Jennifer Rardin - Jaz Parks Book 3 - Biting The Bullet

by Jennifer Rardin

  As Bergman handed out ammunition, he explained that the Manx, as he liked to call the small, ferocious weapon, was a multitasker: Sensors built into the butt of the rifle could sniff out a vast array of biological and chemical toxins. In addition, every third round was equipped with something he referred to as an infrared dye. Anything it hit was bathed in that light, allowing the shooter to see farther than his goggles or, in our case, lenses, would normally allow.

  Bergman had actually brought a few pairs of his night-vision lenses along as well. “They’ll only work if you have twenty-twenty to start with,” he warned. “I didn’t have time to check your prescriptions and make special ones. But if you like them, I’ll customize some for you when I get back.” The offer, a generous one from any perspective, surprised me. He must’ve had to make a lot of promises to get his skinny butt on our jet.

  While Cam, Ashley, and Natch tried out the lenses, I decided to make some formal introductions.

  “Dave, I’d like you to meet my crew.” I led him to the corner we’d commandeered.

  “Everybody,” I said, “this is my brother, Dave. Dave, this is Cole. He’s our interpreter.” Cole had been leaning against the wall, chewing on the collar of his dark gray thobe. Like me, he’d dyed his hair black for this mission, but it still ran wild, sticking out from under his cap in every direction as if directly reflecting his stress over popping his last bubble nearly twelve hours ago. He spat out the collar and shook Dave’s hand.

  “Pleased to meet you. Do they give you guys gum in the army? Chewing tobacco? Anything like that?” He looked at me. “What?”

  “Shut up,” I mouthed.

  Dave frowned at me. “An interpreter seems redundant. Otto speaks Farsi.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  He’s only redundant if Otto’s not the mole.

  Dave got the message. Out loud I said, “Cole is also in training. He’ll be going solo after this mission.”

  Cole dug out his most charming smile. “Plus, I have somewhat of an insider’s knowledge of Tehran. I dated a girl whose parents were born there. They left to study in America and never went back.” He looked at me. “She really dug tea.”

  “Why’d you leave her?” I asked, knowing it hadn’t been the other way around.

  “Couldn’t hack all the praying. We have arthritis in the family, you know. I’d have had to get knee replacements before I was fifty.”

  I turned to Dave. “He grows on you.”

  Vayl stood beside him, his hand wrapped firmly around the head of his cane. Somehow he managed to look as if he belonged, as if he’d been chiseled out of the same stone as the walls of the farmhouse. His short dark curls were nearly hidden beneath his turban, which accentuated his winged brows, fine Roman nose, and full lips. Those lips had brushed mine once and nearly sent my heart tumbling out of my chest. But I could never forget they hid a pair of fine, sharp fangs. Yeah, you had to be careful about Vayl’s unseen qualities. Those were what would kill you.

  He turned to face us fully as we approached. Can nerves tighten? Mine felt like fishing line. The kind with an obese accountant on one end and a nine-hundred-pound tiger shark on the other. I cleared my throat. “This is my boss, Vayl.”

  Dave didn’t quite stand at attention, but he pulled his shoulders way back and totally blanked his face, the way he does when something’s made him deeply uncomfortable. “You, uh, you’re not human, are you?”

  Total silence fell in the room behind us. I couldn’t believe Dave was so out of touch with his Sensitivity. What the hell did he use it for?

  “No,” Vayl said. “I am vampire.”

  I did a half turn so I could monitor Dave’s people. They hadn’t moved yet, but they sure looked interested in the conversation. I searched their faces for animosity. Nothing. They’d donned the same mask as Dave. Their eyes were schooled to blankness. But in his, the question I dreaded:

  Your fiancé was killed by vampires, Jaz. How

  could

  you?

  I could because I knew, just as well as Dave did, that not all vampires were evil. He and I had worked closely with two vamps on our Helsinger crew. I was surprised he didn’t have one in his unit right now. Obviously he’d changed more than I thought since the days of our youth.

  “The vulture responsible for Matt and Jessie’s deaths” — I paused when I said Dave’s wife’s name, but he didn’t motion for me to stop, so I went on — “for killing our Helsingers, Vayl destroyed him two months ago. Vayl’s one of the good ones. He doesn’t hunt. He doesn’t turn people. He’s been working for our side since Granny May was a little girl.” Why did I suddenly feel so defensive? It wasn’t like everybody was going to grab a torch and have at my boss like some crazed mob. These were highly disciplined troops. They’d at least wait until Dave gave the order. Still, I had to fight a sudden urge to leap in front of Vayl and yell, “Back off, bozos!”

  Dave and Vayl had a long staring match, during which Cole moved from his collar to his fingernails and I tried to decide if I might actually be forced to choose between my brother and my

  sverhamin.

  Cassandra came forward, emerging from the shadows like a guardian angel. She’d discarded her hijab, and her hair hung in a long black curtain to her waist. Somehow, even in her abaya, she managed to resemble an exiled African princess. Her usual compliment of glittering gold jewelry helped with the illusion, but really it was the way she held herself, tall and confident with just a touch of listen-up-punk in her attitude that made you pay attention when she spoke.

  “Jasmine has become very precious to me,” she said, the combination of kindness and command in her voice forcing Dave’s eyes to hers. “It is such a pleasure to finally meet her twin. My name is Cassandra.” She held out her hand, and before I could prevent it, Dave slid his into hers.

  I wish I’d known Otto a little better. I’d have said, “Hey, Boom, do me a favor and set off some C4.” I’d have bet a month’s pay neither Dave nor Cassandra would’ve noticed the blast. Some other kind of explosion had gone off in their brains and they both looked slightly dazed from the fallout.

  “Do I . . . know you?” Cassandra finally asked breathlessly.

  Dave shook his head, his free hand going to the back of his neck, as if checking to make sure he hadn’t just been clubbed. “Would you like to?” he asked; then he slammed his mouth shut. He couldn’t seem to believe those words had escaped it.

  Behind him his crew agreed. Amazon Grace and Jet exchanged amazed glances. Cam mouthed the words “Is he flirting — with a girl?” to Natch, who replied with a stupefied nod. The rest of the unit seemed equally stunned, except for Adela, who was new enough not to realize how monklike Dave’s existence had been since his loss. She kept her attention on Vayl, and though she made no outward sign I sensed, of everyone in the room, she was the unhappiest with his presence there.

  The sound of a distant engine broke the silence.

  Dave dropped his hand. The smile he gave Cassandra was the first I’d seen since before Jessie died. “I’m glad Jaz has someone like you on her team.” While I totally agreed, an aggravated Puerto Rican chica stomped to the front of my brain and screeched, “Someone like

  who

  , you testosterone-crazed hunk of beef? You ain’t known Cassandra more than ten seconds!”

  I was just wondering how much more complicated this whole mess could get when Dave turned to his team. “Okay, let’s pack it up,” he said calmly. “Our ride’s nearly here.”

  Within two minutes we were all ready to board the truck, which was just now slowing to a stop in front of the farmhouse.

  “Stay inside until Mehdi opens the back doors,” Dave had ordered, so we waited and watched while the driver parked his rig, hopped down, and walked around to the back of the truck. He carried a flashlight, which trembled as he trained it first on the road, then on the back of the truck. He never flashed it at the farmhouse. Maybe he’d been told not to. After some fumbling, he threw
open the doors.

  “All right,” Dave whispered into the small headset he and his team all wore for communications. “Let’s go.”

  It wasn’t far from the farmhouse to the road. Maybe thirty yards. Of dirt. Yeah, I know. It sucked. No trees to hide behind. No little outbuildings. No cover whatsoever. But it worked in our favor too: We’d see anyone coming well before the bullets could hit us.

  Dave had set Terrence and Ashley at the windows to guard our move. Terrence operated their SAW, a lovely light machine gun currently set on a tripod for maximum stability. Ashley, not willing to entrust this duty to his new Manx, held his M4 ready.

  Dave led us out with Cassandra by his side. I hadn’t been sure about mixing my people with his so soon, but I could trust this pairing. So too, the next one.

  Natchez, who’d told Bergman his real name was so embarrassing he’d legally changed it to his birthplace, hadn’t stopped asking him questions about his inventions since he’d broken out the guns. They’d discovered a mutual interest in weapons engineering that I figured would at least carry them through Iraq before Bergman said or did something that made Natch want to rip his face off.

  Jet came next, followed by Adela. Moments later Ricardo left the farmhouse. Grace hung back, probably to keep an eye on me. Cam lingered as well. I got the feeling he wanted to make sure she behaved. And Boom decided he too could bring up the rear with Vayl, Cole and me.

  With the exception of our doubled teams, everybody walked out on his or her own, advanced a few feet, stopped, crouched. Stared into the darkness. Strained to see beyond the blackness and got ready to shoot. The idea was for the guy behind to move forward, tapping the frontrunner on the shoulder as he passed. In this way we meant to leapfrog to the semi.

  The first two groups had reached the truck and Mehdi had helped them inside when the reavers attacked.

  They were better organized than the last bunch, coming at us almost in formation from the north side of the road. The distant whinny of horses told us how they’d arrived so quick upon the heels of the last group. They were also better armed than their predecessors. When I heard pistol fire followed by an agonized scream my heart stopped for an anguished moment as I tried to place the voice. “Doc!” somebody yelled from midpack, and then all hell broke loose.

  Chapter Five

  I’m still not sure how we all didn’t kill each other that night; bullets were flying so fast and furious during that battle. The reavers rolled into us, firing seemingly at random. But there was a method to their madness. Reavers operate by strict rules. I didn’t know what the punishments entailed, but they must’ve been extreme, because even the old gnarly ones wouldn’t break them. The main no-no revolved around killing. Reavers were only allowed to eliminate people who’d been Marked for murder. In other words, me. Everybody else had to survive. So while the reavers had to take me out, they only wanted to take everybody else down.

  What they didn’t count on was the supreme skill and professionalism of their foes. Though they outnumbered us at least three to one at the start of the attack, within sixty seconds we’d whittled their numbers to fifteen.

  Our guys had taken a couple more hits. One second Otto had been crouched near to me, a half grin on his face, saying, “If I had a wheelbarrow full of dynamite I’d blow these fuckers to Mars.” The next second he lay writhing on the ground, trying not to scream, his hip shattered. As I stood over him, nailing reavers when I had a clear shot, pulling up when I realized I’d just aimed at one of my own, I saw Ricardo drop beneath a mass of monsters. Grace had made little progress toward the truck, and was bleeding heavily from a facial wound. Still, I thought we had them.

  Then two more groups appeared, coming from both our flanks. These didn’t have firearms, but we already knew the power of their claws, and several swung swords. Terrence and Ashley fired into them, but they didn’t have the right angle to get more than one or two head shots per burst.

  “Form on me!” yelled David.

  Our guys from the farmhouse joined us and we tried to keep moving, but they swarmed us. Terrence went down under a reaver’s claws. Vayl, seeing him fall, took the reaver’s eye with his sword and pulled the wounded man to his feet. I holstered Grief and grabbed his machine gun. Switching it to three-round burst mode, I fired into the crowd of reavers coming at me, their tongues lolling in anticipation of tasting my soul.

  “Jasmine!” called Vayl. “Do not stop!”

  Easier said than done. I inched forward, almost tripped over a body, ducked quickly to avoid a neck-ripping swipe, and nearly screamed as the corpse between my legs lurched to its feet. I managed to mute the scream into a squawk as I jumped back, banging into Cole in my rush to avoid the rising reaver.

  “Son of a bitch!” he cried. “I missed!”

  “Watch out! Watch out!” I yelled. “The dead are rising!”

  All around us the reavers we’d defeated the first time around had rediscovered vertical. Multiple thoughts streaked through my mind simultaneously. Not all of them made sense, but a skilled translator might put them in the following light:

  Oh Jesus! Oh crap! Zombies! The Wizard’s a necromancer. He could be around here somewhere, pulling their strings. So should I just run off into the night like some rabid raccoon and hope I luck into him? How stupid is that? Plus, it’s not him. It’s probably an apprentice. You know that. It may even be the mole. Is anybody murmuring a spell? How the hell can I tell? We are so outnumbered! Did Ashley just go down? My God, I think the semi is farther away than ever. Is that possible? Oh Jesus, was that Terrence’s leg? Don’t turn your head. I said don’t — never mind. Holy shit, that’s the barrel of a Colt .45 aimed right at my face!

  The reaver, a live one, grinned wide enough to show the gap between his front teeth as his finger squeezed the trigger.

  “Vayl,” I whispered, my eyes somehow tracking straight to his in my final moment.

  “Jasmine!” He lunged toward me, too late. The gun boomed and I went down almost at the same time. Except the horrifying pain I expected never split into my brain. A zombie had tackled me, its puppetlike efforts to take off my head such a welcome relief to point-blank murder I actually giggled. I know. Inappropriate. That’s pretty much how it happens with me.

  The zombie’s weight left me as Vayl picked it up and threw it at least twenty feet. I took the hand Vayl offered and remembered to grab the SAW as he jerked me upright. Ahead of us Cole lifted Terrence onto his shoulder. Two reavers came at him, one living, one dead. Somehow the zombie missed our guys and clawed the living reaver instead, taking out most of his face. When he turned toward us I took out his legs with my machine gun.

  “What is it with these zombies?” I asked Vayl. “Not that I’m complaining. But you’d think they’d come from two-thousand-year-old corpses the way they’re behaving.”

  “Maybe their master is new to the art.”

  “Huh.”

  “Aaaah!” I spun at the sound. The zombie behind me clutched at the gaping hole in his chest. A living reaver had circled back to the farmhouse door. Had taken a bead on me. Somehow the zombie had gotten between us.

  I took aim at the zombie. Hesitated. Moved my sites to the reaver. It yelled at the zombie. Gestured for it to clear the line of fire. Instead the zombie shambled straight toward the living reaver.

  What the hell?

  I glanced over my shoulder, hoping for some confirmation from Vayl that he’d witnessed this bizarre event as well. He was with Otto, lifting him off the ground. Grace and Ashley were already limping away ahead of them.

  I looked back. The zombie had reached the living reaver. Grabbed the gun. Moved clear. I took the shot. The reaver fell dead. I waited for the zombie to make its next move. It hesitated. Appeared to study the gun as if it wasn’t sure what to do with it and, in the process, managed to blow its own head off.

  “Jasmine!”

  “Coming!”

  I ran to join Vayl and Otto, guarding them the rest of the way to the truc
k. I had to take out three more zombies. More a matter of immobilizing them with leg shots than actually destroying them, since you can only turn them off by distracting or killing the necromancer whose spirit moved them in the first place.

  Multiple hands reached out and helped us into the back of the semi.

  “Jet,” Dave said, “you ride with Mehdi for now.”

  With a sharp nod, Jet jumped out. “Everybody set?” he asked grimly.

  “Yeah, close the doors,” Dave told him.

  Moments later we were sealed inside, speeding away from a battle that really had been my responsibility. Maybe I should’ve aborted the mission when I woke inside that Chinook with the taste of hell still fresh on my tongue. But I just couldn’t see the Department of Defense saying, “No, really, Ms. Parks, we don’t mind taking it up the wazoo because you were disturbed by something you saw in a dream.”

  Unfortunately not all of my truckmates saw it that way. As soon as Dave lit the lantern, I encountered the blood-stained glare of Amazon Grace. She clearly wanted to slam me against the wall and pound me purple. I gave her a courtroom stare — no emotion whatsoever — and moved my gaze onward.

  Most of the group was busy with the wounded. Special Ops folks cross-train like elite athletes, so while each has his or her specialty, they can also back each other up in a pinch. Cam and Natchez took turns laboring over Otto and Ashley, Cam with a couple of syringes that I assumed held painkiller, Natch with antibacterial spray, gauze, and tape.

  Dave crouched beside Ricardo, who’d been shot in the arm and — “I know,” he muttered. “I’m never going to hear the end of it.”

  “I keep telling you to keep your ass down,” Dave said. The bullet had gone clear through his right butt cheek, leaving his pants soaked with blood.