Hair of the Dog

By Dan Gardner

Captain James Campbell is on the wagon these days. He is the head of an elite team of Vampire hunters and he picked the perfect time to quit drinking.
Luther Crowley doesn't have that problem, he helps his best friend Campbell fight the undead, never quite kicking the habit himself.
Liam is your typical nerdy twenty-something, looking for a change in his life.
Killing Vampires is their business, and business is Boomin'
But one stormy night changes everything, and they find themselves scattered and helpless from a new threat, somewhere out in the shadows, and from within...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gatekeeper Press
• Release date: Jun 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9781662937354

Dan Gardner

Dan Gardner is a journalist and the New York Times bestselling author of Risk, Future Babble and Superforecasting (with Philip E. Tetlock). With Bent Flyvbjerg, he has written How Big Things Get Done.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

5:35 a.m.

Screaming up the stairs; that’s all Captain James Campbell could hear in the stairwell behind him—screaming and chaos. All he had time to do was stop for a moment and listen to that god-awful noise, the sounds of bloodcurdling screaming and the tearing of flesh. In the fraction of the moment it took him to pause and look back to see if any more of his men were coming up the stairs behind him, something reached for his leg and tried to grasp it. Campbell lunged forward, leaping over the guard rail and managing to get up to the next flight of stairs just in time. The long, black, clawlike hand that had reached for him violently scratched the staircase in anger with its jagged fingernails and then crept back into the darkness, leaving marks on the cement.

He had come to this forsaken place with his team not long ago to find shelter and, at the very least, some food, but what they found instead was a bloodbath. Campbell made sure all his remaining men were up to the top of the stairwell before he continued onward himself. From the very beginning of their mission, he knew they would suffer some losses, but this was different; this was brutal and unpredictable. James was a man of relatively average, though somewhat stocky, size. He was the largest of his team both in physical stature and in moral fiber. He never took chances and always had a card up his sleeve. But given all this, it was surprising even to him that he was the most afraid he had ever been in his whole life, and that was saying a lot. James Campbell has seen a lot of shit.

He was sweating profusely, and his vision was blurred, mostly from the dark stairwell but also from dehydration. The air in the stairwell was hot and stale; dust still lingered in the air, coughed up by their footsteps and heavy breathing. There had not been a janitor in this building in almost a year, and it showed. He turned to hear the carnage below and the approaching footsteps behind him, not the sound of rubber-soled boots but that of a wet slapping on concrete. Campbell’s stomach churned at the sound, and he continued onward. Once they reached the top of the stairs and could go no further, they bunched together and turned to meet whatever came up after them. Their spears were held pointing downward, ready to jab and slash at the first thing to emerge from the blackness. His shotgun ready, Campbell double-checked that it was indeed loaded, then closing the breach, he pointed it down at their enemy with one hand while holding a flashlight for the door lock in his other hand. When he fired, a plume of smoke rose up, making their already reduced visibility even worse. If he had hit his target, he couldn’t tell. The team’s medic, Alan Flagstaff, was too busy fumbling with the door lock to assist them.

Hurry, Flag! Liam screamed, spear shaking nervously in his fist.

Just . . . one . . . more . . . second . . . , Flagstaff puffed as he fiddled with the lock pick.

The screams had died down from below, but the approaching noises were deafening. Footsteps and heavy breathing mixed with what could only be described as growling were steadily approaching from the darkness. They had but a brief moment to see silver eyes appearing at the bottom of the landing when Flagstaff managed to finally pick the lock.

The door swung open violently, and a sudden flash of light blinded them. They crossed their arms and covered their faces against the violent turn of light. The sun had finally begun to rise, and as it crept up over the hills, it featured a bluish hue, almost a teal color, but already bright in contrast to the blackness they had just come out of. They all poured out onto the rooftop, half blind. Regaining some of their sight, they panicked in the realization that they had forgotten to close the door behind them.

Once Campbell slammed the door shut, he, Red, and Flagstaff threw their weight against it. Flagstaff immediately went to work chaining the handle, pulling a small length of chain from his bag and wrapping it around the door handle and the nearby metal conduit.

Woul’ you kindly hol’ the door shut so I can do this? Flagstaff said, winded.

Just as he was reaching for the padlock, the chain unraveled and fell to the ground with a clang! Suddenly the door began to push forward against them, slowly but powerfully. Whatever was pushing the door seemed to have unbelievable strength, enough to push all three men backward. Their boots slid against the blacktop, and they struggled to regain their footing.

Red, who was the strongest of the men, let out a grunt of anger, Argh!

The door creaked open slowly, eerily, methodically. They were all taken aback for a moment before they threw their weight against the door with everything they had until it was almost fully closed again.

At your discretion, of course, Mr. Flagstaff! grunted Campbell.

Flagstaff tossed the chain around and reached for a padlock again. As he pressed the hook over the chain link, the door began to push open again, but this time, there was blood. Blood pooled out from under the door, almost black in color at first and then turning pink as it was exposed to the rising sun.

Liam was the only man up there not helping with the door. He was a few feet away, on his hands and knees, crying to himself. He turned to look back at the struggle behind him, noticed the blood, and immediately began to vomit. The door continued to creep open in disturbing silence. No yelling or struggling could be heard from the other side of the door; just silence, dead silence. The men began to slip on the blood on the ground, and they were losing their footing.

Jesus. Fuck! Red yelled.

The men threw everything they had against the door one more time, and Flagstaff finally got the links together again, fumbled with the lock, then turned and finally locked it. Everyone fell back to the deck, panting with exhaustion. They did their best not to touch the blood on the deck as each man scooted away from the door on their hands and heels. They looked at one another with a perfect mixture of fear and utter bewilderment. With sweat pouring down their faces, they were soothed by the cool breeze in contrast to the dingy, warm bowels of the school building.

I . . . , Liam cried, puffing at every pause, didn’t sign . . . up for this. He was still kneeling in his own filth.

Liam was the most recently added member to Campbell’s team, a greenhorn. He was the smallest of them, with a full face, mopped medium-length hair, and brown eyes. He had the look of a freshman in college, almost that of a child who hadn’t yet seen the world for what it truly was.

Luther Crowley, the leader of their second team, would often refer to them as the Geek Squad. Of the two teams, Campbell had the luxury of getting mostly what you would call the academics. But with the exception of Flagstaff and Red, he was less fortunate in finding real fighters. Red was half Menominee and didn’t even look Indian—or red, for that matter. In fact, he preferred his Irish half. He was of average height, like most of the team, but he was the most muscular. He was a good tracker and hunter, he was reliably quick and deadly when he wanted or when called upon to be so, and he was very loyal to Campbell.

Why did we decide to come here? yelled Liam, breaking the long silence. We can’t be up here—

Will you please . . . shut the fuck up? said Campbell, getting to his feet. He was always polite before his commands.

What, you think those things don’t know were up here already? squeaked Liam.

It doesn’t matter; I just can’t listen to you complain anymore, Campbell responded.

Campbell looked to the horizon, sweat dripping from his brow. The sun was starting to rise just east of Laketon, the town they had just left. He could see the reflection of blue and gold colors dancing off the surface of the lake just a few miles away. Campbell shuffled over to the edge of the building and thought to himself, Why did we come here? He couldn’t think of a logical explanation. They had left the other team in town when those things attacked out of nowhere, and after that, their vehicles were crippled. There were no other buildings around save for a few outlying houses.

He supposed they had thought the school building would have the best opportunity for shelter; maybe they could scavenge for supplies. But the school turned into a death trap immediately, and now they were stuck up on this roof with no clear means of escape. He looked around the edges of the rooftop to see if he could find a fire escape or some sort of balcony to which he could shimmy down. No luck.

One by one, the men got to their feet and brushed themselves off.

Yuck. Red took an old red bandana and started wiping the blood off his brown cargo pants.

There were only four of them left now; the other two were almost certainly dead . . . on Campbell’s watch.

They were young and careless, he tried to tell himself. But they didn’t deserve to go out that way, brutally and painfully killed . . . maybe eaten?

Oh, no . . . they got David? moaned Liam. David was my friend . . .

They got Martin too, Red chimed in, choking up and eyes filling with tears.

It’ll be all right, son; they’re the lucky ones, Campbell said, trying to break the tension.

He was less interested in his crew left behind and more interested in how he was going to get the rest of his men off this roof, alive if possible. Captain James Campbell was not devoid of emotion; he was just as shaken up by the untimely deaths of his men as the others were, but he had a job to do. His command required him to keep the others calm and direct them from a place of unshakable confidence.

Red washed off the bloody bandana with some water he had and laid it down to dry. He fumbled in his backpack for another bandana, this one blue, and again reached into his bag to retrieve a small, unmarked bottle of some yellowish substance. He poured the liquid onto the bandana and started applying it to the cut on his arm. There was a large gash from his elbow almost down to his middle finger. Obviously, he was using some old Native American remedy.

Wan’ me to look at that? Flagstaff asked, noticing Red’s valiant attempt to clean his wound.

Thanks, but no thanks, Doc. I don’t trust medicine men, no offense. He flashed Flagstaff a brief smile, which the medic acknowledged with a chuckle. The whole team had been dragged through the ringer. A full night of getting bruised, beaten, and now, in this case . . . mauled? But those who remained were quite alive, all limbs intact.

Campbell walked around the edges of the building’s rooftop, scouting the area, trying to come up with a plan. Anything was better than going back down those stairs again. He’d rather jump off that very roof headfirst onto the pavement below.

Splat!

It was then that he began to feel dizzy again. He was very dehydrated, and it had been almost a full night since he had a single sip of water. He leaned against the parapet and put his hand to his forehead. He saw bright spots of light twinkling and spinning around in his eyes.

You all right, sir? came the Southern drawl of Flagstaff’s voice.

I’ll survive, Flag, don’t you worry, Campbell assured him. Got any water?

Flagstaff reached into his bag and pulled out a half-empty canteen of water and handed it to him.

Thank you, Campbell said through dry lips as he took the bottle graciously and began to drink

Born and raised in Boulder, Colorado, Campbell was used to all types of weather; when he had first come to Wisconsin, he had it imagined it to be a frozen wasteland. However, here in late September, the weather had not yet turned cold.

The late summer heat was the worst for most of the men, but it did not seem to effect Flagstaff at all. He was from Louisiana and knew nothing but humidity. He had a clean-shaven face, except for a small goatee, with short, curly brown hair and blue eyes. He sported blue jeans and a denim jacket with patches all over it. He had joined Campbell’s team from its inception, and his medical and mechanical expertise had been a welcome addition. The teams that set out were small, but they were designed that way to keep them stealthy and unnoticed. That way, it was easier to focus efforts in particular areas of interest rather than spreading out all over the place.

James Campbell still could not figure out how they ended up in this whole situation to begin with. Everything seemed to be going smoothly after both teams cleared the field last night. All the vampires were dead; well, most of them anyway. All he could remember was the storm and the attack that came after.

During the storm. He remembered seeing mostly gray shapes . . . and teeth. At a time when things come out at night to drink your blood, it wasn’t hard to imagine something else lurking in the darkness. Maybe something worse.

We got to get out of here, squeaked Liam.

We’re not going anywhere just yet, Mr. Gersherd, so just make yourself comfortable, Campbell yelled over his shoulder as he took another sip of water.

Please . . . it’s been a long night, we’re not safe here—

We’re not safe anywhere, Red interrupted.

B-but if we don’t leave, those beasts will find a way up here—

If you wish to go back down that stairwell, we’ll be right behind you, Mr. Gersherd, Campbell suggested, knowing he wouldn’t take the bait. After that, all the fight seemed to be sucked right out of Liam like a deflated balloon. Everyone stood silent for a long time. They were tired and needed to rest. As the sun rose, Campbell took another sip of water and looked to the east. The sun was now up above the tree line, and as beautiful as the view was, he knew they had very precious time left to figure a way off this roof. They certainly weren’t in a safe place in town either; the area was known as a hotbed for creatures of the night. But this was unlike anything any of them had ever seen. With everything that they had done this past year, clearing each town and run-down villages, they thought they had seen it all.

Got a plan, sir? Flagstaff asked, with fervor in his voice.

I’m working on one as we speak, replied Campbell. Thank you, he said, handing the canteen back to Flagstaff.

In truth, Campbell did not know what to do next. He was tossing ideas around in his head like a racquetball match. They were dangerously low on supplies and had no vehicle. He didn’t even know what became of his friend Crowley. They had broken company unceremoniously at the inn, and he had regretted it ever since.

Liam looked over at the locked door, the blood beginning to dry at its base. He wiped the residual vomit from his mouth. Strings of it stuck to his hand. He had been kneeling in a pool of his own filth since they had gotten up there. He dragged himself to his feet and tried to wipe himself off, as small droplets of bowel and God-knows-what fell from his jeans. He walked over to the parapet next to Campbell and looked over the edge, his dirty-blond hair soaking wet from sweat.

I’m never going to see my parents again, am I? Liam said, not looking at Campbell but out toward the lake.

Campbell did not look at him either, transfixed by the rising sun. No, son . . . I don’t believe you will.

CHAPTER 2

12:00 a.m.

The man stood alone in the clearing. But he was not completely alone; there were others standing around him in the darkness. The waxing moon was nearing its fullest, illuminating most of the field in which he stood, with only the shadows thrown off from the trees on the outskirts of the clearing. The man was tall and slender. He had long, jet-black hair that stood out in contrast to his pale white skin. And he had the blackest eyes, like that of a doll’s lifeless gaze. He wore a long, dusty gray coat that went down to his knees and looked cracked and worn, like something you would find cast aside. He looked up at the heavens, almost expecting to see something, but all that was up there was a great, pale moon shining bright like a silver dollar in the sky.

God? he whispered, closing his eyes and smelling the air.

The things that moved around him in the darkness hissed at the words. If he were still capable of excitement, he would have had a smile on his face. He called out again, this time louder.

God? He paused and listened, as if some booming voice from above would call out to him, split his eardrums, explode his heart, or reduce him to atoms, but nothing happened. There was no reply. He looked back down at the things moving around him. They were barely visible, keeping