Hello wipsters and welcome to another ‘Work In Progress’ Wednesday. As most of you know, I’m on vampires at the moment… and things are about to start hotting up.
Good As Dead
The basement was located down a series of thick, limestone steps that had been heavily weathered by age. The indentations of a thousand footsteps had worn a path through the middle of them, and he almost skidded down them in his hurry to reach the bottom. He had already forgotten all about Lainey, and there was nothing left but the desire to annihilate all and everything that came his way. Stripping off the pair of jeans and shoes that he had been wearing, he replaced them with leather pants and heavy, leather boots. He then pulled a bulletproof vest over his arms, because he didn’t fancy the idea of too many more holes today, and shrugged a thick, black sweater over the top of it.
He had many things to be thankful for. His body was freshly replenished and whole, he’d had a good, albeit drug-induced, rest, and the adrenaline running through his body was now at an all-time high. He couldn’t wait to snap some necks and get to the bottom of this infernal mess. Why HQ would want him to protect a witch was anybody’s guess, and unless he received some answers soon, things were going to get rather interesting around these parts.
Placing a tactical belt around his waist, and a pair of black kevlar gloves in the waistband of his trousers, he was now fully dressed. He didn’t have a lot of time to consider equipment and ammo, but the usual rules applied. He would carry as much as he could. Hanging a series of throwing stars off his belt, he holstered two full-tang combat knives on each lower leg. Two Sig Sauer P226 Blackwater pistols were placed around each thigh, and an HK416 assault rifle was placed diagonally upon his back. That was the easy part.
Outside, he placed the sprinkler system on full whack letting it spray for three precious minutes, before he used two slates tiles from the roof to rip up the lawn. He was creating a wet and muddy playing field. Anything that would hinder their movements would give him the precious seconds he needed in order to pick them off. There was a dip to the ditch at the rear of the garden, and it would give him an excellent place to set up his rifle. Though his body would be half in the water, the cold wouldn’t affect him, and it would help disguise his smell. When or if he managed to get through the first wave, he could then start the wet work. He’d just have to hope he was in a good enough state to take on a few vamps and live to tell the tale.
Having been alive for more than two thousand years, and having fought in numerous bloody and gruesome wars, he wasn’t troubled by his conscience. He’d seen death and destruction in all of its glorious and ghastly forms, and he spent the better part of a hundred years practising the art of killing. He’d moved on from shields and swords, but the mechanics were still the same. Never take your eye off your enemy and plan ahead when possible.
Moving around the pitch-black garden, he added a few finishing touches before secreting himself in his hidey-hole. Guillaume would be down to help him soon, but for now, he was on his own and the only thing he needed to do was stay still and wait silently.
Looking up at the Chateau, he noted Lainey’s room was still in darkness. He couldn’t puzzle her out. Why would she drop in exhaustion in order to heal a vampire who couldn’t be killed? Was she concerned for her own safety? Had she healed him to protect herself? There weren’t many people left in the world capable of killing him, but he guessed she didn’t know that. Maybe she just needed to do her good deed for the day? He didn’t know and he didn’t care. He’d deal with the witch issue later, when he didn’t have more ‘pressing’ concerns. Blessedly, he didn’t have too long to mull over the intricacies of the female form because the first platoon of goons was marching down the drive. Firing a bright white flare up into the air to guide them straight to him, he was strangely anxious for the games to begin. Looking up into the sky, and admiring the luminescent full moon that resided over him, he decided it wasn’t a bad evening to die.
When they came at him, it was from all directions, and all at once. There were swarms of them, with a familiar look of hunger in their eyes that would never be sated while they remained half-alive and half-dead. Once again he became the cold-blooded monster that centuries of death, disease and heartache had created.
Even though he could hear them coming, their feet squelching through wet mud as they began churning up the ground, he waited. His finger was perfectly still on the trigger and his body was as rigid as stone. He wanted to get them all in one place and herded neatly up, because as soon as Guillaume padlocked the gates, there would be no escape. No one would be running home to tell tales to their master.
It wasn’t until they were about five feet away from him, that he released the first onslaught of bullets and the first surge of bodies went down. He didn’t care about killing them at this point, he could do that later, but he most certainly wanted them incapacitated. The bodies immediately fell into those behind and began to create a Mexican wave effect, and the resulting chaos stilled the onslaught for a second, which was all that he needed. Looking out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the tall iron, electric gates clanged closed. Perfect. Now the real work could begin.
Flicking the switch of the small remote detonator in his pocket, he counted to three and then watched as the ground before him spewed up in giant geysers of mud and flames. The shockwave of the blast jerked his body upwards and the smell of nitroglycerin and burning ash permeated the air. Bits of shrapnel sprayed everywhere and those that weren’t taken down directly, were momentarily blinded by the spray of earth. Firing off round after round, his rifle took care of the survivors. As soon as the earth returned to it’s resting place, and there was no one visible left standing, he re-holstered and shot up into the trees behind.
The kevlar gloves stopped the bark shredding his fingers as he raced his way to the top, narrowly avoiding a bullet from an enterprising minion. All he needed to do was pluck the guy from his perch with his superior strength, and let him fall heavily to the ground below. Taking out his pistol, he finished the broken body off, and began weaving in and out of the treetops as he finished the stragglers off. Thanks to his vampiric eyes, the smallest movements were like bright red beacons to his senses, and when he’d finally cleared the giant garden, all he had to contend with was a pair of glowing red eyes.
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