C.O.T.V.H. (Book 2): Judgment (11 page)

The group laughed turning Buck’s cheeks bright red.

Whisper spoke up softly.  “Mr. Bishop?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?  What is it?”

“Why doesn’t someone just come forward and tell the world about vampires?  Wouldn’t it make our jobs a lot easier?”

“Little lady, I’ve been asked that question more times than I can count and my answer is always the same.  People aren’t ready for it.  They are scared, fragile things that would murder their first cousin if enough people convinced them they were a threat to their cozy little lives.  Some would even join forces with the vampires if it meant they could be safe.  Look at Nazi Germany.  People would turn in their next-door neighbor at the drop of a hat as long as it meant they could keep what they had.  No.”  He shook his head.  “Society in general enjoys the illusion of safety.  They'd rather sit back and watch their TV shows then face what's really going on."

"That's a really dark way of thinking," Amber said, “I've got a little more faith in mankind than that."

Cort shrugged and again spit into his cup.  "I hope you're right.  I'm just telling you that I don't see it.  Anyway, I'm getting off topic a bit.  Now, even worse than grunts, more deadly, more evil are what we call Makers.  Makers are those that turn humans into either grunts or another Maker.  While grunts can only make other grunts, a Maker can make either.  Some people theorize that the Makers can even read and control the minds of those they control.  Now if you ask me that's a bunch of horse shi . . . eh stuff.  But one thing’s for sure.  Makers are the true source of the disease, the evil . . . the possession, whatever you want to call it.  They are the cause.  One bite, one nibble, and you’re theirs.” 

“Where did the first Makers come from?” Whisper asked again in a very quiet voice.

“No one knows.  They could be mutants, or aliens from another planet, or hell they could be demons sent from the devil himself.  Honestly, we just don't know.  What we do know is that every culture in history has some legends about blood drinkers.  From the Greeks to Romans to Vikings and Native Americans, all around the world as far back as you can go you will find vampires popping up.”

Cort coughed and spit a mouthful of tobacco juice into his cup.  “Now, the thing about Makers is that they are hard as hell to find.  Most times a hunter just runs across one while hunting grunts.  You can’t really track them.  They move around too much.  But when you do find one . . . boy . . . now I'm here to tell you.  A Maker is one tough son of a bitch.  I've seen them literally rip a man limb from limb."

Cort gave Buck a sad glance as if his mind was wandering to a memory from long ago.  He looked away then continued.

"They are hard as hell to kill.  They are faster, stronger, more agile, and much deadlier than even the best Hunter.  They've got claws longer than a cougar's that can cut through damn near anything.  Bullets only slow them down as they tend to regenerate much faster than their grunt counterparts."

"So how do we kill them?" Amber asked.

"You've got to hit them hard, hit them fast and do the maximum amount of damage you can before they get back on their feet,” Cort said, slamming his fist into the table for affect.   "You've got to cut off their heads and even that won't kill them entirely. You've got to pierce their hearts and when all else fails you throw them into sunlight.  It hurts them more than anything else, even slows down their regenerative powers.  You get a Maker into even a few rays of sunlight and you've got a chance.  Now if you miss that chance there's a very good chance you will end up dead."

"Have you lost a lot of friends?" Diana asked.

"Yeah . . . I've lost some friends.  Men I loved like brothers.  Men I fought side by side with, that had more guts in my little finger than all of these drill sergeants put together.  My son's wife, Jake’s mom was like a daughter to me.  It never gets easier.  We live a bloody, sad life.  But that’s not even the worst. The absolute worst is when a brother doesn't die, he turns, and you have to put him down. 

“I’ve seen men that I knew for over twenty years get bitten, then turn into raging lunatics in a matter of seconds.  What can I say . . ." he spit, “it comes with the territory.”

The group grew quiet.  The only sound was Cort spitting tobacco juice into his cup again.  In the past hour, Jake had learned more from his Grandpa then in all their years together.  He understood the old man better than ever before.  Cort patted his knees rhythmically. “Well boys and girls I believe that's enough for now.  I've kept you all here long enough and probably scared you from hunting all together.”  He smiled weakly.  “So go get cleaned up and we will meet back here tomorrow.  Same Cort time, same Cort channel!"

The group chuckled at his bad joke.  Jake rolled his eyes.  "Ah now come on that was funny!"  Cort said, rising to his feet and stretching.  "You kids wouldn't know funny if it bit you on the ass!" he said, laughing even harder.

Jake decided to hang back a bit; he wanted to have a few words with him before calling it a day.  After everyone was gone, he sat back down across from him.  “So how was your trip up?”  He asked.

“Icy,” Cort said.  “How about you?  John told me the Ford’s heater went out right outside of Lubbock.”

Jake shivered at the memory.  “Man it was cold!”

“Really?  I didn’t notice.  Not with my heated leather seats.  I damn near had to strip down to my underwear,”  he laughed.

“Oh ha-ha,” Jake said cracking a smile.  “You’re funny.  If you had just let us drive your Bronco down I wouldn’t have nearly froze to death.”

“Hey don’t blame me!  Blame your Dad.  Why when he was fourteen he drove . . .”

“Drove your ’57 Chevy into Buffalo Springs Lake,”  Jake completed his sentence.  “Do you ever let things go?”

“Why sure!  I let things go all the time!  Like that time you ate all of my potato chips.  I let that go.”

“After two weeks!”  Jake chided.  “And technically I only ate the
last
of your chips.  You ate most of them.”

“Nope.  Whoever eats the last of something is responsible for replacing it.”

“I was twelve!” Jake laughed.  “Grandpa, I swear, you’ll never change.”

“Well, when you’re perfect there is no need.”

“It’s good catching up with you, Grandpa.”  Jake stood up stretching.  “Now if you’ll excuse me . . . I’m going to get my hands patched up, take a shower, and take a coma.”

“Speaking of catching up . . .” Cort nodded to Amber who was now waiting for Jake at the bottom of the stairs.  “Better not leave the lady waiting.” He winked at Jake.

“Good advice.”  Jake winked back.  “I’ll talk to you later Grandpa.”  He rushed down the stairs.

“Hey Amber,” he said when he got close to her.  “Uh, how’s it going?”

“It’s going good.”  She smiled.  “Well, as good as trudging ten miles through melting snow and crawling through icy pipes can be.”

“Crawling through pipes?  Man that’s what they had you guys doing?”

“Yeah, Lt. Perry is a monster.  I’ve never seen such a hardnosed bitch in my life!”

“Her and Drill Sergeant Ortega should get together then.  It would be a match made in hell.  Can you imagine their children?” Jake shuddered.

Amber laughed.  “That bad huh?”

“Yeah.”  He showed her his bloody bandaged hands.  “We chopped wood for hours!  My hands hurt, my legs hurt, heck even my blisters have blisters!”

“Well, hang in there.  You’ll make it Jake.”

“What makes you so sure?” Jake asked.

“I know things about people.”

“Oh really?  What
things
do you know about me?”

“I don’t know.”  She shrugged.  “I guess you’ll just have to wait to find out.”

“Come on guys!” Donnie suddenly yelled.  “Let’s get some grub!”  They started walking slowly in that direction.

"You know Jake, you're Grandpa is an interesting guy."

"Yeah he is," Jake agreed.

She lifted her hand up to move a strand of hair from her face causing Jake's heart to beat a little faster.  "I had a nice long talk with your Grandpa yesterday too,” he said. “Seemed like a pretty tough customer."

"Nah.  He's a big ‘ole teddy bear," she laughed.

"Not if he thinks you're interested in his granddaughter," Jake said, growing a little warm around the collar. 
Did I just say that out loud?

"Are you?" she said, stepping in front of him stopping him in his tracks.

"Uh, well," Jake said, nervously.  He could feel his face growing redder by the second.

She gave him a sly grin then turned to leave.  "I'll see you later Jake.  I've got to get back to my luxury cabin and get cleaned up.  Let me know if you find an answer to that question."

"Uh, yeah, um bye!" Jake yelled after her.

Buck came up from behind and shoved Jake with his shoulder.  "If you know what's good for you you'll stay away from Amber.  She's mine."

"That so?"  Jake said, turning to face him.

"Yeah it is."

"Come on guys let’s get back and get cleaned up before dinner."  Donnie stepped between them.  "You guys can argue over who's not going to be dating my sister later."

"Donnie's right," Chris said, coming up next to him.  "We're all tired, dirty and just plain beat.  Let’s try and enjoy a good meal and get some sleep.  At least we will be warm tonight."

Jake agreed and turned to walk away.  He heard Buck say something he couldn't quite make out, which Donnie quickly answered with a punch to the gut doubling Buck over with a loud groan.  "Talk that way about my sister again and the vampires will be the least of your problems.  Is that understood Bucky?" Buck answered with a loud cough.  

Chapter 4

Jake

The Williams Ranch

February 12, 1999 5:27pm

Jake’s training continued for the next three months.  Each morning Drill Sergeant Ortega, or El Diablo as the recruits called him behind his back, would wake them up at a different time.  Sometimes he’d wake them at 4AM sometimes at 2AM, sometimes not until 8AM.  Sometimes they wouldn’t sleep for days on end.  The man seemed to revel in torturing them.

With each new day came new punishment.  The first month consisted almost entirely of chopping wood, moving wood, and running with heavy packs with their hated axes in hand.  No matter how bad the weather, be it rain or snow, they would run.

After the runs, they would receive unrelenting beatings at the hands of Sergeant Lucas.  Under his tutelage, the group learned various fighting techniques and styles using not only their hands and feet but also weapons such as knives, axes, even common household items they might come across while breaching a house.  His words of advice were: “In the right hands,
anything
can be used as a weapon.”

Each day ended with more cuts, bruises, and blisters than the day before.  But the blisters soon turned into calluses, the cuts into scars, and the bruises turned into even more bruises.  Through it all Jake did his best to endure, to learn, to keep moving forward.

The day after Christmas, while most kids their age spent their day relaxing at home with their families, Lt. Perry began firearm training.  “Any idiot can fire a gun,” she said, shouldering her large caliber rifle. “But a smart soldier knows how to make each shot count.”  She squeezed the trigger, hitting a two-foot target over fifteen hundred yards away.

During the next few weeks, each member of the team was trained one on one with a variety of weapons from pistols to shotguns, to rifles, and crossbows.  They became not only proficient in using them but learned how to load, disassemble and reassemble each weapon completely blindfolded.

By week nine Sergeant Major Castle began their training in what was probably the most important aspect of their chosen careers; how to breech a house without getting yourself or your team killed. 

Three mock buildings were set up on the Williams’ property and as a team and individually, they would breach the house and clear it, doing their best not to get themselves ‘killed’.  Each time the layout of the house would change and their instructors would be hiding in different locations.  Sometimes the house would be pitch black and they would have to go in with night vision goggles, other times it would be rigged with traps; holes in the floor hidden under thin plywood, trip wires that would pepper them with bright blue paint.  Jake couldn’t even count the number of times he’d been ‘killed’ while attempting to clear it.

As the training grew more intense, it only made the team stronger, not only as a unit but also as friends.  Bonds grew and relationships were formed.

For Jake this was by far the best thing to come from this experience.  Unlike with the kids he’d met back in Lubbock, here he could be himself.  Not Jacob Griffin, or Jacob Riker, but Jake Bishop, the son of a vampire hunter; a kid whose mother was kidnapped and presumably killed by vampires.  For once in his life, he could finally share how he felt with people that would understand and not think he was crazy, or a liar, or both.  Because of this, his strongest connections came with Donnie and Amber.  Like himself, they understood what it was like to lose a parent.  Though they never talked openly about their dad’s death, it was an unspoken bond, a kinship they all shared.

Jake had longed for something more with Amber, but he was happy to be her friend.  They talked often, though Buck was never too happy about it.  In many ways, she was the heart of the team.  Everyone looked to her for a comforting word when the trainers had pushed too hard.  She was also Sergeant Lucas’s prized student in hand-to- hand combat.  No one could take her in the ring, not even her much larger brother.

Donnie was like an older brother to Jake.  Though they were only a year apart in age, he always seemed older than the rest of the group.  More mature.  In a lot of ways, he was similar to his Grandpa Billy.  He took up the leadership role early on.  Always leading the charge when breaching one of the mock-ups.  The team respected and trusted his intuition and leadership.  He’d built relationships with all of them in his own particular way, even with Buck.