain calm but doing a poor job of it.  His hands gripped the wheel in a white knuckle grip.

"Dead?  Dead!" Jake screamed.  “Grandpa, I saw him!  I saw his face looking back at us!  And we just left him there!  He’s still alive!  We have to go back!"

Cort didn't say a word.  He wanted to reassure him that everything would be okay; he just couldn’t bring himself to lie.  Things would never be okay again. 

Without warning Jake grabbed the steering wheel, jerking the truck off the road, across a small ditch, and into a bone dry cotton field.  Cort, fighting for control, slammed on the brakes.

Before the truck had even come to a complete stop, Jake had opened the door and had fallen out.  Blood poured from the open wounds in his chest but he crawled, digging his hands into the hard dirt, trying desperately to get back to the burning house. 

Cursing, Cort ran around and picked him up off the ground, realizing for the first time the extent of his injuries.  "Jake, damn son, you're bleeding all over the place."

Laying him gently on the front seat, Cort ripped the shredded vest off then unzipped the body suit.  He couldn't believe what he saw underneath.  It was as if Jake hadn't even been wearing body armor. His chest and right shoulder were pouring blood from eight different wounds.

Cort tossed the vest into the backseat and pulled the body suit down to Jake’s waist, then grabbed the first aid kit from under the front seat.  "We've got to take care of this Jake, but this . . . this is way beyond my skill."  He did his best to stay calm as he cleaned the wounds with alcohol causing Jake to yell out in pain.  He hastily bandaged the wounds by wrapping one large gauze roll around his chest several times.  “That will have to do for now.”  Cort said wiping his sweaty brow with the back of his hand.

"Grandpa . . . please . . . we can't just leave him," Jake pulled at his grandfather’s shirt.  “Please don’t leave . . .” his eyes rolled back in his head.

"Stay with me kid!"  Cort yelled cradling his head in both hands.  "Damn it boy!  I'm not losing you too!  Stay with me!"  Jake's color was pale as death.  The Maker’s venom coursed through his blood stream, poisoning every organ. 

It didn’t look good, but Cort knew he couldn't take him to a hospital.  With the fire, the cops would be poking around, asking questions and he didn’t have the answers to give them. No, the only option was to get him home and get him help there.  Cort patched the wounds as best as he could then strapped Jake into his seat and shut the passenger door.

"Just hold on, kid.  Hold on!" he said climbing into the driver’s seat.  The black smoke filled the sky behind them.  The local fire department would be on the way soon, if it wasn't already.  He had to move and move fast.  With his right hand he adjusted the rearview mirror from his son's much taller height and for the first time noticed the vampire blood covering his face.

Reaching into the backseat he grabbed his canteen then leaned out the door and poured the lukewarm water over his face and hair until there was only drops coming out. When he was done he pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and rubbed rigorously until all the blood was gone.