These Rural Roads Are My Hunting Grounds, But They’re Changing
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To say tonight has been disappointing would be an understatement. It's not like I came out of the evening empty-handed or anything. I made a sweet little catch just after the sun went down, but the rest of the night? A total bust. I've been driving these side roads for hours without a single bite. Normally areas like this are a gold mine, not quite rural, not quite suburban. Houses are spaced every quarter mile, many set back from the road behind huge lawns.

Some even have fenced pastures for front yards where horses probably run, gallop and frolic, or whatever they do during the day. I don't work during the day. There's no point. No, I'm a night owl. I hunt for the lone ones that have wandered from home. I hunt for the lost ones who aren't sure who they are or where they fit into this world anymore. I hunt for the ones that think they're safe, that nothing can get to them, that they are invincible.

They aren't safe. I can get to them. And once I have them, they learn just how wrong they are about being invincible. But first I have to catch them. And I have a very specific taste. So finding them isn't always easy. I drive and drive. The far off city lights annoy me every time I take a turn and see them on the horizon. I could be home, in bed, dreaming and sleeping soundly. I could wake up to a girlfriend or wife lying next to me.

I could get up, put coffee on, make breakfast, maybe make love to that girlfriend or wife, and then enjoy a cozy morning with my cup of joe, scrambled eggs, sexy girlfriend or wife, and the morning news. That's how normal folks do it, right? That's not me. It's a calling, what I do. An urge that has to be satisfied. That persistent itch in the back of your mind that you can never ignore, no matter how hard you try. Yeah, sure.

I've fought the urge. I've tried desperately to ignore the itch, but nothing works. The only thing that works is the hunting which involves hopping in my customized 1975 Ford Mustang and hitting the roads to find those strays that should know better. I glance at the iPad I have propped up against the dash. She's awake. Interesting.

What I gave her should have kept her knocked out for at least another couple of hours. I know dosages are tricky, especially with the little ones, but I've been at this a while. I know my tranks. Maybe she's a redhead. Redheads are more resistant to bane killers and anesthetics. It was hard to tell when I snatched her from under that street lamp. The orange-pink glow washed her coloring out. Although, all things considered, I doubt her hair color matters much anymore.

I watch the road as I drive, but I sneak glances at the iPad every few seconds. Sometimes they panic and start screaming. Sometimes they go into full-on freak-out mode and punch and kick the walls of the hidden, custom space I built in my trunk. Oh, I've watched a little one rip every single fingernail out as they scratched and clawed for an hour, desperate to get free, screaming the whole time for mommy or daddy or anyone. I always laugh. Nice try.

I will say, so far, I have a perfect record. Not one has gotten away. It's the reason I'm still doing this. If one ever does get away when the fun is over, they'll know who I am, and I'll be a captive myself within hours. I might have a few days if I can get a head start and make a run for it, but realistically, with the technology these days, running, hiding, and staying hidden is harder than ever. So I'm careful, very careful.

After a few more miles, I can see I'll need to deal with this little one sooner rather than later. She's waking up way faster than I thought, but every little girl is different, I guess. Up ahead is the quick store gas station. I stop there often. The owner is so cheap that none of the video cameras work, so I can usually pull in the back and take care of business. I can always stock up on soda and some chips. Maybe a Twinkie if I'm feeling the need for something sweet. I also like Rolos.

I never get anything for my catches. They aren't in the mood for sweet treats when they finally meet the real me. The bulbs in the sign for the Quick Store flicker and flash behind cracked plastic. It actually reads "Quick Stow" because so much of the sign has been trashed by bored kids with 22s. They probably think the store is owned by Pakistanis or Indians. It's actually owned by a lazy, cheap slob that's fully white America in all the worst ways.

immigrants, or even second or third generation don't let their establishments turn to shit like this place. I pull into the parking lot, pass the pumps, and drive around back. The owner hasn't replaced the light over the back door since it went out over a year ago. His lazy cheapness is my gain. There's a private spot next to the dumpster, and I park there. I fish under my seat and pop the hidden compartment open, pulling out my little black case.

There are syringes and bottles in the case, and I pluck one of each out. I need to get it just right for what comes next. I roll up my sleeve, tie off my arm, fill the syringe, place the needle in my flesh, and inject the entire contents in one push. Coldness fills my veins, and I take a deep breath until it passes. I count to 30, and then I'm ready.

Checking to make sure I'm not being watched. I slowly make my way to the back of the Mustang. I unlocked the trunk. You can't pop it from inside the car. I made sure of that, just in case I'm pulled over and a friendly police officer wants to do some unconstitutional snooping. The trunk is filled with crap.

Old sweatshirts used as grease rags, flattened cardboard boxes, a moldy dome tent that's wadded up in the corner with two broken poles sticking out of it. Some hiking boots caked in mud, just crap. I push the tent aside and place my palm to a panel that is indistinguishable from the rest of the trunk's interior. There's a whirring and a click and the entire trunk floor raises half an inch. I lift and let all the junk fall into the back of the trunk.

I'll place it all neatly back into its staged chaos after. This is where it gets dicey. This is where mistakes can be made. And it's all over. Under the trunk's false bottom is a reinforced steel lid with a number pad in the center. Next to the number pad is a smaller lid without a lock. I pop that and withdraw the tranq gun I have stashed there. Then I key in the code, take a step back, and lift the tranq gun.

The lid lifts quickly, and the little girl that looks maybe ten, possibly younger, blinks at me. Just as she's about to open her mouth and scream, I put two darts in her neck, perfectly placed so they hit her jugular. Modern medical knowledge frowns upon neck injections.

Too many possible side effects like airway obstruction, vocal cord paralysis, wound botulism, pneumothorax, mycotic subclavian carotid artery aneurysm, paraplegia, and internal jugular vein thrombosis. I've memorized the list of problems. Not like she's going to be around long enough for any of that to matter. It'll all be over before breakfast. Which makes me realize I'm hungry. I should grab a snack.

The little girl stares up at me, her eyes wide with panic. Then her lids droop closed, and I do the same with the lid. I put everything back in place, then hop in the car and drive around to the front. I always park out front so everything seems on the up and up. My catches aren't a problem after two doses to the neck. The chime sounds like a dying canary as I push open the door and nod at the clerk behind the counter.

He barely notices me and just keeps scrolling on his phone. New guy, it looks like. Usually Clyde or Linda is working this shift. I've gotten to know them so well that I've become just another harmless regular. This new guy isn't even worth the bother to get to know. He'll probably be gone in a day or two. "Bathroom key," I say as I hold my hand out across the counter. He doesn't even look up as he hands me it.

The key is connected by a short chain to one of those miniature novelty baseball bats you get for being the first 50 spectators at the ballpark in the summer. I take the key and head back to the can. I don't take long. I need to piss and inspect my injection site. I got a nasty infection once that had me sick as a dog for three days. It took a week before my arm didn't feel like it was on fire. The pissing goes fine.

Everything looks good with my arm, and I'm out of that bathroom as fast as possible. Lazy, cheap owners do not care how often the bathrooms are cleaned, so it's a "hold your breath and hurry" kind of restroom. When I return the bathroom key, the clerk isn't there. Interesting. I check the various concave mirrors placed in the corners of the store, but I don't see the clerk down any of the aisles. I'm the only one in the store, as far as I can tell.

The door chimes its dying canary sound and I look to my right. A police officer walks in, local county deputy. Very interesting. He glances around and sees there's no clerk and then focuses on me. "That your Mustang out front?" he asks. "Nope," I say. I pull out my phone slowly so I don't spook the guy and waggle it in the air. "Waiting on my lift. They come out this far?" the officer asks, eyes narrowing.

"If you are desperate enough to pay the criminal rates, yes," I reply. My girlfriend and I got in a fight. She took the truck, so I know for a fact she won the fight. "Shit, man, I hear that," the deputy says, relaxing some. "Where's Linda? New guy?" I say, and hook a thumb towards the counter. "Where's the new guy?" I shrug. "No clue. I used the can and he wasn't here when I got out." I nod at the novelty bat on the bathroom key.

The deputy's eyes flick towards it and instantly dismiss the key. "Probably in the back smoking a blunt," the deputy says after a minute. "Guess I'll have to ring myself up." He gives me a wink that says he has no intention of actually ringing himself up. Tonight, for the deputy, it's on the house. I browse the aisles. I know what I want, which is a can of pizza-flavored Pringles, a bag of the cheapest beef jerky, and a couple of monster drinks to keep me awake.

but I take my time and let the deputy collect his perks of the job. He makes a motion of tossing something onto the counter as he leaves, but I know it's all for show, just in case the surveillance cameras work and someone asks questions later. He can say he put money on the counter, but he knows full well the cameras can't pick up that much detail. The dying canary door chime sings once more and the deputy is gone. I smile and go find the jerky.

I turn the corner of the aisle and nearly slam right into the clerk. Now where did he come from? "Excuse me," I say. "Just grabbing some jerky. No teriyaki left," he says and walks past me. My blood goes cold, colder than if I'd injected myself with a triple dose. "All out, huh?" I ask. "I hope there's peppered then." The clerk shrugs and moves to the beer coolers. He stands there, staring at the cases and six-packs.

I watch him for a second before I realize he's watching me in the reflection of the cooler's glass door. "Yeah, I should get going." "You know what?" I say as I move towards the door. "I'm just in a teriyaki mood. I'll hold off until tomorrow night." I hear him snort like he finds that funny. "Have a good one." I call out as I push the front door open and give a last glance at the concave mirror above the counter.

The space in front of the beer cooler is empty. I'm out the door, in my car, and speeding out of the parking lot in seconds. None of that felt right. The clerk was sketchy, and in the bad timing of the deputy showing up and my guts are in knots. Instincts are telling me to drive as far and as fast as I can. Don't look back. It might be time to move on, find a new hunting ground. This area may be played out. I've been at it here for coming up on two years.

I might have overstayed my welcome. After a couple of miles of driving, I slowly start to relax. No one followed me. I haven't seen a sign of that deputy or any other cops. I'd chalk it up to paranoia, but a healthy dose of paranoia is how I've managed not to get caught all these years. Well, that and my own personal cocktail. It's what gets me through the night safe and sound. I check the time and see I have at least three hours before I'll need another injection.

I plan to be done with the little girl well before that. I drive on, passing dark farmhouses and lonely barns, as I push deeper into the rural landscape. I have a place I go to do my work, and it's just up ahead. An abandoned silo that no one has touched since I've been working this part of the map. Except, when I come around the curve, the dirt road I usually take is blocked by two pickup trucks. I stop and study the scene. A driver in each truck.

but no one else in the cabs. Then the real threat stands up. About five guys in each truck bed. They don't have weapons, which I wouldn't expect them to considering their arms are the size of my thighs. Huge mofos for sure. Choices to make: reverse and get the hell away from here, or get out and see how the night goes for me. It was all bound to happen at some point. I'm just mad at myself for not seeing that the end was so close.

Then headlights fill my back window and the first choice becomes moot. A third pickup is now blocking me. Guess I'm not reversing into the road and driving off as fast as I can. There's a tap at my window and I ignore it. The tap gets harder until I'm worried my window will shatter. So I roll it down and give the man standing there a big smile. "What can I do for you?" I ask.

The guy laughs. He's big, like the others, but doesn't have "stupid" plastered all over his face. There's a cunning look there instead. Looks like I got a smart one on my hands. "Get out!" the guy says and takes a step back. I shake my head. "I don't think so." A couple of the others make their way to the back of my car. One of them pounds on the trunk. "Open it!" the guy yells from the back.

I could explain that I can't open it without getting out, but that would just give the guy next to my door another reason to tell me to get out. I avoid the issue altogether and simply don't respond. "You think we don't know who you are?" the guy standing by my car asks. "You think we haven't been noticing when little ones go missing?" He leans forward, his face almost through my car's window. Almost, but not quite.

"We got you now, motherfucker," he says, his breath rank and foul. "And we're going to put you down, hard." I have no idea how they sniffed me out. I got sloppy somewhere, which isn't like me. It's early, but I don't really have a choice.

My hand reaches under my seat once more, and I pop the little compartment open. Without looking at the guy, I start my routine, finish my routine, clench a fist as the bitter cold shocks my veins, and then I turn my head slowly and smile at the asshole. "You should leave," I say. "Now." "That so?" He asks and leans away. "Hey guys! This fucker thinks we should leave!" Then he leans back to me. "When was it we should leave?"

"Now," I repeat. He leans away again. "He says we should leave now!" There's a good amount of laughing. I reach into the basket and grab a leather jacket I keep back there. It's awkward, but I manage to get it on without honking the horn with a stray elbow. The guy just stands there and watches me, his tongue pressed against the inside of his right cheek. I'm going to slice that tongue from his mouth and shove it up his ass. "You getting out or what?" The guy barks.

I have zero incentive to get out. My Mustang is my sanctuary. Why get out and face all these assholes at once? My hand moves to my dash console, and I start to turn on my stereo. I like to have music when I work. But before I can press the power button, a siren chirps, and the distinctive sight of flashing blues and reds light up the night. "Shit," I mutter. "No, no, no."

The deputy. The last person I want to get involved. I had this handled. I always do. Now I gotta save his ass. Everyone move to the side of the road and put your hands behind your head. The deputy calls over his car's loudspeaker. Don't make me ask twice. I rest my hand on my door handle, say a couple of prayers, pat my leather jacket, and shove the door open. The guy who tapped my window is staring in the deputy's direction. He doesn't even glance at me.

"You wanted me out of the car?" I say and shrug. "Well, I'm out." The guy smiles, but still doesn't look in my direction. The ego's on these assholes. "You're gonna wait right there while we take care of this fool," he says, and starts to walk off. He makes it two steps before he's on his knees, staring at the wooden stake sticking out of his chest. "What? He never seen a stake before?" I ask as I pull a very large, very sharp knife out of my jacket.

I keep it on the opposite side of where I keep the steaks. No, I guess not. If you had, you wouldn't be here right now. I yank the guy's head back and have his tongue out before any of his buds even know what's going on. I pull the steak from his chest and blood geysers out like a spigot has been turned on. The guy croaks and gurgles then falls on his face. I whistle to get everyone's attention. Then I slit the rear of the guy's jeans open and make good on my promise.

Sure, it was a promise I made to myself, but I like to keep my promises. Then shouting rings out and the guys get all huffy and upset at what they just witnessed. I've seen it so many times before. Everyone thinks monsters are heartless, but in reality, they are so damn emotional. I straighten up, put my knife back, and pull out two stakes, one for each hand. "Come and get me, boys!" I say.

They all rush me. The first two to reach me regret it instantly. I plunge stakes into their chest and yank them free before they can even get a swipe at me. Good thing. I just had this leather jacket repaired for my last tussle, and I'd rather not have to repair it again. Two down, a dozen to go. Not counting the drivers. But I'm thinking they're familiars, not blood-sucking fucknuts like the bitches rushing me.

Three reach for me, eyes red, fangs bared, clawed fingers slashing fast. I'm faster. I jump to the side and one stumbles and falls right in front of me. I plunge a stick through his back and yank it free. Plunge and yank should be the name of my memoir. I duck and swipe and stab the next guy. I rinse and repeat on the third one. Five down, nine or so to go. "Everyone stop where they are!" The deputy yells over his loudspeaker.

The shapes silhouetted against the truck's headlights race towards the police cruiser. Damn it! There are three more in my way, and I drop them quickly as I sprint past my car. Past the truck blocking me in, and make it to the deputy's cruiser just as one of the assholes breaks the glass and grabs the deputy by the throat. My car is my sanctuary, and they can't get to me without being invited in. The deputy's cruiser is public property. No invitation needed.

"Nope!" is what I say as I leap into the air and bring the stake down onto the back of the neck of the guy, trying to pull the deputy out of his seat. It's not a killing blow, but it does the trick.

The bloodsucker scrambles backward, clawing at the stake in his neck, then trips over his own feet and falls hard on his ass. I kick the stake with my boot and it pops out of the back of his neck. Blood flows everywhere and the dumbass presses his hands to the two holes and tries to staunch the flow. Yeah, good luck with that.

I'm suddenly on the ground with a couple hundred pounds weighing me down. My hands are pinned under me. "You're gonna taste good." The bastard on me snarls in my ear. Then he clamps down on the side of my neck with his teeth. I let him. It's excruciating, and I'll need some stitches. Probably a lot of stitches. But instead of draining me dry, the idiot just sealed his own fate. I count to five, and then it kicks in. The bloodsucker leaps off me, screaming.

I push up onto my hands and knees, roll over into a sitting position, and watch the show while I fish inside my jacket for a compression bandage. As I rip the paper off the bandage and apply it to my bloody neck wound, I watch the guy dance a little jig of death. His skin blisters and smoke billows out of his mouth as he scratches and claws at his own flesh. "Faken, stop!" he screams.

His wish is granted, as a second later he explodes, splattering me, the cruiser, and the five assholes running toward me. With bloody hunks of undead flesh, I gag from the stench, except I've been doing this bit for a while. I'll still never fully get used to it, but I at least don't lose my Pringles or jerky anymore. Which reminds me that I need to get some snacks after this. I'm starving.

The five guys that had been rushing toward me freeze, look at each other, then look at the gore splattered everywhere that used to be their buddy. They are obviously confused, so I take pity on them and explain. "Holy water and colloidal silver," I say as I get up, brushing vampire entrails from my jacket. "Anyone else care for a taste?" This has them scared. I just took one of their key weapons away. You see, vampires only fight until they can bite.

which is what they should name their memoirs. Fight till you bite. Not a bad name. I'm not even sure these assholes can even read, let alone write. You know, if they were going to live long enough to write a memoir, that is. They aren't. Plunge and yank. Plunge and yank. Dodge, duck, plunge and yank. Kick, take a punch to the face. Kick, another punch to the face. Fall. Ow. You think I'm afraid of a bitch-ass hunter like you? I shake off the blows and try to stand up.

A kick to my guts tosses me 10 yards before I land in a heap. Uh-oh, a veteran. "I let them get started on you," the guy says as he stalks my way. "But I'm here because I know how to finish." "Good to know, glad to hear," I say as I pick myself up and pull my last two stakes from my jacket. "Too bad I'm about to ruin your reputation." "We'll see, you little bitch," he says and runs full speed at me. Jesus, this one is fast.

I'm flying again, this time for 20 yards before I hit the ground. I roll across a field filled with dead grass and clumps of dirt, which I'm spitting out of my mouth as I struggle to get upright. That kick rang my bell a little. Time to die, the guy says, standing in front of me. You're one of the fast ones, I state. Yeah, so? He says with a snarl.

"Just make a conversation," I say, and plunge my knife into his belly. I slice upward and let his guts spill out. It won't kill him, but it'll slow him down. "Drop the knife!" "Damn it!" "Drop it or I shoot!" I drop the knife. The guy in front of me is on his knees, still trying to keep his guts inside his belly. He looks up and smiles. I shake my head. His smile gets wider.

"Run!" I yell at the deputy, my eyes locked onto the smiling, almost gutless vampire. "Fucking run!" "Do not move!" the deputy says as he approaches, his flashlight tucked under his gun in the way that cops do. "On your knees too!" He didn't run. I don't have much choice. I drop to my knees, which brings me closer to my knife.

It all happens in the blink of an eye. The other vampire spins and stands, his hands an inch from ripping out the deputy's throat. I reach down and pluck my knife from the ground, then leap at the vamp. The deputy opens fire.

The bullets knock the vamp back enough that his claws only scratch the deputy's Adam's apple. I, on the other hand, am able to reach around and slash the vamp's throat with all of my strength just as he flips me over his shoulder. I collide with the deputy and we land in a heap of limbs.

The vamp takes one step, two steps, then his head tumbles from his shoulder. I get myself free from the deputy and hurry to the vampire's head. It's on its side and the jaws snap at me as I reach down and grab it by the hair. I carry the head over and show it to the deputy. "How about you get in your car and get the fuck out of here, huh?" I say and shake the head at him. It's snapping and biting at the air. "Pretend like none of this ever happened, sound good?" The deputy tries to speak.

but his mouth flaps like a fish out of water, and no words come out. One of the trucks in the background rips across the field, then hits the road and is long gone. Looks like playtime is over. I sigh, drop the head next to him, look around, find what I need, and then stab the head through the skull with a steak distiller. "Wood, holy water, silver. Thought you might like to know how to stay alive if you run into fuckers like this again," I say.

I prick my finger with my knife and dribble some of my tainted blood on the severed head. The deputy sputters gibberish, then shuts the fuck up as the head explodes. "But don't try that part, unless you have my personal cocktail in your veins." Which you don't. "So, really?" "It's best just to run." I walk back to my car and get in. I'm thirsty as hell, but I never did pick up something to drink. Oh well, I'm going in that direction anyway.

I get my car turned around and head the same way as the fleeing truck. Minutes go by and I check my rearview mirror, but the deputy doesn't follow. Hopefully, he hasn't had a complete mental breakdown. Some folks can handle reality, some folks can't. I pull into the quick store and park in front of one of the gas pumps. Might as well fill her up while I'm here. The dying canary door chime cries for release as I enter the store.

"You're still here?" I ask as the clerk stares at me in my gore-stained jacket. "I thought your buddies would have picked you up on their way. Looks like you got ditched." The giveaway with the clerk was all the concave mirrors. He didn't appear in any of them, even when he was walking the aisles. Sloppy work. He makes an effort to attack me, but they gave him this job for a reason. I slay the vamp without much effort. Kinda sad. He was a rookie in way over his head.

I check the back room and there's Linda, completely drained of blood. Poor Linda. I liked her. She always had a smile for me. Unfortunately, I can't take a chance that the stupid clerk didn't feed her some of his blood. I am forced to dismember her body and leave the store with her head in one bag and six monster drinks, two cans of Pringles and four bags of jerky in the other. The clerk hadn't been lying. They were out of teriyaki, so I had to get peppered.

I threw the head bag into the passenger's footwell, toss the bag of drinks and snacks onto the passenger's seat, then fill my gas tank and get back on the road. After some driving, my phone alarm goes off and I pull over to the side of the road, making sure my trunk is aimed eastward. Then I hop out, bringing Linda's head, a monster drink, and a bag of jerky with me.

I set Linda's head at my feet, go through the routine and open the trunk. I uncover the hidden lid and key in the code and wait. I munch jerky and drink in some energy while I watch the horizon turn from pink to orange to yellow as the sun rises in the east. My phone alarm goes off again. I finish my drink, roll up the half-empty jerky bag and tuck it into my back pocket. Then I open the lid and take a few steps back.

Vamps are so predictable. The little girl leaps out of my trunk, fangs bared, claws ready to slash. She lands on the side of the road and sees me. But that's not all she sees. I shrug as terror fills her eyes. Then I back away some more as she bursts into flames. Linda's head bursts into flames in the bag too, since the plastic is too thin and cheap. I guess I made the right call there. I don't wait for the screaming, writhing, little bloodsucker to stop burning.

No need. Her body will be nothing but ash in a couple of minutes. Same with the bodies backed by the silo. The evidence always takes care of itself. I scoot around the flaming body and slam my trunk closed. I pick up the empty drink can because litterers are second only to vampires on the evil scale and get back in my car. I'm about 10 miles from where I left the little shit to burn when I see a pickup truck pulled off to the side of the road next to a field.

Off in the distance, I see smoke billow up from the tall grass. I laugh to myself. They at least tried to dig themselves some holes to hide in, but they didn't quite time it right. Stopping my car, I hop out and find the familiar crying in the driver's seat of the patrol car. "Done being those vampires, bitch?" I ask him. He nods as he sobs. "Good. Go home, take a shower, then find your ass some religion."

I reach in, grab his chin, and force him to look at me. "You listening?" He nods harder. "Good." I pull a quick store napkin from my back pocket and give it to him. "Thank you." He says over his sobs. "Fuck off." I say as I walk away. "And call your mom, will ya? Bet you haven't talked to her since you got your blood cherry popped, have you?" He starts crying even harder. I shake my head. I hate familiars. Fucking weak-willed losers.

At least it's nice to have those loose ends tied up. I'm back in my car and speeding away before the cop is done blowing his nose. I keep driving with the sun at my back, a freshly opened Monster Drink in hand, and some new spot on the map ahead of me. Maybe I won't press my luck this time. I'll stay for only a few months and clean the place up as much as I can, then move on. This time was a little too close for comfort.

But that's the edge you walk when your last name is Van Helsing, I guess.