City Of The Damned: Expanded Edition

by Stephen Knight

  Rodrigo was saved from atomization by the thick flooring that separated him from the maelstrom below. Just the same, as his clothing ignited, the shockwave found him. It snatched him up like a rag doll and hurled him through the great room. He flew right past Osric, screaming, and through the windows on the other side of the house. He disappeared into the night, trailing smoke like a damaged fighter jet.

  But the house was large and solid, and the placement of the FAE had been haphazard. If the Excursion had penetrated the mansion by another twenty feet, the fury of the fuel air explosive would have been even greater. Constricted by the structure itself, the overpressure wave would have been more powerful by several magnitudes. But the gaping hole in the front of the house allowed much of the blast’s energy to escape. While the face of the mansion on the circular driveway was almost decimated, along with a substantial portion of the roof, the mansion’s upper reaches were left mostly unscathed. This was a temporary condition, as tendrils of flame began to consume whatever could sustain them. It would not be long before the mansion was transformed into an inferno.

  ***

  Stahl screamed as he rolled about on the wet lawn and slapped at the flames consuming his Undead flesh like a hungry tiger. The pouring rain helped, and within a few moments, the flames had been extinguished. But the damage was severe. In some areas, dull bone gleamed in the night before skin and tissue slowly closed over them, leaving Stahl in exquisite agony.

  But he could still sense the human nearby, fleeing from the burning hulk of the car he had slammed into not so very long ago. And Stahl could tell that human was headed toward him as he lay in a smoking pile on the front lawn. Metal clicked as Acheson pulled another weapon.

  The vampire rocketed into the air like a missile, shrieking curses in German as Acheson fired. Several projectiles whizzed past Stahl at unbelievable speeds as the big vampire corkscrewed into the dark sky. Within seconds, Acheson lost sight of him, and as Stahl drifted among the fast-moving storm clouds, he allowed himself to drift with the wind. Healing. Gaining strength.

  ***

  Acheson reached for his night vision goggles, but they were gone. All that was left was the torn rubber strap around his neck. He found his headset, dangling from his collar by its cable. He plugged it back into his ear and scuttled to his left, staring up into the sky, looking for the vampire.

  “Ellenshaw, this is Acheson. Do you read?”

  “Right here, Mark. I’m still at the breach in the wall. I’ll be with you in a moment—”

  “Negative, stay where you are! Can you give me a tally on the vampire?”

  “Negative, but it was not Osric. I say again, Mark, that was not Osric. I believe it’s one of his oldest companions, a master named Steel, or Stahl. You need to get out of the open, Mark. He’s extremely dangerous!”

  “I figured that out when he did his Superman act,” Acheson said. “All right, I’m going for the house—”

  Stahl flashed toward him like a missile, emerging into the fire light while streaking toward Acheson at three feet above the ground. Acheson fired his AA-12 at the vampire, but the rounds fell short. Just the same, the minigrenades tore through the lawn right in front of Stahl, and the hot fragments forced him to throw a hand up to shield his face. That gave Acheson enough of an opportunity to dive to his right—but Stahl still managed to catch him with a glancing blow to the shoulder that sent him cartwheeling across the black lawn.

  Acheson came to rest on his back, his AA-12 beneath him. He reached for his MP-5 and ripped it from its carry rig as Stahl alighted nearby. His face was a blackened mask of fried flesh. His coat and shirt were gone, and his torso had been horribly burned. Acheson could see one of his collarbones peeking through the ravaged flesh, and he was missing several fingers from both hands. Stahl screamed a Germanic war cry and lunged toward him, fangs gleaming.

  Acheson fired the MP-5 on full auto. The vampire danced about like a marionette as the rounds ripped through him, his war cry turning into shouts of pain as Acheson blazed away. The weapon’s breech snapped open with a loud click—the magazine had run dry. Acheson dropped it and slogged to his feet, reaching around behind him for his AA-12. His hand closed on the weapon’s pistol grip, and he spun it around as Stahl recovered and bore down on him again.

  “See ya pal,” Acheson said, pulling back on the AA-12’s trigger. He had intended to blast Stahl into ribbons with minigrenade fire, but the firing selector had been moved during his skidding tumble across the lawn. It fired on semi-automatic, and one round exited the AA-12’s barrel when Stahl was less than ten feet away. The round blasted off Stahl’s right arm at the shoulder, but that didn’t stop him. Stahl howled and slammed into Acheson, knocking the shotgun off target. Acheson slugged the bigger vampire in the side of the skull with a solid left that rocked Stahl’s head over to one side. But Stahl recovered, and the backhand he retaliated with sent Acheson flying. He crashed to the lawn almost twenty feet away, and Stahl was there in an instant. He snatched hold of Acheson’s pack and slung him around in a tight, vicious circle like a kitten. Parts of his gear whirled across the drenched lawn. Acheson shouted when Stahl released him, again sending him careering into the night. He wound up on his back, staring into the black sky. He could taste blood in his mouth.

  He reached for his AA-12 with numb fingers. It was gone, and he could see it lying fifteen feet from him, its anodized frame reflecting firelight from the burning mansion. Stahl raced toward him. He was healing. Acheson wasn’t quite so lucky.

  “Ellenshaw,” he croaked as he ripped his pistol from its holster.

  “Here!” Shots rang out, and Stahl jerked as Ellenshaw’s rounds found their target.

  “Find Osric,” Acheson said. “Find Osric and kill him. I’ve got this guy.” He sat up and held his P220 in both hands. He squeezed off shot after shot, and each bullet found its mark. Stahl snarled as each .45 caliber round smashed through his body, tearing flesh and shattering bone. But the damage wasn’t severe enough to stop him. Acheson fired two rounds into the vampire’s face at a range of seven feet, and Stahl didn’t even slow down. Acheson continued firing and backpedaled frantically toward his AA-12, but some of the rounds missed Stahl by a wide margin. The rain intensified, coming down in what felt like a solid sheet of water. Acheson fired his last shot, and the P220’s upper receiver stuck in the open position. Steam rose from the weapon as rainwater landed on its hot breech. He ejected the magazine and reached for a fresh one as Stahl caught up to him.

  “Hello, meat!” Stahl shouted as he shoved Acheson into the lawn and pinned him there. Acheson dropped the pistol and reached for the machete on his belt. His fingers found only an empty scabbard.

  Stahl lunged toward him like a viper, jaws spread wide. At the same time, another figure loomed out of the darkness behind Stahl, half-illuminated by the firelight. Inhuman eyes flashed, and Acheson caught glimpses of rainwater gleaming on ebony skin. The figure swung at Stahl.

  The machete took off Stahl’s head right at the neckline, and the blow was so powerful that it ripped the corpse right off of Acheson and slung it into the night. Acheson gasped as he struggled to sit up. He lunged for the AA-12, grabbed up the weapon and shouldered it as he rose to one knee.

  Sharon walked toward Stahl’s headless body, which continued to thrash about on the dark lawn, the remaining fingers of one hand tearing up clots of sod and mud. Great gouts of black ichor pumped from its neck. She knelt on the corpse and reached into a knapsack on her side. She pulled a stake from the bag and drove it into the headless vampire’s chest. The huge body thrashed once, then fell still.

  Sharon turned back to Acheson, her movements rapid and precise. Her silver-in-black eyes found his. Acheson adjusted the AA-12’s aim, bringing it to bear on the center of her mass.

  “That won’t do the job,” Sharon said. Her voice was different; muted, husky, felt more than heard above the din of the storm. She drew closer, and Acheson could make out specific details. Her skin was as
hen and clammy, and her hands shook and trembled. As she watched, her eyes went from silver-in-black to brown and back again. Her head twitched back and forth like a bird’s, and she shuddered so hard from time to time that Acheson thought she was convulsing.

  Not convulsing. Turning.

  “Sharon,” he whispered.

  Sharon collapsed to her knees before him as he lowered the AA-12. Ellenshaw pounded up behind her, M-4 aimed at her head. Soaked to the bone, he looked like a drowned rat. Sharon half-turned toward him.

  “Hello, Professor,” she said.

  Ellenshaw released a long, heavy sigh. “Sharon. I’d hoped…”

  “You need to go,” Sharon said. She turned back to Acheson and took his hand in hers. Her flesh was cold, her body almost dead. She opened his fingers and put the machete handle in his palm. Acheson couldn’t bring himself to look at her. “You need to go and do to Helena what Mark has to do to me. And you need to do it right now, Professor.”

  Ellenshaw stood over her and Acheson for a moment longer, then put his hand on her shoulder.

  “May God keep you close to his side for the rest of eternity,” he said softly before he turned and ran toward the flaming mansion.

  Sharon looked back at Acheson. “Just you and me, babe.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

  “Sharon,” Acheson said, agonized. His eyes burned.

  “I felt my heart stop beating a while ago,” Sharon told him. “Right after I found your bag of stakes on the lawn. But it keeps starting up again. Only for a little while, then it stops. It’s beating right now. But it’s not going to keep beating for much longer. I feel it now, Mark. I feel the changes. I can feel everything. I love you, Mark. And in just a minute, I’m going to love sucking your body dry.”

  She shrugged off the knapsack and reached inside. She pulled out a stake and stuck it into the ground beside her. Rainwater poured across her face, and she shuddered again. Her other hand gripped Acheson’s, closing his fingers around the machete handle.

  “You promised you’d save me,” she said.

  Tears poured from Acheson’s eyes. “Oh my God, Sharon, I’m sorry—”

  “I know. You’ve got to hurry, Mark. I’m Turning.”

  Acheson clambered to his feet. Sharon shuddered and moaned. It sounded bestial, inhuman. In the dim firelight, Acheson saw the muscles and tendons clenching beneath her wet T-shirt. He hefted the machete. The tears blurred his vision.

  “I’m not sure I can do this,” he whispered.

  “If you love me—if you ever loved me—then save me now.” Sharon convulsed again, and she made a retching noise. She fell forward and caught herself on her hands. Her fingers dug deep into the rich lawn that had been kept vibrant and healthy throughout the arid Los Angeles days by a millionaire’s money and an army of illegal landscapers.

  “Oh God, it hurts so much!” Sharon screamed, looking up into the sky. “Oh please, please, Mark, save meeeeee—”

  Her voice trailed off into a guttural howl. The last vestige of life faded from her eyes, and her jaws spread wide open, revealing growing fangs. Her breath turned fetid and corrupt.

  Acheson swung, beheading her with one stroke. The body fell forward onto the ground. Acheson pulled the stake from the lawn and flipped the body over with one foot, then knelt on it and slammed the column through its chest cavity, slashing open the Undead heart. Black ichor flowed from the wound and pumped from the severed neck. It stopped after a few seconds, and the body lay quiet.

  Acheson grabbed one of its cold, dead hands in both of his. He bowed his head and released a long, trembling sigh.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  From the mansion, a barrage of gunshots rang out. The throaty bellow of Cecil’s SAW was distinguishable. Acheson held his face up to the rain for a moment, letting it wash him clean. He pushed himself to his feet and gathered up his scattered gear. He had a job to do.

  25

  Ellenshaw ran toward the mansion, slipping and sliding across the waterlogged lawn. Two vehicles sat in the broad, circular driveway—one had been the truck they had followed from the warehouse, and the other had been an expensive car. Both were flaming wrecks now. The fountain that made up the driveway’s center point had been demolished as well, its elegant stonework pulverized by the shockwave.

  The front of the mansion was ablaze from front deck to roof. Bright embers floated away on the winds, blazing brightly before being extinguished by the rain. One of the graceful Greco-Roman columns that had flanked the mansion’s entrance was gone, torn asunder and scattered across the driveway. Ellenshaw tripped over a sizeable piece of it and fell hard, splashing into a puddle.

  Gunfire reached his ears as he pushed himself to his feet. Through the maelstrom that consumed the entry hall, he could make out the stroboscopic winks of muzzle flashes. The rest of the team was still inside the mansion, where they were slugging it out with the remaining vamps.

  The flames prevented Ellenshaw from entering through the front doors, so he ran to one of the remaining ground floor windows. Most of the paned glass had already been shattered by the explosion, and he kicked in the rest of it, tearing away the gossamer drapes as they billowed out to greet him. He stepped into a darkened office. There was a desk, a chair, and a long sofa against one wall. Expensive-looking porcelain lamps accented by gold lamé flanked the sofa. Ellenshaw donned his NVGs and powered them up. He was alone in the room.

  “This is Ellenshaw,” he said over his radio headset. “I’m entering the house through one of the windows, east of the entry foyer. Can I get positions, please?”

  “Robert, Julia,” came the immediate reply. “We’re caught between the front of the house and the rear. The vamps have us pinned down!”

  Ellenshaw advanced toward the office door, his weapon at the ready. He put his hand on the door’s ornate knob.

  “How many are there?”

  “Four, maybe five,” Julia replied. “We’re bottled up in a hallway, vamps on both sides. It’s a standoff—they can’t get to us, and we can’t disable them long enough to get free!”

  Ellenshaw pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway beyond, keeping close to the far wall. The smoke was thicker here, and toward the western part of the house, an orange glow loomed. The floor was slippery; the mansion’s fire suppression system had been tripped, and sprinkler heads poured water into the hallway. Ellenshaw crept toward the glow, and the heat became more intense. He removed his NVGs and wiped the sweat from his forehead. The hallway ended at the entry hall, which was awash with flame despite the sprinklers. Something danced through the thick smoke, silhouetted against the flaming background. It shrieked with laughter even as the intense heat made its clothing smolder. The vampires were playing with the team, keeping them pinned in place until the smoke and heat overwhelmed them.

  “Let me see what I can do,” Ellenshaw said into his radio as the vampire streaked past the hallway entrance again. He abandoned stealth and moved quickly, with purpose.

  The vampire was running laps around the entry hall, cackling as it circled around and around. It would pause before the hallway where the team was bottled up, drawing their fire for a few moments before retreating, giving it time to heal before accepting another volley of punishing gunfire. Ellenshaw reached into his knapsack and removed a stake. Holding it point-down, he stopped just outside the entry hall. The heat was terrible, and the smoke was thick, though the wailing wind helped to keep the air breathable. The vampire ran past again, still cackling to itself like a lunatic. It ran halfway up the far wall, then launched itself back toward the team. It was met by a fusillade of gunfire.

  “Team, tell me when the vamp falls back!” Ellenshaw had to shout to be heard above the gunfire and the roaring flames.

  “It’s fallin’ back now, man!” Cecil responded.

  Ellenshaw had only an instant’s notice, but it was enough. As the smoke parted and the vampire came running past, he threw his arm out before it. The vamp impaled i
tself on the stake. It screamed and lost its footing, skidding across the debris-laden floor face-first as it thrashed about, trying to pull the stake free. Ellenshaw was disappointed the vamp was still alive, for that meant he had missed the heart. He raked the vamp with gunfire from his M-4, firing in tight, controlled bursts as he advanced upon it. The vampire jerked and shuddered like a marionette.

  “Behind you!” Julia shouted over the radio. Ellenshaw barely heard the warning over the gunfire, roaring flames, and howling vamp. All he could do before he was hit from behind was to brace for it as best he could.

  Another vampire slammed into him with such force that he was carried halfway across the cracked marble floor. The fire’s heat went from terrible to blistering. He came to a halt on his back, and smoke stung his eyes. His first thought was not of the large vampire hunched over him like a hungry wolf, but of the intense heat setting off his ammunition.

  The vampire grabbed Ellenshaw’s head in its hands and twisted it to one side, baring his neck. Ellenshaw thrashed about beneath it and punched the vampire in the ribs with one gauntleted hand. Even though he struck with all his might, the vampire’s only reaction was to reposition itself as he writhed about on the marble floor. From the corner of his eye, he saw the vampire open its mouth. Fangs gleamed in the firelight. With a lupine grin, it dipped toward Ellenshaw’s exposed neck.

  One moment the vampire’s head was there, and an instant later the entire skull disappeared in a detonation of tarry ichor, white bone, and waxen flesh. The headless corpse danced about above Ellenshaw for a moment as its hands clawed at the air. Black ichor spurted into the air. Ellenshaw barely had enough time to throw his arms over his face before the cold, sludgy liquid rained down upon him. The vampire’s corpse jerked again as more explosions tore through its chest cavity, separating the right arm at the shoulder. The blasts ripped apart the vampire’s upper body, leaving only the legs, pelvis, and a portion of the midriff intact. Ellenshaw screamed in disgust and shoved the quivering remains off him and scrambled away. The mutilated corpse continued to move, despite the tremendous damage. Its legs kicked, and its remaining arm reached into the smoky air. Ellenshaw was mortified by the sight, but a small part of him remained clinically engaged.