The Birth of Vengeance (Vampire Formula #1)
Read The Birth of Vengeance (Vampire Formula #1) Online
Authors: P.A. Ross
P.A Ross
Copyright 2012 By P.A Ross
Kindle Edition
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Comments on the, “The Birth of Vengeance”
“Strong characters keep the story going from start to finish with plenty of twist and turns throughout. I can’t wait for the next in the series.”
“It is such a refreshing change to read a vampire novel that is different from the standard novel. This is no "Twilight" and as such is so much the better for it.”
“I didn't think it was possible to come at the vampire genre from a new angle any more, what with the numerous books already out there. However P.A Ross has managed to do this and has created an interesting and intriguing story.”
“Definitely a fresh twist for a vampire story. The premise of the whole story is very interesting. It isn't like your usual vampire novel which is mostly heroine-centric and romance-driven.”
I waited during the last lesson of the term, staring at the clock above the door. The seconds ticked slowly by, as the class waited for Mr May to stop droning about revising over the half term. He rambled on, padding out the time until the bell rang, with his briefcase packed and his brown blazer on ready to go. He too kept glancing over to the clock, adjusting his glasses and pushing his sweep-over hair back across the top of his head. I sighed in painful boredom. No one ever listened to him. Instead everyone stared at the clock mentally ticking off the time left, bit by painful bit, looking forward to the bell that would signal our freedom for one whole week. I killed some time by labelling my textbooks with “Jonathan Harper.”
I had arranged to meet Giles, my best friend, at the front gates at the end of term. Giles and I had been friends since our first year at school, at five years old. This year would be our last year as we approached our sixteenth birthdays. We shared many of the same interests. Both loved sci-fi films and would watch entire trilogies in one sitting. We would munch through bags of salt and vinegar crisps, while checking out the film trailers online for the forthcoming blockbusters. During the dark evenings, we blasted each other through online games, not wanting to go out, as the local area got rough. I had gained permission to go straight to Giles’ house after school to play computer games, and my Dad would pick me up on his way home from work, about midnight. He worked for the government in research, and his experiments meant he needed to work in the evenings. I never saw him that much but it came in handy at times.
The hands on the clock ticked steadily onwards. I checked for the two computer games wedged at the bottom of the bag. Yes, I felt their rectangle shapes jutting out. I had ensured they stayed at the bottom of my bag and not revealed to anyone during the day’s classes, else they may have disappeared.
The bell rang. I shoved my books into the bag, jumped up, grabbed my coat, put it on and zipped it up tight. I swung my rucksack onto my back and went to the door pushing to get out as soon as possible, as the classes across the school emptied into the corridors like cockroaches escaping the light, including teachers who fought past the students. The corridors buzzed with laughter and chatter, and the excitement infected everyone’s mood.
As I shuffled forward in the heaving crowd, I glimpsed pictures of school projects on the walls. This year’s maths project on the uses of trigonometry in building houses and biology projects on the reproduction cycle of frogs. The “Code of Honour” poster got pulled down in the scrum and stuck back up again. It had been there for years and now looked tatty. I couldn’t remember anyone reading it. The poster laid out rules on respecting each other and showing consideration but I doubted if the teachers had even read it. As we shuffled onwards I imagined Giles stood waiting for me at the front gates, and I wished the crowds would get a move on, so I decided to gain precious time by forcing through the stream of bodies.
Eventually I flooded out with a mass of other students, through the two large glass doors into the small courtyard at the front of the school. Behind me, the grey concrete monstrosity of school loomed. I breathed in the cold winter’s air and blew out a sigh of relief from escaping the dull, repressing atmosphere that it created. School is supposed to be a place of learning and enlightenment; my school was a study in survival.
The snows of the last week remained as determined lumps at the sides of the road and shadowy corners of the courtyard. People quickly met with waiting friends, and made their last adjustments, pulling up their coats and wrapping up in gloves, hats and scarves. To the side of the courtyard a road snaked from the school front gates to the car park, and bike racks at the back of the building. Some students ran across the snaking road to a grassy bank and towards the lumps of snow created by the caretaker. Snowballs flew and students ran through the open gates, ending our imprisonment, as their opponents chased them with icy ammunition, pelting them on the back as they ran. Some misfired into parked cars and other people who yelled in annoyance. The name of the school, “St Teresa's”, was attached to the grey metal gates in red metal letters, with names and faces scratched into the paintwork.
The O’Keefe gang stood outside the front gates jostling some poor victim. I looked elsewhere knowing better than to get involved and so did everyone else. Mr May, in his silver Volvo Estate, drove through from the teacher’s car park around the back. He nudged through groups crossing the road and pushed along cyclists. He pulled away onto the main road outside school, and ignored the O’Keefe gang and their victim. He must have looked straight through them to check for a gap in the traffic but never hesitated before accelerating away. Parent’s cars lined the road outside and students clambered inside, and then drove off home, or on holidays, and again the other students and parents ignored the gang. The gang’s hooded tops must have made them invisible.
I walked about halfway through the courtyard and stood to the side as other cars and bikes came from around the back of the building. Streaming around me other students wrapped up and walked on in groups of friends. I scanned about for Giles, as I wanted to warm up, get to his house and start on the gaming session, but I couldn’t see him anywhere. I turned back across the courtyard toward the front doors. Still no sign of him. I spun around again to look about the front gates. I had avoided looking at the gang but as I glanced around, I recognised the victim’s green rucksack. Giles’ had a similar green rucksack. I looked closer hoping to see someone else but my head dropped on the sight of Giles getting pushed from side-to-side between laughing gang members. Patrick O’Keefe, from our school year, took centre stage orchestrating the bullying, showing off to his brothers and the other gang members. Patrick had short black gelled hair and a freckled face. His eyes sunken and skin greasy through a diet of mostly chips. The rest of the gang consisted of his older brothers, Liam and Kieran, and a number of other notorious kids from outside school. Kieran and Liam were identical twins and looked similar to Patrick. Tattoos covered their forearms and their hair was a greasy chaotic mess. The gang were clothed in street wear; hooded tops, dirty ripped jeans or tracksuit bottoms, and trainers. Patrick and his friend Dave wore their school uniforms.
I remembered this morning’s registration, when Giles and I continued to plot our gaming session. Patrick had overheard us from the desk behind and asked us what games we owned. We remained silent as he tried to harass us for information, not wanting to give anything away for the fear of Patrick and his gang stealing my games. We had waited it out ‘til first bell then dashed out before he could get hold of us. It obviously annoyed him, or our silence signalled something worth stealing.
At the front gates, Patrick pushed Giles. He spun around looking scared, with his face pale and brown eyes stretched wide hoping to see anyone who could help. His head darted about as he looked at the gang and to the outside of the circle for salvation. Kieran swiped Giles’ hat off his head and stuck it in his own pocket. Liam then grabbed Giles’ head and messed up his light brown hair.
I scanned the courtyard hoping someone else would come to his rescue. I knew I wouldn’t stand a chance against even one of the gang members. I still couldn’t see any teachers, or anybody else who wanted to get involved. Giles’ eyes flicked to outside the gang for help but he searched in vain until he spotted me. His eyes and face relaxed in relief as a look of recognition crossed his face, and I reluctantly walked over with heavy muscles and stomach burning in fear of what would happen to us both. I guessed I would receive a beating and I would lose my computer games I had gotten for my birthday back in the summer. The gang noticed the sudden change in Giles’ emotions and scanned for its source. Liam spotted me, peeled off the side of the circle and blocked my path with his hands grasped on top of my shoulders.
“Look away,” Liam said, and shoved me backwards.
I staggered bumping into other students. I walked forwards again and Liam stepped in with a hard punch to the stomach. I crunched up in pain.
“I said look away,” Liam grunted into my ear.
I stood up and looked around again for help, hoping someone may have noticed but the hooded tops remained invisible to everyone else. Students, teachers and parents all looked everywhere else but at me. I turned to head back into school for help but Liam blocked my path and pointed towards the main road. I dropped my eyes to the floor and scurried away. I felt terrible. I accepted the command knowing I had no choice but even so, I felt guilty having not tried harder, and even guiltier in relief I had avoided getting badly beaten up. I knew what would have happened if I did otherwise. Not worth both of us getting hurt and losing our stuff. Giles had nothing worth stealing, and they would probably let him go in a few minutes once they searched his bag. Maybe a few punches in the stomach but nothing more. It would be for the best, a tactical retreat. However, I decided I should get help in case the violence escalated.
I walked around the corner quickly and called his mum. No answer. I re-dialled several times. I don’t know why people bother having mobile phones if they never seem to answer them, I thought.
I waited and waited for Giles to come, ready for the worst, expecting to see him hobbling around the corner any moment, looking a bit dirty and bruised but okay. Ten minutes passed as I waited nervously, and the thinning crowds of the students leaving school eyed me suspiciously. I thought about calling the police but knew they would take too long and only make matters worse next term. I tried calling Giles’ mum again and again but still no answer. I needed to get help this was taking too long, maybe I had it wrong; maybe something much worse had happened. My imagination constructed worse scenarios, as only recently a neighbouring gang had killed a boy in a bullying incident gone too far. His body had been found on a disused railing embankment, his skull caved in by a lump of concrete. The gang involved lived ten miles from here and the O’Keefes had made remarks about it to the kids at school, goading them, telling students they would be next. Probably an attempt to scare us but they liked notoriety and for once had been outdone by another gang. Giles and I worried that such incidents could easily spiral out of control, and that it had put ideas into the O’Keefes’ minds. Remembering that incident, I couldn’t help but picture Giles instead of the murdered boy, lying face up covered in blood with the top of his head brutally smashed off. I realised I didn’t have any significant foresights into the workings of the O’Keefes. If I did have any brilliant insights, I could have avoided them more often. The O’Keefes often acted unpredictably, and maybe murder filled their minds.
The cold started to seep through my coat, numbing my senses but not my continued concern for Giles. I didn’t want to be standing around doing nothing but waiting in fear of what I might find. I knew a route around the alleyways into the back end of school. It would take me about ten minutes and it would take my mind off the waiting and worrying I decided. I ran off with the rucksack bouncing and the games digging into my back, a cruel reminder of the catalyst behind the incident. I sprinted, slipping and skidding on the ice but managing to stay on my feet by bouncing off fences and walls along the sides of the paths and alleyways. I threaded my way through the last of the student stragglers, breath freezing before me and body heating up from the exertion. They gawked at me, wondering why someone would run back to school on the last day of term.
Finally, my phone rang, Giles’ mum, Linda.
“Who is this?” she asked.
“It’s Jonathan. I’m Giles’ friend,” I said, slowing to a brisk walk in order to talk.
“What’s the matter Jonathan? Is everything okay?” she responded with a concerned voice.
“It’s Giles; a local gang have grabbed hold of him at the front gates. There was nothing I could do,” I said, trying to excuse myself from any blame.
“Okay, get a teacher. I will be there as soon as possible.”
I arrived at the back gate just as Mr Johnson started closing up. Mr Johnson was the caretaker and an ex-marine. He had come out to the front gates only a few weeks ago when the gang hung around waiting for a victim, and had stared them down even though outnumbered. I thought the gang wouldn’t try anything if he came out. We could still rescue Giles.
“We’re shutting,” he stated, pushing the gate to a close, and started wrapping the chain around it and the post.
“I need help Mr Johnson, the O’Keefe gang has kidnapped my friend,” I said, as I hung onto the gate trying to get my breath back. I couldn’t remember running as far before.
“Where?” he said and frowned.
“The front gate.”
He unwound the chain and gestured me through, and then wound it back again and padlocked it.
“Okay let’s go, try and keep up.”
He sprinted through the school, keys jangling on his belt, and I tried my best to keep up but my tired legs couldn’t maintain the pace. We ran through the empty school playgrounds and buildings, and out through the car park along the road snaking by the side of the courtyard to the front gates. I jogged around the corner into the front courtyard and Mr Johnson stood at the front gates looking for Giles. I put in another burst and ran up to the gates with heavy legs and sore back from the rucksack. Just then, Linda’s small blue Nissan Micra skidded to a halt a few yards away and she jumped out.
“Where is he?” she shouted, her face compressed in anguish.