See Jack Hunt

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Chapter 81

Interrogation time . . .

The guy is talking so fast that I can’t understand more than about half of it. But this evil piece of trash is saying something about being forced to do all of this.

The kids made him do it . . .

. . . his kids for other kids . . .

. . . the blood keeps them alive before they trade something.

“Ask him where the others are?” I say.

Mr. Green clears his throat, “Dondéson los otros?”

The man says they’re nearby.

That they’re watching.

I pull my pistol out, again, “Where, exactly?”

“Dondé, exactamente?” Mr. Green asks as the man starts yelling, tears openly flowing down his cheeks.

He says they’re all around us.

I hear in my earpiece Ricky asking, “What’s going on, Jack? We heard a shot. Everyone alright?”

“Hold on, Ricky,” I warn. “We’re not safe, yet. We found most of the children and two of the Evils, but there are still two vampires out here, maybe more. This guy’s not making any sense. He’s claiming that the kids made him do it.”

“That’s what those pedophiles say when they get caught on Dateline trying to meet some twelve-year old,” Ricky says.

I turn back to Mr. Green, “Ask the son of a bitch if he knows where Kristen is.”

They both look at me, confused.

Just ask him!

“Conoces, Kristen?”


“Dondéesta Kristen?” Mr. Green presses, sliding the knife across the man’s face, opening a nice gash as easy as if he was cutting through butter.

“No la conoces!” the man begs. “Es la verdad! Yo prometo!”

I don’t know her! It’s the truth! I promise!

Come on, Jack, I say to myself . . . what’s missing?

And right about that moment I see something come from the darkness and lunge for Juan’s neck, crashing against him as they fall to the ground!

They tumble and roll and another one appears.


It’s not the adults . . . it never was!

Without thinking Mr. Green and I punt the first two kids that attack us. I’m stomping what used to be a kid, but which is now pure fucking evil. I’m not as conflicted as I probably should be about smashing a 4-year old with a push kick.

Thing is, these little monsters are way strong. They look like little children, but they’re far from it. They have the strength of men. And Mr. Green and I are punching and kicking them as if they were drag queens at a wedding reception.

“You wanna play grown-up!” I say, slapping one little girl to the ground with an open hand. “Fine!”


As the kid hits the ground, Mr. Green tackles her and starts zipping her wrists up. Three zips later she is growling, cursing like a drunken sailor, and squirming around on the ground. And they’re not speaking Spanish, either.

“Fuck you, Jack!” this 4-year old girl screams.

“Watch your mouth you dirty little bitch,” Mr. Green shouts as he wrestles another kid to the ground tying her wrists and ankles behind her back.

Juan is still down, clutching his throat, writhing in pain. The small boy that attacked him is knocked out beside him. I run over and zip-tie the little shit.

Out of nowhere a small foot swings from the darkness and crushes my testicles against my right thigh. I drop down to my knees, not sure whether I should grab this half-pint of Evil, or grab my painfully throbbing manhood. I’ve never been nailed in the junk like this. I know what Ricky’s talking about, now.

Somehow I manage to get hold of the nut-hunting Evil and drag her to the ground by her black hair.

Help! I yelp as the pain overwhelms me like a cold ocean wave.

Luckily, Mr. Green puts a solid fist into her evil stomach and keeps her gasping for air long enough for me to get her zipped-up.

“Let me go, Jack,” she screams.

Mr. Green doesn’t know what’s going on, and I don’t have time to explain. “Juan!” I yell. “Estas bien?”

“Mi cuello,” he says, gurgling a bit. There is blood everywhere.

“Mr. Green,” I say, “get that other kid wrapped-up!”

“What’s going on, Jack? How do they know your name?”

It was the kids all along, I say.


The kids are feeding off of the other kids, I explain. It’s been the kids the whole time!

Juan, he doesn’t look so good.

The four Evils, hidden inside children, are hog-tied, laying on their sides, cursing us under their breath. I get on the radio, “Ricky, Ms. Josephine . . . get down here as quickly as you can. We’ve got them!”

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