A Vampyre's Sunrise, Jeff Schanz [best summer books .txt] 📗

Brandt’s hand pressed against a garden hose and he reflexively grabbed onto it. The attacker was on top, so Brandt's first move was to twist and thrust his body away, tipping whoever was on top of him to the side. Brandt was able to look up for the first time and see his attacker.

A gaunt black man looked down. The man’s face was tense and trembling with unnatural rage. His wild eyes were tomato red. Spittle flew from his lips as he pressed the shotgun lengthwise across Brandt’s throat trying to choke him. Though Brandt was a strong man, and outweighed and overmatched his attacker in size, the attacker was matching his strength. Brandt swung a fist to topple the man, but the man blocked it easily with his own arm. The impact felt like hitting iron. He had felt something similar once before when he grappled with Mikhail’s assassins. They had been juiced up on Mikhail’s elixir and had incredible strength and healing ability. This one? Seemed similar but looked different. Rabid eyes, like a desperate animal driven to kill without reason. The crazed man reached back to bludgeon Brandt with the shotgun held in his fist like a club, but Brandt already had something in motion. The water hose had been in his hand, complete with metal spray nozzle, and the nozzle struck the man in the head. It wasn’t a severe blow but it made the man jerk to the side. That was enough for Brandt to buck the guy off and yank himself backward.

Brandt’s pistol was closer to the attacker than himself, so he kept the hose in his hand and focused on getting to his feet. The enraged man charged. Brandt had little time to make a plan, but he already had one. The hose coil was behind the charging man, and Brandt had the end of the hose. As the berserker ran, teeth clenched, drool flying, Brandt ducked right and dove forward, yanking the hose taut. A club-like blow glanced off the back of Brandt’s neck, not enough to stagger him, and too late for the rampager to try again. The hose tangled against the man’s legs, sending him stumbling onto his knees. Brandt hadn’t done any damage, and hadn’t bought himself more than a few seconds of time, but that might be enough.

“Tom!” Brandt yelled.

The pistol was a step away now, so Brandt lunged for it, got it, and brought it up trained on the now standing man. Any normal aggressor would’ve measured his chances and found them to be poor after seeing his opponent with a loaded gun pointed at him, but the crazed man didn’t seem to acknowledge his own peril. He brandished the shotgun in both hands, still like a club rather than a gun. Brandt’s mind worked quickly. Two shells had already been fired. Some shotguns have pumps to load more shells, but this one didn’t have a pump handle. It just had two barrels and a flat, wooden handgrip. No shell tube below. The shotgun wasn’t loaded. The nose of Brandt’s gun lowered. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do, but he preferred the guy be alive for questioning. However, the man didn’t seem to have the same concerns and charged at Brandt again.

Two sharp sounds pierced Brandt’s ears. Gunshots. The charging man lost his balance and fell to his left. Brandt swung his head in the direction the shots came from and saw Tom holding a smoking revolver. Tom favored a .38 Special loaded with hollow points. The shells held a lot of powder, so there was a significant bang, and the hollow points flattened inside the target so the slug’s momentum would translate into more knockdown power. Tom had run around the side of the house and drilled the crazed man while moving. Nice shooting. Tom halted with this revolver still pointed at the man, who was trying to rise again.

“You all right?” asked Tom.

“Yeah,” said Brandt. “He jumped me, but…”

The man was already up and was running at Tom, barely fazed by being shot, and even more enraged, with bloodshot eyes bulging out of their sockets. He pointed his shotgun at Tom despite its lack of bullets. Tom squeezed the revolver’s trigger. The hammer eased back.

“Tom, No!” yelled Brandt.

The feral man was a body length away from Tom. Tom held a firm stance as the gun fired. The feral man’s head snapped back, followed by his body. His shoulders crashed to the ground, the arms flailed and flopped like dead weight. Bits of brain, bone, and blood peppered Brandt. The man’s body bounced and twitched for a short moment, then he lay still.

Tom finally let out a breath, his chest heaving for the first few inhales that followed. It had probably been a while since he had killed a man. But kill a man, he did. The last shot was dead center of the man’s forehead. The wild attacker was still, his dead eyes stared up at the infinite sky in unblinking rapture.

“Tom,” said Brandt, with no plan for a follow-up word.

Tom nodded. He kept his revolver pointed at the dead man for a few more seconds, then lowered it. His breathing calmed.

Brandt kept his own weapon trained on the fallen man, just in case this guy had more elixir-like surprises. But in Brandt’s experience, even elixired-up guys didn’t survive shots to the brain. This one didn’t either. Brandt checked the pulse.

“He’s gone,” said Brandt.

Tom nodded again.

“Was it your Jamir guy?” asked Brandt.

“Probably. I haven’t seen him in a while, but it resembles him.” Tom tucked his gun back into his shoulder holster. “Damnit!” he exclaimed.

Brandt picked up the shotgun. He had been right, there were no shells left. Defending against it as a club wasn’t going to require deadly force. Although, to be fair, a juiced-up elixir man had amazing strength and was lethal with his bare hands, so – Brandt didn’t know. It just sucked that the only answers they were going to get from this guy would come from his autopsy rather than his interrogation.

Brandt held up the shotgun. “Empty,” he said.

Tom looked at the gun, seemed to have a frozen moment, then visibly shrunk. “Damnit,” he repeated. “I didn’t know.”

Brandt shook his head. “You couldn’t. There wasn’t time.” Brandt dropped the shotgun and examined the corpse. Tom’s first two shots had hit the guy’s chest. Even on the run, Tom had hit center mass perfectly. Damned good shot. And the hit in the middle of the forehead while the guy was running at him… even better shot.

Tom joined Brandt kneeling next to the corpse.

“Nice shot,” said Brandt pointing at the head wound.

Tom shook his head. “I was aiming at his chest. He dropped his head when he ran at me.”

Brandt was checking for ID, or anything he could find in “Jamir’s” clothing. Tom traced his fingers over the chest wounds.

“Why did he get up? He shouldn’t have gotten up,” said Tom with a faraway voice.

Brandt shook his head. “Probably high on something.”

He finished checking the man’s pockets and found nothing helpful. No ID, no wallet, no receipts, nothing that would offer a lead or a name to either confirm or deny his resemblance to Jamir Davis. Tom produced his cell phone and started dialing.

“Who’re you calling?” asked Brandt.

“Ambulance. I know he’s dead, but it’s procedure. We’ll run him through the formalities, then we can have a good look at him in the autopsy.”

Brandt closed his eyes. He knew something might eventually happen that would force his hand with Tom. The elixir needed to stay hidden, and Brandt’s hoarding of it would be a huge deal, probably a criminal offense if anybody knew. Once someone had a look in the corpse’s system, they would see the anomalies. Knowledge of the elixir would be out in the open. Then the investigation would eventually lead back to Brandt and Lia. Brandt’s only real hope was Tom himself. Tom was a high ranking official in the Special Operations Command, an organization whose main job was to do the right things for the right reasons, ignoring U.S. and international law when necessary. In other words, hiding secrets was their livelihood, and Brandt had a whopper. If he couldn’t deal with Tom, Brandt sure as hell wouldn’t be able to deal with anyone else. It was now or never.

“Wait,” said Brandt.

“Why?”

Brandt put a hand on Tom’s cell phone and lowered it. “There’s some things we should discuss first.”

Tom looked confused. “Like what?”

Brandt wasn’t sure where to start. He sighed and stared at the corpse. Tom did too.

A moment later, Tom said, “You have an idea what’s going on here, don’t you?”

“Yeah. A little.”

“You’ve known for a while and haven’t told me.”

Brandt didn’t want to face Tom. “It’s not easy to say. Hell, it’s not easy to believe, or understand.”

“You didn’t trust me?” Tom was trying to keep calm, but the anger and hurt in his voice was obvious.

“I didn’t trust the world, Tom. But right now, I think you might be the only one in the world who can be trusted with this.”

Tom’s anger faded a little. He placed his cell phone in his pocket and looked at Brandt, who returned the look with an intensity that made Tom lean back a little.

“It’s that serious?” said Tom.

Brandt nodded. “And a really long and difficult explanation. In the meantime, do you have a guy you trust to – look at this body without alerting anyone else?”

Tom gave Brandt an appraising look. Brandt had been given the benefit of the doubt up to now, but this was something that could wreck their relationship. If Tom didn’t play along, then Brandt and Lia would be on their own, with Tom as an enemy. And if they played Brandt’s game, it could get Tom fired, or perhaps sitting next to Brandt in a criminal hearing.

“Alright Dekker,” said Tom. “I’m taking a chance on you. Yeah, I’ve got a guy I can trust. We can do this under the table. But if you’re wrong, it’s both our asses.”

“There’s a lot more at stake than that, but I hear ya.”

Tom picked up his cell phone and started dialing. As he did, he said, “We’ll talk on the way back to my office. You’re going to fully clue me in.”

Brandt looked at the corpse and sighed. You’re costing me a lot, you asshole. If somehow Lia became embroiled in this elixir shit again, Brandt would not be able to forgive himself.

“Yeah,” said Brandt.

End of 7 chapter sample.

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Publication Date: 09-07-2020

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