Created (Book 1 of the Created) Read online

  Created

  A novel by Shannon Shaw

  Copyright 2012 by Shannon Shaw

  http://www.shannonshawbooks.com

  Cover design by Robin Ludwig Design Inc.

  http://www.gobookcoverdesign.com/

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. These items should not be construed or confused as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locals or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  Prologue

  The Farm operated in secret for the first twenty two years of its existence. The name had been derived from the gradual purchasing of a large percentage of adjoining farms and timber tracts in the south Alabama region known as the Black Belt. These purchases allowed the U.S. government to build a facility that the official title was that of Camp Cooper.

  What little information that trickled out was passed on through scattered firsthand accounts, rumors and innuendos. People continually whispered about the real purpose behind the government buying an amazing one hundred thousand acres in an area littered with venomous snakes and whitetail deer.

  Government documents listed the site as a military training ground for units specializing in rural and forest operations. The locals never bought the flimsy explanation for the United States needing to buy hundreds of broken down farms and forests of loblolly pines. The isolated tract was primarily located in rural Henry County though the size of the land purchase pushed Camp Cooper into neighboring counties.

  Little military traffic flowed in and out of Camp Cooper, yet security was always much heavier than the more active military facilities in the state. Often a series of unmarked government cars and trucks would arrive, but no witness could ever speak of seeing anyone leave.

  In the third year of existence, a massive building project was undertaken. Soon the town was littered with an excessive number out of state contractors who were brought in to build the newly needed facilities. The workers were housed on the base. Locals knew of the construction solely from observation. Occasionally, a few workers would make their way to eat at the few restaurants or shop for groceries. The men never talked to anyone except to place an order for goods and services. Other times it might be to pay a bill. The mundane was part of maintaining the curtain of secrecy.

  Passersby could see the exterior changes which were few, but included a twenty foot tall fence edged with barbed wire at the interior base and crown. Two years later another identical fence was constructed thirty feet further to the interior surrounding the entire one hundred fifty square mile enclosure.

  Most comments heard around town were that the Camp looked less like a military base and more like a prison.

  Residents, who approached the installation's boundaries, either purposely or accidentally, were met with indignation and often psychical violence. If someone insisted or persisted, the individual was never restrained to a military stockade, but instead detained by men dressed entirely in black military fatigues until local law enforcement arrived. When the trial occurred, the facility civilian official, Mr. Jericho, made sure the person was prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law without regard to circumstance, age or influence.

  Luckily not many people desired to trespass choosing to trust in the government no matter what secret the base was hiding. If anybody did question what was going on there through appropriate channels, that individual would find military personnel at his or her home and made sure the concerns were silenced.

  People in the country side surrounding the base were scarce meaning Camp Cooper had few bothersome neighbors. Those that did live near the base often spoke quietly of hearing strange guttural, animalistic screams and growls echoing through the trees and fields. Occasionally, more human-like sounds of men shouting or guns firing would reverberate in the night. Events heard and not seen were conveyed as part of training exercises. The people of the communities learned as time passed if they did not bother the Camp, the government would leave them alone.

  One cloudy day in April 1999, the residents awoke to find Camp Cooper no longer existed and had been replaced by the Chadron Cooperation. That day fifteen years ago, the Farm became the playground of the rich and elite, but no one ever knew why until now.

  Though the signs had changed, folks soon realized nothing else had. If only the locals knew the complete truth.

  Chapter 1

  The hunt was supposed to be legendary. Instead, thus far, it was boring and alcohol fueled. It was billed as a once in a lifetime experience with one small catch: I could never tell anyone about it unless I knew for certain they were part of the M Collective. The network that made up the M collective was comprised of elites from around the globe who enjoyed paying huge sums of cash to hunt things that only exist in nightmares and movies.

  I guess I should say that these things should only exist in nightmares and movies, but they do exist thanks to the United States government and a company called Chadron, or at least that was what we were led to believe. The belief for me was starting to fade as my buzz wore off.

  We spent most of the night sitting in a specially created blind that would shield us from being seen by the monsters. Hell, I didn't believe mankind was capable of prying monsters from fantasy to let them loose until the creature stood before me. The possibility of death stirred something in me as I stared at the teeth and claws of science gone mad. I looked at my watch; the time read midnight. Yet, here I was in the middle of the night on this godforsaken "Farm", as everybody calls it, trying to survive the next two hours until daybreak, knowing I was surrounded by the monsters of the rich and powerful.

  When the GV4 came out of his lair to feed on the goats tied to some trees nearby, we were told to make our kill. We were all surprised when we first saw the hunted emerge from a broken down barn about two hundred yards away. We had never been shown images of our prey and now, looking at the creature, I realized why. My heart started pounding in my chest as I recognized the form of the monster; it was human.

  I leaned against the wall as I glanced around the room to gauge the reactions. A thought struck me hard. When the “Hunt” director had sat the entire group down and explained the uniqueness of our prey, I should have listened.

  The follies of youth I heard a teacher once say, but never really understood the meaning until this very moment. It was a hunting trip for Christ’s sake, and I spent much of my youth on tons of those trips hunting for deer and elk with my father, so no matter what we were hunting, I thought I was ready. I was wrong. Everybody I had talked to just referred to the prey as "the hunted", but in my stupidity, I ignored the unusual use of terminology. I was too busy being enamored with how cool it was to be selected to be with this influential group of men in this unique situation.

  Smith had been the director's name. He had stayed back at the command center and would monitor things from there. Lucky prick, I mouthed as I continued to watch the GV4. Smith had seemed a nice enough guy when he was covering vulnerabilities and safety precautions. Why hadn't he been forceful? He could have made us listen.

  Why was I blaming him, I lamented. He had done his job and had been sane enough not to accompany us. I wished I had cared enough to heed his stern warnings as he had painstakingly went through every procedure if something were to go wrong. I sighed heavily which brought the ire of dirty looks from several of the group members. I didn't realize it was that loud.

  I should have picked up on that there was a chance I would be in over my head when I
noticed Smith had looked worried. Even more concern had flashed across his face as everybody had passed around silver flasks filled with liquid courage. Whenever he had been offered a swig, he had respectfully declined, which had astonished me because I drank readily at each invite. I had chalked it up to his having been on many hunts. Only one matter had even bothered to trouble me. I couldn't shake why he had requested of Senator Hatcher that I was not to be allowed to go in the area known as the Old Town. The Senator had patted me on the back and agreed to the request with a promise and a laugh as he downed another swig. Thinking back, I was glad for the promise. From what I was watching, I was becoming sure that whatever the Farm held at that location must be much worse.

  As fear crept through me, I knew I was responsible for myself. There was no one else to shoulder the burden. I should have turned back when we loaded up and left the Camp, but instead, I had jumped in the solid black armored personnel carrier with the rest of HG2, as we were called. Fear of ridicule had shoved me forcibly into the rear of the vehicle and had sat me smack down between Senator Hatcher and Mark Fowler, a close friend of his.

  I took a deep breath, putting that memory out of my mind, and looked around to inspect the faces of my group. The rest of the hunting group consisted of two state legislators, Jim Knowlton and Michael Elias, along with a business man from Atlanta who was introduced only as Mr. Jacoby. We were escorted by four other men who worked as guides during the hunts, none of which ever were actually introduced by name to any of HG2. Each of the four men looked, dressed and acted like career military.

  I was thankful for these four men who were escorting us because the members of my group looked like what they were: middle aged, over indulged politicians and business men. Those men did not want for anything, especially at the moment. A very opposite life from the battle hardened commandos who were watching our reactions as we got our first contact.

  The Hunt was simple: HG2 versus a solitary Generation V4 or GV4, as I now know they are called. Shit, simple left the building when the razor sharp claws of the creature reflected dully in the moonlight.

  I tried to speak, but the largest of our guides surprised me as he clamped his hand over my mouth and gestured for me to watch.

  The GV4 did not move like a human; it swayed back and forth, almost on all fours. The thing stood erect as its nose sniffed the air. The beast’s eyes glowed blood red as it scanned the darkened surrounding forest. Cautiously, the GV4 moved toward the captured food standing mere yards away. One of the goats, sensing danger, emitted a cry of distress sending the alerted GV4 bounding towards the animals.

  Staring through a gap in the camouflaged netting, I studied it. Closer now, I could tell it was a male with distinct broad shoulders, muscular arms clothed in torn ragged clothing stained with dark clumps of dried blood and organic matter.

  Sitting back down, I watched through a monitor within our structure as creature opened his mouth and emitted a mild roar, similar in tone to a big African cat, before he displayed four three inch long fangs protruding from his mouth.

  Seizing the side of the goat, he effortlessly lifted the struggling animal before ripping away at the throat with his teeth. Ten seconds crawled by as we all watched the monster drink from the goat until it was a dried husk.

  “Senator, when he discards the second goat, before he retreats to his den, you should take the shot. You will need to hit him in the chest then we will all go down to finish him.” The guide in charge whispered.

  The Alabama summer night was cool, yet I noticed the Senator sweating nervously, as were the rest of his acquaintances, as he aligned his rifle for the shot. I felt my own forehead realizing I too was dripping.

  We waited as the monster drank the blood of the second goat.

  I looked at the Senator, who shook as he held the gun, finger on the trigger.

  “Take the shot.” Multiple voices echoed as we all awaited his next move.

  I closed my eyes hearing the report of the rifle then the celebratory cheers as each man congratulated the Senator on a job well done.

  The guide leader interrupted the celebration. “Gentlemen, the silver nitrate in the GV4's blood will wear off in about an hour so we need to hurry if we are going to finish our kill.”

  I sat numbed as each man was handed a wooden stake and a machete. I didn't understand.

  Knowlton shouted as he gleefully raced through the back door of the blind. “First one to the body gets to count the kill!”

  The rest of Hunting Group 2 followed except for me and the Senator. Hatcher looked relived and sick at the same time. Under his breath, I thought I heard him mutter a small prayer. An uncomfortable silence suddenly filled the air, making the fifteen by twenty tin and wooden box seem smaller and constrictive.

  “Ethan, why don't you enjoy yourself with the rest of the guys?” He questioned, as he discarded his rifle, slowly picked up his own stake and machete.

  “No disrespect Senator, but I think I will stay and watch from here.” On the color monitor, I saw the men sprinting toward the fallen GV4.

  “Suit yourself.” He said as he started to walk through the blind's door.

  “Senator,” Still disturbed by the humanoid's death I called out, “What does the v stand for in GV4?”

  He stopped, turned toward me and with no expression muttered “Vampire.”

  My heart leapt to my throat as the word quietly passed through my lips. “Vampire.”

  I jumped up at the sound of a scream.

  The monitor displayed seven men running toward and standing around another of our group that I recognized as Knowlton. He lay motionless in the thinly worn grass near a couple of pine trees. Most of my view was obscured by the men huddled around, but I could barely make out a series of jagged, bloody cuts along his neck. The lead guide began barking commands that I could not fully make out, but realized was an attempt to get us to run. Confused and scared, the rest of the group began fleeing back toward the blind, scattering. Leaving behind Fowler on the ground, the collective never looked back as a guide continued to urge them on as he opened fire with his semi-automatic handgun. As they neared, I realized the goal was not the blind, but the Armored Personnel Carrier.

  I broke into a run myself when a single male vampire, then a second and a third dropped down from the limbs of the pines, descending upon the unconscious man lying on the ground.

  Breaking away from the shelter of the blind, I ran toward the Armored Personnel Carrier with all the effort my body could manage, only to be forced back by the frightening appearance of a large hulking male vampire with soulless red eyes standing between me and the security of the vehicle.

  I was lucky.

  The vampire became distracted when Fowler inadvertently ran into him. The vampire shucked the smaller human away with a grunt as he swatted the stumbling Fowler to the ground. Before Fowler could react, the vampire jerked him from the ground, snapping his back in one forceful action.

  Alive, but unable to move, Fowler tried to scream as the vampire feasted upon him, ripping open his throat. Blood erupted from the wound in ragged, deep red bursts covering the feasting vampire. I could tell the creature loved the blood bath as it tore a chunk of meat from the man. The three inch long fangs that protruded from the top and lower part of the vampire's mouth dripped with blood, but so did much of the creature's face and chest.

  Scared at the sight of my fellow hunter being ravaged by the vampire, I ran. In my attempt to flee, I saw two of the more muscular guides being ripped apart by three male vampires, who slashed and tore at the fallen men with the five inch long razor sharp nails that lined the tips of each finger.

  Many of the survivors fought to stay alive. I started running away from the horror, but at every turn, horror followed me. In my haste, I noticed there was a small group trapped near the APC as a cluster of GV4s encircled their meal. The group of hunters had left their rifles in the blind while moving in to officially kill the first vampire with machetes and stakes. Dum
b move since now they were unable to defend themselves, and I was I unable to help as I had bypassed the weapons in my own pursuit of self-preservation. I grimaced at the carnage, but kept running.

  We had used goats to attract the vampires, but the vampires had used another vampire to attract us. It was a nonissue. They were going to be dead in a moment, including Senator Hatcher.

  I remembered enough from what Mr. Smith had said to know that the vampires were limited to specific territories because of safety protocols. If I could run far enough into another section of the Farm, then maybe I could hide until help arrived.

  Leaving the carnage behind, I ran into the darkness of the canopy created by the towering pines. Stretching out before me was forest as far as I could see. I wasn't sure if the eerie silence I was hearing as I ran was my way of forgetting about my group or something sinister had taken the sounds of the night. I didn't care.

  My feet ached and my legs felt as heavy as lead but I pushed deeper into the forest. I had neglected psychical fitness while I was D.C. and my body was feeling the effects. My lungs burned and a terribly debilitating stitch was forming in my side, yet I ran.

  I had gone as far as I could go when I stopped to vomit. Fighting the urge, I squatted near a fallen tree to rest. I tried not to focus on the loss of the hunting party, which was filling my every thought as I lowered myself to the ground.

  With my back to the fallen tree, I surveyed my surroundings. The formerly moonlit sky was not entirely blocked from view. Small slender beams were broken by the branches above sending scattered fragments to frame out the shadows.

  I had no idea how far the Camp was or how far I had ran. The distance had seemed to be miles though I wasn't sure.

  A plan of action was needed and waiting until morning seemed to be the best option. I still wasn't sold on the idea of staying the rest of the night in the woods so I reached into my pocket to get my cellphone. The cellphone was missing. Franticly, I checked all of my pockets until I remembered during the first inspection of our equipment and supplies at the staging area, the phone had been taken away by a man dressed in black army fatigues at the direction of Mr. Smith.