Removals

Part One

Handel W. Care

Stupid, blood gorged, they still move faster than is humanly possible with the wounds they've just sustained. Thankfully I'm well trained, with a fair dose of genetic advantage, and the rest of the clip doesn't hurt the odds much either. They're down in a heartbeat - mine, being the only living being in the room - and the damage is enough for me to take time for a bit of artistry on the swings that remove their heads. Good, hefty weight in the machete, and I'm stronger than I look. Young, their mortal spans as yet hardly touched, the bodies remain looking like a pair of corpses. After so many times with dust, fire or some kind of gloop it gets to be unsettling when they still look like people. I'll have to get them to a roof or something - no matter what the age, the sun will take care of clean up duty if it can get to them.
"Who's a nasty mess, then," I say, picking up the heads and depositing them in one of the plastic rubbish sacks I carry for just such a grisly detail. It's a blessing that the bastards are made to contain blood rather than spill it, so there's little real worry of messy spillage. Trails of blood are a pretty embarrassing sort of thing to leave behind, even if they're going to fade away in next to no time. I like to think of myself as a professional; I prefer to not have the sun clean up after me if I can particularly help it.
Heads in bag I cover the upper halves of the bodies in similar garb and lift one onto my shoulder. This'll be a two time journey - I can't be too laden down, and my strength does have it's limits. The north stairwell is the closest and I make good time, the adrenaline still pumping through my veins urging me to ignore common sense and take the stairs at more than two a time. Used to the rush I simply grin at myself and stolidly walk upwards at a rate that borders just short of the suicidal. After six stories I'm not even breathjing hard, and the lock on the roof door fails pathetically easily beneath my booted foot.
Out in the fresh air I pause a moment to breathe in the freedom, after the rank, oppressive atmosphere within the building. There's plenty of clear area out of direct sight of the exit or any overlooking windows and I dump the remains with no ceremony, straightening up with a sigh. It'll be hours before the sun gets to them and I'll, hopefully, have been in bed for at least half that time by then.
A muffled thump startles me and I see the second corpse land beside its own head and that of its comrade.
"Thought we'd save you a trip."
Brusque but amused, the voice is unquestionably male and frighteningly close. Cursing myself internally I maintain the control to turn slowly, mastering my features into what I hope is a nonchalant expression. It's not very often someone gets the jump on me, even vampires - a gut instinct sort of sixth sense cuts in that's saved me from more than one sneak attack in the past - so I'm suitably impressed that the guy who managed it is so big. Standing full in the light of moon and stars, he's somewhere over six feet, filling out his casual, utilitarian clothing - jeans, t-shirt, jacket, boots - with the sort of dynamic muscle mass that you don't get from simple gym workouts. I could hit this guy with everything I've got and he'd just laugh at me... like he's doing now. A grinning mouth looks like it's holding back a chuckle, while above it a pair of eyes waver between green and blue as I move my head slightly - almost glowing, throwing the illumination from street lights below and the celestial orbs above back like an animal's would. Quite lovely; quite inhuman.
"What do you want?" It's an effort to pull away from those eyes, but I've been caught that way before and there's no one to pull my butt out of the fire this time. Staring at his pale, shadowed chin might not be the most polite or powerful stance, but it'll save me any mesmerism problems, although he doesn't look the sort. Probably rips people into jellymeat with his bare hands. Wanting to avoid that sort of involuntary restructuring whenever possible I grasp the stock of the Uzi I've been gradually moving my hand towards since he spoke, thanking God and anal training habits that I reloaded.
"Not that, thanks all the same," he says, hand over mine on the gun. I gasp. There was a good five metres between us less than a second ago; I can't remember anything of his movement, must have blinked. The power latent in his grasp is immense; he could easily crush my hand and the gun itself into pulp. "More than enough metal in my diet."
"Back off." A little ragged around the edges maybe, but the best I can do under the circumstances. Surprisingly he accedes, holding the clip in his hand prominently, and returns to his previous position. Sure, there are other clips, but I get the feeling I'm not getting a second chance. Then either he lets me catch a glimpse of what's beneath the exterior or I get 'lucky'; the bet is on the former, I didn't catch more than a hint in close vicinity, with him touching me. He's over a hundred, easy, just a veneer of man over the thing inside. If I'd felt this a moment ago I'd have panicked and gone for my secondary weapon, no matter what he did to my hand. Just as well I was ignorant of the amount of shit I was in or I would've got myself killed. Of course, now I know I'm still bang smack in the dung heap, only slightly less likely to freak out at the smell.
"There's no need for any further violence. We're not here to hurt you."
Another man. I'd forgotten the 'we' appellation. Only two, or have I somehow walked into a pack of them?
He walks slowly into my field of view, hands held out to show peaceful intent, and halts at the side of his... friend, master, servant or whatever. This one is even more human looking and at second glance might be mistaken for a breather even by me. Shorter by a few inches he's well built, without the predatory sinewy mass of the other, more edging towards the brute range, but maintaining a controlled grace. I find myself seeking out his face in the moonlight to check for that cat like luminous effect in the eyes, halting myself and staring at a point between the two only after I've failed to catch the slightest glimpse of colour. Maybe he's younger or just warier, it's hard to tell, I get jack shit in the vibes department.
"Speak for yourself. In fact, keep it to yourself for the time being. You're only along in an observer capacity anyway, remember?" The big one's voice growls over the rooftop, harmonics that make my stomach sink and throat go dry.
"Terribly sorry, Badger. Do carry on." A bantering tone, as of an equal. They are friends, I decide. His inflection is quite melodic; I'll bet his eyes are the sort to avoid at all costs.
"Thank you ever so, Handel." Definitely friends - amusement and the switch to a full British accent that was only hinted at before. Real voice? Old voice? My head swims and I realise I've been maintaining the flight or fight reflex for so long now that my legs are starting to get shaky from inactivity. Simply standing still is a horrendous effort.
"Look, I've already asked you once - what do you want?" Shifting from foot to foot helps a bit, and the exasperation I feel gets out in my words. No way I can get out alive unless they want me to, or I manage to keep them talking till the sun comes up. Hey, it worked for Gandalf, but unfortunately these two don't seem as slow on the uptake as trolls.
There's a flash of too white teeth as pretty voice, Handel, bares his fangs for no obvious reason and then big guy Badger's talking. I listen, and I'm not liking what I hear. Helping vamps really isn't a good habit to get into when you're usually doing quite the opposite, but, one, I haven't got that much of a choice really, they make it quite clear that they know my routine, where my friends and family are, and two, it looks like a distinct case of the enemy of my enemy being my friend. They're after the source of the shit that's been occurring just the same as I like to think I am, and they've even got a name for it - diabolism. Seems that some bloodsuckers don't think that they've got enough of a bonus with the living forever, running faster, hitting harder and suchlike and decide to grab more power by making deals with actual demons. Funky.

Birds chirping rouse me before the alarm clock. Morning chorus never sounds better than the morning after a successful mission, even if I'm hearing it from only a few hours sleep. Whoever invented morning lectures should be psychoanalysed by first years for his crimes. There's that extremely tempting urge to just roll over and shrug off classes, but with so few in some of my papers I know I'm gonna be missed. Bugger. I'll have a nap in the afternoon.

Campus looks cleaner than usual. It's probably the water from the showers just before dawn and the lack of undergrads out in the quadrangle . They're clustered inside with their coffees today as the seats are too wet for their sorry little backsides. Only a few smokers brave the dampness, their addiction and the university's policy forcing them to crouch awkwardly or sit on their bags as they pollute the air. Sod them, they should get a more socially considerate habit, like setting themselves on fire. Even glancing at them makes the promising day seem dirtier. Woohoo. Am I a morning person or what?

Lectures crawl by and free time is over all too fast. With a couple more hours of sleep and another shower under my belt I feel almost sentient, which could be useful when meeting with two killers. They said they'd find me, wherever I am, and I'm tempted to see how good they are. Sitting in the cathedral could prove to be amusing, or driving out to one of the small townlets outside the main city, but playing with these guys is likely not in my best interests, or that of others, I guess. Responsibility rears its ugly head again. The library will have to do, and I can check through the 133's for any insights on demonic pacts and the like.

What I take to be an older student or maybe a young lecturer catches sight of my stack of books. Our eyes meet and he gives me a boyish grin which immediately makes me think I've overestimated his age. Beards can be tricky like that.
"Boning up, eh?" A deep, pleasant timbre.
I begin to smile back, then catch myself as memory cuts in to remind me that this is neither the time nor place to socialise and change it to a perfunctory nod. Nice eyes, like a storm at sea, stay with mine as I pass on by to find a spare study desk. The voice wraps around the inside my head, tickling at certain areas until I swing around in my chair to see him standing with what is unmistakably Badger. I guess I just didn't get a good enough look last night.
"Very funny. Any other clever little tricks you want to pull," I say in hushed tones - it being a library, after all - as they take seats across the desk from me.
"Not just presently, Miss Clark, and that one wasn't intentional. Well, not entirely anyway."
Handel - it sounds German, but he certainly doesn't - grins again, and he looks perfectly human. None of the preternatural stillness, none of the aura they sometimes give off. Badger - that name has to be false - is pretty much the same, only he's too dangerous looking to get away with it quite as easily. His eyes catch the light and they're just eyes, but his skin has the pale sheen I've learnt to look for. That makes me feel a little bit better. I try not to wonder how long they've been watching me. I also decide to let the 'Miss' get by, who knows what decade this guy was infected?
"Carrie is just fine, thanks. Shall we get to it? Where's this place you want me to break into?"
They also smell faintly of beer, I realise as they take turns talking. Weird.

Underground tunnels seem far too B-grade for my liking, but I did know they were down here, at least. What with all the science buildings we have it makes it a tad easier to organise the plumbing, gas lines and so on. It's kind of creepy, not in the upcoming meeting with demonic vampires way, but because a friend told me once how they got rid of their radioactive waste water for some experiment or another - flush it down the sink with plenty of water. Then there was the tale about how Ecology had a leak and a whole corridor had to be closed off and cleaned up because the stuff was giving off rads. Sure New Zealand is nuclear free, yeah right. And the public gets weird about irradiated foods. Sheesh. Anyway, I'd rather go down in a bloody mess than die of cancer. Personal preference.
Wandering along like this is hard on the knees of the Works and Services overalls and the knees themselves. Damn those two. Wards or no wards. I scrub another one apart with the solution that I mixed up from various detergents and wonder when the boys will be making their appearance. Some backup would be nice. Sure I'm not a vamp, so these sigils don't do diddly to me, but I'm willing to bet that their erasure will eventually ring some kind of alarm bells. Once again I curse the fact that this couldn't have been done during daylight hours when the danger would at least be lessened for your truly, but I suppose that would have been too easy. They probably didn't even think of it, despite their protestations of human agents and guards and so on. In this teeny access tunnel? I think not.
There seems to be light up ahead, so I cut the torch power after checking the walls a little further and travel on into the steadily increasing glow. Electric light, something of a let down when one has been expecting bale fire, but perfectly serviceable. They seem to have set up shop in the bowels of one of the towers, it's quite a large area.
Clambering out of the overalls I make sure my varied weaponry is where it should be and prepped and ready, then ease down the metal rungs to the floor. The concrete is fairly dry, making for good footing, but I wouldn't want to try anything flash when it's wet. Without the sun for God knows how long it'll have fungi type stuff or their remnants scattered on it, I can smell it even if I can't see it - just add water for a really slick ride.
"Ah. The sacrifice. As expected."
If Badger's voice is gravelly then this one is down into bedrock and looking for oil. Up on top of a piece of cloth covered machinery stand three of them, looking fairly scary, I must admit. Two are vamps and the other looks awfully human despite, or perhaps because of, his sickly expression and poor personal hygiene. He's also cackling quietly to himself. Not a good sign. Of the other two the line in clothing is a good deal tidier, but their manicurist should be shot. Nasty big rippy claws, all the way. Must be hell when they've got an itch.
Since they were kind enough to make such wonderful targets of themselves I decide to cut with the pleasantries and get straight to it . Smiling serenely, I raise the guns and pull back on the triggers. There's a cold moment of disbelief as absolutely nothing happens, then I try again. Again, nothing. I drop the useless things and pull out my pistol, hoping for head shots before they can get to me. Deja vu hits, and it's the only thing that does - another jam. This is ridiculous.
Laughter falls upon me in a wave and I see the foremost of the vampires pat the dishevelled human on the shoulder, as one would a dog. Then there's the sound of a shot and the human is headless, falling as bloody pulp splatters over the other two. For a moment I glimpse Badger putting his rifle down as the vampires disappear in a flurry of speed, then something knocks me back into the unyielding wall and I can do little but view the proceedings, stunned. 

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Part Two

1