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Andrew Roller Presents
GIRL PATROL
Chapter Four
It took Vlad Tristen awhile to realize he was awake. When youÕre a
corpse and youÕve been knocked unconscious it can take some time to come
around; torpor, itÕs called, and it was no fun. Vlad tried lifting his head
and bumped it against cheap wood. ThatÕs when he knew he was
underground.
ÒShit! The fucking humans buried me!Ó Vlad swore. Immediately he
thought of Esmelda. Where was she? In another coffin like this one, no
doubt, six feet under. Hopefully theyÕd buried his wife in the same
graveyard. Vlad felt for his knife. It was gone; stripped off, no doubt, by
the cops or in the morgue. Or by the hunter.
Lying in the coffin Vlad remembered the man whoÕd appeared
suddenly in the back of the car. HeÕd been so surprised by him that heÕd
shot off the road, right into a tree. Had the hunter died in the accident?
Vlad could only hope so. One of the drawbacks of being immortal was that
people were always trying to kill you. Not ordinary humans, of course.
They were little more than walking blood banks to a vampire, especially
one from the far future. No, the problem was the hunters. Vlad thought he
and Esmelda were safe here, in this dorky past, what was the year? Vlad
thought a moment. 2001, if he remembered correctly. Here in this
nowhere past, in a nowhere place... Columbus, Ohio, Vlad remembered after
a moment. Here he thought he and his wife would be safe.
And they were, for awhile. Then suddenly the hunter was in the back
seat of their car, trying to kill them both. Thank God for the accident. It
was one of those totally unplanned things that you realize was a benefit
after the fact. Vlad clawed at the coffin with his fingers. Now if only he
could get out of here! Thank heaven he didnÕt have to breathe.
The moon was full and riding high in the sky when Vlad had finally
managed to pry loose a board and dig his way out. His coffin, this time,
had been a standard-issue county coroner coffin, the kind they used for
people assumed to have no relatives and no money. Vlad felt relieved. Had
he been put in an expensive mahogany coffin, he might have had to lay
underground for decades, waiting for the wood to rot enough for him to
escape. As it was a few hours had sufficed. Now he just had to check
these headstones in the moonlight and find his wife.
Suddenly the sound of a car pulling into the graveyard struck VladÕs
ears. He turned. A searchlight switched on. It swung across the grass.
Vlad meant to duck behind a gravestone but he ached from the digging and
climbing; he was a little too slow. The car, a police car, hit him with its
spotlight.
ÒHey! The grave yard is closed,Ó a megaphone announced. Vlad
dropped behind a gravestone. He could feel his fingers trembling as they
brushed against the back of the stone; shit, why did these humans have to
be such a nuisance? And there were so many of them, here in this time! It
was a great source of food but it could get annoying too. He longed for his
world, the earth at the end of time. There vampires lived in cites, or
roamed the countryside, or wandered in the dying meadows. There were
werewolves, mummies, ghouls, wraiths... but few humans. And those that
existed would have fled at the mere mention of Vlad Tristan. ÒHey! I saw
you! Get up and show yourself!Ó the megaphone shouted. Vlad waited
behind the headstone. ÒDamn fucking kids,Ó the voice grumbled after a
moment. Someone got out of the car. Vlad peered over the top of the
gravestone, then used the movement of the person from the car as a
chance to slip from the spotlightÕs glare to a headstone further afield, one
cloaked in the darkness, lit only by the moon. ÒHey! Hey!Ó the voice called,
but now the light that swung toward Vlad was weaker; it was a flashlight.
The police carÕs spotlight remained marooned on the headstone Vlad was
no longer behind. The vampire waited. The human trudged closer. It was a
man; portly, somewhere beyond 30. He was no match for a vampire that
was 400 years old. Especially one from the future.
Vlad swung around behind the human. He was fast; it was in his
blood. The human thought he heard Vlad passing but then assumed it was
the wind. Nothing living could move that fast, especially around a trained,
experienced cop who wasnÕt afraid of a midnight graveyard. Vlad placed a
hand on the copÕs shoulder. The man whirled around. Vlad prised the gun
from the copÕs hand and managed to douse and steal his flashlight a
moment later.
ÒGreetings,Ó Vlad said. He let the redness of his eyes sink into the
policemanÕs own astonished ones. He didnÕt have the gift of mesmerism
but he was a vampire, with vampire eyes, and that plus a midnight hour
was usually enough to get the better of a fucking human. At least, of one
that wasnÕt a hunter. The cop gazed at VladÕs stylish eighteenth-century
wear. Even though Vlad was from a future too distant to contemplate, the
vampires had taken up the fashion of dressing like their most famous
forebears. Like Dracula, in the ancient movies that came from 1950 or
2050 or sometime in the 4,000Õs. Those were VladÕs favorites, Hungry
Teeth starring Julian Carradine, made in 4157, or Night Stalkers, made in
4802, starring Vivian Light. An old computer bank had housed the films; it
had been quite a triumph when, some 300 years prior to VladÕs time, the
famous vampire Ibrahim Mohammad had broken the computerÕs code and
released the films.
ÒGreetings, officer,Ó Vlad smiled at the policeman.
ÒYouÕre... not supposed to be here. GraveyardÕs closed,Ó the cop
murmured in reply. Vlad looked at the copÕs name badge, and almost
laughed. It read OÕReilly.
ÒWell, Officer OÕReilly,Ó Vlad said. ÒIt seems IÕve had a bit of a
problem. Someone buried me.Ó
ÒBuried you?Ó the cop gasped, then remembered Vlad was holding his
gun and flashlight and tried breaking away from VladÕs gaze long enough to
demand the recovery of his items. But it was difficult; VladÕs eyes
seemed to peer into his soul. After a momentÕs struggle he contented
himself with conversation.
ÒYes,Ó Vlad said. ÒPerhaps you can help me. They buried my wife as
well.Ó
ÒWhy--Ó Again the cop seemed to be trying to recover his authority;
again he failed. ÒWhy would they do a thing like that?Ó Officer OÕReilly
asked.
ÒBecause IÕm dead,Ó Vlad said.
ÒOh,Ó Officer OÕReilly said. Vlad chuckled inwardly. He might not
have the skill of mesmerism but he could keep a cop down. This one
obviously wasnÕt a hunter. ÒOh,Ó Officer OÕReilly said again.
ÒI want you to help me find my wife,Ó Vlad said. He looked across
the stringy lawn towards the open grave heÕd been buried in. A headstone
had his name on it; the fake name heÕd used to rent the room from Brian
Galbladder: it read ÔMortimer J. Moldovian.Õ ÒMy wife is named Vivian L.
Moldovian,Ó Vlad informed the police man. ÒLook for a grave with that
name, would you?Ó
ÒIf you insist,Ó the police man said. He turned. He made his way
through the graves, poking about, until they came to a gravestone with the
name of VladÕs wife on it. ÒIs this the one you wanted?Ó Officer OÕReilly
asked.
ÒYes,Ó Vlad said. ÒPoor girl. SheÕs probably trying to dig her way
out right now.Ó
They commenced digging. Officer OÕReilly did most of the digging,
and whenever he rose to try and stop Vlad hit him with his eyes again.
When the cop got smart enough to avoid VladÕs gaze, the vampire reminded
him of who was holding the gun. Down they went into the earth, six feet,
the police car running idly in the distance, its searchlight shining into the
graveyard, though not on Vlad or the policeman, who were some distance
from its beam. A pounding of wood on flesh came to their ears as they got
deeper into the earth. To the policemanÕs horror, someone was in the
grave under them, and the person was clearly alive.
Except she wasnÕt, as Officer OÕReilly found when they finally dug
her out. The woman, looking remarkably younger than when Vlad had last
laid eyes on her, rose from her coffin wearing a dark gypsy dress but no
longer having the features of an old woman. There was no point in
expending the energy to alter herself anymore; she was young and
beautiful, and there was no Brian Galbladder around to convince she was
old and unimportant. She was, in fact, ravishing, and Officer OÕReilly fell
in love with her as he gazed upon her.
ÒHello, Officer, thank you for assisting my husband,Ó Esmelda said to
the cop. He gave her a hand, smitten by her beauty, he pulled her up out of
her grave. ÒItÕs so nice of you to have dinner waiting for me, dear,Ó
Esmelda said to Vlad. The older man smiled. Then suddenly both vampires
were biting into Officer OÕReilly, one into one neck vein and the other, on
the opposite side of his neck, into his other neck vein. Hungry from their
evening and from days of lying unconscious, they drained the cop dry. And
when they were finished they had transportation waiting; the copÕs car.
They doused the searchlight and drove into Columbus, Ohio. Slowly, with
the blood fresh in him, Vlad began to age his features. Esmelda did the
same. Vlad headed for Brian GalbladderÕs. Hopefully, since it was the
middle of the night, they would be able to retrieve their belongings.
Particularly EsmeldaÕs special material, that they used to make clothes
that allowed them to fly, and the time machine Vlad was building. Vlad
was eager to get back to his machine. He didnÕt want his stupid landlord
fooling with it.
30
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