The Blood Order (Fanghunters Book Two)

by Leo Romero

  The others put their heads down and trudged off. Nixon then turned and marched away from Rufus' corpse back to Vincent, whose head was bowed in utter despondency.

  "You! Get in," Nixon ordered, poking a finger at the helicopter.

  Resigned, Vincent trudged up to the waiting open door of the helicopter. Before he climbed in, he took a final glance back at what remained of his loyal servant, a boy that had been with him for so long. "Goodbye, my friend," was all he said before he was shoved into the helicopter and the door slammed shut behind him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  "Get to the fire exit!" Trixie ordered, pointing down the thin, dark corridor they were in. Dom got moving. He led the way, racing along the corridor while Trixie's flash guided him along. Somewhere in the distance, boots were stomping; how far away they were was hard to tell. Dom's mind was spinning, his mouth bone dry. Fear and panic juddered through him. He scampered along the corridor like a scared rat, his heart smashing against his ribs.

  Man, I didn't sign up for this crap.

  He made it to the end of the corridor where it widened into a more spacious room.

  "There!" Trixie said, aiming her flashlight at the double doors over to their right, illuminating the neon sign hanging above them reading 'EMERGENCY EXIT'. Dom rushed over, while Trixie spun left and right, her dart gun at the ready.

  Dom pushed down the panic bar and shoved against the door. It didn't budge. He tried again, harder this time. A jarring pain pulsed through his shoulder. The door still didn't move. "It's locked!" he declared without any joy.

  Trixie shone her flash over the doors. Through a tiny gap between them, a thin sliver of steel was visible. It was boarded over from the outside.

  Dom thumped one of the doors. "How are we gonna get out of here now?"

  "The way we came in," Trixie coolly answered.

  "Yeah, the way that's filled with masked crazies with Uzis!"

  "You got a better idea?" Trixie retorted, checking her dart gun.

  Dom went to answer when a door at the end of the corridor they'd just traversed slammed open.

  "Here!" the first merc shouted.

  Trixie pulled a smoke grenade from her belt, set it off, then threw it back along the corridor. The whole passage instantly filled with thick, milky plumes. She then let off a round of tranqs into the white wall of smoke. A body slumped in amongst choking coughs.

  She spun to face Dom. "That way!" she said, throwing a finger toward the door to the left. Dom set off for it, Trixie his shadow, her flash bouncing off every corner. Dom slammed the door open to jump into yet another corridor that ran into darkness. Trixie joined him inside and shone her flash along it; she illuminated more signs, the nearest reading '3', with a '4' in the distance. Her smoke bomb had blocked the corridor behind them, which meant the thugs would have to double back on themselves. It bought them time to make a clean escape out the front. All they had to do was get there alive.

  "Get to screen three!" Trixie ordered. Dom set off along the corridor, adrenaline fueling him, his legs trembling under the pressure. He made it to the sign reading '3', and faced the door beneath it, Trixie's flash lighting it up. Dom took a second to wipe the grimy sweat from his brow before he reached for the handle. His hand gripped nothing but fresh air as the door abruptly swung open in the opposite direction, taking the handle with it. He gasped, his back straightening. He caught a glimpse of the thug's clenched teeth and the muzzle of his submachine gun.

  Dom's eyes bulged. OH SH--

  Something swift thrust past his ear from behind. His eyes flicked to the right to fix them on Trixie's hand now resting on his shoulder. In her grip was her dart gun. He flinched at the ensuing phut! A coarse groan leaped from the thug, just as he reached for the dart jabbed now in his neck. In the following second, he dropped.

  Dom watched on in frozen terror, his heart hammering.

  Trixie pulled her arm back from his shoulder. "In there!" she then ordered, pushing him through the doorway. Dom barely had time to catch his breath. He staggered into screen three, almost stumbling over the thug's prone body. His ears then pricked to the sound of boots back in the corridor. A round of shots went off, just as Trixie dived into screen three with him. She spun and threw a smoke bomb back out into the corridor; it soon overflowed with thick smoke.

  "I don't know how much more of this I can take!" Dom declared, grabbing his heaving chest.

  Trixie backed up level with him. "You wanna stay here? Be my guest!" She spun away and aimed her flash at the mass of seats in the center of the theater. Splitting them was an aisle that led to the exit. "Get to the center aisle," she said, grabbing Dom's forearm for a brief moment and running ahead of him along the sodden carpet between the stage and the first row of seats. Dom looked around him in a haze. Trixie's flash was bouncing off everything; the ceiling, the screen, the seats. It was a strobe-like panic-stricken dash for the center aisle. Trixie made it there before him and turned a sharp right. She dashed along the aisle like a whippet while Dom struggled to keep up.

  She noticed him lagging and spun to face him. "Come on!" she urged.

  "I'm... trying..." Dom managed under the pressure exerted on his chest. It was burning under the strain like an overheated engine. They made it halfway up the aisle when Dom finally caved in. He collapsed on the ground in an exhausted heap.

  "I can't... go any more..." he spluttered, grabbing his chest and shaking his head.

  Trixie stopped dead. She whirled on the spot to face him. "What's--" she began.

  Dom's jaw dropped like an anchor, cutting her short.

  Trixie frowned in confusion. "What you looking at?" she asked.

  Dom pointed a shaky finger behind her.

  Trixie turned. Now standing at the end of the aisle, blocking the exit, was a steroid-head in a balaclava. His muscles bulged out of his vest like pumped up hunks of meat, his head literally inches from the ceiling. He stood in a wide stance, hands on his hips, his teeth clenched tight. He flexed his thick pecs, then popped up his traps, before flaring his lats; they spread like a cobra's head.

  Trixie turned her head to the side. "Ugh!" she uttered before lifting her dart gun with a loose grip and firing off a shot. The dart jabbed the steroid-addled merc in the upper pectoral. He flinched.

  Trixie turned back to Dom, whose stare was fixed on the merc. "Come on, get up!" she ordered, reaching out a hand, just as the thug's tree trunk legs buckled beneath him. Dom watched him slam into the ground like a felled oak. With bemused eyes, he met Trixie's serious stare. "We don't have time," she said to him, not looking back once.

  Dom grabbed her hand and hoisted himself up to his feet. Trixie looked around, aiming her flash left and right. She then moved slow but with purpose up the rest of the aisle, taking a large step over the bag of meat on the ground. Dom followed, his eyes never leaving the merc as he too took a lunaresque step over his massive body. It was like stepping over a sleeping lion.

  "Man, this dude's jacked!" Dom stated.

  "Impressive pecs, shame about what's between the ears," Trixie said over her shoulder before she went and hugged the wall. She peeked around the corner and shone her flash. Dom went and joined her.

  "This corridor leads to the lobby," she said over her shoulder in a quiet voice.

  "We're almost out of here," Dom said, thankful for the chance to catch his breath.

  "Not quite." Trixie pulled back and checked her dart gun. When she was done, she said, "let's go," before moving out into the corridor, whirling in a big circle, her dart gun ready to go to work. Dom followed up, backing away from the entrance to screen four where he was first jumped; he watched it with paranoid eyes. It was quiet like a morgue. All shadows and darkness. At any moment, he expected the thugs that chased him in there to come storming out. They never did. Instead, they both made it to the end of the corridor unhindered. Trixie hugged the wall again. She killed the flash and peeked around the corner. Her eyes were forced to squint under the glare of the flashligh
t shining in her direction. She wound her neck back in, her breathing sharp. "There's more in the lobby!" she said in a loud whisper.

  Dom groaned. "How many?"

  "I'm not sure. Two, maybe three."

  "Did they see you?"

  "I don't think so."

  Dom huffed. "What do we do now?"

  "I'm not sure," Trixie answered. She looked up and around. "Wait here," she then said over her shoulder before squatting and scampering around the corner rat-like.

  "What? Where are you going?" Dom said after her, but she was gone. He slammed the mangy carpet with his fist. "Dammit," he spat in a harsh whisper. He poked his head around the corner and watched on with anxious eyes.

  Trixie ducked under the entrance to the popcorn counter and slid in behind there. Now she could clear half the lobby without being spotted. On her way, she noted the guy on the door watching the street, while two more were actually in the lobby area, lounging, awaiting orders. She pressed herself up against the counter, a musky smell of rotten wood mingled with rat droppings filling her nostrils. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and listened intently. A radio crackle broke the tomb-like silence. It grew louder as the mercs approached her position. She scuttled on further, moving in the opposite direction to them until she reached the other end of the counter. Once there she peeked around the corner. She could clearly see the merc by the door; he was staring out on the street, his attention elsewhere. She flexed her thighs, easing herself up till she could peek over the counter. The other two now had their backs turned to her as they patrolled the lobby. Once they reached the end she'd just come from, they'd likely double back and spot her.

  One shot, girl, Trixie told herself. Make it quick.

  She raised her dart gun. She closed an eye while aiming for the thug by the door. She licked her lower lip. She only had one shot, she needed to make it. Fast. She held her breath, got the small of his back in her sights...

  And then pulled the trigger.

  The phut! sounded out, then the thug's back straightened. He threw an instinctive hand down to his ass, right where the dart hit. Trixie's aim was slightly off. She shrugged to herself. More than one way to skin a cat, or down a merc.

  And down he went, with a groan. The noise alerted the other two. They spun toward the entrance. Trixie ducked down behind the counter and pressed her back up against it. She waited in the darkness, her breath held. The sound of pounding boots grew louder as the mercs came running her way.

  "Hey! You all right?" she heard one of them say. "Wake up!"

  "Is he dead?" the other one asked.

  "No. He's breathing."

  "Then what happened to him?"

  "I don't know."

  "Hey, what's this?"

  "What's what?"

  "There's something sticking out of his ass."

  "His ass?"

  Trixie threw a hand up to her mouth to stifle a laugh.

  "Yeah, man, take a look."

  "You take a look!"

  "Oh, man." A brief silence, then, "looks like a... dart."

  "A dart? In his ass? Christ, he'll never live this one down."

  "You think that's what knocked him out?"

  "Hmm-hmm, gotta be. Tranqs."

  "Tranqs? Oh shit! That means--"

  "She's in the room with you!" Trixie finished from behind them.

  Both mercs recoiled, before spinning back her way. Trixie sent out a high boot, connecting with the head on the right before its owner had a chance to raise his gun. He was sent sprawling off to the side. At the same time, she fired off a tranq into the other merc's upper arm. She kicked him away too, just as the stuff went to work. The first thug scrambled across the deck in a panic; Trixie approached him cool and slick, aimed her dart gun at his ass, and then let him have it. Phut! His teeth clenched and he grabbed his ass cheek. His back straightened, and then he became still.

  "Now you won't live it down, either, Jack," Trixie said, replacing her dart gun with a wry smile spread across her cheeks.

  She looked around; they were finally in the clear. "Okay, Dom!" she shouted. "It's safe."

  Dom entered the lobby with a sheepish look on his face; he scurried up toward Trixie. He stood by her side and gazed upon the three bodies by her feet. "Knew you could handle them all by yourself," he said.

  "Cute. Come on, let's get out of here."

  Dom nodded in agreement. They stormed out of the movie theater and back onto the streets, their eyes adjusting to the bright light. Dom sucked in a lungful of air, relishing the city air as opposed to the dank, musky atmosphere of the movie theater. For a while back there, he thought he'd never get the chance to enjoy it again. He owed Trixie another one. Man, the favors are clocking up. I'll get her some flowers or chocolates someday.

  Trixie scanned the area before she led him past the jeep the second unit of mercs arrived in; a loud crackle shot out from near the front seats. They both stopped in their tracks and turned its way.

  "Rhino Peacock, come in!" came the grainy voice from the radio on the dash. "Rhino Peacock, do you hear me?"

  Trixie nodded her head toward it. "Go get it."

  Dom's brow furrowed. "What for?"

  "Tell them we're both dead."

  Dom stepped up to the jeep, leaned in, and grabbed the radio. He kept his stare on Trixie as he pushed down the button. He cleared his throat, before speaking into it with a deepened voice. "Rhino Peacock... er... here... sir," he said.

  "Status update," came the reply.

  "Uh, both erm targets have been smoked," he answered with an unsure shrug.

  "Freaking A! The bullfrogs got toasted like marshmallows at a campfire, son!"

  Dom frowned in confusion.

  "Laugh!" Trixie then said in a hoarse whisper.

  Dom met her stare and mouthed 'what?'

  "Laugh," Trixie repeated. "That was his idea of a joke."

  Dom's eyes lit up. "Oh!" He cleared his throat and clicked the button. "Ha ha ha! Yeah, good one! Freaking bullfrogs got what was coming to em. Soon, there'll be no more bullfrogs left to bother us."

  "Amen, brother. Roger out!"

  The radio went dead. Dom stared at it in disbelief for a second before throwing it back in the jeep like it was a dead rat.

  "Come on," said Trixie. "Let's get back to the mansion and check on my dad."

  "Yeah, I think we better," Dom agreed before they raced off for the car they arrived in, leaving the old movie theater behind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Once inside the helicopter a bag was thrown over Vincent's head as if he were a detainee at Gitmo. His world was dumped into darkness moments before his stomach shot upward alongside the helicopter as they set off on their journey to the unknown. Vincent's sense of fear had already been displaced by a rare dejection. His life, the world as he knew it had been torn apart. His home invaded, forced to witness the cruel death of Rufus, the boy he'd promised to protect. He thought of Dom and Trixie, contemplating where they might be, how they'd have to face those thugs back at the mansion on their return. Beneath his hood, he prayed for their safety.

  For the duration of the journey, he sat motionless, his breathing steady while he readied himself for whatever they had in store for him. The whir of the rotors the only sound, twirling around his mind. He wondered if this was it, if this was finally the end. He wondered if it should be the end. The end of the road. Time to just give in. The Order had grown too powerful, using subterfuge and confusion, divide and rule to great effect in their plan to dominate over humankind from the shadows. How could he, just one mortal, hope to combat, and annihilate such a carefully constructed apparatus of evil? It was futile. Maybe what had transpired was for the best for all. How many lives could be lost? How much more destruction? How many more deaths could he witness?

  He began wringing his tired hands, cold shivers dancing up and down his spine. He could sense the evil around him, almost taste it. Brainwashed, drugged thugs doing whatever their master bids them to. Unques
tioning, unrelenting, and worse of all, compliant. Vincent sighed in disappointment at the predicament of humankind. There seemed to be no hope left. His head dropped in despondency.

  Time to retire altogether, old boy, a voice inside him declared; the voice of defeat.

  Soon enough, the helicopter slowed and then began to lower. Vincent's stomach dropped on the descent. He steeled himself, readying himself for whatever fate awaited him. He didn't want them to see his dejection, didn't want to give them the satisfaction. He'd come this far by always showing a grim determination, never allowing this parasitical force to break him down no matter what it threw his way. He began wringing his hands harder. The whiff of evil was now in his nostrils as they entered the heart of darkness, as they drew closer to his fate. In the following moments, he was smothered by evil. The stench triggered off his anger; it brewed in his belly. Suddenly, there was no more fear or despondency or dejection. Instead, there was a longing anger. And conversely, it was fear from within the darkness he could smell. It reeked. Stank like the bottom of a sewer. It was pure fear that had instigated today's episode. Fear on their part. On the part of the enemy. Now alongside the anger, a certain strength began to work its way into Vincent's limbs. A strength these creatures were lacking and something they'd always lack. Faith.

  These were faithless beings, devoid of humanity, bereft of compassion. A weak, scared, contemptible species.

  And with that realization, Vincent clenched his teeth behind his bag, and he whispered one thing to himself: "Bring it on."

  The helicopter landed with a small bump, causing Vincent to jump in his seat. There was a sharp scrape as the door slid open, releasing a blast of cold air and the hot sound of the rotors.

  "Let's go!" came the order before he was shoved across the seats toward the cold. A hand grabbed his upper arm and pulled. He stumbled out of the helicopter, that hand holding him upright. He was dragged along, his feet barely having time to adjust themselves. The ground below them was rough, grainy. His shoes scratched across it until they touched smooth concrete. There, things turned a tad warmer. A door closed behind him and the sound of the helicopter rotors became muffled.