What was my cunning plan to get in? Was I going to parachute onto the roof? Storm the place? No, I was going to ask.
I sat alone in the back of the van – the other slayers seemed to find my presence unnerving. It was understandable, I didn't speak, I barely moved, and I was carrying enough weapons to lay siege to a fort. At the moment I was cradling a Colt .44 in my left hand, I slowly loaded it with The Bullet. Yes, THE Bullet, not a, the.
The Bullet was one of a kind. Teflon coated it had a small chip of lignum vitae in it, it contained trace amounts of silver and was steel jacketed. I was saving it for one target in particular.
Me.
I lifted the gun and removed the safety catch before placing it against my head. The bullet contained the tools of my trade, not necessary but symbolic I thought. I'd had enough of this shit. Years I'd spent trying to find a niche in society where I fit and still nothing, yeah sure I might be accepted as a vampire hunter but I wasn't accepted by them. They were afraid of my, they found me too cold, to me it wasn't justice, revenge or holy duty. It was a job pure and simple. And who knows maybe I might be accepted into the Night World but I doubted it, I was tired of fighting. The only problem was it was all I had left and I was good at it.
Fuck this. I pulled the trigger.
There was no explosion, no pop, no sudden sense of weightlessness.
The bloody gun had jammed. Wearily I placed it in it's holster and got out of the van where the remaining five hunters were waiting.
Out of the original twenty I had picked the three most competent slayers, the single most pathetic and useless and despite my best efforts I had been unable to get rid of Vicky who for some reason still believed she was in charge.
"Ok, I don't believe in inspirational speeches. You know your jobs. Do them. Now how's leading the second team?"
"Me, sir!" This came from the oldest slayer, who if I were to hazard a guess was around 50 and by the way he carried himself ex-military. Now the former was pretty rare but around 1/20 of all slayers had some sort of military background even it was just failing to make the grade. He was missing three fingers on his left hand, was bordering on bald and his face was so thoroughly scarred that it was hard to make out where one ended and the next began. Sadly this picture was spoiled by the somewhat boring name of Harvey.
"Thank you Harvey, and don't call me sir. Let's get to work."
Author's Note: Sorry I ended it there bit of writers block,also I know it's got typos and I will eventually correct, however here is a preview of one possible chapter much later in.
I never thought it would come to this, it was medieval warfare in the modern day.
"All ranks load!" I watched the survivors of the last clash nock arrows, and reload crossbows. We had three firearms between us, they'd been given to our best shots, one M1 Garland rifle, one sniper and a single Desert Eagle. They didn't listen for orders they'd been told quite simply to find a kill shot and take it without wasting ammo.
"Wait for it" If our equipment was right a platoon of around fifty Night Worlders would be coming round the corner of the street, we had a large sports centre behind us to retreat and hide in. And there they were, at least fifteen of them were werewolves. They had two officers if I assumed the two giving orders were officers.
"1st rank take aim!" I heard a loud shot behind me and one of the officers fell. They put their weapons slightly above the barricade. The barricade consisted of number of overturned metal and wooden tables, basically anything that would work.
"Fire! 2nd rank aim!" Out of the 7 in the 1st rank, 4 had hit. The nightworlders unslung assault rifles from there shoulders. Shit!
"2nd rank fire! Retreat!" Three more went down. We moved jerkily and unevenly from the barricade, a few archers provided a covering fire. I was one of them. Draw shoot, draw shoot. Two of us fell to the bullets. I stole a last glance at the enemy before withdrawing into the base. I was just in time to see that out of the eight that had been shot only three had been kill shots as the supernatural warriors got steadily to their feet. The doors closed with the finality of death itself, all we could do now was wait for it to end...
Author's Note: so what do you think?
