The Strain: Another Season
Episode 2

Night Hero Part 2
Chapter Two

Zagros Mountains - 1508

Paolo is huddled shivering in the back of the cave as sunlight filters in through the opening. He approaches it apprehensively and listens. After a while, he tentatively pokes his head out and after a moment of uncertainty blows his cheeks out with relief. In the light of a new day, it is obvious the small cave mouth is artificial. Rock has been moved in some way to close the natural wider opening - either by great strength or explosive blasting. Or it could have been the long hard work of a pyramid-building team. He returns to the back of the cave, removes his shirt and wraps all but one of the tablets in it then ties it over his shoulders as a makeshift backpack. He wields the last silver tablet as a weapon - a poor replacement for the hand cannon he dropped when he scrambled on the horse. He leaves the cave and sees that he and his horse ran up into a blind ravine last night. He cautiously exits the ravine and looks about the plateau. There is a river in the distance but there's no sign of his horse or any other living thing.

He follows the river upstream as it becomes narrower and faster. He has to do some serious mountain climbing to achieve this and he puts the last tablet in with the others, leaving him weaponless. The sun is declining.

It is early evening when he spies a native camp in the middle distance. He runs towards it and, when the mocha-tanned native men spot him, they charge at him screaming and take him down, shiny-tipped spears pointing at his throat.

A very elderly green-eyed woman with a gnarly wooden staff calls out and hobbles towards the action. She is as dark-skinned as the other natives who, without exception, all have dark brown eyes.

At her word, the strong young men withdraw their weaponry and stand aside, heads bowed.

The boldest addresses her feet, 'He is so white,' he says in an unintelligible language, 'he must be one of them.'

'It is still daylight,' the Elder points out.

'So white, my lady,' insists the bold warrior. 'Let's make him do the test.'

The old lady considers for a moment and then nods once slowly as if granting a great concession.

They grab him again and manhandle him towards the stream and, in particular, a tree trunk bridge precariously perched high over a very white rocky stretch. It leads, not to the other side of the river but to a tiny eyot with a rude shelter half falling down on it. The stream is not leapable in any way. Paolo ties his tablet bundle around his neck and attempts this on all fours. He soon falls under the log and has to edge his way along like a sloth – then the bundle works loose and he has to let go with both hands to grab the main bundle and a stray tablet. He dangles by his legs to gasps from native women and shouts from the men that could be encouragement or derision. He re-ties the bundle and gets his hands back on for a while but then his legs slip off and he finishes the journey Tarzan style before swinging himself up on to the eyot and collapsing exhausted.

At the feet of the old woman.

He looks up at her incredulously and she points to a wide, secure bridge fifty yards upstream. It had been hidden behind some bushes but from this vantage point is clearly visible. The warriors are all laughing uncontrollably at him – most are doubled over and some are crying.

The old lady indicates the shack with her hand, as if in invitation.

Alonso Creem's Showroom Long Island City, Queens

Gus swaggers in carrying a large holdall.

Creem leaps from his seat and draws his gun. After a beat, his mountainous Nigerians do likewise.

'Hey, hey, be easy there homey, be cool,' says Gus, inexplicably cocky. 'Don't you wanna know why I'm back?'

Creem doesn't lower his weapon but he doesn't fire it either and the others follow his lead. He just stares at Gus, waiting.

Gus slowly puts the bag on the table messing up the neat piles of dollars they had been gambling with. One of the men growls and twitches but Creem gives him a sidelong stare and there is no bloodshed yet.

Gus unzips the bag and steps back, waving Creem to inspect the contents. No one moves until Gus puts his hands on his head. Creem looks inside and finds his money and weapons returned.

' Don't need 'em no more,' says Gus triumphantly and he slowly backs out lowering his hands. He starts to turn his back on Creem and his men, then turns back as if just remembering something. 'Might need you though,' he says. Creem and his crew burst out laughing.

Gus is annoyed and gives a short whistle.

Vaun strides in, hood down and dumps an even bigger bag even more destructively down on the poker game. Cards and money go everywhere. It's too much for the beefcake who was winning and he looses a few rounds into Vaun's chest.

At the sound of gunfire, half a dozen silent, hooded figures materialise to menace the doorway but don't enter. Despite everything he's seen before, Gus is aghast… until Vaun tuts and opens the new bag as if the Nigerian had only spilt a drink over him.

The shooter can't resist examining first his weapon and then Vaun's chest. He gently teases the vampire's coat open and jerks back to see white oozing from the holes in the clothing. He slowly raises his eyes to Vaun's face and takes in the scars, pallor and all-black eyes, apparently for the first time. There's the surprisingly loud noise of twenty stone of meat hitting concrete as he collapses at Vaun's feet.

Everyone ignores the fallen man and Vaun pulls out bundle after bundle of hundreds and fifties from the bag and offers Creem two silver knuckle dusters saying, 'To match your teeth.'

Creem nods at the hooded figures behind Vaun. 'Who're these other guys?' he asks coolly, although he's already wearing the knuckle dusters.

'The Ancients have selectively recruited both exceptional warriors and the rich and influential throughout history,' replies Vaun. 'They are not like the renegade who styles himself "the Master" - indiscriminately making vast numbers of grunt minions.'

Gus can't help asking about his number one target, 'What about the waxy German? He don't grunt.'

'Ancients, masters, waxy Germans? What the hell are you talking about?' says Creem. He is ignored.

'He was chosen for a higher purpose,' says Vaun to Gus. 'Possibly as a human-immortal liaison. He can speak, whereas most of my kind cannot. And he retains some of his former self, albeit corrupted in his Master's image.'

'Er,' begins Gus, unusually reticent. 'Does he have a nose like you or does he look like…you know…kinda decayed…like those Ancient dudes?'

'I am… unusual,' says Vaun. 'As a mature eternal, he probably uses makeup and prosthetics in order to pass among the living.' Vaun turns back to Creem. 'Are you in? We start tonight.'

'He prob'ly don't have the stomach for it,' goads Gus. ' He's a dealer, not a fighter.'

'We're in,' announces Creem. 'But you gotta explain some shit first.'

Sandra Edwards' Manhattan offices

Sandra watches a CCTV feed of Mr Fitzwilliam checking into a hotel near the Stoneheart building. He is still suited but his tie is loose and the top shirt button is undone. Sandra watches thoughtfully for a while, still twirling the locket in gloved fingers.

Maastricht 1989
Corey's apartment bedroom
and Sandra's hotel room

Corey and Sandra are getting dressed to meet again for the road trip to Berlin.

Lisa Stansfield's "This is the right time (to believe in love)" is on the radio in both rooms.

Corey tries on faded jeans, white T-shirt, a black leather jacket and Tom Cruise Ray-Bans. He checks himself out in the mirror and shakes his head in disgust.

In her room, Sandra dresses in the previous day's tomboy outfit of jeans, T-shirt and Doc Martens. She examines herself from every angle, then flaps her arms in frustration and walks off.

Corey dons a three-piece suit, looks at his reflection for a second or two and rolls his eyes.

Next up for Sandra are her bikini top, hot pants, strappy sandals and hair down. She fluffs her hair, pouts, pulls a couple of provocative poses and shakes her head.

Corey tries dressing down in his gym kit of camou shorts and baggy vest top. It has oversized armholes designed to reveal honed pectorals. Once again, he shakes his head then takes off the vest, bundles it up and sniffs. With a grimace he dropkicks it away. His phone rings.

Sandra then tries a slinky little black dress and holds her hair up sophisticatedly. She sighs and looks around at the contents of her backpack strewn on the bed. She packed light and there is only one remaining option.

When they meet again in the hotel lobby, he's in a short-sleeved turquoise shirt and chinos and she's plumped for a sleeveless blue summer dress. They can't stop smiling at each other.

'I'm sorry, Sandra,' says Corey - still grinning and not looking at all sorry, 'I should have phoned before. I got a call just now from Professor Setrakian. He can't make it for another fortnight at least. Something important has come up. He didn't say what but he said he'd explain when he came over. What did you want to do? Do you want to go home and come back when he confirms his flight?'

Sandra thinks for a moment. 'No. Actually, I'd quite like to stay. It'll probably not be a long delay and I'd love to talk to your grandfather and great grandmother again. I bet they've got fascinating stories. Do you think they'd tell them to me?'

'Oma would be delighted to spend more time with you,' says Corey, 'but don't listen to anything she tells you about me.'

Sandra grins. 'And, if you wouldn't mind, I'd really like to go to a shooting range and also, learn some of that unarmed combat you guys do.'

'Krav Maga?' says Corey, his face lighting up at the prospect.

'That's the fella.'

Angel's apartment, Long Island City, Queens

Angel Guzman Hurtado aka " The Silver Angel" arrives back in his flat and looks around at the detritus of his failed life. He picks up the silver fabric mask and takes it into the tiny kitchen. He looks for something to clean it with but the dirty dishes are up to his chest so he wanders out to the filthy bathroom where he tenderly washes it under a tap. Leaving it to dry on the radiator he returns to his armchair, pours himself a mug of tequila and settles down for a re-run of "El Angel de Plata contra el Retorno de los Vampiros", "The Silver Angel versus the Return of the Vampires".

It had been his biggest grossing film. In it he is valiant and powerful, stopping at nothing to defeat evil and save his friends (not to mention a curvy brunette half his age). He uses his trademark wrestling move of "the Angel's kiss" (a powerful open palm strike to the face) to knock the big bad away from the neck of the bronzed lovely. The girl squeals with delight as Angel drives a rubbery stake through the fiend's heart and the world is saved.

Angel sits up straight, downs the drink and, grabbing some keys and his soggy mask on the way out, stomps downstairs again.

The movie is still playing.

Fitzwilliam's Manhattan hotel room

Reggie Fitzwilliam tries to contact his brothers Major Augustus in West Point and Dr Bertram in Boston - to no avail. After the last phone call has met with a 'this service has been disconnected' auto voice, he sits on the edge of his bed and with a weary sigh, he drops his head into his hands.

Fet's place, Red Hook, Brooklyn

Fet brings he and Dutch some coffee and toast.

'You nervous at all?' he asks. 'About tomorrow.'

Dutch nods and her pale face confirms it. 'I don't even know if it was love,' she says. 'I don't know whether, if she was...you know..."turned", or whatever...if she'd come back for me. Or if it was the other way round, would I seek her out? But I know I don't want to have to kill her...Or what's left of her,' she adds as Fet opens his mouth to correct her.

'Have you got anyone who might come for you?' she asks him.

'Only my parents,' he says. 'I warned my dad when I saw my first vamp and well, they know where to find me... so I'm choosing to believe that they got out. How about your mum?'

'She must be safe back home in London,' she says. 'I haven't heard from her since I left home. Not even with all this...' she waves her hands around indicating the general chaos of New York, '...happening - which I assume must be on the news over there. She obviously doesn't care about me.'

'London is home?' asks Fet.

'Was home,' she says.

'I thought you got your accent when you crossed the ocean for an English girl,' he says.

Dutch laughs out loud. 'Yeah, that's what I told you 'cos you were interrogating me and making such a big deal out of knowing all the New York accents. You couldn't even spot that it wasn't American.'

Fet leans back temporarily speechless.

'I thought everyone knew that accents were fixed by your early teens,' she says. 'I did cross the ocean for a girl but it was in the other direction.'

Fet looks like he's working up to ask Dutch something else but she pre–empts him. 'Thanks for staying up with me - keeping vigil, kind of, before...you know...' she says.

Fet smiles. 'I got ya back,' he says.

'Yeah, I know,' she says. Then awkwardly, almost begrudgingly, she says, 'You saved my life in Bolivar's, jumping on Eichhorst when he came at me.'

'Well, right back at ya,' says Fet, 'I wouldn've been able to stay on him so long if you hadn't've pumped him full of silver. He's powerful strong for a little grey suit.'

'And back at Stoneheart,' Fet continues, 'when I thought we were about to be whacked by Palmer's goons. I always hoped I'd have the guts, y'know, if I was ever in that kinda situation, to face up to it like a man – but you were brave first, standing up straight like that and looking 'im in the eye - you gave me the strength to face im down.'

She smiles weakly and yawns. 'Yeah. I'm a proper hero. I wonder what happened to old Reggie. Did he ever grow a pair and stand up to Palmer? If he did, he'd be a great one for the old guy's army. He definitelyknows about vampires and I bet he can handle himself. You're the only fighter we've got right now. The doc's gonna be a liability, if he carries on moping and drinking.'

'We always need medics,' says Fet generously and stifles a yawn of his own.

'We need one medic,' she says flatly. 'Nora might be sopping wet but she's done what he can't. I hope I can do it as well, if I have to. God, I hope Nikki's OK.' Dutch yawns again and turns back to the computer.

Sandra Edwards' Office, Manhattan

Sandra is in the middle of a phone call. Someone is giving her orders for a change...

'...give my best to their royal highnesses, sir,' she says. 'Yes sir, of course.'

'Within the hour,' she says.

She is very respectful but stops just short of obsequious.

'Thank you sir. Goodnight.'

In the background a screen shows BBC News reporting an explosion on the stricken aeroplane at Heathrow and that the Channel tunnel has been closed due to "an ongoing incident". The murderous commands she barked this afternoon have been swiftly obeyed. She glances at the screen and nods but doesn't even smile.

Maastricht 1989

Corey and Sandra enter a sports hall. She's back in jeans and T-shirt but there's more make-up and she continues to give Corey the doe eyes at every opportunity.

'Do I need to dress up in one of those white judo things?' asks Sandra.

'No, no. Krav maga is self defence for the real world.'

'Look,' he says, 'I'm not an expert and I'm certainly no teacher. I don't know what you're expecting from these sessions...' he tails off looking apprehensive.

'I just want the basics. I want an alternative to the running-away-screaming-like-a-little-girl technique that's my only option at present. I don't want always to have to rely on a big strong man to protect me.' She looks at him defiantly. 'Can you help me with that?'

Corey looks both impressed and a touch intimidated but he smiles and nods. 'Krav promotes avoidance of confrontation where possible,' he warns. 'Running off screaming might be the best decision. If you can escape you should. Defuse a threatening situation, distract or even deceive your attacker. Do anything you can to survive.'

'But if I can't, I want to be able to fight back effectively,' Sandra insists. 'Really hurt an assailant. Krav maga's about aggression too isn't it? Its more counter attack than pure defence?'

'Woah, OK. That's quite some anger you got there,' he says trying to calm her down. 'Did your ex give you that?'

'A bit,' she admits, deflating slightly. 'But some of it is just my essential inner bitch.'

'Well stay in touch with her,' he says. 'You can certainly use her later.'

Corey continues, 'Tonight we'll go out and work on awareness of surroundings - identifying threats, spotting potential weapons or escape routes - that sort of thing. Now we'll try out some dodges and throws...'