City Of The Damned: Expanded Edition

by Stephen Knight

  He shook his head. “Let’s get on with our job.”

  After two minutes, the man stopped screaming.

  ***

  The Ford van trundled through the rain-swept gloom as fast as conditions would allow. Even though darkness swelled, Ellenshaw refused to allow Fenster to switch on the van’s impressive array of floodlights. But the brewing night had not yet arrived, and the gray skies overhead were still too bright to use night vision goggles. Fenster leaned forward, both hands on the steering wheel, staring through the windshield as the wipers slapped back and forth. In the distance ahead, the taillights of the box truck were visible through the haze of mist it kicked up as it sped through the dying day, weaving around any slower traffic it came upon. Which wasn’t much. The side streets were empty now.

  Licht crouched between the two front seats. “He’s got to have made us. There’s no one else out here.”

  “Stay with them,” Ellenshaw said to Fenster.

  Fenster slowed the van as it approached an intersection. The traffic signals flashed red and yellow. The van had red; the cross street had the yellow. The truck had already pulled through the intersection without even tapping the brakes.

  “Maybe they’re just driving around to keep us tied up?” Fenster asked as he accelerated through the intersection.

  “Possibly,” Ellenshaw said.

  “And you think they have master vamps in that thing?” Licht jerked his chin toward the truck as it continued to haul ass. “Can we go up against a master and win? I mean, that’s what they might do, right? Wait until the thing wakes up, and then attack us?”

  “If that happens, we won’t stand a chance,” Ellenshaw said.

  Licht let out his breath in a rush. “Professor, you’ve got some people skills.”

  Ellenshaw smiled thinly. The truck ahead was a shimmering phantasm in the misty gloom. Rain crackled against the windshield as the wind forced the van to sway.

  In the back, Danielle Kirkpatrick spoke for the first time. “The satellite’s in place and it’s tracking the truck.”

  Ellenshaw half-turned his head. “Get that confirmed, please,” he ordered, before Licht could say anything.

  “They just told me,” Kirkpatrick responded, a little bitchy.

  “Trust, but verify,” Ellenshaw said. “If we fall back and it turns out the sat’s been tracking the wrong vehicle, our official condition will be ‘fucked.’“

  “Whatever.” Kirkpatrick’s quarrelsome reply was barely audible above the storm’s ruckus. As she turned back to the radios, Ellenshaw faced forward again.

  Ahead, the Volvo box truck shot beneath the I-405 overpass.

  “Stay sharp,” he warned Fenster. “If they want to drop someone off to ambush us, here would be the place.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” Fenster moaned.

  Ellenshaw firmed his grip on his MP-5 and clicked off the safety. He held its stock in his left hand, ready to shoot through the passenger door if necessary. The van passed into darkness for an instant as it sped beneath the overpass, then out into dim daylight on the other side. There was no incident.

  “They confirm the satellite’s tracking us,” Kirkpatrick said from the back. “And I compared the GPS coordinates they handed back to me. They’ve got it dead on.”

  “Advise them we’d like to break off and run a parallel course to the truck,” Ellenshaw said.

  “Permission granted,” Kirkpatrick announced a moment later. “I’ve got a real-time link from the satellite. If the bad guys try anything, we’ll see it.”

  “Turn right at the next street,” Ellenshaw told Fenster. Fenster took the van into a right turn. Its knobbed tires splashed through a deep puddle, and water drummed along the vehicle’s rocker panels, filling the passenger area with sound.

  “Can I use the lights now?” Fenster asked. There was a begging quality to his voice.

  “Not just yet. Turn left here,” Ellenshaw directed. Fenster made a little noise in his throat and did as he was told, accelerating into the gloom. Ellenshaw heard Kirkpatrick and Cosmatos speaking to people over their respective radios, and after a moment, Cosmatos called for Licht to join him. Ellenshaw kept his eyes rooted to the rain-swept street before him. They passed through a residential area of small tract houses built in the 1930s. Ellenshaw got the impression it was a Latin neighborhood, given the architecture of the homes and the well-manicured lawns facing the street. But the streetlamps hadn’t come on, nor were there lights visible in any of the houses the van swept past. The traffic signals at the next intersection were dark. Power to the community was out.

  Licht hunkered down between the two seats again. “Professor? We just got word from the Plant that Sharon Thompson is gone. So is Claudia Nero. They stole a car and left the premises.”

  Ellenshaw looked back, frowning. “Any injuries?”

  “Some rattled nerves and busted bones.”

  Ellenshaw faced front again. “I’d expected Sharon to want to face the vamps, but had thought she’d do it alone.”

  “Why would she take Nero?” Licht asked.

  Ellenshaw shrugged. “Is she a dependable psychic?”

  Licht snorted. “Claudia’s a flake most of the time. I wouldn’t know if she was a dependable psychic any more than I’d know who her favorite pastry chef was.”

  Ellenshaw shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. They’re on their own. Sharon’s on her way to meet Osric. She probably hopes to kill him.”

  “Is that possible?” Licht wondered.

  Ellenshaw shot him a tight smile. “Never underestimate a woman like Sharon Thompson. When things are at their worst, she’ll be at her very best.”

  “So you think she’s got a chance?” Cosmatos asked.

  “Not one bit,” Ellenshaw said. “But I’m not in charge of her destiny, so let’s stay focused on where we are and what we’re doing—otherwise, we might wind up in a worse spot than Sharon.”

  20

  Acheson set the last fuel-air explosive canister near a thick I-beam, then wiped the sweat from his face and checked his work. The weapon was wired up perfectly.

  Nacho’s voice came over his headset. “Charges ready.”

  “Roger that.” Acheson rose to his feet. Julia stood guard behind him, MP-5 at port arms. She looked nervous, and for good reason: the sun was doing more than just flirting with the horizon. In the warehouse, they could already hear queer little noises over the raging storm outside. Hungry things were waking up.

  “Let’s go,” Acheson said. Julia needed no further prompting. She shouldered her weapon and made for the team’s entry point.

  “Two-Six, I got an idea,” Cecil said over the radio. “Found me a gas main. Gimme ten seconds, and I can wire a secondary charge to blast it open. Might give the FAEs a little more punch.”

  Acheson followed Julia down one of the darkened aisles. Even though every fluorescent lamp gleamed in the overhead, the warehouse seemed oppressively dark. On either side of him loomed stacks of caskets. As for how many were full, he had no idea.

  “Where is it?” Acheson asked.

  “Across from where we came in. I’m already wiring it up with some C4, man. Had some preconfigured, but I need to get a remote det in place.”

  Acheson considered it. The warehouse was vast, and there was a remote chance four fuel-air explosives might not be enough to do the job. Cecil’s history as an Army Special Forces demolitions expert ensured the fireworks would be awe-inspiring.

  “Nach, you with him?”

  “Roger, but the dogs are getting hinky. These things are waking up,” Nacho replied.

  Julia glanced back at Acheson. Her wide green eyes bordered on panic. Acheson didn’t blame her a bit. With so many stirring Undead about, he felt the same way.

  “Cecil, you’ve got sixty seconds. If you can’t get a remote detonator squared away, just use a timer,” Acheson said.

  “Sixty seconds, hoo-ah.”

  Acheson followed Julia as she pressed on through
the gloom. Outside, wind and rain tugged at the structure, making it creak and groan. Acheson’s heart pounded in his chest. He couldn’t remember ever having been so frightened.

  He heard the small moan of metal hinges opening.

  To his left, the first casket lid was pushed upward by a pale hand. It was only feet from him, almost level with his chest. The hand belonged to what had once been a child.

  Acheson threw the lid open and peered inside. A small shape lay there, resting on satin cushions. Feral silver-and-black eyes glittered in the wan light. It opened its mouth and bared its fangs.

  Before it wakened any further Acheson slammed a stake through its chest.

  Julia looked back as the small ghoul thrashed and died in a pool of ichor. He slammed the coffin shut and hurried after her as she resumed leading him back to the entry point. Barely audible above the raging storm outside, more coffin lids swung open. Vampires hauled themselves out of their tombs, their movements slow and lethargic. Acheson saw some of them now, emerging into the nascent evening.

  “Team, time’s up!”

  “On our way,” Cecil reported. An instant later, his M249 roared and something hit the concrete floor, hissing. Nacho’s dogs bayed wildly.

  The lights went out.

  “Fuck!” Acheson snarled. His NVGs were in their carrying case on his hip, and he tore it open with one hand, the AA-12 balanced in the other. “Go NVGs!”

  “Already got ‘em on,” Nacho replied over the net. “We’re at the rally point now. Dogs’re freakin’ out, mano. We gotta blow this place.”

  Acheson slipped on his NVGs and powered them up. He heard something scuttle toward him from behind, hissing. He spun and pulled the AA-12 against his shoulder. The emergency lights snapped on, bathing the warehouse in a tepid glow that was scarcely brighter than twilight. Three vampires crouched on the floor less than fifteen feet away, mouths agape, fangs bared. One leaped onto the shelving unit to Acheson’s right and clung to it.

  Acheson fired on full automatic as the creature lunged toward him. Six 12-gauge rounds tore through it, flaying open waxy skin and decimating bone. The vampire fell to the floor and thrashed about, howling like a wounded cat. Acheson continued firing, slashing more double-aught buck through the other vampires, driving them back. They too fell to the floor and writhed as the silver-coated shot held off their healing capability, giving Acheson a few precious seconds to fall back. A casket to his left popped open, and a vampire with a maze of frizzy gray hair sat up, its nostrils flaring as its unholy eyes fixed on him. Acheson fired three rounds into it, and it dropped back into the coffin. The lid slammed closed.

  Cecil and Nacho were there suddenly, firing into the racks of coffins.

  “Let’s get the hell outta here, man!” Cecil shouted. “You got the detonator—go, man, go!”

  A coffin next to Acheson sprung open, and an ashen, claw-like hand reached for him. Its talons raked across his shoulder. Acheson dropped back a foot, twisted, and fired into its snarling face. The vamp’s head exploded into a cloud of black gore and white-tipped bone and teeth.

  Another vampire leaped toward him from one of the top shelves. It missed him by a scant foot, but caught itself and reversed its course, coming back at him. The angle was bad, and Acheson couldn’t bring his shotgun to bear in time. He needn’t have worried as both Cecil and Nacho opened up on it at the same time, and it was driven to the floor as a dozen silver-jacketed rounds slashed through it. The vampire clawed at itself, convulsing in pain.

  Nacho grabbed Acheson by the collar and hauled him through the hole in the wall. A vamp already lay across its ragged threshold, a stake rising from its chest. Julia stood off to one side, adding suppression fire from her MP-5. She paused long enough for Nacho and Acheson to get clear, then leaned back inside, squeezing off controlled bursts. Nacho’s dogs bounded past her and ran off into the stormy night.

  “Get across the street, and fucking blow this place up!” Nacho shouted to Acheson.

  “Get Cecil out of there!”

  “I’m comin’!” Cecil shouted over the radio net, his voice barely audible over the thundering SAW and the raging storm. “Get ready to hit the red button, would ya?”

  “Come on!” Nacho tugged at Acheson’s arm.

  Acheson snarled in frustration and ran across the street. He was soaked by the pounding rain, and the raging wind left him almost deaf and blind despite the radio and night vision goggles. He sensed rather than heard Nacho moving right behind him. The street was a shallow river of fast moving water, and he stumbled across it. At last, he reached the sidewalk on the other side of the street and turned back to the warehouse. Julia was halfway across the street, hunched against the rain. Cecil stood just outside the hole they had blasted, still hosing everything inside with his machinegun.

  “Cecil, fall back now!” Acheson shouted.

  Cecil backed away from the hole, still firing in tight bursts. “Don’t wait for me!” he hollered back over the radio net. “Dump the ceiling on this place, man!”

  As he spoke, a pale-faced vampire tried to leap through the hole and into the street, but Cecil’s bursts threw it back. Acheson saw dozens of vampires struggling about inside the structure, rushing toward the hole in a wave. They were within seconds of bursting out into the night.

  “Fire in the hole!” he shouted as Julia slid to a halt beside him and Nacho. “Get down, Cecil!” He mashed his thumb down on the firing button.

  Cecil threw himself into the street face first. Behind him, vampires swarmed out of the hole, their unholy screeching almost lost in the din of the swirling maelstrom that had the City of Angels surrounded.

  Behind them, orange light flared.

  The warehouse’s ceiling rose several feet into the wet sky. An instant later, great gouts of brilliant flame rocketed through the hole in the wall, spraying several vampires into the night. They screamed and writhed as the flame consumed them like a hungry demon, reducing their bodies to blackened corpses within a matter of seconds. Cecil pressed his face into the wet street as the tongues of flame roared over him. The shockwave knocked Acheson and the others sprawling, and Acheson blacked out as he was thrown into the wall of the building behind him.

  He regained consciousness moments later. Car alarms shrieked, and a powerful wave of extreme heat chased away the chill of the storm. The warehouse collapsed into itself, and a great basso whoomp! cut through the night as the gas main Cecil had exposed went up, adding more fire and fury to the fray. Smoldering debris rained down from the sky: a twisted girder, pieces of smoking wood, blackened concrete, the half-melted remains of a computer monitor, and crispy pieces of what had once been human flesh.

  Nacho’s dogs bayed and ran in circles around them. Acheson pushed himself to his knees. He was, by and large, unhurt. Julia lay half on top of Nacho, which was where the blast’s shockwave had left her. Acheson found his AA-12 and used it as a crutch to help himself to his feet. The rain continued to fall, and the wind tore at the flaming wreckage of the warehouse. The fire seemed to roar in response, challenging the storm with bellowing gusts of flame. For now, the fire was winning the battle. It had enough fodder to sustain it.

  Acheson stumbled toward Julia and Nacho as they stirred. He helped separate them, checking them for injuries. Julia had a small nick in her right ear. Acheson wouldn’t have noticed it if her hair hadn’t been plastered to her head by the rain. Nacho had a nasty cut on his temple, and it was leaking blood.

  “Nach, you all right?”

  Nacho nodded and said something Acheson couldn’t hear over the din of the storm. As he clambered to his feet, Nacho gestured to the street, and Acheson saw his lips form a word: Cecil.

  Acheson turned and saw Cecil lying face down in the street. Water streamed past him, as if he were a boulder in a river. His uniform was smoldering, if not from the blast, then from the intense heat radiating from the flaming wreckage. Acheson ran to him and grabbed one of the shoulder straps on Cecil’s armor. He dragged
him away from the conflagration, kicking pieces of debris out of his way. Julia reached them moments later and grabbed the other shoulder strap. Together they pulled Cecil onto the sidewalk and into a nearby doorway.

  “Cecil!” Acheson dropped to his knees and put his fingers on the big man’s neck. He could feel the pulse of blood through his carotids. “Cecil, you with me, man?”

  Cecil stirred, and Acheson patted his cheeks. The big man’s eyes fluttered open; one of them was beginning to swell. He reached up and touched it gingerly.

  “Damn,” he muttered. “Think anyone’ll notice a brother with a shiner?”

  Nacho and Julia were on their guns, standing nearby. Nacho looked at Cecil quickly, then searched the rain-swept street for targets.

  “You all right, gorilla?” he asked.

  Cecil slowly pushed himself up on his elbows. “What the fuck do you think? I almost got blowed up, man!”

  21

  The car climbed higher into the hills, its tires spinning in the muddy water that cascaded down the winding street. Before long some of the waterlogged hillsides would give away, and the multimillion-dollar homes perched on them would be deposited somewhere near the Hollywood Bowl. Claudia leaned forward in her seat, staring through the windshield as Sharon drove. They had started off with Claudia behind the wheel, but whatever changes Sharon was undergoing had left her with uncanny night vision. Where the car’s high beams could barely cut a swath through the night, Sharon said she could see everything clearly. When Claudia had almost driven the stolen Honda into a rushing torrent of black water that would have swept them away, Sharon insisted she drive. Claudia happily agreed.

  Ahead lay a mansion in Los Feliz that was backed by Griffith Park. The GPS unit in the Accord was operational, so getting to where Claudia needed to be wasn’t going to be a problem—provided one of the mountainsides didn’t let go.

  “Looks like parts of the city have lost power,” Sharon said.

  Claudia looked and saw that the great galaxy of Los Angeles was dark in patches. She wondered if the darkness would spread. The vamps would love that…