Chapter Text
"I hope he can finally see something in the distance. I couldn't stand this damn cold any longer! I'm going to lose both toes! I'm telling you how it is!" Clark whispered, pacing back and forth in front of the tent.
Despite being wrapped in countless layers and wearing clothing made for these adverse conditions, he could feel the cold coming through every crack. Even at the sides of his special snow goggles, which were supposed to be airtight. The icy Canadian winter always found a way to mercilessly descend upon you.
Clark's gaze turned to the distance, where in daylight he could still see a valley with dense coniferous forests and high mountains on the other side. Now he could no longer see any of it in the icy darkness. The moon was hidden behind clouds, and because of the wind and heavy snow, even the low-light amplifier in his glasses was useless. Only knowing what it looked like during the day allowed Clark to know which direction to look.
In the direction from which he hoped someone would soon arrive with news about whether they had finally reached their destination or were at least very close. A glimmer of hope.
Even though Clark was relatively confident, the cold they had been exposed to for countless hours was getting to him. He preferred the scorching heat of the desert to a cold that would eventually freeze every part of his body. Yes, he would even prefer a monsoon.
Anything was better than this damn cold.
He turned his gaze to the tent, which was the only source of light, even though it was really just two glow sticks. They had pitched their tent, which was barely distinguishable from the snow and ice, under a rocky slope sheltered from the wind. At least that's what they thought. It was big enough for four men. There were three of them.
If it had been up to Clark, they would have chosen a different tent. One with much more comfort, but he wasn't in charge, because they had decided together and such a wish was a luxury. A luxury that couldn't help them and would only have been unnecessary ballast. This was about efficiency, and there was no room for comfort.
Clark agreed, but in some situations he still longed for comfort, as he did at that moment.
A clearly audible murmur came from the small tent.
"Be quiet, Clark! I'm cold too," Fernando hissed. "Whining won't make it go any faster."
Clark didn't move and continued to stare into the distance.
"Go into the tent, sit down and shut up!" barked Fernando.
"Yes, sir," replied Clark without further argument, but with a slight grin on his lips.
Although there was no icy wind in the tent and the insulation made the air a little warmer, it was still freezing cold. Clark could clearly no longer feel the two toes on his right foot and was sure he would lose them. But what sacrifices one makes to obey one's boss and carry out his orders.
It wasn't only a duty, but also an honour to serve a man like Kristof Lazaar. Especially in the position he had given them.
Nevertheless, they had to admit to themselves, and Fernando too, his gaze spoke volumes, that this mission was pushing them to their limits. Mentally, it was a strain, but they had been through this before. It was the physical side, with the force of nature, the icy cold and the other weather conditions in the far north of Canada. It was inhuman here.
Clark could clearly see it in his eyes when he sat down opposite Fernando and took off his glasses. The cold had also taken its toll on him.
Everyone always called Fernando Fer.
They were both tough men, but this cold was indescribably gruelling.
"How long has he been gone?" Clark asked after shivering for a while.
Fernando's nose had already turned purple. It didn't help much that he had wrapped himself in four jackets, trousers, socks, hats, gloves and scarves. One minute too long outside and the first signs of frostbite appeared.
Whether he would have permanent damage like Clark had on his toes would be revealed upon his return. Clark was certain that no one would leave this icy hell without some kind of damage.
It was truly heaven on earth here in northern Canada in the depths of winter, where temperatures rarely reached above freezing during the day, if at all, and the nights were relentlessly brutal. Especially during a blizzard where you couldn't tell when it would end.
"Twenty minutes. Like the other times, he'll be back shortly as agreed," said Fer, looking at his watch. "Keep your feet still, Clark. I know you're not a fan of us carrying out this mission with a newborn, but it was Lord Lazarus's order. Besides, without him, we wouldn't be this close to our goal."
Fer had struck exactly the same tone as Mr Brandon, her superior. That same commanding tone.
Clark was glad that they were allowed to carry out this mission without their commander present.
"I know, sir. I'm not saying anything against that. I just hate the cold," Clark nodded and wrapped his arms around his legs.
Both grinned.
"We all do. That's..." Fer began, but Clark interrupted him with a quick hand gesture.
"Quiet! I hear something!"
Fer held his breath to keep from laughing.
Immediately, both fell silent, and even if it was only because they had been drinking, every noise they had been making ceased. Now the outside world was present, and they listened to what Mr Brandon had heard.
Clark's trained ear hadn't been mistaken.
Between the wind and the rustling of the tent, the suspicious crunch of footsteps in the snow could be heard. Footsteps with heavy shoes, but still lightness in them. This person was not bothered by the heavy snow and cold.
Nevertheless, even though only one person was expected, they both prepared themselves in case someone other than her husband arrived. According to their calculations and observations, they were not far away, and it was quite likely that the enemy had noticed them and sent his men after them. It would not be the first time something like this had happened.
The footsteps drew closer until they stopped right in front of the tent.
"Serviamo con il cuore. Serviamo con la mente. Serviamo con la vita. (We serve with our hearts. We serve with our minds. We serve with our lives.)," said the figure on the other side of the tent.
Clark recognised the voice immediately. They had been waiting for the owner of that voice.
It was their oath. The oath they had taken when they decided to become Mr Lazaar's hunters. When he had chosen them to take on this duty and they had learned the truth. The truth about how it really was out there.
The truth about the vampires.
"Entra in scena un fratello della comunità. (Enter a brother of the community)," replied the other two in the tent.
The tent opened.
A hooded figure was wrapped in a thick white coat with the hood pulled low over their head, their face wrapped in a white scarf except for their eyes, and their trousers and shoes were designed for the icy weather and were the colour of snow. The figure slipped through the small opening of the tent and closed it again immediately. Nevertheless, a few snowflakes managed to get in with the help of the wind.
In one fluid motion, the figure sat down, pulled the hood back a little, revealing a cap, and took the scarf off his face.
Michael appeared. Michael, the newborn, or the bloodhound, as everyone jokingly called him. Clark found this name very fitting. A young man whose appearance had changed little at first glance, except that his chocolate-coloured skin had lost some of its colour. But everyone present knew what his real face looked like. Everyone knew it well.
How else could they describe the vampire they had brought with them to help them find the trail of Hessen and the kidnapped Mrs. Lazaar? He was a bloodhound.
A bloodhound so dangerous that Mr Lazaar had hired Clark and Fer to watch over him and take him away.
They weren't just the people who had been hired to find the woman. No, they were also, in a sense, the babysitters for this vampire.
In fact, they had always hunted them down when they caused trouble in Mr Lazaar's territories. They were the hunters who tracked down the fiends and destroyed all evidence. No witnesses. No traces. No questions.
That was the motto.
That was their job. Their actual mission.
But now they had a bloodhound at their side to find someone who didn't want to be found. Someone who had been hiding for centuries, but now they were very close. They were on his trail.
They were so close.
At least that's what the bloodhound had said.
"Report. What's out there?" Fer asked calmly.
"Hessen's hideout is here. Hidden at the end of this valley behind a dense coniferous forest and half built into the mountainside. The windows must have a special coating so that no light can escape. He's at home," Michael reported, slightly excited.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, sir. I got as close as possible to be sure. I could also see traces of snowmobiles," Michael nodded.
"That's good news,"Clark said, putting his cap back on.
Fer became thoughtful. You could see it in his narrowed eyes. The next steps were being considered.
Should they pass the information on to Mr Lazaar? Was it time?
"Could you see how the hideout was defended? The guards?" Fer asked.
"No, because there was nothing obvious to see. At first glance, the property appears abandoned, but it's not what it seems. There are people there and at least two vampires. The smell was faint but noticeable," Michael said.
"How close were you, please?" Clark asked in surprise.
He knew that vampires had an extremely keen sense of smell, as well as other highly developed senses, otherwise they wouldn't be called bloodhounds, but it was still astonishing.
A storm had been raging outside for hours, and it was certainly no better in the valley. Any scent that could be detected would be scattered in all directions. This meant that it was impossible to pick up a clear trail unless you were very close to your target. But that also increased the likelihood of being discovered. It was far too high a risk that they couldn't really afford to take.
But Michael waved it off.
"The wind in the valley was coming from the direction of the estate. It carried the scent with it. It was faint, but I'm sure of it," Michael said confidently.
"Then let's hope no one spotted you," Clark said. "Fer, shall we pass the message on to Mr Lazaar?"
"Yes, let's pass it on. But you'll do it, Michael. Give the exact coordinates and describe the situation. You found the estate," Fer ordered, again in Mr Brandon's tone of voice.
"Yes, sir."
For a brief moment, they all looked at each other and then laughed quietly. It was just too funny when they pretended that one of them was Mr Brandon. Most of the time, they ended up treating Michael that way, but he took it with humour. Besides, he was the newest member of the group. The fact that he was a vampire made no difference.
A few minutes passed before they stopped laughing.
Fer handed him the small laptop they used to communicate with Mr Lazaar via a multi-encrypted network. The antenna in the little device was so powerful that it could track any satellite anywhere in the world. No matter where they were, the messages always reached their destination, and if anyone intercepted the signal, it would take them forever to crack all the security measures. And if they did manage it, a new signal would already have been developed. This little computer was the modern, improved version of the Enigma machine that the Nazis used to use.
"Sir, if it's all right with you, I'll keep watch for the rest of the night. I don't need any sleep, and I'm sure the others would appreciate it," Michael suggested as he typed his message, a broad smile on his lips.
"The man can read minds," Clark laughed, clapping his hands quietly.
"He's truly our man," Fer agreed.
"Please, sir," Clark pleaded.
Fers' gaze was appraising and his lips were a thin line.
Clark hoped, like the others, that he would allow them to rest and sleep. They were so close to their goal and would need their strength. Rescuing the woman would certainly be no walk in the park. Everyone knew the stories about Hessen and what he had done. They needed their strength. And if Michael kept watch, then they could both sleep.
They needed that.
"Are you sure, lad? When was the last time you fed?" Fer finally asked.
"Today, sir. Two deers."
"Good. Then keep watch for the rest of the night. And you know, if hunger overtakes you, activate the collar. None of us will hesitate to kill you," Fer warned with a growling undertone.
"Of course, sir."
Fer said this to Michael every time he took over the watch, and it was always deadly serious. Never a joke. Because those were their orders and rules that they had to follow. If a vampire caused trouble, he was eliminated without hesitation. No mercy. No pardon. There was no mercy in this business, because it wasn't reciprocated.
Vampires could look and behave just like humans, but they were more deadly than any bear, lion or poisonous snake. You should never underestimate them, and you had to react as soon as you had the chance. Otherwise, you would meet your death.
None of those present underestimated Michael or were afraid of him. Even in their sleep, they would all be alert. They had been trained for that.
"Don't get any stupid ideas, Michael," Clark whispered with a grin and put his entire equipment back on.
"One wrong move and you'll be pushing up daisies," Fer laughed and followed Clark's example.
Clark didn't say anything either, but that was more because he was still feeling the exhaustion gnawing at him and demanding that he finally go to sleep. He still couldn't feel his two toes.
"Don't worry, guys," Michael replied, sitting down casually cross-legged with his laptop on his lap.
"All right, time to sleep," Clark said. "Michael, if Fer starts snoring, throw him out!"
"WHAT?"
"No!"
"Please don't!"
"Sir?!"
"Quiet!"
"But, sir..."
"Quiet! I'm allowed to make a joke sometimes! Now shut up!"
Fer didn't find this joke funny, because being outside in this cold, even with special clothing, would sooner or later mean death for everyone except Michael. You didn't joke about things like that.
But Clark allowed himself this joke anyway. He loved the look on Fer's face. It was priceless and hilarious.
With disapproving looks, Fer curled up and they lay together to keep each other warm.
Like any other night, this one could be a little unsettling because some touching might happen, but they were all used to grief and it didn't interfere with their work. If anything, it could lift their spirits. So they accepted it.
What a crazy bunch they were, Clark thought to himself.
Two trained elite soldiers from different military forces, who now worked for the leader of one of the world's largest criminal syndicates and were also vampire hunters. With the exciting fact that their boss was one himself and they were travelling here in this icy wasteland with a newborn.
Yes, they were truly mad.
"Good night, lads," Michael smiled.
"Oh, shut up," Clark said.
Everyone else laughed quietly.
And silence fell.
Michael quickly typed up his report using multiple layers of encryption so that no one could find out what the information was, or would take an eternity to do so if they tried.
It was a short message containing the most important information, informing Mr Lazaar that they had found the Hessian estate and that everything necessary could now be set in motion. His orders would now set the next important ball rolling.
With a slight smile, Michael sent the message and quietly closed his laptop. The reception was perfect thanks to the powerful transmitter and receiver, so the message would reach Mr Lazaar quickly. Michael turned his gaze to his sleeping colleagues.
After just five minutes, each of them had fallen asleep, leaving Michael alone with his thoughts. It was by no means quiet, because their breathing, the beating of their hearts and the blood flowing through their veins was just as present in his ears as the nature outside the tent. He tried to focus more on nature and his thoughts than on the other sounds that magically attracted him. The quiet beating of their hearts and the blood flowing through their veins were too tempting and inviting. The body heat radiating from the others intensified this even more, and the smell in the air made it torture. Even when he held his breath, the smell rose beguilingly to his nose.
This beguiling smell and the sound of blood awakened his thirst, even though he had only fed today, but this was the price of being a newborn. No matter how much they had consumed before, when they smelled blood, the hunger always returned immediately.
"This hunger will never leave you," Mr Lazaar had said to him as soon as the transformation was over.
It was one of the first lessons Michael had to learn immediately after accepting his master's offer. A lesson in which innocent people also had to lose their lives. Innocent people who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. At first, it weighed heavily on Michael and made him doubt his decision. For sure, he had murdered people on his master's orders, but until now they had always been people who had done something wrong and had to be punished.
But he got through it. He got through it in order to fulfil the task Mr Lazaar had given him. The mission to free his wife from the clutches of a madman and thereby find out where he was hiding. The deal he had made shouldn't be in vain.
"If you fail, your time here on earth is over," had been another lesson from his master.
Mr Lazaar had only made Michael this offer because he considered him to be a loyal, devoted and capable man. A man on whom he could place this burden and who was capable of mastering the new. And, as he had put it in a manner typical of Mr Lazaar, Michael could still be of use to him. That was the reason for the offer, as his own hands were tied. He hadn't said exactly why, but that didn't matter to Michael. What mattered was that he had been given this opportunity and he wanted to be of real use to his master.
"These men will teach you everything you need to know and kill you without hesitation if they have to."
And how the men, who were now sleeping peacefully in the tent, had taught him everything. If his wounds and bruises didn't heal so quickly, he would look as if he had been tortured. Not that this was exactly the case in a figurative sense, but it had to be viewed from a different perspective when it came to taming a newly born vampire. A vampire who didn't yet know how to control his hunger and his powers.
Michael admitted to himself that he had behaved like a toddler, especially during the first week, when hunger had driven him almost mad and there was no way to get blood. How often the others had had to knock him out with the shock collar so that he wouldn't jeopardise the mission. The burnt flesh had smelled so disgusting. It had been almost unbearable. But necessary, if they didn't want to execute him immediately. The electric shock collar was option A to calm him down, or plan B, strong sedatives, and if that didn't work, plan C was death. So far, plan A or B had always worked.
Michael hoped it would stay that way.
Although after more than three weeks he had his thirst under better control than at the beginning, in situations like the one he was currently in, it was still difficult. It was torture because everything in him screamed to drink the blood of his friends. Everything screamed for it. The blood in their veins was so tempting and smelled like the most delicious food he could imagine.
The blood cried out to him.
He could feel his teeth changing, his jaw shifting slightly and his eyes beginning to glow. His whole body tensed. Everything was ready to strike. Ready to get the blood.
But his mind and will resisted.
Michael shook his head, stared at the closed tent door and focused his thoughts on the mission. How it had gone so far and what the next steps were. It was a struggle, but he remained steadfast. He must not give in to his desire.
So he prodded his thoughts and memories and led them into the past. To the past, from more than three weeks ago to today. He let the images pass before his closed eyes.
He remembered how he had lain in that hospital bed as a human being, thinking he was going to die. How he thought he had given everything for Mr Lazaar and now his time had come. Then Mr Lazaar arrived, safe and sound and fully recovered, and made him an offer he couldn't refuse. An offer that would fundamentally change his life and leave him with no way back. Either to be damned for all eternity or to die a quick death and thus have achieved nothing. Michal had had this last thought and had chosen eternal damnation. If only he had thought about it more carefully before saying yes to Mr Lazaar's offer.
But he had said yes.
The next thing he remembered was something so deeply engraved in his memory that he would never forget it. The moment when Mr Lazaar had poured his blood into him and his body had immediately burst into flames. How the blood had boiled inside him and every damaged cell had healed. It all happened so incredibly fast and it was hell. When he then vomited such vast amounts of blood, he thought it was all over for him and that the deal had been a mistake. Oh, how wrong he had been. No sooner had this hell been over than he felt this immense thirst, or rather hunger, and this tremendous power that had awakened within him.
It had frightened him terribly, especially when he realised that everything in the room where he had been had been covered with a tarpaulin. In the middle of it, a young man, about Michael's own age, had been placed on the floor with his hands bound. This young man, whose name he never learned, was his first victim. Michael could still remember exactly how the blood had moistened his lips and touched his tongue for the first time. That delicious taste and how his body had reacted so incredibly strongly to it. His mind went blank, and the next thing he could consciously remember was sitting in a pool of blood, completely covered in it, licking the blood from his lips and fingers. He had enjoyed it, and so it had been every time since, right up to the present day. The taste of blood made him forget all humanity.
But this bloodlust had to be brought under control within a very short time, because it would have rendered Michael completely incapable of fulfilling the mission, which was of such great importance. That's how Fernando and Clark came into play. Both were trained vampire hunters and had received elite military training in different countries. They were the people who called vampires to order when they caused trouble in Mr Lazaar's territories. This usually ended with their decapitation.
These two had taken Michael under their wing and looked after him. The first week, when they had already begun pursuing the Hessian, hadn't been a walk in the park. During the day, when the sky was not cloudy enough, they had tied him up and sedated him. Often his new instincts had resisted, but the two men knew what they had to do. They were by no means squeamish and broke Michael's bones if necessary. At night, they put the special collar on him, the one he was wearing now. They put it on every night while he was their bloodhound, following the trail. The week had been hell, but in this harsh, brutal, yet effective way, he had learned to control himself.
What had Fernando said? If you wanted to tame a bloodthirsty, rabid pit bull, you had to approach it with loving, tough discipline. It was the same with vampires, only even stricter, because they were as strong as ten pit bulls, and that's how you had to treat them.
Had they perhaps been too harsh?
Michael shook his head. Sure, it had been like torture at times, but he had already experienced and seen similar things. It had been bearable. Besides, it had helped him, and once he had gained more control over himself, they had made faster progress.
They had picked up the trail at the airport and from there had headed north towards Canada, where they had expanded their investigations. Initially, there were no real leads, and the few vampires they found would rather die than reveal anything about the Hessian. Even the worst torture couldn't make them talk. This deeply impressed Michael and the others, but also frustrated them. If vampires preferred death and endured the worst pain, it said a lot about the man who ruled here.
It was unsettling, but it didn't deter them from their goal.
Clark and Fer had taken this in their stride and even cracked a few jokes. The Hessian was certainly one of the toughest challenges they had faced so far, but that was what made it all so exciting. That was why they loved the job Mr Lazaar had given them. They said it was never boring with vampires. They provided the right kind of thrill. The thrill that made life worth living.
Michael didn't really understand that. Although he had carried out many delicate and dangerous assignments for Mr Lazaar, he was always relieved when he was allowed to do something simple like office work. A healthy balance, so to speak.
Did that sound crazy?
He shook his head.
In the end, they got nothing out of the vampires. Not even out of the human workers. Everyone chose death, and many of the humans became Michael's food. They disposed of the bodies in the city's waste incineration plant. No one would miss them, because they were expendable, and in a world like that, people disappeared and were replaced by the next best thing. That's how it was.
They were in the process of changing their plan when they received a call from Mr Lazaar himself. An opportunity had arisen. Mr Lazaar had managed to persuade the Hessian to agree to a meeting. If this meeting did not go as hoped, Fer, Clark and Michael were to follow him immediately and discover his secret hideout. So they took the next flight to France, drove to Le Mont-Saint-Michel and took up their positions as instructed by Mr Lazaar.
Hidden, but still with a good view of the proceedings, they had witnessed the entire conversation. Michael had seen Mr Lazaar easily behead the vampire, the Hessian himself appear, kill the clergyman, and ultimately things not turn out as hoped. Michael had the feeling that Mr Lazaar had wanted exactly that. That he wanted it to happen that way. It had really been a feeling. A premonition. But when the call from Mr Lazaar came, they hadn't wasted another second and had followed close on the heels of the Hessian, just seconds after he had taken to the air and made his escape.
Despite Michael's keen nose and the hunters' skills, following him was easier said than done, because the Hessian and his lackeys were very careful to ensure that no one could follow them. They had barely left Rennes airport when their tracks vanished into thin air, as if they had never been there. No one was supposed to be able to follow them. But these difficulties did not prevent the three from finding a trail they could follow. It was thin, but it led to the city of Prince George in British Columbia, Canada.
And so they followed this trail.
They made it to Vancouver without any problems and from there to Prince George. A city that somehow reminded Michael of a small American town, but he didn't really pay much attention to it. They didn't have time for that anyway. They had to find out if the Hessian had really ended up here and what had happened from then on.
It took almost three days for Clark to find a trail that led them from the police station to the town hall to the airport they had arrived at. One would have thought that this would have been obvious. But sometimes the simplest solution is the one you would never have thought would work or be true.
But anyway, the airport was their destination.
Michael was given the task of combing through it and looking for distinctive smells, such as those of Ms Cruz or Hessen. To avoid leaving any traces himself, Fer had given him a special spray that neutralised any odour and evaporated within a very short time. No one was allowed to know that they had been in this hangar or nearby. No traces. No questions. It took a while, but in a small hangar on the edge of the airport, he picked up her scent as well as a slight hint of Hessen's, confirming that the thin trail they had been following was correct.
The three of them were a big step closer to completing their mission.
With the help of Michael's keen nose, they were also able to catch the air traffic controllers who had been involved. Even though their scent had dissipated after a while, Michael was still able to pick up and trace the necessary scent trails. This led them to three men and a woman who, at first glance, could not have been more inconspicuous. But Fer realised why she was so inconspicuous. He said that it had been too conspicuous and that something had definitely been done to these people. Even highly professional people could be recognised when they were in disguise. But these people were not professionals. They were ordinary airport employees, but they were remote-controlled, as Fer called it. They were under the Hessian's control. He had turned them into his puppets. His extended arms. Older vampires with enough practice could turn people into their toys and make them dance to their tune. It was an ability that Michael found both fascinating and terrifying.
What was it like to be remotely controlled? Did you notice it? Were you trapped in your own body, or how did it work?
These questions came to him at the beginning, but he actually preferred not to know the answers. He had only recently become part of this special world and realised that there was still so much to learn. Even if there were some things he definitely never wanted to know. That was also the case with this matter. Nevertheless, he learned something that confirmed Fers' suspicion about remote control. Michael's keen nose did this.
While they were spying on the four humans, Michael noticed that their scent was very different from that of normal humans. Although humans differed in blood type, origin and lifestyle, they all had a certain basic scent. This no longer existed when they were puppets. Their scent had nuances of a vampire. The subtle scent clung to them. Michael called it marked, and it fit perfectly.
Was that funny?
No, not really.
Now, in this moment of calm, Michael realised that he still clung to his humanity. That he still perceived everything they had experienced so far in a human way. Yet he was no longer human. Shouldn't he feel differently about it all? Shouldn't it all be different for him? Perhaps it was taking longer than he had expected, because he had been human for longer than he had been a vampire.
He realised that he still had so many questions, but he couldn't ask Clark or Fer, because they weren't vampires. He would have to turn to Miss Abigail or Mr Lazaar with his questions. They were the two vampires who could give him the answers.
Michael shook his head again.
How quickly his thoughts had gone in another direction. In a direction he didn't really want to go. He didn't want to dwell on it because he knew he wouldn't be able to stop. He had to stay focused and just let the past be the past.
"That hasn't changed," Michael murmured quietly.
Even though he had become a vampire, some things remained the same. Unchanged.
But his thoughts finally returned and he began to remember again.
They had discovered that they were dealing with puppets of the Hessian. So they had to proceed with caution, because they couldn't make contact with them, as there was a possibility that the Hessian was listening. Nothing suspicious could happen that would draw his attention to them. So they relied on espionage with bugs and alternating surveillance. When they started, they were concerned that it could take forever to find out anything useful. That was the case on the first day, but then luck seemed to be on their side. The puppets began to organise a final transport of supplies to be taken to a restaurant before the forecast blizzard got too close. A restaurant located in the high, mountainous north.
Even a child could figure out that the destination wasn't a restaurant, Michael thought to himself. The Hessian had his supplies replenished before he got snowed in.
So the three of them considered how best to proceed, because they didn't have much time or many options. Covering the distance the plane had travelled on foot or by snowmobile would have taken too long and meant certain death. Flying after it in a chartered plane would have been too conspicuous. Besides, they could only have taken a small plane, which cannot fly at high altitudes where they could have hidden in the clouds. Waiting for the blizzard to pass and then following would have been unwise, as they couldn't have known how long it would last and would have lost valuable time. So they had only one option: they had to get on board the plane unnoticed. This would not have been a problem with a large aircraft, but the supply plane was only about the size of a private jet. So there were not many places to hide. They also had to take the equipment they had bought in the small town with them. Special clothing, shoes, binoculars, a tent to protect them from the freezing temperatures, food and other small items. They had to take everything with them.
In a cloak-and-dagger operation, they made it unseen to the airport and into the hangars where the plane was being loaded. Hidden behind cargo crates, they watched as the cargo was loaded onto the plane and, as expected, it wasn't just the usual supplies that were being loaded. Things like medicines, vegetables, fruit, animal products or books.
No
From their hiding place, the team could see the puppets literally stuffing ten bound people with sacks over their heads into the cargo hold of the aircraft. The puppets showed no mercy to the people and even beat them. To them, these people were just cargo that was resisting. Nothing more.
Even though Michael had known this before and now understood it better through his own existence as a vampire, he was shocked to see what kind of people were being abducted here. Normally, as he had learned from Clark and Fer, Mr Lazaar either obtained the blood he needed from the blood banks he owned or had people abducted whose disappearance wouldn't be noticed by anyone. People who lived on the margins of society and were largely ignored by the authorities and the government. People who could be made to disappear. In exceptional cases, more important individuals were chosen, but only if there were compelling reasons for doing so. But that didn't apply to the Hessian. The people he had kidnapped for his nourishment were ordinary civilians who did not live on the margins of society. None of them were sick, addicted to drugs or anything like that. They were perfectly healthy women and men. What's more, there was a family in the group. A mother, a father and a little boy or girl. An innocent family. The parents tried to protect their child, but the puppets didn't give a damn. They used force to drive the people into the plane and, once they were loaded, they were almost ready for take-off. They opened the hangar and checked everything again.
That was the moment the three of them had to seize. Fer went ahead, moving quietly like a cat to a shelf that was very close to the loading bay, and when he got there, it was the signal for Michael to follow. He did so and gave the signal to Clark. Everything went smoothly and unseen. The next step, which was the decisive one, was the more difficult one, and it would have been better if they had had more time, but they didn't. They were just about to go onto the loading ramp one after the other to observe the area while the plane was moving.
In retrospect, what happened next was, as Michael called it, a purely instinctive act. He hadn't even thought about whether it would work or whether anyone would see them. He had just done it. Like one of those superheroes in the Marvel comics, he had thrown Fer and Clark over his shoulders and started running. Startled, the two had breathed a sigh of relief but kept quiet. After just a few steps, Michael knew he had taken on too much with two people and three rucksacks, but he didn't care. He ran as fast as he could with the two of them and made a not-so-elegant dive into the cargo hold. They landed hard and a tremor went through the entire plane, where Michael briefly worried that they had been noticed, but the plane continued on to the runway and finally took off.
With an expression that was part amused and part annoyed, Fer rubbed his right arm. The landing had been quite rough, but he said nothing.
None of them said a word during the entire flight. The captives had been drugged and chained to the walls of the aircraft. It hurt Michael to see that, but he shook off his concerns. He couldn't let his humanity get the better of him. They couldn't save these people. Not even the child. They had a mission to accomplish, and the task was clear. There were no exceptions.
Besides, Michael had other worries during the entire flight. He was a young vampire in an aeroplane full of people. He had been hunting immediately before they embarked on their daring mission, but still. The smell of so much tempting blood in the air and the sound of their hearts was torture. To get through the hours, he had asked the boys to sedate him. It was better for everyone if he was unconscious. Electric shocks would only help for a limited time, and sedation was the best option.
Without asking questions, they did it.
When he came to, eight hours had already passed. They had landed and the two had taken him to a small storage room. There they had waited and observed the situation. The plane had landed in the middle of the Canadian wilderness at an inconspicuous edge of the forest with a small hut that blended into the natural surroundings regardless of the season. Clark had reported that the puppets had continued on snowmobiles in a north-westerly direction. That had been an hour ago.
And what can I say? Michael thought to himself. That had happened just under seven hours ago.
Now they were here in this tent after following the tracks for hours. They had taken the ski equipment they found in the storage room. Why did the puppets have such equipment when they had snowmobiles? No idea. But it had allowed them to travel much faster. The three of them would have preferred to have snowmobiles too, but there weren't any left, and besides, it would have been too conspicuous.
The time during the day hadn't been pleasant for Michael, but the clothing had protected him from the sun. Even though he had to wear everything twice to be absolutely sure that nothing would get through. It was torture, and now they were here.
They were so close to their goal and could hardly believe it themselves. It was also incredible how much time had passed since then. It seemed so unreal to Michael.
Hadn't it been just yesterday that he was still human?
Hadn't he been reborn just yesterday?
Was it really not just yesterday?
It felt like it, but it wasn't. But it felt like it.
Michael shook his head and returned completely to the present. His hunger had faded into the background. Outside, the blizzard continued to rage, shaking the entrance of the tent back and forth. Clark and Fer were sleeping so soundly that even this wind couldn't wake them. Michael was glad about that. They should get the sleep they deserved. They hadn't been able to sleep properly in the last few weeks, and now that they were so close to their goal, they deserved it.
They should sleep until the sun rose again.
A soft beep came from the laptop and Michael's eyes immediately wandered to it. A message had arrived. New orders.
He opened it, green letters appeared on the black screen and formed the message.
Hold your position.
Mr Lazaar will join you with reinforcements in the early hours of 27 December.
Blizzard conditions expected to increase.
Await further instructions.
Mr Brandon
Reinforcements were on their way, and Mr Lazaar himself was joining the cause. This further emphasised the seriousness of the situation. The whole thing took on a new significance.
A battle was inevitable.
He was ready.