Fanghunters
Authors: Leo Romero
Fanghunters
Copyright © 2015 Leo Romero
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are
products of the author’s imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance
to actual events, organisations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,
recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without
permission in writing from the author.
The venom wore off and he was back in the sun-proof
basement.
His eyes zoned in on the dirty ceiling, the
same old questions surfacing in his mind.
Where am I? Who am I? How long
have I been here?
And as
usual, he
had no answers.
He got up on his elbows and looked around
the gloomy, candle-lit chamber in a daze, his head tender. He laid eyes on some
other guy lying in a heap in the corner. He nodded in recognition; it was his
companion, the other fanghead. He was out of it, the venom still working him.
It had them both; captive, enslaved.
And then, like clockwork, it struck. The
itch. The urge. Protect the Father. At all costs.
He scrambled to work, putting the needs of
the Father ahead of his own, his urges and desires for more venom an equal if
not greater driving force.
Gotta serve the Father, gotta protect the Father.
Need venom, stop the pain...
He rolled onto his front, about to get up
on his haunches to spring into action. He stopped dead, a frown emerging on his
worn face. Something was now prodding into his thigh.
He looked downward.
What is that?
He rubbed his thigh into the concrete
floor; the thing jammed uncomfortably into his quad. “Man, what
is
that?” he asked the gloomy basement, totally nonplussed. He immediately rolled
onto his back and stuffed a hand into the pocket of his scuffed jeans. He
touched something cool and smooth. He whipped it out and held it up to his
face. For a few seconds, he just stared stupidly at it like it was an alien
artifact lost for centuries in the desert of some remote planet. The leather
thing in his hand then flopped open; he watched it cascade down like a plastic
waterfall, revealing a long forgotten existence that was now just flotsam at
the back of his subconscious.
Huh?
He gazed at all the plastic cards facing
him, wondering with a brief bout of clear amnesia where the hell they’d come
from.
Who? What? Where? were the first questions
that sprang up in his scrambled brain. With his free hand and a sudden sense of
curiosity, he went through the contents of the wallet. He found loose change, a
condom, a blood donor’s card. He ran a finger across a VIP card to a Chicago
nightclub with the name ‘Mr. Dominic Dempsey’ stamped across it.
His eyes widened. A loud bell went off in
his head; he stared at the surrounding gloom in bewilderment.
Mr. Dominic
Dempsey? Mr. Dominic Dempsey...
Something then fell out of the wallet and
landed on his chest. He rolled his eyes downward to lay them on the photo now
sitting there. A photo of people his hazy mind at first didn’t recognize. There
were a blond guy and a couple of darker haired guys. He snatched the photo up
and stared intently at the smiling faces, the triggered memories sending his
mind on a carousel of emotion.
Hey, that’s me,
he thought to himself with weird bemusement.
The blond guy’s me!
He then saw Dad and his little brother,
Eddie.
Eddie...
“Eddie,” he said in a soft whisper, just as
something in his heart abruptly unlocked. The calcified shell the venom had
built around it began to crack as the hot emotion of unconditional love melted
it away like lava poured over a chocolate egg. From nowhere, his senses
stirred. His lips began to tremble. He caressed the photo with his index
finger, wondering where those people had gone, wondering where
he
had
gone.
Me: Dom. My name is Dominic.
Where has
Dom gone? Where are you, buddy?
His fingers fell on the thing dangling
around his neck. It tinkled as he lifted up to his eyes. It was a dogtag. And
then he remembered. His brother bought it for him for his twentieth. His
brother: Eddie. The little guy. Dom looked around him in the gloom of the dank
basement with a dizzy mind that was sobering fast; his eyes fell on the other fanghead
again. He was still out of it. That poor bastard didn’t know where he was or
who he was either. The venom had messed him up good, stolen his soul, locked
his heart away in a cast-iron box, turned him into a programmed android,
existing merely to serve, compensated with a venom fix. Dom’s eyes widened in
grim realization of what he’d become; a slave.
And now he wanted out.
He gazed upon the creased photo in his hand
in dumb awe, déjà vu making his head spin. In his mind, he saw family barbeques,
trips to the beach, going for a bowl and a movie with Eddie. Normal, happier
times.
I wanna go back, he then realized.
I wanna go back to who I was, to those I
love...
He stared around him at the crypt in grim
wonder and a dark thought surfaced in his mind.
How did I end up like this?
What... happened?
Before he could answer, a shifting sound
made his head turn. The Father was rising. Nightfall had arrived. Time to feed.
He rose from his resting place—the makeshift tomb constructed from an old
septic tank—and stood there overseeing his brood like a corrupt Emperor. In the
candlelight, his eyes glowed yellow-green like cat’s eyes. His lips parted,
exposing fangs that gleamed like polished tusks. A horrible mix of fear and
affection juddered through Dom’s veins. His body wanted the venom, but his mind
was telling him to run, get the hell outta there. Now!
The Father laid eyes upon him. Dom froze.
The Father noticed the thing in his hand. He frowned. “What is that, my son?”
he asked, his voice deep, commanding.
Dom shivered in response. He quickly shoved
the photo into his pocket. “Nothing, Father,” he replied in a voice laced with
nerves.
Father? Why am I calling this guy ‘Father’? He’s not my father. Who
the hell is he?
The Father’s brow furrowed deeper, a scowl
now emerging on his face. He held out a claw and curled his fingers toward his
chest. “Bring it here, boy!” he ordered in a voice that was laden with a
cultivated rage. The echoes caused the other fanghead to stir, but not awaken.
Dom sucked in a lung of dead air and began
to shake his head. “No. No way!”
The Father turned on his eyes; they
glittered and danced in the murk like agitated fireflies. Like a fool, Dom
locked onto them; his jaw instantly became slack. For a brief moment, those
eyes widened, injecting Dom with that cold sensation; the one that raced up and
down his spine like an electrical charge, rooting him to the spot. He wanted to
shake his head but knew he was doing the exact opposite. He was beyond control
of himself. The Father had him iced and that was that.
“Come here!” the Father demanded, and Dom
was immediately drawn, unable to resist no matter how hard he tried. He found
himself sucked into those whirlpool eyes, the Father’s cold hands on his
shoulders in an instant.
The Father’s glowing eyes fell upon him.
“Show me,” he demanded.
Dom reluctantly retrieved the photo and
held it up for him to see. The Father glanced at it in disdain, his top lip
curling up. He tore it from Dom’s hand; Dom gasped, the trance he was under
swiftly shattered. He staggered back, shaking his head as if waking from a bad
dream.
‘This is your family now!’ the Father said
in a firm voice before he mercilessly tore the photo to pieces.
Dom’s eyes widened. “No!” he shouted, each
sound of ripping photo paper like a gash in his newly rediscovered heart.
The Father dropped the pieces to the
ground, a malevolent grin propping up his face. Dom stared at the ribbons of
torn photo on the ground. The only connection he had with the ones he truly
loved was now severed. A surge of rage shot up into his chest, usurping any
mind control. He rushed forward, throwing out a fist; it connected with the
side of the Father’s head. The Father cried out in rage. The other fanghead
sprang into life.
Dom went to throw another punch. The Father
retaliated. He grabbed hold of Dom’s shoulders and pulled him in. Dom’s eyes
widened. The Father was trying to sink his fangs into him, wherever he could;
his neck, his arm, his hand, desperate to sedate him with venom. Dom pushed
back with all his might; he managed to throw the Father off just as his jaws
clamped together, catching nothing but air. The Father hissed in frustration.
He toppled to the side, falling back into his crypt.
Dom glared down at him in anger. The rage
mushroomed and he went to deliver the killer blow, to sever the psychic link
between the two for eternity. He lifted his foot up, ready to stomp down upon
the Father’s head. The Father quickly snapped his head up, his eyes whirling
and dancing. Dom froze, unable to bring his foot down. He clenched his teeth
and pushed against the icing, but it was useless. The Father continued to ice
him in place. Dom growled in frustration, his mind wanting to do one thing, but
his body ordered to do another. The stalemate continued, both of them fighting
for supremacy over the other. Dom put all his might into it, urging his foot to
go down, to smash into the Father’s head, stomp it to pulp, break it in—
A jolt to his midriff knocked him off to
the side. Dom hit the dirty cement floor with a groan. He zoned back in, his
eyes focusing in on his attacker. It was the other fanghead. Even though his
face was mostly shadow, Dom could see his wild and distant eyes, dribble
spilling out between his clenched teeth. Dom quickly got to his feet.
“Kill him!” ordered the Father as he lifted
himself half out of his crypt.
Dom’s head whipped around to meet him.
“Kill him,” the Father repeated, getting
back to his feet.
The fanghead turned back and now there was
a snarl of hate carved into his face. He dived into Dom, whose self-survival
instinct tweaked. He snatched an empty bottle from the litter on the floor and
swung it around. It crashed into the onrushing fanghead, obliterating on impact
with a hollow pop. The fanghead followed through, smashing into the brick wall.
He hit the deck in a crumpled heap.
Dom watched him with bulging eyes, his
chest heaving. A claw then wrapped around his throat. In the next instant, he
could feel the father’s hot, rancid breath on the back of his neck. Ivory tusks
touched his skin; they were like hot needles, ready to shoot him up with a
narcotic tranquility, to tame the beast that had
suddenly
erupted and wreaked this havoc.
The points of the fangs pierced his skin in
a painful jab, a sensation that had been previously thrilling, now agonizing.
Dom gasped in shock. He wedged his arm back
behind him, jabbing the broken bottle neck into the Father’s face. A wail of
pain echoed around the basement. The Father recoiled, grabbing at his now torn
face.
Dom spun to face him. He was suddenly
rooted, not knowing what move to make next. The father’s head then suddenly
jerked upwards, his eyes bloody and raw. He roared, Diving for Dom. Dom whirled
and ran for the entrance door. His shoulder barged into it with a grunt. It
burst open, releasing the night air, illuminated sickly orange by nearby
streetlights. He threw the door shut behind him as he escaped the dungeon-like
basement. He ran up the concrete steps two at a time, before running away into
the night in a fearful panic. Far away.
Never looking back for the Father. Not even
once.