The Purging

Os Vengare

CHAPTER 4

Two blocks down the road, they come across a SWAT team trying to defend several civilians from a group of advancing vampires. Despite being heavily armed, the team appears to be able to do little but keep their pale faced antagonists at bay. Crouched behind the cover of a destroyed van, the vamps hurl a barrage of insults and rocks at the frustrated policemen. Running up beside the officers Ben lights a Molotov and lobs it into the fray. The resulting explosion sets two of the vamps alight. They stumble clumsily from behind their cover before popping like methane filled balloons. A roar of appreciation rings out from the crowd of onlookers. Ben holds out his bag of incendiary cocktails, “Gunfire only kills em’ if you blow their heads clean off. You wanna take em’ down right, you set those fuckers on fire.”

The remainder of the Molotovs are quickly distributed amongst the group and Ben’s spare handguns are handed over to the civilians. Covered by riflemen Ben advances with a primed bomb in his right hand. As he releases the alcoholic fireball, the last of the vampires beat a hasty retreat, narrowly avoiding the flash of flame. The SWAT team's squad sergeant approaches Ben and asks him, “Who the hell are you and how did you know that would work so well?”

One of the policemen jumps forward, gun drawn, “This sorry piece of shit is Benjamin Guitierrez and he’s the local lieutenant for the Mexican Mafia. He’s a scumbag sir. I’m willing to bet that every weapon they’re carrying is illegal.” This reaction comes as no surprise. The cousin’s reputation often precedes them when dealing with police.

Ben walks right up eye to eye with the policeman, “I know how to kill em' because we were at the airport when this shit started goin' down and we saw firsthand what happens when they catch fire. To be honest, I think bleedin' em' out works pretty good too, but you gotta get real close if you wanna do it that way.”

The sergeant makes his subordinate lower his weapon. He points down at the molotov in his hand, “As far as I’m concerned, we’re in a state of emergency here, so I could care less about your affiliations right now. My primary concern is making more of these.”

Juanito interjects, pointing a finger down the street, “There’s a liquor store a couple blocks west that we could hit up for supplies. Might even be a couple guns under the counter too.” After a few moments of discussion, the group sets out for the store. Ben takes point with the squad sergeant and the rest set up a perimeter around the panicked civilians.

The liquor store has been looted at least once before they arrived. All the front windows have been smashed to bits, and the broken glass is sprinkled all over the floor. There is a broad, wet smear of blood from the front door to behind the checkout counter. Spent shell casings and the lingering smell of gunpowder make it clear there was a firefight here not so long ago. Mercifully enough, if there were any vampires, they're long gone.

The group raids the shelves for what is left of the over-proof liquors first. Extraneous pieces of clothing are torn up and used to make fuses for the collection of makeshift explosives. When every person is loaded down with a sufficient number of bombs, the group convenes around the shop’s counter. The SWAT sergeant says, “Alright, we don’t know exactly how far this reaches. Communications are down and we don’t have a clear idea of just how many of these things are out there. Our best bet is to get somewhere defensible and hunker down until this thing passes.”

Ben shakes his head, “Juanito and I ran into a vamp at the airport who said that this was only the beginning and that a hundred other cities were gettin' taken down just the same way. We need to get the fuck out of LA as soon as possible.” As he finishes speaking, the door to the back room swings open, producing the proprietor of the store, holding a large calibre pistol. The wounds to his body are grievous, with deep scratch marks on his face and chest. Every inch of his person is dyed red by the blood that is still seeping from the gaping wounds. Now with a dozen weapons trained on him, the man drops his gun and crashes on the tile floor. He attempts to speak, but can only muster a pained gurgle.