Blade in…

TWO OF A KIND

By Paul McNally

The city assaulted Blade’s nostrils as he stalked the rooftop of the building. The stench of rotting garbage and urine wafted up from the alley separating the apartment building he stood atop from the one next door. His upper lip pulled back at the smell, exposing the slightly extended fangs in his upper jaw.

“Where are you?” he asked the empty rooftop. His eyes, hidden behind the darkened lenses of his ever-present sunglasses, searched the skyline.

He took another deep breath in through his nose and his heightened sense of smell sifted through the various odors: the aforementioned garbage and urine, the smell of a homeless man and woman engaged in intercourse two floors below him, the smoke of a small fire on the east side of the city.

And there it was, mingled with the tang of diesel exhaust, the scent of blood. Human. And vampire.

Blade was in motion even before his brain had finished processing the smells. His feet pounded across the stained tarpaper of the roof, propelling him toward, then over, the edge of the building. The wind whistled in his ears as he hurdled the alley and landed lightly on the rooftop on the other side. His speed never faltered as he raced toward his quarry.

Two rooftops, a third, then a fourth passed beneath his feet without a thought. The coppery hint of blood grew ever stronger as he closed the distance between himself and the source. Against his will a thin stream of saliva slipped from the corner of his mouth and was torn away by the wind.

As he reached the edge of the fifth rooftop, Blade threw himself into the air. This time he made no attempt to clear the gap between this building and the next. Instead, he spread his arms and dove earthward.

His eyes immediately took in the scene below him: the seven-story drop to the floor of the alley; the rusted fire escape clinging to the side of the building he’d just left and the blank brick face of the building opposite it. And, at the far end of the alley, barely visible to anyone without his vision, stood six vampires feeding from a single human woman.

Instinctively, Blade twisted his body, bringing the soles of his boots into contact with the blank brick wall. His legs pistoned, propelling him back across the alley toward the side of the building he’d just left and the metal stairway bolted to its wall. His right arm lashed out and his hand closed around the warped railing of the fire escape. He felt the metal crumble beneath his glove, but the structure served its purpose: slowing his descent and allowing him to direct his fall even closer to the monsters. He released the railing and dropped the last three stories to the ground, his hands reaching up over his shoulders and drawing the twin swords on his back from their sheathes.

Blade landed just behind the knot of vampires, the soles of his boots finding purchase among the shards of glass and other litter on the alley floor. He dropped into a crouch, lashing out with the weapon in his right hand. The sword whispered as it cut its arc, cleaving through the flesh and bone of the closest vampire’s shins.

Suddenly relieved of his feet, the vampire toppled backward. It’s mouth opened in a scream that was cut off even before it began when Blade’s second sword removed its head. A bright flare of light erupted from within the decapitated corpse and the body dissolved in a cloud of ash.

The scene quickly degenerated into chaos. With the Daywalker in their midst the vampires forgot about their victim, casting her into a pile of discarded trash against the alley wall, and turned on their attacker.

Movies and television often portrayed attacking groups as one synchronized unit with one or two members advancing while the rest held back, each awaiting their turn to enter the fray. In the real world a mob usually struck at the same time; fists and feet striking friend and foe alike in an attempt to bring the other side down. In a five on one situation, this worked to the advantage of the one. Blade’s lips parted in a smile as he lowered the weapon in his right hand and dragged the point across the ground, carving a thin line in the scum on the alley floor.

The vampires bared their fangs and advanced; three in the front and two following close behind. Too close together for that, Blade thought. The swords flashed as he whipped them into the air, letting them hang in the air over his right shoulder for an instant before bringing them down in a slashing arc that ended at his left hip.

The first three vampires met the weapons as they reached for Blade. Tempered steel cut through sinew and bone, lopping off the head of the first vampire they met. The blades continued their downward sweep, bisecting the heart of the second before taking off the legs of the third. The first two vampires fell to dust and, again, Blade dropped into a crouch, extending his arms at his sides.

As the legless bloodsucker tumbled to the alley floor, screams erupting from his mouth, the second wave passed through the cloud left behind by their newly deceased friends. One met Blade’s outstretched right arm and stumbled, sprawling face first into the shattered glass and rotted matter on the alley floor. The other, lagging a step behind, avoided the same fate by leaping over the outstretched left arm and making a break for the mouth of the alley.

Blade released his grip on the swords and let them fall to the ground. Forsaking the prone vampires, he dropped his hand to the belt at his waist and removed a teakwood dagger. He pivoted lightly on the balls of his feet, spinning in the direction of the fleeing vampire and throwing the knife.

The dagger soared through the air, tumbling as the perfectly balanced metal rod within its depths carried it end over end. The weapon met the absconding vampire, embedding itself in the creature’s back and piercing its undead heart. The body fell to ash, the momentum carrying the cloud out past the mouth of the alley where the wash of a passing car dispersed it.

The legless vampire had stopped screaming and begun dragging itself toward the mouth of the alley. The Daywalker ignored it, withdrawing a second wooden blade from his belt and moving toward the second prone creature. Without a word Blade rolled the vampire onto its back, buried the dagger in its chest, and pulled it free as the creature fell to dust.

The hobbled member of the group had come within twenty feet of the alley’s mouth. The light of nearby streetlamps spilled through the opening, illuminating the creature’s bloody face as it fought to reach the street. For a moment a hopeful glint flickered in its eyes, but it quickly faded when Blade’s hand closed around its calf, mere inches above the stump the swords had left. With a quick jerk of his hand, Blade robbed the final vampire of its freedom and dragged it back into the darkness.

“Release me Daywalker!” the vampire demanded. “Grant me my freedom and I will allow you to leave here unscathed.”

“You know who I am and what I do,” Blade growled. “Letting you go? Never gonna happen.”

“You’re making a grave mistake,” the vampire said with a snarl.

“Maybe,” the Daywalker responded. “But I’m not gonna lose any sleep over it.”

The teakwood dagger rose and fell, silencing any remaining threats that the vampire might have made. Blade slid the weapon back into his belt and rose, making his way toward the pile of garbage bags where the vampires had discarded their victim. He paused to retrieve his swords, placing back in their sheathes as he moved.

A soft groan emanated from the trash heap, a sound that would normally have filled Blade with a sense of relief, but instead filled him with trepidation. Dropping a hand to the dagger at his belt, Blade moved closer.

The pile of dark green bags shifted and a hand reached skyward from within its depths. The delicate hand, streaked with crimson, grasped at the air. Keeping his hand on the weapon, Blade reached out and pulled one of the bags away.

“Easy,” Blade said, pulling a sack clear of the pile. The container split in his grasp and he grimaced at the stink of rotting food mingled with spilled blood. Releasing the torn bag, Blade gripped another and pulled it away, exposing the victim’s upper torso. The woman’s pink blouse, stained with blood, strained to contain her swollen breasts and her equally swollen belly.

“Damn it,” he breathed. Giving up on the bags, Blade wrapped his fingers around the woman’s wrist and pulled gently. The woman rose slowly and the remaining bags fell away, confirming his suspicions.

She was beautiful, or had been before the attack. Her right eye was bruised and nearly closed, hiding the ice blue iris. A thin trickle of blood tracked from her right nostril, flowing down past her blood-smeared mouth and following the line of her jaw before blending with the fluid flowing from the gaping wound in her throat. Her long blonde hair matted with garbage and drying blood, framed her face.

Her open eye scanned the interior of the alley wildly, searching for her attackers. When her gaze fell on Blade, the fear in the orb intensified.

“They’re gone,” he told her.

“Who are you?” she asked weakly. Blade’s eyes were drawn to the bite mark on her neck, noting that the flow of blood was slowing ever so slightly.

“A friend,” he replied, helping her to her feet. For a moment she stood, but then her legs buckled. Blade caught her under the arms and lowered her to the alley floor.

“The blood on your mouth?” he asked. He had a feeling that he already knew what the answer would be even before her asked the next question. “Where did it come from?”

“One of them,” she answered, confirming his suspicions. “He sliced open his wrist and put it against my lips.”

“Did you swallow any of it?”

She nodded fearfully. “Am I going to die?” Her hands dropped to distended belly and cradled it protectively. “Is my baby going to die?”

“No one is going to die,” Blade stated, hoping that his face didn’t betray the lie. “You’re both going to be fine.”

He dropped his hand to his belt, opening the padded pouch behind his right hip and removing his cell phone. Flipping it open, he spoke a single word: “Madison.”

The screen on the device lit up as the phone began to dial. Blade pressed it to his ear, waiting for the call to go through. On the ground beside him the woman suddenly grunted and gripped her stomach tightly. A rush of liquid spilled from between her legs and the smell of expelled amniotic fluid permeated the air.

“Doc,” Blade said as the call was answered, “it’s me. We’ve got a problem.”

Blade stood at the edge of the parking lot, leaning against the post of a streetlamp. The bulb overhead had gone dark, leaving the area enshrouded in shadows. Concern creased the Daywalker’s face as he watched the front doors of the hospital’s Emergency Ward.

They slid open, as they had countless times in the last ninety minutes, but this time they revealed the person Blade had been waiting for. He pushed himself away from the pole and watched Madison Anders saunter across the lot.

“If you say ‘What’s up, Doc’ I’m going to stake you,” she said as she drew close.

Blade did not smile at the joke. “How is she?”

Anders shook her head. “She didn’t make it. She’d lost too much blood. We were lucky enough to get the baby out in time, but the woman was already beyond help.”

“I figured as much.”

The doctor watched the vampire hunter for a moment before speaking. “I’ve seen a lot of vampire attacks, but never anything like this. Any idea what happened?”

“Me,” Blade responded. “I happened.”

A look of confusion crossed Anders’ face. “I don’t follow you.”

“When my mother was in labor, she was bitten by a vampire named Deacon Frost. He killed her and probably would have killed me too if some of the other… women… hadn’t chased him away. I’m not sure how it happened, but something in Frost’s bite infected my mother’s blood and eventually made its way to me before the umbilical cord was cut. It made me what I am.”

“My guess,” he continued, “is that those vampires tonight were trying to create another me. One that they would have raised, trained, and eventually sent after me.”

“And feeding her the blood?”

“Who knows? Maybe they thought forcing it into her system would work better than just relying on the bite.” Blade fell silent, looking Anders in the face. “So did they?”

“Did they what?”

“Did they create another me?”

Again Anders shook her head. “I don’t think so. Everything seemed normal when I left, but now that I know what to look for, I’ll double check.”

“And the mother? You know what needs to be done with her body?”

“Don’t worry,” Anders assured him. “I’m sorry to say that this isn’t the first person we’ve lost to vampirism.”

Blade nodded in response. “And the baby?”

“Leave that to us, too.”

The Daywalker contemplated this for a few seconds. “If you say so,” he told her. “But you know how to reach me if anything should change.”

“I do.”

Blade nodded one last time, turned away, and took a few steps into the night.

“Blade,” Anders called out.

The Daywalker stopped but did not turn to face her.

“What would you have done if the baby had been born before the ambulance arrived?”

“If it was human? Nothing.”

“And if it wasn’t?”

Blade dropped a hand to one of the wooden dagger on his belt, letting it linger on the hilt for a moment before taking it away. Then he disappeared into the darkness.

Madison Anders stood beneath the broken lamp for a long time, trying to interpret Blade’s actions as anything other than an indication that he would have put the baby to death. The morning sun was well above the horizon before she made her way back to the hospital and re-entered the building.