Entry #25, October 26th, Fourth Year of Armageddon

Wonderful. Halloween's five fucking days away, and I still haven't seen a single sign of the kid. One way or the other, I need to find some VERY secure lodgings before the 31st.

I guess a little explaining is in order.

Contrary to what everyone may think, Halloween doesn't hold any more special meaning than any other day on the calendar. What makes it so fucked up is the meaning that everyone THINKS it carries.

All Hallow's Eve, right? Festival of the Dead?

Big fucking deal. The dead walk the streets every single worthless fucking day. What the hell difference is it gonna make if you want to give them a holiday?

Apparently it makes all the difference in the world to the psycho's that believe in all that shit still, because they've made it so that even the crazies in Central Park run back into whatever hidey holes they have until daylight comes.

The dead don't just walk on Halloween … they fucking strut. Surrounded by a swarm of ghouls, the Risen wander around in mass, mainly because it's the one day of the year that they don't have to try and chase victims down. Victims come to them.

I've never seen it personally. I'm not dumb enough to hang around where I might be seen and mistaken for lunch. But I do know that the aftermath is just about as fucking ugly as you could possibly think of. The roads are slick for days, and the smell just can't be described.

Long story short, I'm up against a time table here. Because I sure as hell don't want to be anywhere near this place when this all comes down.

Need to find someplace to hole up and use as a temporary base of operations.

Entry #26, October 27th, Fourth Year of Armageddon

Heard some strange rumors today that may finally be what I'm looking for.

I found a guy I used to know from way back in my mis-spent youth. Pleasant surprise to see that he wasn't all fucked up by the Haze. In fact, he was pretty much exactly the way I remembered him, which was more than a surprise -- it was a relief.

Anyway, he's got a small basement that he's going to let me stay in for awhile. Took a little bit of convincing that I hadn't turned into some kind of zombified weirdo wanting to fuck him, then eat him, but he finally decided to let me stay.

You'll notice I'm being a little tight lipped about him. That's because I don't want anyone getting ahold of this book and then tracking it back to him. Guy's been through enough.

Anyway, so I'm up and out early this morning, trying to get something to eat. Realized it had been about a day and a half since I'd actually had any food, and my stomach was bitching at me like a PMS-ing wife. So, off I went.

Walking down the street, shotgun in hand, and I pass three punks on the street, all lost in discussing whatever they fucked or killed last night. Nothing big, or out of the ordinary. No reason for me to even think twice, until I catch half a sentence about kids and a blood god.

Well, quick spin of the heel, a shotgun barrel to the base of the skull, and I'm making new friends and influencing people.

Seems my new little playmates were wranglers of some kind. Went around grabbing kids, homeless or otherwise, off the street to deliver to some local blood cult. Now, usually these so-called blood cults are nothing more than bozo's who like to take some wino or crack addict, split them stem to stern, and then fuck each other in the mess they make. No big deal, nothing out of the ordinary. But even they didn't use kids for the orgy.

The one I had the gun on was being nice and cooperative, but one of his buddies decided to pick an inopportune time to interrupt. There are times when killing leaves a dark cold pain in the pit of your gut … like you just can't believe you'll have to live with yourself after what you've done. There are other times when it just feels … good. This was one of the second kind.

The third punk decided to stay nice and quiet after wiping some of the second guy from his face.

Back to the talker. From what he told me, there's a new cult in the area that pays in drugs and high priced whores for kids. Pretty much all you need to turn a street gang into personal valets anymore.

This new cult is different - more radical than the others have been. And apparently, if rumor's to be believed, they've got some kind of demon shrine down in the old subway tunnels where they send the kids off to wherever little children damned by God go (don't fucking get me started on that one). I got the location of the tunnel entrance where they drop the kids off, thanked both of my remaining new friends, allowed them to empty their pockets of anything of value before they left, and went on for food.

Hate to say it, but I'm going to have to wait until nightfall to check this one out. I don't like getting sidetracked this close to Halloween, but I've still got a serious soft spot for the kind of fucking grunge that hurts children. The enjoyment I get from killing them off just can't be described outside of a letter to Penthouse.

I'll pick up again when I get the chance.

Entry #27, October 30th, Fourth Year of Armageddon

Sweet Holy Mother Fucking Jesus Henry Fucking Christ.

Translate that into I'm never going to look a fucking vampire in the fucking eye ever again.

Yeah. Vampire. Never believed in them myself, but I don't know what the fuck else to call it. Incredible sometimes how this place still manages to shock and amaze. You'll have to bear with me, because there's a few days worth of fucked up shit that I need to get down in here before my mind decides it was too fucked up to want to remember.

Three nights ago, I loaded up as much ammo as I could scrounge and carry and still move worth a shit through sewer tunnels. Made sure that my shotgun was full and chambered, and walked three blocks east to the tunnel entrance that the street punks told me about. Ever hear the phrase "too quiet"? That's how it was. No guards, no resistance, no dregs … not even a fucking rat. I crept around for what I would guess is about an hour and a half, finding absolutely nothing other than a bunch of empty tunnels. Found a hand full of corpses that were long dried up, and a few piles of Beast shit, which made me seriously start to reconsider the whole creep around underground at night act.

Then I heard a noise - nothing much … just a faint groan, like someone in pain. Ordinarily that wouldn't mean dick. I mean, there's groans of pain going on at all hours of the fucking day in this place. Just comes with the territory. But this groan couldn't have come from anyone older than about ten, which made it the first lead I'd had. I stood still for a few seconds until the sound came again. The second one gave me a fix for a direction, so I moved out as fast as I could while still staying somewhat quiet.

The sound was coming from another tunnel that led off of the main sewer tunnel. It had been dug out of the dirt by hand, and went down into the ground at a slow slope. Eighteen different four-letter words went through my mind as I figured out that I didn't have a fucking light with me, but then I figured that it would just be a come-kill-me beacon anyway, so I took a slow pace into the tunnel. No more than a minute later, the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel made its appearance. A couple of twenty feet later, more noise started coming to me … more moaning, a little bit of crying, someone laughing, and something I couldn't identify. I did some no-so quick mental math, and figured out that, considering how far down I'd come from the entrance on the street, I was all kinds of fucked if this went bad.

Let this be a lesson, kiddies. Always trust your first instinct.

Anyway, being Mr. More-Balls-Than-Brains that I am, I decided to see what the party was about, and see if I should have been invited.

I did the sneaky-sneaky thing up to the mouth of the tunnel and peeked around the corner. The fact that there wasn't anyone standing right next to the tunnel mouth gave me hope … meant that I wasn't dealing with the greatest fucking military minds of our time.

I did a quick scan around the room and counted roughly twelve kids, ranging from about eight to thirteen, sitting in a group in the middle of the room. The room couldn't have been more than about twenty by twenty, and had a couple of torches stuck to the walls for light. I caught a glance of my punk-ass playmates from earlier in the day. They were acting like herders - keeping the kids from breaking from the group. Only three of them … not too bad odds. I was trying to figure out some plan of attack when one of the kids turned and look right at me. Little black kid around ten or so, serene as can be, just turned and stared at me.

It was about that time that I felt the gun muzzle push into the back of my skull. Only one four-letter word crossed my mind at the time, but I kept my mouth shut and held out the 12 gauge. I stood up straight and walked into the room, trying to keep an eye on all four of them at once. Two of them moved over to grab each arm, and the third came up and rapped me across the chin a few times. I was thinking of all the creative ways I was going to make these fuckers eat their own balls while they started pulling me up to some fucked up looking mass against the wall. One of them reached up and yanked back a ragged cloth that was attached to the mass.

That's when I saw … it.

I don't know what kind of image has been left in whenever this gets found about what a vampire is, or is supposed to be, but let me tell you … it wasn't exactly Bela fucking Lugosi. The thing was wasting away, and covered in a road map's worth of veins. Thing was leaking some kind of black blood type shit from a thousand cracks in it's dried up old skin. It's jaw kept working, trying to get nearer to me, and a long all too healthy looking tongue kept slopping in and out of it's mouth. Only thing that kept it from interrupting me from shitting in my pants by jumping down and killing me was the fact that its arms were fused into the wall … like they'd grown into the stone. Looking back, it must have been a very fitting punishment for whoever the poor fuck must have been in life. I don't know … all I know is it scared the ever loving shit out of me.

I'd always heard about people giving over to pure instinct in times of "great distress". I'd even watched 'The Incredible Hulk' on TV when I was a kid. Until that moment, I'd always thought it was a bunch of bullshit. All I know is that I can't remember fully what came next. I can remember stomping down on the knee of the punk to my left, and for some strange reason, I can remember exactly how squishy his knee felt when it crushed. I remember the thing getting a mouthful of the guy on my right - not sure how that happened - and his arteries spewing out all over the damn place. I remember the kids screaming, and running for the tunnel entrance. At some point, I got my shotgun back, because I remember the sound and the feel of the kick.

I remember some seriously god-awful sound, throwing something, and fire.

I woke up the next morning in an alley near the tunnel entrance, covered in grit, soot, and blood, with the little black kid who spotted me sitting next to me. The sun wasn't up all the way yet, and I could hear some Risen stumbling around in the distance, so we beat feet really quick like. Got back to my hidey-hole, I cleaned up, scrounged some food for both of us, and crashed without a word.

Woke up again a few hours later. The kid was still there.

Christ, I was hurting. The adrenaline rush didn't exactly give me invulnerability, and I still had some fairly nasty cuts and bruises to recover from. I was grumbling about the small army stomping around in my head when I felt the kid touch me on my forehead. Suddenly, the pain went away. I looked down and the cuts had closed without even a scar.

You know how you generally don't find something until you stop looking for it?

Guess who the kid is. That's right - Michael's boy/secret weapon.

His name's Jacob, he's eleven, and he's pretty much like any other kid his age you'd find in the streets, except he's not carrying an ID card. That'll make him harder to get out of this shit hole, but not impossible. I know a few tricks still.

Been awhile since I'd talked to someone that hadn't been fucked inside and out by the Haze, so the conversation was welcome, even from an eleven-year-old. The kid's mannerisms are almost spooky, they're so serene.

Anyway, that was on the 28th. We waited until the next morning, and ran like a son of a bitch. Took a hand full of little known back ways to avoid Infernal eyeballs, and now we're holed up in relative safety to wait out tomorrow's walking rotting orgy.

The really fun part comes next. I've got to get us some kind of transportation, and then I've got to get this kid to, and through, the frontlines of the worst fucking war in the history of history.

Jesus, just when I feel like I've accomplished something, it hits me how much more needs to be done. I feel so fucking tired right now, I can't describe it. I miss Jaime … I miss Rachel … I just want to stop feeling like … I don't fucking know anymore. I just want the noise to stop. I look over at Jacob, who looks back with the blind faith of a kid who just doesn't know how fucking precarious our hold on breathing is right now.

For some fucked up reason, he has faith in me.

At this point, I just wish I had faith in myself.