Infinite Vampire (Book 3): Maelstrom

by M. Lorrox

  Lance holds a finger up to his lips, silently mouthing SHHH. He motions for the group behind him to stand to either side of the door, then he cups his hands to his mouth and presses them against the door’s frame. “Anybody there? Hello? Is it safe to come out?”

  He removes his hands and waits. There’s rustling on the other side that even Skip can hear, then there’s a voice. “Who’s in there?”

  Lance leans over to continue the conversation, but Skip beats him to it. “We have children with us. We were on a field trip, and we got trapped.”

  “How in the world did you get in the basement?”

  “A tunnel from the Natural History museum. Listen, can we come out? Is it safe?”

  “The utility tunnel? Oh, my lord… Yes, yes come on out, but don’t try anything.”

  Skip cocks his head toward Lance and whispers, “Don’t try anything?”

  He shrugs. “You cannot trust anyone these days.”

  Skip opens the door a crack and peeks out. He sees a man whose wide eyes and hung-open mouth show his fear, who points an antique blunderbuss at the door. The arm-length weapon’s flared barrel shakes in the man’s hands.

  “Easy now.” Skip opens the door. “My name is Skip. I’m one of the chaperones from our field trip. We’ve got two dozen kids with us and another dozen adults. Can you lower that thing?”

  The man quivers as he aims the gun off to the side. “My name’s Harold. Sorry, I just, uh, heard the noise you all were making, and I thought… I thought it was zombies.”

  Korina brushes past people on her way toward the front, then leans on the open door’s frame. “What’s the status here? Is the building secure?”

  Harold grimaces. “The public area of the main floor was overrun quickly, but we’ve held them back from coming down here, and from getting up to the higher floors… Only about half the main floor is open to the public, and none of the other floors are. Thank goodness we added those security doors at the other entrances a few years back! I thought they were a waste of money, but—”

  Skip motions to the ceiling. “Can we get to the upper floors safely from here?”

  “Sure, we can take the elevator. That’s where everyone else is.”

  As the group processes the information, Jambavan arrives at the question first. “Sir, why are you down here? Alone?”

  He smiles. “My office is down here. It’s like my home. Besides—” He lifts the blunderbuss. “—I had this in my closet. Want to head upstairs?”

  In the group, Minnie starts jumping up and down.

  Skip looks at Korina. “Take higher ground?”

  She shrugs. “That’s typically the smart thing to do.” She turns to Harold. “Please, lead the way.”

  Major General Hecate finishes studying a map of the Pentagon Metro station and a list of her knights’ names. She meets her eight vampire knights with their Green Berets in queue, waiting for her fifty yards from the station’s embattled exit. She flips on her kung fu voice again. “ALRIGHT! Here’s the plan. We go in, plant charges along the passageway from the Pentagon to this metro station, and blow them. Then, we hunt the zombies in the tunnels to the next metro stations. Everyone ready?”

  A soldier steps out of line and raises his hand. Hecate points at him.

  “Where are these charges...ma’am?”

  She looks past him and motions to a squad carrying cases in their direction. “Right there, care of good old General…C.”

  Each squad is given a case. When the commotion settles, she asks, “Anything else?”

  No one moves. “Good... Oh, and one more thing. When engaging the enemy, stay at least fifteen feet away from me at all times. And probably give some room to your squad leaders too.”

  A brave soldier steps out and raises his hand. She points at him.

  “Why?”

  Coach smiles at Hecate. “You might as well show them now—so they’re not distracted later.”

  She nods. “Good idea.” She reaches into the large pouch hanging from her belt and pulls out a pair of handles. Each has a bundled, curled-up loop of metal attached to them. “These are called urumi, and they make a mess of things.” She pulls a string to untie the bundles. In a flurry of steel, a dozen thin blades unroll and extend to the ground—a dozen blades from each handle.

  She glances around to make sure there isn’t anyone within her reach, and then in a flash she whips the blades around her in a movement as sudden as a thunderclap. As she tears the thin strips through the air, each individual blade sings the song of vibrating metal. She moves them so fast that they become a blur, forming a sort of bubble—of sharpened steel—around her.

  She spins and whips them in an arc, and she cracks them like a bullwhip, breaking the sound barrier and sending a loud -snap!- into the chests of the soldiers. Then, she twirls the blades around her leather-covered arms and collects them back into a bundle. She smiles. “Cool, huh?”

  Many of the Special Forces soldiers nod.

  She puts the blades back into the pouch. “Alright! Demo specialists, you know, blow it up. Gunners, cover them! Squad leaders on me!” She turns and jogs toward the entrance to the underground, Pentagon Metro station.

  Troops at the top of the station’s escalators fire into the seemingly endless supply of zombies that come charging up. When Captain Davidson notices Hecate and her platoon running his way, he holds up a bullhorn. “Prepare to hold your fire! Soldiers going in. All squad leaders ready grenades... Five... Four... Three... Two... One... Away!”

  Hecate’s eyes grow as she watches ten grenades soar down the two-hundred-foot-long escalators toward the zombies.

  “Cease fire! Cease fire!”

  She waits and watches.

  -BOOOOOOM!-

  All ten grenades explode within split seconds of one another. Debris and smoke are thrown everywhere below—along with bloodied body parts of the zombies. Hecate nods. “Alright team, that’s our cue! Let’s go!”

  She starts running down the steps. “Gunners on the sides! Squad leaders on me till the bottom, then peel off to the left and right!”

  They’re into the settling smoke of the grenades before they see a single, still moving zombie. They descend through the station to the lower train platforms, pushing toward the passageway that leads from the Pentagon. They encounter dozens and dozens of zombies, and the Green Berets take aim and fire. The soldiers now step more cautiously over freshly dropped zombies that may still have one leg-bite left in them.

  Hecate’s weapons are stored away, and she shouts orders, “Coach take your squad to the left and fire center! Ricochet, go right! Gabriel! Behind you and left! Naga, flank on the right!”

  Above them, zombies that were elsewhere in the station and avoided Hecate’s platoon, start heading toward the light that spills down the escalators. Captain Davidson holds up the bullhorn. “Open fire!”

  After ten minutes, the security doors that were opened to allow the zombies to pour into the metro are collapsed in and blocked by yards and yards of rubble. Now, the zombies inside the Pentagon have only one option for escape—the hole breached in the south wall. There, the opening is nearly blocked by corpses, so any zombies must crawl out to escape, and they are easily dispatched by the soldiers still positioned there.

  Hecate and her team wipe the station and various platforms clean of zombies, and when they backtrack to the bottom of the escalators, she tosses a green flare up and into the area visible from above.

  The soldiers on the ground cheer. Captain Davidson redundantly orders a cease fire, and a squad is sent down to resupply the vampires and Special Forces under Hecate’s command.

  While her soldiers are resupplied, Hecate breaks her team into three smaller platoons; one for each metro tunnel that leaves the Pentagon Metro station. Each of her eight knights leads a squad of four Green Berets. She sends a platoon of three knights—Gabriel, Balena, and Fenix—and their squads along the Yellow and Blue Lines headed south. She sends another platoon of three s
quads—led by Naga, Ricochet, and Qilin—along the Yellow Line headed northeast, into DC. She sends them away, and then she pulls her urumi blades from their pouch.

  She takes a platoon of just two squads along the Blue Line traveling north, toward Rosslyn and the Arlington metro stations. As she leads the way into the tunnel, Coach and Ghost—the two knights that have been the most helpful to her—and their Green Beret squads follow.

  Ever since being released from custody, Wren Riggs from National Daily News has been acting as the battlefield-promoted press secretary at the Pentagon Field Command Center. Every twenty minutes, she’s offered updates and fielded questions from the reporters camped out in the Pentagon’s parking lot. So far, she’s been applauded for her efforts from her colleagues, even though many are a bit jealous of her suddenly improved resume.

  She walks up to a PA microphone that she’s been using to share news. “Alright everyone, are you all rolling?”

  Several arms extend into the air with thumbs pointed up. Will Rogers—the polo-shirt-wearing, dimpled-chin reporter from WNER News—shouts over the crowd. “Tell me you can talk about the green-haired chick with the big boots... She’s a hacker, right?”

  Wren clears her throat. “Hello everyone. First, as a reminder to all viewers, downtown DC has been quarantined by the military. If you are inside the District of Colombia, in the quarantined zone or not, you are to shelter in place. Do not attempt any travel. I repeat, do not attempt any travel.

  “I have additional updates for you as well. Soldiers have sealed the Pentagon Metro, and they are now mobilizing to begin clearing the metro systems. Containment is still the name of the game here. All metro lines are still stopped, and trains will not run until this situation is resolved.

  “The breached wall at the Pentagon continues to be a hot zone, with zombies still coming out. General Campbell has said that eventually the military will send teams inside to begin floor by floor and room by room sweeps of the building, but right now there are other priorities.

  “The EM pulses across the region continue to disrupt communication. Military specialists are working on the problem as we speak, and they are hopeful for a quick resolution. I’ve been reassured that everything that can be done is being done to prevent a widespread outbreak and to protect the American people.”

  She takes a breath. “Thank you for your continued patience and vigilance. I’ll be back with additional information in twenty minutes.”

  She turns off the mic as quickly as she can, but Will shouts and gets her attention. “Wren! Are you kidding me? You’ve given us nothing new! Who’s the hacker?”

  She frowns and turns the microphone back on. “A number of elite soldiers have joined with special operations forces, but I don’t have any information about their identities or specialties. Your guess is as good as mine.” She smiles plainly at Will. But she’s not a hacker, you nitwit. “I’ll see you in twenty.” She turns off the mic and walks away, ignoring the chatter and the growing criticism being tossed in her direction.

  On her way to the command tent, General Campbell sees her coming and walks out to meet her.

  “General Campbell, I was wonder—”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Riggs, but until further notice, you’re not going to be allowed into the command center.” He raises his hands. “I’m sorry, and I’ll let you know when we can let you back in.” He motions to a Military Police officer standing nearby, and then he walks back into the command tent.

  The MP takes up position outside the door flap.

  She glances at the MP, who ignores her. She shakes her head. “What the fuck? This job keeps getting worse.”

  High Councilor Robert Flaxman arrives at INOVA Fairfax Hospital and struggles to find parking. When he gets inside, he’s sweating in his blazer, and the button-down shirt that surrounds his belly is partially untucked. He busts past some others waiting at the check-in desk and asks to see Hamid Zaman.

  The receptionist chews on the inside of her cheek and types the name in. “Can you spell that?”

  He grumbles and spells, and she types it in. “Nope, nobody here under that name.”

  “Oh. Really? Is Philip Simonsen here?”

  She sighs and types in the new name. BIOHAZARD—QUARANTINE. They’re seeing a lot of patients today… This is probably only the beginning. I should have called in sick. “I’ll call someone to escort you. Take a seat.”

  Robert is brought to Philip’s and Raúl’s room, and he walks in without knocking. “Philip! Thank god you are safe.”

  Philip nods. “It got really hairy in there. I’m regretting not taking your offer and joining you for your meeting at the CIA.”

  Robert shakes his head and sighs. “I know, but I have been kicking myself that I couldn’t stay for the tour—I could have helped.”

  “One cannot change the past.”

  Robert shakes his head. “No, one cannot.” He notices Raúl. “Oh, Señor Lucas, I’m glad to see you are safe as well.”

  Raúl dips his head. “Thank you. We were the lucky ones.”

  Robert’s eyes flash open. “That’s right.” He turns to Philip. “I asked for Prime Minister Zaman, but they said he wasn’t here. I was told he was badly injured. Is he under a different name? Or has something happened?”

  “Robert, my old friend, a lot has happened.”

  Philip and Raúl take turns telling him all the events of the day, starting after he left the Pentagon for his meeting at CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia. They describe in detail how they woke up in the 9/11 Memorial Room, how the marine that was their tour guide had chewed off Mary’s arm, how Hamid had destroyed the poor soul, how James gave Mary as much blood as he could, and how they as a group fought their way through the halls of the Pentagon to the courtyard.

  Raúl sighs. “That’s when Zaman finally collapsed. Then Captain Sarkis and Flying Eagle of the Guard, and their squires, along with Elder Costanza and her son, scaled the walls and rescued us.”

  Robert jolts his head forward. “Sadie? And her son?”

  Raúl nods. “Indeed. Everyone is deserving of recognition for their bravery.”

  Robert grumbles.

  Philip sighs and continues the story. “Ms. Wollstone was taken by helicopter—we thought—to this hospital, and Zaman by ambulance. Both are missing. The rest of us received some treatment onsite and came here together on a commuter bus.”

  Robert shakes his head. “What do you mean, they’re missing? Are they dead?”

  Raúl shakes his head. “We don’t know what’s going on with them, but...”

  “But what?”

  Here we go, old friend, don’t kill the messenger... Philip clears his throat. “Elder Costanza has petitioned to be an interim high councilor in Wollstone’s absence, so the High Council can fully function under emergency powers without Zaman’s approval.”

  Robert stares at his friend while he processes this information. His eyes begin to burn because he doesn’t blink. He closes his eyes, exhales, extends his lower jaw outward in a stretch, and then takes a deep breath. He leans his forehead toward Philip. “Tell me that she didn’t get enough votes.”

  Raúl watches the pale and slight Philip shrink into the white sheets of his hospital bed, and he grins. “I believe you may be the last to vote—you might want to find Sadie.”

  Robert turns to him in a flash. “Where is she?”

  Raúl shrugs. “I don’t know, but you could try to find her in her son’s recovery room. He and the other squire that rescued us were admitted as patients as well.”

  Robert huffs and walks out.

  Philip blows all the air out of his lungs. “Thank you, Señor.”

  Raúl folds his hands across his stomach. “Just call me Raúl.”

  The science of medicine is complicated, and drugs don’t always affect people in the same way. The likelihood of a paradoxical reaction to benzodiazepines increases with dose, and Prime Minister Hamid ibn al Zaman was given a shitload in effort to ke
ep him sedated. When a paradoxical reaction to these drugs happen, the patient experiences the exact opposite of what the drug is used for.

  A person experiencing a paradoxical reaction isn’t as common as the use of the drug, but the result when a person does have this kind of reaction is an extreme increase in anxiety, aggressiveness, agitation, and the loss of impulse control.

  It just so happens that Hamid is susceptible to this type of paradoxical reaction.

  In addition, Hamid is a wicked old vampire—perhaps the oldest in the world—and as such, he’s inordinately strong. As a result of these two facts, the medicine doesn’t work as anticipated, and Hamid opens his eyes. When he realizes that he’s restrained, he’s really fucking pissed.

  He hears people talking and decides to play possum. His eyes dart around as he gets his bearings. Lying down. Driver’s side of an ambulance. My head is pointed toward the front. No one else in the back with me.

  He closes his eyes and listens as the driver speaks. “Listen man, I gotta take a leak…nerves and coffee I think.”

  The person in the passenger seat responds. “We don’t have time for a rest stop. We’re behind schedule as it is.”

  “Well I gotta piss, and I didn’t make this schedule. Think it’ll be a big deal if we’re a couple minutes late?”

  “No. It’ll be a HUGE problem. Are you fucking kidding me? You think a delivery like this has a loose timetable?”

  “Listen goddamn it, I’m going to piss myself. I’ll just go on the side of the road.”

  “Ugh! You’re killing me... Fine, we’ll just have to throw on the sirens and make up time.”

  “Alright.”

  I wonder whom I’m to be delivered to?

  The ambulance stops, and the driver hops out. Hamid keeps his eyes closed and his breathing slow.

  After a minute, the driver comes back. “So much better, Jesus.”

  “Just go already, and haul ass.”

  “Whatever you say, boss.” He flips on the sirens and stomps on the gas.