I focused my rune on the porthole and held down the gun’s trigger, firing round after round. As the glass shattered, the rounds entered the freezer, unobstructed. My gamble paid off. The freezer wasn’t deep and the steel walls and floors were too thick for the rounds to penetrate, so they bounced around inside.
A bullet that ricochets loses velocity—it’s not as deadly as a direct hit from a gun—but with this many rounds? It didn’t matter. I was rewarded with screams. The freezer door swung open, and a vampire with a shotgun stumbled out. I pulled the trigger and perforated him and his wounded companions, killing them all in a blizzard of bullets.
“Nice work,” Lotus said. “Ground floor looks clear. I’m not seeing any movement there.”
I hustled out of the kitchen and thought about climbing the nearby stairs to the second floor. Before I could, Lotus cautioned me.
“I’ve got movement on the stairwell. Hostiles are moving down from the top floor. There are no thermal signatures. They’re vamps.”
I took cover behind an arcade machine where I could see the entrance to the stairwell.
I looked around the machine. The music in the club had stopped, though I could still hear music in my earphones. The lights came on. The remaining civilians, a group of women who’d taken cover in the bathroom, headed for the exit. They avoided me, their panic and survival instincts guiding them toward presumed safety. Behind them, the door to the stairwell opened, and a group of hostiles charged through.
The first vamp ran toward me, aimlessly firing some cheap Glock knockoff. At least he hadn’t turned it sideways. Bullets whizzed past my head. I hit the floor and fired another burst from the machinegun, sending the vampires running for cover. I kept chanting my Norse, willing my rune to stay accurate.
“There are 10 hostiles,” Lotus said. “All vamps, all armed. I can’t tell what they’re using, but judging from the armory upstairs, at least one of them has an assault rifle. Three are out already, the rest are stacking up on the stairs.”
That would be a problem. Most of the cover was good, but if they laid down enough suppression fire, I’d be in hand-to-hand combat with a creature much faster and stronger than me. And this arcade machine wasn’t going to stop bullets forever.
I let the M240 hang loose and pulled a flashbang from inside my coat. I pulled the pin and chucked it.
As soon as I heard the loud “BANG,” I moved from behind the broken arcade machine to behind the bar, next to the cooling corpses of the two bartenders. Nobody shot at me, so I decided to take the initiative.
I laid the M240 on top of the bar, pointing at the staircase. When the vampires saw me, they fired their handguns. I left the M240 sitting on top and ducked behind the bar, listening to the rounds impact the metal. I heard the harsh bark of an AK, and I pulled out two more flashbangs, popped their pins, and tossed them toward the area I’d last seen muzzle flashes. After they exploded, I hopped back up and leaned into the M240, firing at the disoriented vampires. I wasn’t trying for short bursts; I kept the trigger pressed down as the connected rounds fed in from the bag on my back.
I cut down two vamps in the open in the first two seconds. The others began reconsidering their cover choices. Hesitation is death in a firefight. I stitched their midsections. Two, who were humans, died. I had to circle back and focus on the heads of two others. The last one, a beefy guy with an AK, panicked and dashed for the door. It took him about a second and a half to get there.
He was quick, but not quicker than Fabrique Nationale’s beauty of a beast. The NATO rounds tore him to shreds, and only his ashes made it out the door, where they scattered in the evening wind.
I readjusted. Some human security goons had stepped in, and they began peppering my cover with small arms fire. I hit the bipod release and levelled the machine gun on top of the bar. Their rounds passed me, almost in slow motion, and I grinned as I returned fire. The gun was meant to be fired from a prone position or a stable surface. I could control it with my rune, but it was easier to shoot when I didn’t have to worry about the recoil.
The vampires and their security weren’t ready for this. They thought they had one enemy, a gunman with a handgun. Had that been true, their strategy of “fuck it, just rush through,” might’ve worked. But they had no idea what I was armed with, and it cost them.
A half dozen enemies, a mix of human security and vampires, rushed through the stairwell’s fatal funnel, into my line of fire. I shot in small bursts, trying to time them with my chanting, and shredded the enemy. Three human corpses were stacked in the stairwell entrance, covered in the dust that had recently been their vampiric masters.
They had been fearless, but they weren’t ready for me.
“Nice shooting,” Lotus said. “Be advised, the police have been dispatched. They’re sending SWAT. They’re leaving the 5th Precinct now, and an additional three units are moving in from patrol. First contact will be in two minutes or less.”
I heard her but kept firing, shifting my aim to the right as a pair of vampires stumbled out of the kitchen. The music in my earphones switched to a new track, one I didn’t recognize. It was something bass-heavy, maybe dubstep or heavy trap. Whatever it was, the bassline fit the chugging of the machine gun. Most of the front of the arcade was a wreckage of antique circuit boards and advertising, occasionally dotted with the ashes of a vampire or the corpse of a bystander. They kept coming. I kept killing.
I noticed, perhaps a bit too late, that the gun’s barrel was glowing. The weapon began sounding distorted. As I was turning to fire at a burly-looking goth kid with a huge machete, I realized my weapon was no longer firing.
The barrel was warped, red hot and melted. I grimaced and chucked it to the ground, breaking off the link from the bag of holding. I reached in the bag and felt around. Machete vamp leapt over my cover and menaced me with his blade, whirling it in a way that suggested he didn’t learn his moves from Indiana Jones.
“You pussy,” he spat. “Using a gun! A coward’s weapon, a—”
I didn’t wait for him to finish. I pulled the VHS from the bag and put a round straight through his throat. The familiar blue-white light glared as he turned to ash. Why do the other guys always taunt? Despite what you see from action heroes, a firefight is a bad place to taunt. Usually. Okay, I guess I can’t talk.
Trust me. If you’ve got the enemy cornered, pull the fucking trigger. You never know what a trapped animal will do, and humans are a lot smarter and a lot deadlier than most animals.
I hefted the VHS and acquired new targets, my right hand thrumming with the beat of the bullets. The last few targets went down. One of them was a human. He screamed in pain but wasn’t quite dead. I walked past him and put a round through his forehead, blowing his brains onto the wall and shutting him up.
I scanned the room, keeping my rifle ready. Lost Boys’ Club had lost about half its inventory of arcade games in the gunfight, plus all its staff. Blood and ashes coated the floor, especially near the door to the stairwell. The few functioning TVs were still running Lotus’ supercut of vampire death.
“Ground floor clear,” Lotus said. “But you’ve got trouble. I’m calling off my drones. I’ll still have you on the club’s internal security system.”
I didn’t have a chance to wonder why before the MPD solved the riddle for me.
“This is the Minneapolis PD!” a voice boomed over a megaphone. “We’ve got you surrounded! Cease fire and come out with your hands up!”
Cops. Always the same shtick. Does that work on anyone? Ever? I hoped Lotus could get her drones clear in time. It’d be pretty embarrassing to go on a great rampage, then get picked up a week later because some detective followed a drone home.
That was a problem for later, though. I still had an entire upper floor to clear.
I chucked my leather jacket onto the stovetop in the kitchen. Combat gets hot. The autumn breeze blowing through the bullet-cracked windows cooled me off some, and it was easier to move. Pulsing blue
and red lights from the cruisers outside reminded me I had limited time to finish this mission, so I got moving.
I tried not to think about the forensic evidence I had left behind as I headed toward the interior staircase and stomped up. I heard rummaging around up top, so I stopped and put a mag of 5.56mm rounds into the ceiling. I heard screaming and saw a faint blue light, then I continued up, changing the magazine as I did.
I hate stairs. They’re a close combat nightmare, but if you’re up against enemies who aren’t well-trained, who are over eager, or who are too arrogant (the Vampire Trifecta!), you can draw them out. I waited for a few breaths, but nothing came out. I fired above me, but heard nothing—no screams, no reactions, no footfalls. I realized the music in my earphones was likely interfering with my hearing, so I decided to risk it. I stomped up the stairs, the music pounding in my ears, sweeping my VHS as I scanned for targets. When I hit the final stair, I came face-to-face with something more bestial than the armed hipsters I’d dispatched downstairs.
A monstrous form dominated the dance floor at the center of the top level. It looked like a mad scientist had combined a bat and a human to create something built entirely to win cage fights. It was rippling layers of muscle covered by a strange brownish-grey flesh. Its head was mostly bat—big ears and a disgusting-looking snout—while its teeth looked human, except for the four big vampire fangs. It was snarling and slobbering, hungry for a kill. The brass-colored, spiked gauntlets it wore looked antique and absurd, especially in the lights of the glowing dance floor. Each gauntlet had a five-inch, serrated sword blade extending from it. As it raised a blade toward me, the squares on the dance floor turned red, then changed. An archaic weapon, a beefy bad guy, and a choreographed taunt? Vampires! I think they grade each other entirely on style.
“You guys need to get with the times,” I said, violating my rule about talking during combat. I’m a hypocrite. I know. But c’mon…spiked gauntlets? In the 21st century? Could’ve at least attached a handgun. Humanity didn’t constantly innovate the art of killing to be permanently wedged in a time when the plague caused the most casualties.
To me, such a shitty choice of weapon felt disrespectful, until the giant man-bat shimmered into nothing.
Fuck.
I heard clicks and heavy footsteps. They seemed to be all around me. I ran to the far side of the dance floor and paused near a high-top table. With a sickening sound of metal scraping metal, the table was destroyed, a spiked gauntlet-shaped hole appearing in the middle. It was enough encouragement for me to keep running.
I fired haphazardly, my rune unable to target something I couldn’t see. Then the Minneapolis PD did me a huge favor; they shined a spotlight into the second floor. The shimmer was briefly illuminated, and I put three rounds of St. Joseph’s blessed ammunition into the giant critter. I heard what was either a scream or echolocation.
I fired again in that direction but didn’t hit anything more dangerous than a movie poster.
Suddenly, the thing materialized in front of me, swiping with its gauntlets in a one-two punch. I ducked out of the way, and the blades whistled by my head. I lowered the VHS and put a round through its foot. Its skin, I noticed, was being eaten away by the blessing, but the round didn’t instantly kill it like it did lesser vampires. I thought about reaching into the bag for some holy water, but I remembered I’d used the last of it at Josiah’s.
“SWAT is outside,” Lotus said. “The police have established a cordon. Their chatter suggests they intend to breach soon, a dynamic entry.”
The blades swept past me as I tried something I thought was acrobatic, but probably looked spastic. I backed up against the bar as the thing shimmered into nothingness again. I cursed and looked around, tracking with my bullpup, for the smallest difference in the air.
“Nick, I’m detecting odd movements,” Lotus said. “That thing may be able to turn invisible!”
I wanted to choke her, but I had more pressing concerns. The heavy “THUNK” of a gauntlet blade hitting the bar told me I needed to keep moving. I dodged right, and looked at the air, but I still couldn’t see anything.
I leapt behind the bar and heard the crunch of something heavy climbing on top, followed by more echolocation clicks. A blade crunched through the bar and shot out an inch to the right of my head. I cursed and hit the floor. Then an idea struck me. I reached over and grabbed a bottle of bottom-shelf vodka, the kind usually reserved for people who hate themselves. I stood up and broke open the bottle, spraying it everywhere on the bar.
The bastard was sight proof, but it wasn’t drip proof. It had gotten off the bar and was beside me, just out of arm’s length, poised to strike. The vodka created a rough, shimmery outline of its torso. I put a few rounds through what I hoped was its snout. It shrieked and swiped, blindly. I think I felt something nick my forehead, but between the adrenaline, the music, and my gunfire, I couldn’t be sure.
The shrieking and clicking stopped. The creature was still stumbling, but it seemed less certain, less deliberate. I grabbed another few bottles and smashed them on the floor, making a line of puddles in front of the bar. I watched for splashes. The shimmering form seemed to be rocking back and forth; I’d hit it harder than I thought. It dashed toward the bar, crashing into it, sending faux wood splinters flying and breaking several more liquor bottles. I sprinted around the end of the bar, running through pools of liquor before hitting the dance floor. I heard fumbling steps behind me. A few drips of vodka, illuminated intermittently by the police spotlight, helped me find the thing. It was having trouble keeping up. It was swiping at random, hoping to come up bloody, and although I couldn’t see its gauntlets, I could hear them cutting through the air.
“Hey, jackass!” I said, jogging toward the side of the building which was all windows. They were tinted, but it was still easy to see out. Lotus was right, the cops had set up a cordon. A bunch of blue-suited guys with AR-15s and shotguns manned the perimeter, looking up at the spotlight shining on the second floor. If I played my cards right, I’d get to test their cordon in a way they’d never expect.
I heard broken clicking and saw the dripping form stumble toward me, still swiping madly.
He wasn’t coming in fast enough, though. I was going to have to help him.
“Yeah, that’s right, I’m here!” I said, pointing the VHS behind me and firing a shot into what I hoped wasn’t bulletproof glass.
It wasn’t. The vamps were cheap. They’d probably spent their security money on hair dye.
One VHS round and the glass was cracked, but it didn’t shatter. That was okay. I had a plan.
I nimbly sidestepped out of the way as the dripping form swung hard and overextended, crashing through the window. The thing shimmered back into reality, though this time it looked like a frightened man in his mid-20s rather than a bat. His eyes were bleeding, and he was trying hard to keep his balance. Parts of his body were still being eaten away by the holy light. But he showed a remarkable resilience. He caught himself on the edge, and I might have imagined it, but I think he smiled with relief.
I hadn’t done all that work for nothing, so I kicked the back of one knee and sent him tumbling to the ground, two stories below.
He was MPD’s problem now.
I collected myself, and braced for gunfire from the cordon, but they were apparently too busy dealing with the hipster who had a bunch of blue-white glowing holes in him and a fucked-up knee. Fine by me.
The rest of the dance floor was clear; there were no more vampires or security. No staffers, no bystanders. I didn’t relax. I kept my rifle ready. There were three doors, one behind the bar, one leading to the stairwell, and one marked “office.” That was the one I was looking for.
I hustled toward the door, stopping long enough at the bar to procure a loose cigarette and light up. This kind of work is stressful, and tobacco takes the edge off. I raised the rifle and stood to the side of the office door. I opened it and braced for gunfire but got nothing.
/> “Come in,” someone with a clipped New England accent said. “I know you’re supposed to invite me. But you’ve already been so rude, the least I can do is offer some hospitality, and maybe teach you some manners.”
I walked in, keeping my rifle at the ready.
The back office was, in many ways, the exact opposite of the crappy one I’d shot Anders in.
It was also entirely stereotypical. I swear to God, I’ve never known a human who was as committed to their lifestyle as vampires are to theirs. A long table with high-backed leather chairs sat under a golden gaslight chandelier. Behind each chair hung an oil painting of a pale, white man, presumably the council of elders. I recognized a few of them as vamps I’d killed with my M240. Lucas Skov, the man in the painting Lotus showed us, sat at the head of the table. Dead women in chic club wear slumped in the adjacent chairs. Their dead features suggested, oddly enough, that they had died happy, maybe even ecstatic. Blood pooled from their necks, dripping through funnels, then running through grooves in the table to a bowl. They looked like they had been alive when I started this mission.
A couple of cadavers wouldn’t be a threat. The vampire might be. He sat up tall in his chair, one hand cupped around the bowl of blood. The vampire was trying to look bored or disaffected. He wore what I assumed were the latest fashions among his clique—a purple vest over a white, collared shirt with purple cuffs. His pants were pin-striped purple on black, and his haircut suggested he belonged on the album cover of a band that sang about how much society sucked.
After following a trail of bodies and ashes, I had reached the source of my bloodsucker problems. He was trying to look cool, but he displayed human signs of nervousness.
I could see it in his eyes. The music in my earphones continued to play in case he tried that hypnotism thing, but I turned it down. I wanted to hear what this punk had to say, to fill in the gaps.
“So,” I said, discarding my cigarette and crushing it. “You’re Lucas Skov, the douchebag behind all my vamp problems.”
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