Vampire Seeker (2 page)

A helicopter buzzed overhead, a single beam of light shining from its belly, lighting up the streets below, frantically trying
to locate the killer.

“To all units,” the police scanner crackled in my ear again, “the suspect must still be in the immediate
vicinity.”

“Do we have a description?” another officer asked.

“Not at this time,” the original voice came back, sounding frustrated.

The man in the long dark coat reached the top of Mansell Street, turned left on to Aldgate High Street, and disappeared from
view. With my heart in my throat, and the bottle of holy water in my hand, I quickened my step. I reached the end of the street
and looked right to find the man had disappeared. Then, as a marked police van raced down Aldgate High Street from my right,
I saw the man dart into the entrance of Aldgate Tube Station. Careful not to be hit by a night bus, I raced across the road
and towards the front of the Underground Station.

“We have a suspect running on foot,” an officer screeched through the scanner. Even though I knew they were talking
about me, I couldn’t give a shit. My sole focus was to catch up with that vampire. From over my shoulder, I heard a
police van speed up as it came racing after me.

“STOP!”
a voice hissed, it hadn’t come from the scanner this time, but from the speakers on top of the police van.

I ran on, the entrance to the tube station only yards away now. I was so close, and nothing was going to stop me. I passed
a rubbish bin and threw away the scanner. I didn’t want to be caught with that. Pockets stuffed with cloves of garlic
and a bottle of holy water would be hard enough to explain away if I were to be caught, but a police scanner was illegal and
I would be in all kinds of shit.

The station concourse was empty, apart from a tired-looking ticket collector who stood by the barriers. They were closed,
and I fumbled about in my coat pocket for my Oyster card. The sound of screeching tyres was almost deafening as the police
van stopped outside the entrance to the station. Glancing over my shoulder, I could see the side door fly open as several
coppers clambered out. Each of them wore a military-style helmet, goggles, black overalls, and body armour. I gasped at the
sight of the machine guns they carried in their hands.

“Halt!”
one of them roared, aiming his gun at me.

With a sharp gasp, I looked front and bounded over the closed barrier line.

“Hey, lady!” the ticket inspector called after me. “You need a ticket to travel!”

I headed down the stairs, my boots making snapping sounds which echoed all around me. There was a small over-bridge and I
peered through the grating and down at the platforms. Both were deserted. Then I saw him, standing in the shadows at the end
of the northbound platform.

With the sounds of the officers’ boots thundering down the stairs behind me, I raced along the over-bridge and down
onto the platform. I wanted them to follow me, but not catch me before reaching the man, the killer – the
vampire
. As I reached the platform, my long blond hair billowed back from my head as a tube train rattled out of the tunnel. It stopped,
the doors slid open, and I watched the man quickly step from the shadows and onto the train. I knew that I wouldn’t
reach the front of the train before the doors closed or the cops got me. Darting onto the tube train via the nearest set of
open doors, I looked back to see the armed officers charge onto the platform.

“There she is!” one of them barked, raising his gun.

Not wasting any time, I turned and ran through the empty carriage. There was a beeping noise as the doors slid closed. I glanced
back over my shoulder and could see one of the officers racing alongside the train on the platform, his gun trained on me.

“Stop the train! Stop the train!” he was shouting.

The train pulled away, and I watched the cops who were left behind on the platform. One of them started to bark into his radio.
I looked up at the tube map attached to the carriage wall and could see the next stop was Liverpool Street. I knew that’s
where they would stop the train. Knowing that I only had minutes to reach the vampire, I turned and raced through the carriage.
Reaching the interconnecting carriage door, I yanked it open and paused. For as long as I could remember, I had wanted to
prove the existence of vampires and I never truly knew why. But now, as I was about to fulfil my lifelong dream, I was scared.
It was like the realisation of what I was doing – what I was about to find – hit me, like driving your car head-on
into a wall.

With my heart racing and my stomach doing somersaults, I closed the door behind me and stepped into the next carriage. The
lights flickered off, sending me into darkness. I gasped and gripped the bottle of holy water. The lights came back on and
I peered ahead, searching for the vampire in the empty carriage. I couldn’t see him. With the train rocking from side
to side, I made my way slowly forward. When I reached the end of the coach, I peered through the glass window in the connecting
doors. The next carriage looked empty, too. Where was he? Was he on the train? Had he managed to give the cops and me the
slip, sliding back into the shadows at the end of the platform? Would those cops have even noticed him? They seemed too intent
on chasing me.

The train rattled through the tunnels, its lights flickering on and off, leaving me in darkness for moments that seemed to
last an eternity.

“Hello?” I called out. Now why did I do that? Did I really think he would suddenly appear with a big smile and
ask me how I was doing? I did it because I was scared and couldn’t bear the sound of my own heart beating frantically
with fear inside my chest.

I reached the last adjoining door. There was only one carriage left. Knowing that if the vampire hadn’t given me the
slip and was still on the train, he had to be inside this one, I slowly opened the interconnecting door. The train lurched
left and right as it raced over points in the tunnel. With only minutes to go before we reached Liverpool Street Station,
I scanned the carriage. Like the others, it was empty. Half of me felt cheated that I had come so close, but there was another
part of me that sighed with relief. Even so, I had to make sure. So, unscrewing the lid from the bottle of holy water, I made
my way down the gangway and passed the rows of seats. I glanced back over my shoulder and the other carriages snaked vacantly
behind me.

With my heart racing so fast inside my chest I thought it might just go
bang
, I faced front again. Then I jumped as I saw a brief reflection of someone in the window. For just a second, I thought there
was a pale-faced man inside the tunnel, but my skin turned cold as I realised he was standing right behind me. Before I had
a chance to react, he had grabbed me. With his arm wrapped about my throat, I struggled, gasping for breath. His coat smelt
old and musty.

“Why are you following me?” he breathed in my ear, and his breath felt ice-cold against my cheek.

With my knees just wanting to buckle beneath me with fear, I said, “I know what you are.”

“And what is that?” he whispered, my neck breaking out in gooseflesh.

“You’re a vampire,” I gasped, his arm tightening about my throat. I struggled against him, trying to twist
my neck to the right so I could see his face. With his free hand, he ran one long, white, bony finger down the length of my
cheek. His fingernail felt like a blade.

“Oh, Sammy, you don’t remember,” he said softly in my ear.

“How do you know my name?” I asked numbly, raising the bottle of holy water.

“How quickly you have forgotten,” he teased, and his breath smelt as stale and old as his coat.

The lights flickered out again, and seizing my chance, I jerked my arm backwards, throwing the holy water into his face. I
heard him chuckle softly, and the lights came back on.

“Sammy, you really don’t know who I am, do you?” he said. Although I couldn’t see his face, I knew
he was smiling, and that smile was full of pointed teeth. “Holy water doesn’t work, nor does the garlic I can
smell in your pocket, or the crucifix which glistens between your breasts.”

“What have I forgotten?” I wheezed, as his grip became almost suffocating.

“Let me show you,” he whispered as the train rattled into Liverpool Street Station and the carriage filled with
bright white light…

…The light was intense. I immediately covered my eyes with my hands. It was hot, too – like the hottest summer’s
day. But there was something else. I was lying down on my back and the ground was hard. There was a breeze, but it did nothing
to cool the extreme heat. Slowly, I lowered my hands and squinted up at the bright white sun that shone down from above. I
was looking up into the palest of blue skies. Wisps of cloud covered it like white scars. My throat felt dry, as if I had
swallowed broken glass. Something warm and sticky trickled down the side of my face and I gently dabbed at it with my fingertips.
I pulled them away and they were smeared red.

“Get up!” someone snapped, and grabbed my arm. Their grip was so tight that a bolt of pain exploded up my arm
and it made me feel sick.

I was pulled to my feet, and opening my eyes, I looked down to see the corpses of four men lying at my feet. Their faces were
upturned, and each of them had an angry-looking hole in their foreheads.

“You’ll pay for what you did,” the voice hissed again, and I turned in the direction of it.

A weather-beaten face of a man stared into mine. His skin looked leathery and orange as if he had fallen asleep for several
days on a sunbed. Black whiskers protruded from his chin like needles, and a set of wiry black eyebrows dropped over his piercing
eyes.

“Look what you did to my men!” he barked, and I could see that his top two front teeth were nothing more than
rotten stumps.

I glanced down at the four dead men again and whispered, “Did I do that?” It wasn’t only the sight of the
dead men I found confusing, but the way in which they were all dressed. They looked like cowboys. Each of them wore faded
brown trousers which looked as if they had been cut from a rough cloth. They wore filthy-looking shirts which were tied up
at the front with some kind of string. On their feet they wore leather boots, and around their hips and thighs were fastened
holsters.

“What’s going on?” I asked wearily, feeling as if I had just woken from the worst hangover ever.

“You killed my men,” the man said again. Looking back at him, I could see that he was dressed just like the others.
Then, without warning, he rolled back his fist and smashed it into the bony part of my skull just between my eyes. My head
rocked back, and I lost my footing. I hit the ground, sending up a plume of sand and dust. My brain felt as if it had been
hacked away at with an ice pick. Then, as if my instincts were taking over, I reached for my…

“Looking for these?” the man asked, with a bemused chuckle.

Opening my eyes, I peered up at him, and could see that he was holding two gleaming guns in his hands. They looked as if they
were made of silver, with smooth, wooden handles. Were they really mine? I wondered. I’d never owned a gun before. But
something inside of me wanted to reach out for them, snatch them from him, and hold them in my hands. I could sense how they
would feel in my fists, just the right weight, their smooth, sandalwood handles fitting the inside of my hands like gloves.
I stared up at him, and all at once I could see how I could get them, even though I was on my back and he towered over me.

The man in the odd-looking cowboy outfit pointed the guns down at me, and the sun winked on and off them, reflecting against
the silver barrel. “I’ve a good mind to kill you right now for what you’ve done, you filthy whore, but first
I’m gonna have me some fun.”

He holstered one of the guns, and with his free hand, he started to loosen the knotted length of string that held his trousers
in place. He wobbled awkwardly as he tried to free himself from the front of his trousers and I knew that I was in the crap.
The gun wavered from side to side with excitement. I looked up at him, the whole time my aching brain telling me how I could
still get out if this. It was like my mind belonged to someone else – to someone who knew how to fight, someone who
could handle themselves.

With his free hand disappearing into the front of his trousers, he looked down at me, and with his tongue running over his
two broken teeth, he smiled and said, “Strip.”

Before I’d the chance to say anything, I heard a voice from above me.

“Now that’s no way to treat a lady,” the voice said.

The man with the gun and his hand down the front of his trousers stopped trying to work himself free and glanced up. Cocking
my head to one side in the sand and dust, I looked up to see what appeared to be a priest standing on a small ledge of rock
behind me. He was dressed in black from his boots to the wide-brimmed hat he wore on his head. The only colour was the white
dog collar about his throat and the droopy white moustache which covered his top lip.

“This has nothing to do with you, preacher,” the man said, and spat a ball of phlegm into the sand at the foot
of the rocks. Then, pointing his gun up at the priest, he added: “Now, why don’t you go on your way.”

“Now, I’m just a simple man of the cloth,” the priest said, and his voice was soft as if he was praying
rather than talking. “I can see that you know how to handle a gun, so I’m not looking for any trouble. So just
hand the girl over to me and I shall be on my way.”

“Hand the girl over to you?” the man sneered, taking his hand from the front of his trousers and rubbing the hairs
on his chin. “I tell you what, preacher man – this young girl ain’t no God-fearing sort. She is a born killer
– that’s what she is.”

“She looks like a scared child to me,” the preacher said, the tails of his long black coat flapping in the warm
breeze.

“Did you see what she did to my men?” the man barked, gesturing at the corpses with his free hand. “She
killed all of ‘em. Never seen a woman shoot a gun like that before. No, Father, you pass right on by and let me send
her straight back to Hell.”