The Cowboy and Vampire

Tucker opened his eyes into a memory. When he was a child, he'd slept under apple trees in an orchard on the ranch, planted back in the days when the stagecoach used to come through. Lying in a thick bunch of grass, he would stare up through the fruit-heavy branches at the sky and clouds, standing every so often to pick one. eating it slowly and savoring the fresh, tart surprise of it.



Waking now in the darkness and holding Lizzie close, he felt the same warmth and peace as in the orchard. There was even a faint trace of apple, of sunshine trapped in her hair, and he buried his face in the nape of her neck, which was cold as spring water.



After a moment, he disentangled himself from her stiff and unyielding limbs, grimly marveling at the wonder of it all. He peered through the heavy drapes to fix the position of the sun, well established in the smog of the Manhattan sky. He moved slowly, careful not to let any of the sunshine touch her sleeping form. Settling back onto the bed, he pursed his lips to give Rex a wake-up whistle and then realized with a numb sort of horror that Rex had been taken last night. The last thing he remembered was Elita yanking him away by the collar and a fist that came out of nowhere. The rest was all blackness.



He massaged the lump on his skull as this most recent disaster sank in. What the hell else could go wrong, he wondered. If past experience with Elita had taught him anything, Rex was gone, empty as last night's beer can. With a hoarse cry Tucker attacked the door, swearing and kicking and raging until his voice was ragged, threatening all who lived or unlived in that accursed mansion if anything happened to his dog. If anyone heard, no one responded, although shadows moved underneath the door. His energy at last gave out, leaving him slumped against the door, disheartened and with a lump in his throat.



Knowing the Vampires were dead and tucked away rankled Tucker the most. Now, by the light of day, they were utterly defenseless, except for the well-armed servants and guards. If he could escape, he could spend all day exacting revenge, do it right; but the door held tight. He kicked it again out of force of habit and sat down on the edge of the bed. Lizzie sure wasn't going to be any help, being so dead. He ran his fingers through her hair and wished she was alive enough to at least smile the way she used to when he kissed her in her sleep.



Slumped over her, he almost missed the inquisitive scratch at the door. It was a familiar sound, one that made him instinctively stand to let Rex out. Halfway to the door, he realized that Rex wasn't in the room. In fact, he was supposed to be dead. But squatting down, he could see furry paws under the crack of the door. What he meant to say was "Goddamn I'm glad you're alive," but what came out was "What the hell took you so long?"



Not that Rex's arrival could necessarily change things. There was still a locked door between them and figuring a way out.



Tucker lay down with his cheek to the floor and watched Rex's haunches backed up and sitting there, measuring the situation.



He thought about all the times Rex had sat and looked forlornly at the trailer door until, aggravated, Tucker would open it so that Rex could go out and stare at it from the other side.



"Try the handle," he whispered.



Rex didn't move.



"Try the handle, Rex," he whispered, a little more loudly. He raised up and looked through the keyhole. Rex was looking at the door like it was about to do a magic trick.



He jiggled the knob. "Try the goddamn handle," he whispered so loudly that Rex shrank back, momentarily, then jumped up and caught the handle in his mouth. Their eyes met through the keyhole, and there was a mighty pool of determination reflected there.



Rex hung from the handle, jerking and twisting his whole body in the air for extra leverage. The lock mechanism creaked and clicked under his weight and Tucker stepped back and gave a mighty kick. It swung open and Rex, still hanging on by his teeth, crashed into the wall with a muffled thud.



"Sorry about that," Tucker said as Rex limped out from behind the door. He was muddy and bedraggled, but didn't appear much worse for wear. Tucker gave him a pat on the head, nonchalant, as if he hadn't been heartbroken moments before. Rex sat down to lick himself.



There was no one visible up or down the hall, despite the noise of the door. He held his breath and waited for the sound of running steps which would signal the arrival of the guards, and with them, their guns. All was silent. They tiptoed out, with one look back at Lizzie lying safely dead in the shadows. Tucker examined the doorknob, the metal twisted out of shape. He whistled under his breath. "Them's some powerful jaws you got there, boy." Rex wagged the stump of his tail.



Unlike the room, the hall was bright with sunlight. They crept cautiously to the stairs, and up toward the study. Tucker was anxious to find his guns and hoped Julius had left them in the drawing room where he had been set up that first night. What an idiot I was, he thought as they reached the upper landing and, the doors unlocked, entered the study The blinds were wide open and the whole room seemed almost cheerful, although underscored by the faint stench of death. A quick look around did not reveal the guns. He sat down in the swivel chair and propped his feet on the desk to plan his next course of action. There was a box of cigars in the top drawer and he pulled one out and lit it up. Rex hopped up on the desk and sat facing him like they were having a conference.



The door suddenly opened and Tucker tensed. It was Jenkins. Tucker glared over the point of his boots and blew a stream of smoke at him, waiting for a cry of alarm to be sounded.



Instead, Jenkins stepped in and closed the door, looking disdainfully at the placement of Tucker's feet.



"Morning, Jenkins," he said, without stirring.



"Good morning to you, sir," he answered. "I see you have escaped."



"I have indeed. You got a problem with that?"



"Quite the contrary. I am delighted." His face took on an odd expression. "Though I won't go so far as to say I shall miss your company."



"I smell a rat, Jenkins," Tucker said and swung his feet down. "How come you ain't called for the guards?"



He took a step forward. "Quite simple. I do not wish you to be discovered."



"Whose side are you on?"



"Not yours," he answered.



"Not Julius' either."



"No. I serve another master. One you have yet to meet, although I suppose you will soon enough. I only hope this matter is resolved in such a way as to preclude the opportunity of you and me remaining in close contact."



Tucker smiled at this. "Any idea where my guns are?"



"In the cabinet behind the desk."



"It's locked."



"I have the key." Jenkins bent and unlocked the antique cabinet and swung the doors open. Inside, the guns gleamed in the sunshine.



"Damn, did you clean these?" Tucker asked, pulling them out and giving them a cursory examination.



"Yes. I took the liberty of having them cleaned and oiled."



"Thanks, I appreciate it. You know, you're all right."



"You have no idea what that means to me. If I may be so bold as to make a suggestion, you should wait until nightfall to attempt an escape. During the day perimeter security is extremely tight, but after the masters of the house arise, this security is relaxed somewhat. If there is any hope of successfully escaping, it would be early in the night."



"Around 9:30?"



"Precisely."



"Interesting coincidence. You gonna help?"



"I already have. Anything else I might do would be foolish and ineffectual. I am an old man, after all."



"I guess you're right. But do you think there's a chance we could get something to eat?"



"I believe you are familiar with the layout of the kitchen. If you wish to risk discovery for the sake of a meal, it is your choice.



Now I must go." He checked the hall and then turned. "In truth, I hope we shall meet again. If we do, the plan will have succeeded." He bowed short and pulled the door shut.



Tucker sat and pondered Jenkins' curious words, eventually rising to check the hallway Satisfied it was not some kind of trap, he called to Rex. "Guess I wasn't as hungry as I thought. C'mon, let's go check on Lizzie," he whispered, guns in hand.



There wasn't much to check on. She was still dead. Back inside, he pulled the door shut, locking it as Rex watched in disbelief.



He pulled a chair around facing the door and sat down to wait for sundown, the shotgun in his lap. It was a long wait, with many hours to kill before Sully and his boys showed up. He made a mental note to buy a watch. Without one, he hoped he would be ready when the action started. He passed the time imagining what a normal life with Lizzie might have been like. By the time sundown rolled around, there was a powerful pain and anger in his heart.



Later, he heard voices down the hall and he tensed. When a hand grasped the knob he smiled grimly, hoping Lizzie would wake soon, thinking that he should probably remember in the future not to make plans that depended on her waking up on cue at sunset from her daily death. Sooner or later, her internal body clock would probably get it right, but that could be awhile off.



The door swung open to reveal a tall Vampire standing there smiling as he contemplated the evening's festivities.



"Pardon me," Tucker said levelly "do you have the time?"



He looked oddly at Tucker and checked his watch. "9:24."



"Thanks," he said, swinging the shotgun up to bear on the Vampire.



"Lord Julius, the cowboy..." was all the man had time to get out before Tucker squeezed the trigger. The wooden stake blasted out and caught him low and hard, the force lifting him up on tiptoes and slamming him out the door. Behind Tucker, Lizzie stirred. "Sorry about the noise," he said, reloading. "Did I wake you?"



"Tucker," she asked nervously, "is that you? What's going on?"



"We're getting out of here, that's what."



She sat up, the blankets drawn around her, still dazed from the newness of the resurrection. He pulled the pin from a thermite grenade and lobbed it through the door. "Cover your eyes," he called and squatted down to hold his hands over Rex's eyes.



Rex, surprised at the attention, rolled over on his back and wagged his stub.



"Why?" Lizzie asked.



"Just do it," he yelled. There were some mumblings and general sounds of confusion outside and then came a blinding flash of light, like a thousand suns. A wave of noise and white fire swept down the hall, momentarily covering the shrieks of the dying and muffled shouts from farther away.



Tucker grabbed Lizzie's hand and pulled her into the smoking ruin of the hall. Everything that wasn't burnt up was still on fire; the drapes and carpet, bookshelves, and chairs, even the paintings were flaming and dripping trails of flaming oil. In and among the ashes were scattered pieces of bodies, a smoking hand or a smoldering foot. The acrid smoke stung their eyes and lungs. Rex picked his way carefully through the embers. Though Lizzie was barefoot, she didn't seem to feel any pain, only a dazed sense of wonder at the carnage.



In the midst of their retreat, the door at the far end of the hall flew open and scores of Vampires spilled out into the smoky ruins, eyes glittering like knives. He dropped to his knee and fired as fast as he could, the steady beat of the shots only interrupted by the act of reloading. Some were pierced by stakes, others scorched by the thermite, the blue fire balls belching down the hall like giant, deadly Roman candles.



Lizzie paused, looking back over her shoulder at the destruction, as Vampires blazed and fell like moths too close to the flame.



Some ran screaming and leaped through windows, falling away into the night in a rain of broken glass. It was a grim and terrible sight, and she pressed her hand over her mouth to keep from retching. Tucker, still kneeling behind her, was mechanically feeding shells into the shotgun with trembling fingers.



The way behind them was clear and she shook him by the shoulder and pointed. Together they fled down the stairs, Rex close behind. It was like a long and terrible dream, the screams and the smoke, the crackling of flames and the sounds of pursuit.



Wide-eyed, Jenkins bustled past with a fire extinguisher, ignoring them as he hurried toward the worst of the inferno. At the bottom landing there was only the large foyer to cross; through the smoke, it looked deserted. As they crossed that short space, a rough hand clamped onto Tucker's shoulder and spun him into the wall. Lizzie's hand slipped away and Rex lunged frantically at Julius, standing defiantly in front of him.



Revor was beside him too, burly and menacing. Tucker swallowed hard and swung the shotgun up. He had Julius dead to rights and one squeeze of the trigger would have ended it forever. Funny, he thought, how you can make the wrong decisions so damn easily. And knowing he was doing it again, he made the wrong choice. He shot Revor.



It wasn't common sense that pulled the trigger - it was the promise he had made to kill Revor that pulled the trigger. Wounded pride pulled the trigger. A long history of mistakes in his life pulled the trigger. And this was one more to add to the list.



"Guess what, asshole? My hands aren't tied anymore," he yelled.



The shotgun bucked in his hands and Revor folded over like a house of cards in a hurricane, his face twisted in pain and disbelief. Julius stared in open-mouthed rage at his companion and then looked back as Tucker smiled grimly and swung the barrel around to cover him. Without a moment's hesitation, he pulled the trigger. The hammer fell forward with a dry click that echoed in the chaos of the room.



Misfire!



In the time it took for both men to realize the implications of fate, Tucker began fishing in his pocket for another shell and Julius threw himself forward with a roar, faster than the speed of darkness. Tucker's fingers wrapped around a shell and fumbled it into the breech, snapping it shut and pushing up and out so that the barrel came to rest against the Vampire's chest even as Julius closed his hands around the cowboy's throat. They froze, half a breath from the end. The room was silent save for the crackle of the fire and their slow, hoarse breathing.



"I always wanted to be one of those movie heroes that has some smart ass thing to say," Tucker whispered, "but the only thing I can think of is goddamn you to hell."



His finger tightened on the trigger and Julius snarled, eyes glittering. Time stopped, and they stood like statues in that rich, burning room. Eternity passed as his finger made that short arc. The trigger released the hammer and even as it swung forward toward the firing pin, Lizzie screamed as a shadow slammed into Tucker, a shadow of muscle and hatred.



"Tucker," Lizzie cried desperately, as Elita crashed into him.



The gun discharged over and above Julius, who scuttled sideways. The wooden missile roared out and splintered against the ceiling, dislodging the chandelier that fell with a crash and spray of glass shards. Elita bore Tucker over backward onto the stairs.



He came up fast, swinging the empty gun at her head. She ducked and brushed it aside easily, laughing as it flew out of his hands. Lizzie lunged toward her, but Julius intercepted her and with a snarl, she scratched at his face and neck. He staggered under her attack, but kept her arms pinioned against her sides.



Elita smiled down at Tucker, her intentions clear in her burning eyes. "You're the meanest bitch I have ever met in my life," he said, drawing for the Casull.



"And you are about to become my favorite kill," she laughed chillingly. "I should have taken you that night in bed," she shrieked, lunging.



His hand fisted around the cold butt of his pistol but already she had closed the distance, driving her hands straight toward his heart. Some deep instinct for survival made him twist at the last second so that her hands raked across his forearm and punched deep into his side. He felt a wet rip and pain flared throughout his frame. He staggered away from her, leaning against the wall, and she stood over him, hands dripping blood, mouth bared to finish him. His right arm hung limply at his side and he reached clumsily with his left, still trying desperately for the gun. Elita laughed and bent low over him, and he braced for the worst.



Her hungry smile was replaced by a look of astonishment as she was suddenly lifted up. Lizzie, having managed to free herself from a distracted Julius, held Elita firmly by the neck and ankle and tossed her sprawling body through the wall. With an undignified shriek, Elita disappeared in a cloud of plaster and paneling. Julius looked steadily at the doors, listening intently to the noises that were fast approaching.



Tucker staggered toward Lizzie, unable to stand steady. Blood was soaking into his jeans and pooling in his boots. The strangest things enter the minds of the dying. Even as his vision began to fade, Tucker was ashamed that his boots were in such bad shape and his blood would spill from them like a sieve. Strong arms slipped around his waist. It was Lizzie. She held him close and whispered that it was going to be okay that she would take care of him.



He struggled to frame words, wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked and how much he loved her, and that he was sorry it had to end like this. What came out was "I don't need no woman nursemaiding me." And then in a spray of blood, he collapsed.



The heavy door to the outside crashed open and the sound of combat filtered in. A worried Sully stood at the head of a group of Vampires armed with crossbows. Sully himself wielded a rough-hewn oak stake and advanced on Julius who, face twisted with fear and eyes wild, fled up the burning stairs.