Blood Apocalypse - 04

by Heath Stallcup

  With his senses sharpening, he quickly entered the complete darkness of the body room and ripped the vampire into pieces. He ate as quickly as he could, nearly choking on the large chunks of meat as he filled his belly once more on the power of the much older undead.

  Once he was satiated, Damien made his way to the stairs. Drunk on the flesh and power of the elder vampire, he barely noticed the shadow moving above him until he was almost upon the hooded figure.

  “Get your fill, flesh eater?” asked the darkness, and Damien felt his world come crashing down upon him.

  *****

  “Jesus, Mark. You look like hell,” Mitchell commented as Tufo entered his office.

  “Thanks for noticing.” Mark fell into the chair across from Matt’s desk. He glanced across the office and saw the coffee pot. “Is that for real?” He got back up and started pouring a large mug.

  Mitchell chuckled. “Yeah. Some sort of fancy bean that Diane got me. Doesn’t taste half bad, actually.”

  Tufo sipped the dark nectar and moaned. “Not half bad?” he repeated. “Good lord, Matt, this is ambrosia.”

  “If you say so, Mark.” Matt stiffened slightly and shot Mark a sideways stare. “We need to talk, buddy.” Mark continued to sip the coffee and took his seat again.

  “I just got off the horn with the Pentagon,” Matt began. “It’s not good.”

  “Don’t hold back. Hit me with it.” Mark sipped the coffee, wondering what the next shit bomb to hit might be. “What now, aliens from Uranus, zombies from Washington? What?”

  Matt sighed and shook his head. “Worse. Paper pushers from the Pentagon.” He stood and opened the blinds a little further at his office window. He peered out at the work going on and shook his head. “It seems that your position is a ‘commissioned officer only’ billet.” Matt turned and looked at Mark who seemed completely unperturbed. “Since you were enlisted, they’re wanting me to replace you.”

  “I don’t guess they give two shits that Laura was a civilian and filled the billet? Technically, I’m a civilian.”

  Matt shook his head. “You know how they think, Mark. Once an operator, always an operator. As far as they’re concerned, you were simply reactivated.” Matt poured himself a coffee and sat down again. When he didn’t pour any Scotch in it, Mark raised an eyebrow, but held his tongue.

  “Do they have somebody in mind?”

  “No, but I do. I made a few calls as soon as I got off the phone with them.” Matt sipped at the hot bitter liquid. “I called Senator Coburn and had him check something for me. He made a few inquiries and we just got off the phone before I sent for you.”

  Mark nodded. “I don’t suppose I could just slip back in with Jack’s team? I mean, I know Dominic is back, but…”

  “No, that won’t be happening, buddy.” Matt sipped his coffee again then set his cup down. “First thing you’re going to do is get a haircut. You’re starting to look like a hippie.” Mark shot him a hateful look and ran his fingers through his hair. Yeah, it was a little long, but most special operators were given leeway with such things so that they could blend in better in civilian situations. “Then, for the love of God, if you won’t shave, at least trim that fucking goatee. There’s more salt than pepper there.”

  “Hey now—”

  “THEN, you’re going to get your ass in the proper uniform, Major,” Matt interrupted. Tufo began to argue then froze, his mouth hanging open.

  “What did you say?” he asked.

  “You heard me, MAJOR.” Matt formed a wicked smile. “The Pentagon said I need to have a commissioned officer in the billet, and our esteemed Congress Critters came through. Your commissioning papers are on the way. Along with Command Advancement to the rank of Major.”

  Mark fell back in his chair and stared at him. He shook his head in disbelief. “Matt, you can’t do that…”

  “I just did,” Matt announced. “Now get your ass in gear and get a haircut for Chrissake!” He stood and drained his coffee cup. “I got work to do and so do you.”

  Mark stood and drained his cup as well. “What about the SOP about no rank and…”

  “That’s for squad members.” Matt grabbed at his own collar device. “You and me are Administration. Spit-n-polish and kissing politician’s asses. So I don’t care if you keep the goatee. It might give the bastards a rash on their baby fresh cheeks. But for the love of Pete, trim the damned thing. It looks like a gopher died on your face.” Tufo shot him a hurt look just as Matt turned and added, “An old, grey gopher.”

  He barely dodged the coffee cup that Mark threw in his direction.

  *****

  Barbara slept off and on through the waning hours of the night and was sleeping deeply when Bobby gently shook her awake. Her muddled and sleep deprived mind fought the fog and she instantly reached for her pistol but Bobby had been smart and had gently removed it from her hands before trying to wake her. He didn’t want her to accidentally jerk and perhaps fire a round, alerting anybody nearby to their position. Judging by her reaction, he was proud of his foresight.

  She quickly took in her surroundings and allowed herself to relax a moment. Bobby slid back slightly and allowed himself to relax as well. “I think they’re all gone, Mom,” he whispered.

  Barbara yawned and stretched as much as she could in the cramped crawlspace. Bobby handed her back her gun and she crawled back to where the door was directly over her head. She got her feet directly under her and lifted the door just enough to steal a peek into the cabin. It appeared empty, the front door just slightly ajar. She looked to either side of the trap door and saw the destruction of the cabin that the intruders from the previous night had done looking for signs of their staying there. She breathed a sigh of relief and pushed the door higher to allow Bobby to get out.

  She crawled out of the space and lowered the door gently to its shut position and spread the carpet back over it, just in case they should need it again. She went to the window seat where they stowed their bugout gear. The top was secured and didn’t lift, but the front fascia was removable to those who knew about it. She reached inside and grabbed both of their bags. Handing Bobby his, he slipped his arms through the straps and secured it into place. She slung her own over her left shoulder and shut the fascia again. With one more check of the cabin, they made their way back out and along a game trail that ran parallel to where the car was parked.

  When they got close, she had Bobby stay back behind a fallen tree while she checked the car. From a distance, it looked untouched, but as she got closer, she picked up the distinct smell of antifreeze. A sick feeling came over as she got closer to the car. The limbs that she and Bobby had cut down and braced along the car to hide it from view were all removed and the passenger window knocked out. The hood was slightly ajar and she saw the fluids still dripping from under the car. She lifted the hood and wanted to cry when she saw the tangle of wires, shredded fan belt and ripped hoses. She gently lowered the hood and went back to Bobby. As she got close he stepped out from behind the tree and she didn’t have the heart to say anything. She simply shook her head.

  She put a hand on his shoulder and the two kept to the game trail that she knew would eventually cross the highway. Her grandfather had brought her out to these woods most of her life and she was as familiar with it as anybody. As long as Bobby stayed close, they’d be fine. She would keep him safe no matter what, but her first priority was to put as much distance between them and their pursuers as possible.

  They walked for half the morning before they broke through the underbrush and came out along the edge of the highway. Barbara at first felt joy, then sheer terror that anybody could see them, including people who worked with or for the monsters. She had to choose, right or left…east or west. One way led back into town and people that she knew. But most likely, it also led back to her pursuers. They had to be based somewhere. The other led away from anything familiar, but she also knew that it was a very long way to the next town on a rarely traveled ro
ad. She chose the lesser of two evils and turned Bobby away from the town and hoped that the next vehicle coming down the road would be a Good Samaritan.

  *****

  “Yes, well right now isn’t exactly the best of times,” Major Sheridan spoke softly into his satellite phone. After a brief pause he replied, “I don’t really care, this is far more pressing.” Sheridan listened intently to who was on the other line and it was evident that he wasn’t liking what he was hearing. He exhaled harshly and took a brief moment to compose himself.

  “Look, I will see to it. But not until after this mission is complete, do you understand me? You bastards got your pound of flesh and that’s all you will ever get again! I don’t care about your keeping up appearances, I don’t care about your damned politics and I damned sure don’t care about your honor!” he exclaimed quietly through gritted teeth. “I told you before we came out here that we would take care of this, and we will. But we will do this MY way. If you can’t wait, then you can bloody well feel free to fly your happy arses out here and do it your own damned selves.”

  Sheridan listened to the stony silence on the other end of the line and smiled inwardly. It wasn’t often that he could pull rank on his secondary handlers and it felt good when he could. He wasn’t going to play his Ace just yet, but decided he might as well. It would give them something to stew on until his next call-in over the secured satellite phone. “And a little something else I found out that you might like to know? Your target entered into an alliance with his own accuser. A BLOOD alliance. And the alliance gave the target full control of the accuser’s non fiscal holdings.” He glanced around to ensure that he was still alone and listened to the silence on the line. “It sort of makes you wonder about the accusations made, doesn’t it?”

  “It makes no difference. The target is still to be eliminated,” the raspy voice responded.

  “I’m sure,” Sheridan replied dryly. A vampire death sentence is a vampire death sentence. And The Council took no prisoners. “Still, it does make you wonder, doesn’t it? The accuser entering willfully into a blood alliance with the very man he accused of killing his father? Handing over all of his power, all of his muscle, basically signing over his allegiance to someone he wanted dead? It’s almost enough to make you question the validity of his accusation, don’t you think?”

  “Do the job,” the raspy voice said just before the line went dead.

  Sheridan smiled as he turned off the phone and stuffed it back into his duffle. He sighed and shook his head. He hated the position he found himself in, but it couldn’t be helped. Part of him hoped that the upcoming battle would do the job for him and he wouldn’t have to dirty his hands. His closest friend on the yank team…hell, on any of the teams, had grown quite close to his target. And he didn’t know if he’d be able to pull off the assignment with all the people on this base. The battle would be his best chance. During the confusion that major battles always caused, he could possibly slip in close to the vampire, and while his attention was elsewhere, end his undead life.

  Sheridan stalked back to his room amidst the other team leaders’ rooms and stuffed his duffle in the storage locker. He was just about to sneak back out when Jack appeared at the door. “Hey, Sherry, wanna catch a bite to eat? I was gonna grab Nadia and snag a little something. I thought it would be a good time to let the two of you get to know each other.”

  Sheridan shot him a smile and nodded. “Sure, mate. I was going to shower and change, but I could skip that if you don’t think she’d mind the smell?”

  Jack wrinkled his nose. “Shower first. Nobody wants to smell your Brit funk, dude,” he joked. “Besides, I have to track her down first. I think she’s off doing girly stuff with her mom.”

  “Excellent. Meet you in twenty?”

  “Catch you then.” Jack disappeared out the door.

  Sheridan exhaled a deep breath and leaned against his locker. He shook his head and thought about the situation and fought the urge to put his fist through something. Instead, he grabbed a towel and stepped into his private shower.

  *****

  As Jack exited the barracks Nicolo Adolfo caught up to him and clapped his shoulder. “I need your time,” he said breathlessly.

  “Sure, but I was just about to find my wife and eat,” Jack replied, obviously distracted. “What’s up?”

  “We have…” Nicolo waved his hands in the air animatedly, “special weapons?”

  Jack shook his head, not understanding. “We use submachine guns and pistols for the most part. And the silver nitrate grenades, the UV grenades—the same gear you guys have.”

  “No, no, no,” Nicolo said, obviously frustrated and struggling with his English. “Coming here. Now. From the EU. Special made for us to use.”

  Jack’s eyes lit up with understanding. “Oh! You have specialty weapons arriving here.”

  “Sí!” Nicolo exclaimed, then corrected himself. “I mean, yes. We have them air freighted here. Arriving soon.” He turned toward the runway and gestured again, “But who do we speak to about…this?”

  “About the freight arriving or the weapons themselves?” Jack shook his head.

  Nicolo smiled at him and nodded. “I suppose, both.”

  Jack pointed to the HQ building. “Up those steps and inside. Colonel Mitchell’s office is on the right, or the XO’s office is on the left. His name is Mark Tufo. He’s a really nice guy. He can get you set up with whatever you need.” Jack gave him a sly grin. “Tell him I sent you.”

  “Grazie, Jack!” Nicolo clapped his back as he turned and headed to the HQ building.

  Jack followed him with his eyes a few moments before shaking his head and snorting. “Yeah, don’t thank me yet.”

  Nicolo entered the HQ building and found Mitchell out of his office. Tufo was just returning to his office sporting a new haircut and his face neatly trimmed. He didn’t like it, but he had done it. He found it irritating, to say the least. He liked his face ferret just fine, and trimming it set his mood meter all the way past ‘grouchy’ and hovering near the edge of ‘psycho’. Now his face was itching and the damned thing was poking his skin every time he spoke. But he’d be damned if he ended up shaving it.

  “Excuse please, you are the XO, yes?” Nicolo inquired.

  Mark turned, his eyes just short of wild. “If not then I guess I’m breaking into his office.” His comment fell short as it didn’t register with Nicolo. He sighed and barked, “What?”

  “Well, sir, we have a shipment of special weapons coming soon that is too aid us in the defense of the vampire,” he explained. Mark simply stared at him blankly. Nicolo felt it best to continue, “We are wondering where we should put these weapons?”

  “If they were up your ass with a ham sandwich, you’d know…” Mark muttered as he finished unlocking his door and stepped in.

  “Scusi?” Nicolo shook his head in confusion.

  “Come on in,” Mark barked. He stepped behind his desk and fell into his chair. With an animated sigh he trained his eyes on the Italian operator. “Okay, pal. Tell me about your special guns.”

  “Well, sir, they are special made—” Nicolo began.

  “You already said that.” Mark interrupted. “What makes them special?”

  “They are like…an orange?” Nicolo replied.

  Mark sat up and looked at him. “They are like an orange, or they are orange?”

  Nicolo blew out a breath hard in frustration. He glanced around Mark’s spartan office and noticed a baseball sitting in a bookshelf. He hopped from his chair and grabbed the ball. “Hey! Careful with that! That’s an autographed Red Sox—”

  “They are like this!” Nicolo exclaimed.

  Mark slowly rose from his chair as Nicolo held the ball out. He took the stand the ball had sat in and placed it on his desk then carefully placed the ball back on top. “The man sits inside and the…orange…rotates to the sides…or up and down. And can shoot at the vampiro!” Nicolo excitedly explained.

  �
��The shooter sits inside an enclosed cockpit and has controls for the weapon?” he slowly asked.

  “Sí! I mean, yes!”

  “What caliber is this weapon?”

  “She is .50 caliber, based off the BMG sniper round,” Nicolo said proudly.

  Mark let out a low whistle. “Effective range…over a mile.”

  Nicolo nodded. “Sí. And with computer-aided view screen.”

  Mark glanced up at Nicolo. “Silver ammunition?”

  “Of course.”

  “Who made it?”

  “Fiocchi. Who else? They make all of our silver ammunition,” Nicolo replied.

  “Seriously?” Mark raised a brow. “We have one little mom & pop place make ours. That sucks that Fiocchi makes yours and we didn’t even know about it.”

  “It is a special division,” Nicolo answered matter-of-factly.

  “How many of these things do you have?”

  “Six. They will be arriving this night.”

  Mark nodded. “Any opposition to training our base security to use them?” Nicolo’s eyes widened on that and he started to protest when Mark held up his hand. “Look, I’m not trying to steal your toys, but the fact of the matter is, we have a couple dozen non-augmented, but highly trained personnel available and no place to put them. I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out how we can best utilize them.”

  Nicolo sat back down and motioned for Mark to continue. “If you and your men train these guys in the proper way to use these…canons, they can have an operator for the weapon and the rest of their men can act as support for each weapons station. They can defend the weapons site, feed ammunition…whatever. But the point is, they’ll be useful.”