19. Jael
Vampire - Persia White
T he world feels distant, like I’m no longer a participant in what’s happening. I’m stuck behind glass, disconnected from my own body. I’m watching as Bront? appears on the cabin porch, huge and hulking in his minotaur mask, a creature from my nightmares.
He’s monstrous as he rips the deputy away from me and then batters him to a bloody pulp. The deputy doesn’t stand a chance. He’s lifted off his feet like he’s not a grown man, he’s a toy to be played with. Just something to be rattled and smashed.
Bront? snaps his neck. He slams his head into the wooden beams on the porch. He tosses him away and then quickly returns to bash his face in some more.
The deputy never even has the opportunity to fight back.
It’s a brutality that I’ve never seen before.
It’s the kind of violence that only a beast could be capable of. No sane, civilized man could ever be so barbaric, so primitive.
When he’s done, streaks of blood paint the cabin porch. Both officers lay dead. McGrath from the bullet to the chest. Dudley far less lucky.
I’m still frozen in shock, disturbed to my core. My limbs refuse to move until Bront? turns toward me.
Sweat slicks his large, scarred body, gleaming in the sunlight. His thick veins throb as his chest rises and falls, his ragged breaths suddenly the only sound I hear. Shattered chunks of the wooden chair are still chained to his arms, proving how he’d muscled his way to freedom and confirming what I’d suspected all along—he could’ve escaped anytime he wanted to.
He simply didn’t because this was always some sick game to him. Just another way he was toying with me.
The minotaur mask hides his mangled face, but his dark and violent eyes pierce through. They tell me all I need to know.
The roles between us have never reversed. I’m still the prey and he’s still the predator.
Every instinct screams at me to run. My legs struggle to obey as I push myself to my feet and shout at him to stay away.
The sick humor bleeds into his rough, low voice.
“No. Never.”
Maybe the most disturbingly real words he’s ever spoken to me. It’s the plain and simple truth that he’ll never stop following me. I’ll never be rid of him no matter what I do. No matter where I go.
Yet I still can’t give in. I refuse to let him take me over. I have to fight until the very end.
Run. RUN!
I throw myself over the porch banister and crash into the grass below. The rough landing knocks the air out of me. Palms stinging and knees scraped up, my adrenaline refuses to slow down. I scramble to my feet and then take off toward the trees.
It’s the only direction I can head in without having to pass the monster behind me.
The porch steps creak one by one as Bront? makes his slow and deliberate descent. Each step feels like a countdown. He’ll reach me in no time.
Approaching the trees, I glance back long enough to watch him reach the bottom stair. He stands there a second, his head tilting to the side as if savoring the hunt that’s about to begin.
Then he moves.
He explodes into a run, quickly gathering speed.
Fresh terror surges through me. I plunge into the woods, branches whipping at my face. The trees block my path forward, one after another as I zigzag between them, making my escape.
Even the slightest mistake could cost me my head start.
There’s no time to linger or hesitate. I can’t stop to figure out a game plan. I have to get as far away from Bront? as possible.
My lungs ache the farther I go. My legs churn as fast as they can carry me. The pistol’s loose in my clammy grip, the only lifeline I have left.
The rest of my things are at the cabin. Going back would mean facing the exact person I’m fleeing.
I lose track of time and place.
The wooded area blurs until everything looks the same. Trees and more trees. Thick brambles and berry bushes that spread out like an untamed wall. Squirrels and rabbits occasionally flitting past. Sunlight that pierces through the canopy of leaves and branches overhead.
I gasp for air as my lungs burn and my legs finally lose steam. I come to a stumbling halt, seeking balance from the tree closest on my left.
My body feels like it’s on fire. I’ve run so fast for so long that I’m drenched in sweat.
For a while, I lean against the trunk, wheezing and aching with a stitch in my side.
A stillness has fallen over the woods. I’m no longer running for my life; as far as I can tell, Bront?’s no longer on my tail.
Has he stopped chasing after me?
I gulp down more air and push off the frayed trunk, standing up straight. My eyes scan the area, taking inventory of every inch as far as I can see. He’s nowhere in sight. He’s vanished like he has so many times before.
I look down at the pistol I’ve held onto and remember how it’d jammed on the third shot I tried to take.
Clutching it tighter, I fumble with the chamber. My hands shake trying to clear the jam, the metal biting back. A sharp sting shoots through my fingers and I swear out loud.
“Damn it!” I hiss, blinking away frustrated tears.
I’m on edge, panicky and shaky as I grapple with the pistol some more and finally free the bullet lodged in the chamber.
The way things have been going, I’ll probably need this bullet.
I should’ve loaded up before I ever answered the door for the deputy. I should’ve grabbed one of the rifles with the full magazines.
Birds squawk from overhead, flying from one branch to another. I look up at them and then the sky. The sun hangs high, but soon it’ll start to sink. Twilight will arrive followed by night and all its shadows.
The perfect setting for a monster like Bront?.
“Shit,” I breathe. I lean back against the tree and close my eyes. “You have to focus. You have to figure out a plan.”
He might be out of sight, but I know him well enough to know he’s not gone. He’s lurking somewhere, biding his time, practicing patience.
The moment my defenses are lowered, he’ll pounce.
Every sound, however distant and faint, makes my stomach clench. I become convinced it’s Bront? playing mind games. Bront? wanting to confuse me or terrify me more than he already has.
“Focus,” I whisper. “Focus.”
Slipping the pistol into the waistband of my jeans, I stand up straight and devise a plan. I start back the way I came, intentionally making noise. Twigs snap under my boots and leaves rustle as I brush past them.
I make all the noise I can to draw attention to myself, jogging at a lighter pace than earlier.
And then I hear it—the crunch of gravel and dirt coming from somewhere behind me.
He’s here.
He’s still tracking me.
I test my theory and pick up my pace. More rocks and dirt crunch in the distance.
I run until another thicket of trees emerges and then I veer toward them. Slipping behind the fattest tree so I can hide myself, I quickly slip off my boots and place them at the base. They stick out just enough to make it look like I’m standing there. I really have taken it up as a hiding spot.
But it’s only a fake out. Instead, I crouch behind the bushes nearby, cradling the pistol in my hand, finger hovering over the trigger.
My heart pounds for every second I’m left to wait.
The moment he appears, I strike. I squeeze the trigger and shoot like I had earlier with Sheriff McGrath.
The footsteps I heard earlier continue. They close in, growing louder.
I grip the pistol tighter and mentally prepare myself to do what I have to.
Bront? is so large, he’s an easy target.
I rear back, ready to jump to my feet. The massive figure that’s been tracking me emerges from between the trees. I freeze, confusion washing over me.
A black bear lumbers into view, its thick fur shinning in the natural light. Its snout twitches as it sniffs the air and its dark eyes scan the forest. The bear’s sheer size is overwhelming, its presence almost as terrifying as Bront?’s.
But it’s not tracking me. It’s looking for food.
He heads toward a berry bush and rips off entire woody canes of them. He eats until few berries are left on the bush and then he turns in a different direction and wanders off. His massive paws crush the dirt and gravel as he goes.
The same sound I’d heard all along.
I let out the breath I’ve been holding in.
So much for that plan.
Is it possible that Bront? really has retreated and is no longer following me?
He must’ve been exhausted after days of captivity. While he was still powerful and intimidating, he was weaker than usual. Starved and dehydrated and likely sleep-deprived (if a beast like him slept in the first place).
It’s possible that he could’ve gone back to the cabin and decided to rest before he resumes his hunt.
“I could make it back and sneak into the wagon,” I whisper to myself. “Speed off before he even has a chance to follow.”
The keys to the station wagon are still tucked safely in my jean pocket. It’s my only real chance at escape, considering I’m stuck in the woods and the only way out I know is using the main road. Returning to the cabin will lead me toward the road that I can take to the highway.
I’ll be back on track and can finally do what I meant to all along—finish searching for my sister.
With a glance up at the pale blue sky, I start again in the direction that should lead me back.
Dusk has arrived by the time I’m closing in on the cabin. The horizon glows in the distance as the trees thin out and clear, the evening breeze brisker and cooler. I’m aching all over, practically limping after being on my feet for hours.
It’s taken me that long just to figure out how to make it back.
After running for miles in the first direction I could, I hadn’t realized how far I’d lost my way.
I push myself despite the twinge of protests that my muscles give.
Just a little bit farther and I’ll be able to sneak into the station wagon and drive off. Bront?, if he’s even at the cabin still, won’t realize what’s happened until I’m hitting the road.
The bloody massacre from earlier comes into view on the porch. Sheriff McGrath and Deputy Dudley’s dead bodies remain where I left them, flies circling the area.
I stop for a moment and survey the scene one last time.
Bront? is nowhere in sight. He must be inside.
Go-go-go! NOW!
I burst into a sudden sprint, shooting across the grass toward the drive where the rusted out station wagon’s parked. I reach the driver’s side within a few quick strides, digging the keys out so I can unlock the door.
“C’mon,” I mutter under my breath as my hands shake and fumble with the keys. “Hurry up.”
The front door of the cabin swings open.
Bront? emerges one resounding clack at a time. He’s still shirtless, still dirty, and still bloody, in the same clothes he’s been in all along—and that includes the minotaur mask that conceals his mangled face from view.
I scream and then rush, wrenching the door open and sliding behind the wheel.
“Start!” I scream at the engine. I’ve stuck the key in the ignition and the station wagon whines in response. “Now is not the fucking time!”
Bront? starts down the front steps in no rush at all, like he had earlier. It’s almost taunting the slow way he moves, as if he wants me to know this requires little to no effort on his part.
The station wagon gives another whine as he leaves the porch steps behind and starts toward me.
It’s then that I have a chilling realization. As the engine warms up and shifts gears into drive, I notice the orange light on the dashboard.
I have a flat tire. Maybe multiple.
“Fuck,” I breathe as it dawns on me. The front two tires looked fine, but what about the rear? I’d run straight toward the station wagon without pausing long enough to look. “FUCK!”
My scream echoes inside the wagon as the engine finally hums to life and Bront?’s within a few feet.
I’ll have to drive on a flat tire. At least until I get to the highway. Then maybe I can hitchhike?—
The glass shatters on my left.
Bront?’s slammed his massive fist through the window and sent glass flying everywhere. I’m screaming as I scramble for the pistol, but it’s already too late. He grabs the front of my jacket and yanks me straight out the window.