Chapter 51: Chains of Ashes

“Help! Help! Somebody help us!”

Their voices filled the back of the Coca-Cola delivery truck as it rumbled down the empty road. The metal walls carried their shouts from one end of the container to the other, turning their desperate cries into a hollow echo.

Both vampires were chained to the steel support bars inside the truck, their wrists stretched above them with thick iron restraints. Every time the truck hit a bump in the road, the chains rattled loudly.

They kept shouting.

“Help! Please! Someone—!”

I sat on a wooden crate directly in front of them, watching quietly.

After a moment, I reached into my pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. The small flame from the lighter flickered briefly before the cigarette tip glowed red.

I took a slow drag.

Smoke filled my lungs as the truck continued moving through the deserted road.

Then I looked at them.

“Scream all you want,” I said calmly. “Nobody is coming to save you.”

I exhaled the smoke slowly.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

One of them shook his head desperately.

“Please,” he said. “We promise we won’t kill when we feed anymore.”

The other nodded quickly.

“Yes—yes! We swear. Just let us go this time.”

I took another long puff from the cigarette before leaning forward slightly and blowing the smoke directly into their faces.

They squinted as the smoke drifted into their eyes.

“Honestly,” I said, resting my elbow on my knee, “I think it’s very unfair.”

They stared at me, confused.

“That you get to feed randomly on people whenever you want,” I continued. “Just picking any human you see… draining them like it’s some all-you-can-eat buffet.”

“And you were given just one rule from us,” I continued. “Just one.”

I took another drag from the cigarette.

“Don’t kill.”

The truck rumbled over another rough patch of road, making the chains clatter above their heads.

“But you couldn’t stick to that one rule, could you?”

They stared at me silently now, their earlier shouting replaced with fear.

“Most murderous vampires,” I went on, “simply rip the heads off their victims and move on.”

I leaned forward slightly.

“But not you two.”

I tapped the cigarette ash onto the metal floor.

“You’re creative.”

I reached beside me and picked up a stack of photographs.

“Killing is art to you.”

I placed the pictures on the crate in front of them and slid them across the floor.

“You take your time.”

The photographs scattered at their feet.

Each one showed the aftermath of their work—bodies torn apart, limbs twisted unnaturally, flesh carved and shredded in ways that no ordinary predator would bother with.

The moment they saw them, both vampires turned their heads away.

One of them shut his eyes tightly.

The other tried to look anywhere but at the pictures.

I watched them for a moment before speaking again.

“You just had to rip them to shreds, didn’t you?”

Neither of them answered.

“Well,” I said, standing up, “you won’t get to do that anymore.”

I walked toward the roll-up door at the back of the truck.

The moment they realized what I was about to do, both of them began struggling violently against their chains.

“Please!” one of them shouted.

“Don’t do this!” the other cried.

Their voices were filled with panic now.

I stopped at the door and turned back to face them.

They were panting, their eyes wide with terror.

I gave them one last look.

“Let there be light.”

Then I pulled the handle and rolled the door up.

Blinding sunlight flooded into the truck instantly.

I jumped down from the back of the truck and quickly ran several feet away, leaving the open truck behind me.

Behind me, their screams began instantly.

The sunlight that poured into the truck fell directly onto their bodies, and the effect was immediate. Their skin began to burn the moment the light touched it. Smoke rose from their flesh as they struggled violently against the chains.

Their screams grew louder.

Desperate.

Agonizing.

From where I stood a few feet away, I could hear the sound of their bodies crackling as the sunlight consumed them.

Then it happened.

A violent blast erupted from inside the truck.

The pressure from their bodies combusting ignited the fuel and trapped heat within the metal container. The entire Coca-Cola truck exploded with a deafening roar.

The shockwave threw me backwards.

I hit the ground hard, rolling across the dry dirt as dust and debris filled the air. For a moment, everything around me was buried under a thick cloud of smoke and sand.

When the dust began to settle, I pushed myself up slowly.

My clothes were covered in dirt.

I brushed the dust off my jacket and shoulders before straightening up.

The land around me was empty—dry, open terrain stretching far into the distance with nothing but cracked earth and scattered shrubs under the blazing sun.

In the distance, a car was approaching.

A blue Camry.

I stood still and waited as it drove closer, the tires kicking up small trails of dust behind it.

The car slowed and eventually stopped beside me.

The rear door opened.

I stepped inside and sat in the back seat.

In the front sat my two lieutenants.

They turned slightly to look at me.

“Good afternoon, sir,” one of them said.

I nodded calmly.

“Good afternoon.”

The driver turned the car around and steered us back onto the main road. The Camry picked up speed as we left the empty stretch of land behind, the burnt remains of the truck shrinking in the rearview mirror.

For a while, no one spoke.

Then the man in the passenger seat turned slightly and looked back at me.

“Captain.”

I lifted my eyes toward him.

“What is it, Tobi?”

Tobi adjusted his seat a little before speaking.

“Emmanuel is on the move.”

I straightened in my seat.

“Where?”

“He’s at an airport right now.”

“Which airport?”

“Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport.”

I leaned back slightly, thinking about it.

What would he be doing there?

Tobi shrugged lightly.

“Maybe he’s given up the search,” he said. “Maybe he’s heading back home.”

I shook my head.

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” he asked.

I looked out the window briefly before answering.

“Those two used to be obsessed with each other,” I said. “Deeply in love.”

Tobi listened quietly.

“Until Emmanuel was sent to Europe on a mission. That’s how they got separated.”

The car continued moving steadily down the road.

“Now that he’s back,” I continued, “believe me when I say he won’t return home until he finds the love of his life.”

Tobi frowned slightly.

“Aren’t they cousins?”

“Yes,” I said.

“But they’re also part of the oldest family alive.”

I glanced at him briefly.

“So we shouldn’t try to understand their love.”

Tobi let out a quiet breath.

“Wow.”

“Let’s go to the airport,” I said.

Tobi hesitated for a second.

“Captain… no offense,” he said carefully, “but you need to take a bath first.”

I looked down at myself and chuckled.

My clothes were covered in dust and ash from the explosion. The smell of smoke and burnt metal still clung to my jacket.

“Yeah,” I said. “You’re right.”

I reached into my pocket, searching for my pack of cigarettes.

My hand came up empty.

I checked the other pocket.

Nothing.

Then it hit me—it must have flown out of my pocket when the truck exploded and threw me through the air.

I clicked my tongue in annoyance and cursed quietly under my breath.

“Either of you got a smoke?” I asked.

They both shook their heads.

“No, sir.”

I sighed and leaned back into the seat.

“Wake me when we get home,” I said.

The car continued down the road as the afternoon sun slowly dipped lower in the sky.

Some time later, the Camry turned off the main road and drove down a narrow dirt path surrounded by tall dry grass. After a few minutes, a large compound came into view.

High concrete walls surrounded the property, with a metal gate at the entrance. The gate opened as the car approached, and we drove inside.

This was our hideout.

The car rolled to a stop in the courtyard.

The compound was quiet but alive with movement.

The house itself stood at the center of the property—a large, old two-story building made of faded concrete and dark wooden beams. The walls were weathered from years of sun and dust, but the structure was solid. A long veranda stretched across the front of the house, supported by thick pillars. The roof was made of rust-colored metal sheets that creaked softly whenever the wind passed over them.

Around the courtyard, several smaller structures stood—storage sheds, a weapons room, and a small garage where a few vehicles were parked.

A group of hunters were scattered around the compound. Some were cleaning weapons at a wooden table, others were leaning against the wall talking quietly, and a few were sharpening blades on a whetstone.

The moment they saw me step out of the car, they all straightened.

One by one, they bowed their heads slightly.

A low bow.

A sign of respect.

“Captain.”

“Captain.”

I acknowledged them with a small nod as I walked past and entered the house.

Inside, the air was cooler. The interior was simple—wooden floors, old furniture, maps pinned to the walls, and a long table covered with files and weapons.

I walked straight to my room and into the bathroom.

The shower washed the dust, ash, and smoke off my body. Dark water ran down the drain as the dirt from the explosion disappeared.

After a while, I stepped out, dried myself, and changed into clean clothes.

When I was done, I walked back into the bedroom.

A fresh pack of cigarettes sat on the bed.

I reached for it with my right hand.

But the moment my fingers touched the pack, my hand began to shake.

Not slightly.

Violently.

The tremor spread through my fingers and wrist, making it difficult to grip anything.

I frowned and quickly used my left hand to grab the pack instead.

I opened it and pulled out a cigarette, placing it between my lips.

Then I picked up the lighter with my right hand.

The shaking grew worse.

My thumb tried to flick the wheel.

But it kept slipping.

The flame never came.

My hand trembled uncontrollably until the lighter finally slipped from my fingers and fell to the floor.

“Damn it!” I shouted.

The door opened almost immediately.

One of the hunters stepped into the room.

“Captain, what’s wrong?”

I didn’t answer.

I bent down, picked up the lighter, and slipped it into my pocket. Then I grabbed the pack of cigarettes and shoved it into the same pocket.

“Nothing,” I said.

Without another word, I walked past him and out of the room.

A few minutes later, I stepped outside the house again and got into the car waiting in the courtyard.

This time, three of my most trusted lieutenants climbed in with me.

The engine started.

The gate opened.

And the car rolled out onto the road.

As we drove toward the airport, the road stretched endlessly ahead of us. The hum of the engine and the tires against the asphalt filled the silence inside the car.

I leaned back in my seat, staring out the window.

My thoughts drifted.

I kept wondering how much time I had left in this world… and how long it would take before I finally saw the love of my life again.

After a while, I leaned forward slightly.

“Tobi,” I said.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Where is Emmanuel now?”

Tobi opened his laptop on his lap and typed quickly. The glow from the screen reflected on his face as he checked the tracking data.

After a few seconds he nodded.

“He’s flying now,” he said. “He left Abuja not too long ago.”

I nodded slowly.

Good.

At least we weren’t too late.

Not long after that, we arrived at the airport.

The car pulled into the drop-off area in front of the terminal building. Travelers were everywhere—people dragging suitcases, families saying hurried goodbyes, taxi drivers shouting for passengers.

We stepped out of the car and walked toward the entrance.

Inside, the airport was loud and crowded. The air smelled faintly of coffee, perfume, and fuel from the planes outside. Large screens hung from the ceiling showing flight departures while announcements echoed through the speakers in both English and Yoruba.

Passengers stood in long lines at the check-in counters, slowly moving forward with their luggage.

We walked straight toward one of the counters.

There was already a queue of irritated travelers waiting, but we walked past them without slowing down.

“Hey!” someone behind us complained.

“There’s a line!”

Another voice joined in. “What do you think you’re doing?”

None of us responded.

We stepped directly to the front.

Behind the counter sat a woman typing on her computer. She looked up the moment we approached.

Her expression immediately hardened.

“Excuse me,” she said sharply. “Can you not see the line behind you?”

“We’re looking for someone,” I said calmly.

She folded her arms.

“Are you police?”

I shook my head.

“No. We’re from a special security service.”

Her expression changed slightly.

“We’re tracking a terrorist,” I continued. “His name is Emmanuel. He boarded a flight not too long ago.”

She studied my face carefully, trying to decide whether to believe me.

After a moment, she sighed and leaned closer to her computer.

“Do you know his last name?” she asked.

We looked at each other briefly.

“No,” I said. “We don’t know his last name.”

The woman frowned slightly but turned back to her computer. Her fingers moved across the keyboard as she searched through the system.

After a moment, she turned the monitor slightly so we could see it.

“There are a few passengers named Emmanuel who flew out today,” she said. “Take a look.”

Several flight details appeared on the screen—different routes, different passengers with the same first name.

I scanned them quickly.

None of them were the one we were looking for.

Behind us, the people in the queue were growing louder.

“Are you serious?”

“We’ve been standing here for twenty minutes!”

“Get to the back of the line!”

The complaints continued, but we ignored them.

Then one man stepped out of the line and walked straight toward us.

“This is ridiculous,” he said angrily.

Before I could react, he grabbed the front of my collar.

The movement was slow to me.

I swung my fist once.

My knuckles connected with his jaw, and the sound cracked through the busy terminal. The man dropped to the floor instantly.

The entire area went quiet for a second.

I looked down at him calmly.

“Get back in line,” I said.

He slowly pushed himself up from the floor, holding his jaw, and without saying another word he walked back to the queue.

The woman at the counter stared at me nervously before turning back to her screen.

“Let me check again,” she muttered.

A few seconds later she opened another flight record and turned the monitor toward us.

This time, the name matched.

I leaned closer.

“That’s him,” I said.

I looked back at her.

“Where is he going?”

She glanced at the screen again.

“Antarctica.”

For a moment, none of us spoke.

Then I turned toward my lieutenants.

“Well,” I said, “seems like we’re going to Antarctica.”