by Leo Romero
"You stay away from her, pruneface! She's mine!"
"You all make me sick," Trixie stated through clenched teeth. "You don't belong in this world."
They cackled. Her skin crawled.
"We rule this world, child," one of them said in a baritone voice, sending a shiver coursing up her spine. "We got the markets rigged, the politicians in our pockets, and the clergy in our pants!"
"And more guns than The Wild Bunch," another jabbered.
"That's right, lady. We control every piece of the board; from the ice to the sand, we own it all."
"And we did it our waaaaaay!" another wailed like a rabid alley-cat.
They all cheered and laughed like gibbering monkeys. Trixie's chest began to heave; their stink of musk and decay was getting closer. She was now having to turn faster and faster to keep her dart gun trained on any one of them. They were hunched over goblins, all skipping in excitement to their right in a unified circle, her presence causing dribble to spill down their sagging chins.
She edged further toward the end of the auditorium regardless. Her eyes fell on the stairwell door outside the auditorium. They were blocking off the glass door leading out to it, dancing and skipping from side-to-side ahead of her. She just wanted to get out of there, leave these disgusting creatures behind.
She got to within a few feet of the door, and she stopped. Standing between it and her were two wrinkled bags in expensive suits. They were leering at her like perverted priests.
"Out of my way!" she ordered.
"You can't leave," one of them said in a coarse voice as if his throat had been packed with gravel.
"Just watch me, Jack."
A round of gargled laughter rang out, causing her skin to crawl.
As the seconds ticked by, she could feel them closing in, the circle they were creating getting tighter. Tighter. She poked her gun in the face of one that got too close. He backed down before she could shoot, but the others behind took the opportunity to close in. She forced another back, but the others still got tighter. Her heart began to pick up pace. She spun in a circle, aiming at them all. With each rotation she made, their faces were getting larger, their fangs growing more prominent. They were getting closer. Closer. It was only a matter of time.
Keep them in sight, Trixie, she told herself. Keep them in sight.
Panic began to set in; her heart now hammered against her ribs. She was surrounded, trapped in a small circle. They skipped and danced merrily, poking out their rotten, chewed tongues, making scary faces at her. They knew they'd managed to snare their prey. Now all they had to do was finish her off.
One hopped toward her. Trixie shoved her gun forward; the vamp heading her way yelped and hopped back, but another took the opportunity to draw nearer to her. There was a tap on her shoulder; she whirled to see the back of one as it ran away, giggling like a child. Her skin crawled. Laughter filled her ears; it was a disgusting sound like being trapped in an aviary at feeding time.
She took a steadying breath, her legs trembling in fear. There were too many of them; it was impossible to get an aim on all of them. They were too small, too nimble.
Without warning, they stopped. Everything became eerily still. Her heart stopped beating. She watched them with narrowed eyes.
And then it all kicked off.
She was shoved from behind. She staggered across the floor, the blow catching her by surprise. A vamp seized the opportunity; it hopped up to her and grabbed her arm. Trixie screamed. She looked down to see it hanging off her arm like a leech, desperately trying to get fangs into her.
"Get off me!" Trixie shrieked. She yanked her arm away; a loud tear of fabric split the disgusting feeding noises the vamp was making. The remainder of her shirtsleeve came away, taking the vamp along with it. On the way, it dug its claws into her exposed arm, dragging them down her skin, drawing blood. Trixie howled in agony. She threw out a reactive palm. She connected with the side of the vamp's head. The vamp was swiped to the side; it hit the carpet with a grunt, Trixie's torn shirtsleeve still clutched in its grubby claws.
Trixie grabbed her hurt arm. Blood oozed out between her fingers. The sight and scent of blood on the air sent the others into a frenzy. They jumped in.
Trixie reacted. She caught a glimpse of a shriveled hobgoblin storming her way, his fangs bared. She whipped a reactionary boot around and caught it in the face. His nose crunched; he grunted as he smashed back on his ass. She fired off a quick dart, catching him in the leg before whirling back the way she came, leaving him to enter death convulsions. She brought her still outstretched hand around. The muzzle of her dart gun stopped an inch from the vamp that was rushing in, his claws at the ready, his mouth cavernous.
He froze, staring at the barrel cross-eyed.
"Bang!" Trixie said before she pulled the trigger. The dart hit him in the chest, staggering him back into instant spasms. She whirled left and right, shooting at whatever moved her way, her dart gun working overtime. In seconds, bodies sprawled all over the carpet, either dead, floored, or dying, their ancient bodies juddering under the effects of holy water.
Trixie bounced on her heels, her eyes hot and alert, taking in everything. A shrunken gremlin hopped up toward her. Trixie threw a leg back and thrust it forward, kicking him like he was a football. He flew back the way he came, smashing into the glass wall, making it reverberate.
She went to shoot him up with holy water, when something leaped up on her back, throwing her aim off. She yelped and began whirling like a ballerina, hoping to shake off the vamp clamped to her back. He refused to give in, holding firm despite her rapid movements. He slammed a claw on her forehead, wrapping the other around her neck. The stench of decay and death emanating from him like rotten eggs filled her nostrils. He was panting like a rabid dog, ice cold spittle hitting the back of her neck. Disgusting guttural noises escaped him that sounded like an imp in the throes of pleasure; the old bastard was enjoying the exercise he was getting. She tried to peel him off, but he was glued to her.
"Get off me!" she growled. She whipped herself around, hoping to finally throw him off. But as she did, small, wiry arms wrapped around both her legs, trapping her in place. Panic split her in two. She tried to turn, but it was as if she were wearing lead boots. Before she knew it, she was encumbered by more as they grabbed hold of what they could, wanting to halt the wild bull.
She groaned under the strain. She wanted to kick out, but they had her rooted.
"We got you now, holy one!" the vamp glued to her back sniggered. "She's ours, boys!"
The others cackled in response, one of them gnawing at her boot.
Trixie closed her eyes. She reached into herself, summoning up every ounce of strength she had. She sucked in a deep breath. "Go to Hell!" she shouted, before releasing a banshee-like scream. She threw her leg out as hard as she could. The vamp pinning it down was sent rolling across the carpet. In the next instant, she brought the same leg up and stamped down on the vamp gripping her other leg. He took the blow full on but remained stuck to her. Trixie raised her boot once more and brought it down again with a screaming grunt. Her heel smashed into the side of his head. His skull literally cracked under the pressure. The blow forced him to reel away, freeing her of his burden.
And then she could move again.
She rolled her eyes to the side. "Now for you!" she sneered to the one on her back. She whirled away, the vamp still piggy-backing her like they were playing in the schoolyard. She straightened her back and then raced backward as fast as she could, catching the vamp by surprise. He let out a panicked shriek.
Trixie didn't let up. She threw herself back, screaming at the top of her voice, till she smashed into the auditorium wall. The vamp crushed into it with a satisfying snap of bones, the glass reverberating under the pressure. He still managed to hold on regardless.
Trixie huffed. "I said..." She raced forward, stopped then hurtled back into the wall once more. "Get off me!" she screamed as she went. The vamp almo
st obliterated under the impact like a squashed melon. More bones cracked, an ugly groan of pain escaping him. Finally, his grip released and he slid down the wall into a heap.
Trixie barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief when another vamp rushed her. He swiped his claws across the air, catching her midriff. She recoiled in pain, her eyes falling down on her dart gun on the floor nearby. The vamp saw her eyeing it; he raced over for it, waddling from side-to-side like an evil leprechaun.
"No, you don't!" Trixie said as she dived across the carpet. She threw out an arm, managing to get to the dart gun before the vamp. She grabbed it, threw it up in his face and fired. The vamp grabbed his eye where the dart hit. He reeled away, screaming in pain. He bumped into a chair and tripped before spasming on the floor. Without hesitation, she spun back and began shooting the vamps that had been pinning her down, making sure to finish them off.
A noise made her turn. The final vamp was trying to run away. She watched his pitiful attempt with contempt as he tried to bundle past a desk. "Where you going?" she asked between pants. The vamp gave her a worried look before spinning away. Trixie showed him no mercy. She raised her dart gun and tagged him in the back. He fell to the ground in a twitchy heap, joining the other convulsing bodies all around her; it was like the whole room had been electrified and she was immune. She looked around her in disgust, her heart hammering.
Then, in an instant, everything went deathly silent. And still. She dropped her dart gun, her body soon joining it to a bent over position, her hands splayed out on the carpet ahead of her. Her chest heaved, her mind whirled. She glared up at the ceiling with wet eyes. "Think you could've survived that one, Dad?" she asked. She then rubbed her eyes. "That's gotta be like, some kind of world record."
She looked around her at the bodies lying all over the floor and began a quick headcount. "...five, six... ten... twelve... Oh, whatever." She wiped her eyes. "One thing's for sure, there's no way I'm collecting all their fangs."
She groaned, fell on her back, and lay there, an intense feeling of sorrow overwhelming her. God, what a shitty world I live in.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The elevator pinged behind Trixie, snapping her out of her malaise. She twitched back into life; bodies of old vamps were sprawled all around her, bathed in the light emanating from the projector screen. Outside the auditorium, the elevator doors opened; Blacklake filed out like ants, their guns locked and loaded. The overhead lights flicked on. By the time her pupils adjusted, she'd sprung to her feet. She turned and dashed through the remainder of the auditorium toward the exit.
"There!" a gruff voice behind her growled.
Her heart jumped into her throat. The auditorium erupted with gunfire. She screamed in terror as she dived over the body of an Order vamp. She hit the carpet beyond, skidding along it for a second; it burned along her cheek and knees. Ignoring the abrasive pain, she flipped up to her feet again and sprinted as hard as she could, aiming for the auditorium exit, her heart banging like a drum. In no time she was there; she shoulder barged the glass door, rifling through it to the corridor beyond, the stairwell door in sight. She set off, that door her new goal.
Make it, Trixie, she urged herself. Make it!
Another burst of gunfire made her duck. The glass wall of the auditorium exploded into tiny fragments; they rained on her back like confetti. She yelped and shook it all off, the sensation of tiny pinpricks on the back of her neck like bug bites. She stood upright and whipped her head around; three Blacklake were storming her way. The lead raised his gun in her direction. She gasped; he had a clear aim on her and she was rooted. Her head whipped back. The floor between her and the stairwell door as covered in broken glass. She stared at her hands; then the floor. Her hands, the floor. All of a sudden the floor appeared like a crocodile infested river. And she had to negotiate it. Fast.
She sucked in a huge breath, then leaped into a summersault; she was then an instant blur. The gun behind her spat. Her hands landed right on the broken glass; a torrent of pain ripped up her arms as if she'd just fallen into a bed of thorns. Her severed finger shrieked.
Fight it! Fight it! Keep going! Make it!
She gritted her teeth and held on, absorbing the pain. She managed to return to her feet despite the agony and went into another summersault, moving like the wind. Her hands crunched into those glass fragments once more and fresh pain tore through her. She screamed. But it was a scream only half of pain; the rest was gritty determination. She had to make it. Had to. She threw every ounce of strength she had into her flips, ensuring she made it over and back onto her feet without stumbling. Any slips and she'd be a sitting duck. She could virtually see the bullets following her, unable to catch up.
She smashed her boots down on the shards of glass; they popped and cracked beneath her. She went right into the next summersault. Her hands smashed down into more jagged fragments of glass; she let out a tortured groan. The sound of the bullets piercing the far wall as they chased her along was getting closer. She gave it one final push off her pain-riddled hands; she flipped triumphantly over her head and landed square and true on her boots, glass crunching beneath them. She threw out a hand, just as the bullets ceased firing. She got hold of the door handle and threw it open. She jumped beyond into the whitewash stairwell once more; she didn't hesitate in racing up the steps. As she stormed up them, she took a moment to check her throbbing hands; they were drenched with blood, tiny fragments of glass embedded in her palms glinting under the fluorescents. They were juddering with pain. She had to ignore it; she needed to keep going. She wiped the tears streaming down her cheeks with the backs of her lacerated hands and carried on racing up the stairs. She cleared seventy-three and seventy-four.
A door slammed somewhere down below; gruff voices and boots on vinyl flooring ensued. She put her head down and cleared more steps, her wet eyes darting up and down, left and right.
She made it up to seventy-five--the three-quarter point--and dived into the floor, hoping to head them off. Once more she found herself surrounded by darkened office furnishings. She shot through the office floor, ducked into a cubicle and pressed herself up against the wall. She held her breath and waited it out, listening with keen ears for the sound of the stairwell door opening and thugs storming in looking for her. But it never came. After what seemed like an eternity, her chest released and she began to breathe once more. The adrenaline rush subsided and the hot, throbbing pain in her palms became apparent. Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. She wiped them away, mumbling to herself. "Why is this happening? Why is this happening? I just want it to end."
She gingerly got to her feet and felt her way along to the kitchen area. Once inside, she switched on the light and grabbed the first aid kit from the wall, smearing its green surface red. She snapped it open and fished out a bottle of antiseptic. She didn't bother with a cotton bud swab this time. Instead, she took it over to the sink, threw off the cap, braced herself, then poured it over her palm, setting it on fire. She bit into her forearm, stifling her scream. When the burn eventually calmed, she removed it from her mouth, bite marks now embossed in her skin. She wiped the new tears from her eyes, took the bottle in her other hand and repeated the procedure. This time, her shirtsleeve bore the brunt of her teeth.
She groaned in pain and collapsed over the sink, propping herself up on her forearms, her hands numb and stiff with pain. She turned her palms up to face her; flaps of torn skin hung from deep cuts crisscrossing them. The bandage she'd already wrapped around her damaged finger was soaked red. She watched in despondency as blood began seeping out of the new wounds, staining her palms red once more. She grabbed a roll of kitchen paper and began dabbing her hands down. At first it hurt, but she grew accustomed to the sharp stings every time she touched the cuts, the frayed nerves beginning to cool as the seconds passed by. She grabbed some bandage and tape from the first aid kit and began wrapping her palms nice and thin as to not interfere with her grip; she knew she'd still need to fire
her dart gun at some pint. She taped the bandages down and then wrapped any damaged fingers individually.
When done, she held her hands up and stared. "I'm like the Invisible Man," she quipped, glaring at her bandaged hands in wonder. Already, they were beginning to stain red. She checked her forearm. Thin red streaks ran down it from where that disgusting old vamp scraped his claws on her. Her throat hurt from where Nixon throttled her. She was bloodied and bruised, cut and torn. She glanced up at the ceiling and wiped her eyes. "The things I do for you, Daddy," she said with a sigh of lament.
She then bent over the sink, popped open the faucet and stuck her head beneath it. The cold water rained over her clammy face. Right then, it was akin to being under a beautiful waterfall in some exotic location, not stuck in a sun proof skyscraper hunted by mercs and vamps. She drank deep, her dry throat grateful for the lubrication; it slipped down like silk. When satiated, she stood upright, grabbed some more kitchen roll and used it to wipe herself down and smooth her hair down. She scrunched it up, threw it to the side, and then grabbed her dart gun, wanting to test it out. It was tender in her hand, uncomfortable. She tightened her grip and it stung at first, but told herself she'd have to bear it. She removed the magazine, aimed, and pulled the trigger. A shot of pain raced up her arm. She took a steadying breath and pulled the trigger again; this time it wasn't as bad. She'd just have to live with the pain for now.
She counted the darts left in the magazine before replacing the dart gun back in her belt. She then checked the rest of her supplies. She was out of smoke grenades and she used up a lot of holy water on those vamps; she didn't have much left. She had a good amount of tranqs for the mercs, and the sonic booms (which she'd forgotten about till now). "I could've used these on those old bastards back there," she said to herself with a sense of chagrin, staring at the two silver and black devices. She shrugged. "Too late now."
