After breaking up the house party, Luke had planned to take a much-needed night off. He was only one man against an ever-increasing army of vampires. He hoped the souls of the victims he couldn’t save tonight didn’t follow him around. That they’d moved on to whatever afterlife they believed in. He didn’t need any more baggage, but it still didn’t stop him from dwelling on it.
He’d finished the boar burger and frites at Interurban on North Mississippi Avenue and was sipping his way through the Rye Manhattan he’d ordered for dessert when his vampy senses went off. Somewhere nearby, a sizable group of vampires was entering his sphere. Sighing, he clenched his jaw and shook his head. He couldn’t even get one night off without the fangers ruining it. He flagged down his server and paid his tab, then walked briskly outside to move his car to a more remote spot where he could put on his armor.
Luke’s head perked up as he felt a vampire walk out of the alley into view near the I-5 sound barrier. Feigning tying his shoe, he slid his gladius out of its scabbard.
“Excuse me, sir, can I—” the approaching vampire said.
Luke stood up and plunged the blade into his chest. The vampire looked down at it, then up at Luke, then down at the blade one last time before he tumbled backward into a squelchy mess.
“I guess that’s one way to start the night.”
* * *
Luke panted as he dashed down the abandoned streets of the Boise neighborhood. The bars on Mississippi Avenue had released their drunken patrons into the night a while ago. Hidden among them, on their hunt, were vampires.
The first few he’d tracked down had been dispatched with ease, one practically walking onto his sword of its own volition. The third one, not so much.
The dark alley he’d stalked them down had more than just that vampire and its victim—another vampire was feigning drunken infatuation with the handsome stranger who Luke thought to be her evening supper. When Luke had announced himself to the couple making out in an alley overgrown with hedges and trees, two gleaming sets of vampire fangs greeted him instead of one. Several more emerged from the shadows, armed with blunt implements ranging from chains, to bats, to batons.
Luke carefully backed out of the alley, keeping a watchful eye on the five vampires stalking toward him. With clawed hands, they snatched for him as he emerged from the alley. He spun and lashed out with his gladius, fending them off. He dashed west down North Mason Street, the only option open to him now. He thought he heard someone shout “Get him!” as he chugged down the street and across Mississippi Avenue, then back into the darkness of the side streets behind it.
Something moved in front of him, another pair waiting in ambush. He lurched to the left, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to shift his momentum away from the new set of vampires without falling down. Soles skidding on the wet pavement, he held on and ran down North Michigan Avenue.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one. In addition to his newest tails, another pair came jogging toward him. Once they spotted him, they picked up speed. Luke needed to get somewhere where he could retake the advantage. Slow up their numbers. He just needed to make it there before they boxed him in. He poured on a bit more speed as he turned right down Shaver Avenue. He was quickly running out of streets. If he wasn’t careful, he could find himself pinned with his back against the massive, concrete sound barriers separating I-5 from the neighborhood.
He angled his run so he could take the left turn onto Missouri as easily as possible without losing too much speed. Back on the straight away, he dug deeper, finding one last reserve for a full-on desperate sprint to the Failing Street Pedestrian Bridge. It allowed people to walk over I-5 and get to a MAX light station. Rounding the corner, he found the stairs and ramp entries. As his ragged breath burned in and out of his mouth, he continued his headlong sprint toward safety. Which would be better—stairs or the ramp? The ramp was longer and had a hairpin turn, but the stairs invited a trip and fall into the waiting arms of at least eight vampires. Luke opted for the ramp.
The sounds of shouting vampires behind him kept getting closer.
Launching himself up the ramp, he made the tight turn to continue up the bridge. The vampires split between the two choices. Luke chuckled mentally as one of the vamps tripped over a step and ate shit, slamming his head as he fell. It was a race now—who would get to the bridge entrance first?
Luke reached his left hand toward the arch over the pedestrian bridge and swung himself into the entrance. Desperate to catch his breath, he slowed down only a touch, trying to grow the distance between him and his pursuers.
The sound of laughter brought him up short.
Slowing to a jog, he peered over his shoulder. The vampires chasing him had stopped at the entrance of the bridge. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up; things were about to go from bad to worse. A second line of vampires solidified out of the darkness, blocking the other side of the bridge. Luke was trapped. The chain link fencing that arched over the bridge made escape over the side nearly impossible—the vampires would be on him and drag him down before he could get over the top. There was no flight, only fight.
Sighing, he pulled his rudis from its back sheath and fought to catch his breath for the fight that was about to wash over him like a riptide. Luke began rotating his shoulders and wrists, loosening up his joints while shifting his mind into battle mode.
“Mithras, guide your swords to their targets and watch my ass…” Luke mumbled as he strode into the very middle of the bridge, noting its distances and obstructions so he could command his battlefield. “Well, hemogoblins, let’s get this party started,” he yelled.
The vamps advanced.
They didn’t rush him; each group sent in a pair of combatants to avoid clogging the approach and interfering with each other. They each seemed to have some kind of blunt object to use as weapons. One even appeared to have a set of brass knuckles. Luke gestured with his swords to hurry them along into his killing field.
It was knuckles who broke into a run first. Using his vampiric strength and speed, he launched himself into the air, trying to direct Luke’s attention up while he punched down at Luke’s head. A vampire from the other side dashed in with a baseball bat, swinging low at Luke’s legs. Luke spun and launched a kick at the lower vampire’s face. Arcing his gladius up and into the face and chest of the vamp flying over his head. A grunt of pain from both and a shower of blood from the gash he carved into airborne fanger rewarded his efforts. The bat struck home behind the knee of his plant leg and Luke toppled to his knees.
He swung his arms out to each side, keeping his blades between him and the attackers. The one with the bat slid forward, his momentum bringing him in range. Luke stabbed out, catching him in the gut. The vamp dropped his bat with a shriek of pain. Another vampire advanced from the other side and swung her two-by-four at Luke’s head, allowing the gutted vampire to skitter away. Luke ducked, using his gladius and her own momentum to tip and deflect the lumber from landing a blow. Gathering his legs under himself, he launched up and back, grimacing at the pain in his freshly injured knee. The steel barrier caught him, helping to prop him up into a standing position. The two vampires backed off just enough to stay out of reach of Luke’s blades. A vampire from each direction moved up to fill the spots vacated by their wounded kind, crawling back to their lines. Wary of Luke’s skill, they took their time.
The undead hordes plugging the bridge’s two exits shook the chain-link fences and hit the metal poles, encouraging their fighters. Luke ignored it to assess the situation, trying to figure out his next move. One pair was armed with the baseball bat her buddy had left behind from the previous round and a chain its wielder was swinging menacingly. Though the chain was moving in a blur, he thought he saw a metal ball attached to the end. The other pair were armed with metal batons. The two with the batons looked nervous, while the one wielding the chain looked like he knew what he was doing. He was carving complex patterns in the air around him like he was Gogo Yubari.
Luke broke to his right with lightning speed, sprinting straight down the middle of the bridge between the bat and the chain. A loud growl burst from his lips as his change from defense to offense caught the vampires off guard. The one swinging the chain lost his rhythm, his chain shooting off to the side and tangling around the guardrail post. Luke made eye contact with the chain twirler, catching his panicked look, then he sprung off the guardrail toward the vamp with the bat. He’d caught them completely flatfooted. Sweeping gladius through the neck of the vampire with the bat, he parted her head from her neck, leaving an ichor gushing stump. The momentum carried him forward, allowing him to bring his thigh and knee around and shove the headless body into the chain wielding vampire. Both vampires collapsed in a heap. Luke landed on top and shoved his rudis into the chest of the vampire with the chain. He rolled off the pile of corpses and rose to face the others.
The savagery of Luke’s counterattack left the two baton-wielding vamps slack jawed. Trembling, the pair backed away. Luke put on his scariest “implacable murderer” face and stalked toward them, flaring his arms to look extra intimidating. As he picked up speed, the growl accompanying it rose in volume until the two fangers dropped their batons and sprinted back to their lines. The vampires awaiting them booed and jeered. Luke reset his position and waited for the next wave.
It didn’t come.
Instead, a few vampires jogged up the ramps leading up both sides of the bridge, carrying large bags. The new vampires disappeared into the back of their respective crowds as most of the vampires turned to help themselves to the packages. Luke couldn’t see what they were doing through so many turned backs. Two-thirds of each group slowly advanced down the bridge, eyes firmly fixed on Luke.
“Well, shit…” muttered Luke.
Each side continued their advance until they were halfway between Luke and the entrances of the bridge. They stopped. Only a few vamps were left standing guard.
“Now!” went up the cry as the front rows of vampires cocked back their arms and let loose a storm of rocks and bricks. Luke threw up his arms to protect his head as the projectiles streaked toward him, powered by supernatural strength. The sounds of heavy impacts on pavement, cotton covered armor, and flesh, thudded and clanged, echoing into the night. A snap and sharp pain in his left arm promised a deep bruise and a probable fracture.
“Again!” Another row of vampires stepped forward to take aim at Luke. Their next volley drove him to his knees. His arms felt like tenderized meat. How could he keep this up?
On the third volley, a broken brick cut a deep gash in his scalp, he could feel something that wasn’t sweat in his hair. On the fourth volley, a rock clipped the back of his head and sent him reeling to the pavement. Blood flowed into his eyes. His pulse pounded through his ears. Vampires were shouting, dashing toward him. He desperately tried crawling toward the barrier, although there was no respite there. A boot clanged against his armor covered stomach. While the armor absorbed most of the poorly landed kick, it still hurt enough to knock him off balance. He curled into a ball, arms wrapped around his head. Somehow, he’d managed to keep hold of his gladius and rudis.
A rain of kicks pummeled his body, punctuated by the odd grunt or curse of pain as someone in softer shoes stubbed their toes on the metal armor. The only thought that escaped his concussed mind was “Hold. Onto. Your. Swords.”
Someone tried to grab one but drew back with a hiss of pain. “Fuckin’ silver. God damn, that hurts!”
The sound of ripping cotton and claws raking over the steel of his armor swam through his foggy hearing. He felt his jeans shred and the burning of claws ripping into the flesh of his butt.
Luke lost track of how long he lay there. He couldn’t tell if it was a minute or an hour. The sensations and the sounds became repetitive, blurring into one long symphony of pain. Luke had walked the earth over nineteen hundred years, and now his journey was going to end by being beaten to death on a pedestrian overpass in Portland, Oregon.
“Hey! Put the knife away. We want him alive. Enough!” someone shouted. “We’ve had our fun. The boss said we could fuck him up, but he wants a word with this one. Bind his hands and feet, we’ll pry the—” The voice ended with the distinct snap of wood against a skull. A growling howl joined a rough, high-pitched war cry. The kicks and punches stopped. Luke stayed balled up as the sounds of fighting battled with blood pumping through his ears. The edge of Luke’s vision began to fade to black as he warred against going unconsciousness.
Consciousness lost.