SLAYER, SLEW, SLAIN
By Niels van Eekelen
TelltaleProd@Hotmail.com
www.TelltaleProductions.tk
The next nasty of any importance we ran into called himself Mordred. I say 'called himself', because according to Maria, he wasn't the original Mordred.
This vamp was quite remarkable, actually. He killed with little care for feeding. He killed so much that he reached national news, including more than one front page. Doesn't sound all that special, but when you think of it, it's a goddamn miracle when anybody save the victims notices vamp activity in the first place. Maybe you saw the headlines: 'Texas Chainsaw Massacre Meets Reality', 'Bloodbath Takes Heat off Clinton' and more like those.
The Watchers' Council wanted us to take out Mordred so badly, that they forgot they're too old-fashioned for cell-phones when they called Maria. Incidentally, we were already at the airport to go catch this guy when they rang. I think it's the time zone shit. The Brits seem to get everything later than we do here. Sometimes years.
In case you've been wondering; no, Maria didn't carry an entire Watcher's library in her bags. She had some friends from way back when back in the Old World, two twin sisters, who collected every volume that had at least a hundred years' layer of dust on them, and they were happy to assist whenever Maria called. They had spent all night faxing us copies of texts referring to Mordred, and Maria and I went over them on the plane to Dallas, and the connecting flight to Houston. There was a wide trail of corpses that led us in that direction.
Anyway, there have been a whole series of killers calling themselves Mordred throughout history, dating back to the early Middle Ages. Apparently Mordred was some character from the king Arthur stories, and the others were named for them. The Watchers aren't sure what the connection that there is between all of them is, but they're convinced there is one. Each Mordred is a vampire who has some extra abilities, like for instance greater strength and stamina than other vamps.
Other similarities between them all were that they all kill randomly, almost, it had been suggested, as if they're trying to make a point, or prove something. Consequently, Mordreds always take one risk too many, and die pretty fast, which is all that has kept them out of the history books next to Hitler and Ghengis Khan.
We had to whisper as we discussed tactics on the plane, because it would have been a bit hard to explain to our fellow passengers why we were talking about killing a person. Naturally, the plane was delayed, and we nearly missed our connecting flight. Fortunately, that flight was delayed, too, and we just caught it. We arrived in Houston about an hour after sunset. We quickly dumped our bags in a locker--except, of course, for our weapons of choice--and took a cab in the general direction of the mayhem.
It wasn't a pleasant trip. Mordred was probably continuing his killing spree already, and the idea of Mordred's unknown special powers, despite my usual external confidence that I'd kick his ass, put us both on edge. We knew we were getting close when the cab passed some buildings with police lines around them.
"Take a right turn here," Maria instructed the driver.
The man stepped on the brake suddenly and turned around to glare at us angrily. "Look," he started, "if you two are some kind of sickos who want to see the killer at work, you can go on foot. I'm not getting any closer."
"You ditch us here," I told him coldly, "and you can forget about your money."
"Faith," Maria shushed me. "It's all right, sir." She handed the man some money. "Keep the change. Faith, come on." We'd barely got out of the car before the driver took off again, and we didn't waste any time standing around, either, as a scream, quickly followed by police sirens, suddenly shattered the nightly silence. "This way!" Maria called, but I was already running out ahead of her.
The scream was cut off abruptly, and I knew there was one more life I wouldn't be able to save. I pushed my speed to the limit as I ran through the streets and checked my crossbow. Behind me, Maria was starting to breathe hard, but she managed to keep up with me. Up ahead, a voice shouted something unintelligible through a megaphone, a gunfire followed. This was something completely different from the usual Slayer behaviour of sneaking around in deserted graveyards. I could feel the adrenalin pumping into my bloodstream. Different just meant that the adventure would be more exciting.
Around the next corner, I abruptly stumbled to a halt, and Maria crashed into my back. The street was lit bright as day by a convenience store which was burning like crazy, with enormous flames leaking out. In front of the store stood a tall man, dressed like a knight out of a story, with a chain mail coat and a long broadsword, which he held high into the air. It was an impressive sight, I'll admit that. just as impressive were the six police cars closing off the street on both sides, and the cops firing their guns at our buddy Mordred.
"Holy shit," I commented. We were both flustered for a moment, but the next volley of shots brought us back down to Earth.
Mordred laughed as the bullets hit him, and continued walking towards the police cars. Chains shot away from his coat where the bullets hit him, but Mordred showed no reaction. He must have felt the impacts, because he walked as if in an extraordinarily strong wind, but he showed no sign of pain.
"This could be a problem," Maria commented.
"Holy shit," I repeated. "Guess we found out what his special power is." Still, I reasoned, numb to pain he might be, but he was still a vampire. I ran a dozen feet closer and raised my crossbow.
"Fools!" the vamp yelled at the cops. "You cannot stop me! I am Mordred! This bloodshed is for Mother!"
"Next time," I whispered, "get her flowers." I may not be all that great a shot, but the one I took then was right on target. It would have hit Mordred straight in his heart, or what passed for one in his chest. That is, if he hadn't cut the bolt out of the air with his broadsword.
Then he stared at me past the police, and spoke. "Finally ones comes who knows how to fight me, and it is no more than a girl." Now that really pissed me off. 'No more than a girl?' I'd show that rat-faced bastard what girl power was all about.
"Maria, I can't get close to him unless the doughnut-eaters stop shooting." I was pretty much trowing our strategies out of the window, but we hadn't counted on police intervention anyway.
"Use your crossbow to make certain that he won't forget you, and the boy will follow you anywhere," my Watcher reasoned.
"Ah, so I'm to use my charm."
Mordred, meanwhile, had reached the police cars on our side of the street, and was swinging his sword down onto the hood. When it hit, flames spouted out, and I noted with pleasure that Mordred rushed aside before the engine exploded as fast as the cops did. I reloaded and shot another crossbow bolt at the vampire. This one was a bit off, but it would still have injured him--it'd better, at this short a range--but again, Mordred swatted the bolt aside with his broadsword.
"How the fuck does he do that?" I wondered idly.
"Foolish girl!" Mordred bellowed, as if in response to my question. "I can sense your wood coming long before it hits me!"
"So now you're a fuckin' Jedi knight? Great" Mordred turned aside, and swung around his sword to attack two cops who were lying at his feet, dazed by the explosion.
I felt the blood drain from my face. I couldn't let this psychopath kill any more people. It had gone too far already, while I was just standing there. But I was still standing too far away to get between Mordred and his victims in time.
"Hey, you coward!" I yelled at the vamp, furious. "Come here--unless you're afraid to take on someone who'll fight back!"
Mordred glanced at me for a moment, and I grinned internally, thinking that I had him, and that all men were the same--for once, that wasn't a complaint. Then the vampire turned back to his victims and killed them with one chop of his sword each. I gasped in horror as the blood splattered around.
Smiling visciously, Mordred raised one blood-soaked hand to his mouth and licked off some of the blood. "You'll all die soon enough," he spoke. "Just await your turn, little girl."
I lost it, then, and stormed straight at him.
That's when I had a close encounter of the sword kind.
I stormed at Mordred with astake in one hand, and the crossbow still in the other. I was horribly fast, even if I do say so myself, and had he been any other vampire, I don't doubt that I would have had him. But Mordred sidestepped quickly and swung down his sword. Though I hadn't expected him to react so damn fast, I had expected that he'd move, so I was ready. I turned in mid-step and dived after him. Mordred, again, responded to that, and redirected the swing of his long sword. It was now far too close to me to get out of the path of its swing in time.
It was my crossbow that saved my life. Somehow I managed to bring it up between the broadsword and myself. The blade cut through the wood and metal of the crossbow like a hot fucking knife through fucking butter, but it got me the few precious moments I needed.
I twisted aside wildly, and instead of literally cleaving me in two, the sword just cut deeply into my side. I screamed in pain before I could stop myself, and was only my impact on the windshield of another police car that shut me up.
Shaking my head to clear it, I heard Maria scream my name and looked up. I thought that Mordred might have gone after her after dealing with me, but to my surprise I saw that not enough time had passed for Mordred to even turn around. With as much surprise as satisfaction, I noticed my stake sticking out of his left arm--though Mordred didn't even so much as wince. Maria hadn't screamed for help, naturally, but out of concern.
She quickly aimed her own crossbow, letting it rest on her left arm while her right hand squeezed the trigger, like a gun. My Watcher had always been a way better shot than I was, and she showed that again. The bolt from her crossbow shot straight at Mordred's heart. Once again, he reacted with lightning speed, bringing up his sword, but the broadsword's enormous size and weight now worked against the vamp, because the injury my stake had caused slowed him down. Maybe he didn't feel the pain, but hit hard enough, his body wouldn't be able to function. That meant that he wouldn't be swinging that sword around anymore if I happened to cut off his hands, or do much of anything if I cut off his head. 'Cause I would still have to do something like that. Slow as he was, Mordred just managed to bump the bolt away from his heart. It stuck out from his chest like some awful Halloween costume. Mordred wheezed and nearly dropped his sword.
He looked at Maria, and then at me--just in time to watch me roll off the police car and back onto my feet. "You are worthy adversaries," he spoke gravely. "For this, I will give you one more day to live. Enjoy it, while you can." Then he took off at high speed. The bastard was a terrible liar. There was no doubt in my mind--and there still isn't--that Maria and I had shattered his little fantasy world, where he was invincible, and he was scared shitless. So he went to lick his wounds, like any other dog.
When he was gone, the adrenalin flushed out of my system like the Niagara Falls, and painful reality set in. I noticed how tightly my hand was pressing against my left side, and for a moment totally forgot why. When I let go and raised my hand to look at it. The hand was coated with enough blood to make any vamp's stomach growl. "Shit!" was all I managed to say before, out of the blue, darkness suddenly closed on me and I slumped to the ground.
It's true what they say, that hearing comes back first, and sight last. I remember hearing people walk around, a faint voices talking some way off before I managed to open my eyes and take a look around. But before I could do that, and find out where I was, I was more concerned with the stinging pain in my side. I shifted where I lay, and hissed in renewed pain. Stitches. Unfortunately, I was familiar enough with the damned things to recognise the feeling when I pulled on them.
Then I finally thought to open my eyes, and when I did, I saw that I was once again in a hospital. I groaned. "Shit, not again." Judging by the light shining through the window, it was rapidly approaching dawn--it was probably too late for vampires to be out safely already--and I had no intention to stick around and be forced to eat hospital food for breakfast.
Maria was sitting in a chair beside my bed, and had laid her head on her arms on the side of my bed. I didn't really want to wake her, but I shook her anyway. I wanted to get out of the hospital as quickly as possible. For me, doctors were usually as much trouble as they were help, because sooner or later they noticed how fast I heal, and they always want to find out why. Just can't leave well enough alone, I guess.
When I shook her, Maria started awake violently, nearly knocking over her chair, but when she saw that it was only me, she looked relieved. "Faith!" she said. "Glad to see you awake. How are you feeling?"
"Not all that bad, I suppose," I replied. "I'll be healed enough to go Slay the un out of Mordred's undead." I winced as I sat up. "They've gone awfully cheap on the anaesthetic with me, though."
Maria smiled apologetically. "That's my fault, I'm afraid. I wanted to make certain that you wouldn't sleep the day away, so I made up a story to make the doctors go easy on the anaesthetics."
"Anything to get out of here, I suppose." Maria walked to the closet and brought me my clothes. To my regret, she hadn't even left my side to get some other clothes from our luggage at the airport, so there was still a tear in my shirt, and, worse, in my expensive leather jacket. They were a heel of a lot cleaner, though, thank god.
We simply walked out of the hospital through the front door, and no one tried to stop us. The place seemed very busy to me. Maria explained that Morded had left more injured than dead before we'd stopped him that night. I like to think that those people owed me their lives.
I was eager to go out, searching the sewers or wherever else Mordred might be lurking, but Maria insisted on getting a hotel room and resting until nightfall. It was a good thing she did, too, because even if I didn't want to know about it, I hadn't recovered enough to go ten rounds with a fruit fly.
I dropped down on the bed and decided to close my eyes for just a second. The next thing I know, Maria wakes me up coming in after she went to get our bags from the airport locker. I couldn't have been asleep for long, but I already felt much stronger.
When I came walking out of the bedroom, Maria dumped the bags on the floor and started digging through them. I pretended to have been awake all along--I really hated being weak, so I always tried to pretend that moments like these never happened. It was only later that I realised that Maria must have known I'd fallen asleep before she even left. "Hi, M," I greeted her.
"Hi Faith," Maria returned, still looking through the bags. "Roll up your sleeve."
"What?" I asked, confused.
"I said, roll up your sleeve. Left arm's probably best. Ah, there it is," she added to herself. I shrugged and did what she asked. Likely it was some Watcher thing. Then I saw what Maria was taking out of the bag.
"Waitaminute," I objected. I almost took an instinctive step backwards, before I remembered that I'd sat down.
"We're going to give to give you a little blood transfusion," Maria told me in her British voice--one that brooked no opposition. She took a bloodbag from another, cooling bag.
"Is that really necessary?" I wondered uncomfortably. Isn't that fucking stupid? I hate needles. I hunt vampires every night with stake that isn't half as sharp as any needle, and at least once a week I end up with my hands full of splinters--but I still hate needles. It isn't even that I'm afraid of being pricked with one. I guess that maybe it's that I can't be sure of what I'm injected with. In centuries past, it's been a favourite of vamps to poison their Slayers, 'cause else they'd get their butts kicked so often.
Ah, crap. I trusted Maria completely, so that couldn't be it, then, either.
I complained for a while longer, naturally, but Maria wouldn't hear any of it--which I knew she wouldn't from the start, and kinda realised was for the best, too. As she said, my massive blood loss was why she'd let me be taken to the hospital in the first place, instead of letting me do my own healing. My body could re-knit itself with the best of them--Slayers are regular Wolverines, or close enough--but but it couldn't conjure up out of thin air what had been lost.
So, needle. Crap.
The remainder of that day was spent planning--and resting, and eating, a lot of eating, for some reason--because it had become painfully clear that it would be best if I didn't enter into another direct confrontation with mortified Mordred.
That was actually one of thefirst times that I fully appriciated a carefully planned strategy. I've never exactly been a fan of planning ahead too much. It's mostly that I don't have an ounce of patience in me, but there's the tiny little fact too that thinking ahead gives me too much to worry about. Being a Slayer and all, the only thing in my future that is anywhere near certain, is that I'll never have to worry about wrinkles and grey hair, because I won't live long enough to get them. And even if I did survive the Slayer gig, what were my prospects in life? High school drop-out who left home to fight evil seeks employment. Special skills: ass-kicking and killing. I'm sure the job offers would come flowing in by the dozens. No, I started out seeing vampire slaying as a big adventure, and I was determined to keep doing so, because I didn't want to look beyond that.
Oh, hell. Yes, I suppose I was afraid to look beyond that.
Moving along, Maria and I came up with a pretty decent plan. It wasn't infallible, but as I pointed out--not for the first time--the only things that are sure in life are death and taxes.
The tougher part was finding out where we could expect Mordred to show up that night. Once he started, he'd be pretty damn easy to find, but we were hoping to prevent any more of his displays of mayhem. So I finally got to ditch my faithful bloodbag and needle, and went scouting the neighbourhood where we had encountered Mordred the night before.
Mordred had left an easy enough trail to follow through the entire state, and at dawn, he'd never shown up very far from where he'd called it a night at dusk, as long as there were still people breathing nearby. Since we were in one of the larger cities of the south-east, finding living people wasn't really an issue. Maria seemed convinced enough that we wouldn't have scared him off, either. I couldn't keep up with her reasoning in that department, but it was hardly the first time that happened. Maria was a smart one; usually, she was right.
I asked around a bit, and found out that only one place, a disco, would be open that night. Of the rest, the owners were probably seriously considering emigration by then. They were the clever ones. With Mordred's love for wholesale slaughter, it seemed like a safe bet that Mordred would turn up here. Even if he was expecting me to come after him again, he'd want to fight where the risk of collateral damage was highest.
So, early that evening, I went to the disco. It wasn't as much fun as it sounds, though. Discos and clubs are always favourite places for vampires to get late night snacks, so whenever I was dancing or whatever, I always had to make sure I kept and eye on my spider-sense. But this was different. I knew Mordred was coming, and because of that, I couldn't get him off my mind, not even when this really cute guy offered to buy me a drink.
I accepted anyway, thinking that it would be a good thing if I managed not to be so tense until Mordred showed up.
We sat down at the bar, and he ordered our drinks. "What's your name?" he asked me, eyeing me appreciatively.
I smiled. "I'm Faith," I told him. "And you?"
He took our drinks from the barkeep--who hadn't asked for either of our IDs, by the way--and handed me mine. "I'm Rob."
I took a long swallow from my glass, and felt Rob's hand on my leg. I hadn't expected that yet for a few more minutes of senseless small talk, and maybe a dance. Looking at him again, I sighed. He was a bit of a creep, practically drooling over me, but cute enough that I regretted that I had to work that night. Perhaps I could find him again later, if the plan went well.
Unfortunately, Rob wasn't as much of a brainless hormone as he seemed. "Are you waiting for someone?" he asked me. I had made certain to keep watching for Mordred's appearance--still I thought I'd been unobtrusive enough about it so Robbie-boy wouldn't notice.
I smiled at him with all my charm--meaning: like a starved nymphomaniac. "Not a boyfriend or anything."
"Good," he grinned.
Then, all of a sudden, the doors slammed wide open, and the disco's bouncer came flying in, all the way across the dance floor. He was, as bouncers tend to be, a large man, and he caused quite a commotion when he crashed head-first into the wall opposite to the door. Or, it would have been head-first. I he'd still had a head.
"Fuck!" I exclaimed, jumping up, as Mordred's equally large form filled the doorway. His eyes searched the frozen crowd menacingly,and all to soon, they settled on me.
"Slayer!" the vampire called pointing at me with his sword. The broadsword gleamed dangerously, almost blinding me as it reflected the blinking and flashing lights of the disco. Detachedly, I wondered how it could still be clean of blood after chopping off the bouncer's head.
Then I took a half-step forward, raising my stake in a parody of Mordred's stance. "Slain," I replied. The atmospere in the disco was one of severe confusion, but--considering the extremely dead guy lying on one side--also of amazing calm. "Come for a rematch, have you?" I taunted Mordred. My side ached a little in remembered pain, reminding me not to get too over-confident. I ignored the warning, simply because that was how I was. Besides, the plan called for a little over-confidence. "C'mon," I beckoned too him, "this time, it's personal."
To my surprise, Mordred shook his head, and rested the tip of his large sword on a table near him. "No rematch, little one. Not now." His tone made me feel distinctly uncomfortable. He was up to something. Of that much, I was certain. But what? "I've come to tell you that all the ritual killing I am doing is to attest my worthiness to Mother. You are an unwanted obstacle."
"So what are you going to do about it?" I returned snidely, irritated because I had no clue what the vamp was up to.
"This," Mordred said calmly.
Have you ever wondered why vampires never use any weapons more advanced than the occasional crossbow? I know I have. More than once. There have been a dozen or so instances over my short carreer that I realised, in the middle of some violent squirmish, that if my opponent had a firearm, I would have been toast. Gone to meet my maker. An ex-Slayer. Once I thought that perhaps it was some kind of nostalgia, a way to remain in the good old days when a sharp sword was all a good fighter could wish for if he wanted a nice bloodbath. Then again, I had reasoned, few vampires were actually that old. The best conclusion I ever managed to draw was that the vamps' dislike of guns comes from some inner drive that sets the demonic and magical against the technical. (Why, then, they do drive cars like ordinary people, I won't even hazard a guess.) I think it all comes down to instinct.
Instinct, which, if given sufficient incentive, vampires can apparently shove aside.
Like Mordred did when he pulled out his uzi.
"Holy--" I started, but then reconsidered and wisely decided not to waste any time on curses. I jumped up and flipped back over the bar just as the uzi started rattling out bullets at I-can't-remember-how-many a second. Until then, the disco crowd had been frozen--maybe they'd recognised Mordred from TV, 'cause a news crew had caught a few seconds of footage of him the night before, before he'd cut them open--but when the gunfire erupted, everyone exploded into motion. Mostly, the people ran--in all directions, as long as it wasn't directly into the rain of bullets. A few, though--Rob, and two people who'd been sitting at the bar on my other side--just exploded. It was quite possibly the most disgusting thing I have ever seen. The bullets just ripped through their bodies like... well, like something exremely disgusting. I vanished behind the bar almost instantly myself, but that half-second before that seemed to last a half-hour.
With the ground on the other side of the bar came the return of normal speed. "Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap!" I cursed. For a minute, there was nothing I could do but cover myself and wait for Mordred to stop firing. I caught a few splinters of glass and a lot a liquor from shattered bottles, but through some uncommon stroke of luck, I wasn't actually injured.
Then the noise suddenly faltered, and before I could stop myself, I risked a glance at the room. The disco was now practically empty of people. It looked like most people had got out through the door behind Mordred, and he'd been too preoccuped with me to stop them. Glad I could be of some assistance. There were still of few partygoers inside, hidden as well as they could, which wasn't very, but I couldn't help them if I was mashed Slayer. So I bolted for the back door.
Mordred finally slammed in a new magazine of bullets. I barely cleared the doorway before his little metal buddies followed me. At this point, I only just recalled that I was supposed to follow a plan, and for myself, I was now planning to get a lot more distance between us then the original plan called for.
I ran through the back storage room and out onto the street without looking back. There was plenty of evidence that Mordred was still hot on my tail flying around my ears.
According to the plan, I was supposed to lead Mordred through the streets, but not too much in a straight line, so he wouldn't notice I was moving with a purpose. Well, I certainly zigged and zagged whenever I got the chance. A dozen times I thought that the next bullet was going to hit me. It never happened. Mordred must have been a terrible shot--which, in hindsight, makes sense, considering how rarely vamps ever get to shoot. Besides, the uzi is hardly a precision weapon.
Anyway, predictably enough, my luck lasted as long as I absolutely needed it, and no longer. Just when I entered the street with the abandoned warehouse Maria and I had found, a bullet hit me. It only grazed my leg, but that was enough to make the entire limb go numb. I stumbled, rolled and immediately was on my feet and moving on again, but my speed was now severely hampered by a limp. Mordred started gaining on me, and this time, I wasn't letting him so he'd follow me into the trap.
As Mordred got closer, the general aim of his bullets got better. They ricocheted off the street all around my feet. The fear which had until then provided me with the adrenalin I needed to keep strong now threatened to overwhelm me. I felt as if a cold hand was closing around my heart.
Suddenly certain I wouldn't make it to the right warehouse, I kicked in the door to a closer one and dived in.
"There is no escape from the wrath of Mordred, girl!" the vampire called out to me. He was getting terribly cocky, now that he had the upper hand for a while, but I was too panicky to take advantage of it. As I'd hoped, Mordred followed me inside, but hesitated for a moment, wondering if I was prepared for him now.
Inside, I braced myself, and then raced forward--not at Mordred, as he'd expected, but five or so feet to his right. Mordred looked almost comical as he was confused for a moment about whether he should use his firearm or his sword on me. With my arms--thankfully protected by a sturdy leather jacket wrapped around them--first, I dived at the window. The window frame was rotten more than a bit, and it was the frame as much as the window that gave way.
It had seemed to me as if time had slowed, and sound had fallen away, while I stormed at the window. When I crashed onto the street with a loud Thump!, the world reverted back to normal. I could feel shards of glass, naturally, but the jacket did a good job of saving my arms. I just hoped that I could get Maria to buy me a new one. It's weird what the human mind can think of when it's supposed to focus on the situation at hand. Almost before I realised it, my Slayer reflexes had me back on my feet and running again. It occurred to me that I was running from my enemies a damn lot more than I wished--and this time, it was even part of the plan.
The plan. The shock and pain of my close encounter of the glass window kind had done much to clear the panic from my thoughts, and I managed to focus again. My little detour had bought me enough time to reach the warehouse. Once at the door, I turned, and saw that Mordred was only halfway there from the other warehouse, and it looked like he was having trouble with the uzi. At the rate the vampire'd been blasting away, I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd ran out of bullets. The bastard.
Knowing full well that it would drive him nuts with rage, I paused long enough to give Mordred the finger. Then I went inside.
"Maria!" I called. "I'm here!"
"As if I hadn't noticed!" my Watcher yelled back from somewhere in the building. From below, it sounded. "I could here you half a dozen blocks away! Are you all right?"
"I'll hold together! Everything's set?"
"It is!"
Meanwhile, I was working my way up onto the cabinet we'd moved next to the door. I nearly knocked over the bucket on top in the process, but I stabilised it, and picked up the box of large matches just in time for Mordred's dramatic entrance. The vampire's long broadsword cleaved through the door easily, and Mordred strided in, looking around for me--but, fortunately, not yet up. "Slayer!" he growled. "Come out and face me! I'm getting hungry!"
"Here," I called, emptying the bucket over his head, "wash your hands before you eat." There wasn't that much holy water in the bucket, but Mordred still started when his flesh started burning away--even if he still didn't show any sign of pain. The rest of his trouble started when I added a few matches to light the gasoline.
"You'll pay for this, Slayer!" the vampire cursed me. Pain or no, he had little choice but to try and put himself out, before some part of him burned too badly to be used. Those few moments were all I needed. I wedged myself between the cabinet and the wall, and, with all my Slayer strength, pushed. I grunted. The cabinet was fucking heavy--but then, it had to be; it would be no good if Mordred could move it aside and still get to the door. Finally, the cabinet fell over.
Mordred, scarred but nearly cleared of flames looked at me and growled again. I resisted temptation and my first instincts, and ran away again. "Maria!" I called again. "Now's a good time!" She didn't call back, but it quickly became clear that she had heard me. While the two of us had been trying to come up with a plan to beat Mordred that day, I had fantasized that it would have been great if we could just stuff a bomb up his ass. After urging me to watch my language, Maria had said that that wasn't even such a bad idea. We didn't have any bombs, but a few well-placed sparks were more than enough to light the gasoline drowning the dry warehouse and make it hard to tell the difference.
Maybe his powers were overwhelmed, or maybe the spell the rendered him insensitive to pain gave out, whatever it was, or maybe he just panicked, but Mordred finally screamed. I wasn't all that far ahead of the fire myself. There were no windows in this ware house, and only one door--which was why we had picked this building, since we didn't want Mordred to escape after all the effort we'd gone through to trap him. Fortunately, it also had an access-hatch to the sewers.
I dived through it headfirst, and I heard Maria slam the hatch shut. Then I plunged into the sewage. As soon as I could, I came up again, retching and coughing. "Fuck! That stuff is disgusting!"
"You weren't supposed to drink it, you know," Maria told me, patting my back.
"Very funny."
"Come on," Maria said. She looked at the ceiling and helped me up. "The floor is probably going to cave in after it's burning for a while. Let's not take any chances now."
We waded through the raw sewage until we were at a more than safe distance away from the burning warehouse. There, we sat down on a ledge, tired but victorious. "That was pretty awesome," I commented.
My Watcher shook her head tiredly. "You never learn, do you?" Then, she grinned. "Though I have to admit--that was certainly invigorating."
I smiled, too. I remember thinking that if we had been in an episode of the X-files, we would close off this episode with a scene in the sewer below the warehouse. The ceiling--or the floor of the warehouse--would have had caved in, as well as the floors above that. Eery moonlight would illuminate scorched bits of debris and reflect of the dirty water. Then, suddenly an arm would reach up out of the water. It would be badly burned, blackened and disfigured, but still alive--or undead, as the case may be. That's when the TV would fade to black.
I had never ever been so glad I wasn't a character in a TV series.
Story written by Niels van Eekelen. © Copyright 2004 Telltale Productions.
In a perfect world, I would own the series 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and 'Angel'. Alas, it is not, and I bow my head to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Ah, well. It's probably for the best, me not having a contract to put the show on the air and all.
A special thanks to Paul Leone and Teresa Owens, from whose story 'The Deliverer' I nicked the name of Faith's Watcher, though not the character.