by Richard Marsden
The bay door of the ship opened and the first thing that struck Ernst Model was the scent of decay and stagnant water. Humid wind whipped across his face as he trudged down the landing steps and gazed at the pitiful landing pad and ‘civilization’ beyond which consisted of a few pre-fab structures pitted with rust. Swamp water surrounded everything, and from the murky, fetid water, pale, twisting trees rose into the hazy sky. They provided some shade from the sun, but no protection from the moisture in the air. Ernst tugged at the collar of his uniform and turned his eyes onto a trio of men making their way towards him.
They were tanned, portly and wore dull, brown uniforms that were marked by sweat stains around their armpits and necks. The man in the lead bore a wide brimmed hat and attached to it was a coppery star.
“Investigator Model?” the lead man asked and tipped his hat.
Ernst heard the doors of the ship shutting behind him and he cast a wistful glance towards the climate controlled vehicle. Sighing, he looked back to the welcoming party. “Yes. Not that I dislike your world,” he glanced at the all encompassing swamp and said, “but I was raised on Carpaths.”
“Colder than Biteron!” the man with the star in his hat said. He offered a smile. “I’m Sheriff Dunns, these are my deputies, Eli Dunns and Brett Dunns.”
Ernst pursed his lips. “I see.”
Sheriff Dunns kicked at the landing pad. “Well, best we get on inside. You read the report we sent?” He turned and walked towards one of the rust-stained structures near the landing pad. The building leaned slightly to one side, and struts kept it elevated from the swamp water.
“Yes,” Ernst replied. “Three dead-“
“Four, now,” said Eli.
“Yep,” Bret added, “Bill got it just a day ago.”
Ernst halted. “Hmm. Good.”
“Good?” Sheriff Dunns turned.
“Yes. If this ‘Bill’ died yesterday then the crime scene will be, more or less, intact. I would like to visit the scene of the crime soon as possible. But let us just clarify something.” Ernst put his hands upon his hips. “Three vict-“
“Four,” Eli interrupted.
Ernst stared at the deputy. “Yes, four victims. Two puncture wounds in the neck. Blood drained. You didn’t exactly say, ‘vampire’, but surely implied it. Before the community panics, if it hasn’t already, let us be clear, gentlemen.” He eyed them all. “There are no vampires.”
The three shared looks with one another. Sheriff Dunns dipped his head. “I don’t want to challenge your expertise there, Investigator Model. But our report didn’t quite tell you everything. You got to see this for yourself.”
Ernst narrowed his eyes. “See what?”
Brett sniffed and rubbed his nose. “The bodies. We got them in the jail.”
“Don’t you have a morgue?” Ernst rubbed his sweat-slicked forehead. In the humid weather he imagined the bodies would be badly decomposed and perhaps beyond use if they had not been put on ice. While the outer worlds were infamous for being wild and backwards, Ernst expected a bit more professionalism from the local law enforcement.
“Come and see, Investigator,” Sheriff Dunns said. “You just got to see.”
* * *
The jail was frigid inside and the air conditioning unit hummed noisily as it kept heat and humidity at bay. The walls were standard pre-fab material and the lights from above didn’t illuminate the windowless interior nearly enough. Several desks were pushed away from the holding cell and were littered with out-dated magazines, empty cans of drink and papers. The holding cell had stout bars and four ‘inmates’.
Two were women, their hair was brown and stringy, their eyes were black and glossy. Drool trickled from their lips and they remained slumped on the floor twitching at time. Their skin didn’t have the same tanned hue as the locals and was decidedly pale. Ernst could make out a pair of blackened puncture marks on their necks. Their clothing was dirty and torn in places. The third was a man who was literally falling to pieces. Skin had peeled away from his hands, revealing bone, and he sat slumped in a corner, bobbing his head and growling. His clothes were in tatters and pieces of fabric and flesh littered the ground around him. The fourth was clutching the bars and staring with a sneer on his face at Ernst.
“Sheriff, you shouldn’t a brought an Investigator. Them types won’t understand,” said the man. He looked fine to Ernst, except for the puncture wounds in his neck which were red and angry. “Just let me out and I’ll go home and mind my own. You can’t keep me here with…” he glanced over his shoulder at the three others.
Ernst placed his hands behind his back and shot the three law enforcement officials a long look. “These people aren’t dead.” He tilted his head. “You needed to call a doctor from the inner-worlds, not an investigator.”
“Quiet down, Bill. You know how you’ll get. Just, sit tight. The investigator is here to help.” Sheriff Dunns sat at one of the desks and leaned back in his chair. “Our doc scoped them out. They’re dead alright. No pulse. Cut em and they don’t bleed too much. So its murder. You see the marks, right?”
Ernst let out a long breath. “Yes. Fine. Well, Bill there, looks fine enough. Any reason he’s locked up?”
Bill shouted, “Yeah! Listen to the-“
Ernst drew his sidearm and pointed it at Bill. “Be quiet.”
Bill staggered back from the bars of the holding cell and the deputies turned their eyes onto their superior. Sheriff Dunns leaned up and glared at Bill. “You heard the Investigator. Now shut it.” He smiled at Ernst. “They all act the same. They get bit, feel sick, then try to get up and leave. In all the cases they were in Doc Jimms care, and he noticed real quick that they weren’t breathing, their hearts weren’t beating and far as he can tell, they’re dead.”
“Walking, talking dead?” Ernst returned his sidearm to the holster on his belt. “When you say, ‘get up and leave’ what do you mean?”
The Sheriff gestured to the cell. “They try to escape the Doc. That’s why I put em in here. They try to talk their way out, then fight, and eventually just sit there and rot. But if I open up that cell, they’ll all make a bolt for it. Even Samel there. He don’t look like much, but he’s still strong and fast when he wants to be.” Dunns tilted his head. “Tell me they ain’t acting like vampires?”
“Do they hunger for blood?” Ernst glanced at Bill in the cell. The man paced and did his best to avoid his companions.
“Nope. Don’t eat or drink, don’t try to bite neither. They just want to leave.” The Sheriff removed his hat and shook his head. “But I know the old tales. There’s a master vampire out there. The one doing all the biting. They want to get to him.”
“Or her,” Eli chipped in.
“Right, son. Good work. Can’t assume it’s a he,” Sheriff Dunns said with a smile.
“You can’t assume it’s a vampire!” Ernst snapped.
“Brett,” the Sheriff said, “open the door real wide.” He looked to the cell. “Bill, cover up.”
Bill scurried away and curled up in a ball, while Brett walked to the door and opened it all the way. The light from the sun just barely reached the cell and as it did a beam touched Samel’s decayed form. He hissed and jumped up. With a frothing cry the decomposing man leapt to the cell bars and tugged at them while twisting and worming to avoid the light.
“That’s enough, son.”
Brett shut the door and soon as it was halfway closed there was no trace of daylight in the room. Samel plodded to the corner and slumped. His ear fell off and landed amongst the pile of other parts.
Ernst stared and blinked. He was for a long moment at a loss of what to say. Finally he regarded the Sheriff. “Fine. Mirrors, holy symbols, holy water, garlic?”
The Sheriff rose from his seat. “Don’t got anything really holy and pressed by a priest proper like. So I’m not sure. We tried out our crucifixes, but nothing. Don’t have any garlic here either. You can see them in mirrors.” He put a hand on Ernst’s shoulder. “Dead people are walking. Bite marks. They fear daylight. And even though these four are locked up, I’m sure others are going to get bit. Our folk are paranoid too. Walking about armed in mobs. No good will come of it.” He sniffed and gave a casual smile despite the dangerous situation. “Gonna help, or gonna hop back on your ship and go back home?”
Ernst drew himself up in height. “I have never failed in an investigation. I’ve solved murders on a dozen worlds, and frankly, Sheriff Dunns, I’m not going to let your swamp best me.” He peered at him. “You are positive these four are dead.”
The Sheriff nodded. “Yep.”
Ernst drew his pistol, cocked it and pointed it at the cell.
“Oh hell!” Bill shouted and ducked.
The report from the pistol echoed loudly in the room and Ernst sniffed, smiling as he smelled the trace amount of cordite in the air. Bill looked around and fumbled at his chest.
“I didn’t shoot you,” Ernst said. He waved the smoking gun in Samel’s direction. The man was sprawled out, still now, with a gaping hole in his chest.
“He’s dead,” Brett said slowly.
“Again,” Eli added.
“Take me to the scene of Bill’s first death,” Ernst said. He glanced at the Sheriff. “We have a vampire to stop.”
* * *
Ernst had seen plenty of murder scenes. They usually had some similarities. Blood-spatter, a body or a chalk-outline at least, evidence of violence. Bill’s home had none of this. The body was walking and talking in the cell, and as far as Ernst could tell, there was no blood, no signs of violence and no signs of forced entry.
The house had a bathroom, a bedroom and living room connected to a kitchen. They were dirty and unkempt, but Bill was a bachelor Ernst discovered, with no wife or children to tend to or use as labor as his own parents had in his youth. The windows were open only about a hand-span and the doors were locked.
Ernst prowled through the house while the trio of law officers lingered by the front door. Ernst glanced over his shoulder at them. “Given you can talk to the deceased. Did he mention anything unusual about the night he was,” Ernst sniffed, “murdered?”
Sheriff Dunns answered, “Nope. He said all his doors were locked when he woke up and found the marks on his neck. No blood on his pillow, no blood anywhere. Except what’s left in Bill.”
“Naturally,” Ernst murmured to himself. He glanced at the windows and pushed down upon them. They slid easily enough. He turned his eyes to the Sheriff.
Dunns shook his head. “Sorry, nope. There was dust on the edge of all the windows. No fingerprints. Or signs of someone crawling through.”
Ernst lowered his eyes to the window sill. A drop of sweat fell from his nose and landed on slender disturbances in the dust. Too small to be fingers. He almost imagined them to be the reeds of a plant. He peered out the window and saw only the gloom of the swamp and directly beneath the window no plant that may have swayed under the humid breeze and made the marks. The sun was setting and giving an orange glow to the stinking water and croaks. Buzzing and other natural sounds picked up in volume.
“Thoughts on this, Sheriff?” Ernst paced towards him.
The man shrugged. “Maybe it turned into mist, flowed in, bit Bill, flowed out. Or, maybe it hypnotized Bill and he opened up the door and got bit. He says he doesn’t remember anything, but they lie.”
“Sure do,” Brett said. “They’ll say anything to try and get out. Well, until their brains get mushy and they just fall apart like Samel.”
Ernst had a devilish thought. He tapped his temple. “I have a plan.”
“Good, that’s why we called for an Investigator,” Sheriff Dunns said.
“Let Bill out. Then, we’ll follow him. You said they all want to get out, let’s see where they go.”
The Sheriff nodded. “Alright. I’ll tell him, on your orders, he’s to be let free. We’ll watch him then.” He looked at his sons. “Boys, get your rifles.”
* * *
As planned, the Sheriff released Bill while Ernst hid in the shadows of one of the town’s structures. A few electric lights illuminated the swamp-community draping it in streaks of stark shadow and light as the sun gave way to an inky night. Bill entered his home and kept the lights off.
The trio of lawmen shuffled down the elevated streets to Ernst’s position in the shadows. The deputies had rifles slung on their backs, while Sheriff Dunns had a pistol at his side. He tipped his hat.
“Evening. He still in there?”
“Still,” Ernst said. He glanced at the men. “Did he say anything?”
“He was thankful he got out. Then went right home. Didn’t say nothing,” Brett said.
“Then we wait,” Ernst replied. He crouched in the dark and kept his eyes trained on the lonesome house. It was an hour or so later when the door opened and Bill staggered out. He circled the house, teetered on the edge of the elevated road, and jumped into the swamp. The water splashed and settled at his hips. Slowly, the man trudged towards the twisting and draping trees of the wetlands, away from the community.
“Ugh,” Ernst said. He stood and followed after Bill. “I hate getting wet.”
“Going to hate the leeches worse.” Sheriff Duns followed after and said to his sons, “Get your rifles ready and remember. Shoot for the heart.”
Ernst stood at the edge of the road and could see Bill’s shape stumbling. With a growl, Ernst leapt into the water and hissed as he found it surprisingly cold for how warm and sticky the air was. Mud grasped at his boots and he imagined blood-sucking leaches hungrily drifting towards him. He drew his pistol and kept it held in the air in a crooked arm. He trudged ahead as soon as the Dunns were in the swamp alongside him.
Bill made no moves to hide. He didn’t look back, try to lose his pursuers, or call out. As if blind, Bill plowed through the murky swamp. At times the silvery moon of the planet or the brighter stars shone upon him. At others, Ernst had a hard time making Bill out except for his noisy splashes.
Ernst felt the cold gnaw at his legs and he grunted as his feet routinely became stuck in mud. He tried to move quietly, but found that his breathing became labored. The Dunns panted and cursed, and although they didn’t splash as much as Bill, Ernst was certain that surprise wouldn’t be in their favor if indeed the man was returning to some vampiric master.
Through trees with pale barks, past dangling vines, Bill walked. Into a small clearing he staggered where the swamp gave way to a muddy mound. Ernst rested against a swamp tree and looked at the unusual clearing. There were animals standing motionless on the pile of mud: lizards, birds, a few larger creatures about the size of dog. All of the animals were still and Bill joined them, dropping to his knees amongst the eerie menagerie.
Sheriff Dunns put a hand on Ernst’s shoulder. “What the hell is that?”
Ernst shook his head. “I thought you might know.”
There came a buzzing from the sky. Quiet at first but soon it was loud as an engine. Ernst clutched his pistol tightly. “What is that?”
Eli sloshed in the water. “Just bugs. They’ve become noisier lately.”
From the night sky fist sized shapes with fluttering gossamer wings descended. Ernst’s eyes widened as he noted their legs. They were long, thin and could easily be mistaken for the reeds of grass. The over-sized insects settled upon the animals on the pile of mud, Bill included. As they took hold Ernst saw through the moonlight twin proboscis extend and stab into the hapless animal’s necks. The buzzing was replaced by a distinct slurping.
“Ah hell!” Eli shouted.
“What the-“ Brett gasped.
“Hell,” Ernst finished. “Shoot them! Shoot them!”
Pistols and rifles crackled and a flurry of bullets sped from their position into the bodies of the insects’ hosts. A few dropped, struck in the heart, the rest were clouded by puffs of blood, but remained still. The insects detached and the buzzing became louder and angrier.
Ernst fired off three quick rounds and grit his teeth as his third round clipped the wing of one of the creatures and it spun like a shot down fighter into the water. Using their cumbersome rifles Eli and Brett fired away, screaming the entire time.
“We got to get out of here!” Sheriff Dunns shouted over the cacophony of gunfire. “Things are too hard to hit!” He emptied his pistol and stepped back.
Ernst saw the sky was filled with the insects. They vanished in the night and then would reappear under the light of the moon. They were getting closer and with the buzz of their wings came a new sound, a whine that reminded Ernst of a mosquito. “Yes! Fall back to the town. Keep shooting. Fill the sky with lead!”
He tracked one of the nearing insects and fired off a shot. It burst in a cloud of black ichor. Ernst pulled the trigger again and the weapon clicked on empty. He ran as fast as his legs could take him through the boot-gripping swamp. His hands fumbled in his pocket for a spare clip.
Eli shrieked.
Ernst spun about and gasped as he saw one of the insects on the deputy’s head. Twin tubes leapt from the thing and into his skull. Eli shrieked louder and tried to use his rifle as a club against his own head. Not the wisest decision, but the insect detached and buzzed away. Blood poured from Eli’s head, both from the bites, but also his desperate strike with his rifle.
“Keep moving! Keep shooting!” Ernst barked. He reloaded his pistol and waited for the three lawmen to pass him before he followed, spinning about at times to take a quick shot at any nearby insect.
Something jumped on his face. He saw only blackness and felt thin legs hook. With a shout he raised the pistol to his head, as if about to commit suicide and shifted his aim. He pulled the trigger.
Black, cold, blood spattered in his face and the insect’s pieces burst in all directions. The smell was horrendous, reminding Ernst of the week old murder scenes he had come across before. He gagged and continued running.
The buzzing gradually receded and the swamp was noisy only with the splashes of water and the heavy, panicked breaths of the men. Ernst spat and looked around for more aerial attackers.
“Giant bugs!” Sheriff Dunns said. “I didn’t figure.”
“Not a vampire, indeed. Alien insects.” Ernst glanced at Eli who was pale faced and being assisted by his brother. “Eli, are you still alive?”
“Umm, yeah,” he said and wiped his face. “It bit me though! Right in the head.” He sniffed and shook his head fiercely. “Don’t let me go back there! Even if I want to. Shoot me first. Please?”
“Without question,” Ernst replied and he pursed his lips when he saw Sheriff Dunns frowning at him. “Or, maybe we’ll restrain you and get you offworld to the proper medical facilities.”
“Yeah,” Sheriff Dunns said, “I think that’s better.”
* * *
They sat together in the jail, away from the holding cell with its two female occupants and decomposing corpse. Sheriff Dunns dabbed a cloth on Eli’s head while Brett kept his rifle at the ready and sat in a chair, keeping a watch on the ‘prisoners’.
“Now what, Investigator Model?” Sheriff Dunns asked as he soothed his son with a few more dabs of the cloth.
Ernst scratched his smooth jaw as he sat in a chair by the wall. He was exhausted from their journey and fight and his mind wasn’t coming up with solutions as quick as he liked. “Incineration seems best,” he said hesitantly, “My ship has the capacity. I can wipe out that mound tomorrow night when the things are feeding.” Ernst peered at Sheriff Dunns. “You’ll need to let the locals know to keep their windows and doors shut. If I don’t kill them all, it will be up to you to keep a vigil and finish the job.”
Eli stood up and he grabbed his rifle from the desk. “I think we gotta go get them now.”
Sheriff Duns put a hand on him to keep him still. “We will, son. We will. Tomorrow night when Investigator Model’s ship can do the job right.”
Eli shook his head. “No. Now. We got to go back now.”
Ernst stood up from his seat and reached for his pistol. “Eli, you need to-“
A shot rang out.
Ernst’s jaw dropped. Sheriff Dunns collapsed, half his head gone, the other half spattered on the floor in a broad streak of crimson. Eli leveled his rifle at Ernst. “Now!”
“Eli, no!” Brett leapt to his feet and spun his rifle to face his brother.
Before Ernst’s pistol was out from its holster two shots roared from the rifles. Brett slammed against the bars of the holding cell and collapsed. Eli staggered, but rather than fall, he turned and burst out of the jail.
Ernst sped after him, striding over Sheriff Dunn’s body. The sun was starting to rise and people of the community were milling about. More than a few were peering at the jail.
Eli ran along the elevated road. He pushed people out of his way and dropped his rifle. He didn’t glance back as he sprinted towards the swamp and the muddy mound beyond. As the sun rose he started screaming, but didn’t slow his mad dash.
Ernst leveled his pistol and took aim. He needed to shoot the deputy in the back and strike the heart. He sucked in a breath to steady his aim.
Fire burst through his side. Ernst fell to the ground and groaned. Dumbly, he felt his torso and winced as he saw his fingers come away slick with blood. He saw, through bleary vision, Eli running. Ernst leveled his pistol.
A boot kicked it away, smashing his fingers. Ernst growled in pain and curled up. He could feel blood flowing from him fast and he lifted his head to see a collection of men with weapons. The man leading them lowered his still smoking rifle.
“I don’t know who you think you are, but you don’t come here and shoot our own,” the leader of the band said in a rough voice.
“Aww hell, the Investigator killed the Sheriff and Brett,” a voice called from the direction of the jail.
The locals murmured and the man with the rifle kicked Ernst.
Ernst coughed. He pointed with a bloody hand the direction Eli was running. “Vampires. You have to-“
A kick to his wounded side sent him reeling in pain.
“Don’t you worry, Investigator. We don’t need your help. Sheriff was a fool to summon you here. We can handle our own. We’re growing garlic. It’ll be ready in a week or two.” He looked at two members of the crowd. “John, Saxe. Get the vampires out of the cell. We need to stake em.”
Ernst slumped on his back. Icy cold was grasping him and his vision darkened. “No. No, you don’t understand.”
The man grunted. “You’re right. I don’t know. All I know is our law is dead and you’re responsible. Maybe you’re a vampire?” He tilted his head up. “Saxe, get extra stakes. We need to make sure with this one.”
Ernst gurgled as blood filled his throat. The darkness swallowed him completely. The memory of buzzing filled his mind and then nothing more.
About the Author
Richard Marsden was born in Canada and currently is a resident of Arizona. He has been fencing with the rapier for fifteen years, dabbles in economics and holds a Masters Degree in Land Warfare courtesy of AMU. You can visit Richard here.
©2009 Richard Marsden
