It looked like just another accident in the dim illumination afforded by her motorbike’s headlight. Jack wasn’t on duty - she was on her way home - but the code of conduct said that she should help out in the community. She hated traffic accidents, but by now she’d been at enough of them to know what to do. Besides, after the reaming out her captain gave her for wearing her favourite pair of purple contact lenses on the job, she wanted to make sure she was the paragon of a good police officer.

 

She now felt somewhat fortunate that she listened to Gwyn’s advice, took the scenic route through the base of the hills rather than going straight for the highway. This wreck would have been undetected for much longer if she hadn’t.

 

She hastily parked her motorbike, climbing off to grab the first aid kit she kept in the storage compartment under her seat. She ran beside the old sedan, using her phone’s flash for light, and she saw something that she lacked the facilities to fully comprehend.

 

The car was easy to process; the passenger side door was wrapped around a big marri tree. That was not a good sign. Hopefully they hadn’t been there long, and one of them would have already phoned.

 

There were two people in the car; the blonde man at the wheel seemed unconscious, leaning forward in his seat, the now-deflated airbag hanging limply in his lap.

 

There were no side airbags, not in a car from the mid-nineties. His brunette passenger was visibly injured; there was blood, and lots of it, coming out of her forearm. Jack thought she could see the glint of a white bone. Tiny bits of glass shimmered in her hair.

 

That wasn’t the disturbing thing; Jack had seen her fair share of mangled bodies. No, the passenger was not lying prone, not in shock. Instead, she had her head nestled in her unconscious companion’s neck, her hands wrapped around his head, pulling him even closer to her than the impact had.

 

“Hey!” Jack said, trying to sound confident, calming as she gently opened the driver’s side door. “Are you OK? What happened?”

 

The woman didn’t reply. Maybe she was in shock. Jack imagined he was her husband, and she was scared he was dead.

 

“It’s okay. I’m going to help. My names Jackie, I’m a police officer. Have you called an ambulance?”

 

The woman looked up from her companion’s shirt, staring at Jack with an intense gaze.

 

“We don’t need to call an ambulance.”

 

Jack gave her a puzzled look. “Have you seen your arm?”

 

The woman seemed taken aback, even before she looked at her mangled arm. “I already called the ambulance.” She said, finally.

 

“Yeah, he’s not in a good way, is he?” Jack murmured, gently tilting his head back until his mouth opened. She placed her cheek in front of his mouth, but didn’t feel any breath.

 

“Sir, can you hear me?” Jack said, firmly. “Oh my god. OK, look, I want you to find a bandage in here.” She handed the woman the first aid kit. “Wrap your arm up. Put pressure on it. Until the ambulance comes.”

 

She looked into the man’s open mouth, using her phone for light. She felt for a pulse, and found nothing. Shit. She was going to have to get him out of the car. He could be paralysed forever if she fucked it up. But without CPR she knew he’d never wake up at all.

 

Awkwardly, she pulled him out of the car, trying not to twist his spine, not to ruin his neck. She glanced at the woman, who held the first aid kit and made no move to grab a bandage. Shit. How long would an ambulance take to get to them, out here? Ten minutes? Would she be able to survive? Should she give up on CPR, give up on the man, and set the woman’s wound?

 

She placed him on the ground, gently, hoping it wasn’t too late. Then she noticed the wounds on the left hand side of his neck. No wonder he had no pulse; there were bloody two puncture wounds, about an inch apart. Seemed they were right on the jugular.

 

She needed to save the woman. She wasn’t sure if she could help this man, had no idea how much blood he had already lost. But the woman was responsive. Jack didn’t think she could save the man, but the woman, she just needed a bandage, maybe some blood. She rifled around the ground nearby until she found two thick sticks. She could use them as a splint. Yes. She could save this woman. She’d make her Captain proud.

 

She stood up, holding the sticks, and climbed partway into the car.

 

“How are you doing?” She asked the woman kindly. The woman gave her another intense gaze.

 

“I’m fine. You can go.”

 

“No. I’m staying until the ambulance comes.” Jack said firmly. “Now give me your arm. I’ll set it for you.”

 

Again, the woman looked unsure, holding the arm out. Jack opened the first aid kit, grabbed a bandage, and started wrapping the wound.

 

“There. See. You’ll be fixed in no time.” Jack said, grinning. “Now, I said I was Jack. What’s your name?”

 

“Mavis.” The woman murmured, looking behind Jack; her mind seemed elsewhere.

 

“That’s a great name. Do you know how long the ambulance said they’d be?” She said, as she went to grab one of the pieces of wood to use as a splint. Mavis’ eyes widened, her body tensed, and her mouth opened. Jack swore she could see blood on her teeth; internal bleeding. Oh god. She hoped Mavis would be OK.

 

Jack moved to put the wood on Mavis’ wound, and at the same time, Mavis tried to climb out of the car with strength and speed that could only have been brought upon by adrenaline. Jack felt a primal fear in her, something profound, like nothing she’d ever felt before. Quick reflexes - hard won through years of martial arts - ended with her pushing the wooden stake through the woman’s heart, its passage made easy by the previously broken ribs and torn flesh.

 

Jack’s mouth hung open. What the fuck did she just do? Just stabbed her in the heart. But it felt right, Mavis felt… dangerous. Her heart thumped in her chest. She noticed with a start that the woman’s bleeding had stopped. She was sitting in the chair, frozen in time. Her mouth hung slightly open and Jack realised that the blood on her teeth was only on two of them - her canines. Canines that were about an inch apart.

 

She thought back to the man’s neck wound. She looked back at the prone woman. She couldn’t believe she was thinking this. She couldn’t believe she was even considering this.

 

She grabbed the piece of wood, and, very slowly, began to pull it out of Mavis’ chest. As soon as the wood broke contact with the heart, the fire returned to her eyes and she started to grab at Jack. She quickly flung the stake back into the chest.

 

“Oh my god. No.”

 

All at once, she realised that either she was going crazy, or Mavis was an actual vampire.

 

“What the fuck do I do now?”

 

Jack put the other stake in Mavis’ heart. She struggled with whether she should try and save the man, but her first aid course had not covered vampire bites. If this even was a vampire.

 

The thought came to her: Gwyn would know. She’s into all this occult shit. Pentagrams, all those weird herbs she grows, all the books. Cael said it was just a charming hobby, maybe a harmless religion, but she wasn’t so sure. That bitch told me to come this way. She thought to herself.  She knew.

 

How the hell would she get this thing back to their house, though? She shone her phone’s light into the back seat and she saw it: a hockey bag, complete with an actual hockey stick tied to it. Great. She opened the back door, ready to empty out a sea of stinky pads. Instead, there was an assortment of crap she didn’t understand. Books in foreign languages, old enough to be bound in what seemed like real leather. Some odd trinkets - carved stones that looked like they belonged in a museum, gems, a stuffed partridge and a jewellery box. She dumped them all out into the back seat and threw the hockey bag to the floor.

 

She went back into the car, staring at Mavis, trying not to think of her as a her, but as an it. It was a vampire, wasn’t it? It was eating that man. That poor man. She frowned. She grabbed Mavis, trying to be gentle out of force of habit as she stuffed her into the bag, doubled over at the waist, trying to keep the stakes in place at all costs. There was no way in the world that it was comfortable, but she didn’t care. It didn’t need to be comfortable.

 

With a mighty heave, she lifted the bag onto the back of her motorbike. She kept the hockey stick - much like its original owner, it provided camouflage for the bag. It was heavy and awkard, but that was the least of her worries now. She looked back over the accident scene, and sighed. The man was lying neatly on the floor beside the car. That wouldn’t do. She grabbed him again, gently placing him back into the driver’s seat.

 

She stepped back. There was no way it would pass scrutiny. The blood on the passenger side made it clear that there had been two passengers. But it was the best she could do, under the circumstances.

 

She got onto her bike, and, after a slow start to ensure she could balance the hockey bag, she sped home as fast as the speed limit would carry her.