Loading ...
Sorry, an error occurred while loading the content.

Victor Night Walker doesn't do "vacation." Excerpt of Squad V.

Expand Messages
  • john.steiner32
    When you work in Squad V the observance is there exists no safe zone. Vampires are weakened and harmed by sunlight, but they find ways around that. Excerpt:
    Message 1 of 1 , Sep 26, 2012
    • 0 Attachment
      When you work in Squad V the observance is there exists no safe zone. Vampires are weakened and harmed by sunlight, but they find ways around that.


      Being the end of the workweek for Susanna, they spent the morning together on the
      back porch talking. "How did your meeting in Atlanta go?"

      "We got a new client to handle security for," Quincy lied.

      That was his cover, an international security consulting firm. The same buffer the CIA granted his unit. He justified the dishonesty in that it only extended to his work, not anywhere else. She, and the kids, meant too much to him. They were his heart's anchor when out of country and overseas. By lying to her, he sheltered her from the emotional taint of what he did and freedom from fearing for his safety.

      "This time I'll be stateside most of the time, so I'll be around more and longer."

      Susanna got up from her lawn chair to sit on his lap and fully embraced him; her arms draped around his neck and a smile spread enchantingly across her face. "That's good. Hmm..."

      A ring of the doorbell produced a groan from both of them, but given that Quincy was on call like a fire fighter and ER physician combined, he went through the house to the front door. Opening it, he saw a deliveryman holding a small package and electronic clipboard. He didn't recall ordering anything by mail, didn't trust it enough to, nor did he expect anyone he knew to send him anything.

      With the stylus hovering over the E-pad, he hesitated.

      Maybe this was just to get his signature. He tried reading the address on the package, but the man's palm covered it.

      He clenched the clipboard tighter backing away steadily. "Open it."

      "Excuse me?" he asked leaning forward.

      Quincy chinned at the box. "Open it."

      He changed his stance and said, "Sir, I can't. I'd get fired."

      Quincy easily imagined this turning into a debate, but just as quickly saw a solution. "I'm giving you permission to open it. In fact, back up into the sunlight so I can get a better look."

      "You sure...?"

      Quincy just waved him on, trying to keep his concerns of an explosive device from showing on his face. He searched for electronics, triggers or fuses with a hand resting on the door. He held up his other hand to the man. "Don't…! tear the address. I want to write a thank you note."

      Once the paper was off and the box opened, he saw a figurine drop into the deliveryman's palm. He nodded still studying it. "Alright, thanks."

      He signed the clipboard and exchanged it for the statuette and packaging. Yet, why the car down the road drew his eye, he couldn't say. He forgot the man when walking out toward it. The deliveryman shook his head to himself returning to his van.

      Quincy stepped faster and faster, turning his approach into a trot. Tainted windows made him wonder if it was just the squad's agency support checking up on him, but the plates and car style were all wrong. The minuscule scratches meant to indicate which agency, if you knew them and had a good eye, were absent.

      At twenty meters from the vehicle, he realized his mode of thought had shifted to being back in the field. The car started, tires squealed and drove straight at him, forcing Quincy to dive sideways. He paced over to the closest street lamp, putting himself between it and the likely angle at which the car would return for him. He waited for the car to make a second pass—the plan being to dart aside as it slammed into the pole behind, but it just took a corner and vanished.

      Susanna reached the front door in panic, pulling at Quincy's impulse to pin her down against hostile fire, but he forced himself back into home front mode. He walked over to take her in his arms. "It's alright, Honey, they're gone. It's alright."

      He wasn't sure if he was trying to reassure her or himself—both maybe.

      He looked again to the figurine—a body of a man with a monstrous head, tongue out, plumes from its scalp and rays or spines from under its armpits joined by a line from the wrists to the hips. Each hand held half a man, broken in two by the larger being's apparent strength.

      Yeah, this merited a little phone call to his new FEMA bosses.

      Squad V

      -John Steiner

    Your message has been successfully submitted and would be delivered to recipients shortly.