Just as the five newly turned vampires prepared to pivot and flee, a sudden gunshot tore through the air.
The next second, one of the vampires—caught mid-turn—stumbled backward. He lowered his head, staring in disbelief at his abdomen, which had been turned into a sieve by a blast of buckshot.
He snapped his head up, baring his fangs in a characteristically cruel vampire sneer, the sharp teeth gleaming with an eerie, cold light in the sun.
But...
*Bang!*
*Bang!*
*Bang!*
Seeing this, the other four vampires moved like fleeting shadows, instantly scattering into the brush. The remaining unfortunate bat stood his ground, radiating fury, only to absorb a massive torrent of fire from the neighboring county's Sheriff and his deputies.
Under the kinetic force of the shotguns, the vampire stumbled backward, tripped over a boulder, and rolled like a tumbling gourd. He plummeted down the ridge, hurtling straight toward Leica Lake.
'WTF?'
Locke clearly heard the heavy gunfire from the opposite ridge. Through his 8x scope, he tracked the rolling, seemingly unresponsive vampire. Grabbing the radio, he called down to George, Hank, and Erin, who were already on high alert from the commotion. "There are law enforcement officers on the ridge opposite us. Fall back."
This was incredibly frustrating. Locke had the distinct impression that every single time he resolved to keep a low profile, trouble had a way of knocking on his door anyway.
And those five bats were completely brainless. If they hadn't stood there like total idiots and had simply left a few seconds earlier, would they even be in this mess?
More importantly, it seemed the neighboring county's... no, it seemed all law enforcement agencies across the entire country always thought they were invincible. It didn't matter what attributes or supernatural traits the target possessed—their universal response was to just shoot first and ask questions later.
Compared to these reckless law enforcement agents, Locke felt he was barely living up to the title of a seasoned "player."
If the deputies didn't know the five fugitives were bats, it would be understandable. But Locke had seen everything clearly through his scope; those guys had drained the police dogs dry. They had undoubtedly fed on the deputies too. Going up against them was a blatant suicide mission.
Case in point.
Locke arched an eyebrow. Even without utilizing his enhanced senses, he could hear the sudden, agonizing screams echoing from across the mountain. The survivors, along with their Sheriff, were now tumbling down the ridge, dragging the conflict directly into this peaceful hunting ground.
'Sigh.' Locke sighed to himself. The headache had officially arrived.
Down below, George and Hank had initially hesitated upon hearing the gunfire. They were preparing to retreat based on Locke's warning when they spotted several figures tumbling down the slope toward them.
Though they couldn't make out the details, George and Hank recognized the distinctive uniforms immediately.
"Locke!" George barked into his radio, terrified that Locke might mistake them for fugitives and open fire. If that happened, things would go sideways fast. "Don't shoot! Those are officers!"
Locke hummed an acknowledgment. He glanced at Gwen, who was peering through her binoculars, trying to think of an excuse to get her to look away.
Before he could find a suitable reason, George, Hank, and Erin—three seasoned officers, even on vacation—swiftly checked their sidearms. Without needing a word of coordination, they formed a flawless tactical triangle and moved rapidly toward the fallen deputies.
Not far away, a body dressed in a prison jumpsuit lay face-down in the dirt, torn to shreds like a ragdoll and completely devoid of life.
The two deputies who had tumbled down were battered, bruised, and covered in blood.
Hank and George raised their shotguns, aiming at the ridge line. "Erin!"
Hank didn't need to elaborate. As George and Hank took up defensive positions on either side, Erin smoothly holstered her handgun, shrugged off her tactical pack, and pulled out an emergency medical kit.
The most severely injured was the neighboring county's Sheriff, who had struck his head during the fall. He was bleeding heavily from his scalp. Erin quickly began administering field dressings to him first.
At that moment, Gwen lowered her satellite phone and spoke into her radio. "Dad, I've contacted Sheriff Rebecca's office. She's heading this way with a team right now."
Gwen had requested the satellite phone from Rebecca before they entered the mountains. Ever since the disaster on the Poseidon, she made it a point to carry one everywhere. In fact, her small backpack even contained a state-of-the-art emergency rebreather.
It was a custom gift Pepper Potts had handed out to the survivors during a reunion gathering after the Poseidon incident. The compact device boasted an integrated battery capable of providing a full hour of breathable air. Gwen kept it with her at all times, even on dry land.
Meanwhile, Locke remained prone, his Remington 700 trained on the clearing below. Through the 8x scope, his gaze locked onto the mangled, seemingly dead vampire prisoner.
But... that thing wasn't human, nor was it an ordinary bat. It was a vampire. A mutated variant that walked in broad daylight, meaning holy water, garlic, or silver probably wouldn't do a damn thing.
Right on cue, the "corpse," which had been lying eyes-wide-open in the dirt, suddenly twitched.
Locke subtly shifted his muzzle, aligning the crosshairs directly with the vampire's head.
Erin noticed the movement at the exact same time. "What the...?"
"What's wrong?"
"Just now..."
Having finished bandaging the Sheriff's head, Erin drew her service weapon and looked warily at the vampire's body.
The dazed Sheriff, drifting back into consciousness, rasped out a weak warning. "They're... vamp—"
Before he could finish the word—
*Roar!*
The seemingly dead creature, thoroughly stimulated by the thick scent of blood in the air, snapped its eyes open. They were a vivid, crimson red. In the blink of an eye, it lunged from the ground, baring blood-slicked fangs at George, Hank, and Erin.
*Swish!*
The vampire moved with terrifying velocity. But within a thousand meters... a bullet is always faster.
*Bang!*
Locke's shoulder absorbed the recoil. The exact millisecond the vampire launched itself, he pulled the trigger. A Winchester round howled through the air, spinning with lethal precision. Just as the creature was about to close the distance to Erin, the bullet tore into its skull.
*Boom!*
A horrific crimson firework erupted. Erin instinctively closed her eyes to shield them from the spray.
Up on the ridge, Locke smoothly chambered another Winchester round with a crisp *clack*.
"Everyone okay down there?"
Erin opened her eyes. Hearing Locke's voice over the radio, she accepted a towel from Hank to wipe her face. A wave of lingering dread washed over her. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it," Locke replied smoothly. He caught Gwen staring at him out of the corner of his eye, her mouth slightly agape. He smiled.
"I told you, Gwen—I'm a cowboy. The youngest cowboy in the Texas."
Had the Republic of Texas never annexed into the United States, a man with his marksman skills would have undoubtedly become a general by now.
Locke had initially worried the gruesome display might make Gwen squeamish, but he had clearly underestimated her. Then again, it made sense. When the Poseidon capsized, she had witnessed a sea of casualties in every horrific state imaginable.
She hadn't broken then; according to Helen, she had simply locked herself in the bathroom and thrown up a few times once they returned to New York. Shortly after, she had even spent a few days interning at the NYPD forensics lab to steel her nerves.
Just then, the gunfire on the upper ridge died down completely.
Locke returned his gaze to the scope. Four more vampires—drenched in blood but moving with terrifying agility—reappeared at the crest of the hill. Their faces were smeared with gore as they hissed and snarled in Locke's direction.
Their eyes were entirely bloodshot, their primal predatory instincts completely triggered by the scent of blood.
George, Hank, and Erin saw them too.
*Roar!*
"Open fire!"
Watching the creatures descend the slope with the speed of diving fighter jets, George and Hank bellowed, unleashing a volley of fire.
The clearing erupted into chaos.
*Bang!*
*Thud!*
One vampire was caught dead-on by a heavy blast from a shotgun. The kinetic impact slammed it violently against the rock face, sending a cascade of debris and shattered stone tumbling down.
"Cover me!"
"Got you!"
George barked back, handling his pump-action shotgun with the speed and precision of a handgun. He systematically pumped and fired, keeping the diving vampires at bay while maintaining a steady retreat.
Hank and Erin each grabbed a wounded deputy, dragging them backward with frantic speed, utterly disregarding any potential secondary injuries. At a time like this, keeping them alive was the only priority.
Up on the plateau, Locke narrowed his eyes. His finger squeezed the trigger.
*Bang!*
*Boom!*
Another vampire was instantly decapitated mid-dive. Its headless torso, carried by sheer momentum, crashed into the mountain wall, dislodging another shower of loose rocks.
To conceal the true extent of his supernatural marksmanship, Locke intentionally threw off a few of his subsequent shots. Even so, out of every ten rounds, at least three scored perfect, devastating bullseyes.
Yet, one exceptionally agile vampire managed to weave through the crossfire. Utilizing the brief window between Locke's reloads, it tore through the air and slammed heavily onto the ground—landing directly in front of George.