Vampire Dreams (Bloodscreams #1)

by Robert W. Walker

  Magaffey allowed Stroud time to take it all in before continuing. “It has no properties useful to humankind so far as I can determine. It prevents no illness, cures no ills; it is merely a blood substitute similar to plasma but without plasmalike qualities--much more like animal blood than man's.”

  “What sort of animal blood?”

  Magaffey swallowed. “Rodentlike, batlike, except there's something more. It's ... quite volatile. It is not red on contact with oxygen, but a dark syrupy color which begins to burn--much like your worm friend a while ago--on contact with God's air. Texture is thicker than blood.”

  “Now we have a motive for Banaker's involvement in grave robbing,” said Stroud as he took in the fact that the elixir Cooper had given over to Magaffey was in part bone marrow.

  “Earlier, using the bones taken from the site, I determined that the bones were from the young, the old, the in-between. Some had spent sixty years under the earth ... others a fraction of that time,” said Magaffey. “These were the findings stolen from my office, but as you see, I had retained a copy in the event something should occur.”

  “What exactly does this bone marrow liquid do for Banaker?”

  “I don't pretend to understand it completely but ... but, I have reason to suspect that Banaker and the Andover Devil are one and the same! That Banaker is your grandfather's enemy, your grandfather's vampire!”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “Whether I think so or not, does not matter. But Christ, son, Banaker thinks he can feed his blood craving with some sort of bone marrow cocktail he's cooked up in his lab, and that's close enough to vampire behavior for me!”

  Stroud thought of the series of coincidences that resulted in no findings on the bones unearthed, and now this. He thought of the Meyers boy and the ones before him. He thought of Pamela Carr and their first encounter, her mesmerizing allure for him, her porcelain skin, and how oddly cold her touch had been. Had she just happened across his path or was she sent to seduce him into death? His hand went instinctively to the mark she'd left on him.

  “So, Doctor Magaffey, what is it you want of me?”

  “Your help.”

  “How?”

  “I want to kidnap a body.”

  “What?”

  “Bradley's body ... take it out of Banaker's control. Get it to Springfield, maybe ... have the forensics lab there check it out.”

  “But you said it was already prepped for a funeral. An autopsy would show nothing.”

  “We don't know that.”

  “But it's most likely, at this point.”

  “He has marks on his throat like those on yours, and he has the long terrible gashes to the shoulders. It can be shown that no automobile accident could cause such marks.”

  “Then what? What will you have?”

  “Then come to the caves with me, if you don't believe me!”

  “The caves? You know where these caves are?”

  “I believe so, yes. Your grandfather was very specific about them.”

  Stroud thought of the missing Mrs. Bradley, Cooper's boy, the dog...

  “How far are these damned caves?”

  “Hour and a half by car.”

  “Ashyer?” said Stroud.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Is this chopper you mentioned, is it operational?”

  “I believe so, sir, yes.”

  “Is there fuel?”

  “An ample supply, sir.”

  “Break it out. I flew for a time. I'll pilot us there, Doctor Magaffey. We'll get there in a quarter of the time.”

  “I suggest we arm ourselves, Stroud.”

  “With what do you suggest we arm ourselves, Doctor Magaffey?”

  “We can start with some of those iron stakes that your grandfather had made when he put the wrought-iron gates and window coverings around the manse.”

  “You know a lot about this place, don't you?”

  “We have to trust each other now, son.”

  Stroud thought a moment, nodded and said, “You're certain now that you know the location?”

  “We can be there in fifteen minutes if you can get that old bird off the pad.”

  “Don't worry about that. Just show me your proof, Doctor Magaffey.”

  “Knowledge is a curse, Stroud ... you'll find that out soon enough.”

  -15-

  The other side of the stables the helicopter sat on the pad below a huge tarp. It had a sad appearance there, like an old '48 Chevy gone out of use. When Stroud pulled back the tarp he saw the reason why. Two to seventy reasons why, actually. It was an old machine for one, the type of army issue used in Korea. It was ugly in its crude green metallic fashion. Furthermore, it had seen combat and had endured metal fatigue to its superstructure, and the windshield was sporting a larger than fist-size hole on the passenger side.

  While it was a two-seater, it had cargo space behind. As Stroud worked the tarp up and over with what little assistance Magaffey could lend, peeling a zipper down the side to round the shaft of the rotor, he saw into the cargo bay. The sight stunned him, and at first he thought the boxes were of the type that carried munitions. This was before he realized they were coffins.

  “Christ, what's this?”

  Magaffey simply said, “They're empty. Your grandfather used them for transporting ... ahhhhh ... incidentals.”

  “Incidentals?”

  “Just think of them as pine boxes, Stroud.”

  “What sort of incidentals?”

  The slow-witted, huge stable hand suddenly appeared at the other side of the cargo bay hatch, his eyes wide and his entire weight quivering at the sight. “No ... no ... no!” he stuttered and waved his hands. “Don't do-do-do-dis! No, Doc-tor Strow! No!”

  The big man was terrified, looking over his shoulder, fear showing in his eyes, eyes that darted around at every tree, every bush, every rock. He then tore off for his small stable boy's house like a frightened child.

  Stroud chased after him but Magaffey shouted, “Never mind him, now! We haven't time for Lonnie Wilson.”

  Stroud still found it impossible to believe that Lonnie had ever piloted this machine. Stroud said, “I'm not even sure we can get this thing airborne. Look at it.” He wiped away the mass of spider web that had attached itself to his palm moments before Lonnie had appeared.

  “What do you propose, Stroud? We wait for Sporty's Pilot Shop bulletin to show up in the mail and then we order a new one? Christ, son, we don't have time, not if we're going to hijack Bradley's body. It's at the funeral home now being prepped by Carl Hoff's people. Banaker released it to Hoff--”

  “I'm not so sure I want to be a part of your plans of body snatching, Doctor.”

  “You will, Stroud! You will when you see the evidence in the caves.”

  Stroud stared at him for a long moment, still wavering between belief and disbelief. “You really believe that we'll find something in these caves of yours?”

  “You'll see, son ... just wait.”

  “What do you hope to find there?”

  “Remnants ... remains...”

  “Remains as in people remains?”

  “People, missing women, children.”

  Circumstances seemed to be plying Stroud's mind with nonstop horror that was stacking like reams of paper images in his mind, threatening an overload. “I'll reserve my judgment,” he said, knowing it sounded pedestrian.

  “I'm sure. You have much to sift through, put in order,” said Magaffey kindly. “But there's no time to lose.”

  “Be that as it may, Doctor, I'm not budging until you explain these damned coffins! You knew damned well they were back here--knew it all along! Didn't you?”

  “Son, Carl Hoff is one of Banaker's stooges; the funeral parlor is secretly Banaker's! I'm certain of it now.”

  “Is that supposed to shock me?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Old man, coffins in the back of a chopper are a vet's nightmare. You might've warned me!�
��

  Magaffey shook his head and raised his shoulders simultaneously. “The coffins are empty, Abe.”

  “And as for Banaker,” Stroud continued, “how he chooses to invest his cash is his affair.”

  “But it's not just the funeral home, son.”

  “What're you saying now, Doctor Magaffey?”

  Magaffey's hands went into the air. “Hell, Stroud, he's placed people--”

  “Placed people? In jobs, you mean?”

  “Jobs in key places.”

  “Key jobs in key places?”

  “Staffed hospital emergency rooms with his people.”

  “That's not unusual for--”

  “Paramedics, blood-drive vans! Gives new meaning to the word blood drive! And ... and cemetery workers, and funeral homes, morgue attendants! To be close to the supply!”

  Stroud believed Magaffey was sounding once again like a paranoid madman. “Look, let's take it one step at a time, Doc. Frankly, I don't even know if we can get this thing off the ground.”

  “But you haven't tried.”

  Stroud's fist came down hard against the hull of the helicopter, causing something inside to fall with a metallic thud--a crowbar. The noise clamored and reverberated between the two men.

  “I'm sorry, Stroud,” said Magaffey. “About the coffins ... I'd forgotten.”

  “One step at a time.”

  “Can you get it in the air, Doctor Stroud?”

  “I have to do some checking up front.

  With this Stroud left Magaffey alone to stare at the three coffins in the cargo bay.

  Ashyer had brought the needed fuel and Stroud had found a toolbox in the rear where his eyes once more took in the gruesome sight of the pine boxes. Hanging from one metal rack in the rear there was also a shoulder bag filled with the metal stakes fashioned by his grandfather. It was dark, and the work by flashlight hampered them all, but soon Stroud revved up the motor. The machine died at once. The second attempt caused a quaking, shuddering throughout the structure. Stroud had never heard such a rattle before. The third attempt brought on the rotor overhead with chugging, coughing and sputtering, but suddenly it kicked in.

  Ashyer got clear of the machine. He stood biting his upper lip and, beyond him, almost hidden from sight, Lonnie Wilson also saw them off. Neither man wanted anything to do with Magaffey's scavenger hunt through the caves. Stroud could not blame either man, and he still wondered if he weren't being led around by a madman and his accomplices.

  Still, the bird rose smoothly and leveled out, sending trees to bend in its wake as it soared past, and the exhilaration of flight brought an excitement to Stroud and a feeling of doing and action which he had longed for this night which, so far, had been filled with frustration. He didn't speak to Magaffey who was strapped in the seat beside him. He concentrated on the controls.

  Magaffey, too, fell into silence as Stroud did another visual check of the fuel gauge, horizontal, and tachometer. He wasn't about to veer far from the pad until he was certain the craft was safe.

  “You trust this thing?” asked Magaffey, his knuckles white where he hung onto his seat. He was staring straight out the front where the bubble glass had been smashed, ripples and lines leading from the hole in a spider's web pattern.

  Magaffey had been telling the truth about the helicopter. It had no doors, but there were rents and tears in the metalwork, even in the hinges that had once held the doors on. Someone or something had done battle with the machine. An image of his grandfather going at it with a sledge hammer popped into his mind, but some of the marks didn't compute as signs of a madman wielding an oversized hammer.

  The helicopter circled Stroud Manse like a bird of prey. Magaffey said, “Enough time wasted, Abe. I'll direct you now.”

  “Lead on, Doctor.”

  The helicopter groaned with the sound of a disturbed animal waking from a long sleep. Stroud gave her full throttle, however, and soon she flew with a gentle touch. Stroud found himself having fun as he maneuvered upward, then left. They were soon out of sight of Stroud Manse.

  Everything was somehow in working order, despite the gashes, rips, and battered condition of her outer hull, and despite the wind that whipped through the all but open cockpit. Abe allowed for the additional drag. As they neared the caves, Abe found they were following the silvery ribbon of the Spoon River below. In his mind he tried to relate the condition of the bird to those wartime relics he'd seen in Vietnam. He had seen helicopters with twisted metal supports and even damaged rotors manage to get home safely, but he still wondered about the torn hinges and missing doors. What kind of strength could have managed this feat?

  “There! There it is!” said Magaffey, suddenly alert and agitated and pointing to a stand of dead trees that flourished with bare branches atop a knoll along the river. As they honed in on the place, Stroud saw that it was a barren rock, hardly a weed capable of life at the top. But it was surrounded by woods on all sides.

  “Going to be a tight landing.”

  “Can you do it?”

  “Believe so.”

  The approach required a wide swing in from the left. On approach, a pocket of upsurging wind swept them into an unwanted tilt. He had to fight the air for control of the craft. The struggle reminded him of his short-lived experience with helicopters on the police force. Up drafts in the city were a constant threat. In a moment, however, he was setting her down gently atop Magaffey's caves.

  “We'll need a few items from the back,” shouted Magaffey over the rotor as it wound down.

  Stroud dared not ask what items the old man wished to have. He simply followed and observed as the old man picked his way over cable, boxes, rope, picks, and spades that littered his way to the three coffins. Magaffey stopped at the tool chest and inspected it for items he'd need. He reached into the dust on the floor and pulled out a crowbar, placing it beside one of the coffins. He pulled out a cross-shape tire iron and held it up to the light, humming and saying, “This should do nicely.” He pulled forth a claw hammer and then a screw driver, tossing it to Stroud. From a hook overhead he pulled forth a tattered old brown leather bag that was filled to the brim with the same metal stakes Stroud had found in the secret room in the manse.

  Stroud, frowning, held one of these up to the light filtering into the helicopter. “What're we going to do, stake a claim? Pitch a tent? Start an archeological dig?”

  “These stakes were made special by your grandfather. At their centers, son ... Doctor Stroud ... there is a shaft of pure silver.”

  “Silver, really.”

  “Help me pry the lid off one of these coffins.”

  “Doctor Magaffey--”

  “Please, Stroud.”

  Stroud shook his head but bent to the work, realizing for the first time by the effort that the box was not empty. It was weighted down quite heavily. “Hold on, Doctor Magaffey.”

  Magaffey loosened his grip on the crowbar. “What is it?”

  “What's inside these boxes?”

  “Just earth, dirt.”

  “Dirt ... you have any idea how damned heavy dirt is? No wonder liftoff was so rocky. Look, you want to tell me what's so special about three boxes of dirt?”

  “This earth came from consecrated ground, earth that has never been desecrated, earth your grandfather had blessed and purified by the Holy Father in Rome.”

  “The Pope?”

  “It was one of his weapons against the monster.”

  “What'd he do, throw it in the vampire's eyes?” Stroud once more had become skeptical.

  “He laid people like Mrs. Ashyer onto this earth and it somehow began the healing process to bring them back.”

  “Back from the cave that we're going into?”

  “Back from the dead, damn it! Now, can we carry on?”

  They readied the coffins, loosening each, and true to his word, Magaffey showed Stroud with a flourish that all that each held was ordinary dirt. “Sterilized, of course. Neutral. No organism can regenerat
e in it. It is not anything like your ordinary cemetery earth.” The old black man lifted and sifted the earth in his hands like an old pirate enjoying his booty. Stroud watched this action and the look of determination on Magaffey's face before he asked a question.

  “No microbes, nothing?”

  “As inert as moon dust. It's a real disparaging thing for a creature that is lice-ridden and carries disease and leeches--”

  “Leeches?”

  “Yes.”

  “What sort of leeches?”

  “A worm ... eyeless, white ... just like the one you had on yourself earlier. Your grandfather had several in formaldehyde in jars.”

  “I've seen no such jars,” said Stroud.

  “Ananias sent several out to labs where there were friends he could trust, for study. But here, let's dig around a bit and maybe ... maybe...”

  In a moment, rummaging about the tattered boxes and paraphernalia, Magaffey came up with a vial of yellow-brown liquid. Beneath the liquid floated an imprisoned white maggot the size of a man's pinkie. It looked like some ancient life form specimen frozen in time.

  “According to Ananias's findings, this little beast has the capability of keeping your blood and mine running freely, as it nibbles away at any attempt the human body makes at healing by way of coagulation about the wound. It doesn't create the wound, mind you, it merely keeps it free of interference so that the true wound-maker doesn't have any difficulty syphoning off what it wants in the way of your blood, Doctor Stroud.”

  He involuntarily shivered at the recollection of the live one on his throat, feeding at the wound. He then realized fully, for the first time, what Pamela Carr was. He told Magaffey his suspicions and the old man had no difficulty accepting them.

  “So, are you still worried about her safety and whereabouts?”

  “Whereabouts, yes. As for safety, yes, also--mine.”

  “Take up some of those stakes, in case we need them. And come along. Who knows, we may find Miss Carr, yet. Oh, and bring the tire iron.”

  Stroud picked up the dusty, tattered bag of the silver-core metal stakes, the hammer, and the tire iron. He noticed the crucifix around the old man's neck as he allowed it to dangle atop his shirt now.