First Kill: A Dave Carver Novella (17 page)

Bill shook his head and swatted at a
giant mosquito. “The vamps ain’t gonna see it that way, kid, and
you know it. This is their territory, whether you like it or
not.”

“What should we have done,
Bill? Let them kill him?”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Ian
said. His voice sounded meek, even to his own ears.

Bill snorted and said nothing. “We’ll
be at the river soon, and we can call the ship and be outta here
before--”

A howl split the air, and Ian was
surprised that he recognized this one: the hunting cry of a
Brazilian Mastiff.

Bill cursed. “They got our scent.
Run!” He set the example, crashing into the bush like a deer
disappearing down a trail.

Dave moved to follow him, but Ian
hesitated. The young man looked over his shoulder. “What’s up,
Doc?”

“I just...I don’t
understand what’s happening.”

“Look,” Dave said, “I know
you’re scared and confused, but right now, if you want to live, you
need to run!” And then he was gone, leaving Ian alone with the
sounds of a rapidly approaching hunting dog.

Ian ran, faster than he could remember
running in his life. He slapped low-hanging branches out of the
way, ignoring stinging cuts as huge predatory flies bit his arms
and neck. He leaped over rocks and logs and streams, dodged roots
and snakes. The jungle turned into a blur, a whirling tornado of
greens and browns, accompanied by the perilous sounds of barking
dogs. Three dogs, he thought, accompanied by at least four human
voices shouting in English.

He was running for his
kids, he reminded himself. For Ian Junior, Tommy, Miranda, and
Ellie. He repeated their names to himself as he ran. Ian
J
unior, Tommy, Miranda, Ellie. Ian Junior,
Tommy, Miranda, Ellie.
With each
repetition of this mantra, he felt himself getting stronger, saw
the jungle moving by faster. His arms spread triumphantly, he burst
out of the forest into a small clearing.

Panting, for a moment, he wasn’t sure
what he was looking at. But then his brain caught up and he felt
his heart sink.

Dave and Bill were on their knees in
the mud, facing a line of tanned men with tattered clothes and
machine guns. One of them pointed his rifle at Ian and said, “Get
over there and kneel. Hands over your head.”

Behind Ian four men burst out of the
tree line. All of them were frightfully skinny and dressed in
threadbare rags. One of them held a long-barreled hunting rifle.
The other three held leases. On the other end of each leash was a
beast that looked something like a bloodhound. The dogs were each
about two feet tall and heavy with muscle. Their mouths hung open,
revealing needle-sharp teeth. Thick, clear liquid dripped from
their jaws. Like the vampires that had killed Michelle, each of
their eyes were solidly, completely black. One of them strained
against its lead, barking and snapping.

The man with the rifle spoke to the
others. “Did you see their swords? These are knights of the Round
Table.”

“Here? The Round Table is
not allowed in this jungle.”

Bill arched an eyebrow at Dave. The
younger man frowned and shook his head.

“What should we do with
them?”

“Take their weapons for a
start.”

One of the men stalked towards the
prisoners. Bill kept his hands above his head as the gunman
unbuckled the sword-belt around his waist and tossed it over his
shoulder. Dave, though, threw a punch as the man approached. He
missed and much of his body weight carried him to the muddy ground.
Chupacabras howled in rage. The man cracked him across the face
with the stock of his rifle. Dave hit the ground moaning. He came
up a second later, though, blood trickling from a cut on his
forehead, his hair hanging in his face.

“Stop,” the man who was
obviously the leader of the gunmen said. “Roberto will want these
two alive.”

“What about this one?”
someone said, putting a rough hand on Ian’s head. “He’s no
knight.”

“Roberto does not wish to
be troubled with matters such as these.” The leader looked at Ian
now. His eyes were a dark green, not black like the vampires’ had
been, but they were nearly as devoid of emotion. A chupacabra
barked. The man smiled. “Give him to the dogs.”

Ian screamed as the hounds closed in
on him. Their jaws flashed and closed around his throat, but only
once apiece. His clinical mind raced back to his documentary on El
Chupacabra: They drained the blood from their victims through a
single tiny hole in the neck. These dogs were going to suck him
dry.

Ian watched for a moment as Dave and
Bill were stood up, their hands still above their heads, and
marched into the woods. The last thing he saw was the column of
gunmen disappearing into the jungle. The last thing he heard was
the snarls of a vampire-dog in his ear. The last thing he thought
was his children’s names.

About the Author

Andrew Dudek is the author of the Dave
Carver series of urban fantasy novels. Currently he lives with his
family in that most terrifying of places: New Jersey. He’s also
really not as mentally disturbed as he may seem.
Promise.