The Night Eternal (Strain Trilogy 3)

by Chuck Hogan

  He is alive. This has been brought to my attention only recently. As to the question of why he has never attempted to rescue you or contact you, I’m afraid I cannot be of assistance. But he is very much alive and seeks to destroy me.

  “I will not let him,” said Zack, and he meant it. And, in spite of itself, the Master felt strangely flattered by the purity of sentiment the young man had for him. Natural human empathy—the phenomenon known as “Stockholm syndrome,” whereby captives come to identify with and defend their captors—was a simple enough tune for the Master to play. It was a virtuoso of human behavior. But this was something more. This was true allegiance. This, the Master believed, was love.

  You are now making a choice, Zachary. Perhaps your first choice as an adult, and what you choose now will define you and define the world around you. You need to be completely sure.

  Zack felt a lump in his throat. He felt resentment. All the years of mourning were alchemically transformed into abandonment. Where had his dad been? Why had he left him behind? He looked at Kelly, standing nearby, a horrible squalid specter—a monstrous freak. She, too, had been abandoned. Was it not all Eph’s fault? Had he not sacrificed all of them—his mother, Matt, and Zack himself—in pursuit of the Master? There was more loyalty from his twisted scarecrow of a mother than from his human father. Always late, always far away, always unavailable.

  “I choose you,” said Zack to the Master. “My father is dead. Let him stay that way.”

  And once again, he meant it.

  Interstate 80

  NORTH OF SCRANTON, they began to see strigoi standing at the side of the highway like sentinels. Passive, camera-like beings appearing out of the darkness, standing just off the road, watching the vehicles zoom past them.

  Fet reacted to the first few of them, tempted to slow and slay them, but Eph told him not to bother. “They have already seen us,” said Eph.

  “Look at this one,” said Fet.

  Eph first saw the WELCOME TO NEW YORK STATE sign by the side of the highway. Then, eyes glowing like glass, the female vampire standing beneath it, watching them pass. The vampires communicated the vehicles’ location to the Master in a sort of internalized, instinctual GPS. The Master knew that they were now making their way north.

  “Hand me the maps,” said Eph. Fet did, and Eph read it by flashlight. “We’re making great time on the highway. But we have to be smart. It’s only a matter of time before they throw something at us.”

  The walkie-talkie in the front seat crackled. “Did you see that one?” asked Nora in the trailing Explorer.

  Fet picked up the radio and answered. “The welcoming committee? We saw her.”

  “We have to go back roads.”

  “We’re with you. Eph’s looking at the map now.”

  Eph said, “Tell her we’ll head up to Binghamton for gas. Then stay off the highway after that.”

  They did just that, pulling sharply off the highway at the first Binghamton exit advertising fuel, following the arrow at the end of the off-ramp to a cluster of gas stations, fast food restaurants, a furniture store, and two or three little strip malls, each anchored by a different coffee shop drive-through. Fet skipped the first gas station, wanting more room in case of emergency. The second, a Mobil, featured three aisles of tanks angled in front of an On the Go convenience mart. The sun had long ago faded all the blue letters on the MOBIL sign, and now only the red “O” was visible, like a hungry, round mouth.

  No electricity, but they had kept Creem’s hand pump from the Hummer, knowing that they would have to do some siphoning. The ground caps were all still in place, which was a good indication that fuel remained in the underground tanks. Fet pulled the Jeep next to one and pried up the cap with a tire iron. The gasoline smell was pungent, welcome. Gus pulled in and Fet waved him over to back up near the tank opening. Fet pulled out the pump and narrow tubing, feeding the longer end into the ground tank and the shorter end into the Jeep.

  His wound had started to hurt again and it bled intermittently, but Fet hid both facts from the group. He told himself he was doing this in order to see it all through—to stick to the end. But he knew that, for the better part, he wanted to be there between Eph and Nora.

  Mr. Quinlan stood at the roadside, looking up and down the dark lane. Eph wore his weapon pack over one shoulder. Gus carried a Steyr submachine gun loaded half with silver and half with lead. Nora went around the side of the building, relieving herself and quickly returning to the cars.

  Fet was pumping hard, but it was slow work, the fuel only now starting to spray into the Jeep’s tank. It sounded like cow’s milk hitting a tin can. He had to pump faster to achieve a steady flow.

  “Don’t go too deep,” said Eph. “Water settles at the bottom, remember?”

  Fet nodded impatiently. “I know.”

  Eph asked if he wanted to trade off, but Fet refused, his big arms and shoulders doing the work. Gus left them, walking out into the road near Mr. Quinlan. Eph thought about stretching his legs more but found that he did not want to be too far away from the Lumen.

  Nora said, “Did you work on the trigger fuse?”

  Fet shook his head as he worked.

  Eph said, “You know how mechanical I am.”

  Nora nodded. “Not at all.”

  Eph said, “I’m driving the next leg. Fet can work on the detonator.”

  “I don’t like taking so much time,” said Nora.

  “We need to wait for the next meridiem anyway. With the sun up, we can work freely.”

  Nora said, “A whole day? That’s too much time. Too much risk.”

  “I know,” said Eph. “But we need daylight to do this thing right. Got to hold off the vamps until then.”

  “But once we get to the water, they can’t touch us.”

  “Getting on the water is another task altogether.”

  Nora looked to the dark sky. A cool breeze came along and she shrugged her shoulders against it. “Daylight seems like a long time away. I hope we don’t lose our head start here.” She turned her gaze to the deadness of the street. “Christ, I feel like there are one hundred eyes staring at me.”

  Gus was jogging back toward them from the sidewalk. “You’re not far off,” he said.

  “Huh?” said Nora.

  Gus opened the hatch on the Explorer, pulling out two road flares. He ran back to the street, far enough away from the gas fumes, and sparked them to life. One he tossed end over end into the parking lot of the Wendy’s across the road. The spitting red flame lit the forms of three strigoi standing at the building’s corner.

  The other he hurled toward some abandoned cars in an old rental car parking lot. That flare bounced off a vampire’s chest before hitting the asphalt. The vampire never flinched.

  “Shit,” said Gus. He pointed at Mr. Quinlan. “Why didn’t he say anything?”

  They have been here the entire time.

  “Jesus,” said Gus. He went running toward the rental car company and opened up on the vampire there. The machine gun reports echoed long after he was done, and the vampire lay on the ground, not dead but down for good and full of bleeding white holes.

  Nora said, “We should get out of here.”

  “Won’t get far without gas,” said Eph. “Fet?”

  Fet was pumping, the fuel flowing more freely now. Getting there.

  Gus fired his Steyr across at the other flare, trying to scatter the vampires in the Wendy’s lot, but they didn’t scare. Eph drew his sword, seeing movement behind the cars in the parking lot on the other side. Figures running.

  Gus yelled out, “Cars!”

  Eph heard the engines approaching. No headlights, but vehicles coming out of the darkness, underneath the highway overpass, slowing to a stop.

  “Fet, you want me to—?”

  “Just keep them back!” Fet pumped and pumped, trying not to breathe the toxic fumes.

  Nora reached inside both cars, turning on each set of headlights, illuminating the
immediate area east and west.

  To the east, opposite the highway, vampires crowded the edge of the light, their red eyes reflecting like glass baubles.

  To the west, coming from the highway, two vans, figures emptying out of them. Local vampires called into duty.

  “Fet?” said Eph.

  “Here, switch tanks,” said Fet, pumping hard, not stopping. Eph pulled the tubing from the Jeep’s almost-full tank and quickly transferred it to the Explorer, gasoline spraying out onto the hardtop.

  Footsteps now, and it took Eph a moment to locate them. Overhead, on top of the canopy roof, right above them. The vampires were encircling them and closing in.

  Gus opened up his gun on the trucks, winging a vampire or two but not doing any real damage.

  “Move away from the tank!” yelled Fet. “I don’t want any sparks nearby!”

  Mr. Quinlan returned from the roadside, near Eph at the vehicles. The Born felt it was his responsibility to protect him.

  “Here they come!” said Nora.

  The vampires began to swarm. A coordinated effort, first focusing on Gus. Four vampires, two running at him from either side. Gus fired on one pair, shredding them, then wheeled and put down the other two, but only just in time.

  While he was occupied, a handful of dark figures seized the opportunity to break from the adjoining lots, running toward the Mobil.

  Gus turned and sprayed them, hobbling a few, but had to turn back around as more advanced on him.

  Mr. Quinlan darted forward with amazing agility, meeting three advancing fellow strigoi and forcefully driving his open hands into their throats, snapping their necks.

  Bang! A small vampire, a child, dropped down onto the roof of the Jeep from the carport roof. Nora swiped at it, and the little vampire hissed and darted backward, the Jeep rocking gently. Eph rushed around past the headlights to the other side of the Jeep, looking to slay the nasty little thing. It wasn’t there.

  “Not here!” said Eph.

  “Not here either!” called Nora.

  Eph said, “Underneath!”

  Nora got down and swung her sword underneath the vehicle’s carriage, the blade’s reach long enough to drive the child back out toward Eph’s side. He cut at its lower right leg, severing the Achilles tendon. But instead of retreating again, the maimed vampire came right out from beneath the Jeep and sprang up at him, Eph’s sword meeting it halfway, cutting down the blood-rabid strigoi in midair. He felt the effort more than ever. He felt his muscles twitch and spasm. A flash of pain ran from his elbow to his lower back. His arm curled in a brutal cramp. He knew what it was: he was malnourished, perhaps even to the point of starvation. He ate very little and very badly—no minerals, no electrolytes, his nerve endings terminally raw. He was coming to an end as a fighter. He fell down, releasing his sword, feeling a million years old.

  A wet crunching sound startled Eph from behind. Mr. Quinlan was behind him, bright in the headlights, the head of another child vampire in one hand, the body in his other. The vampire had gotten the drop on Eph, but Mr. Quinlan saved him. The Born threw the dripping body parts to the blacktop as he turned, anticipating the next attack.

  Gus’s gun rattled out in the street as more vampires converged on them from the edges of darkness. Eph cut down two more adult strigoi running up from behind the gas station store. He was worried about Nora being on her own, on the other side of the cars.

  “Fet! Come on!” he yelled.

  “Almost!” Fet yelled back.

  Mr. Quinlan lashed out, dropping more sacrificial strigoi, his hands dripping white. They just kept coming.

  “They’re trying to hold us here,” said Eph. “Slow us down!”

  The Master is en route. And others. I can sense it.

  Eph stabbed the closest strigoi by the throat, then kicked it in the chest, retrieved his blade, and ran around to the other side of the Jeep. “Gus!” he called.

  Gus was already retreating, his smoking gun silent. “I’m out.”

  Eph chopped at a pair of vampires coming up on Nora, then whipped the fuel line out of the Explorer’s tank. Fet saw this and finally gave up pumping. He grabbed Eph’s spare sword out of his pack and took care of another animal-like vampire coming over the Explorer’s hood.

  Gus jumped into the front seat of the Explorer, grabbing another weapon. “Go! Get out of here!”

  There was no time to throw the gas-soaked pump into the truck. They abandoned it there, gas still drooling out of the tube, slicking the hardtop.

  “Don’t shoot this close!” said Fet. “You’ll blow us up!”

  Eph went for the Jeep’s door. He watched through the windows as Mr. Quinlan grabbed a female vampire by her legs and whipped her head against a steel column. Fet was in the backseat behind Eph, fighting off vamps trying to get in the door. Eph jumped into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut and turning the key.

  The engine started up. Eph saw that Nora was inside the Explorer. Mr. Quinlan was the last, climbing into the backseat of the Jeep with strigoi running up to his window. Eph threw the truck into drive and curled out into the street, mowing down two vampires with the Jeep’s silver grille. He saw Nora zoom the Explorer out to the edge of the road, then stop short. Gus jumped out with his machine gun and bent low, firing laterally across the hardtop at the leading edge of the fuel spill. It ignited and he jumped into the Explorer, and both trucks sped away as the flame slid toward the uncapped ground tank, igniting the fumes above for one brief, beautiful moment of winged flame—then the ground tank erupted, an angry orange-black blast, making the ground shudder, splitting the canopy, and frying the strigoi still there.

  “Jesus,” said Fet, watching out the back window, past the tarp-covered nuclear bomb. “And that’s nothing compared to what we’ve got here.”

  Eph gunned it past the vehicles in the road, some of the vampires rushing to get behind the wheel. He wasn’t worried about outrunning them. Only the Master.

  Late-arriving vampires darted out into the street, practically throwing themselves into the path of the Jeep in an attempt to slow them down. Eph tore through them, seeing hideous faces for an instant in the headlights just at impact. The caustic white blood ate at the Jeep’s rubber wiper blades after a few back-and-forth swipes. A gang had gathered on the entrance ramp leading back onto Interstate 81, but Eph went right by that ramp, heading down the dark town road.

  He followed the main road, handing the map back to Fet, watching for the Explorer’s headlights in his rearview mirror. He didn’t see them. He felt for the walkie-talkie, finding it on the seat near his hip. “Nora? You get out? You two okay?”

  Her voice came back a moment later, adrenalized. “We’re good! We’re out!”

  “I don’t see you.”

  “We’re . . . I don’t know. Probably behind you.”

  “Just keep heading north. If we get separated, meet up at Fishers Landing as soon as you can get there. You got that? Fishers Landing.”

  “Fishers Landing,” she said. “Okay.” Her voice crackled.

  “Run with your headlights off when you can—but only when you can. Nora?”

  “We’re going to . . . up . . . onward.”

  “Nora, I’m losing you.”

  “. . . Eph . . .”

  Eph felt Fet leaning up behind him. “Radio range is only about one mile.”

  Eph checked his mirrors. “They must have headed down another road. So long as they stay off the highway . . .”

  Fet took the radio, trying to raise her, but got nothing. “Shit,” he said.

  “She got the rendezvous point,” said Eph. “She’s with Gus. She’ll be all right.”

  Fet handed back the radio. “They have enough fuel, anyway. Now all we have to do is stay alive until sunrise.”

  At the roadside, beneath a blank marquee sign for an old abandoned drive-in movie theater, an expressionless strigoi followed the Jeep with his eyes as it passed him by.

  The Master reached out wi
th its mind. Although it seemed counterintuitive, engaging many different perspectives at once served to focus the Master’s thoughts and soothe its temper.

  Through the eyes of one of its minions, the Master watched the green vehicle driven by Dr. Ephraim Goodweather barrel through an unlit intersection in rural upstate New York, the oversized Jeep following the central yellow line. Moving ever north.

  It viewed the Explorer driven by Dr. Nora Martinez driving past a church in a small town square. The criminal Augustin Elizalde leaned out the front window, and there was a muzzle flash and the Master’s view disappeared. They were also moving north, along the other side of the highway they had started out on—the interstate on which the Master was now traveling at a high rate of speed.

  It saw the boy, Zachary Goodweather, seated in the helicopter crossing the state through the air, traveling northwest on a sharp diagonal. The boy looked out the window of the flying machine, ignoring the airsick Dr. Everett Barnes seated next to him, the older man’s face a bluish shade of gray. The boy, and perhaps Barnes, would be instrumental to the Master in distracting or otherwise persuading Goodweather.

  The Master also saw through Kelly Goodweather’s perception. Traveling inside a moving vehicle dulled her homing impulse somewhat, but still the Master felt her closeness to Dr. Goodweather, her former human mate. Her sensitivity gave the Master another perspective with which to triangulate his focus on Dr. Goodweather.

  Turn off here.

  The town car swerved and zoomed down the exit ramp, the gang leader Creem driving with a heavy foot.

  “Shit,” said Creem upon seeing the still-burning service station just up the road. The smell of burned fuel entered the automobile’s ventilation system.

  Left.

  Creem followed directions, turning away from the blast site, wasting no time. They passed the drive-in theater marquee and the vampire standing watch there. The Master dipped again into its vision and saw itself inside the black town car, hurtling down the roadway.

  They were gaining on Goodweather.

  Eph roared along country roads, winding their way north. He kept changing routes to keep his pursuers guessing. Vampire sentinels stood watch at every turn. Eph could tell if he had been on the same road for too long when they put obstacles in his way, trying to slow him down or make him crash: other cars, a wheelbarrow, planters from a garden store. Driving upwards of fifty miles per hour on a pitch-black road, these things came up fast in his headlights and were dangerous to maneuver around.