John pulled the old Ford back onto the highway, leaving Marty White's still smoking skeleton in the middle of the hard caliche road.
He reached into the front pocket of his shirt and handed Jake something loosely wrapped in a blue handkerchief.
With his hands still shaking, Jake slowly opened it. "What is it?" he asked, staring down at two three-inch long white things that looked a lot like . . .
"Vampire fangs," John said, as calmly as if he had just handed him a piece of candy.
"What?!" Jake exclaimed, dropping them on the seat between his legs.
"Careful with those, son," John carefully wrapped them back up in the handkerchief. He flicked open the change filled ashtray and set it gently inside then snapped it closed. "They’re still dangerous. You won't turn, but they will make you extremely sick.”
"Wait, what? You mean to tell me . . . that . . . that thing was a vampire? That . . . Mr. White was a vampire?”
"Yes and no.” John said sadly. “Marty was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a vampire, at least not always. My guess is he was turned shortly after leaving our house."
“A real life vampire? As in drinks blood, killed by crosses, turns into a bat, hates garlic? That kind of vampire?"
“Again, yes and no. Not all of the legends are true. For one, vampires are extremely hard to kill. No flask of holy water or clove of garlic is going to do it. Crosses? Yeah that’s a joke. You go waving a cross at one and he’s going to break it off in your . . . well let’s just say it won’t be very nice what he does with it.”
For Jake this had just gone from strange to the edge of insanity. Vampires don’t exist. Everyone knows that. He rationalized to himself. But what else could it have been? The fangs, the claws, those eyes, my God those eyes! Jake thought, remembering the haunted look in his crimson red eyes. Those were not the eyes of a human! Then he remembered the show they’d watched earlier that night. "Like that family we saw on That's Unbelievable! The Goth looking teenagers that lived in the woods and drank animal blood!"
John snorted a laugh. "No. That was just a bunch of lunatics playing dress up in the woods. Vampires can't live on anything other than human blood and they sure can't come out in the sunlight."
"This is crazy!" Jake exclaimed. "Wait, Dad, how do you know so much about them?"
"I used to hunt them."
"You used to hunt what? Vampires?”
John let out a deep sigh. "It's a long, long story, son. I'll tell you about it sometime. Right now I've got to concentrate on the task at hand."
“Which is what exactly?” Jake asked, realizing they were still driving in the middle of nowhere. “Where are we going?”
“To your Grandpa Cort’s house,” John rubbed at his temples with his thumbs. “In Lubbock.”
“Grandpa Cort, as in your dad? I thought he was dead."
"He's not dead. I just haven't talked to him in a while," John sighed. "We didn't exactly part on good terms."
"Then why are we going there?"
“Because he’s the only one that can help us.”
Silence grew between them for several long minutes. Vampires! Jake thought over and over in his head. It just seemed impossible. But he couldn't ignore what he'd seen. How else could you explain body parts exploding into flame when the sun hit them? He had heard his parents arguing about his dad going back to hunting, but he’d always assumed it was bears or something like that. That’s why she worried about him getting hurt. But hunting vampires had never occurred to him in his wildest dreams. Jake closed his eyes shaking his head. The image of Mr. White’s ferocious teeth, snapping like a crazed beast wouldn’t leave his mind. The lost, hungry look in his eyes . . . it would haunt him for the rest of his life. He really would have preferred aliens.
Jake lifted his head and stared at the edges of the blue handkerchief peeking out from the closed ashtray. "Wait . . . if those things are poisonous, why keep them?"
“Because those little babies carry quite a bounty on them. They are worth at least three grand apiece.”
Again, Jake’s mouth dropped open. “Who on earth would want to buy vampire fangs?”
John yawned deeply then slapped his cheeks. "I'll tell you what, once we get your mother back and everything calms down, I'll fill you in on every little detail of what I used to do. But right now, I'd rather not get into it.”
Jake started to say something but John held up his hand. "Jake . . . later." he said, in a tone letting Jake know the conversation was over.
Jake closed his mouth swallowing his questions. The entire world had just changed forever. Things would never be the same. As they passed the city limits sign entering Lubbock, Jake couldn't help but ask. "So how exactly is Grandpa Cort going to help us?"
"He’s going to keep an eye on you for a while. I'm dropping you off at his house then heading back to search for your mom."
That was the last thing he expected to hear. "Dropping me off? Why? I can help you!"
"I have to get you some place safe, Jake. Believe me I don't want to, but I need to focus entirely on your mom right now. I can't do that if I have to worry about taking care of you. You’ll be safe with your grandpa."
"How will an old man keep me safe from vampires? Why don’t we just call the cops?"
John gave a dry chuckle. "Son, that old man is the Cort Bishop. He’s the biggest, most badass vampire killer to come along in the past hundred years. No one, and I do mean no one, has killed more vamps than he has. Besides, if we call the cops we’re just going to get them killed. That or they’d lock us up in a mental hospital."
Jake nodded. That made sense. He was neck deep in what was going on and even he wasn’t sure if it was real. Wait a second . . . did he just say Bishop? “Wait, why did you call him Cort Bishop? If he’s your dad why does he have a different last name?” The same name the vampire called out.
"Jake, there's a lot you don't know about my past. Things I hoped you never would know. Things I really don't have time to get into right now. Just know that there is absolutely no one in this world that I trust more than him."
“Dad you can’t expect me to sit here and not ask questions after you tell me that my Grandpa’s name is the same one that Mr. White . . . err . . . that vampire called out back in the house. Did Mr. White know Grandpa?”
John grimaced. “I was hoping you hadn’t heard that. But I guess there’s no point in you not knowing. Bishop is my name. It’s your name, your real name. I changed it to protect us from something like this happening. No one but Pam Williams, a doctor that worked with your mother, knew who I really was. She’s an old family friend."
"So my name isn't Griffin? It's Jake Bishop?"
John nodded. “Bishops have been hunting vampires since the first settlers landed on American shores hundreds of years ago. We’re legends in this business. Which I’m here to tell you, isn't always a good thing. Especially when you’re trying to start a new life. Vampires can read a phone book just as well as a human can, they can infiltrate social security offices, police stations. You name it they can buy their way in, or infiltrate it themselves. That's why everything was in your mother's name, the house, the cars, everything. I can't say it's been easy, but sometimes a man has to do what he has to, to keep his family safe.”
“That makes sense,” Jake agreed. “So how smart are they?”
“Marty was what we call a Grunt. Dumb as dirt, they only know one thing, hunger. Red eyes, long claws, pale skin, pretty much no way, that they could pass for a human. Now a Maker, that’s something different entirely. They’re stronger, smarter and look just like you or me, right up until they extend those fangs and rip your throat out. They're vicious, incredibly fast killing machines with the mind of a serial killer. These creatures have to feed every single day. They live for . . . hell, far as we can tell they’re immortal. And we really have no clue how many of
them there are. Could be hundreds. Hell there could be thousands!”
John let that sink in for a few minutes while Jake did the math. One vampire plus one kill a day, times three hundred and sixty five days a year. The math didn’t add up. “But Dad that doesn’t make sense. How could they kill that many people over that kind of time span without someone noticing?”
“Millions of people disappear every year without a trace. Millions. I’d lay good money that most of those so called disappearances are vampire victims.”
They didn't talk the rest of the way. Jake had a million questions but he could see that his dad’s mind was somewhere else. His thoughts returned to his mother. My God what if they turned her into one of them? Panic gripped at his heart. The thought of her sweet, kind eyes, replaced by those terrifying red ones was almost more than he could bear. Then again, so was the thought of her lying dead, drained of blood.
At 7:38am, they pulled up next to a tan, late 70's model Bronco, parked in the driveway of a white painted house, situated in a nice middle class neighborhood. Though the area looked safe enough the windows and front door were covered in heavy duty iron bars.
John grabbed Jake’s suitcase out of the bed of the truck and holding his hand took him to the front door. Taking a deep breath, he rapped on the door three distinct times. After a few seconds a man in his late fifties, with long gray hair hanging down almost to his shoulders, opened the door. Jake was amazed at how much of a resemblance he had to his dad. His hair was longer, he was several inches shorter and about a hundred pounds lighter but the eyes were the same.
The older Bishop looked at John, looked at Jake, surprise filling his soft brown eyes. Turning a lock with a key, he opened the barred gate. "What the hell?” he asked running a wrinkled hand through his hair. “Johnny?"
"Hi, Pop," John said, with a smile. “It’s good to see you.”
The three stood there unmoving for a few seconds before Cort seemed to come to his senses and stepped out of the way ushering them in. "Well come in, come in!" he said, motioning with a newspaper in his left hand. John cleared his throat nervously. "Pop, I want you to meet your grandson. Jake this is your Grandpa."
"Hi," Jake said, nervously.
"Well hi back!" the older man laughed picking Jake up off his feet into a giant bear hug. "By God boy! Last time I saw you, you were only three!"
Jake was surprised at his reaction but also warmed by it. Part of him had expected the mean old man he’d heard his parents arguing over, his other grandfather.
John stood awkwardly to the side until Cort pulled him into a hug as well. John quickly began to lose what little control he’d managed to hold onto. His eyes teared up; his shoulders lurched forward in loss and sadness. Jake had always viewed his father as a rock, the Superman of men. However, seeing him with tears in his eyes, hugging a man he hadn’t seen in seven years, Jake realized for the first time that he was human. He was just like any other son looking for the approval and support of his father. He was capable of hurting just as much as Jake was.
“Damn it's good to see you boys!” Cort exclaimed, patting John hard on the back. He looked down noticing Jake’s feet. “John where is this boy's shoes at? And where's Julia?” He looked out toward the truck as if expecting her to come walking up. “Is she okay?"
"One question at a time, Pop. I . . . I don't know, I honestly don't know. They hit us. After all these years, they hit us! Julia never made it in to work and she sure didn't make it back home. All I could think to do was to get Jake out of town. One of those bloodsucking bastards was in his room! His room!"
"My God in heaven," Cort said, shaking his head. "Well come in, have a seat, and tell me everything. Jake you too," he ushered them in locking the massive gate and steel front door behind them.
"I can't stay long, Pop. I have to get back and try to find Julia. I just, I need you . . . I know it's a lot to ask, but can you watch Jake for a few days?"
"Of course! But you don't have to do this alone. Just have a seat for a few minutes, take a deep breath and tell me exactly what happened. I’ll make some calls and we’ll go from there."
John and Jake sat down on the couch as Cort fell into a worn, but comfy looking leather recliner. John filled him in on the night’s events. When he was done, Cort slammed his fist on a side table causing Jake to jump. "Goddamn bastards!" Cort exclaimed. "Alright head back to Midland. I'll call Billy Williams, Ben Morris, Mike Holloway and his crew. We’ll get everyone on this. Talon Parker should be working in Abilene today. I'll call his motel and have him there in a couple of hours. If anyone can find her it's him."
"Thanks Pop," John said, getting up and heading toward the front door.
"Johnny wait. What's your arsenal like?"
"I've got a twelve gauge with three boxes of buckshot."
"Hell, boy, you're going to need a lot more than that. Come here; let's get you geared up proper."
Following him through the house Jake took in all the pictures hanging on the walls. There were more than a few of him as a baby, a few of his mom and dad, and one family picture of a much younger Cort with a woman he didn’t recognize, with two young boys, the oldest was clearly John, but the other Jake didn’t recognize, though he did have most of John’s features. At the end of the hall was a heavily locked door. Cort pulled a key ring from around his neck and turned several locks. Inside was a large vault, about six feet wide by six feet long. It was lined with more guns than a sporting goods store. Large caliber pistols lined the walls on hooks. Large caliber shotguns and rifles leaned on racks against the wall. On the top shelves were hundreds upon hundreds of boxes of ammo.
Cort pulled a large duffel bag off the shelf with the ammo and began loading it with boxes of shotgun shells and several other cartridges. He loaded a very large pistol, spun the chamber and handed it to John who tucked it into his waistband. Then he pulled a very long, very sharp looking machete off the wall along with a black sheath and stuffed it into the bag. Lastly, he pulled a lever action shotgun out of a case on the floor and handed it to John. "The Cleaner's tasted more vamp blood than any other gun I know. Let it taste a little more.”
“Hell yeah,” John said, gripping the gun firmly in his hands and cocking its lever action one handed. “Been a long time since I’ve held the old girl.”
“I think that should set you up for know," Cort said, looking around the vault. "Is there anything else you need?"
“Stakes?” John asked looking through the duffel.
“Ah that’s right.” Cort said, rubbing his chin. “Let’s see here . . . you know what? I’m fresh out. Holloway and his boys came by a few weeks back and needed supplies. Completely cleaned me out. I’ll have Talon or Ben bring some extra.”
John nodded. “Thanks Pop. This will work fine.”
“If there’s anything else I can do don’t hesitate to ask. Look . . .” he said, searching for the right words. “I know we’ve had our differences but you’re still my son Johnny and I love Julia like she’s my own daughter. I’d do anything in the world for you three. I’d hunt every one of those bloodsucking freaks down myself if I could. Climbing in my grandson’s room is a declaration of war far as I’m concerned.”
John gave him a weak smile. "Pop, please just take good care of Jake for me. I'll handle the rest."
Cort grabbed his shoulder firmly and nodded. "I will, son. Listen, I know you’re upset. But it’s time to go to work. So remember to watch your corners, watch your back, and more importantly, come home alive. Understand?”
John let out a deep breath, calming himself. “I will, Pop.”
Cort nodded. “Go find Julia.”
John turned and placed his own heavy hands on Jake’s shoulders. "Jake, be good for your Grandpa. I'll be back as soon as I can."
"I will, Dad," he choked back tears. "Please . . . just find Mom." He waved from the fron
t door as his father drove away.
Cort walked over and laid his hands on Jake's shoulders. "Come on kid. Let's get you something to eat," Locking the heavy door behind them, he led Jake into the kitchen and sat him down at the round wooden kitchen table. "Do you like bacon sandwiches?"
"Uh, I guess so," Jake said, laying his head on the table.
"Of course you do, everyone likes bacon sandwiches," he replied opening the fridge. He proceeded to pull a large package of thick cut bacon out, then a skillet from under the stove. After a few minutes, the bacon was sizzling.
Jake’s stomach growled loudly as the smell reached his nostrils. He’d barely touched his TV dinner last night and hadn't realized how hungry he was until that moment.
When the bacon was done Cort lathered two pieces of bread with mayo and put six crispy pieces of bacon between them, then set it on a paper plate in front of Jake with a big glass of milk. "Eat up,” he said, sitting down in the chair across from him.
Nothing had ever looked so good. Jake dug in. The sandwich was everything it had looked to be. Pure deliciousness.
As he took a big bite, Cort leaned back in his chair. "Jake, son, do you understand what's going on?" he asked then took a sip of his steaming cup of coffee.
His mouth full of bacon and bread Jake nodded yes.
"How much did your daddy tell you?"
"Vampires," Jake said, through a mouth full of sandwich.
"Yeah. Vampires," Cort said, with a sigh. "Blood sucking vampires. What else did he tell you?"
Swallowing the bite, he took a long swig of his milk then set it down. "He said he used to hunt them."
"That he did, son," Cort said with a smile. "That he did. But Johnny wasn't just a vampire hunter. He was the vampire hunter."
Taking another massive bite of his sandwich, he listened intently as his Grandpa continued. “Boy, I’ve hunted vampires for damn near thirty years, and I can honestly tell you that I’ve hunted with the absolute best. Billy Williams, Tom Turner, Talon Parker, hell Big Mike Casino! The absolute best in the business! And no one, I mean no one was as good as your daddy was."
"Funny," Jake swallowed another bite. "He said the same thing about you."
Cort snorted. "In my younger days I was good, but nowhere near as good as your old man."
"Then why'd he quit?" Jake said, wiping away the mayo from the corner of his mouth with a napkin.
"It's complicated. There were a lot of factors . . . but what it really came down to was that he quit to protect you and your mother,” he took another sip of coffee. “I told him not to do it. But he was determined to try. Said it was the only way to keep you safe. I told him that there is no safe! Not from them, but he wouldn't listen. So, I told him what I really thought. That he was abandoning us when we needed him the most," Cort grew quiet as he blew on his steaming coffee.
"He told me you two hadn't spoken in a long time, but didn't really elaborate."
Cort smiled, “I can understand him not wanting to talk about it. Times were tough. Twelve hunters were killed that year, including one of John's best friends, Terry Williams, Billy Williams' boy. I think that was the nail in the coffin for John’s hunting career. Terry was just a few feet away when one of the blood suckers cut his head clean off.” He snapped his fingers for effect. “Just like that. They never did find his head.”
Jake stopped eating his full attention now on his grandfather.
“It could have just as easily have been your dad. After that I think . . . I think John just lost his nerve,” Cort sipped his coffee. "I wasn't very . . . understanding, I guess you'd say."
"Man that's terrible . . . I had no idea.” Jake said quietly. “Is that why you don't talk anymore? Or didn’t talk . . . or . . .” he trailed off.
"Not exactly. We'd been having problems since John was a teenager. I just pushed too far that time around. Let my temper get the best of me and said some things I really shouldn't have. He did the same. At the end, he told me he didn't have a choice and that he didn't want to see me again. Damn near broke my heart. Funny thing is . . .” he chuckled. “I quit hunting a couple of months after he left. Just didn’t have the heart for it anymore."
Jake finished the sandwich and stared up at his grandpa. He had often wondered what it would be like to have grandparents. Now he had one and it amazed him how much like his dad he really was. He even had some of the same mannerisms. The same hand gestures when talking. The same laugh. Jake had a feeling that if anyone understood what he was going through it would be him. "Grandpa?" Jake looked down at the table. “Can I call you Grandpa?”
The older man’s eyes lit up, his mouth curving into a smile. “Of course you can call me grandpa!" he laughed with tears sparkling in the corner of his right eye. "Boy, you have no idea how much I’ve wanted to see you. And after all these long years, here you are.”
Jake smiled weakly then lowered his eyes. "Grandpa . . . I stabbed Mr. White, I mean that vampire, I mean, whatever he was! I stabbed him in the back. He was hurting Dad, I saw the knife and . . . and I didn't even think, I just grabbed it and . . . I didn't have a choice!"
"Well good for you!" Cort said, leaning forward and patting his hand. "That's the Bishop blood running through your veins!”
He doesn’t understand . . . “But I stabbed him! I stabbed him and then Dad killed him!”
Cort set his coffee mug on the table and leaned forward gently lifting up Jake’s chin so he could look him in the eyes. “That thing wasn't a man Jake, and he sure as hell wasn’t your daddy’s friend. He was a monster. A vicious killing machine that would have ripped John limb from limb, drank his blood and then done the same to you!” he slammed his fist hard on the table. “If you hadn't done what you did you'd be dead right now. Don't you ever feel sorry for them! You hear me boy? Not ever!"
"Yes sir," Jake answered, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.
His grandfather’s eyes softened a little and he reached over again patting his hand. "I'm sorry, Jake. I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m sorry that you even have to know about all this shi . . . uh stuff. But this is the real world. We’re not the top of the food chain. These things hunt us and only us. The minute you feel pity for them is the day you get yourself killed."
His grandpa’s words running through his brain, Jake wiped a milk mustache off with his napkin. Finally, the question burning in his mind wouldn’t wait any longer. He needed to know the truth. "Do you think Mom is okay?” he blurted out. “Do you think she's still alive?"
Cort coughed nervously. "Uh . . . I don't know son. I just don't know.” he leaned against the counter. “I wish I could tell you she is, but honestly, I don’t know.”
He had been hoping for better news, but was glad that he wasn't being lied to and treated like a little kid.
“But I can tell you this much.” Cort continued. “If anyone can find her its Talon Parker."
"Who's he?"
"He's the best damn tracker in the business. A genuine Comanche Indian. He's also one of John's oldest and best friends." Cort drummed his fingers on the countertop nervously. Jake could tell he didn’t like talking about this. "That's enough for now kid. Let's get you into bed, you must be exhausted."
He led Jake through the living room and back down the hall. "The bathroom is right here on the right.” He said, flipping on a switch to a tiny, bare bathroom. “This room on the left is my office.” Jake peered inside to see the walls covered with maps with pins in them. A black typewriter sat on an old metal desk. “Now this one here was your daddy's room when he was a kid, you can sleep in here.” The room’s walls were bare of any pictures. Old blue curtains covered the barred windows. A large king size bed sat in the middle of the room. A small dresser sat against the wall.
“A king size bed?” Jake said, looking at the bed taking up most of the room
.
Cort laughed. “Yeah well. Your dad hit six foot when he was in the fifth grade!”
“Wow!” Jake said, with a laugh. Cort pointed at the last room at the end of the hall. “This is my room. Anytime you need me kid, I’m just a yell away."
Jake glanced around his room nervously. The last thing he wanted to do was go back to sleep. What if they find me here? "Grandpa. I'm afraid to go to sleep. What if one of them crawls through my window and sucks the life out of me?”
Cort leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. "Don't you worry son. For one, it's daylight. Rule number one, vampires can't come out in the daylight. Turns ‘em into crispy critters. Two, I've got bars on the windows and doors and the attic is reinforced with rebar. There's no way a vampire can get into this house without making a hell of a lot of noise. It's built like a fort. And three . . ." he reached behind his back pulling out a large caliber revolver. Jake’s eyes grew large as saucers. He’d been sitting with him the entire time and had no idea he had that on him. "Let them come. I'm ready if they do. I've got at least five guns stashed in every single room in this house. By God, it will be the last thing they ever do. You're safer here than anywhere else. Oh and if you come across one of those guns, leave it alone, don't touch it, don't mess with it. I'll teach you to use it in good time. For now, though leave it alone. Understood?"
"Understood." Jake nodded. "Thank you Grandpa," he said, wrapping his arms around him.
Cort hugged him back. "Everything is going to be okay. I’m really glad you’re here son. Now get some sleep. I’ve got a whole mess of phone calls to make," Cort gently closed the bedroom door leaving Jake alone in his new room.
Jake climbed under the covers of the massive bed, his thoughts dwelling on his parents. He lay there praying as he'd never prayed before. Praying that his mom would be found okay. That he would wake up to find this was all just a bad dream and though he didn't think it would ever come, sleep finally took him.
Chapter 4
John
The Bishop Home, Midland, TX.
July 31, 1994, 9:32am