My coat is two sizes too big. It’s an old army jacket, and one of the few things that I have from my father. It’s warm and keeps the four in the morning drizzle off me. I hate camping, especially in national parks. Everything (read bathrooms) is too far away. I can’t do my business in random bushes. Shelter is thin nylon that never quite keeps the rain away. A storm moved in last night. I’ll find out later that there are ten thousand people without electricity. Right now, I’m just walking the point two miles to a vending machine for a Dr. Pepper at four in the morning. I can’t quite shake this creepy feeling. I feel like there’s someone sneaking up on me. My flashlight isn’t as bright as I would like, but it’s what I’ve got. I whip around periodically; just to check. Imagine my surprise when I turn around and finally see my pursuer. He’s five foot, ten inches, pale, with dilated (or just dark?) eyes, and he is my opponent.
An apex predator is what’s at the top of the food chain. They’re the ones that don’t have to evolve. They’re done. They’ve peaked. It doesn’t matter, because they’re so far ahead of the curve that it doesn’t seem like any species can catch up, so why bother? Humans are not the top of the food chain. There are things that actively hunt us, but we hunt right back. It’s that unrelenting and stubborn dedication to survival that keeps us in the game.
An apex predator stands before me. He’s waited until just before dawn. He’s traded the advantage of darkness for the surprise of striking so close to dawn.
Any other man might be quarry for this predator,but not me. My not-so-bright-flashlight has a UV bulb in it; this was a Herculean effort of electrical engineering. My big ass coat has big ass pockets that can accommodate my big ass gun with big ass silver jacketed bullets.
The vampire is in three pieces before he knows what’s happened.