Jo McReynolds brought her motorcycle to a stop outside what she could only assume was supposed to be a gas station of some sort, though by the looks of it, the establishment hadn’t been used for that purpose for at least the last few years. Trash overflowed out of the garbage receptacles on either side of the door. The lights inside flickered through dirt-covered, smudged windows, competing with lightning in the distance to illuminate the cracked asphalt parking lot and the corroded gas pumps out front. She put her kickstand down, checked her weapon was still strapped securely to her back, and swung her leg over the seat.
This would’ve been easier if she had brought a Guardian with her, but most of the time, Jo preferred to work alone, especially in the last year or so when the situation with her so-called team had gone from bad to worse. It was hard to believe there had ever been a time when Vampires lurked in the shadows, and Hunters and Guardians were able to keep an ignorant human population out of harm’s way, but Jo did vaguely remember what that had been like. She was barely fifteen when all of that had changed. Now, she was more of an outlaw than the bloodsuckers she hunted.
She put those thoughts aside as her boots crunched over broken glass. She needed to be quiet if she was going to have any element of surprise, though she had no idea whether or not the Vampires she had caught wind were staying here were capable of sniffing her out. A churning in her gut let her know she wasn’t alone, that the phantoms were inside the rickety building. More than one of them, though she didn’t know exactly how many, would await her entry. She’d have to be quick in order to get rid of them and flee the scene before the authorities showed up. Vampire Hunting was illegal, and the last thing Jo wanted was to end up in jail--again.
Her weapon of choice was a modified Glock. It had a built in silencer, and the barrel was elongated so that the velocity of the silver bullets she fired would penetrate Vampire bone and flesh deeper and quicker than anything on the market. These bullets were different, too. Since silver bullets had been outlawed in ’42, just two years after the first Vampire was elected president, she’d relied on a secret black market of former LIGHTS members to get her what she needed. Sometimes the bullets worked; sometimes she had to pull her knife and end things the messy way.
Cameras likely wouldn’t be a problem here, though they were an obstacle she had to account for. It was obvious this old building had no exterior surveillance system, and she doubted there were working cameras inside either. Still, her fingers automatically went to a device in an interior pocket of her jacket, and she pressed a button that would send out a signal meant to interfere with any video recording or transmissions. Major Christian Henry might be a nutcase, but he was good at inventing the tools necessary to combat the growing threat. And despite the rumors she’d heard about the Major’s past, Jo figured it was as much her own parents’ fault Henry had lost his mind as anyone else’s.
“Where are you?” Her brother’s voice in her head was an invasion of privacy Jo wished she could turn off. At least they no longer had the annoying video capabilities they’d had before the Revelation, back when the Intelligence Assistance Communicator was fully-functioning. Now, it was more of a faint phone call one received directly into their head, rather than a multi-dimensional technological device that could allow members of LIGHTS to coordinate movements thousands of miles away from each other. Since the US government, as well as several other nations, were purposely jamming any signals sent over the frequencies the IACs were designed to use, they were lucky if they worked at all. Most of the time, it was just an annoying blip in Jo’s eye that allowed her to see the time without looking at her watch. In other countries, they were still fully functioning, but not in this part of Colorado.
“I’m at home, nuking a Hot Pocket,” Jo replied, not at all interested in telling her nosy older brother what she was up to. As far as she knew, he was still a couple of states away, back in Kansas City, trying to figure out a way for their team to reestablish itself. It was a nice thought, one their father was passionate about, but Jo had given up hope the day President Vincent Crimson—not his given name—took office. She’d taken off a few weeks later, headed west, to where Vampire Hunting was slightly safer thanks to the lower human population that had been a direct result of the Free Choice movement, and hadn’t looked back.
“I know you’re not home,” Cadon replied as Jo approached the front door of the convenience store, her weapon drawn.
“How do you know?” She readied herself for entry, thinking she’d kick through the door and start shooting as soon as the first bloodsucker showed itself.
“Because I’m standing in your living room.”
“Shit,” Jo mumbled, hoping it didn’t transmit. “Why are you in my house?”
“Why are you not in your house? Jo are you on a hunt?”
She had no time to answer that question. Movement on the other side of the dirt-streaked glass let her know she’d been spotted. Ignoring her brother, Jo raised a black boot waist high and kicked through the glass door, the strength from one blow knocking the steel frame in, bending the setting, and sending a spray of glass shards flying into the air that covered the floor all the way back to the soda machines in the far corner.
“Can’t talk now,” Jo said, flinging herself through the opening, her weapon already lighting up the area between herself and rows of food stuffs with a soft blue glow. “I’ll be home soon.”
“Son of a bitch,” Cadon muttered, but Jo was too busy aiming at Vampires to hear him. A flurry of motion in front of her let her know she was in for more than she’d bargained for, but she wasn’t concerned. Jo McReynolds had never faced a Vampire she couldn’t take on, and if this night proved to be the first, she wasn’t concerned about that either.