The Hunter of Hunters

The dark 4X4 scythed through the murky rain. Pulling into the Lethbridge Marchbank Hotel Car Park its light extinguished casting the parking lot into blackness. A tall well built figure in a wide brimmed hat and longcoat climbed out and walked to the tailgate. Rain cascaded down his back guided by the brim. He stopped as if hearing something and then reached into the car and hauled out a sportsbag. Looping his hand round the straps he turned to allow the red neon to illuminate his aryan features. Hard eyes surveyed the area somehow seeming older than the mid-thirties of the face.

Carl Zendik used to love the night back when he was human. How long had it been? Now the night was a chore, a dirty job and he was the someone to do it. For too long the dark ones had ruled in their ivory towers. Deciding who lived, who died and who got to live again. Mercedes Zendik had been one of those chosen to die. His sweet dear sister on her 18th birthday had been invited by one of the ruling undead of his native hometown to a "bitching" party. The coroner had laid on a cock and bull story about suicide and cutting backed up by equally questionable psychiatric evidence. Mercedes would never have gone to a counsellor and certainly was never suicidal or depressive. She was too sure of herself, too much a bon vivant. He'd stolen her body from the morgue and had an old mercenary friend check it over. Merrick had said it had taken nearly 14 hours for her to die. The cause of death, severe blood loss but not from the wounds. The cuts had been done afterwards as if they were little excuses. Zendik had tracked down one of the bastards lackies and nearly didn't come out the other side. The little fuckhead had taken half a clip off of a Steyr Aug and still nearly tore Zendik's head off. Carl got pulped badly and nearly checked out for good. That was when Reyner appeared and beheaded the creep. Reyner sat him down after torching the remains and told him about the undead and then told him how to survive. Reyner had hunted them for decades. Seeing Zendik's fire he took it upon himself to teach Zendik everything he knew.

"You got to drink the blood of your kill, it makes you stronger and you can learn their magicks." Reyner had told him. Carl had baulked at first. That was until Reyner punched through the nearby wall. He hunted the next one down and trapped it. His German Special Forces training held him in good stead. After his first drink he'd never looked back. That was 20 years ago in 1985. Now he hunted the monsters. Relying on his smarts, treating them like the terrorists they in reality were. They in turn hunted and feared him.

Zendik strode towards the front entrance, head canted to one side. Without warning he whirled and pulled a third strap on the bag with a free hand. White cotton and gun fire blossomed from the end of the bag and a shaft of wood exploded from the vinyl carryall. The shaft stopped 4 foot off the ground about 20 feet away. It started moving back slowly as a creature appeared revealed by the impossibilty of the floating wood. The mahogany stake protruded from the viscious rat-like fiends upper shoulder as it stalked towards him.

"Missed! That's the last chance you will ever get deadmeat" screamed the now pouncing undead creature.

Zendik just tugged the strap again as a second shaft followed the path of the first shredding more of the padding in the bag. The look of frenzy on the leaping monsters face turned to surprise as the new shaft imploded his dead heart. He furrowed a trail of murky water in the tarmac as he thudded paralysed to the ground. Zendik stopped him with the sole of his battered army boot and bent down pulling a machete from his coat.

"Double barrelled deadmeat! Pity you won't learn never to hide in rain Haunt!" Zendik hissed as he brought the blade down severing its head. The ancient enchanted Peruvian blade Reyner had bequeathed him bringing final rest to the dead vampire. Zendik turned and walked into the hotel depositing the bag in a large rubbish bin whilst simultaneously sheathing the machete. Yes it sure was a dirty job and Zendik was well prepared to carry it out. Behind him the rain washed away the rotting vampire. Time to clean Lethbridge!

(Carl Zendik used by the kind permission of Markham Eggleton)