The Slayer Chronicles 3

This is Part Three of The Slayer Chronicles. Read Part One here and Part Two here.

Journal Entry - Undated

Jamison had bared his pure white fangs and snarled again, "Where is my wife?"

My courage waned as unadulterated fright struck my core. Squeals from above distracted me. A colony of bats circled overhead, and I could only compare them to a murder of crows closing in for the kill. Their shrill screams grew louder, like police sirens, as they dropped lower and dissipated into streaks of black fog to the pool deck. In the blink of an eye, I was surrounded by police officers in SWAT gear. Throaty growls echoed in sync off of the water. Like their Chiefs, rage blazed in their vampire eyes that a mortal could have taken one of their own.

"Put the crossbow down Jon," Jamison ordered. "I can spare you, but you must tell me, where is Lara?"

I squeezed the crossbow’s trigger, and a cedar arrow sliced through the air and struck the chief's shoulder. Murky fluid, like black oil, spurt across his neck and face. Partially paralyzed, he dropped to a knee, laughed, and yanked the dart from his wounded flesh.

"Weakened yes, but merely a flesh wound Jon. You have no idea who or what you are dealing with. Now it's my turn."

The colony of SWAT vampires rushed me and pummeled me to the ground. Needles attempted to pierce my neck and arms as a dozen fangs sought my lifeblood, but the stench of the olive oil dissuaded their passion.

"Stop," ordered Jamison, "I need him alive for now. We need answers."

"He tastes like shit anyways," said a Lieutenant, "Cuff him."

"Jon Slayer, you are under arrest for attempted murder," Jamison said as he slipped a rice grain of pure gold into his mouth. His wound stopped leaking fluid, and the hole in his shoulder closed. Only a torn, stained shirt remained as a remnant of Jon's attack.

"I don't want him transitioned. Put him in the feeder program. A man his size will produce a pint of food a week and I want him to suffer."

A steel-toed boot clubbed my head, and the night sky shimmering from the pool water went dark.

***

Cramps and spasms in my arms and legs brought me to an unwelcome consciousness in a hospital room. Pulses and beeps of machines whirling made me think of the bat colony that had circled above the pool. Restrained by straps, I couldn't move. I.V. tubes pushed velvet red blood from my veins into a collection bag. A petite nurse in pink scrubs loomed over me, with her long brunette hair brushing my face. Her amber eyes were dilated like a drug addict on a high.

"Welcome to your new home Jon," she said with a sweet smile, "I'm going to take real good care of you."

Her face contorted, and she bared her fangs and hissed, "Real good."

I inhaled the rancid vapors of the decayed breath of the undead and gagged.

Some Slayer I am, I thought. Sorry, Sir Edward, the undead are legion, and I have failed.

***

Read on here.