Suburban Vampire: Book of Origins

How ELIZABETH was influenced to leave England

GLOUCESTERSHIRE

FEBRUARY, 1912

The distant barking of the pursuing dogs caught her attention immediately. Elizabeth knew these men were coming over the moors to look for her. She had slain one too many men – and it was always men, never women or children – and Ministry had finally caught up with her, or so they thought. Elizabeth, being a vampire, was not going to prove easy to catch, and she certainly was not going down without a fight. However, the multiple Ministry agents, armed with various firearms, as well as knives and cutlasses, were not going to make it easy for her. That it was nighttime was to her advantage; however, the snow on the ground captured every step she made, and it seemed that every time she thought she had them outwitted, another contingent of heavily armed agents came out as if from nowhere. As distracted as she was by the barking of dogs and shouts of men, she did not notice a fellow who concealed himself behind a nearby tree. As she passed it, the man stepped out and pointed his Webley right at her.

"Now, don't move, love," the man said as he cocked the hammer. "So, you're the Horror of Gloucester. Ah, you're too lovely to be a monster. Now don't you move; this revolver is loaded with warheads. You know what those are, love?"

"I think so."

"They're vampire-killing bullets, they are. And now, after all these years, I'm the bloke who's got the Horror of Gloucester dead to rights. Oh, I'll get all sorts of rewards for this, I will!"

As the man gloated over his would-be victory, Elizabeth moved faster than the man could see. She broke his arm and grabbed the revolver from his hand, then pointed it at his head. "Oh, vampire-killing bullets, what?" She said. "Let's see if they're equally good at killing fools like you."

A squeeze of the trigger showed Elizabeth that warheads did not discriminate as the agent's brains were blown out of his head by a single .455 round. As the man's body dropped to the ground, Elizabeth looked the revolver over. "Very nice," she said. She then looked at the corpse on the snow-covered ground, the white now stained red. "If you're going to shoot someone, then shoot them, don't gloat over them. Oh, and another thing, don't call me 'love', love. Call me Elizabeth."

The gunshot gained the attention of Elizabeth's pursuers. She tossed the Webley into the snow then ran. She ran over one moor, to see men crossing a field from the other side. Some of them fired on her with rifles and shotguns; she decided it was a good idea to change her course. She ran eastward along an old dirt track, then went off that road when she heard men coming towards her. As she cleared a nearby wood, she noticed a caravan wagon in the distance. There was a small campfire burning outside it, tended to by an old woman. The old woman looked up from the fire.

"You there," she said. "I see you. You need a place to hide. Come, come, my dear. I'll hide you. You'll be safe with me."

Elizabeth had never seen the old woman before and had no idea who she was. She had no reason for trusting her, other than she was a Gypsy, and Elizabeth never knew Gypsies to work with Ministry. Elizabeth cautiously approached the old lady.

"You know who I am?" Elizabeth asked.

"Of course I do. You're the Horror of Gloucester."

"And that doesn't concern you?"

"Not at all. Now, come! Those hounds are coming nearer!"

Elizabeth joined the old lady in her wagon, which was large and actually quite comfortable. The interior was covered with rich linens and silks. The old lady took her seat behind a crystal ball. "Now, you hide here, with me," she said. "Those nasty men won't find you here."