Tyreese guessed there was probably a parking lot in front of the building, but the only way it was distinguishable as such was by the cars lined up in neat rows; the rising floodwater totally obscured the concrete lot.
Genie swung the truck off the road and into the submerged parking lot. As they moved toward the glass building, the shadowy forms of several huge aircraft hangars revealed themselves in the SWAT van's headlights.
"That's the place," said Collins. He pointed at the hangars.
"How do we get in?" Genie asked.
"Follow the road—" Collins paused as he oriented himself in the darkness. "—over there." He pointed toward the front of the hangars.
"Looks expensive," said Tyreese, shooting a look at Collins. The inference was obvious; how could he afford somewhere like this on a detective's salary?
"I did a favor for the owner of the company that runs a charter service out of here. He lets me keep my plane in their hangar," Collins explained.
They drove slowly around the front of the buildings, all four of them crowded at the front of the van, staring through the windshield.
"There, it's the second one." Collins gestured to a door between a set of metal roll-ups. Genie brought the van to a stop next to the building and reached for the door handle.
"Wait a second," said Collins. He shifted the SWAT van's exterior spotlight slowly across the front of the hangars, then out over the ground in front of them, past the eight-foot high chain-link fence that separated the buildings from Saticoy Street beyond. The only movement was the constant dance of rain on the surface of the flooded roads.
"Where are all the lights?" Birdy asked.
Collins thought about what the girl had said for a moment. He reached across the dashboard and switched off the van's floodlight, leaned across Genie and extinguished the headlights, too. Outside the vehicle was now nothing but a perfect darkness that stretched off in all directions, unbroken by any of the lights that could be expected within a modern city.
"Not even a candle," said Genie, her voice suddenly a whisper.
There should be something, Collins reasoned. Some hint or glimmer of human activity; headlights, the flicker of a flashlight behind a curtain, even the house lights of people lucky enough or smart enough to have a generator. But there wasn't even a distant glint. The airport, which Collins knew had backup generators that could last for days was equally shrouded in darkness.
Collins felt a chill run up his back. Dead. Everyone is dead. The entire population of LA had been consumed by the sweeping darkness that had crept into the city from god-knew-where. "Jesus!" His stomach twisted as the realization that he had greatly underestimated the extent of what was happening here floated up to the surface of his understanding like a dead and bloated body. Hell, he thought, who was to say it wasn't happening across the entire western seaboard?
"Come on," Collins said after a couple more seconds, looking directly at Tyreese. "We need to get the hell out of here as fast as possible."
•••
"Back it up... another foot or so... that's it." Tyreese's voice echoed through the interior of the SWAT van. He hung out the side of the van, directing Genie while she reversed the truck until its side door was parallel with a door that Collins said he thought would get them into the aircraft hangar.
"Woah! That's perfect," said Tyreese, holding up a hand.
Genie put the vehicle in park and reached for the ignition.
"Best you leave it running," said Collins. "Just in case we need to make a quick getaway." He was the one who had suggested they reverse the van parallel to the door to the hangar. That way they could open the van's side door while the vehicle provided cover for them.
"I don't have the keys to the building," Collins had explained to the others. They had been on his key ring with his car keys. And his car keys had been with Mulroney when she'd been snatched off the stairwell back at the apartment complex. "So, we're going to have to improvise."
They had spent the last five minutes prepping, pulling weapons and the heavy-duty police-issue Pelican flashlights from the storage racks in the SWAT van. They hadn't found any more Tasers, and the firearms would do little more than temporarily slow down any vampires they might encounter, but Collins was willing to take any advantage right now. He now carried the Heckler and Koch assault rifle he had used earlier, slung over his shoulder. Tyreese had a Benelli M4 shotgun, loaded with double-ought buckshot and a box-full of extra shells stuffed into his jacket pockets.
Genie refused the second shotgun Collins had offered her. "I'll stick with this old bitch," she said, patting the cold metal head of her ax.
"Can I get a gun?" Birdy piped up.
Collins raised his eyebrows, shook his head and handed her a Pelican flashlight instead. The detective smiled grimly at Tyreese. "Would you do the honors?"
Tyreese nodded, picked up the pry-bar he'd found in a toolbox in the rear of the SWAT van and hefted it in his hands. They had hoped for a portable battering ram but the SWAT team must have taken that with them on their ill-fated assault of the apartment building.
Tyreese stepped out through the truck's side door into the narrow recessed doorway that Collins assured him led into the hangar. Water fell in a torrent from the roof of the hangar, creating an icy waterfall that soaked Tyreese in a second, hammering against his head and shoulders as he negotiated himself into the narrow space between the truck and the hangar door. He slid the pry-bar into the space between the door and the frame just below the lock, then pushed it into the gap as hard as he could. Collins and Birdy watched intently from inside the van. Genie remained in the driver's seat, in case they needed to make a quick getaway.
"I can't... quite... get enough... leverage," Tyreese grunted as he leaned his weight against the pry bar. The sharp flat edge of the bar would not stay in place, the rain making it slide across the slick surface of the door.
"Goddamn it!" Tyreese spat as the bar slipped again and the knuckles of his right hand rapped painfully against the sharp wooden edge of the door's surround.
Collins continued to stare at Tyreese's back. "Just take your time," the cop said.
"What I need is a hammer," Tyreese said, "something that I can use to force the bar into the crack of the door."
"How about this?" asked Birdy, offering the Pelican flashlight to Collins.
Collins took the flashlight from Birdy, hefted it in his good hand. "Might just work," he said. "Here..." He passed the flashlight to Tyreese.
"Back up. Give me some room to swing," Tyreese said, taking the flashlight. He flipped it over so he held it by the lens, pushed the sharp end of the pry bar into the crack of the door, drew back the flashlight and brought the battery-heavy shaft down hard against the curved end of the bar with a resounding clang.
"Yes!" Birdy shouted as the pry bar bit deep into the gap between the door and the frame. She clapped excitedly, then stopped, embarrassed at how uncool she must look.
Tyreese drew his arm back again, and slammed the flashlight down even harder. The tip of the pry bar dug in another half-inch.
"Okay!" Tyreese exclaimed, a smile of accomplishment cracking his rocky face. "One more time should—"
"Oh, sweet Mother Mary!" Genie swore from the driver's seat.
"What is it?" Collins asked. He leaned his head inside the van far enough to see Genie.
Genie pointed through the windshield into the darkness.
"What?" Collins asked again. He ducked back inside and moved toward the front of the van, then stopped. "Oh... shit!"
Beyond the chain link fence that separated the road from the airport, a hundred or more pairs of eyes stared at the van, moving points of yellow light in the darkness.
"What's going on?" Tyreese called from the doorway.
Collins made his way back to him. "We've got company. Vampires. A lot of the bastards."
"Shit!" Tyreese leaned hard against the pry bar, forcing it in deeper, then gave it one last thump with the Pelican, enough to push the b
ar's tip almost all the way through to the other side of the door. He switched position so his back was to the door, pushed hard against the bar, leveraging his weight until, finally, with a loud crack of splintering wood, the door popped open.
Tyreese, caught momentarily off balance, tipped forward, dropping the pry bar as he caught himself. The bar disappeared into the water with a splash but it had done its job. Floodwater began to pour into the interior of the hangar, forcing the door open and briefly staggering Tyreese with its force.
"Genie, let's go," Collins yelled from the van's door.
"Move it. Move it," Tyreese said. He offered his hand first to Birdy then Collins, helping them down and ushering them into the hangar's interior. Genie was a few seconds behind them and, once she was safely inside, Tyreese turned to follow them.
•••
If Tyreese had taken a second longer he probably would not have seen the shape split from the shadows and jump onto the front of the SWAT van. It barely touched the hood before launching itself into the foot-wide gap between the hangar and the van.
"Jesus!" Tyreese yelled, ducking his head to the right to avoid the taloned hand of a woman in her mid-twenties, clad only in a pair of red panties and what had once been a white bra. She snarled like a rabid dog as she tried to force herself deeper into the narrow gap between the wall and the SWAT van, scraping skin from her naked back.
Tyreese lurched backward, thought he was going to fall, but Genie's hands against his shoulders steadied him enough that he could turn and stumble into the room.
"We've got to get out of here, now!" Tyreese yelled at Collins.
The cop was trying to push the exterior door closed with his shoulder but the force of the water gushing through the opening made that next to impossible. He backed off, moved his flashlight onto the face of the young woman trying to squeeze through the gap, and allowed the beam to linger for a second. The woman hissed and screamed even louder, but she did not try to get away. If anything, she seemed even more determined to get to them. The light seemed to cause discomfort, but there was no physical effect that Collins could see.
"Collins?" Tyreese called, breaking the cop's momentary fascination with the vampire.
"Coming," said Collins. He moved the light quickly around the room's interior. He'd always used the back entrance to get into the hangar, so he wasn't familiar with this part of the building at all.
They were in a waiting area. A reception desk, filing cabinets, and a big brown sofa with a magazine-scattered coffee table in front of it were all that was in the room. Another door on the opposite side of the room had a plastic sign fixed to it that said HANGAR — NO ENTRY UNLESS ACCOMPANIED BY STAFF MEMBER.
"Maybe we can move a filing cabinet to block the door," Birdy suggested.
"Not enough time," said Tyreese. He splashed his way through the rapidly rising water to the second door, turned the handle and pushed. "Goddamn it!" This door was locked too.
"Where's the pry bar?" Collins demanded.
Tyreese shook his head. "I dropped it outside."
"Shit!" Collins cursed. "Jesus! Shit. Shit."
"Step back," said Tyreese. Tyreese took three steps back into the room, turned his shoulder toward the door, then with a mighty roar, he charged.
Birdy winced as Tyreese smashed full force into the wooden door.
There was a loud crack as bits of wood flew from the doorframe and the door opened partially, canted two-inches at the top, the lock still holding, but only barely.
"Here, let me," said Birdy. Before anyone could object, she stepped forward and stomped her foot against the door just to the right of the handle.
It flew open.
Tyreese gave her an appreciative nod. "Quick, everyone in," he said, glancing back at the vampire who was still pushing her way through the gap. And she was succeeding, he noticed. Her head was already visible halfway up the doorway, her eyes fixed on them as she somehow managed to maneuver one of her arms over her head and grab the wooden surround. A second hand appeared and she began to pull herself slowly, but inexorably into the room. The sound of more bodies scrambling over the exterior of the SWAT van reached the four humans.
"Did you lock the van's doors?" Collins asked Genie.
"I... I... don't think—"
Before Genie could finish, the unmistakable sound of the SWAT van's rear door flying open confirmed that she had not.
There was a moment of silence as each of the four survivors looked at each other, then: "Run!" Tyreese yelled. He pushed Collins through the doorway, then waited for Genie and Birdy to follow before he stepped through too. He pushed the door closed but it wouldn't shut properly, the top hinge having shifted at least two inches from the force of his hit and Birdy's kick. He ran his flashlight around the area they stood in. They were inside the main area of the hangar. When he shined the beam toward the front of the hangar he saw the big doors were wide open. Well at least we don't need to worry about how we're going to get out of here, but if the vamps figure out they're open, we'll be overrun in seconds, he thought.
"This way," said Collins, oriented now that he had seen the hangar doors. He moved off at a jog, the beam of his flashlight bobbing left and right as he moved toward the back of the building. Tyreese took Genie by the elbow and guided her after Collins. Birdy ran on ahead.
There were several aircraft in the hangar; huge private jets, bright and shiny, and a couple of double-prop planes, each worth millions of dollars, Tyreese suspected as he, Genie, and Birdy wound their way quickly between them. They ducked beneath the underbelly of a massive private jet, following behind Collins as closely as possible. Tyreese knew there were crooked cops in the LAPD, but he was confident that even the rotten ones didn't make enough in bribes to own one of these beasts. So how could a cop like Collins afford one, he wondered.
He got his answer when they caught up with Collins next to what could only be described as a 'well worn' airplane that looked like it had seen its heyday back when Reagan was still dreaming of being president. The single-prop plane's paint was flaking in patches, its windshield cracked in a couple of places. There was a small puddle of what might be oil beneath the engine.
"You want us to fly in this?" Birdy asked incredulously.
Collins stopped what he was doing and looked at her. "Hey, I'll have you know this is an '86 Cessna 172. It's a classic. Sure, she needs a little work, but she's no hangar queen. She'll get us where we need to go."
Tyreese had to smile despite their situation, the old man actually sounded offended.
"She ain't pretty but she's the best chance we got," said Genie. She reached up and opened one of the plane's doors. "So what are we—" Her words were cut short, turning instead into a shrill screech of surprise as a vampire plummeted from the darkness above them, landing in the center of the four humans.
The vampire's name was Bill. Tyreese knew this because it was stitched into the blood-splattered blue shirt he wore, and in the split-second before the vampire lunged at him, Tyreese's eyes had been drawn to his name tag.
Tyreese stepped backward, hitting the support strut of the Cessna's wing as Bill lunged at him, grabbing him by the shoulders. The vampire opened his jaws wide and snapped for Tyreese's throat just as Tyreese brought his arm up hard, forcing his forearm under the vampire's chin, pushing his head back. Bill's jaws snapped shut an inch or less from Tyreese's throat. The vampire had his hands-on Tyreese's chest, pinning him against the plane's strut. Bill was almost as big as Tyreese, and strong enough to hold him in place despite Tyreese's desperate attempts to push him away.
•••
Collins brought up his rifle, aiming for the vampire's head, but hesitated to fire; the creature was too close to Tyreese and the plane to be able to risk firing without hitting them. Instead, Collins stepped in close to the struggling man and the monster, and swung the stock of his rifle with as much force as he could muster against the vampire's skull. Instead of the hard thud Collins was braced for, the im
pact felt more like he was hitting something soft, yielding beneath the club. The vampire's head seemed to almost mold around the stock of the rifle, but it had the desired effect. The creature released Tyreese, who pushed the vampire away from the plane.
Collins flipped the gun around and opened up on full-auto with his weapon, unloading a hail of bullets into the creature. The vampire went spinning away, but almost immediately began to stand right back up again. Bill was halfway to his feet, his left arm dangling by sinews where Collins had raked his body with bullets when Genie jumped from the Cessna. She brought her ax around in a sweeping curve, like a boxer throwing an uppercut, and let loose a mighty yell.
Genie's ax blade caught the vampire under his chin and sent his severed head flying into the shadows. The headless body slumped to its knees, black goo spurting from the stump, then collapsed to the floor.
Tyreese, Collins, and Genie stood splattered in the dead vampire's gore, their hearts pounding with adrenaline, panting from the exertion.
Genie looked at both men then quickly glanced around her.
"Birdy?" she said, "Where's Birdy?"
It was only then that the two men realized the girl had vanished.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The preceding sixty seconds were little more than a blur for Birdy. She'd screamed when the vampire dropped from the ceiling, watched it lunge at Tyreese, seen the cop try to shoot it, and had taken several involuntary steps away from it. But she had not even registered the second shape crawling across the hangar floor like some obscene reptile until it was too late. None of the adults had seen it either, and before she could even think to shout a warning, the vampire had sprung silently at her, sweeping her from her feet. She felt a hand clamp down hard across her mouth, silencing the scream that had risen to her throat as the vampire carried her off into the shadows.
Flashes of light flickered in the darkness syncopated with the thud, thud, thud of the cop's machine gun covering any sound the vampire that clutched her so tightly to its chest might have made. And with each brief flash that illuminated the darkness, Birdy saw the vampire's face; it was an old man, probably in his eighties, her mind, sharpened by terror, decided. His face was drawn and wrinkled, his thin arms exposed beneath a nicotine-stained white wife-beater shirt. He had that same stale smell of muddy-decay she had smelled on Julio, back in Tyreese's apartment. The vampire's spindly arms were almost as thin as Birdy's yet they were like iron clamps around her, she could feel the faint pulse of warmth from them against her own skin. And when the old man looked down at her, it was with a desire and hunger that almost stopped her heart.
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