I changed in the room, I had one last dry T-shirt left, and headed out, although I didn’t want to in the slightest. The city – more like a narrow strip of houses stretching along a wide road, cramped on both sides by a flood of greenery; mostly pastures and vegetable fields. The forests began a little further and higher.

I needed to eat, but I needed to make a call even more. Unless it was too late. I stepped into the mobile store and 10 minutes later I was already dialing the number I knew by heart. Maybe I was in a hurry and I probably should have been more interested in which phone I was buying, but it was too late. The salesman will certainly remember such a strange customer.

"Bitte," came a familiar voice.

"I need to change the delivery location if it's not too late," I said without introduction.

"The first package is ready," the voice replied.

"That's great," I dictated the address.

"Unless I change it, this one applies. That is all."

Drexler hung up without another word. Why not, the shorter the call, the better.

This was followed by lunch at the restaurant, then the purchase of provisions and, half dead, I returned to the guesthouse, to the room where I slumped onto the bed.

Small windows, double shutters, a country seat from the middle of the nineteenth century, a little modified to make a tired tourist feel at least a little normal. A tv, a wardrobe, and a miniature refrigerator, which I had nothing to put into.

I opened my eyes, it was already dark outside the windows. I must have fallen asleep, my stomach confirmed it, I was hungry again. I didn't want to go out, I still felt pretty miserable. Fortunately, I had my supplies. While eating the second bun and the fifteenth slice of ham I turned on the TV.

It didn't give me much work to find criminal news, they usually get the most attention, so the stations often repeat them. The police announced two found bodies, one of which was, according to the reporters, mutilated beyond recognition, and the police allegedly had no idea how the killer had done it. Some theories suggested a pneumatic hammer or a vibratory rammer. Judging by them asking the public for help, I assumed they didn't know much.

At least one thing worked out.

The fact that no more bodies were found meant that the remaining human invaders and the vampire survived. I caused him serious injuries, and yet he managed to live. Or did his companions help him? Both were possible.

I finished the rest of the supplies and fell asleep. The next day I spent resting, buying clothes, shoes, simply everything I needed. At the end of the day, I perfectly fit in with the tourists visiting this region of gradual hills and vast forests. In the evening, I felt completely exhausted again, even a mentally disabled vampire would be able to handle me. I needed weapons, without them I would be in a disadvantage.

* * *

I was woken up in the morning by the beep of a text message.

Dear customer, your goods will be delivered to you today between approximately eight and twelve o'clock.

Well, what I was waiting for was on the way.

Before noon, the courier delivered two small but heavy packages.

"I almost dropped them," he told me as I signed the receipt.

"Packed cameras and lenses. Very well packed, yes, "I explained. "I forgot them at home and they had to send them to me."

I left him 20 crowns for a beer. Maybe I should move, the way I appeared here and now with this package I attracted unwanted attention. But if I moved to the other end of the city, it would probably make it even worse.

I took the packages to my room and pretended to overlook the curious gaze of the owner of the guesthouse and the other guest present, who stopped for a beer.

I unpacked the smaller package. It contained an ordinary Smith and Wesson revolver in 0.500 caliber and a hundred rounds. I assumed Brexler had bought it and shortened its barrel. Two and a half inches were no longer produced, and I wanted it for close combat as a weapon of last resort. But this one was blackened unlike the ones from the catalog. In the box, in addition to the bullets, I found a case and a note card with a short message.

I assembled it from five pieces so that it would run as smoothly as possible. You can pick up the other four when it suits you.

I doubted I would need four more such revolvers, but it was good to know that the youngest Brexler was as thorough as his grandfather.

Even with the shortened barrel it was still quite large, but I had already taken this into account when buying a jacket, and with a carbon fiber case designed to be worn on a belt, I looked completely unarmed. Having a few inches less would be a problem anyway. Now onto the second package.

I had no idea how Drexler had solved my requirement for maximum possible wound and reasonable penetration. I told him I needed to be able to kill an elephant with one bullet. Another revolver, slightly larger than five hundred S&W, lay in the green suede moldings. The caliber was bigger, the bullets reminded me of a 600 nitro express rifle, but they seemed a little shorter. I tentatively weighed the weapon. It was much heavier than its dimensions suggested, and the six-inch barrel ended with a precision-guided recoil compensator. I opened the cylinder and inspected all five chambers one by one. This piece was no longer commonly advertised goods. I picked up a small paper card with a text in neat handwriting.

Five-shot DA revolver of my design, ammunition derived from 600 nitro express, filled with powerful military gunpowder, so I could reduce the length while maintaining performance. The frame and cylinder are made of a special chrome - molybdenum - tungsten alloy. Thanks to it, the revolver is massive enough to be held in a hand when firing. I'm afraid that despite all my efforts, an ordinary shooter would get hurt. There are two types of rounds available, the first fifty with a soft tip, the second fifty with a penetrating core of depleted uranium and a shell made of copper alloy.

Good luck

I raised the revolver. It must have weighed almost four kilograms, now in a weakened state I had troubles to even hold it properly to aim. I have to recover fast. I stuffed five thick gold rounds into the DA revolver, then another five smaller silver rounds into the five hundred caliber. It will not be possible to wear the DA secretly, that much was clear, but when it came down to it, it will not hinder me, I found out after attaching a tactical holster to my side. Again, custom made from modern materials.

I had guns, their test was next. Drexler also thought about how I would explain what was in the boxes, so he packed a camera with a very large lens. It must have been expensive, but compared to the price of the weapon, the amount was negligible.

"I'm going to stretch," I waved at the owner in the bar and pointed to the camera in my bag. He just nodded. Hopefully that will calm him down.

I also took the walk as part of convalescence. I set a fast pace and kept it until the steeper slope took my breath and strength, then I continued a little more thoughtfully. The six, as I began to call the large revolver, coupled with other equipment in my backpack made it difficult. Nevertheless, I climbed without a stop, the last part of the journey no longer on the footpath, but through an old, long-overgrown ravine. It hasn't been used in a century.

The farther I was from civilization, the more my senses became active unconsciously. It was mainly about smell and natural reading of the landscape. I have now perceived the tracks much more intensely and accurately than in many decades. After another kilometer, about fifty meters below the ridge, I got the feeling that I was alone.

I found a target, an old beech tree stump, walked ten paces away, and pulled out the five hundred. The distance for a two-and-a-half-inch barrel was good enough.

The first shot showed me that it really did have enough power, I tried the other two in quick succession, trying to keep my hand steady. It was not easy. After three shots, my ears tingled and the forest fell silent. I regretted not taking my earplugs.

I inspected the trunk. The bullets dug deep holes more than two centimeters in diameter into the hardwood, and I needed a long blade of grass to reach their bottom.

It was the six's turn.

This time I took thirty steps. I wrapped my arms around the stock, tightened my grip, and raised my arm as I was used to. I had nothing but respect for this instrument of death. The trigger needed but a little touch, and if I wasn't ready, the crazy beast would break my forehead. The second shot was better, for the third shot I used the piercing charge with a uranium core.

Then I went to take a closer look again. The first two projectiles almost pierced a three-quarter-meter-thick tree trunk. The third, of course, went through, broke through a large boulder behind the trunk, and disappeared somewhere on the slope behind it. I had no intentions to go look for it.

My palm and shoulder ached after the six shots, but I hoped I would get used to it. Or rather, I hoped I wouldn't have to get used to it too much.

Given the commotion my six shots could have caused, I decided to not go back and to descend at the other side of the ridge instead, and then take a bus back to the guesthouse. The stops here were at every turn, the buses modern, comfortable, different from what I remembered.

The trip up and down made me busy, I even started sweating, but thanks to the new underwear I bought yesterday, I felt fine. And I was looking forward to a beer. They also had beer here at every turn, just like when I left. I am sure I deserved one today.