by Rob Thurman
Now, that was one crappy thought. One of that son of a bitch was plenty.
The water was thigh high in the latest tunnel we hit, a maintenance one long out of use, and cold enough that I’d lost the feeling in my feet and legs. This tunnel itself was inky black except for our flashlights, and the rats were big enough that at some point they must’ve mated with dogs. Great Danes from the looks of them. None of this was the worst I’d come across in my life, nowhere near. But after hours and hours of it, I was losing my patience, and I had considerably less of the commodity than my brother. It wasn’t something I was good at.
“That last rat had a subway conductor in his mouth,” I grunted. “You saw that, didn’t you?”
“Don’t exaggerate. It was a dead coyote and only a medium-sized one at that.”
I rolled my eyes in Nik’s direction to see if he really thought that made it better. From the raised eyebrow that met my gaze, apparently he did, and I sighed and sloshed on.
“The wildlife is varied and interesting.” Promise was doing the same, to my left and slightly ahead of me. Although she didn’t slosh when she moved through the water—she didn’t make any sound at all. Even Niko, quasi-ninja extraordinaire, caused the faintest ripple now and again, but when Promise moved, you wanted to rub your eyes to verify that she was actually there at all. Then again, dressed all in black as she was, without the paleness of her hair and skin, your eyes would’ve let you down too.
I didn’t know whether moving that silently was a skill vampires were born with or one they gained over the years of their long lives. While I was curious enough to ask, the cockroach as big as my hand that fell from above to land on my shoulder distracted me. The dead body that came floating by distracted me even further.
The mass slowly drifted toward us speared by our flashlights…a tangle of clothes and limbs, pallid white hands with fingers curled like the legs of drowned spiders. As the body came closer, I got a better look, and said with a grimace, “Leftovers?”
It wasn’t a body. It was pieces of one. Two bloated arms and a leg ripped off from below an absent knee were wound up and trapped in sopping cloth as the entire mess of it floated along. It wasn’t pleasant to look at and less pleasant to smell. There was no way to tell if Sawney’s scent was mixed in this toxic soup somewhere. I had a good nose, but I wasn’t a bloodhound.
“I guess ‘waste not, want not’ isn’t a concept Sawney embraces.” Niko bent for a closer examination.
“Death occurred somewhere around two days ago from the looks of the decomposition.”
It wasn’t just a guess. There was a book sitting on one of our shelves that spelled out the stages of decomposition in a corpse…dry corpse, wet corpse, soggy…whatever you were looking for. I knew because I’d once used it to prop up one leg of the coffee table. Nik, on the other hand, had read it, memorized it, and on occasion the knowledge had come in very handy. Despite that, I still had no desire to crack that book.
“Two days, give or take, yes,” Promise gave a confirming nod. Considering she was old enough to have lived through a time when vampires still fed on humans, she would probably know. She aimed her flashlight down the tunnel. “The question now is the distance they’ve traveled. How far is the larder they slipped from?”
There was only one way to find that out and we moved on. Promise had her hair in an intricate twist that was wound tightly around her head. Despite the delicacy of it and her large shadowed eyes, she didn’t look out of place in this hellhole. She…I don’t know…fit, in some strange way. From day one, if you’d asked me to picture her life, I would’ve imagined that every day of it was spent in elegance and quiet luxury. That she was to the manor born, as they say.
But she’d once given me the hint that that wasn’t the truth, not her truth anyway. She hadn’t gone into any detail, but I got the impression Promise had been born to dirt and hardship rather than silk and satin. Not all vampires had lived in a castle with bug-munching flunkies to wait on them hand and foot. I didn’t know Promise’s age, but it was possible she was old enough to have been born into some pretty rough times in history…for vampire or human. It would explain all the rich husbands with fastly approaching expiration dates she’d had. Our bodies might escape the conditions that made us, but our minds rarely do.
Whatever her origins, she moved through the tunnel as if it were an aisle in Sak’s—boldly and comfortably. I followed and Niko pulled up the rear. Every fifteen minutes or so, Nik and I would switch off, but we kept Promise, her flashlight now turned off, in the lead. Vampire night vision was better than both of ours put together. When the revenants came, she spotted them several seconds before we did and raised a hand to halt us in our tracks.
To look at, they weren’t so different from the body parts that had been carried our way—decomposing and hideous to behold. Nature’s imitation of a corpse—slick putrid-appearing flesh, white-filmed eyes, and yellowed, rotting teeth framed by bloodless gums and a dead black tongue. Some of them wore filthy clothing; some of them wore nothing at all. An anatomically correct revenant is nothing to write home about…literally. With all their smooth mottled flesh, I had no idea how to tell the difference between male and female. But knowing how to kill them was info enough.
It wasn’t too difficult…killing them. Although, if you just chopped a piece off, it would grow back—given enough time. Simple minds, simple nervous systems, Niko had explained disparagingly. Upright salamanders with an attitude, that’s what I said. Bottom line, not that hard to kill, but if you didn’t finish the job, a revenge-seeking revenant would show up a few months later sporting new limbs and a hard-on for a little mutilation of his own. The motto is “Make sure the imitation dead are the genuine dead.”
So, when the first revenant appeared into the weak orange light ahead of us, I wasn’t worried. When the next five showed themselves, I only pulled my Glock. I wasn’t wasting the .50 and expensive rounds on these guys. But when the following sixteen slunk into sight, I did spend the time to be grateful that I didn’t see Sawney with them. A revenant was a walk in the park, a couple of revenants…cake, but twenty-two? I’d been accused of being a little cocky, but I wasn’t stupid. Certainly not that stupid. Twenty-two was going to be a workout, no way around it. Because revenants, when they wanted to be, were fast. They weren’t the cheetahs of the preternatural world, but they were the hyenas. Their asses could move.
Niko, always up for a little aerobic exercise, had left the cello case behind at a junction of several tunnels and now hefted his axe. “How unfortunate for them that they can’t regrow their head.” Which was the place to aim on a revenant. If they had a heart, I had no idea where it was. Their circulatory system was a lot more primitive than a human’s. Whatever pumped their vital fluids didn’t seem to be centralized, and taking out the brain, a` la every zombie movie ever made, was your best bet.
They were unusually quiet as they came. Revenants weren’t the biggest talkers around, but they weren’t above the occasional dinner conversation…of the usual “I’ll rip you to shreds and enjoy every mouthful” type. Not these, though…they were silent and completely on-task. Sawney appeared to be a monster who valued discipline in his clan. There was no speaking, only determined white eyes, and a random jagged laugh here and there.
Which was disturbing in its own right. Because that laugh…that crazy, nerve jangling, completely over-the-edge-and-dogpaddling-in-the-pit-of-insanity cackle…was pure Sawney Beane. “Sound familiar?” I murmured to Nik.
“Yes,” he answered flatly. “Yes, it does.”
That’s when they spoke. Every last one of them…simultaneously.
“Travelers.”
Okay, that was creepy. I’d seen a lot of shit in my day, but that was definitely pretty damn freaky, but worse? It was Sawney’s voice…almost. Not exactly, but like a distorted echo of it.
I shot the lead one in the head and heard another echo—this time in my mind. He’d said I tasted like insanity. And I was
n’t. I wasn’t like that. Wasn’t like him or the Auphe. I gave a silent snarl and fired again, the flashlight in my other hand. After that they were on us and the gun was no longer the best option. They were too close, moist skin against my clothes. Niko was swinging his axe with devastating effect and Promise had a sword—silver, slender, and deadly. The one I drew was more along the lines of a Roman short sword. Long enough to take off a head, short enough for close quarters. Ugly, but functional…much like the revenants themselves.
I pushed hard at the one on me, shoving it away before slicing open its gut. That didn’t kill it, but the wound distracted it long enough to let me whirl and take the head off the one coming from my other side. Partially anyway. Another two chops and then I flipped the first one over my shoulder. I could feel the drench of whatever fluid escaping his sliced guts hit my back. It was hot, slick, and that was more than I ever wanted to know about the internal juices of a revenant.
From the corner of my eye I saw Promise take the head of one revenant with her sword while tossing another of the creatures fifteen feet straight up to smash against the ceiling of the tunnel. A third hit her as she handled the first two and took her down to disappear under the water. I only had time to take one step toward her before she surfaced…alone. Three for her, three for me, at least six for Nik, which left only ten.
Unless you counted the next twenty that appeared from the gloom.
And behind those…I stopped counting. When it came to mathematics, there were three numerical concepts I was interested in: barely worth the time, doable, and strategic fucking retreat. I didn’t need a calculator to know we were looking at the latter.
“Promise, go,” Niko rapped. “Cal, cover us.”
“Got it.” The big gun was coming out after all. I pulled out the .50 and emptied the clip. I hit the revenants in the lead and concentrated the rest of my fire on the ceiling. It didn’t fall, but chunks of it did.
Between that and the heads of their companions exploding like a Fourth of July event gone catastrophically wrong, they did hesitate slightly. It was enough to give us a head start and we took it. I stopped once more in my headlong rush to slide another clip home and fire again. Normally this would’ve been enough to put off a group of revenants, even one this large. They weren’t bright, but they weren’t usually suicidal either.
These were different. Sawney, not their own instincts and intelligence, controlled them. I didn’t know if it was through sheer force of his maniacal personality or through something more unnatural in its domination. And in the end, the “how” didn’t really matter; it was the results that concerned me. The ones that were left kept coming and coming, no matter how many I dropped. There were probably close to thirty-five to forty of them still remaining by the time I ran out of the explosive rounds.
“Cal.”
“I’m coming.” I turned and ran again. Niko was waiting a short distance ahead as I splashed along. The revenants weren’t far behind me…like I’d said, they were fast. “All out of the good shit,” I panted as we both raced along. As we approached, Promise stood still in a sickly pool of yellow light by a metal door she’d pried open. I saw the remains of the lock hanging, shattered by her deceptively slim hands. It was nice having a vampire on your side when it came to breaking and entering, especially when the breakage involved was fairly high.
“This way,” she said, seemingly untroubled by the horde behind us. As the three of us passed through, she slammed it behind us and turned the handle with a flick of her wrist. That flick led to a creaking of metal and one seriously jammed door. Body after body hit it behind us. It held, but it wouldn’t for long. We didn’t wait around to time it. This tunnel was higher than the other, the water only ankle deep.
“Think Sawney is making this his permanent headquarters?” I asked as we moved. We needed him to settle in, to choose his territory—the one he wouldn’t be able to abandon. The one he’d be forced by his own nature to stick around in so we could kick his ass, the home he’d defend to the death…hopefully his.
“Difficult to say. He’s long-lived and the long-lived tend to be cautious. Especially, I imagine, those who’ve been burned to death.” Niko had slowed to a fast lope and Promise and I followed suit. “Even if that death was only temporary. I think it’s more likely he’ll try several locations before choosing the one most suited to his particular lifestyle.”
If you could call eating random strangers a lifestyle—cannibalistically inclined seeks open-minded cave dweller. No vegetarians please.
Nik’s conclusion wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but he was probably right. Sawney was cunning. He wasn’t going to pick a place without checking out all his options. As for the revenants…“We’re going to need more firepower or more hands or both,” I pointed out. “I swear, that son of a bitch has every last revenant in the city working for him. The line at Monster Manpower must be short as hell now.”
In the distance, I heard the sound of a metal door slamming back against concrete, and it was time for more serious running—not to mention a little serious cursing. By the time we reached one of the tunnels close to the surface, I was torn between barfing up a lung and lying down to die of a welcome heart attack. Damn, those bastards could run. They’d pulled back at the last second when we’d finally reached the lights and sounds of civilization. It was a good thing we weren’t in active tunnels. Vaulting off the rail followed by a mob of ravenous revenants would’ve ruined the evening of any average commuter who happened to be standing on the platform.
I sat on the floor and leaned against a square pillar. “Enter”—I wheezed—“taining.”
Vampires did breathe. They weren’t dead, undead, any of that—a common misconception, no matter how much it made for good literature. They did have a larger lung capacity than humans, though. Promise was barely breathing deeply. At least Niko, who thought the New York Marathon was for those without the commitment for genuine exercise, was pulling in the occasional heavy breath of his own. It made me feel a little better about my burning chest.
“So…” I sucked in a breath and the oxygen deprivation spots began to fade around the edges of my vision. “What now?”
“That is a good question.” Niko looked back toward the tunnel. “A very good question indeed.”
12
Charity work in the tunnels didn’t mean I got to skip the “day job.” Two hours later I’d cleaned up after the tunnel battle, was back at the bar, and facing something worse than a horde of hungry revenants. A whole lot damn worse.
“Let me tell you a story.”
Goodfellow was drunk. Not buzzed, not a little loose, but absolutely shit-faced. I’d long lost count of the number of drinks he had. What was the point? He never paid for them anyway—another way of thumbing his nose at Ishiah.
“How about I tell you one? It’s about the moron who got loaded when there was someone out there trying to kill him.” I kept my eyes on the rest of the bar. I always did, but this time I did it with a mental target branded on every patron’s vulnerable areas. Robin seemed to have forgotten about the attempts on his life, but I hadn’t.
“Why don’t you stop serving him?” Ishiah said at my shoulder before finishing acidly, “Although the alcoholic fumes emanating from his pores should drop any creature in its tracks.”
“I tried. He threatened to go somewhere else and guzzle.” I checked my watch. It was nearly three thirty a.m. I’d gone to the apartment to change after the tunnel fiasco, then had come to work. I’d been dead on my feet before I even got there. Now I was wondering just how difficult it would be to drag the puck back home with me, because it was doubtful he was up for fighting off a foot fungus, much less your generic inhuman killing machine. The thought didn’t make me feel any less beat. “At least I can keep an eye on him here.”
“And why do you bother? Most do not. He’s an extraordinary amount of trouble. He always has been. He always will be.” It was said without anger or accusation. Ishiah said it as
if it were nothing more than the truth—the sky is blue, the earth is round. Neither good, nor bad. It simply was what it was. Although there did seem to be a trace of more personal observation of this particular puck than simple general knowledge of the race at large.
“He saved my life.” I caught the glass that came tumbling through the air across the bar, refilled it, and set it back in front of Robin. “He stood with me and Nik against some pretty nasty shit when he damn well should’ve run the other way.” I would have. At the time I didn’t give a shit about anyone but Nik and myself. Goodfellow, the ultimate self-serving creature, had risen above in a way I know I wouldn’t have. Not then.
“Robin’s changing. After all this time.” I couldn’t read the emotion on Ishiah’s face. A coma victim wasn’t as deadpan as my boss could be when he wanted. Whatever lurked behind the current stony facade was well hidden, but from the phrase “after all this time,” I could guess. “And I do have many years of perspective on our friend,” Ishiah apprised us as he studied Goodfellow’s slumped form. “More than he would probably like, and I don’t mean that in a neg—”
He didn’t get a chance to finish. Robin had started talking again, seeming oblivious of both Ishiah and the crowd noise that swelled at his back like a wave. “Let me tell you a story,” he muttered into his glass.
Second verse, same as the first.
“Yeah,” I groaned. “You’ve been telling it awhile now.” And he’d yet to get past the word “story.”
“This story”—his gaze meandered up, then in an uncertain circle until it managed to find me and attempted to scorch me with a fuzzy glare—“features a god of unparalleled charm, unsurpassed wit, with a male beauty unseen in this or any other world….” He took another swallow of his drink. “And who was hung like the Trojan horse.”
“No relation to you, I’m sure,” I commented blandly.
