fff #49

this is only flash fiction compared to a novel and doesnt really truly follow the hero's journey but nevertheless - this is my fff. Vampires on a Train. he had always hated his fucking job (if you can call it that, he was more like a slave) and this time would be no different. he couldn’t believe they were actually expecting him to go into the subway of the world’s worst city just to take care of the so-called “pest problem.” even more odd was why they sent the mission to him via telegram. truth be told, the satellites had been down for weeks which he would’ve known if we wasn’t on the back end of a 3 month bender. he hadn’t been completely sober since the end of the last war; a war he was lucky enough to walk away from – no one else did. he knew going into the subway system would mean certain death but what was the difference; the coalition would kill him anyway if he didn’t go. secretly he had been hoping that the booze and cigarettes would kill him long before he could be called up for another favor. it, unfortunately, didn’t work out that way. after lying in bed until his vision cleared a bit, he tossed the telegram in the trash. lighting a cigarette, he threw his backpack over his shoulder and left. it wouldn’t take him long to reach the subway, though he would take his time to allow the nicotine to calm his nerves. he turned the corner onto 8th street and started down the steps toward the subway platform. only the heavily armed or the mentally insane would be brave enough to continue from here. like walking down into the belly of the beast, he felt like the saying “thrown to the wolves” held all new meaning. lighting up as he reached the platform he had nothing to do but wait for the next train uptown. if his memory served him right the next train couldn’t be but ten minutes away; the times were pretty regular even since they incorporated the automated system nearly 3 decades ago. he sat down on the cold stone bench on the platform and, inhaling deeply, reached into his pack and grabbed his gun; it couldn’t be to early to start protecting himself. it felt like the entire world rattled as the train pulled up to station. the already irritating fluorescent lights flickered, a thick dust filled the air, rubble and tiles fell from the ceiling; an omen that this was obviously a bad idea, but then again it was never his idea to begin with. he moved from the stone bench onto the train and as it shook away from the platform it became abundantly obvious that he was alone – or was he? racing through the tunnels the lights continued to flicker and flash and he stopped to think that maybe it was all in his head, not that it mattered much. his thoughts moved to his fresh cigarette and the cold steel he clenched in his hand. soon both would be streaming smoke and fire from their barrels. the lights flashed again and he jumped to his feet, cocked his gun, flicked his cigarette and prepared himself; he was no longer alone. the temperature had dropped maybe 20 degrees; he could see his breath and putting on his overcoat he remembered how much he hated these fuckers. the smell was terrible too which is to be expected – they are the undead. the smell would be even worse once he started pumping combustible rounds into these monsters; nightwalkers as they liked to call themselves. imagine the smell of 1000 rotting corpses ablaze in fire and you’ve only begun to understand the stench. it was disgusting. he had strapped up his ammo, fire grenades, incendiary sword and his prize possessions; duel classic desert-eagle semiautomatics (modified, of course, to be able to handle the combustible rounds). one gun still in hand he was ready for battle. then the lights flashed again and suddenly he was no longer alone. from the beginning of the underworld wars there had only ever been one true mission: kill the father. if legend was true then killing the father would destroy all of the father’s offspring. he had only ever came close once; in fact he had only ever seen the father once. of course that was when it was a little more of a fair fight and both sides had armies. now it was just him against the minions. thankfully during the last war he had killed the bride and last female of the nightwalkers and as far as he knew the father hadn’t yet resurfaced to claim a new bride. no new bride meant no new followers – their army might still be diminished. knowing this he figured he would try to end this war once and for all. it was like a high school reunion on the train. the father had sent his two firstborn and what looked like ten or twelve other nightwalkers – it could just as easily have been 50 since these bastards disappear when they’re in the shadows. the sons showed almost a sense of respect for him as they closed in, centering him in the train car. they certainly wouldn’t kill him; the father would want a word with him first. he drew his second gun from behind his back and raising the weapons pointed one in the face of each son. no words were shared; it was apparent he wanted to do this the hard way. he was up for the fight, but as he tired of the dance and prepared to clean house, the room flashed to black and the sons were gone. the train car lit up in new hues of light, bright oranges and yellows as he shot round after round into those sons of bitches, watching them burn from the inside out. it was a beautiful thing in his eyes and actually made him crave a smoke. his thoughts on the cigarette, he hardly noticed how many of the damned things he had killed until he slid his last clip into the gun. he would have to use his fire grenades soon which would easily engulf the entire train car. luckily, being fire resistant, this wasn’t his problem. standing in a few inches of ash as the car finally came to a stop at the end of the line, he lit a cigarette and was glad to smell something other than burning undead carcass. the train door opened and he stepped out of the flames leaving a few live fire grenades aboard to ensure everything on that train wouldn’t be coming back. he hated it when they tried to regenerate. mother fuckers. he always thought it looked like something trying to give birth to itself – it was enough to make him sick to his stomach. he had reached the end of the line, where a layer of ice covered everything and he was again thanking his cigarette; first for the smell, now for warming his lungs. he would find the father and sons here – or more likely they would find him. he began toward the dark end of the platform, unsheathing his incendiary sword when the darkness was complete. he watched as it exploded into flames, then with enough light to continue on he walked further down the platform until two figures appeared. the sons. the flame on his sword grew as he prepared for battle and the sons circled him. flares of orange would fill the platform for the next hour as he dismembered the sons, being sure to burn their hearts to guarantee their deaths. when the battle was over he stood in a pool of melted ice and ash, a sight the father would surely cringe at. with that in mind, he lit a smoke off his sword and decided to wait. he sheathed his sword, figuring the darkness would be more inviting for the father. the pool of water that had filled the platform suddenly froze solid, accompanied by a terrible screeching that was getting louder by the second. he immediately drew his sword again and lighting up the room instantaneously found himself surrounded by what seemed like millions of bats. a few slashes of his sword seemed to only infuriate the bats but seconds later they withdrew to the shadows. the screech silenced and from the depths the father emerged. the father’s actions were lightning fast, so fast the flames from the sword couldn’t even catch up. he fought smart, using what fire grenades he had left to make it near impossible for the father to hide; but who really needs to hide when you can fly? the battle raged on for what seemed like days and only ended when the father went in for the kill at his neck and he shoved the flaming sword through both their hearts. the father combusted in a pure white fire that quickly turned death black, and then he was gone. tired, wounded, and craving a cigarette, he began his long trip down the platform, back downtown, and back to his bed and his bottle. he hadn’t gained anything but the four recently discovered holes on his neck; but would finally get that long-awaited vacation from the coalition. the father’s venom would spread through his body over the next few hours and if the legend was true, with the father dead, he would die as soon as he became one of them. he figured he had just enough time to get home and get drunk. laying back in his bed, bottle in one hand, cigarette in the other he felt the venom race through his veins and knew the transformation was about to occur. taking one last drag of his cigarette, he exhaled, and his whole body went up in smoke. ... and thats the end of that story.