The trip through the green stuff was like a trip through a door. One moment he was falling toward the glow on the wall. The next he was tumbling out into a grassy meadow. He wasn't stretched, squeezed, dissolved, deconstructed, or discombobulated. It was like falling out of bed... sort of. Kurt had never fallen out of bed intertwined with a guy with a knife in his back.

Kurt was on his back and the guy in the robe scrambled around so that he was on top of Kurt, his knees on Kurt's arms. "Howdy do, pard," he said, a Brooklyn accent underlying the cowboy lingo. He was smiling, showing his... fangs? He reached around to his back and pulled out the knife Kurt had accidentally lodged there, wiping it on his robe. "This belong to you?"

Kurt began to struggle, but the knife was quickly at his throat. As he settled down, "Robe Guy" slowly moved off of him, keeping the knife at his throat. Robe Guy kneeled beside him, and looked at where the portal had been, the glow quickly fading.

When the circle on the rock wall had cooled to be the same reddish color as the rock surrounding it, Robe Guy let go of the knife, which fell to the grass beside Kurt's head. Kurt rolled, rising to his knees a few feet away. He may have felt a little drunk before, but his mind was clear now. Robe Guy was still staring at the rock wall, no trace of the circle left on its face, and his jaw was slack. "That son of a bitch," he said slowly, his face displaying total disbelief. "That son... of... a... BITCH!"

Robe Guy got to his feet and stared at the wall. Kurt looked at the knife on the ground. He wasn't sure where he was, but he had a feeling it would come in handy. On the other hand, he had to weigh the risks of trying to get it against the risks of trying to get away without it. He chose the second option. He rose to his feet, turned and ran. Robe Guy continued cursing at the rock wall behind him. Kurt didn't look back.

Kurt had no idea where he was going, but it didn't matter. The only direction he cared about was away. He didn't know if Robe Guy had noticed he was gone yet or if Robe Guy even cared. All he knew was that there was a tree-line up ahead and it would provide cover where he could slow down and evaluate the situation.

Reaching the trees, Kurt ran into the woods, getting a couple of hundred yards in before he slowed from a mad dash to a jog. He zigged and zagged within the trees, trying not to keep to a straight path so he'd be harder to find. After another couple of minutes of jogging, he slowed to a walk, his chest heaving, his stomach threatening to expel its contents back up his throat. He stopped, half-crouching, his hands on his knees, and tried to catch his breath without vomiting.

Damn cigarettes. He'd always thought he was in fairly decent shape, but he hadn't put it to much of a test in the past few years. If he was anything, he was punctual, and that meant he'd never had to run to keep from being late. He'd used the gym membership his parents bought him last Hanukkah exactly twice. Each time he went in, lifted way more than he should have, got so sore he could barely lift his arms high enough to feed himself, and didn't go back for months.

Kurt stood and leaned against a tree, reclaiming some control over his breathing, the fire in his legs dulling. He tried to take stock of his surroundings. The trees were a kind he couldn't identify, and that was no surprise since he didn't know much about trees, but he couldn't ever remember seeing this kind before. The leaves on them were six-pointed and had a reddish color to them. Or was that the light? Everything seemed to have a reddish tint to it, even his skin. It was minor, but it was noticeable. The leaf cover of the trees wasn't too heavy and he looked up at the sky. Perhaps it was sunset, he thought.

There was no sky. Above him there was only rock. It was a few hundred feet above the trees, but it was clearly visible. There were no clouds, no visible light source like a sun, just rock. He was in some sort of cavern, a very huge cavern. But there were trees growing, there had been grass in the meadow by the rock wall which was apparently the edge of the cavern. If he went back to it and traced it around, he might just find a way out. But Robe Guy was back there.

And now that he wasn't so panicked and was breathing through his nose again, he started getting the scent of the trees. They smelled like Vicks VapoRub. His chest began to itch as he remembered those colds as a kid when his mother would apply what seemed like an entire jar of VapoRub to his chest and he wouldn't be able to smell anything but VapoRub for a week.

Kurt kicked at the dirt and slapped his palm against the trunk of a tree. He was fucked. Better to be cursed for something he did wrong than something he didn't do at all? Wasn't that what he'd thought on the subway? God was giving him a second chance?

He shrugged off his backpack and sat down on the ground. It was a hard packed dirt, also fairly red, and remarkably free of leaves. He wasn't such a city boy that he'd never been out in the woods, and these weren't woods. They were way too clean and way too orderly.

He opened his pack and rummaged around inside, trying to get an idea of what supplies he had in case he was going to be here a while. He pulled out a pack of generic-brand menthol cigarettes, looked at it, turning it around, and then threw it, sending it on a long lazy arc to hit the trunk of a tree twenty feet away. He also had a pack of Kools that he rationed out. He was a year out of school with a degree in the humanities, working at a just-above-mailroom-level job with an ad agency, trying to cover a third of the rent on a shoebox living room and kitchenette with three closets they stuffed matresses into. Of course, as it got more and more expensive with each passing sin tax or lawsuit against the tobacco industry, even generics were at a premium.

"I really oughta quit," he said quietly as he drew out a cigarette, leaving 12 in the box. He placed it in his mouth before dropping the box back into his pack.

Leaning back, he dug in his pocket and pulled out his Zippo, lighting the cigarette with it and then putting it away. As he slowly smoked the cigarette, he inventoried his backpack. His iPhone had about about 2/3 of a charge and no signal. He had one toothbrush and one trial-size tube of toothpaste, because you never knew when you'd need a clean mouth. There was a hairbrush, a bandanna kerchief, and a hard salami sandwich on French bread in a Ziploc bag that he'd made himself for lunch, but didn't eat because he ended up having a way-too-expensive burger with some co-workers. There was an unopened 1.5 liter bottle of mineral water, a little piece of plastic with lighter flints, a spiral notebook, some folded printouts from work, and a pen.

In the front pocket he had some more pens, a reserve twenty-dollar-bill just in case he got foolish and spent everything in his wallet, and a couple of single use packs of ibuprofen he'd filched from the medicine cabinet in the break room. Kurt opened one of the packs and then cracked open the bottle of water. He drank just enough to wash down the painkillers and then one more mouthful for good measure. He was thirsty after the run, but since he didn't know where he was or how long it would be until he got more water, it was best to conserve his resources. He gave in and took a third mouthful before screwing the top back on the bottle and putting it back in the pack.

Kurt stood, buttoned his shirt, and slung his backpack over his shoulder. Then he dropped the cigarette on the ground and stamped it out. He looked down at it to make sure it was out. With no leaves or other detritus on the ground, the cigarette butt sat on the ground alone, a light coat of red dirt on it, so blatantly obvious that someone had been there and left their trash behind... he had an unused side pocket on his backpack. He opened it up and dropped the dead cigarette butt inside.

He looked up at the roof of the cavern. The cavern roof sloped downward to his right, back toward Robe Guy, and upward to his left. He turned to his left and started walking forward, sure he'd hit something sooner or later.

---

Alain and George made it back to Alain's house in Queens safely. Neither of them had been followed.

George owned the house, but Alain lived in it. Alain was technically dead, so he couldn't legally own property, and thus it had been put in Marie's name while she was alive. Before she died, it was placed in a trust for George. George rented it back to Alain at market rates to keep the IRS from getting suspicious.

Though Alain was a vampire, George was not. George was adopted by Alain and Marie at the age of 15 when George's parents (their closest friends) died in an automobile accident 14 years ago. They'd made sure George finished high school with good grades and managed his parents estate so he could graduate college with no debt and a nest egg to boot.

George had idolized Alain, so when the U.S. invaded Afghanistan after 9/11, George saw it as his opportunity to fight evil just as Alain had in World War II and signed up for a 4-year hitch. With a college degree, a hero's heart, and a natural affability, he quickly got promoted to corporal, then he got a battlefield promotion to sergeant that stuck. But a man can only take so much war, and when his term was up, he didn't re-up. So he got stop-lossed for a year. George mustered out after 5 years in the service, glad to be done with it.

George was proficient with a knife, a variety of guns, minor demolitions, and held his own in hand-to-hand. He may not have been vampire strong, but Alain could rely on George to cover his back when needed.

They both sat at a table in the basement. George poured a shot glass of pepper vodka and downed it in a gulp. "Whoa," he said.

Alain sat back in his chair, staring at an empty corner of the floor. "You got that right," Alain replied.

"What did we do in there," George asked, knowing the answer full well. They had gone to record the opening of a portal into Hell. Had they not interfered, the kid on the table would have had his heart cut out of his chest and thrown through while still beating. A symbolic gesture at best, since it was just meat and blood being offered up to Satan, not an actual soul. No other person can give your soul to the Devil.

That was a fact Alain had wished he knew in 1943, back when he awoke as a vampire: that he could say no. Alain cut himself off. His therapist said he had a lot of unresolved issues about how the Army had treated him. Dr. Schreiber did a booming business in vampires with betrayal issues dating back to their turning. Aside from a few vampire groupies who got turned because they wanted it, most were turned against their will. Dr. Schreiber told Alain he was not allowed to dwell on it. Alain couldn't change the past, but he could improve the future.

When the kid had fallen through the glowing circle, taking Vinnie with him, they knew exactly what had happened. The kid and Vinnie were now physically in Hell, corporeal bodies in the afterlife. On the one hand it was good. The reason Alain and George had been taping the ceremony was because Alain had planned to open just such a portal and go through himself. He had a little business to settle on the other side. On the other hand, they'd sent an innocent kid through. "I've got to go after him," Alain said.

"But what about your plans?"

"I can do both."

George poured himself another shot of vodka and gulped it quickly before slamming the shot glass down on the table. "I'm coming with you."

"No you're not," Alain said calmly.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know if I can get you out. This was supposed to be one-person, one-way."

"Now it's two. If you can find this kid, you're going to need someone to ride herd on him while you do what you've got to do. Plus," George said with a wily tone, "I've got the videos. If you want them, going with you is my price."

George pulled out his wallet, pulled a card from it, and flipped it to Alain. "Anyway, I've got one of these."

Alain looked at the card, a parody of the "Get Out of Jail Free" card from Monopoly, offering the recipient an opportunity to "Get out of Hell Free."

"If you're going to come with me, you need to take this a lot more seriously than that," he said, dropping the card on the floor. "This isn't a camping trip with the boy scouts. This isn't Afghanistan."

"Of course not," George said, picking up the card from the floor and placing it in his wallet. "Afghanistan's hotter."

Alain scowled.

---

In Alain's basement, six people had gathered. There were Alain and George, three of the other four party-crashers from earlier in the evening, all of them vampires, and one additional vampire who had been singing at a small club in Soho during the festivities.

Alain and George both wore large hiking backpacks, each well provisioned with sleeping bags, food, water, some clean clothing, ammunition, two guns, rope, climbing equipment, a hand grenade, a brick of C4 plastic explosive, and 3 detonators.

The farewells had been said before the chanting began. The incense was now lit. Using a brush and chicken blood obtained about fifteen minutes earlier from a sympathetic kosher butcher who kept odd hours, Alain re-constructed the circle and symbols Vinnie had painted on the wall. "Bright Angel," he shouted, raising his arms, "accept our offering and open a way so that we may deliver it unto you."

As the circle began to fill with light, two of the vampires grabbed George's arms. "Sorry George," one of them whispered to him, "we can't let you go."

The two vampires were Avery and his wife, Marina. If Alain and Marie hadn't taken George in, Avery and Marina would have. He knew they were holding him because they loved him. He also knew Alain had arranged it.

The circle was nearly complete. George bit down on a pill he'd been hiding between his cheek and gum, a gram of pure garlic extract. He mixed it with his saliva, looked at Marina with an understanding look in his eyes, making his raspberry (a.k.a. a bronx-cheer) take her by surprise as his garlic-tainted saliva sprayed out.

George quickly turned his head, spraying Avery. Garlic wasn't particularly annoying to vampires, but at that concentration, it stung like bejeezus if it got in your eyes. Avery and Marina released George's arms, their hands rising to their eyes. George took off.

Considering the amount of weight coming at him with a running start, even as short as it was, Alain knew he wouldn't be able to deflect it enough to stop George from going through the portal. Either he could step aside and let George go through alone, or he could stand in front of the portal, let George tackle him, and tumble through the portal together. He took the latter choice a half-second before George made contact. The two of them went flying backward through the glowing hole of light, and instants after their feet passed through, the portal was gone, leaving Avery and Marina wiping their faces as the other two attendees began cleaning the wall.