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The incident started with crunching down a long dirt drive, just like a hundred other assignments I’d been on before. It was a well maintained little road, but still far from pavement, and I drove slowly to keep from rattling my teeth out of my head before I arrived. The property was thick with evergreen trees almost right up to the front doors of two houses, one old and as much a part of the scene as the trees, and the second a glaring scar of half-finished with Lowes-logoed paper over the parts where siding hadn’t been put up yet.
There were two men working on this house, though the only one I saw at first was Mason Hill, a broad shouldered brute of a man—if any man under five four could truly be called a brute—with black hair that bristled much as a cat’s when its hackles are up. He had heard me coming up the drive and was already climbing down the ladder when I pulled up.
“Hi there. You lost?” He said, smiling kindly as he approached. That was the only smile I had from him that whole day.
“If this is the Hills’ place, then I’m right where I mean to be,” I said.
“It is.” That was the moment the smile dropped, suspicion taking its place. “Do I know you?”
“We haven’t met. I’m Parker Andrews, with the Federal Division of Monster Defense.” I extended my hand, knowing well that friendliness was more impressive than a flashed badge to these sorts of people, but Mason Hill had none of it. At the name of my employer, he planted his feet and crossed his arms, glaring at me.
“We don’t have any monsters in these parts,” he said with the sort of confidence that brooks no argument. I remember wanting to roll my eyes, having heard the same objection and lie from a thousand silly fools who thought I could simply take their word and leave. But, as always, friendliness was the way, and so I maintained my tone even as I threw my weight around a little.
“Even if you have not seen monsters, we received a report of activity in this area, so I do need to take a look around. Protocol, you understand.”
“What I understand is that you can take your protocol somewhere that’s not on my property.”
“Sir, according to the Monster Incident Act-”
“Hey, Mason!” I was here cut off by the second man who had been working on the house, a fellow by the name of James Hill. He was thinner and taller than Mason, with hair that was already beginning to shrink back from his forehead despite his being the younger of the two. Though at first glance they could have not seemed more unlike, there was a strange familiarity in their faces, a similarity in the heavy brows and the gleaming dark eye which left no doubt they must be kin. He poked his head out the unfinished door now, and continued, “While you’re down, could you give me a hand in he- Hello, who’s this?”
“DMD,” Mason answered grimly.
James stuck his thumbs in his tool belt and stood squarely in the middle of the doorway, his feet set in exact imitation of his counterpart earlier. “We don’t have any monsters ‘round here,” he said with the same sternness.
If the situation hadn’t been so serious, it might have been almost comical.
“As I was just beginning to explain,” I said, “when a report is filed with the Division of Monster Defense, an automatic warrant is also granted to allow Defense agents the freedom to search all the surrounding area for monster activity.”
“Oh believe me, I know,” Mason said. “I voted against that particular law, myself.”
“Even so, it is the law now.”
He snorted derisively. “A law written by power-hungry politicians who saw the excuse to go onto private property uninvited with armed troops, voted in by a bunch of foolish busy-bodies with nothing better to do than use the government to strong-arm their neighbors.”
If you wonder that I was able to note this little speech word for word, it was not the first time I’d heard it, nor the last. “I’m not a troop of soldiers, sir. Just an investigator,” I told him.
“What part of the government is the DMD associated with?”
“The military. But-”
“And are you armed?”
“Yes,” I confessed, for anyone who knew what to look for could tell I had multiple holsters under my coat, and these rural types seemed to have a knack for such things. “But I’m not invading.”
“Uh-huh.”
Thus followed a tense silence, and I considered showing my badge to see if it would do any good, but then James said,
“Relax, Mason. We haven’t got anything to hide. You run and tell the ladies we’ll have an extra for supper, and I’ll show him around.”
I was quick to tell him this wasn’t necessary, for I would have preferred to examine the property myself, but he was insistent, and it got to the point where I couldn’t decline without suffering their ire once again. Mason, upon my reluctant agreement, turned back toward the house.
“Fine. If he’s gonna stay, I’ll get the kids inside. Never know when Mr. DMD will get trigger happy.”
“I assure you, sir, I mean no harm to you or any of your family,” I said, and at the time I meant it.
Mason only snorted in derision and walked back toward the finished house. James took me on a very detailed tour of the area, beginning with the home he had just been working on, then going down to the well, and the outhouse they’d built beside a camping area, where they’d set up a wall tent to stay in temporarily. I tried not to grit my teeth at that. A tent in woods like this after the portals had opened was not nearly enough protection.
This, however, was a small irritation in comparison to when a whole gaggle of children, ranging from a mere four years to teenagers, went rushing by us, having come out of the forest at Mason’s call. I confess that even to this day I harbor a special loathing for those who allow their children to run amok in areas which are prime for monsters, and these woods were certainly that. Undead, arachnids, fae, and innumerable more local creatures would have found the thick pines homey enough, and it was only a matter of time before one of the little tykes wandered off into the clutches of one beast or another.
The undead were the worst. They killed the loved one, but the body still walked. The family would convince themselves that there was no threat, that their monster wasn’t so monstrous after all, then they’d all wake up dead the next evening. After that, they were the town’s problem, then the county’s, and then there would be a full on outbreak. All of it, from allowing the children to roam, to not killing them the moment they came back wrong, was utterly selfish, and it wasn’t worth the fleeting freedom or false love.
After completing the tour and learning far more about the price of sewer pipes than I ever wanted to, I managed to weasel my way out of supper. As much as I wouldn’t have minded a home cooked meal, I wasn’t so certain I wouldn’t be the home cooked meal, considering the flippant habits of the residents. I pretended to be satisfied with my search, and drove my car back out to the main road, where I parked and armed myself better for a search through the forest.
I had my usual weapons on already. A kukuri knife strapped to my leg, one old fashioned revolver loaded with iron balls that I kept on my hip, a glock loaded with silver lined bullets under my jacket, and a hand cannon on my other hip, for the big game, as it were. In addition to this, I took several grenades, a few bottles of solvent in my belt pouch and one in my boot, and a double-barreled shotgun loaded with buckshot. Not knowing what I was walking into, I wanted to be prepared. I didn’t bring any stakes with me, as would have been useful in the case of vampires, but since I was headed into a wooded area I wasn’t concerned about finding such weapons. An hour or so into my walk, however, I began to think I would not need stakes at all. I began to pick out long, silvery strands through the tree branches, no thicker than a violin string, but many times stronger.
I took my shotgun off my back and held it ready. That would be the best weapon for dealing with an arachnid. Any normal spider dies when its abdomen bursts, and the giant ones are no different, but their exoskeletons are harder, and it’s best to put as many holes in them as possible. They tend to have an even thicker carapace over their heads, and the legs will only disable, not kill. I have heard of men who had only swords or knives cutting out the legs first, then stabbing the abdomen, but this is a desperate action which requires getting close to the venomous fangs.
I was actually pleasantly surprised to find the tell-tale spider silk. Most of the time, families protected an undead, or sometimes a fae, but arachnids were usually considered far too creepy to have around as pets. At the time I found it curious, but I was happy enough at the discovery not to ask as many questions as I ought to have.
As I walked deeper into the wood, the silk became thicker and thicker, until I had to be careful of my step to avoid getting caught in it. A maze of cobwebs surrounded me, and I had to duck and weave through what tiny openings I could find in order to try to get close to the monster’s central lair without alerting it of my presence, though even my breath on one of the wires might be enough. Any hunter who has faced an arachnid knows how sensitive they are, and is familiar with the slow, careful dance that grows more difficult the closer one comes to the monster itself.
Finally, as the day was waning, I nearly stumbled into its den. Thinking back, much of the webbing was on the ground, but the wideness of it had fooled me so that I assumed it would be an arboreal species, and I was keeping my eyes on the covered branches above, rather than my feet below. It was like a great pit, yawning black and deep in the ground, for the door itself was thrown back, and thick webbing clung against the dirt all the way down.
I lurched away, expecting to see the creature come charging out of its hole, but there was no movement. I approached it again, cautiously, and peered down. There was no sign even of a leg poking out, and the tunnel was angled at a steep slope so that one might have walked upright into it. Here, I began to see more pattern to the silken threads, for though they coated the whole enclosure, there was dirt over the top of it on the bottom, and it had been formed in ridges, almost like a stair.
I saw no sign of the spider, but I was convinced it must be there, for the trapdoor variety rarely leaves its hole. I realize now I was only correct in my guess through happy coincidence, and had she not been home, things might have gone quite differently. In any case, I proceeded to try to coax it out, for only a fool follows a creature into its own den.
I had a lure with me, an essential tool of the trade. The one I had was a little disk, smaller than a frisbee but larger than a hockey puck, from which sprang four mechanical limbs. As with all lures, the limbs twitched and jerked in imitation of a struggling human. Many use homemade lures which move on a timer or string, but this one was DMD issue, and specially designed to be exactly like the thrashing of a medium-sized child. I confess I did not think about how the department would have obtained such accurate data on the subject back then, though I have since wondered.
I tossed the lure into the web just in front of the hole, then raised my shotgun to my shoulder and waited. And waited. The lure twitched and jerked about until the webbing sagged, but still no monster came. I was just debating what to do next when I heard children’s voices, laughing and teasing as if they had not a care in the world. They were coming closer.
My heart jumped nearly into my throat. I have faced down many a danger without flinching, but to be standing upon a precipice and hear the approach of children’s voices is more horrid than any one of them. With my fear came also fury as I thought of their fathers, and how anyone could allow what was dearest to wander unheeding into danger. Nearer, nearer they came, and every moment I was certain one of them would find one of the tripwires, and the spider would spring. Though it had not come to attack the lure, I knew that might be because it was one of those ancient, intelligent monsters which had seen such things before, and would be able to tell the difference between a false child, and the real.
Each option flashed through my mind and was discarded in less than a second. If I shouted a warning, there was no knowing if they would listen, and they might scatter, not to mention that the creature in the hole could also be warned of their presence. Without knowing if there was a second exit, a grenade might only flush out the creature so it could flank us. If I fired into the air, the children might run, but again there was the web to contend with. So, setting my teeth, I did something desperate, something so foolish I would never advise any hunter to do it in any situation, but it was the only thing I could think of to defend the little ones who came ever closer down the path.
I threw myself into the monster’s web.
I braced myself with my shotgun to my shoulder, waiting for it to come rushing up at the offer of real prey, but the darkness remained unmoved. I struggled a little, though I knew that would only entangle me worse in the sticky web.
“Come on!” I growled. “Come get it, beastie!”
No movement.
The five children rounded the trees, chattering away like there weren’t massive webs hanging from the branches, and not even bothering to watch their feet. The youngest girl pointed at me and burst out laughing.
“Look! Look! Look! There’s a funny man caught in Nana’s net!”
My blood ran cold at the implications. It horrified me to think that they were so familiar with the thing in the hole that they had named it. The other smaller ones giggled, amused as any little boy would be to see a fly caught unwittingly in a spider’s web, and I began to reach carefully for the solvent in my belt, which also happened to be next to my revolver, if it came down to it. My shotgun was still pointed down at the pit, but I no longer trusted these children who laughed to see a man in a position to be eaten by a monster. The two older ones noticed my hand creep under my jacket, and the boy laid a hand on the machete at his belt, while the girl drew a pistol. They positioned the others between them and shushed them, watching me.
“What are you doing here, stranger?” The boy barked, and sounded very much like the men who had first greeted me.
“Don’t you recognize him?” One of the littler boys piped up. “That’s the DMD man who was talking to Daddy and Uncle Mason earlier!”
The older two relaxed slightly after I was identified, and the girl said, “I’ll run and tell them.”
“Don’t!” I ordered her sharply. “Don’t any of you go anywhere.” Only a moment ago I would have told them all to run away as fast as their legs could carry them, but they had named this creature. I had never heard of an arachnid who was able to bring anyone under thrall as some other monsters could, but the things sometimes made alliances, and judging by their behaviour, all of the adults at the house could be involved. I didn’t want them to come while I lay helpless.
At my order, the oldest boy stepped in front of his sister, machete drawn, and glared at me. “Riley, if his hand comes out of his coat you put one right between his eyes, preferably before he gets me.”
“You got it,” she told him, aiming the gun around his shoulder, but still allowing him to shield her. The little ones huddled together, watching with wide eyes, but seemed to know it was no longer a time for play.
“Wait! Don’t shoot him, dears. Can’t you see the poor fellow doesn’t know what he’s doing?”
I started at the sound of a woman’s voice, and it took me some time to find its owner, for she stood at the base of the pit. She had some sort of heavy shawl or blanket that curled round her from shoulder to foot and dragged on the floor, and silver hair fell over her bundled shoulders.
“He’s here to hurt you, Nana!” the oldest boy said.
“Of course he is. It’s his job, you know, but I can take care of myself, and do it better when I’m not worrying about you. So why don’t you run along home?”
“Awwwe!” Groaned the little girl. “But Auntie Kate said you made cookies!”
“And you shall have to try them another time,” the creature replied smoothly. “I want a private word with Mr. DMD. I’m delighted to see all of you, but these government folks can be, well, trigger happy.”
A chill went down my spine. The offer of food, the children coming into her house, the words of her silver tongue in the mouth of the men at the house. I had thought perhaps a spider had made an alliance with a vampire, but these were all classic indicators of fae, and this one seemed to me more dangerous than any I had yet met. Most posed as something beautiful, something attractive to draw their prey in, but if the webs around me were illusion, I may have already come into her lair, and not known it, and there would be little chance of escape.
“Yes, let’s go,” the older girl said. “We’ll be safer away.” She gripped her brother’s shoulder meaningfully. “After all, we wouldn’t want any innocents to get hurt.”
He relaxed, grudgingly sheathing his machete, then helped her to herd their little cousins away. Then I was left alone with the creature, and it spoke first with a voice deceptively kind and gentle.
“There, that’s better. Now, I’m not coming up there where you can shoot me, so you’d best use that solvent in your belt and come down here to talk.”
"I can't shoot you in you in there?"
“It’s harder to shoot in the dark. I’m blind, you see. Don’t keep any lanterns unless the kiddos are coming over, and I put them all out when I felt you getting close.”
It was such a plain, honest statement that it made me doubly suspicious. The Fae are never so simple, and I was certain she had some ulterior motive. She did, but at the time, I could not have even begun to fathom the depths of it. I was confident in the fact that she had made a misjudgment, for I could see in the dark quite well after the genetic modifications done by the DMD, and was also stronger and faster. The most common splice in hunters is vampire, though even then I had worked with some who had other modifications. There was one I knew who’d had Wendigo DNA so he wouldn’t give off human scent, with the side effect that it became doubly difficult to get him to eat his vegetables, or anything else that wasn’t meat, for that matter. Such splicing is dangerous, but it was considered a worthy sacrifice if it meant a greater ability to hunt the monsters.
So, considering my own life also a worthy sacrifice, as all hunters worth their salt do, I did as she asked. The makeshift stair was surprisingly easy to walk down, almost springy, like walking on grass. Once I reached the bottom, the woman smiled at me, or rather at the space beside my shoulder, the combination of white and dark in her eyes making them appear almost metallic. Up close, I could see that the shawl she wore was a thick, scratchy thing that almost seemed made of cables, and the ends dragged on the floor as she walked.
“Come. I’ll make us some tea to chat over.”
“No thank you,” I told her firmly.
“Ah, right. You still think I’m a monster. Well, come in anyway, and I’ll make myself a cup of tea at the very least. Here, this is my sitting room.” She entered a little opening just off the main hall and tilted her head toward me with an eerie smile over her thin lips. “Do you need me to invite you in freely, of your own will?”
That gave me pause, for it seemed the advantage I might have had of her assumption earlier was not such an advantage after all, if she knew of my modifications.
“Oh don’t be so shocked. You’ve had your eyes on me this whole time, and that gun is still out.”
“I thought you were blind,” I said, very slowly reaching to my belt for my revolver with the iron rounds. I still thought she was a fae, and wanted to keep her talking until I could find the key to breaking her illusion. For this reason, I listened very carefully to the following conversation that I might not be snared by trickery, and have since never forgotten it.
“I am. But this does me well enough.” She patted the webbed wall, then walked to the corner, where she had a little gas camp stove set up on a table made primarily of plywood. In the dim light as she lit it and put a kettle on, I could also make out a wooden rocking chair with a long split down the back, and something like a thick quilt hanging in the opening. There were also several pillows thrown on the floor, and webbed hammocks hanging from the ceiling. “Feel free to have a seat. Anywhere but the rocking chair. That’s my place.”
“I’ll stand.”
“Dear me, of course you will. Too hard to get up from the floor or a hammock in case I turn hostile, isn’t it? The place wasn’t exactly furnished with adults in mind, I’m afraid.” I stiffened at that, but she paid me no mind and shuffled over to her chair, sinking into it with a sigh. “There, that’s better. Now, why don’t you tell me your name, and I can stop calling you Mr. DMD?”
I almost laughed. Already she had made the fatal mistake. I was certain she was a fairy now, and I sheathed the shotgun on my back, the iron-round revolver ready in my hand, which I hoped she would think I was only resting in my pocket. “Mr. DMD works just fine.”
“Well, you’re not stupid, I’ll give you that, though things might be more pleasant if you were.” She tilted her head back, resting it on a pillow that had been strapped into the gap in the rocking chair’s back. “You may as well get it into your head now that I’m not going to hurt you. Mason or James might, if it comes down to it. I’m still working on ‘turn the other cheek’ with them, but they’re fine boys, like you.”
“Very little like me,” was my retort. “I would never fraternize with monsters.” I watched her, waiting for any sudden moves, even as I glanced around in search of the illusion key so I could destroy it. As it was, I couldn’t even be confident she actually was where she appeared to be.
“No? Just share their DNA, I suppose. I can see they’ve gotten far more refined with that technology lately. Let me guess, you came in as a bright eyed young hero, hoping to save innocent people from the big bad monsters. You trained, and grew strong, rose through the ranks, and with each rank there was new training, some new principle to apply that made you a little uncomfortable, but not enough to stop. It was worth it. All worth it. Even when they were having scientists poke and prod and inject vampire blood directly into your veins.”
I didn’t reply, for her words unnerved me in their accurate summary, and I wanted to give her no more information.
“Where do you seek your righteousness?” She asked suddenly.
“What?” I snapped, more anger coming out in my voice than even I had expected.
“Where do you seek your righteousness? Is it in the monsters you’ve killed, in the people you’ve protected? Yet there are always more monsters, always one more person you didn’t save. Those deaths hurt, don’t they?”
“You know nothing of it.”
“Don’t I? You’ve sacrificed your time, your humanity—were willing to sacrifice your life. But it won’t ever be enough. In the end, death will catch up with them all. And you… Oh, you will be unrecognizable by the time you go to your grave.”
There it was. Though the start of the conversation had been odd, this was familiar ground. I’d had many a beast try to convince me that my work was useless. “That doesn’t matter. As long as creatures like you exist in the world, I will continue to protect it from you.”
“Hm. Lot’s of generalizations and inaccuracies in that, but I’ll work with it for now. What exactly do you protect?”
The teapot had started whistling, and she got up to pour herself a cup. Her blanket did not move like a blanket, curling too rigid around her shoulders, more like a shell than cloth, and she was able to slip her hands out between two of the cables, yet I couldn’t make out a wide knit or anything that might allow such an action. “Humanity,” I said, my hand tightening on the revolver.
She laughed, suddenly. “Humanity? What on earth do you mean by that?”
“I mean those who are human.”
“You’re using the word to define the word,” she said, shuffling back toward her chair with tea in hand, and I watched those strange blanket ends trail behind her. “Vampires look human. Fae, zombies, ghosts, skinwalkers, all look human. That’s half your trouble when hunting them down. So what makes a human?”
“Generally the fact that they don’t eat people.”
“Oh please. Humans all throughout history have eaten each other if they’re desperate or depraved enough.” She took a long sip of her tea, and she and her entire blanket seemed to relax. “Ahh, that does my old bones some good.” She tilted her head, then set a hand on the arm of her chair, which was as webbed over as everything else in the room. “You wear a cross, do you not?”
“Does it bother you?”
“Hardly. I understand that it’s a protection in such times as these, though it is really just a symbol. A monster will only fear it for as long as they think you serve the man on it.”
A chill crept down my spine, then. Not because I was religious in any sense of the word, but more because I wasn’t, and somehow it left me feeling oddly exposed and afraid for this creature to know it. The cross had never been anything but another weapon to me, one of the many tools of the trade, yet those sightless eyes were aware of it, and only smiled. It was like seeing someone laughing with a gun to their head.
“You serve no god, acknowledge no creator, play with your own make in labs, and you really think you can claim to protect humanity? You cannot even begin to define it.” She turned her eyes on me then, staring right through me, looking as if at my very soul. “There is a better master than the one you serve, hunter. To rescue by thrall is the way of monsters, and every day that is what you and your master come nearer to becoming.”
Between the strange conversation and the unnatural blanket, I was beginning to be set upon my last nerve, so that when she next went to take a sip from her cup, I drew my revolver, and fired. She hissed and leapt to her feet, but to my great, sickened horror, they were not human feet. Her blanket sprang out from her into a cage of eight legs, and she dangled from them, her back hunched, human legs curled up to her chest. Clear blue blood sprayed my face, and the foremost of her spiderish limbs spasmed briefly, then was limp, and the blood spray died to a slower trickle.
I was frozen for a time, staring, for in all my years of monster hunting I had never seen anything like this. “Wh-what are you?” I stammered.
“Silvia Hill,” she replied through set teeth. Using her back two legs, she began to draw out a long silk thread and bound it around her wound, tight and well woven as the rest of her web. “Formerly Special Agent Hill of the Federal Division of Monster Defense. Your future, in a word.”
I fired again, then. At the time I wasn’t sure why, I just knew I had to, but after a long consideration, I’ve decided it was out of pure, unadulterated terror. This person, this thing could not be my future, and its lies would die with it, or so I thought.
She felt the action coming and lifted her legs on one side, her human body swinging out of the way before she scuttled across the ceiling over me and back out into the passage. I panted, my hands shaking as I put the revolver away, going for the shotgun once more. I held it on the doorway and moved slowly, step by step, toward the little gas camp stove, still burning on low to keep the tea warm. Just as I went to knock it into the flammable webbing, a net of silk shot from the doorway and wrapped round me.
“Ah ah ah, it’s not nice to burn people’s houses down, Mr. DMD.”
I couldn’t move, my hands pinned to my sides by that foul net. It took everything in me not to struggle, for I knew that would only make it worse. She came dashing in again, and I threw myself down hard on my hip where I stored my vials of solvent. The bottles burst, sending shards into my side, but it also started to dissolve the web. I had a few precious seconds while she turned off the stove. She spun on me, and I lurched away, bracing the shotgun to my shoulder, only for her to fall back into the passage once more.
The solvent burned. It is not a healthy thing to be soaked in, much less to have in open wounds, and I’d just dumped the whole thing all over my shirt and the glass that still protruded from my hip.
“You’re hurt,” ‘Sylvia’ said.
“I’m well enough to kill you,” I growled back, forcing myself to stand, though it nearly killed me to put weight back on that leg.
“I don’t suppose you would welcome my help?”
“Go to hell.”
“Of course not.” She sighed, then again a web came sailing at me. I was prepared this time and ducked out of the way. This repeated a few more times, then I took out the emergency bottle of solvent I kept in my boot and sprinkled half of it in a wide circle around myself. She shot two more nets at me, then the web on the ground was eaten through, and she was blind. I took a moment to recuperate, keeping the shotgun trained on the door. I didn’t dare pull the glass out. That might have made me scream, or groan at the very least, and I didn’t want to give away my position.
I eased the shotgun sheath off my shoulders, then tossed it about as far as I could jump toward the door. A web flew almost the second it landed, but it wasn’t aimed at the shotgun sheath. She caught my arm, still outstretched from the throw, and yanked me into the hall. Without fangs to pull me into, she settled for dragging me. She ran, towing me behind her along the springy floor, which didn’t hurt nearly as much as gravel or dirt might have. I tried to steady myself and managed to get turned around enough that I could get the gun up and pointed at her.
It was hard to get it properly secured with one hand, and the stock snapped against my jaw as I fired. Shrapnel from the buckshot caught her mid-step, and she stumbled as blue sprayed the walls. I ripped off a still damp section of my shirt and used the solvent left on it to burn through the connecting string, then wiped the remaining threads off my arm. When I stood, she was still busy patching up her second wounded leg. I aimed and fired again. She took to the ceiling once more, landing behind me. I started to go for the sliver-loaded glock under my coat, but she charged before I could get ahold of it.
I took off running, my hand pressed hard to my side with the result that I cut my fingers as well for my troubles. I managed to get the glock out while running and tried a few times to turn back and fire at her, but the shots always went wild, and the twisting only made the glass shift dangerously. She stayed on my heels, never quite catching up. I thought her legs must be slowing her, and had just enough time to wish I’d pulled out the shards when I had the chance before my foot plunged into nothingness. I flailed my arms, trying to grab something, anything, and dropped my weapons in the process. I just barely managed to grip the rim of the hole, but couldn’t pull myself up.
Sylvia went flying past me and plunged into the dark below. I heard a splash as she landed. Kicking my feet against the side of the pit, I tried to haul myself up and out, but my arms were weak, and growing weaker by the second as blood ran down my leg, the solvent still burning, beginning to blister my skin.
That’s when Sylvia came back. She skittered up the walls, her remaining six good legs easily spanning their length. I thrust my feet back at her chest, but she smoothly evaded on those horrid bouncing limbs and wrapped both arms around me. We plunged into the pit together, and I managed to get one deep, painful breath before we hit the water. She dragged me down, down, down, and I struggled all the way, but the wound had weakened me so that it was no use. Just as my lungs were beginning to burn, we popped up into a small bubble of air. I gasped, still fighting against her, then screamed when she attacked my wounded side. I remember how the sound filled that small space, how small and horrid it seemed to be surrounded by water with a monster gripping onto me and tearing my flesh with no escape. Then, quite suddenly, she stopped, and we were rushing to the surface again.
I allowed her to carry me, breathing deeply of the fresh air when our heads broke free of the water, and did not struggle as she clambered easily up the steep walls. Not until we reached the top did I fight, for she flung me upon the ground and began swiftly to bind me round and round as spiders of all sizes do their prey. She possessed no spider’s fangs, so I was not paralyzed, but I had no doubt I would soon be just as imobile. I wrenched my arms up out of the way, but she had already wrapped around the gun holsters on my hips, and I had no way to get to them. The only weapon I had left was my knife, strapped lower on my leg, and I struggled to reach it without my arms being caught in the webbing as she spun me.
Finally, I drew my leg up, getting my knee strung to my stomach, but I was able to get to my knife. I caught the working thread and sawed through it, dropping hard onto my face. I crawled away from her as fast as I could, but she was still coming after me. There wasn’t much I could do with my knife, so I clutched it between my teeth and grabbed the last of the solvent in my boot.
I uncorked the bottle, then turned on my back and flung the liquid in her face. She yelled, her hands going to her burning eyes, then spun and ran back to the well, diving in head first. I used the time this bought me to cut through the cords that held my leg. Though the threads themselves were thin, there were many of them, and it was like trying to cut a wire hanger. There were still a few drops of solvent in the vial, and I dumped these on the place where I was cutting. Finally, I was free, and jumped to my feet.
My quarry still hadn’t come out of the well. I took a grenade off of my belt and pulled the pin, threw it in the mouth of the pit, ran back to the passage, then waited. One second. Two. Three.
The grenade came flying back out of the pit. I remember cursing. I remember running further down the passage. I remember noise in my ears, and heat at my back, and falling with the soft web pressed to my face. I don’t know why the softness was so distinct to me at that moment, but it was one of the sensations that is most prominent in my memory. As the ringing in my ears cleared, I managed to drag myself upright again and squinted through the dust. I could barely see, but I could tell that the grenade had destroyed much of the webbing on the ground and ran into the clear area, hoping to impair her vision as badly as mine.
“You are just determined to destroy my house, aren’t you?” She teased from the direction of the well. “That’s very poor manners.”
With more cutting and sawing, I managed to get the hand cannon out of its holster. It was designed for someone with greater strength to use, but even wounded I thought I could manage it. Besides, without the shotgun, it was my best chance against her. I waited, still and silent, then very suddenly she gave a cry.
“No! Oh I’ve been a fool!”
I saw a shadow rush up out of the well and fired. She darted back, but did not take cover, so I braced myself, and fired again, feeling the vibration all the way up through my teeth.
“Stop it!” She shouted. “I don’t have time for this. I can feel vampires crossing the border and my grandchildren aren’t home yet! Put it away and let me by!”
“I won’t fall for your base tricks,” I answered, and again shot at her.
“Have you no pity?” She wailed as she ran for the door only to pull up short at a fourth bullet. “You would have sacrificed yourself for them! You are not so far gone, yet!”
She made another run for the door, I pulled the trigger, and she screamed. I may have hit her, but this scream was not the sort that is a response to a mere bullet. This was something from deep within the soul, a horrid, desperate sound such as I never hope to hear again. I challenge any man, upon hearing such a voice, to not do his utmost best to come to its aid. Even the most heartless, monstrous of our race could not have been unmoved by that sound which tore from her throat.
It touched me deeply enough that I lowered my gun, and she sprang. The weapon was knocked from my hand, and she webbed my wrist to the floor, then took off down the hall.
I still had my knife, so I was able to cut myself free, but she had long vanished by that time. There was little point in killing myself to move quickly then, besides which I thought I would have some difficulty finding my way out. However, when I went to the passage we had come in at, I found that I had left a nice long blood trail that led me all the way back to that first chamber, and from there, the exit was easy to locate.
The stars and moon were bright when I emerged, and to my stronger eyes it was like coming out of a dim room into sunlight. After taking a moment to get my bearings, I debated what to do. I saw no signs of Sylvia’s passing, though out in the open air without immediate danger, her comment about vampires had me concerned. I had used up much of my arsenal on her, and was left with only the grenades, a couple of shots in the gun, and my knife, none of which were ideal vampire-fighting tools.
I had just gathered up a few good, sturdy sticks to defend myself with when I felt the entire web bounce. The movement had come from the up slope of the hill, in the direction of the house, and I started to trudge toward it as quickly as my weakened legs would carry me. As I came closer, the sounds of a fight became more distinct, until quite suddenly something heavy went flying straight past my shoulder and slammed into the tree beside me. I jumped back, stake ready, but there was no need. The vampire, for a vampire it was, had been impaled on the tree’s branches. I hacked through its neck with my knife, just to be sure it was good and dead, then pressed through a final clump of trees.
What I saw then is hard to describe. The whole troop of children were running up the slope, the older ones carrying or helping the little ones along, and the oldest boy had blood on his machete. But that was not what impressed me. Sylvia stood in the center of a whole gang of vampires, all armed, and I realized with sudden, knee-weakening terror that she had not been seriously fighting me at all.
She swung among them with expert ease and deadly ability. She held a long stick in one hand, and a hatchet in the other, crude weapons in comparison to the guns of the vampires, but somehow they served her better. There was none of the playful cat and mouse toying she had done with me, none of the throwing webs and hiding. She attacked, and when she did, it was deadly. Guns snapped out of hands as they tangled in the tough threads. Bullets sprang back from tightly woven shields, and the swiftness of the vampires was no match for the swiftness of her skittering limbs and flashing hatchet.
I stood there watching, awestruck for a time, but then the moment ended, for one of the vampires got away from her while she was distracted, and was going after the children as they disappeared into the trees. I took off running after it, makeshift stake tight in my hand, and shouted a warning. The oldest boy, bringing up the rear, spun and raised his machete, but not fast enough. The vampire crashed into him, and would have had its teeth in his throat had I not fired at its back. It screamed, then spun to face me in red-eyed fury.
“Run!” I yelled at the boy, and he hesitated only a moment before dashing after his siblings.
The vampire’s back cracked and popped in an attempt to heal the gaping wound left by my bullet as it turned toward me. I sprang at it while it was still recovering and drove a stake at its sternum. It caught my wrist before the plunge was complete. Slow. I was far slower than I was used to being, crippled by the blood loss. I brought my gun up and fired my last bullet, but missed as the vampire lunged forward. I staggered back, trying to keep distance between me and its fangs even as it dragged me about by my arm. Dropping the gun, I tossed the stake to my free hand and again went for its heart, only to have it drive its fingers into my wounded hip.
My whole leg gave out, then it was on top of me, and those horrid teeth champed tight round my throat. Like a warm river, I felt my blood rush into its mouth. I could not shove it away, for then my whole throat would be taken with it, and to die at the hands of a vampire was to become worse than dead. I scrambled under my coat and grasped the cross, my skin flinching away from the heat of it as my already susceptible body reacted to the vampire venom. I pressed it to the vampire’s chest, and the creature snarled and jerked, its teeth still buried painfully in my flesh. The scent of burning filled my nostrils even as it seized both my hands to yank them over my head. I kicked, trying to get away, but it drove its knee into my hip, and all I could do was scream as pain filled me
Then she came. Through the blur of my watering eyes, I saw eight shadowy legs and an old woman’s hunched body all haloed in silvery moonlight. Two of the legs hung limp thanks to my own work, and in that moment, staring up at those unseeing, milky eyes, it all came flooding back. The softness of her nets, the well which had washed the abrasive chemicals from my wound, her hands removing glass from my side as quickly as she could under the water, and the silk which now wrapped me, keeping me from bleeding out even under the vampire’s stinging ministrations. It was like the whole world had slowed, and in that veil of tears I saw it clearly for the first time.
She plunged down and wrapped her arms around the vampire. It shrieked, which also made it release me. I watched, stupified from my back as it burst into flames, filling the cold silver night with brilliant red. Sylvia held on, and I feared the fire would devour her as well, but when the vampire went silent and only ashes fell to the ground, there she stood, tall and unharmed. Then she spun, fighting off the next vampire who flew at her.
I managed to get to my feet and stood back to back with her. We worked like a well oiled machine, for she read my movements with the ease of one who has practiced them herself more times than could be counted, and my body reacted to her hand signals even before I had consciously understood them. She fought like an agent, and I felt a fool for not realizing it before. She knew each of my weapons, from the solvent, to the knife, to the number of guns, and she could have killed me at any moment. But she hadn’t. She didn’t try to kill me, though I had done my absolute best to kill her.
Finally, we finished off the last of the vampire clan, and I slumped over my knees, panting, for my wounds had taken a great toll on me. “All the children make it?” I asked between breaths.
She nodded, dropping softly onto her human legs while the spidery limbs curled back in around her. “I felt them arrive at the house. I’m sure my sons will be out any time, though, so we’d best be careful to look like friends if we want to make sure you don’t get shot.”
“And you all accuse me of being trigger happy.”
She laughed, then closed her eyes and tilted her face up toward the cool breeze. “Well, you are the one who shot first, Mr. DMD.”
“Parker,” I said. “Parker Andrews. And I suppose you’re really Sylvia Hill, aren’t you?”
“The very same.”
“And… those genetic mutations were really department issue?”
“Department requirement, more like. Sacrifice of the one to save the many, right?”
“That is what I have been told.” I set a hand against my neck to slow the bleeding there.
“But not shown, if the organization has not changed its ways.“ She came to me, hand outstretched, but stopped before she touched me. “May I help you this time?”
“Please.”
She took a pre-made patch of silk from her pocket and set it over the wound, carefully smoothing the tacky edges onto my skin. “There. All better.”
“How did you do it?” I asked.
“Do what?”
“Burn that vampire.”
She truly smiled this time and tapped the cross where it still rested on my chest. “The lesser ones fear that holy symbol of the Most High God. How much more should what is evil fear His vessels, those made in His very image, those who bear the spirit which once dwelt only in the holy of holies?”
I didn’t know what to say to that, for at the time I didn’t understand half of what she was saying.
She had compassion for my confusion, and said very gently, “where do you seek your righteousness, Parker Andrews? At some point you must ask yourself that question, and decide if you are a false hero, or a good man.”
“I think… I think I’d much rather be a good man.”
“Then come.” She pulled my arm over her shoulders, and a spider’s leg wrapped around my waist to support me, odd, but not frightening. “Let’s get you up to the house and get you rested and fed, then we’ll give you a chance to actually read the words of the God whose symbol you wear.”
True to her word, I was allowed to stay safely in the home of Mason Hill until I had recovered. He and James remained suspicious of me until the day I left, but the children and the wives liked me, and there was always Sylvia. Whenever she came to visit, she asked me if I had read the little black Bible she left on the nightstand, and I did. Always she was eager to talk about it, and about the good man in it who had saved the world.
I am not a good man. I have never been able to be. For all my attempts at heroism, all my wrongs done in the name of becoming stronger, none of them came to much except for a promotion for myself. Don’t get me wrong, the DMD does great work, but at the end of the day, I do begin to wonder what we are fighting, and who we are protecting. I see in the dark like a vampire. I move with their swiftness and speed. I know I am still human. I know. But I remember feeling the rush of my blood, and the burn of that cross, feeling my very humanity leeched away. I remember reaching for my revolver, and five children staring back, unsure whether or not I would shoot them, and wonder how much of my humanity I had to lose. I wonder if our mission is right merely because we get results, or if Sylvia’s spider limbs and my own speed are proof that it matters how we do it. The ends are noble, but the means… the means are growing ever less so.
Chief Thomas frowned at Special Agent Andrews’ report where it lay on the desk in front of him, then turned the dour look on the man himself.
“It was a clan of thirteen vampires.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Which you took care of entirely on your own?”
“Yes, sir. Just like I said in the report, sir.”
Chief Thomas and Assistant Director Hansen exchanged glances.
“That is certainly a feat.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I am a bit confused, though. Of your weaponry you used four bottles of spider silk solvent, including your emergency bottle, a grenade, several iron rounds, two birdshot, several silver rounds, and a full round from the hand cannon. On a vampire clan.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chief Thomas watched him with narrowed eyes, but Agent Andrews held his gaze impassively.
“That’s an odd choice in weapons for vampires, don’t you think?”
“Not a whole clan of them. You underestimate the versatile uses of these weapons.”
“I see. And you made sure they were truly dead?”
“De-capped and burned them all.”
“Which you were able to do despite the injuries which required you to stay with the family for two weeks?”
“Not seeking medical attention sooner is part of the reason it was so bad, sir.”
“And the family was happy to let you stay in their home that long, despite denying you access earlier?”
“Of course. The vampires had tried to attack their children.”
“And these children were roaming about at night because…”
“You know how some people can be. They just weren’t being cautious.”
Chief Thomas and the Assistant Director glanced at each other again. “Very well. You are dismissed, Agent Andrews.”
He threw a sharp salute, then walked away, the cross around his neck swinging. Ever since this odd assignment, he’d started wearing it on the outside of his shirt, even when in places completely safe from monsters of any kind. Chief Thomas watched the door close behind him, then turned to Hansen.
“Have a detail assigned to follow Agent Andrews.”
“Yes, sir. Shall I tell them to be on the look out for anything in particular, sir?”
Chief Thomas stroked his beard, then nodded slowly. “Have them keep an eye out for insurrection and for any attempts to run, and make sure they all read the Sylvia Hill case file. I have a feeling we may have a similar problem on our hands.”