October 8, 2012

The message pinged through the forum early in the morning. Almost the entire group was still asleep, but Jack Madison suffered from insomnia. It's hard not to when you actually know what goes bump in the night and that those bumps can be deadly. Jack knew that there were two sides to every coin, and that everyone deserved a second chance. It's important to take those second chances seriously because asking for or receiving a third chance wasn't in the cards, at least not the way Jack dealt.

Trajan moving forward. Attack imminent. Backup needed. PDXHunt, please respond. -DDGoose324

For more than a month, Madeline Jenns had been in and out of talks with the few hunters in Eugene, Oregon, setting up the offensive. The leader of a pack of bloodsuckers down there was planning something big, and the group to the south seemed to have an idea of when it'd happen.

Jack logged onto his computer and pulled up . Buried deep in the forum that he and the other somewhat organized members of the Portland Hunt frequented was the message. Imminent. It was time to call in the cavalry.

Jack thumbed ten digits into his little brick of a cell phone. Bricks didn't fall apart when a wolf ran over them. On the other end, the phone rang four times before Madeline answered.

"It's four AM, Jack."

"It's time, Jenns. Message just came through. Goose says the attack is imminent."

"That means sundown, and right now it's four AM." Exhaustion bled through the phone. "This was the first night all week that I got to bed before one."

"We'll need to get everyone gathered."

"Call back at 9."

The call disconnected. Jack stuck the phone back into his pocket and drummed his fingers on the case of his laptop. A few minutes later, he closed the computer, set an alarm for 8:30, and left a couple of apples on a plate on the back step. Jack Madison walked through his quite, near-empty house on SE Portland. He slept on the couch in the living room. There was no bed. There was no television. There were the few pieces of Goodwill furniture he'd deemed necessary, an internet connection, three bicycles, and a large array of weaponry. Portland had a no-carry law within the city limits, but Jack had bought his handgun fair-and-square in Arizona last summer. He'd carry it if he damned well pleased. The people who'd made the no-carry law had definitely never gone toe-to-toe with a bloodsucker that was well past its second chance.

Jack cleaned the gun then lay down on the couch. He tied a bandana over his eyes to keep out the sunlight that would soon flood the living room. Maybe a set of curtains would be a worthwhile investment.

Eric Hancock was the first to show up. He always was.

"So, what's the plan for this little caravan?" the man asked long before he'd swung himself from the blue and silver three-speed he rode everywhere in the city. It was a nice bike. It matched the Corolla Eric kept parked outside the city.

"Metro to the ride site, I think," Jack replied. He was busy cleaning the chain on the yellow single-speed he'd bought in April.

"Is anyone from Hillsboro coming in?"

"Not sure," Jack said and wiped grease from his leg, belatedly realizing that it'd do more harm than good to his jeans. "Hero talked about it, but I think it's all up in the air for now. What's happening to your kids for the night?"

Eric shrugged in what seemed to be an attempt at nonchalance. "Their mom's got 'em."

Jack looked up at Eric, whose wife was never terribly happy about changes in schedule.

"She thinks I've got a date."

Jack shook his head and regreased the chain. "At least imaginary you is having a good time.

The smile on Eric's face suggested that reality him was going to enjoy taking down Trajan just as much as imaginary him might enjoy a good night kiss or a late night drink at the whiskey bar.

Over the next several hours, a group formed. Nobody really talked that much about the plan. Jack's house was a pretty common meeting place since non-existent furniture left plenty of space for meetings. He also had a wide-open backyard that they often used for practicing self-defense.

Builder surveyed everyone from the kitchen. As unofficial leader, he'd called the shots when it came to deciding to help out Goose and the others in Eugene. He had narrow shoulders and no hair. Jack figured the man worked for a bike garage somewhere in Gresham, half an hour down the metro.

Jam and Cranks were on the floor, poring over a map of the University of Oregon campus.

"I think the most important thing is going to be keeping them away from the dorms," Jam said, running a dark blue, manicured fingernail across a large swath of the campus. "Whoever designed the campus had no idea what they were on about. It's a nightmare to defend." Jam was always focused on the end game.

Cranks shook his head. "If we can keep them out of the buildings, then it's not going to be a real problem." He was quiet, real quiet. His voice rarely rose above the crowd. The man had the makings of a master cartographer, though. He knew maps. He knew the strengths and weaknesses they offered. He knew how to take advantage of them. "This building over here might be a good place to funnel them into. There's only one door out and a long hallway to run everyone down."

"Sounds like a shooting range," Jack put in.

Jam and Cranks both nodded.

"It's two o'clock, Jenns," Builder yelled from the kitchen.

"Okay, everyone," Jenns called from the front yard. "Get your asses out here. We need to get to Eugene in time to meet up with Goose."

Ten people, their motley little contingent, filed out of the house and climbed onto a small flock of bicycles that ranged from Builder's twenty-year-old ten-speed to Jam's racing bike. Together, they pedaled through the only city in the country to outlaw gas-powered vehicles within the city limits. Newspapers said Portland was ahead of its time, winning the energy wars. Alternative energy companies courted the city to supply the electricity needed to run the core. Citizens had become slowly used to the change. Many had moved away after the city had banned all of the cars, but now Seattle and San Francisco both said they were looking at Portland to see whether the system would work for them.

Ten people can just fit in two average-sized sedans that live at a metro station outside city limits. Well, ten people can fit if you don't mind being just a little friendly.

The white Honda sped down the highway in silence. The blue and silver Corolla thrummed with electronica. Nobody spoke.

They arrived in Eugene an hour before the sun set. Jam and Eric parked near the university on opposite streets, just in case.

"There's an extra key on the back wheel," Jam told everyone as they converged on the largest dormitory. "Just try to take anyone you can with you if you need to get out quickly," she warned.

Jack checked the gun in the pocket of his puffy winter jacket. It was too warm for such a coat, but it offered nearly-legitimate cover for the sidearm.

Builder handed out a series of little bluetooth headsets they'd set up to a common frequency. "Take one and spread out. Jenns and I will meet Goose at the library, but I want the rest of you settled and hiding well in advance in case Trajan has some way of getting the jump on us."

Everyone took one.

Jack nestled his into his left ear. Builder's voice came clearly through the earpiece. "Get in position, everyone." There was a nice series of trees over by one of the dorms. Jack'd always been quick on his feet, so he figured being up high would offer a nice view of the area. Cranks was heading for the top of one of the dorms if he could manage to slip in the front door.

"In position," Jack said quietly into the headset. Over the next five minutes, the same assertion was echoed by the other members of his team.

The end of the afternoon wore on. Jenns and Builder met with Goose, a student of costuming and language revival at the university. They made a plan.

As seven o'clock neared, the sun sunk below the horizon. "On your guard, everyone," Jenns said into the earpiece.

"It's the witching hour," Jack replied.

"Something like that."

A scream ripped through the earpiece, and Jack yanked it from his ear. The sudden hubbub, however, had him putting it back just as quickly.

"Where'd they come from?" Jam yelled over the com. Jack couldn't see what she was talking about.

A shot was fired from the top of the dorm Cranks was sitting on.

The janitor from Hillsboro Highschool went down first. He was in the second floor of the library, and someone or something threw him from the window. The crack was audible in nine other bluetooth headsets.

Jam had left the key right where she'd said it was. Jack sat behind the wheel of her white Honda at a pull off on I-5 between Eugene and Portland. His bluetooth earpiece was likely still in the tree he'd climbed. They'd been stupid. Nobody had bothered with the Sight. They'd been saving their energies until the time was right. Through the earpiece, Jack had heard each one of the others die. He was sure only Jenns and Eric were left, and they both probably thought he was dead.

Why wasn't he? The bloodsuckers had come out of nowhere, surrounded them before anyone knew. Why'd they let him live? He hadn't been that well hidden in the tree.

At home, the apples on the back porch were gone. On the couch, a pair of identical twin girls sat quietly and watched him put things away. They sat crosslegged on two of the three couch cushions. Their black hair fell straight and smooth to their shoulders. Jack eyed them wearily. They'd never said anything before. They weren't going to start talking to him now.