The Strain

Nazareth, Pennsylvania

In a long-abandoned and never-mapped asbestos mine, a nether-world a few hundred feet below the surface of the Pennsylvania woods, three Ancients of the New World conferred in a pitch-black chamber.

Their bodies, over time, had become worn smooth as river stones, their movements slowing nearly to imperceptibility. They had no use for exterior physicality. Their body systems had evolved to maximum efficiency, and their vampire mandibles functioned without flaw. Their night vision was extraordinary.

In the cages built into the deep western tunnels of their dominion, the Ancients had already begun storing food for the long winter. The occasional scream of a human captive ripped through the mine, reverberating like an animal call.

It is the seventh one.

Despite their human appearance, they had no use for animal speech. Their movements, down to the glances of their sated red eyes, were dreadfully slow.

What is this incursion?

It is a violation.

He thinks us old and weak.

Someone else is a party to this transgression. Someone had to assist him in his ocean crossing.

One of the others?

One of the New World Ancients reached out with his mind, across the sea to the Old World.

I do not feel that.

Then the seventh one has aligned with a human.

With a human, against all other humans.

And against us.

Is it not evident now that he alone was responsible for the Bulgarian massacre?

Yes. He has proven his willingness to kill his own kind if crossed.

He was indeed spoiled by the world war.

He supped too long in the trenches. Feasted in the camps.

And now he has broken the truce. He has set foot on our soil. He wants the entire world for himself.

What he wants is another war.

The tallest one’s talon twitched—an extraordinary physical action for a being so steeped in deliberation, in elemental stillness. Their bodies were simple shells and could be replaced. Perhaps they had become complacent. Too comfortable.

Then we will oblige him. We must remain invisible no more.

The headhunter entered the chamber of the Ancients and waited to be acknowledged.

You have found him.

Yes. He tried to return home, as do all creatures.

He will suffice?

He will be our sun hunter. He has no other choice.

In a locked cage in the western tunnel, on a floor of cold dirt, Gus Elizalde lay unconscious, dreaming of his mother—unaware of the peril awaiting him.