Vamp Town (The Monster Keeper Series Book 1) Page 2

  Damn! He yelled inside his head. Just trying to get home the fastest way. He was tired of hearing his wife rag at him for missing another family birthday. This one would be his grandson's fifteenth. Fifteen years. Where the hell did the time go? At least the boy was too young to have gotten caught up in those godawful wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. His grandson would never have to see the shit that he saw in Nam. No. He would never have to do the shit that he did. Knock on wood.

  Snapping out of his thoughts Eddie came back to his present situation. Damn it! I'm lost. How the hell...? I've been driving this route for ten fucking years. Shit! Too much in a hurry not to piss off her royal highness he took a short cut he had been told about years before by that driver, what was his name? Shit. It really didn’t matter now. He wasn’t the one here having to deal with this problem. My problem. I am in so much trouble.

  Eddie drove on over the unfamiliar stretch of highway trying to put the situation into perspective. Even though getting lost was certainly the result of a wrong choice which he had made, nothing could be worse than the trouble thrust upon him as a result of his decision to join the Marines.

  Fresh out of recruit training at Camp Pendleton he stepped off a Pan Am 707 and on to the tarmac at Tân Sơn Nhất Air Force Base on January 30th of 1968 just in time to help usher in the Vietnamese Year of the Monkey. Within 12 hours he was in the fight of his life as the Viet Cong launched their surprise Tết Offensive catching the United States off guard.

  Charlie eventually lost that battle but not before taking the lives of a lot of guys during those frantic days; guys who might have become Eddie's friends if they hadn't mostly died. The shit he saw...

  Now that was trouble. He could have died. If dying wasn’t at the top of the list of “being in trouble” then Eddie didn’t know what would be. At least all he was right now was lost. Bad? Yes. Life threatening? No.

  On the other hand, the immediate trouble he was facing was spelled with a capital “T”. While death was not imminent, he was going to feel some pain as a result of his decision to take an unknown route. Trouble from home, trouble from work and, most immediately, trouble right here on Ol' No. 7.

  As the bus continued up the highway, Eddie peered out the windshield looking for road signs or anything that he might recognize so he could get this group to its intended destination and he could get home in time for his wife. He looked at his watch and sighed. The big hand and the little hand were telling him that the schedule would be a bit off tonight. Eddie chuckled to himself and thought, Those that live by the schedule die by the schedule. Well as bad as this was no one was going to die over it, at least.

  The sun was starting to set to the left and rear of the bus which was a good sign meaning he was heading in the right direction, sort of. As Eddie continued driving up the road, still looking for anything telling him where he might be, he noticed the needle on the gas gauge was bobbing around the “E”. Mother fu... Am I ever going to catch any breaks today? He kept on driving until the needle took one last bump before it settled and moved no more. The bus was out of fuel.

  Eddie slowly put his foot to the brakes and brought the bus to a stop. He laid his forehead down on the steering wheel and banged on it a couple of times. He knew how fucked he was, in oh so many ways. Eddie raised his head and looked back at the passengers through the mirror just above his seat.

  Nine passengers to give him grief. Eddie took in a deep breath as he looked back at each of them.

  Which one would be the first?

  Slowly he surveyed each of the passengers and did a tactical assessment of who might be his tormentor; a hold over from his years in the corps. Old habits died hard.

  The family in row 3 didn’t seem to be capable of giving him too much grief. He reached for the passenger manifest and checked for their names. O'Neil. The little girl? Cindra. Of course not. The father? Eddie looked at the seating chart, Wilson, seemed too kicked down by whatever had happened to him to complain about anything though there might have been a time... The wife? Marion. When she got on the bus she fussed and harrumphed over the soiled seats; dramatically dusting off the cushions before letting her daughter sit. Even made a few, overly loud, comments about the cleaning standards...maybe her.

  How about that quiet guy in row 5? Paul Matthews. No way. He’s military. Eddie could spot them a mile away. When he climbed onto the bus with a slight limp, Eddie asked him if he could assist in any way. They both locked eyes and knew the other for what he was.

  The guy smiled and asked. “Not unless you got any extra ibuprofen?”

  Eddie opened his bag and fished around in it, shifting a 9mm handgun at the top, and pulled out a small bottle and offered it to him. “800mg from the VA. None of that pansy, over-the-counter 200mg stuff.”

  When Eddie handed Paul the bottle of pills, he could see that the guy was checking out the gun. “Beretta, for emergencies.”

  “Nice piece. Name’s Paul. Guessing Nam.”

  “How did you guess that? The gray hair?”

  “The ponytail.”

  Eddie smiled at that one. “Yep. Marines retired. I’m Eddie.”

  “You look like life’s treating you well. For an old Jarhead, that is. Thanks for the drugs. Can I pay you?”

  “Nah. The least I can do for a grunt.”

  “Rangers.”

  “You guys have always been touchy about your labels. Welcome aboard the Pride of Ontario.” Eddie smiled.

  “Oh, and nice shirt,” Paul said as he moved on into the bus.

  Nope. Definitely not going to be him.

  So, how about that weird couple back in the seventh row? A lesbian and a gay guy, at least that's how Eddie read the two. He knew it wasn't the best of character traits that he judged books by their covers but after working around people for as long as he had it was hard not to. Looking at the manifest, he read their names, Jenna Johanson and Kelvin Jarrett. Kelvin? One thing for certain was that they had a sense of humor, always cracking jokes; like they were performing for an audience but the only ones paying attention to them were each other. No other audience required. They've been at it since they boarded in Reno.

  Looking back into the mirror he watched the two carrying on; oblivious to the fact that the bus had stopped moving. Well, he could also scratch them off the list of potential threats.

  Eddie’s focus moved further back into the bus, and he stopped with the beautiful girl in row 8. When she boarded in Reno, it was clear that every guy was looking at her, and she knew it; probably could tell if a pair of eyes wasn’t staring at her. You wear clothes like that and in that way and, well, you’ll get looked at. Not that she wasn’t attractive. Hell, she was stunning, but her choice of outfits broadcast something else entirely. Too bad, she could easily stand with the top models in New York or Paris.

  Glancing down at his clipboard, he saw her name, Stephanie Siaskowski. That last name sure was a mouthful.

  When she walked past Eddie down the aisle to her seat, it was obvious that she could tell that he noticed. He was sorry to admit that he was a flawed human and did follow her using the mirror just like he was now. No man could honestly say that they wouldn’t turn their heads to look when she walked by; medium height, dark straight hair cut at the shoulders, a perfect figure with what he considered to be the ideal breast size, not too large and not too small. Other than whiplash, however, she wasn’t going to cause him any problems.

  The woman and man sitting in the back of the bus were the last two passengers he needed to consider. He’d seen these two before with different names and faces but the same situation. The woman, Ellie Struthers was her name, this time, attractive but clinging to her man for some ungodly reason; too convinced that she was in love with this guy. This one had slight bruising around her neck like she had been grabbed but it was well covered by makeup and a scarf. Some of the women he had seen were far less lucky with visible black and blue marks that just couldn’t be hidden.

  The woman? Not a chance. Too
passive.

  That just left the guy. Richard Conroy. The loud, belligerent, arrogant and just a plain mean type of person that would have gotten at least one sock party in boot camp. A fuckin’ jock type who thought his weight lifting physique could intimidate anyone but when actually challenged he'd back down. They called these guys paper lions. Eddie studied him, watching how he hemmed in his girlfriend up against the window to keep her under his control. God knows what they’ve been doing there in the back this whole time, but Eddie was happy that he wouldn’t be the one cleaning up the coach after this run.

  Yep, that’s the guy who is going to go off. Richard Conroy in 10B.

  Eddie looked down at the bag sitting at his feet making sure that the gun was within reach. Just in case. He thought to himself. Just in case.

  —— CRAIG ——

  “HELLO. THIS IS Dr. Gwen. You’re on the air. How can I help you?”

  “Yes, thank you. My name is Jerry...”

  “Your question Jerry?”

  “Uh, um... My mother won't stop telling me what to do. You know? She says stuff like, ‘Where’s your raincoat?’ or ‘You need a haircut.’ or ‘Eat more fruit. It’s good for you.’ You know, things that you would tell a little kid.”

  “Okay, so your question is?”

  “So how do I get her to stop?”

  “First of all, she’s a mother and mothers are the way they are. How old are you Jerry?”

  “Sixty.”

  “Wow! It seems to me that at age sixty you shouldn’t need to be asking me how...”

  A sudden rap on the glass snapped Craig Wright awake causing him almost to fall out of his chair. The late night radio talk show hadn’t worked at helping him stay awake. Craig turned off the internet radio stream and shifted in his chair, acting like he hadn't nodded off, before turning back to the window where the banging was coming from. He focused his sleep-clouded eyes on the person standing behind the glass. It was Ben Saunders holding up two cups of coffee.

  Saunders motioned with the cups towards the door. His lips moved forming the words, “Open the fucking door.” Craig couldn’t hear Saunders' voice, but his ESP training told him from the raised cups that he should open the door so he could get the caffeine fix he so desperately required.

  Reaching under the desktop, Craig pushed an unseen button. The electric lock buzzed, and the door opened. Saunders entered, walked down the steps to their workstation and set the cups of coffee on the desktop before sitting down next to Craig. “And that, my friend, is why the boss makes two people watch the control room during the night shift.” He nudged one of the cups closer to Craig. “Anything happen while I was gone? Not that you would know.”

  Craig reached for the cup eagerly. “Oh, sweet Jesus! I am bored out of my mind.”

  “I take that to mean no.”

  Craig grabbed the large cup with a hand-written note on the side: dark, two shots, extra sugar. The steaming aroma hit his nose and gave him a momentary lift. He tipped the cup to his mouth, but only a dribble came out.

  “God I hate these plastic lids, tiny damned holes! How the hell are you supposed to drink through that?” Craig popped off the cover, letting a little bit of the dark elixir splash out, and took a drink. “Tastes better with the lid off, at any rate, even this crap.” He took a second sip and the warm bitter liquid flowed over his tongue and down his throat. He savored the moment and felt the artificial pick-up kicking in.

  “You must have fallen asleep right after I left for the coffee. Your wide open mouth would make a great target.”

  Craig looked at Saunders, “Whatever dude. I thought I saw a big-ass horse fly and followed it around the room as it flew up to the ceiling, which was when you made me lose it with all your banging on the glass.”

  “Yeah, right. Were you trying to catch it with your pie hole? By the way, you might want to wipe that drool coming from the side of your mouth.” Craig bit and raised his hand to the left side of his face. “No, the other side.” He started to shift his hand but stopped in mid-motion.

  “God damned you! Can't you cut a guy a break? I've been at it since zero-dark-thirty this morning...”

  “Yesterday morning. And it’s we. We’ve been at it since yesterday morning.” Saunders interjected.

  “Yeah, yeah. Yesterday... Yesterday? Shit this isn't what I signed up for.” Craig's eyes glazed over as he paused and let this sink in. Then he shook his head in somber acceptance, “Another weekend lost to the gods of preparedness.” Craig lifted his cup toasting the invisible powers that liked to mess with his life. He took another slow drag out of his cup and rubbed his red eyes.

  “Point taken my friend, but the boss wants us all to be able to manage the Control no matter what happens. I hate to admit it but with what we're dealing with it isn't a bad idea. Besides, it’s what she wants and what she wants...”

  “She gets.”

  “Exactly.”

  The two sat back in their chairs with their coffees. The empty, mostly dark control room surrounded them. Directly in front, sat their workstation with a couple of monitors and keyboards, telephone, notepads and scant few personal items. Several other workstations surrounded them; chairs empty, monitors asleep, task lights off.

  This is Control-West. One of three such control centers located across the country for the CSC to monitor their various reservations. Con-West is responsible for the area west of the Rockies; located at Mountain Home Air Force Base in Idaho due to its central location to all CSC reservations in the region. Con-West's placement within an air base provided it with the appropriate government/military cover it needed to maintain operational secrecy. Also, an air base had the facilities to support the CSC’s drone monitoring program and house the military personnel and equipment necessary for prompt deployment should it ever be required.

  The control room itself stair-stepped, like rice patties, down from the observation window in the rear of the room towards a wall in front with one over-sized screen mounted on it. All the workstations faced this screen, and right now it showed two maps, one of the entire United States and a more detailed map of the Western States. The same images were on their desktop monitors. Scattered across the vastness of the country multiple dots appeared, all were emitting steady, solid green lights. Everything looked to be good.

  Craig took another drink. “Ah. Nothing like a cup of Joe to help a guy through the rough spots.” He closed his eyes losing himself in the moment then snapped them back open. “Who the fuck keeps messing with my duck?”

  “What duck?”

  “This duck.” Craig reached for the yellow bathtub duck sitting on the surface in front of them. A Boise State Bronco toy horse was posed to appear to be trampling it. Craig took the horse and tossed it into the garbage. “Fucking blue turf.”

  “What is it with you and your stupid school rivalries?” Saunders asked.

  “School rivalry? I just don’t like anyone messing with my stuff. This duck is something of a lucky charm for me.”

  “Right,” Saunders responded with disbelief dripping from his voice.

  “My mom gave it to me as a gag gift when I got the job working for the senator.”

  “That’s what you told her you were doing?”

  “Well, yeah, or I could have told her a real whopper like ‘Hey Mom, I got this position working in a secret government organization. It’s one of those 'off the books' groups. Very hush, hush. So please don’t tell anyone.’ What else should I have told her?”

  “I suppose the first lie is better than the second.”

  “What did you tell your wife?”

  “Oh, that I’m an FBI agent. More plausible and easier to explain the weird hours.”

  “Weren’t you in the FBI before you joined the CSC?” Craig asked.

  “Makes the lie easier to tell.”

  For a moment they just sat back in their chairs and quietly drank their coffee.

  Then Saunders deliberately turned to Craig. “So. You ready for tadpol
e indoctrination?”

  Craig sat up with eyes wide open with panic. Then he rested his forehead onto the desktop. “Oh, God! Not again. Already?”

  “Who’s going to do it this time, I wonder?” Saunders fished around in his jacket pocket, pulled out his hand and produced two match sticks. In a very business-like tone, Saunders said, “We do it the same as before.” He offered his hand to Craig. “Pick.”

  “Ah, shit. I did it last time. I shouldn’t have to do it this...”

  Pushing the matchsticks closer to Craig's face Saunders insisted. “You know the deal. Pick.”

  Craig put down his coffee cup and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and removed a stick from Saunders' hand. He slowly opened one eyelid just a crack and saw Saunders with a wide grin on his face. Craig's focus shifted to the object between his fingers where he was holding an obviously shorter matchstick. “Crap! Not fair. Just not fair. I hate giving the welcome speech to the new recruits. God, I hate it!”

  Suddenly the room filled with the blare of an alarm. Craig stopped and looked up to the big screen. One of the green dots had turned into a flashing red alert strobe, its rhythmic throbbing keeping tempo with the clangor of the warning buzzer.

  Saunders stood and looked at the big screen. “That’s Site-Delta. Who’s rez is that? Dawson’s?”

  Craig dialed the phone then answered Saunders, “Yup.” He spoke into the handset. “Dawson, you got another runner... Yeah, well you shouldn’t be all that surprised seeing as it’s a full moon.” Craig pushed a red button on the desktop. “I just sent the Action Team the notice... Yes, uh huh... Why you're more than welcome.” He hung up the phone. “Putz.”

  Saunders typed into the keyboard. The big screen in front showed a FLIR image. Text at the bottom of the screen read RES SITE-DELTA. Camera 1. Through the grainy, green glow of the night-vision camera, a fence was seen along with trees and other vegetation. Saunders scrolled through the various camera angles. “Isn’t this the second month in a row that Dawson has had a runner?”