*
They found an American yellow school bus.
“So what’s this?” Sarge snapped. “There a bloody school around here?”
Carter was checking his map. The others just stood, waiting, facing outwards, expecting a trap, as if they believed the enemy would try to use such a familiar American item to lure them close.
Nero wiped his itching hand on his fatigues.
“Of course,” said Carter. “This is the Laos Trail, or used to be.”
“The what?” Sarge said, and came to look at Carter’s map.
“They cut a trail through the jungle, used it to relocate families from Hanoi to little-known villages scattered about. Overgrown a little now. The jungle grows quick. It was how a lot of Vietnamese generals escaped detection at the start of this war, fellas. And they were supposed to have used old buses bought off us Americans.”
“American school fucking buses, here in Gooksville.” Sarge shook his head. “Nero, check it out.”
The bus showed its rusted, bullet-ridden ass to the group. The windows were gone and the fire exit door at the rear was missing, so Nero quickly confirmed that there was no one inside waiting to ambush him. He climbed aboard and quickly moved down the aisle.
In the driver’s seat was a dead man, just skin and bone and half-rotted meat in soiled clothing. He looked in the man’s jacket, finding ID papers.
“Found a body. Wearing civvies,” Nero called back. “The driver.”
Carter nodded like an eager kid. “The driver. The NVA drafted peasants in as coolies. Not surprising then that sometimes the drivers who took the families sometimes abandoned the buses and passengers out here in the jungle. The authorities combated that by handcuffing the drivers to the buses.”
Returning with the cadaver’s ID, Nero confirmed that the man was a Vietnamese taxi driver, most likely cajoled into driving for the People’s Army of Viet Nam. He also confirmed that a thick iron band on a chain secured the driver’s left calf to the heavy steel steering column. No escape.
“Poor bastard,” Sarge said.
“Think we can get a salvage on this?”
They all looked at Oliver. He just shrugged. “Money is money.”
Carter piped up. “Did you know that they picked yellow because the black lettering stands out better in early morning light?”
“Everyone thank Carter,” Sarge said. “Knowing that, we’re all guaranteed a good night’s sleep tonight. Let’s move on, before this bloody jungle grows around us.”
They group moved on, leaving the trail and the bus behind. Oliver made a mental note of the vehicle’s location. The others might have given him funny looks, but he was going to follow up his salvage idea when this bastard war was all over, maybe make himself some good money.
Some miles away, something stirred. It sat up sharply, and pain flared through its entire body. It knew it was injured, if nothing else. It knew it had to get home. It rose onto shaky legs and turned its head to the canopy of branches above. It shifted to the right slightly to catch a direct ray of fading sunlight.
The thing that had once been Pete Walls was fighting against pain that throbbed in every organ, every organelle. This was the pain of rebirth, it knew. Another pain, much lesser, was in its mind: a voiding. It felt all its original desires, fears, beliefs, memories oozing away like dirty dishwater down a plughole. Into the ensuing chasm there tumbled a new, overwhelming feeling: nurture.
He flexed his arms, which were now wings, and took to the sky. Leaving the ground felt like stepping away from an unstable cliff-edge. The sky was where he would always feel safe from this day onwards..
Oliver Jameson, the middle-aged Dentist from Ohio, really didn’t trust Jake Parker, who was mad from the heat and migraines and beginning to mumble to himself. Oliver pulled Sarge off to one side.
“Boss. I don’t like it. I don’t trust Jake, I really don’t.”
“Be quiet, Jameson. We’re all a bit mad to be out here. Get back in line.
They trekked on. Nero rubbed the itchy area of his hand on the coarse material of his belt.
Minutes later the natural sounds of the jungle were overwhelmed by the cries of a man in pain. Sarge stopped the group and they listened.
Actually, it didn’t sound human.
“Shit,” Jake said. “What the hell is that noise? It’s another one of those vampires, isn’t it?”
Nero caught Jake glaring at him. He did a double-take.
“Why you looking at me? I don’t know!”
Jake pointed down at Nero’s hand. “You got the evil in you, man. You’ll turn. Guys, look how pale he’s getting. Look at his eyes.”
Self-consciously, Nero hid his hand. “Bollocks. What are you saying?”
“They’re vampires, man, and you got bit. You’ll become a vampire-thing like them. I’m waiting.” He patted the long knife in a sheath strapped to his thigh.
Nero was aghast. “Is he having me on or what?”
Nobody seemed to believe what Jake was saying. But they didn’t exactly tell him he was being daft, either.
“Permission to break Jake’s neck, sir?” Nero said.
“Please try,” Jake snapped back, and his hand went to his knife again.
“You might wanna think of that knife as a self-destruct button, dickhead.”
The argument heated up, but neither man made a move towards the other. Quickly Sarge stepped between them.
“Stop this flirting. Jake, next time you threaten one of your own, I’ll consider you the enemy, a gook. Nero, you take the lead.”
“Yeah,” said Jake. “That way he can’t ambush us from behind. Get up front, Nero.”
“Sarge, I promise I will break his neck. One day. I mean it.” Nero took a step towards Jake, but only one. A thought was in his head. He turned his attention to Sarge. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s why you said to get up front? Exactly what this idiot just said. To watch me.”
Sarge’s eyes were serious now. “Every second we stop to argue, it’s time away from our families back home. Jake. Shuttup. Nero. Front. Girls. Onward.