The Mulligan Planet

The Mulligan
Planet
by
Zachariah Dracoulis

Pale
moonlight leaked into the first class cabin where I sat by myself
looking out over the sprawling cityscape that we were fast
approaching. “Dr Reynolds?” the hostess' sickeningly sweet voice
rang through cabin as she walked in from behind me, “Dr Reynolds,
sir?” it took me a moment to remember my assumed identity, “Yes,
what is it now?” she had come to stand beside my remarkably soft
chair while looking down at me over her narrow nose in very
apparent disapproval, her blue hat and dress ensemble would forever
be associated with the negativity that had been put on me over the
course of this flight, “We're landing and the fasten seat-belt sign
has been turned on.” I adjusted my tie and licked my blood soaked
teeth, “I am aware, any more blatantly obvious information that you
would like to enrich me with?” condescension wrapping my words and
my expression as I looked up at her, “Please fasten your seat-belt
sir.” she hissed in an attempt to command me. Throughout the entire
flight from Heathrow airport it had been 'Please sit down sir.
Please be careful with the champagne sir. Please refrain from
performing raucous activities in the restroom sir. Where is Mr
Hendersen sir?' I was thoroughly annoyed with this entire journey,
especially the part where my target had figured out who I was and
why I was aboard the plane. The result was a somewhat messy
improvisation that ended with a locked lavatory painted in a deep
crimson and decorated in the unfortunate Mr Hendersen. “We will not
be able to land until you have fastened your seat-belt sir.” I
turned back to looking out through the window, “Then I suppose
we'll be up here for a while, go fetch me a drink of something.”
There was a long wait before she realised with a huff that her
false sense of authority wouldn't work at our altitude, storming
off down the aisle toward the back of the plane. 'This is it.' I
said to myself, 'No more war, no more fighting and no more
killing.' The end of a dark era was approaching, much like the
tarmac of Brisbane airport as we descended. A loud bang made me
flinch as it forced its way into my sensitive ears as the intercom
system was activated, “Would Dr Reynolds please remain aboard upon
arrival at gate four, thank you for travelling with Hare
Airlines.”

I untied my right leather shoe,
loosening the lace enough that the shoe could slip off easily and
folded my black jacket over my left forearm. My breathing low and
laboured, the result of not fully recovering from the one lucky hit
that Hendersen had managed to get in before I put him in his place.
The curtain behind me ruffled as two large men in blue and black
uniforms entered, “Come with us Dr Reynolds.” I stood, stretching
my legs and rolling my shoulders; forcing a series of brilliantly
satisfying cracks, “How about a magic trick first? Watch the pretty
birdy.” I flung my jacket in the face of the first guard and
,before he could pull it off, kicked my shoe off at him, the heel
connecting with his forehead causing him to fall backward onto his
co-worker who fell under the weight like a meaty domino through the
red curtain behind them as I ran down the aisle, leaping over once
I was close enough to the tumbling giants and grabbing my coat off
of the face of the guard in my right hand before rolling off my
left arm and back onto my feet. After pulling on and buttoning my
jacket I turned to face the guard tangled in a mess of red fabric
trying to reach for his gun under the unconscious body of his
friend, “See, I wouldn't be doing that.” while he continued to
reach I adjusted my cuffs, “If you touch that gun or your
walkie-talkie I'll have to kill you, and I really don't want to.”
He stopped, “That's a good lad, now toss me that shoe.” his
trembling hands hesitated, “Oh stop it, I'm not going to hurt you.”
the still trembling hands began pawing around before gaining
purchase on my shoe, tossing it about a metre from me weakly. I
rolled my eyes as I bent down to pick up my shoe, “That was
pathetic, truly.”

“Stop right there! Put your
hands up!” I stopped for a second and smiled as I rose, my hands up
in the air while still holding my shoe, “Drop the wea- shoe!” I
nodded as I dropped and kicked it at the guard's face who dropped
down uselessly upon the impact as the relatively heavy chunk of
leather bent and snapped my toes back in the process, “Ow! Bloody -
piece of - ow!” I began limping over to the large unconscious lump
of man and curtain after jumping around on my foot for a few
seconds, scooped up the shoe and fell on my backside as I pulled it
on and tied the laces, taking a moment to survey what sat, rather,
laid in front of me after I was done, “They never listen.” I
grabbed the pistol from the guard's loose grip and tucked it into
my jacket's inner pocket as I stood, “I'm forgetting something...”
snapping my fingers a few times reminded me somehow, “Suitcase!
Can't forget the suitcase.” After I made my way back through the
empty I found the locked lavatory and held my breath before kicking
the door in, the mess of Mr Hendersen's... everything was scattered
around the tiny room and my suitcase was not spared. “Delightful.”
that one word was enough for me to get a whiff of the urine and
defecate scattered around the toilet as I lightly lifted my
stainless steel, blood covered suitcase with my fore-finger and
thumb causing me to retch as I evacuated the cramped room.

Once I had exited the plane and
entered the hallway I popped the locks on my suitcase before
dropping it to the floor, immediately setting off the EMP encased
within. The lit airport disappeared into darkness, cameras
deactivated and, most importantly, hard-drives were erased. The
people screaming and children crying that would have irritated me
greatly if it were any other day rang emptily in ears. Passengers
and staff scrambled around in the pitch black that was as clear as
day to me, guards desperately trying to calm them down while I
ducked and weaved through the terrified horde, their scent so
appealing that I was having to fight myself from latching onto the
nearest vein and drain the life from the paralysed victim. Deciding
that it was a bad, albeit delicious, idea I continued onto baggage
collection where I grabbed my black duffel bag that had sat on a
frozen carousel surrounded by confused people as the blinding
lights flickered back to life. I stepped out into the rich night
air and entered the heavily lemony fresh scented back-seat of the
first taxi I saw, “Take me somewhere quiet, a bar or something.”
The Indian driver clicked away on his little console, “How about
Lou's?” I shrugged, looking out through the window into the massive
city as we pulled out of the chaotic pick up zone, I was finally a
free man for the first time in decades, “Sure, let's go.”

My name is John Prince; I sleep
for the majority of the day and worked for the majority of the
night as a bartender at Lou’s Bar. I had been living in a decent
apartment on a decent wage for a few years before the whole...
well, I'll get into that later. Brisbane is where I'd called home
for the past fifteen years after permanently shipping out of
Winchester where I had created a rogue British special operatives
unit, I ended up being the only one left, sad stuff. Anyway, I
ended up moving from motel room to house to apartment, anywhere
that was comfortable with cash and limited records. This was done
primarily in an attempt to avoid 'unsociable' types. I’m twenty
four years old, have been for two hundred and forty years. I’m a
vampire. I have been fighting off hunters, police and other
vampires for the past two centuries. I don’t burst into flames when
I step into light, I am rather sensitive to the sun though,
blisters, redness, heatstroke, nothing beneficial for me really.
Onward to more about being a vampire, garlic isn't a problem, well,
beyond the breath, I’m much stronger than the average person, also,
getting shot hurts a great deal. I don't know why I felt like I
should explain that, it's, at bare minimum, a super-heated piece of
metal travelling at three hundred and sixty metres per second, not
exactly a cuddle, but I do get the benefit of a very decent healing
factor. I have very sensitive senses of smell and hearing while my
vision is next to unparalleled if I decide to focus. Oh! And
crucifixes, no problem whatsoever, provided you don't throw them at
me, that's an annoyance which I've dealt with several times in the
past. Just thought I should cover those few points before I got
into this.

“John!” My night manager’s thick
Irish voice bounced through the bar, “Give us a hand moving this
bloody table!” I flung my bench cloth over my shoulder, “Give me a
second Pat!” I began to walk over to the circular table where
Patrick sat with a pint of Guinness in one of his brawny hands
while the other stroked his grey beard. He looked up as I walked
over, “Lad! Chuck this one on the others over there would ya? My
back’s out.” He hopped off of the table, landing with a decent thud
in front of me, Patrick wouldn’t have been taller than 5’2, a full
foot shorter than me, but was heavily built. I nodded as I picked
up the table with one hand, put it in the far corner and began the
walk back to the bar. “John, you can head out when you want, I’ll
lock up.” I turned toward him, “Alright.” I started to take off my
apron, “You want a quick drink ‘fore you head out?” I smiled at the
ground, his usual trick, offer to close up, get me to sit with him,
drink an excessive amount, have a few laughs, take advantage of my
iota kindness which forbid me from letting a drunken dwarf work for
any more than he had to, end with me closing up, “Sure Pat, I’ll
grab something.” I grabbed a beer, two stools and went to sit with
Patrick. We sat for a while in silence just drinking, it felt odd,
the whole night had this sense of unease about it, but Patrick not
pushing for his classic Irish banter? Something was definitely
brewing, whether he had knowledge of it or not. Patrick finished
his pint and walked over to the sink, “You driving home lad?” I
finished the bottle, “Nah, I’m walking, you?” he shook his head as
he dried the pint and put it under the sink, “Cab tonight.”

I saw a familiar group of people
pass the window, “You head on home Patrick, you lock-up tomorrow;
I’ve got it.” I started walking toward the bar, “You sure lad? I
can do it.” I had just lost sight of them, “Yeah, yeah, use the
back door; I’ll lock the front first.” He grabbed his coat,
“Alright, if you insist, see you later lad.” As he left I ran to my
locker, tearing it open to reveal a red case which held my 9mm and
a single clip. Fists started banging on the door, I dropped to the
ground and pushed my back to the bar while fumbling with the clip
that was refusing to go into the gun, “Shit, shit, shit.” The
knocking stopped, “We're coming in, we only want the demon!” The
clip finally clicked into place, a smile played across my face at
the moment that the doors flew open. I peeked over, there were
eight of them, all donning thick black clothing with the classic
red crucifix emblem embroidered on the chest just above the heart,
the religious ones were always the most fun. As if to prove my
point at the briefest glimpse of my head they had immediately
started firing at the bar, four had large automatic weapons, three
had pistols and one had a shotgun. I grabbed a bottle of vodka, had
a drink, took a deep breath and jumped the bar, let off three quick
shots into one of the machine gun guys, jumped off a table, kicked
one of them in the face, crashed through the door and ran down the
road, pouring vodka along as I went. When it ran out I turned
around and waited for a moment. They came out of the building to
face me; the tall bald one, well, they were all reasonably tall...
and bald, but the one in front started staring into my eyes, his
face scarred horrifically from what I can only guess as resulting
from many vampiric disagreements, “Time to die monster.” I smiled,
“Is it now?” I shot the ground where the vodka trail began, sparks
lighting and dissipating, I looked up at the chuckling hunters as I
fired again, “Oh come on.” I gave up, deciding to instead fire
straight through the doors into the bar where a gas canister for
the rudimentary heating causing it to immediately explode, sending
flaming alcohol and wood through the front door as I dropped down,
covering my head while screams ripped through the cold night. I
waited for a while after the last of the screams had stopped, my
lips to the cold gravel while heat radiated from my place of
occupation. Eventually I stood slowly to see the still burning
hunters a few feet from where I had left them, one was facing the
sky, his chest raising and falling in a staggered form as his
breath faltered while I made my way toward him. Though difficult to
tell from a distance after the fire had done its work he was
recognisable as the leader on closer inspection. I looked over his
scarred features thinking of how many of my kind he had killed, how
many lives he had destroyed through his blind faith that he was
doing the right thing. As I looked into his eyes gazing into the
spacial nothing I wondered what his final thoughts would be of,
friends? Family? However, once his eyes focused on me standing over
him they left the vacant stare and changed to one of hatred,
burning in his eyes, much like his compatriots, his final thoughts
would be of me apparently, “You fucking demon! We will destroy your
kind!” I knelt down next to him, “You boys should really try
harder, you’ve actually just done me a favour,” I looked up at the
burning bar, “They were getting suspicious, I’ve been working here
for quite some time. And for this favour, I owe you one.” I put the
gun to his temple as he writhed in pain on the blackened ground and
pulled the trigger. I looked around at the other hunters, spread
out across the street, their limbs twisted in unnatural
configurations, they could've become installation artworks if
they'd only stop twitching. I dusted off my shirt, put my gun down
the back of my pants and abandoned my macabre piece and set for
home. I had to move again.